The Amulet of Atmu

James Abraham Carter

The dust of millennia lay upon Richard Lane’s hands. He was working in the Saqqara necropolis, an ancient cemetery in Giza, Egypt, as an assistant archaeologist on one of the most thrilling finds of the modern era—the untouched tomb of Atmu, court magician to Pharoah Ramisis - a discovery that would provide new insights into the burial customs and social hierarchy of Ancient Egypt. The air in the excavated chamber was dry, scented with the indefinable essence of antiquity; the dusty silence of the ancient room was broken only by the swishing of hog-hair brushes and the gentle scrape of trowels.

Professor Alex Smith, the team leader, had assigned Richard the crucial but agonizingly slow task of cleaning and cataloging the artifacts. It was essential work, yet at times profoundly tedious. As Richard stood in the sunlight streaming down the 50 foot burial shaft leading to the tomb, he gazed at the strange amulet retrieved from Atmu’s limestone sarcophagus, a disc-shaped piece of gold about 4 inches in diameter, engraved with mystic symbols around its circumference and a distinctive molded eye in its center.

The young man had one foot on the long ladder. He was about to ascend to the tent where he would begin the task of photographing the amulet, recording its dimensions, and adding the item to the growing list of artifacts that had been carefully removed from the chamber. But his mind was not on his work. Instead, a restless thought coiled in his brain. He was twenty-five, and although he enjoyed his occupation, every job had its moments, and this was one of them. He wanted something more out of life - to make a real difference rather than just cataloging the discoveries of others. “If only I could break the tedium,” he wished silently, running his thumb over the cool, gleaming surface of the amulet. “If only I could have one grand adventure.”

The crimson gemstone that formed the iris of the amulet’s eye began to glow.

Before Richard could react, a brilliant, searing flash of light swallowed the dark chamber whole. The sound was like a silent boom, felt rather than heard, instantaneously followed by a terrifying, prolonged sensation of falling—a headlong plunge through a vast, cold emptiness infused with an unearthly illumination. Then, blessed oblivion.

Richard regained consciousness to a throbbing headache and a view that shattered all known reality. He lay on resilient, spongy growth beneath a sky that was a phenomenal, unearthly shade of vibrant green. Towering around him, resembling immense, surreal fan coral, were trees of vivid turquoise, their branches swaying in a breeze infused with strange, exotic scents.

The world was entirely alien, and with the shocking clarity that comes from a sudden and profound flash of insight, Richard understood the startling and incredible truth. The ancient talisman, the focus of his fervent wish, had granted him his grand adventure and catapulted him across the gulf of space.

He sat up, the gold amulet still clutched tightly in his hand. Now he understood the chilling truth of the old saying: Be careful what you wish for. For a moment, rage welled up, and he considered casting the cursed object into the grotesque foliage. Instead, he took a deep, calming breath and hung the amulet around his neck. It was his only tether, his single tangible connection to the world of his birth, and a strange premonition overrode his anger and made him keep it. He held fast to his courage, instinctively realizing that this was a one-way trip. He could never return to the planet of his birth. Survival demanded action. Ignoring the ringing in his ears, Richard began to explore the outlandish environment, desperately searching for water or recognizable sustenance.

He had been walking for several hours when the world erupted into violent motion. Six enormous creatures, reptilian humanoids of imposing stature, sprang upon him from the mottled turquoise undergrowth. They were huge, covered in thick, dull olive scales; their movements were quick and savage. Before Richard could fight, flee, or even scream, he was overpowered, hurled to the ground, and bound with rough, fibrous ropes. One of the humanoids slung the frightened Earthman over his shoulder as if he were nothing but a sack of potatoes, and thus he was carried away in this undignified manner.

