Embedded Files
James Abraham Carter
WARNING: Erotic Content. Adults Only.
In the heart of Khem, an exotic and savage world where the sun tinted the skies in vibrant hues of orange and violet during the twilight hours, and the sentient youhori trees sang strange tunes with their clarinet-like organs to the twinkling stars, a young man of 25 found himself far from Earth in the grand audience hall of Queen Vashtara, the mysterious ruler of the medieval kingdom of Indu, the only Bronze Age nation on the planet not completely hostile to humans.
The hall was a sumptuous display of wealth and power. Its walls were adorned with ancient frescoes depicting the triumphs of past monarchs, their vibrancy untouched by time, as were the marvellous geometrical floor mosaics composed of multicoloured gemstones which glittered in the soft lamplight. The atmosphere within the room was alive with anticipation, both from the curious courtiers and from the young human himself. Every eye in the hall was on the elevated jadeite throne, upon which the teenage Queen made her striking presence felt. Her form, naked yet regal, was draped only in an aura of sacred authority and jewellery rich in occult symbolism, exemplified by the intricate filigree mask obscuring her features, which lent an additional air of mystery to her already enigmatic persona.
Her skin, like all the people of Indu, was slate grey in colour. Her eyes were amber and her feathery hair was as black and as glossy as obsidian. Her slim, youthful figure was delicately formed, as if a wondrous statue carved by a master sculptor had miraculously come to life. Her thighs were parted, displaying the prominent labia of her cleft, not in lewdness, but to show her affinity with Quom, the fertility goddess and titular divinity of the kingdom whom she, as holy Queen, embodied.
Vashtara’s nudity was a dramatic contrast to her courtiers: these men and women were clad in short-sleeved tunics with long shawls wound around their bodies to make a double-fringed skirt, the garments being intricately embroidered with bright non-representational patterns and further ornamented with glinting button-like mirrors sewn to their silky attire.
Alan King stood before the virgin Queen, a tall Earth envoy with slicked-back black hair and piercing green eyes, his modernistic clothing quite dull when compared to the exotic richness of the aristocrats surrounding him. He had journeyed across the stars, traversing the gloom of cosmic voids to negotiate an agreement vital to his world: the cultivation of bastal, a herb indigenous to Khem that would grow nowhere else, one with the potential to end the deadly cancer epidemic ravaging Earth.
Alan, who had been chosen for the undertaking due to his anthropological and linguistic knowledge of these people’s civilisation, was acutely aware of the cultural nuances surrounding him, the strange customs of Indu, woven through centuries into a fantastical and exotic tapestry as exemplified by the nudity of the Queen - a mark of her exalted and sacred status. Today, however, Indu norms might well collide with the urgency of his delicate and vital mission.
As he prepared to confidently present his case, his mind raced with the stakes involved - one misstep could lead to disaster, not only for Earth’s attempt to secure permission for the development of a bastal plantation, but for his life also, as exemplified by the edgy palace guards, clad in their gilded scale armour and conical helmets, who eyed Alan warily as did the gathered nobles, their suspicion of the outsider evident, for he represented to them an alien world and all its unknowns.
Suddenly, before Alan could begin to present his case, a cacophony pierced the solemnity of the hall as hooded figures burst forth from the shadows of the room’s internal peristyle - members of the mysterious Cult of Sethin, frenzied and fanatical, who viewed humanity’s presence in the kingdom as a corrupting influence. Before the guards could react, the cultists hurled shimmering knives aimed directly at Vashtara, eager to obliterate the bloom of trust and understanding that Alan and the Queen sought to grow. Time slowed. Adrenaline surged through Alan, and instinct took over.
“Your Highness!” he shouted in warning, lunging forward. Alan swiftly seized Vashtara. The Queen cried in fright as he pulled her down from her throne. The hurled blades whistled above them, missing narrowly and crashing against the ornate jadeite chair, chipping the stone. The palace erupted into chaos. Bejewelled courtiers fled the room like frightened mice. Guards rushed forward, weapons drawn. The warriors clashed with the hooded assailants in a tidal wave of armour and weapons, valiantly fighting to protect their sacred Queen. Alan and Vashtara had tumbled to the floor amidst the wild pandemonium. The brawlers' clashing blades rang harshly in the Earthman’s ears as he shielded the Queen’s body with his burly frame.
