World of the Crystal Tablet

James Abraham Carter

1. The Crystal Tablet

The rain that fell over the Institute of Antiquities in Bloomsbury that October was more mist than storm, a fine, grey veil that turned the cobblestones of the courtyard into slick basalt. Inside the mahogany-lined reading room, the university’s newest acquisition rested on an oak table, ancient and enigmatic, its secrets guarded by antiquity. It was a tablet carved from rock crystal so clear that the wan light coming through the windows fractured inside it, throwing prismatic shards onto the weighty archaeological tombs piled around it.

William Thorpe leaned over the crystal tablet, his fingers trembling with excitement, and his face alive with child-like wonder. He was a twentyfouryear-old graduate student with a particular predilection for the Babylonian mythic poetry of the Enuma Elišand the pragmatic bureaucracy of the Law Code of Hammurabi. Yet this object—made not from baked clay but from lucid quartz—was an enigma in the very foundation of his scholarly certainty.

“The crystal came from the lower levels of Uruk’s royal archive,” the curator, Professor Mallory, had stated when he placed the tablet on the table. “It was encased in bitumen, as if someone wanted to keep the light from shining on it. No one in the department has ever seen anything like this.”

William turned the palm-size crystal over in his hands. The cuneiform was immaculate. Each wedge-shaped, gold-inlaid symbol was carefully delineated, as if a master craftsman had used all the skills of a gem cutter to create it, so fine was the wondrous workmanship. He traced the first line with his thumb, feeling the flawless smoothness beneath his questing touch.

The inscription appeared to begin with an invocation to Nabu, the god of wisdom. It then seemed to describe a “gate of light” and a “journey beyond the firmament.” The last line was a litany of words in an ancient script that seemed to glow under his gaze and could be interpreted loosely as “the passage of the mortal to the realm beyond is assured.” Was this a magic formula to guarantee the soul’s transition to the afterlife? At the moment, he couldn’t be sure.

He spent the next three days hunched over the tablet, with books on Babylonian linguistics piled around him. By the time his eyes finally rested on the complete translation of the final phrase, a strange cadence filled his wondering mind—a  chant written by an unknown man six thousand years ago, his words carrying across the span of ages to the present.

William stood, the crystal tingling strangely against his palm. “I wonder what it sounds like when read aloud,” he muttered, and with a voice that had never once been used in any kind of prayer, he spoke, savouring the sounds of the ancient language as its archaic words rolled smoothly off his tongue.

“By the light that splits the void, by the breath of Nabu, I summon the path to the realm beyond. Open, O gate, and let the seeker cross.”

A flash of white light—blinding, pure, as if the sun itself had been torn from the sky and thrust into the room—burst from the crystal. A great roar, like a rushing wind, erupted. William felt his body dissolve into a thousand shards, as if he was a mirror being shattered in a gale, and then, as abruptly as it began, everything fell utterly silent.

2. The Plain of Silver Ferns

When he opened his eyes, the world was not the familiar, mahogany-lined walls and soft gray carpet of the Institute. Instead, a horizon of silvery, fern-like vegetation stretched in every direction, each frond catching a strange azure light that emanated from a sky painted with the luminosity of a single blue sun. The light fell through a tapestry of clouds in thin, elongated beams, turning the whole landscape into a dream of sunlight and shadow.

William lay on his back, the crystal now a dull, stone-gray mass at his side, its strange occult energy completely spent. He rose, his limbs trembling, and scanned the terrain with open-mouthed shock. In the distance, a city rose from the earth, bleak and ominous; its walls were a massive rampart of dark stone, reinforced by huge towers that disappeared into a low, cloudy haze.

A thundering sound rose behind him—a cadence of hooves, but not the hooves of any beast he knew. He turned, heart beating against his ribs, and saw six enormous creatures charging across the ferned terrain. Their bodies were lithe as greyhounds, covered in olive-scaled hide that glimmered like wet metal. Their heads bore small, curving horns, and from their shoulders and hindquarters sprouted powerful legs ending in cloven hooves that struck the ground with a sound like drums.