His captors, who appeared to be at the cultural level of Stone Age savages, were armed with flint-tipped spears and oval shields made of layers of tough hide sewn and glued together. Their clothing consisted of a simple leather loincloth, and for ornamentation, they wore carved bone necklaces. After the passing of about an hour, the party arrived at the sheer face of a high, mineral-streaked cliff. The reptilian savages ascended a steep, well-worn path to the entrance of a cave. Upon entering, they hurled him into the corner of a vast, gloomy cavern that nature had carved deep into the stone.

Struggling to adjust his vision, for the cavern was dimly illuminated by phosphorescent minerals that formed an amazing array of fantastic speleothems, Richard was astonished to find another prisoner lying nearby, bound hand and foot just as he was. It was a young woman. Her hair was tightly curled, reminiscent of African people, yet her eyes were almond-shaped, like those of Asians. Most striking of all, her tightly curled hair was navy blue in color and her skin a lighter shade. She was clad in a delicate robe, now torn and soiled, her large breasts spilling forth from her rent apparel.

The Earthman’s innate chivalrous nature came to the fore, and in an instant, he forgot his own fears, determined to aid the girl. “Who are you?” Richard asked, doubting that the woman would understand him but determined to try. “My name is Richard. Can we escape? I will help you all I can.”

The woman shook her head in the universal gesture of negation. Her face registered fear and confusion, and when she replied, her language was melodic, almost musical, yet utterly unintelligible. Richard switched to Arabic, a language he also spoke fluently. But again, the woman indicated her incomprehension.

Seeing that his efforts were fruitless, the Earthman shifted his attention to their vicious captors. He saw that the scaly humanoids were busy preparing for a vile celebration. They had lit a fire in a central pit and had begun a wild, primal dance, their frenzied movements accompanied by the deafening, barbaric rhythm of thundering drums. The flickering firelight infused the unsettling scene with hellishness as the crimson glow cast grotesque shadows on the walls and illuminated the sharp flint knives that glinted in the clawed hands of the prancing savages.

The horrifying truth struck Richard with the force of a physical blow: he and the woman were going to be ritually killed and eaten in a savage feast to barbarous gods.

Driven by sheer desperation, Richard began to think feverishly. His hands were bound behind his back and his ankles tied, but he spotted a sharp, jagged piece of rock embedded in the uneven cave floor. He painfully rolled toward it and began to saw the ropes that bound him against the edge, ignoring the tearing pain in his wrists. Minutes crawled by, agonizingly slow against the frenzied pace of the dancing savages.

Finally, the ropes snapped.

Richard, after quickly freeing his ankles, crawled over to the woman. Silently and frantically, he began working on her bindings, the sweat of fear and urgency heavy upon him. Just as the final knot gave way and she sat up, rubbing her numb hands, the nearest of the savages noticed that they were free. The fellow bellowed a strident cry of alarm. The rhythmic drumming instantly ceased. A chorus of savage, enraged screams filled the cavern shrilly as the primitives charged furiously toward them.

"Run!" Richard yelled, grabbing the woman’s wrist and hauling her to her feet.

They fled instantly, bolting down a narrow, dark tunnel at the rear of the cave. The heavy footfalls and guttural cries of their crazed pursuers echoed frighteningly close behind them. The brutal savages were alarmingly fast, gaining ground quickly. All seemed lost when Richard, who had been frantically looking in all directions for a potential weapon, glanced up and noticed the tunnel's roof—a precarious mosaic of loose and fractured stone.

Snatching up a large, fist-sized rock from the tunnel floor, Richard swiftly turned and hurled it upward with desperate strength, aiming directly at an unstable fault line above the heads of the leading pursuers. The striking rock was the final straw; the ceiling gave way with a grinding roar. Tons of rock and debris collapsed, burying the screaming reptilian savages under a sudden, impenetrable avalanche of crushing boulders.

Safe, for the moment, Richard and the woman stumbled onward through the suffocating darkness. After what felt like an age, a faint glow appeared ahead. Racing eagerly toward the blessed light, they found the narrow gap through which it spilled. Both squeezed through the painfully tight aperture and emerged into the glorious sunshine and the sweet freshness of the open air.