The air was filled with warriors' oaths, the screams of the wounded and the dying as guards and cultists fought with unchecked savagery. Alan rose to his feet, adrenaline surging, his breath quickening. One of the cultists, rabid in his ferocity, rushed towards the Queen, his eyes gleaming through his black hood, alive with mad blood lust. Alan leapt to intercept the crazed assassin, his martial arts training now in overdrive. He caught the fanatic’s knife-hand, halting the plunging dagger’s wavy blade. They wrestled desperately, furiously. Alan head-butted his rabid opponent, then threw the stunned killer across his hip. The cultist landed heavily, his head smashing sickeningly against the marble floor in a fatal collision.
Quickly, Alan looked around for further threats. He caught sight of a guard thrusting. The warrior's swiftly stabbing blade eliminated the last of the murderous cultists. The killer died, the twisted expression of rage on his face hidden by his black hood. The fight was over. The hacked corpses of the would-be killers lay sprawled on the cold stone floor, the scent of blood mingling with the musky perfume of the hall’s exotic orchid-like pot-plants. Now, with the aggressors dispatched, silence fell like a heavy shroud, punctuated only by the laboured breathing of the shaken survivors.
Alan helped Vashtara to her feet, his heart racing from the encounter and also from the sight of her exotic beauty, for in the process of saving her, he had inadvertently dislodged her mask. Gasps filled the hall. Vashtara’s striking features were now revealed. Her refined countenance was radiant, like moonlight reflected on still waters, her eyes deep pools of wisdom and compassion that belied her youth. In that instant something strange and wondrous, more than just her beauty, touched Alan. But before he could explore this feeling the guards, their expressions alive with shock and fury, turned towards him, shattering his contemplation with their cries of wild rage.
The warriors' hot oaths brought the young man back to harsh reality. From his studies Alan knew it was a grave violation to look unbidden upon the Queen’s naked face - the penalty being death for anyone with the audacity to do so. Quickly, he averted his eyes, but it was too late. The room seethed with hostility as the guards edged forward, hands on their weapons, stormy eyes focused solely on the Earthman, ready to enact swift and bloody retribution for his grave insult.
Vashtara, recovering from the shock of swift events, quickly snatched up and donned her golden mask. She raised a hand to still her guards’ advance. Her eyes, though troubled, were keen and resolute as she assessed the situation, the gravity of events heavy upon her. “Do not harm him!” she commanded, her voice steady amidst the turmoil.
“Your Majesty, this foreigner has sullied your sacred dignity, has laid impure eyes on your holy visage!” cried one of the guards, his hand twitching upon the hilt of his half-drawn sword. “The Guardians of the Law will demand his death for this terrible affront. We are but fulfilling their statutes.”
“And yet he has saved my life! We cannot act without consideration for this fact,” she firmly countered.
Impending violence loomed like the thunderclouds of a whirling tempest, and Alan could feel the invisible scales of fate shifting dangerously around him. He was unarmed as was the Intrepid, the starship in orbit. Similarly, the landing craft that had brought him to the surface was also bereft of weapons. The Earth Government had made it clear they did not want any military involved in such delicate negotiations.
The young man’s heart pounded. He was on his own, a stranger in this alien realm, albeit one who had just saved a queen at peril to his life. The absurdity of the situation, that he could be punished for doing so, stung like an enraged hornet. Must he endure the fury of these people and submit to an unjust and violent death?
After a fraught moment, Sukuram, the Queen's shrewd royal adviser, who had re-entered the hall with the other nobles now that the danger had passed, spoke: “Your Majesty, if The Guardians of the Law execute this man, the punishment will invoke the wrath of the Earth Government, jeopardising the trade agreement and the benefits it would bring our kingdom. As your Majesty knows, even the Queen must bow before the independent authority of the Guardians. There is, however, a way to circumvent the law,” he proposed, his voice a smooth balm to the antagonism permeating the room. “You are unmarried. If you wed this Earthman, he would become your consort, and the crime would be moot, for a consort may look upon his unmasked queen.”