Upon each beast rode a warrior of terrifying stature. Their skin was smooth, dark gray, hairless, and glistening, as if lacquered. Feline features—high cheekbones, slitted eyes, gave them a predatory aspect, which was accentuated by armor of hardened leather reinforced with iron plates that caught the sun’s strange light and threw it back in glints.

The border patrol closed in and surrounded William, forming a tight, moving circle. Their eyes, amber and unblinking, raked over him, coldly calculating his worth. Their leader, a man whose stature seemed to dwarf even the tallest eknari, the name of the weird creatures they rode, raised a hand. The beasts halted, their heads swaying sinisterly like serpents.

“Slave,” the leader’s voice was a guttural rasp, “from a far world, it seems. Bring him to Danth.”

William’s mind swirled with every fable he’d dismissed as baseless myth—the trolls of legend, worlds within worlds, and the promise of a hidden realm. The warriors’ words were unintelligible, but the tone conveyed the threat. He raised his hands instinctively, but the humanoids sprang from their weird mounts and seized him roughly, binding his wrists with a rope woven of black fiber, which was then tied to the saddle horn of the leader’s hissing eknari.

Thus secured, he was forced to march toward the grim city, a helpless captive. They passed beneath the arch of its massive gate and down streets paved with granite, past towering statues of stern, stone faces that watched his every step. The city of Danth was a warren of narrow alleys and massive, vaulted buildings; the air was thick with the smell of pungent incense being burnt before many small shrines to innumerable gods. At a noisy market square, William, still too shocked to fully process what was happening to him, was thrust onto a huge stone platform. His eyes scanned the crowd of Kaag, the generic name these people called themselves. The faces of the passers-by were as grim as the city around them.

A group soon gathered to gawk at him, pointing and commenting on his peculiar appearance as if he were an exotic animal in a zoo. A well-dressed Kaag with vulpine features barked an offer for the strange chattel, and the scarred slave merchant—his voice a hiss—sold William to the functionary of King Astak, ruler of Danth, for a handful of large triangular copper coins, a portion of which would go to the warriors who had captured him.

3. The Girl with Butterfly Wings

Astak’s palace rose at the city’s centre, a monolith of black stone that seemed to drink the sun’s light. Its interior was a maze of polished corridors, lit by braziers burning with crimson flames. It was there that William was led, bound, to a small, dimly lit chamber. The guards departed, and William was left wondering what his fate would be. The Earthman’s speculations were interrupted when a being, clad only in a brief loincloth, fluttered into the room through the doorway that gave access to a courtyard garden.

The girl, for that was what she clearly was, was a creature from the very myths he had studied. At three feet two inches, she was slight, almost insubstantial, but as perfectly proportioned as a human woman. Her skin was the color of cinnamon, and her head was covered with short hair as glossy as a raven’s wing. Her amber eyes were alive with a quiet intelligence. But most astonishing of all were the two delicate wings—much like those of a butterfly in shape and colour—that enabled her to fly. She landed gracefully on her feet. Her wings crumpled as the natural hydraulic fluid in their veins, which kept them rigid, was withdrawn. Now, a fraction of their former size, they were retracted into a vulva-shaped structure on her back that ran from her shoulders to her waist.

“My name is Tayanthi,” she said, her voice lilting like wind chimes. “I am of the Nisru people, the caretakers of knowledge.” Her head tilted slightly, like a bird, as she gazed at him. “Clearly, you are not from this planet.”

She approached the bound Earthman, her fingers gentle as she untied the rope around his wrists. “You will learn Oron, the tongue of all who walk Raxan, our world. In time, you will understand why you are here, for all things have a purpose.”

William didn’t comprehend a word she said, but her voice had a gentle tone, and this, along with her kind disposition, reassured him more than anything else, that she posed no danger to him. He wondered why she was so different from his brutish captors.

