Temple of Terror

James Abraham Carter

Paul Royce was on a mission. It showed in his determined stride and serious demeanor as he made his way along the jungle trail toward the hut of Sura, the hunter. The air of Indos Island enveloped him in its heat and humidity. Birds screeched high above in the rainforest canopy, piercing his ears with their raucous cries. Butterflies with jewel-like wings danced in slanting shafts of golden sunlight, and the scent of rare and exotic blooms filled the air. But for the young archaeologist, these wondrous sights held no allure, nor did the arduousness of the tropical environment weigh heavily upon him; so filled was his mind with thoughts of the discovery he hoped to make.

Indos had only recently opened up to the world. The island was located off the southeast coast of Africa, in the Indian Ocean, lying approximately 500 miles northeast of the Chagos Archipelago. Under the rulership of King Anja and his predecessors, it had been a hermit kingdom. The British, with their usual imperial arrogance, had tried to invade the island in the early nineteenth century. But the Indos had firearms, the knowledge of their manufacture obtained from shipwrecked Arab seamen, and so effectively did they employ their moukahla rifles and cannons, and so much better was their swordsmanship that the British were forced to withdraw in ignominious defeat. If anything, the attempted invasion had strengthened the Indos’s suspicion of all outsiders.

But nothing remains the same forever. Despite its isolation, knowledge of the outside twentieth century world gradually filtered in, and with King Anja’s passing and the ascension of his son Daru to the throne, the policy of isolation began to change. There were no tourists permitted at the moment. But the new king had a thirst for scientific knowledge, with which he hoped to advance his nation; thus, Royce’s application to come and assist in the unearthing of Indos’s history had been accepted.

The young man had arrived on the island about six months earlier. Royce’s mother was a native of Madagascar, and the language of the Indos was akin to her tongue, with which he was familiar. The similarity in language indicated that there was a remote connection to his ancestors, which further piqued his interest in the mysterious island kingdom.

While buying groceries in the marketplace of Safwon, the island’s capital, he overheard among the sellers of exotic fruits and pungent spices, the purveyors of charms, and the many hawkers of idols of the Indos pantheon, two men discussing the discovery of ruins deep in the island’s foreboding interior.

Upon questioning them, he discovered that the news was both old and secondhand. The discovery had been made by Sura, the hunter, while traveling far from his normal range. The two natives had been obliging and had given Royce directions to the man’s abode, which lay in the jungle on the outskirts of the capital.

Royce’s thoughts were brought to the present by his arrival at his destination. The hunter’s home stood in a small glade. It was typical of much of the indigenous architecture. The house was raised on stilts. Its steep, sloping roof was made of coconut thatch, and the walls were woven bamboo. The home was encircled by a wide veranda, and a brass gong stood at the bottom of the timber stairs.

Royce struck the gong to announce his presence and impatiently waited. Shortly, an attractive young woman appeared in the doorway. She was clad in a short skirt made of bark cloth, a bone necklace, and nothing else, which made her full figure rather obvious. Her hair was curly and as black and shiny as obsidian. Her skin was a warm brown hue. It took a moment for Royce to gather his thoughts. This wasn’t the way they dressed in the city.

“Greetings,” he said in the local tongue in which he was now proficient. “My name is Paul Royce. Is Sura the hunter home? I wish to speak with him about the ruins he discovered.”

“I am Namani, the granddaughter of Sura. My grandfather is abed and unwell.” Not wishing to have the grievously sick man disturbed, the girl was on the verge of sending Royce away; then a thought came to her. This fellow was one of the outsiders she had heard about, and it was rumored that foreigners had powerful medicine.

“If you can cure my grandfather, then perhaps he can help you.”

“I’m not a doctor,” replied Royce with concern, “but if you let me come in, I’ll see what I can do.”

Namani beckoned. Royce climbed the stairs, left his boots at the door as was the custom, and entered the hunter’s home. In the dim interior, he saw an elderly man lying on a mat, shaking and delirious from fever.

“My grandfather is an old man. His body is weak and is not responding to our herbal medicines.”

Royce knelt by the fellow. He was exhibiting all the symptoms of malaria. The disease, spread by mosquitoes, was a scourge in the tropics. Royce always carried a small medical kit on his person. From it, he removed a bottle of chloroquine and gave it to the girl, explaining its use and the dosage.

“It will take two weeks for the illness to pass. I will come again tomorrow with more of this medicine. One bottle is not enough.”