The tension that had begun to ease flared again as guards and courtiers bellowed their wild outrage at this outlandish proposal - that an unknown foreigner would marry their holy Queen. Sukuram shouted for silence. His strong voice subdued the outraged spectators as he spoke. “It is our Queen’s decision, and whatever she decides we must accept, for is she not the embodiment of our most sacred deity?”
The naysayers were silenced and the startling idea hung in the quiet, unwelcome yet inescapable. A matrimonial solution to solve a crisis, thrust upon them by a moment of unexpected violence. Both Alan and Vashtara felt the weight of their respective worlds upon their shoulders - the benefits that trade would bring to Indu, and the desperate need for bastal to save countless lives back on Earth.
Alan looked at Vashtara, his mind a chaotic swirl of emotions that were strongly etched on his handsome face - shock, bewilderment; disbelief. He wondered what Vashtara was thinking, but the smoothness of her golden mask hid whatever she was feeling behind its impenetrable facade.
Finally, after a long moment, the Queen nodded, carefully hiding her true feelings, not only with her mask, but also with the placidity of her words. “I will do what is necessary for the benefit of my people, if this is the only way…”
Alan felt a mixture of relief and shock: relief that he could avoid death, but shock at what he’d have to do to escape it. Arranged marriages had once been the norm in many of Earth’s cultures, but the young man was a product of 22nd century society. Such an agreement was an anachronism to him. Vashtara was a beautiful girl, and he was attracted to her, but what was she really like as a person? From such a brief acquaintance it was impossible for him to tell. Would it be a marriage made in heaven, or in hell?
All eyes in the room were now upon Alan. The young man felt the weight of their intense gaze. He thought of the millions who would die without bastal. Humanity desperately needed the cancer cure. Earth had been struck by a huge swarm of highly radioactive meteors, which had contaminated large areas of the Northern Hemisphere and thus caused an epidemic of the dread disease. A diplomatic incident had to be avoided at all costs in order to secure a supply of the bastal extract. To further complicate matters, there were hawkish bigots in the Earth Government opposed to an agreement with Indu’s people, whom they wrongly considered unreliable and savage primitives. His execution would play right into the hands of these colonialists, who would advocate for a military solution, and thus cause additional problems that Earth and Indu could ill afford.
The young man’s resolve firmed. He, too, had to do what was necessary to serve the greater good, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness through what might prove to be loveless wedlock. “If Queen Vashtara consents to the marriage, then so do I,” he firmly announced.
And thus, within hours of the attack, after all signs of the assassination attempt had been cleared away and an investigation launched by Kothura, head of palace security; Uxnor, the High Priestess of Quom was summoned, and a hasty wedding ceremony commenced. The marriage rites were conducted at twilight in a luxuriant walled temple-garden, surrounded by the flickering glow of oil lamps and the scent of exotic flowers, whose vulvaform blooms represented the fecundity of Indu’s fertility goddess.
The air vibrated with the strange and ancient chant of the sub-priestesses as they knelt before the erotic and voluptuous idol of Quom, earnestly praying for the divinity’s blessing of the marriage. Uxnor’s voice, youthful despite her age, reverberated through the walled temple-garden as she solemnly recited the sacred benediction binding Vashtara and Alan together in the presence of the assembled nobles. In a gift-ritual of symbolic meaning, the Queen removed an ornate hairpin from her elaborate coiffure, a personal item and embodiment of their intertwining destiny. In exchange for this present, Alan presented her with his communicator, a ring-like device and, as with her offering, a sign of his commitment to their union.
As night fell over Indu, Alan’s emotions were a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. The newly-wed couple, still largely strangers to one another, had retired to the royal bedchamber, the sanctuary designed for privacy and intimacy. Vashtara removed her golden mask and laid it on a taboret beside the low square bed. She turned to face Alan, and he was surprised to see the sternness of her demeanour, the warmth she had previously shown towards him for having saved her now entirely absent.