The weeks that followed were intense. Tayanthi taught William the flowing syllables of Oron, a tonal language of intricate complexity, its vowels rising and falling in subtle variations. The Earthman proved to be a fast learner. With each lesson, William’s mind opened to the history of Raxan: a world divided between the warlike Kaag, who ruled by force, and the peaceful Nisru, who valued learning above all else.

He learned that Danth was a Kaag stronghold, a city built on oppression, while the Nisru lived scattered across the savannah of silver ferns in fortified enclaves. The Zor enclave—Tayanthi’s home—sat atop a hill; its walls formed a high circle of dark stone like Danth’s, but its culture was gentler, more refined, and more in keeping with the meditations of a scholar.

When William wasn’t learning, he performed the menial duties of a palace slave, fetching this and carrying that. But the worst wasn’t this manual labor. King Astak’s hobby was collecting curios - exotic artifacts from far lands, rare gemstones, and other oddities. The Earthman had become part of this collection and was paraded completely naked before visiting dignitaries for their entertainment and amusement. It was humiliating, being treated like a freak in a sideshow, but he bore it with all the quiet stoicism he could muster.

One evening, as the twin moons of Raxan rose—one a pale pearl, the other a deep violet—Tayanthi spread a map of her world upon the low table in her room. She traced a line with a bone stylus, stopping at a circle marked “Zor” in the angular script of the region.

“My father, Alphon, is the ruler of Zor,” she said, her expression alternating between pride and sorrow. “I was captured while bathing at the sacred spring, part of the rites that bind me to Vakas, Prince of Len. He is my betrothed; the marriage is a pact that secures an alliance between our peoples.”

William felt a cold knot tighten in his chest. He had fallen for her, heart and mind enchanted by her charming nature, the soft cadence of her laughter, and the way her wings caught the light when she flew in the courtyard to exercise her muscles. The knowledge that she was promised to another cut deeper than a tiger’s rending claws.

He swallowed his turmoil. It was evident that she longed to return to her people. Being a valuable prisoner, she wasn’t being mistreated. However, just the other evening, Astak came to stare at her as she was teaching him, and the hungry look in the cruel king’s eyes was a sign that things might quickly change. If the map was accurate, then Zor was fairly close. Now he had a destination. He offered, “Let us flee. I can help you return to Zor, away from Astak’s grasp.”

Tayanthi’s eyes hardened. “No, William. I am a hostage. My father must pay tribute. If I fly away, Astak will lay siege to Zor. My people will suffer greatly for my freedom.”

“Your people are already suffering. I have seen enough of Astak to know of his rapacity. His lust for wealth will eventually empty your father’s coffers, impoverishing your city,” William protested, his voice rising. “Better to die fighting for freedom than to live as slaves with the boot of a tyrant on your throat.”

“Your words imply cowardice,” she snapped, the accusation harsh as a whipcrack. “The Nisru are not craven weaklings, and neither is my father; we choose our battles wisely.”

She threw the map aside, turning her back on him. “Leave me,” she imperiously commanded.

William left the room, his boots slapping on the stone as he retreated into a courtyard where the night’s chill settled like a thin veil. He paced, the weight of his own words pressing against his conscience. He cursed his foolish tongue. By incautious speech, he had inadvertently offended the woman he loved. He had to apologize. Even if she didn’t love him, he still desired her friendship, at the very least.

He returned, his heart pounding, wondering if she would accept his apology and forgive him, only to find the door to her room ajar. Through the crack, a sound—soft, muffled—reached his ears. He slipped inside, and the scene before him turned his blood to ice.

Tayanthi was stripped, her lithe body bound, her hands tied behind her back. She squatted on a stool, her amber eyes pleading, as Astak—his gaunt, cruel face illuminated by torchlight—pressed a dagger to her throat. Arrogant and overconfident, the king had come alone to his helpless captive’s room. His breath was a low, hissing laugh as he pressed his engorged manhood to her trembling lips. “Serve me, child of Zor, and perhaps I will spare your people from destruction.”