**********

Two weeks had elapsed, and Royce had become a regular visitor to the house of Sura. The hunter’s fever had broken, but it was clear that even after the disease had completely left him, the man would still be unfit for an arduous jungle trek. He was simply too old for a rugged journey. His discovery of the jungle ruins had occurred about a year ago, and since then, his health had sadly gone into rapid decline.

“Paul, I am grateful for your cure,” said Sura as they sat on stools in the veranda’s shade. “I’m sorry that I can’t repay the debt I owe you; I cannot guide you to the temple ruins. My mind is strong. I remember the way, but my body is weak.”

Royce hid his bitter disappointment. There were no reliable maps of the island. Without an experienced guide who knew all the subtle signs of the landscape, he would be hopelessly lost, and his other work commitments did not permit time for a lengthy expedition.

“Never mind,” he said as he placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder, a man he now thought of as a friend. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

Namani, who was bringing the men coconut water in two pottery drinking bowls, had overheard the conversation. “I will show Paul the way.”

Sura looked at her with raised eyebrows. The girl wore a guilty look. “Please don’t be angry, Grandfather, but I’ve often followed you on your hunting expeditions. You’re no longer a young man, and I was worried about you. I have seen the ruins that you saw. My bushcraft, which I learned from you, will enable me to find my way.

“By my ancestors,” exclaimed Sura, shocked by the risks she had taken. “I have no sons. I taught you all my skills so that you could pass them on to my grandchildren when I am gone, not so that you could imperil your life. Have you forgotten that the interior is the haunt of the congpo, the dread hairy men of the jungle? Besides, you and Paul are not married. You cannot be alone with him unchaperoned. When your parents died, I took you in. I am as a father to you. I will not permit your reputation to be sullied.”

“Then we will marry,” replied Namani, looking keenly at Royce. She had taken quite a shine to him.

“What,” both men exclaimed simultaneously.

“Peace,” said Namani, holding up her hands. “Grandfather, we are bound by custom to help Paul. His medicine saved your life. If Paul and I do not make love, then the marriage can be annulled when we return. And as for the congpo, who has ever seen one? They are just imaginary creatures used to frighten little children into being good. If you are concerned about our family’s reputation, then let me do this. Would you have people think we have no regard for morality and no respect for tradition?”

Her words gave Sura pause for thought. “I do not like this,” said the hunter. “But at the same time, I do not like being unable to repay Paul. That you were able to follow me without my knowing you were doing so proves your skill in bushcraft. And as for the congpo, perhaps you are right… Very well, I give my consent.”

Royce, who had recovered from the shock of her proposal, spoke to Namani. “I am honored by the trouble you are taking to help me. Then to Sura. “I give you my word, from one friend to another, that I will protect your granddaughter and treat her with respect.”

Inwardly, Royce wasn’t a happy man. The congpo were mythical, but the hazards of the journey were not, and although he didn’t doubt Namani’s competence, he was reluctant to expose her to danger. On the other hand, being familiar with local customs, he knew he couldn’t refuse the offer without gravely insulting both Namani and Sura, something that he had no wish to do. Being alone with Namani would have its own complications. He liked her, but she was just eighteen, ten years his junior. Most girls of her age were already married with several children, something that was normal in this culture. Royce knew she fancied him. He’d have to be really careful. She wasn’t the demure young woman her culture expected her to be.

“I have no doubt as to your honor,” replied Sura, bringing home to Royce his worries. “As this marriage is merely to satisfy propriety, it will be quick and simple. I will arrange for the priest to be here tomorrow morning.”  

**********

Royce gazed at the ruins with barely contained excitement. He ran his eyes over the jungle-shrouded buildings, choked by vines and cracked by the roots of massive trees. Hints of the structure's former glory could be seen, peeking through the shrouding verdure of untold centuries - carvings of snarling gods, sinuous motifs, and the fallen statues of ancient kings whose names and forgotten triumphs awaited discovery. In its heyday, the place must have been magnificent.

It had taken ten days of hard journeying to get here, fighting through dense undergrowth, hacking a path with machetes, fording streams, and scaling hazardous acclivities. They were traveling light, living off the land. Ideally, the expedition should have had bearers to carry equipment and supplies, but the fear of the mythical congpo meant that it was impossible to hire locals for the task. It seemed that Namani was the only skeptic among them.

But the risks and the trials had been worth it. He turned to Namani, his stalwart and trusted companion, without whom he never would have made it. His admiration for her had grown considerably, as had his affection. They shared a tent like the husband and wife that they now were, and it had tested his resolve considerably with her warm, lush, scantily clad body pressed against him. He regretted that the marriage was a marriage in name only.