“I consented to the marriage for the benefit of my people, and only that,” she firmly announced. “I do not love you. This marriage is entirely political. You may have sex with me because it is necessary to consummate our union. But after that, and may the deed be quickly done, do not touch me. I will arrange for Nari, one of my youthful serving maids, to discreetly satisfy your needs.”
Alan looked as shocked as he felt. He was attracted to Vashtara, despite the fact that she was largely an unknown. When she had agreed to the marriage, the young man had thought her consent involved everything their union implied - that it was all-encompassing. Clearly, his assumptions were completely and utterly wrong.
“I’m sorry,” he said, clearly upset. “I didn’t realise you felt this way. I … I cannot possibly make love to you now, feeling as you do - that it would be an onerous and unwelcome duty. It would be too much like rape.”
The hardness of the Queen’s expression softened a little upon hearing these insightful words. But, before she could respond, the balcony’s curtains stirred, and from behind the heavy drapes sprang two cultists, their movements as swift and deadly as leaping tigers, crazed eyes glinting evilly in the lamplight.
Vashtara screamed. Alan spun round, but too late. Taken by surprise, he failed to block the flying kick that slammed against his jaw with brutal force; the sudden and unexpected blow swiftly sending him spiralling into utter darkness…
**********
Alan groaned and opened his eyes. He was lucky to be alive. By rights the blow should have snapped his neck, or at the very least broken his jaw and shattered his teeth. The only explanation he could think of was that he had unconsciously stepped back, and so had avoided receiving the full force of the blow. But his relief at merely having sustained a bad and painful bruise was short-lived. The room had fallen eerily silent. He was surrounded, not by foes, but by an oppressive darkness. Panic gripped the young man as he scanned the chamber and found no sign of Vashtara. The cultists had taken her, leaving him for dead in their haste to spirit her away. Dread filled Alan’s heart as understanding crashed upon him - he knew this was a betrayal from within the very heart of the royal residence.
He had overheard some guards speculating that members of the cult might have infiltrated the palace, their cunning words and golden bribes corrupting both warriors and servants. Indeed, to Alan, it seemed the only explanation for how the fanatics could have breached security. But apart from this, not much was known about the secretive sect in terms of their rituals or the location of their shrine, or even if they had one. Occasionally, a member was seen in the market square, heaping vitriol on the ‘polluting presence’ of the humans whose first contact with Indu had occurred about four years ago, the cult arising shortly thereafter.
With urgency driving him, and these thoughts in his mind, Alan grimly reached for a device on his utility belt and activated the tracer, as it was called. A soft ping sounded as the instrument located the communicator he’d given Vashtara as part of the marriage ceremony. The Queen’s unmistakable frequency pulsed like a faint heartbeat, and Alan thanked providence that she’d slipped the ring-like instrument onto her finger and kept it there. A directional arrow appeared on the tracer’s screen. It would guide him unerringly towards whatever hidden lair the mad cultists had dragged her to. He exited the bedchamber, knowing he must go alone, for in the light of these devilish events he was uncertain of whom he could trust.
Alan emerged into the midnight shadows, steeling himself against what lay ahead. Corridors were suspiciously free of guards as he moved swiftly and silently through the sprawling building. The tracer led him deeper into the slumbering palace, his nerves jittery with the urgency of his desperate mission. He descended age-worn stairs into a confusing maze of interconnected cellars, the light of the oil lamp he had found pushing back the inky darkness. Finally, he arrived at a blank wall. There was no doorway - a dead end, apparently. And yet the tracer indicated the nearness of Vashtara.
Alan’s eyes and hands moved with swift determination over the wall. He wasn’t giving up. Vashtara’s life depended on his success. There must be a secret way, a hidden catch. Finally, a section of stone, with a faint click, gave beneath his urgent sweating touch and thus he breached the secret chamber hidden beneath the palace.