4. Escape

Without any fear of danger to himself, William dashed forward. His fist shot out, striking Astak’s skull with a force born of pure rage. The king, engrossed in his depravity and caught off guard, crashed to the floor like a felled tree, his dagger clattering beside him. William seized the fallen blade and, with it, swiftly cut a length of cord from a wallhanging, looped it around Astak’s wrists, and quickly bound the monarch. He then took a pitcher of water from a table and emptied it over Astak’s head, reviving him.

“Obey me,” William hissed at the spluttering king. “Cooperate, or you will die here and now.” Then he turned to Tayanthi. “You can’t stay here. Not after this,” he said as he cut her bonds. “I’m certain neither your father nor your people would want you to be abused by this monster. Come with me.”

Tayanthi’s eyes were wide, with tears trickling down her cheeks. The terrible experience had changed her mind, as had his words, and she grasped the opportunity for salvation he was offering. The girl nodded as she donned her loincloth. Her breath came in panting gasps, and her wings, which had unfurled in terror, trembled with panic.

The king, no longer dazed, uttered a wild and desperate shout for help. William pressed his blade to Astak’s throat, the steel flashing in the torchlight. “Silence,” he hissed. “You will take us to the stables. I will release you unharmed when we are far from the city. But if you resist, if your warriors attempt to stop us, then I will end your life.”

The king, prudence overruling pride, snarled, “Very well. You have the upper hand… for now.”

A guard burst into the chamber, sword drawn, attracted by Astak’s wild shout. But William held the monarch’s tense form in front of him, using the bound king as a shield. The guard faltered; his eyes were fixed on the dagger pressed against his ruler’s throat, caught between conflicting urges: to attack, but fearful of endangering his monarch’s life.

The king ground out a bitter command: “Sheathe your blade. Let them pass, and give this order to the other guards.”

The warrior swiftly departed. William and Tayanthi waited for the guard to spread the king’s command, and then stepped out into the dim corridor. The palace was alive with the sound of clanking armor and tramping feet. But the warriors fell back as the escapees advanced, with the captive king held before them like a protective talisman. In the shadows, watchful eyes glinted - hard-faced guards who would spring upon them like raging lions in an instant if they let their guard elapse.

It was a tense and fraught journey as they threaded the menacing gauntlet of their wolfish foes, but at last they reached the stables unimpeded—a cavernous building where the eknari rested, their bodies breathing peacefully in sleep. William bound the glowering Astak to a post so he couldn’t flee. The Earthman, who had experience in horse riding, saddled a massive beast with shimmering scales of forest green. He then forced the king to mount and bound his wrists to the saddle horn. William seized and saddled another creature; its body was strong and swift. He mounted, and Tayanthi climbed up behind him.

They rode from the stables, the reins of the king’s eknari looped around the Earthman’s saddle horn. From here, they cantered onto the main thoroughfare of Danth, which was deserted at this late hour. The gates of the bleak city loomed ahead, the iron bands on its thick timbers glinting in the twin moons’ light. William spurred his eknari forward, the creature’s hooves striking the cobbles with an echoing clatter. Astak, his face grim and his mind seething with schemes of black revenge, clutched the saddle horn, helpless for the moment.

A dozen guards scrambled from the gatehouse to stop them, spears raised, but William pulled Astak’s mount close to his and held the dagger’s point against the king’s pulsing jugular. “Open the gates. Let us pass,” he demanded, his voice commanding.

The helpless ruler of Danth nodded; his order was bitter as acid on his tongue. “Do as he says!” He barked, and the guards, fearing their master’s wrath, hauled the gates wide to let the trio pass. They burst through the massive portal into freedom, the city walls receding rapidly behind them as the eknari thundered across the plain of silver ferns. The wind whipped past them, carrying the scent of distant rain and the faint cries of unseen nocturnal creatures.

They rode through the velvet night, Tayanthi guiding them by the stars until the blue sun began to rise, casting long shadows across a landscape of low hills. William called a halt to rest from their gruelling journey, and it was then that the king made his move. Astak, his bonds loosened by his own relentless struggle, broke free. With a cry of triumph, he vaulted back into the saddle. With a kick of his heels, his sturdy mount was off, carrying him back toward Danth at breakneck speed. His silhouette, a dark streak against the rising sun, grew ever smaller with each pounding hoofbeat.