“Thank God,” muttered Richard as he sank heavily into a sitting position on a nearby boulder. “For a while, I thought we’d never find our way out of that bleak hellhole.”

The woman turned to him, drawn by his words, her almond-shaped eyes wide with gratitude. Now that she was in full daylight, he saw how beautiful she truly was, this despite her disheveled state - dusty and dirty, her fine clothes torn further when she had squeezed through the tight gap, leaving her in rags - breasts now completely nude and loins barely concealed by the shredded cloth that remained. She spoke, pointing first to her bare breasts, which she seemed unfazed at being exposed, and then to the east. She repeated a word patiently.

"Lanura," Richard tried, stumbling over the syllables. She smiled, nodded, and again pointed toward the east, beckoning him to follow.

They set off immediately through the strange forest, and Richard correctly guessed that the journey would be a long one. With every passing day, the barriers between them crumbled. Lanura proved an excellent teacher, patiently drilling Richard in her melodious language. She taught him which strange fruits were safe to eat, how to identify poisonous plants, and the delicate art of trapping small, multi-legged game with snares devised from supple forest vines.

As the weeks passed, Richard mastered her language, whose grammar was similar to Arabic, with which he was familiar. Lanura explained that she was a traveler from Ador, a distant city-state. She had been en route to Menshu, another great metropolis, when a violent storm damaged her flying ship, forcing a crash landing. Soon after, the scaly savages attacked, killing the bodyguards accompanying her, for she was a member of the Adoran nobility.

“My men fought bravely,” she explained. “But the Katassi—the hideous reptilian savages you saved me from - overwhelmed them by weight of numbers.” Lanura shuddered. “They ate the bodies of my men and their own dead also,” she concluded, horror clearly evident in her voice.

As time passed, Richard also realized that during their grueling, intimate journey, he had fallen deeply in love with the resolute, brave, and intelligent woman by his side. But, sadly, he kept his feelings hidden. She was a member of the nobility, and he was a commoner. Besides, Lanura had revealed that she was on her way to marry the king of Menshu, and he had no intention of doing wrong by interfering with their relationship.

Consequently, the Earthman steered the conversation away from personal matters and focused on learning about the alien world that had now become his involuntary home. The planet, which was known as Uthad to Lanura’s people (but by other names in different nations), had a large continent at each pole and a string of islands scattered in between. They were on Ednu, the southern continent, which had a huge peninsula jutting up into the planet’s equatorial region, where the major civilizations were concentrated, with only barbarians inhabiting the frozen tundra to the south. The northern continent, named Rathan, was an uninhabited, icy wasteland comparable to Antarctica. There were no huge empires or nations on Endu. The city-state was the prevailing form of government, each ruled by a king or queen. There were conflicts between the various monarchs that led to wars, but from what Lanura told him, these were small-scale battles and rarely lasted more than a day. It appeared that the natives of Uthad, although violent, were overall far less bloodthirsty than humans.

At the end of the fourth week, the forest thinned and gave way to a vast savanna covered in purple, grass-like plants that shimmered in the green light of the alien sky. Within an hour, they saw them: a pack of swift, terrifying predators called orzifs. The savage beasts roughly resembled immense hyenas, more than twice the size of any that Richard had seen, and were covered entirely in overlapping gray scales. Lanura hissed the name, explaining that they were the most feared hunters on the planet.

“These crude flint spears we have made during our journey will not be enough to fight off a dozen savage orzifs.” Lanura pointed out. “Our only hope is to avoid detection.”

They ducked low, hiding in the tall purple foliage, hoping the wind would carry their scent away.

But the wind shifted.