He sensed Namani liked him and would probably eagerly respond to seduction. But Sura had made it clear that this union was merely to protect his granddaughter's honor as part of the debt of gratitude he owed to Royce.

“Well, we made it,” he said to the girl. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Namani gave him one of her charming smiles. “We work well together, just like husband and wife should. But there is one thing missing,” she continued, stretching languorously and thrusting out her magnificent breasts. “Can you guess what that is?”

“Ahem,” said Royce, feeling a tightness in his trousers. “Let’s explore the ruins, shall we.”

Namani laughed good naturedly. “If we split up we can cover more ground. I shall look over there,” she said, pointing at a shadowed archway of a half-collapsed structure densly covered with ferns.

“All right,” agreed Royce. “But be careful. Many of these structures are probably in danger of collapse. Don’t go into anything that looks unstable.”

Royce headed off to examine a vine-shrouded object that looked like it could be a statue of either a god or one of the ancient rulers of this unknown city. But who were these people? The buildings’ architecture looked nothing like that of the Indos, and he suspected that these ruins predated the arrival of their ancestors.

Royce doffed his heavy backpack and began carefully cutting away the growth from the statue with his machete when a scream rang out that was of such pure terror as to freeze the blood. “Namani,” he shouted wildly as he raced toward the source of the cry, spurred by frantic fear for her. Royce sprinted around the partially collapsed structure she had gone to investigate and gasped in sick horror at what he saw.

Namani was struggling furiously in the arms of an ape-like creature whose grasping hands had torn her already scant clothing to shreds. The thing fitted Sura’s description of a congpo, the dreaded hairy men of the island’s interior. But there was no time for zoological speculation. Namani’s life was in peril.

Royce shouted madly as he waved his machete. The beast turned its snarling, ugly visage toward him. It dropped the terrified girl and charged at the racing man, running upright like a human. Royce met it head on. He ducked beneath its grasping arms and struck a heavy blow with his machete. The creature roared in pain from the deep wound in its side. It swept out a huge arm. Royce leaped clear; the hairy, grasping hand missed him by an inch.

The congpo lunged. Royce sidestepped, delivered a slicing cut behind the monster’s knee. Hamstrung, it collapsed like a felled tree to the ground, roaring in rage and pain. Another swift slash of the machete severed its neck above the bronze collar around its throat. Blood gushed. The horror twitched and then lay still. Satisfied that the monster was dead, Royce rushed to Namani’s side and helped her up. Her bark skirt had been shredded, exposing her hairless slit, and her skin was bruised where the beast had pawed her. Royce comforted the terrified girl and took her trembling body in his arms.

“Its all right," he soothed. “It can’t hurt you now."

Namani looked at him, wide-eyed. “By my ancestors,” she gasped. “The congpo actually exist.”

“And that’s not all,” said Royce grimly. “It’s wearing a collar, and it couldn’t have put that on by itself. It must be the equivalent of a watchdog. But what worries me is where its masters are.”

The answer to that came quickly enough.

Three men swiftly emerged from the dense undergrowth’s concealment. They were bare-chested and heavily muscled. All were clad in a kind of kilt made from raffia leaves. The men bore arms - swords resembling machetes for close-quarter fighting and blowguns whose darts were undoubtedly envenomed.

Royce cursed the fact that he had no firearms. Civilians were not permitted to carry them. Namani snatched up the machete she had dropped during her struggle with the congpo. Both were prepared for a fight. Two of the warriors raised their blowguns threateningly. The third blew a shrill blast on a bone whistle. A half dozen congpo emerged from the shadows on all sides at the summons. In an instant, they were surrounded by the hairy brutes.

“Put down your weapons,” barked the leader of the trio. His Indos was strangely accented, obviously not his mother tongue.

“We mean no harm,” said Royce as he dropped his blade, Namani following his example. “We are husband and-wife explorers seeking knowledge. We did not know these ruins were inhabited.”

“This is the sacred city of Utan,” replied the leader of the trio. “It is forbidden to strangers. You will come with us. Taru, high priest of Ong, will decide your fate.”

Royce didn’t like the sound of that. But there was little they could do except comply. With three armed men to contend with and half a dozen congpo as well, any resistance would be suicidal.

“I’m sorry I got you into this,” he said to Namani as they were forced along a trail that wove its way through the ruins. “I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you,” he concluded with heartfelt sincerity.

Namani gave him a brave smile. “You weren’t to know,” she said. “Besides, I agreed to help you. I knew there would be danger of some kind. There always is in the jungle.”