William stared at the king’s shrinking figure, realizing the futility of attempting to pursue. He turned his gaze forward, toward the direction where Zor’s spires and sanctuary waited.

5. Attack of the Varth

The way to Zor was not without its dangers. The silver ferns grew denser, their fronds rustling in the breeze like soft whispers. Long eyestalks rose above the plants, and the oculars at their tips watched the riders with sinister intent. The eknari hissed. It released a repellent scent from its fetlock glands, and the hidden menace slid silently away. An hour passed. The sky dimmed as clouds gathered, the blue sun turning an ominous violet. It began to rain slowly, then heavily. Suddenly, a shadow swooped from the thunderclouds—a varth, a creature of nightmare with leathery brown wings spanning twelve feet, talons like billhooks, and a maw filled with rows of serrated teeth.

It descended; its shriek was a banshee’s wail that made the eknari rear wildly. William’s heart hammered as he glanced up; the creature plummeted with the speed of a diving falcon, hurtling at them like a dive bomber.

The Earthman pulled his frightened mount around and hurled his dagger with every ounce of strength he possessed. The blade sped through the air. It struck the varth’s neck, penetrating the thin membrane that stretched across its throat. The beast gurgled, its wings flailing. It shot above their heads in a narrow miss and crashed into the hard earth mere feet from its would-be prey.

The Eknari rolled its eyes in wild terror. It reared again, more violently, throwing its riders. William crashed to the ground. Tayanthi fell beside him. Their alien steed bolted as the varth reared up, still full of fight, its toothy beak hideously agape. The Earthman swore. His hand found a rock and tore it from the soil. He hurled it in utter desperation. The speeding mass cracked against the varth’s skull as it lunged. The monster fell. It thrashed madly for a moment, and then lay still in death.

Tayanthi let out the breath she had been holding. “You saved us,” she gasped, her voice shaky from the terrifying experience.

“It was a lucky throw,” William replied truthfully, his eyes scanning the rain-shrouded horizon, looking for their eknari. “But now we’ve lost our mount.”

“I will find it,” replied Tayanthi as she unfurled her wings. “The rain is easing. It is not so heavy that I cannot fly.”

The girl took to the air and vanished into the gloom. William waited anxiously, wondering if he should have let her go. But within half an hour she returned, leading the now docile eknari behind her, much to his considerable relief.

The pair mounted and rode onward; the storm passed, and the sky brightened further as the sun beat down over the plains, its heat drying the travelers and driving the chill from their weary bodies.

6. The City of Zor

A day later, in the late afternoon, Zor rose from its hill like a crown of dark stone. The city walls, thick and fortified, were guarded by Nisru archers whose arrows were coated with a deadly poison. As William and his companion approached the gates, the guards recognized Tayanthi instantly. Their faces broke into smiles, and they lowered their weapons, escorting the pair through the massive archway into the city and along its main avenue, at whose end was the palace of the king. The walls of Zor were grim, but within the city all was light and airy. Zor’s buildings were graceful and well-proportioned, and its broad streets were lined with flowering trees. It was not at all like dark and brooding Danth. 

They entered the regal palace and walked into the stately throne room near the grand entrance. A guard had gone ahead, and Alphon, a noble figure with a crown formed from woven vines of gold, waited expectantly for their arrival. Upon their entrance, the king leaped from his marble throne. He ran forward and embraced his daughter with a fierce, protective strength, tears glimmering in his eyes.

“My daughter,” he said, his voice trembling with high emotion, “you have returned.”

But the joyous moment was soured by another presence. Tayanthi’s fiancee Vakas, Prince of Len, stepped out of the shadow of an ornamental pillar. His scrawny frame tensed as he laid hard eyes on the towering, broad-shouldered Earthman, noting how William looked longingly at Tayanthi in an unguarded moment, with his hidden feelings clearly showing on his face.