A hair-raising screech tore through the air as the orzifs picked up their scent. The beasts charged, a wave of scaled muscle and slavering jaws. Richard cursed as he and Lanura scrambled up. They ran frantically toward a scattered group of stony outcroppings— their only hope for a defensive position. They reached the formation just as the first savage orzif snapped madly at their heels. But as they scrambled desperately to the top, Lanura slipped on a loose stone. She cried in fright. Richard grabbed her hand and hauled her up, the fanged jaws of a leaping orzif missing her foot by a hair’s breadth.

Both gained a precarious foothold on the pinnacle of the rocky formation, but the orzifs were terrifyingly agile, climbing the rock face with feline ease. The couple defended themselves furiously with their spears, thrusting vigorously at their slavering foes. One beast fell back screeching madly, its eye pierced by Lanura’s stabbing spear. But another massive creature swiftly took its place. It lunged high, caught Richard’s spear in its powerful jaws, and ripped the weapon from his grip. The Earthman stumbled, losing his balance on the precarious perch. Lanura quickly grabbed his collar, hauling him back from a deadly fall into the jaws of the savage beasts, but in the process, she dropped her own spear.

Weaponless and defenseless, the couple watched in horror as the snaring orzifs, sensing their vulnerability, swiftly climbed toward them, drooling jaws frighteningly agape to devour them alive. Richard snatched up a rock, determined to defend Lanura to the last. But just as the lead predator reached the peak, a shadow passed over the sun. Then a sudden, devastating rain of arrows streaked down from the green sky in a hail of steel, piercing the armored hides of the orzifs and killing every single attacker in mere seconds.

As the bodies of the creatures tumbled from the outcrop, Richard looked up, stunned, to see a flying vehicle hovering less than a hundred feet above him. It was perfectly circular, shaped like a fat donut or torus, its circumference lined with large windows from which armed warriors peered down, bows still in hand. In the center of the torus, he saw the ship’s weird propulsion system. It was a crackling, rotating globe of what looked like lightning, enclosed in a stationary wire mesh sphere affixed by struts to the ship’s inner circumference. The airframe of the extraordinary machine wasn’t metal. Rather, it was constructed of a light but strong wood over which waterproofed canvas had been stretched and painted in bright geometric patterns of red and yellow.

“It is an airship from Menshu!” Lanura cried excitedly, tears of relief shining in her eyes. “It looks exactly like my own, but the heraldic patterns of color mark it as the vessel of my betrothed. We are saved!”

A rope ladder quickly dropped from a hatch in the machine’s belly. The couple climbed swiftly. Lanura went first, and as Richard followed, the girl’s ruined apparel, now even more tattered, gave him an unimpeded view of her prominent vulva. Being a gentleman, he resisted the temptation to look further and respectfully turned his head away.

Inside, Lanura, with a cry of delight, rushed immediately into the embrace of a richly dressed and strikingly handsome man. This was Tyros, the King of Menshu, the man she had been traveling across the continent to wed.

“My lady, thank the gods you are safe,” said the king with clinical formality as he swiftly and possessively wrapped his cloak around her nakedness.

Lanura, her arms still encircling Tyros, quickly introduced Richard, vividly explaining the Earthman’s heroism in rescuing her from the Katassi and fighting off the savage orzifs.

“If it weren’t for Richard, I’d be dead,” she concluded.

Tyros, who had listened with a stiff smile, then turned his gaze fully upon the Earthman—a cold, measuring look devoid of warmth that made Richard acutely aware of how disheveled he appeared when contrasted with the elegant cleanliness of the king.

“I have been tireless in my search for you, my lady,” Tyros said, his focus returning to Lanura. Then he looked Richard up and down with clear condescension. “I trust the peasant has behaved properly during your time in the wilds? Your state of undress can so easily inflame the passions of lowborn brutes such as he.”

Lanura chided Tyros mildly for his unfounded suspicions, but Richard felt the stab of the king’s jealousy keenly. He knew Tyros was right to be distrustful of him, for his own heart, with its secret desires, was utterly pledged to the wonderful woman standing before him. It was very difficult for him to deal with the fact that the woman he loved would soon be sharing a bed with another man. Richard felt like punching the arrogant, condescending snob, but he held his temper in tight restraint. Lanura appeared to love the boorish fellow, and he had to respect her choice.