Shortly, the party arrived at a more substantial ruin that had been kept free from jungle growth. The impressive building was a rich fusion of intricate carvings, towering spires, and pyramid-like structures. They passed through an elaborate gateway carved with gods and demons intertwined in a ferocious battle for mastery of the world. Royce would have been thrilled by the sight of it all had it not been for the circumstances he and Namani were in.

His face grew grimmer as they approached the main entrance of the building, which, by its features, could only be a temple. A man was waiting for them on the threshold. He wore a mask that made him look every bit the devil that he was. It was Taru, high priest of Ong. A warrior had raced ahead and apprised the fellow of the capture of the trespassers.

As they stepped beneath the temple’s elaborate portico, Taru raised his hand imperiously. “I will not allow these strangers to profane the holy shrine of Ong. Let the man speak here before I pass judgement.”

“We are not enemies,” Royce quickly said. “We seek knowledge. We wish to know about your people and thereby enrich our understanding of the world. There is much to be gained from a mutual exchange of ideas.”

Taru laughed derisively. “A thousand years ago,” he began, “This city was not the sad ruin you see today. It was a thriving metropolis with crowded streets of prosperous and happy people. But then strangers came to us from across the sea with new ideas and new beliefs. Shortly thereafter, a plague struck our city, and the streets became not happy thoroughfares but charnel houses of the dead. So great was the pestilence, so tremendous was the loss of life that we never fully recovered. What you see around you are the remnants of a once-mighty people living in the shadows of their former glory. And why did this pestilence fall upon us? It was Ong’s just punishment for allowing strangers to pollute his holy land and turn his chosen people away from him with false beliefs. We shall not make that mistake again.”

Then to the couple’s captors: “This is my judgment. Take the man to the dungeons beneath the temple. I shall sacrifice the woman first.”

Namani gasped in horror. Royce swore. He lunged at Taru in a desperate bid to take the high priest hostage, but a guard swiftly struck him from behind, and he collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.

**********

Royce woke with a thumping headache. He looked around, a little dazed. He was in a gloomy cell. A rat scurried past him, making him flinch.

“Nanami,” he muttered as he carefully stood. “This is all my fault. I’ve got to save her somehow.”

With considerable effort, Royce reined in the panic threatening to swamp him. He approached the corroded grill-work door and carefully examined it. The lock was an ancient type, unsophisticated when compared to modern mechanisms, but effective nonetheless. There was no getting out of here without the key.

Refusing to give way to despair, Royce turned his attention to the door. The cell was damp, and corrosion had eaten at the metal. It was obvious that the dungeon hadn’t been used in centuries, neglected due to lack of manpower to keep the entire temple in good repair. His imprisonment had been hasty, and his captors had missed a weakened bar.

The sound of drums echoing down from above sent a chill through Royce’s brawny frame. It was a sign that the ceremony was commencing. Quickly, he grabbed the attenuated bar and hauled on it with all his might. Royce’s muscles swelled. Sweat dripped off him from the tremendous exertion. The drums increased their wild beat - a spur to his Herculean effort.

The bar snapped at its weakened point, but that was only half the task. Royce heaved, cursed. The bar began to bend under the might of his compelling force. The gap widened. It opened further. Then the brittle metal snapped completely, and the prize of freedom had been won.

Quickly, spurred by fear for Namani, Royce squeezed through the narrow gap. The dusty corridor was deserted. He sped along it and up the stairs, the rusty bar gripped firmly in his hand. A guard turned at the sound of running feet. Royce struck the fellow down without compunction.

Royce took the man’s sword and quickly looked around. The temple’s hypostyle hall, where public worship was conducted, was occupied by Utan’s entire population, no more than about one hundred individuals. All were on their knees, bowing toward the doorway of the holy sanctuary where the image of the god would be enshrined - the sacred place where only priests could tread.

The genuflecting crowd hadn’t seen him yet, and the thunder of the drums had drowned out the sound of the death blow he’d dealt to the guard. Royce sprinted for the doorway of the sanctuary. Someone shouted. He’d been spotted. The throng surged to its feet in a state of confusion. Another warrior guarding the entrance of the sanctum leaped to intercept the racing man. There was a brief clash of arms, and the hapless fellow went down with a cloven skull.

Royce was through the doorway in an instant. The huge inner sanctum wasn’t what he’d expected. It was open to the sky and lushly planted with tall trees and ornamental vegetation. The idol of Ong squatted on a stone plinth in the center of the walled garden, a bowl of leaping flames in its hands. But this was not what held the man’s attention.