“Who is this hulking brute?” Snapped the prince, who had stayed in Zor in the hope of Tayanthi’s return.

Alphon looked up, his eyes widening as he gazed at William. Before, the king had been so focused on his daughter that the Earthman’s presence and strange appearance hadn’t fully registered on his senses.

“What… what is this?” He gasped as he stepped back in alarm.

“Father, this is William,” said Tayanthi quickly. “He is a friend.” Then she turned to her betrothed, speaking sharply. “Vakis, this man saved my life. Without his help, I wouldn’t have escaped the cruel clutches of King Astak and other menaces along the way.”

She then elaborated at length and in detail on how William had accomplished the seemingly impossible. Vakas’s jealousy grew as the tale of their adventures and narrow escapes unfolded until he could no longer contain his bitter fury at not being the centre of his fiancee’s glowing admiration.

“Enough,” he hotly cried. “Are all of you blind to danger?” He thrust an accusatory finger at William. “This hulking brute attacked Astak. The bloodthirsty King of Danth will want revenge. Best we turn him over to the monarch to prevent his rage from falling on our heads.”

Alphon gazed at Vakis with angry, disgusted disapproval. “I will not reward the man who saved my daughter with foul treachery,” he firmly replied. “You may be a prince, Vakis, but your suggestion is far from noble.”

“But…”

“Enough, Vakis. You have insulted me with this base suggestion, and degraded yourself as well. I see now that you are not fit to marry my daughter. Leave my city immediately. Do not force me to boot you out the gate.”

Vakis glared at William. He bowed stiffly to the king, and then swept from the room in high fury, darkly muttering imprecations as he went. The biggest injury to his pride, however, was the fact that Tayanthi hadn’t objected to him being dismissed. But as the fuming prince stalked out the door, a messenger rushed in, his face deeply lined with frantic worry.

“Your majesty,” the man panted, gasping from his sprint. “The watchtower lookouts… have spotted a huge army moving toward Zor. They fly the yellow pennants of Danth… King Astak has come in full force… to attack.”

7. Under Seige

William stood on the city’s walls, gazing worriedly at the impressive size of the approaching army. He now knew how King Astak’s forces had arrived so quickly. Hundreds of huge wagons were strung out across the plain, each conveyance packed with many warriors. The wagons were being swiftly drawn by tassam - giant beasts that roughly resembled elephants. The creatures had two trunks and fox-like ears. Their gray-green hides were covered in scales similar to those of a crocodile. Even from this distance, the bellows of the tassam and the rattle of many wagons could be heard. Plumes of dust from the convoy’s passage rose high into the air.

Moving shadows drew the Earthman’s gaze from the scene. He looked up and saw a flight of Zoran warriors pass overhead, their wings beating rapidly as they raced to engage the enemy in deadly combat. They looked frail when compared to the might arrayed against them, and something of his thoughts must have shown upon his face, for Tayanthi, who stood next to him, spoke up.

“We have the advantage of flight, but we cannot carry heavy items. Our bows are not powerful, and our arrows are light, but they are envenomed with a deadly poison. The slightest scratch can kill. But the Danthians also have advantages. Their bows are far more powerful, so we must fly high to avoid their arrows, but this reduces the accuracy of our archers. In close-quarters combat, because of their size and strength, we have little chance against them. So long as they do not breach our stout walls, we will be safe.”

**********

It was now late evening. Astak’s army had encircled Zor. The city’s defenders had rained down a storm of poison arrows upon the enemy. But the Danthians had considerably improved their armor, and not many were slain by the envenomed projectiles. In the morning, the foe would begin the process of felling trees for the construction of a siege tower. It would take some time because the savannah didn’t have much in the way of suitable timber. Astak, however, was determined, and the task would eventually be accomplished.

These were the thoughts passing through the minds of William, Tayanthi, and Alphon as they sat in the palace’s meeting room with the other nobles, discussing how best to defend the city. Alphon had just risen to address the group when a dozen Danthian warriors burst into the chamber, with King Astak in the lead and Prince Vakis at his side.