“My lord,” Lanura said in conclusion. “We Adorans see no shame in nudity; that is true, but that does not mean we are brazen fornicators. I am no wanton. My loyalty to you is unimpeachable, and Richard, although of lowly birth, is no vulgar reprobate.”

Tyros, somewhat mollified by Lanura’s reassurances, barked an order. The airship turned east, flying swiftly toward Menshu. Richard, not wishing to intrude on the reunion of the happy couple, occupied himself with an examination of the extraordinary aircraft, not only out of curiosity but also in an attempt to distract himself from the enviable sight of Lanura in the arms of the king.

Cenmo, the pilot of the airship, was only too happy to explain the workings of the vessel. The mesh globe in the center of the torus was composed of xyton, a strange element unknown on Earth that, when energized with an electric current, emitted a repulsive force - the sphere of lightning-like energy - that enabled the machine to fly. Varying the strength of the electric current, which was generated by simple galvanic cells, caused the craft to either ascend or descend, while steering was achieved by the activation of smaller units spaced evenly around the vessel’s outer circumference. It was the simplicity of these factors that had enabled an Iron Age culture to invent aircraft - machines usually associated with a scientifically advanced industrial civilization.

Within the hour, the swift airship hovered over the city of Menshu. Richard gasped. The exotic metropolis was a magnificent display of unrivaled splendor: sprawling structures that harmoniously blended the austere elegance of English Gothic architecture with the intricate, sweeping domes and towering minarets of Islamic forms. It was very different from Lanura’s home city of Ador, with its neoclassical-style architecture and colorful friezes of ornamental majolica tiles. The ship descended, landing gently in a large, meticulously manicured courtyard garden within the sprawling royal palace.

Awaiting their arrival was a group of the king’s advisors, alerted to the approach of the king’s airship by tower lookouts. As Richard walked down the vessel’s ramp and stepped onto the pristine paving stones, Asemidis, the king’s sage—an elderly man with eyes as sharp as those of an eagle and a mind to match—stepped forward. His hand shot out, pointing at Richard’s chest. The glint of gold had caught his eye, and his body trembled violently with the realization of what it was that he saw.

“The amulet!” He cried, his voice strained and high, “He wears an amulet bearing a jeweled eye! Beware the prophecy, my King! It is foretold in the Book of Seers that the wearer of such an amulet will take your throne by right of conquest, in accordance with our ancient laws!”

The courtyard erupted in pandemonium. Advisors shouted in consternation, their faces twisting in fear and outrage. Tyros’s visage darkened instantly, his earlier jealousy combusting into murderous fury.

“Guards!” Tyros roared.

Armed soldiers rushed forward, seizing Richard at the king’s wild command before he could even begin to defend himself. He was dragged away, the prophecy ringing in his ears, and cast into the oppressive darkness of the palace dungeons. Here, he bitterly languished in the cold, fetid blackness for perhaps an hour, sinking into grim despair; the thought of never seeing Lanura again was more upsetting to him than his own bleak fate. The creak of the heavy cell door finally broke the silence. Richard braced himself, expecting merciless guards to drag him off to the executioner’s chopping block.

Instead, it was Lanura.

She rushed toward him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her royal robe, a new one into which she had changed, was torn along the shoulder, the fine cloth falling away to expose one full breast, and a deep, ugly bruise disfigured her left eye. Richard rushed forward, gathering her into his arms, horrified.

“Dear God,” he cried. “What happened?”

Sobbing, she explained that Tyros had accused her of treason, of knowingly bringing a prophesied usurper into his kingdom. They had argued fiercely, Lanura demanding that Richard be freed, and in a fit of cruel rage and blind jealousy, the king struck her.