Extinguishing the lamp lest its glow betray him, Alan stealthily crept into the enormous subterranean chamber, his entire being keyed to fight without restraint. In the shadowed distance he saw a pool of crimson firelight that disclosed a shocking scene: A hideous statue, horned like a devil and as warty as a toad, squatted in the brooding darkness. Its fanged mouth gaped wide and in its terrible maw leapt tongues of leaping flame whose lurid glow disclosed an ancient altar, its sinister form stained with blood from brutal sacrifices.
Fear twisted in Alan’s guts like a disembowelling blade. He barely managed to stifle the gasp of horror that welled up in his throat, for on the altar, cruelly bound and struggling, her frightened cries stifled by a gag, lay Vashtara, legs and arms spread wide.
Hooded cultists, three in all, loomed over her as she writhed in utter terror. The sinister figures were chanting in a language so sibilant it sounded to the appalled Earthman like a nest of writhing serpents spitting venom. The eerie cantillate reached its dark vertex, then silence fell with the suddenness of a dropping guillotine.
The leader of the cult drew forth a curved dagger from his black robe and stared hot hatred at the writhing girl. “A swift death is too good for a disgusting creature such as you,” he snarled. “You consort with foul humans who seek to pollute our culture with foreign ideas, and if that was not bad enough you consent to marry one and let his polluting touch degrade your sacred person. You are no longer fit to be our queen,” he furiously concluded as he raised his dagger in brutal preparation to kill the teenager.
Alan broke free of the horror ensnaring him. Dashing forward, he hurled the lamp with all his might. It struck the armed cultist as his blade swept down. The man reeled back, his dagger clattering harmlessly to the floor. With martial prowess and savage fury as his allies, Alan sprang swiftly into violent action, unleashing all the kung fu skills he’d honed through years of hard training.
The first cultist went down before his rage - a flurry of kicks and punches sent the fiend crashing lifeless to the floor. The second swiftly followed as he tried to flee. But the leader, the man felled by Alan’s lamp, rose up and proved a far more formidable opponent. The fiend snatched up his knife and came at Alan in a tempest of uninhibited savagery. Their fight was fierce, a deadly whirl of slashing cuts and savage thrusts - a battle whose brutality was far greater than the fury of before.
Alan, hard-pressed, his body covered by a shallow tracery of bleeding cuts, was backed against the horrid idol. Sensing victory, his savage foe came at him with a wild yell. Vashtara watched in helpless horror as the cultist’s knife swept down in a swiftly glinting arc. The attack was fast and furious, but Alan was swifter than his vile foe. The young man quickly leapt aside and kicked the rabid killer in the knee. Bone shattered. The cultist screamed. He crashed upon the floor, his dagger skittering away. Alan swiftly stomped on his downed opponent’s neck. The sickening snap of breaking vertebrae echoed in the room. And thus his wicked foe was instantly demised.
Assured the man was dead, Alan turned from the bloody body lying at his feet and hurried to Vashtara, swiftly freeing her from the cruelty of the stifling gag and the biting chains that bound her tightly to the horrid altar. Weeping with relief, she came into Alan’s arms and he held her tightly in his warm and comforting embrace. The thought of how close he had come to losing her was truly frightening, and now he knew his feelings for the girl were much deeper than mere infatuation.
After a time she settled and in the aftermath, they looked into one another’s eyes, relief washing over them like warm sunlight breaking through dark storm clouds. The immediate danger had passed, but a mystery yet remained - the identity of the murderous fanatics.
Vashtara, grim-faced, looked at the bodies strewn upon the floor. “We must discover who they are.” she quietly but resolutely said.
“Are you sure you want to do this now?” asked Alan with concern.
“I’ve sufficiently recovered to undertake this unpleasant task," decisively replied the Queen as she stood.
As they removed the hoods from the fallen, Alan's suspicions were confirmed. The leader proved to be Kothura - none other than the commander of the palace guards. Vashtara gasped in shock upon seeing the betrayal. She’d trusted him completely, as had her beloved father, who had passed away some months ago. It was base treachery deeper than mere words could adequately convey.