Namani had been bound completely nude to a column. Taru walked toward the terrified girl, his face hidden beneath his satanic mask, showing only his gleaming, malevolent eyes, alive with sadism and bloodlust. In his hand was a huge knife with which to commit foul murder - to butcher the helpless girl, and cast her dismembered body into the horrid idol’s sacred fire.

The high priest turned, attracted by the noise of the consternated worshipers, which had now risen above the pounding of the drums. Taru’s eyes widened in fear at the sight of Royce rushing furiously toward him. He cried out in alarm. The two masked priests pounding on their drums left off. They drew their swords and raced to his defense.

Steel rang on steel. One priest went down, blood gushing from his severed throat. The other, a better swordsman, lasted a little longer before he, too, joined his brother's gory end. The fight had been fast and furious, but so too had Taru. The high priest was running toward Royce, a wild look of fanatical hatred on his face.

“Behind you,” cried Namani in dire warning.

Royce turned in time to block the vicious stroke that would have split his skull. The two combatants went hard at it in a wild fight. Royce sidestepped his opponent. He swung a swift and savage stroke. His flashing blade laid a shallow cut on Taru’s arm as the fellow leapt away. The high priest cried in pain and dropped his weapon. Royce pounced upon his foe and sent him reeling to the floor with a savage haymaker.

For a moment, the archaeologist stood above his downed opponent, breathing hard from the wild fight. Then Royce turned and ran toward Namani. He quickly cut her bonds and gathered the weak kneed girl in his comforting arms.

“We have to get out of here, and fast,” he explained. “The sacredness of this inner sanctum is holding off the crowd for now, but soon warriors, like enraged hornets, will come swarming in. Taru, as a hostage, will guarantee our lives.”

“Yes, of course,” she responded with a shiver. “Lets away from this vile place as quickly as we can.”

As the girl took a sword from the body of a cleric, Royce bound the high priest with the ropes he’d cut from Namani and none too gently shook the man. Taru groaned and opened his eyes. Royce hauled him to his feet by the hair and pressed his sword against the fellow’s throat.

“You cunning priests usually have boltholes. If you want to live, then get us out of here unharmed and undetected.”

Taru looked sickly at the bodies of his fellow priests lying in their own blood. He had no wish at all to join them. “There is a secret door in the idol’s plinth. I will show you the way.”

Royce marched the high priest to the altar, and Taru pushed a section of its carving with his toe. A door slid into the ground, revealing stairs leading down into a gloomy subterranean passageway. They descended into darkness, and the door closed automatically behind them. The dank way was lit by bio-luminescent fungi growing on the walls. The air was musty and chilly. Squeaking rats could be heard in the shadows. But freedom beckoned, and they pressed on, ignoring the unpleasantness.

After about fifteen minutes, they came to upward-leading stairs, and upon ascending, Taru again pressed a section of the wall with his toe. Another door slid into the earth. Fresh air and light rushed in, and the trio stepped out into a ruined building on the outskirts of the lost metropolis. The pleasantness of the wholesome jungle scents, after spending what had seemed like an eternity in foulness, was distracting, and in that moment of inattention, Taru made his move.

The high priest swiftly turned and booted Royce in the shins, and as the archaeologist fell cursing to the ground, Taru bolted down the stairs before Namani could stop him. The secret door swiftly rose, cutting off pursuit.

“Damn it,” exclaimed Royce as Namani helped him to his feet. “That devil will have the rest on our heels in no time. We have to move, and quickly.”

They set off at as rapid a pace as the dense undergrowth permitted, Namani in the lead, using her jungle skills to navigate the way. They had made good progress when whistles could be heard in the distance. A chill ran through Royce. It was the same sound he’d heard when they had been captured. The congpo, like bloodhounds, had been set upon their trail. He explained his fears to the girl.

They hurried on, but after an hour of frantic flight, the sound of heavy bodies crashing through the undergrowth could be clearly heard. The brutes were catching up with them and making no pretense of stealth. Then, to add to the danger, the couple burst through a dense mass of undergrowth and ran straight into a crumbling wall that cut off all escape.

A bestial roar made Royce turn. He swore. Three congpo burst from the undergrowth and charged at them, bared fangs gleaming sinisterly. He struck and severed the grasping hand of one brute. The beast screamed in pain and rage. A swift slash to the throat silenced it. Then the others were on him in a rush.