“I will not marry the brute,” she fervently vowed, clutching Richard fiercely. “I will help you escape this fiend. The turnkey in the guardroom is dead by my hand. I have committed myself wholly to your rescue.”

But before they could leave the room, a wild figure burst through the open cell door. Tyros, his face contorted into a mask of pure madness, stood framed in the dim light. He held an iron dagger, raised high.

“You will not flee, you treacherous wanton!” Tyros shrieked, rushing not at Richard, but at Lanura, the woman he was supposed to love, murderous rage stamped upon his crazed visage.

Lanura screamed in terror. Richard reacted instantly. With no thought for his own safety, he leaped in front of the woman he loved and grabbed Tyros’s arm, locking his hand around the king's wrist and twisting the plunging dagger away from Lanura’s throat, forcing the king to drop the blade. The dungeon swiftly became the arena for brutal, unrestrained combat. Tyros, fueled by injured pride and crazed fury, was strong, but Richard, driven by the protective instinct of true love, fought with the primal frenzy of a lion defending its mate.

Lanura looked on, her hand gripping the king’s dagger. Both men were staggering about wildly, and she feared to strike least she accidently stab Richard as both men hurled wild strikes at each other with flying fists and feet. At last Richard saw an opening. He ducked a savage haymaker and grabbed the king with his left arm as he thrust his strong right arm between Tyros’s legs. He heaved the man onto his shoulders, then rotated and slammed his opponent down with brutal force. Tyros fell heavily. There was a sickening crack as the back of his head struck the hard stone floor. The king’s body went instantly limp. The fight was over.

Lanura cast aside the dagger and flew into Richard’s arms, burying her face in his shoulder. She confessed her love, a truth she had hidden from him out of misguided loyalty and a sense of royal duty. The loveless marriage to the dead king had been arranged for political purposes, and she had been pressured into it by her harsh and ruthless father, King Jorax. The affection she had displayed toward Tyros had been feigned, she admitted. She had been warned that he was insanely jealous, and it was her attempt to deflect his wrath from the Earthman.

She pulled back, looking at her love with wonder and dawning understanding. “Richard,” she breathed, her voice filled with awe that came from the realization of a momentous destiny. “You slew the king in fair combat, and as the wearer of the amulet, you have fulfilled the prophecy. You have won the throne by right of conquest, according to the ancient laws of Menshu.”

“But I am not a noble,” gasped Richard, shocked by her seemingly outlandish statement. “I know nothing about being a king. I doubt the people of Menshu will accept me. Surely, we must swiftly flee to escape their wrathful vengeance.”

Lunara shook her head vigorously. “The people of Menshu, from the lowest to the highest, place great credence in the will of Heaven. You fulfilled the prophecy. To oppose the outcome is to defy the gods and thus invite terrible punishment. Have no fear; peasants and nobles will bow equally before you. Besides, I will be by your side, guiding you in all things.”

Richard looked down at the amulet—the strange, outwardly mundane object that had granted his idle wish and propelled him across untold galaxies. He realized, with profound certainty, that the ancient Egyptian magician Atmu, with his visionary insight, had arranged for him to be brought to this world for a higher purpose: to save Lanura from a violent tyrant and to rule a kingdom justly. His love for Lanura and his defeat of Tyros were no coincidences; the outcome was vouchsafed by destiny itself.

He gazed at the woman he loved with profound desire. From her expression, he could tell she no longer wished for him to be a gentleman, so he swept her into his arms and claimed her with a kiss of burning passion as he carried her into the passageway. After a time, they broke apart, both aglow with the warmth of their love. Then, after adjusting their clothes, hand in hand, the Earthman and the new queen walked into the guardroom, past the dead turnkey slumped across the table, Lunara’s stolen throwing knife buried in his throat, and up the damp stone stairs, leaving the bleak dungeon and its corpse behind. The prophecy was fulfilled, and the glorious dawn of a new era had begun.

The End