**********
Hours later, with the palace secured by loyal guards, Alan and Vashtara were once again in their bedchamber. The Queen watched the young man thoughtfully as he moved about the room, carefully making sure it was secure and free of hidden danger.
“Why did you imperil your life for me?” "She suddenly asked, “especially when I rejected you so bluntly. Was it purely for the benefit of your people?”
Alan turned to her, his face free from guile as he spoke. “That wasn’t the compelling force,” he sincerely replied. “When I first saw your face my heart was touched by more than just your beauty. And when I saw you bound and helpless upon that bloodstained altar, about to be brutally murdered, it was then that I realised my feelings for you were far greater than mere infatuation. Even though you do not love me I love you, and I would gladly risk my life for you again."
“That is what I wanted to hear,” she said as she removed her mask, no longer a powerful queen, but a shy virgin made nervous by her inexperience. “I … I feel differently now, knowing that you desire me for more than what I can do for your people. Perhaps the consummation of our marriage will not be as onerous as I feared.” She nervously lowered her eyes. “I’ve never had a man inside me. You will be the first.”
Alan gently took her hand, sensing her understandable anxiety. “All will be well,” he said, his reassuring smile soothing her, for she had feared he would pounce upon her with all the wildness of a rutting beast. “Let me show you the way.”
He kissed her lightly, tenderly, not wishing to frighten her. Vashtara responded slowly, her passion steadily rising, desire overcoming her nervous hesitation. Alan created a trail of kisses down her neck, along her small firm breasts. She moaned as he caressed her areola with the warmth of his tongue. He felt her prominent nipple stiffen between his skilful lips. His hand slowly slid down her belly and between her thighs. Vashtara tensed a little, then gasped in pleasure as he began to enticingly stroke her. She relaxed and raised her leg, placing her foot upon the bed to give him better access to her wondrous womanhood. His fingers slid gently into her yielding body. Her slit was warm and wet as she clung to him, trembling with desire as he carefully stretched her virgin tightness.
Vashtara’s knees grew weak with pleasure, and Alan eased her onto the bed. He quickly removed his clothes and the Queen’s eyes widened. She gasped nervously at the size of his erection. He lay down beside her, reassuring her with encouragement and gentle words. She moaned as his tongue glided into her cleft. Vashtara spread her thighs in gasping eagerness. She pressed his face into her fragrant loins as the intensity of her pleasure mounted. She cried out as she climaxed. Her body arched convulsively.
Alan kissed her breasts, her neck, her face. She felt him carefully enter her, felt her slit being slowly filled by the length and thickness of his rigid shaft. The moonlit room was quiet but for the couple's heavy breathing. Alan increased the vigour of his thrusts. Vashtara clung to him, her nails digging into his back. She screamed. Her body shuddered, went limp. Alan groaned as he also climaxed explosively, filling her with the warm essence of his passion…
Vashtara snuggled up to Alan, the afterglow of their lovemaking still upon her. “I think you will be pleased to know that I shan't be employing Nari, my handmaiden, as a substitute,” she said with a well-satisfied smile.
Alan grinned. “No one could possibly be a substitute for you.”
In that moment both knew that their marriage, born out of violence, had become more than just a political necessity; it was a union of love, affection and passion. But neither was naive - both knew that difficulties lay ahead. The Cult of Sethin had suffered a serious setback. But undoubtedly, surviving fanatics still lurked in the shadows. And then there were the challenges of establishing the bastal plantation and dealing with the crisis on Earth.
“In this world, amidst all its troubles, let’s find strength in one another,” Alan whispered, sensing her thoughts as he wrapped her in his tender embrace.
Vashtara smiled, her soul infused with happiness and love. “Together,” she murmured, “we will craft a better future for both our people.”
And so, under the starlit sky of Khem, where the destiny of two worlds entwined, Alan and Vashtara forged a bond of trust and passion, knowing together they would face whatever trials awaited them, both as representatives of their respective cultures and as partners bound by enduring love, and the promise of a future better than the past.
THE END
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