Royce agilely leapt aside, and the charging congpo, unable to stop in time, ran straight into the wall. Namani split the stunned brute’s skull and it too was laid lifeless on the ground as Royce engaged the final foe and sent it crashing to the soil. All three bestial protagonists were dead, but victory was short-lived, for a dozen of the brutes erupted from the jungle to confront them.

Royce’s heart sank. There was no way that they would survive this attack. Thoughts swirled through Royce’s mind - his life, his parents, but mostly thoughts of Namani and what might have been. Then the beasts charged, and he prepared to kill as many as he could as he ran toward them and shouted to the girl: “Run while I distract them.”

The lead brute fell beneath his cleaving blade; then the rest were upon him, and he went down beneath their swarming, hairy bodies. Hands like hydraulic vices gripped Royce with iron strength, and in a sea of pain, he felt the life being squeezed from his body. His vision grew dark, and he knew the end had come upon him. His last thoughts were for Namani. He hoped that she had managed to escape.

**********

Royce groaned and opened his eyes. He felt like he had been trampled by a herd of stampeding elephants, but amazingly he was still alive. A strange, acrid scent filled the air. Namani knelt beside him, examining his injuries. She smiled at him with relief.

“What happened?” He asked as she continued her investigation.

“I saw a karo plant growing by the wall,” she explained. “According to my grandfather, the congpo cannot stand its smell. I quickly crushed the oily leaves to release their pungent scent, and with it smeared upon my body, I leaped among the brutes. The results were amazing. The creatures fled like mice before a cat. You are badly bruised, but no bones are broken. Can you stand?”

“I’ll have to,” he replied as he slowly and painfully rose, appalled at the risk she had taken. “Those beasts have fled, but not their masters. We must press on regardless.”

“I do not think they will pursue,” replied Namani. “We have escaped their foul god. Their beasts have failed, and these facts will give them pause for thought. They are a people living in hiding, afraid of the world. There is no bravery in them unless they think they are contending with weak opponents. Let us rub our bodies with karo leaves and take more with us. Thus, our safety from the congpo will be assured.”

**********

Royce was resting in the house provided for him by Daru, king of Indos, recovering from the ordeals of his adventure. He had returned Namani safely to her grandfather. Two days had passed, and he hadn’t seen her since. Her absence was a loss to him. After all they had been through together, it was strange to wake up in the morning and not find her by his side.

He wondered what she was doing and how she was feeling. Sura, her grandfather, was probably discussing the annulment of the marriage with the priest. The thought left him extremely downcast. He had fallen in love with the girl, but he had to respect the values of her people. Sura had only consented to the marriage as a means of fulfilling the debt he owed to Royce, whom he trusted to abide by the conditions that he had set - that Namani would still be a virgin when they returned. Royce, being a gentleman, had kept his promise.

The striking of the gong at his front door roused Royce from his sad thoughts. He had a visitor. The priest had probably arrived to confirm the annulment of the marriage. Rising stiffly from his chair, he glumly walked to the door and opened it. To his surprise and joy, Namani stood on the threshold. She was clad in a sarong-like garment to conform to the dress code of the capital.

“Greetings Paul,” she said with a smile. “It is good to see you. May I come in?”

Royce looked around, amazed that she was alone. “I am very glad to see you, also. But you are not chaperoned. Our marriage was to be annulled upon the completion of the expedition. I don’t want to cause a scandal.”

“It is our marriage that I have come to talk to you about.”

“Oh, of course. Please come in,” he said, thinking that she had come to personally tell him of its dissolution.

Namani entered and looked around. “Ah, there is the bedroom,” she said with a satisfied smile as she walked toward the chamber’s doorway and stepped across its threshold.

Now Royce was really nervous. Namani was an independently minded young woman in a conservative society. He knew she liked him and was possibly even in love with him. He desperately wanted to make love to her, but he knew it was impossible given the undertaking he had made to her grandfather. How was he going to decline her advances without upsetting her?

With considerable trepidation, he walked to the bedroom, stood in the doorway, and gasped. Namani lay completely nude on his bed, her thighs parted in an enticing, erotic pose. She laughed good-naturedly at his shocked expression.

“I told my grandfather how you saved my life, of your bravery and manly decency. He has agreed that you are worthy to be my husband. We have his blessing. Our marriage will not be annulled.”

“Thank God for that,” said Royce with feeling, overjoyed as he walked toward the bed and sat beside her.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, suddenly thinking of something. “You must still be weak from your injuries.”

Royce grinned. “I’m not that weak,” he said, then kissed her passionately.

The End