The room erupted into consternation. Zoran nobles leapt to their feet. Chairs overturned and swords rasped from scabbards, but it was too late. The towering enemy warriors had swiftly surrounded them with a ring of deadly steel.

Alphon glared at Vakis with undisguised hate. It was clear to him what had happened. The prince, unable to escape the city due to the siege, had betrayed the Zorans to save his life and get revenge. Signalling with a lamp, he had made a deal with King Astak and let his commandos into the city through a postern gate. From there, they made their way through dark back alleys, avoiding the patrols. Arriving at a lightly guarded part of the palace, the raiders had swiftly overcome the sentries and thus penetrated the building’s defenses.

“You cowardly traitor, you treacherous guest,” spat Alphon with all the venom of a hissing cobra. “You have used your knowledge of my city and my palace to the advantage of the enemy.”

Vakis ignored him. The prince turned to Astak. “I have kept my part of the bargain,” he said. “And now I claim my reward - the rulership of Zor, and Tayanthi as my wife.”

Tayanthi gasped in shock. “I’ll never marry the betrayer of my father and my people,” she hotly cried. “Vakis, you are nothing but the lowest of the low.”

Astak laughed. “She has no use for you,” he said as he raised his sword. “And now that you have served your purpose, neither do I.”

Vakis stepped back, with a look of horror on his pale face. His shrill scream of terror was cut off by the swinging blade. His body fell spurting blood and his severed head rolled across the floor. Then Astak gave the order to slay them all.

8. Duel to the Death

William moved as the Danthian warriors menacingly advanced. The fate of Vakis would soon befall them. All was lost unless he acted swiftly.

“Wait,” he shouted, stepping forward. “Astak, I challenge you to personal combat to the death. If I lose, then we all die. But if I slay you, then your army will return to Danth, leaving Zor and its citizens unmolested. Now, are you man enough to fight me?”

Astak’s warriors hesitated. They turned to their king, gazing at him expectantly. In Danthian culture, bravery was a manly virtue, and no king, no matter how competent, would remain a monarch for long if his warriors thought him a coward.

Astak grinned. He looked at William with contempt. The young man was no weakling, but he had neither the height nor the bulging muscles of the king. It was going to be an easy victory, and a pleasure to kill the man who had humiliated him. He turned to one of his warriors. “I accept the challenge and its conditions. Give this fool your sword, and clear a space for us to fight,” he commanded. And then to William: “I look forward to hacking you to death.”

William took the offered blade. Tayanthi ran to him and gripped his arm fiercely. Her eyes were filled with worry. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Astak’s sardonic comment: “Is a fearful woman going to stop our valiant hero?” He sneered.

The Earthman gently disengaged Tayanthi’s hold and stepped out into the middle of the room. His expression was calm and focused. It wasn’t mere bravado. There was more to William than his scholarly demeanour suggested. He was a practitioner of kendo - the art of Japanese fencing. The blade in his hand was heavier than a katana, but it was well balanced, and its hilt was long enough to be wielded with two hands.

Astak roared like a lion. He leapt at the Earthman, his blade swinging in a fearsome stroke filled with confidence. William blocked the wild blow, and the ring of clashing steel quickly filled the room. Tayanthi watched, hands clasped to her breast in frightened consternation. The combatants flying weapons were a blur too fast to follow.

The king’s sword nicked William’s arm. Astak grinned, but the Earthman’s swift counterstroke scored a shallow cut across his cheek and wiped the cruel smile from his face. Astak swore. He came in swinging, his strokes swift and mighty. As William fell back before the wild assault, a terrific blow struck his sword and tore it from his grasp.

Tayanthi screamed in wild fear. William ducked another savage swing. He darted forward. He grabbed Astak behind his knee and heaved with all his strength. The king, caught by surprise, fell heavily upon his back. William pounced on his winded foe. He grabbed the dagger at the monarch’s hip, jerked it from its sheath, and quickly struck. Astak screamed as cold steel pierced his eye and dug deeply in his brain. He convulsed in agony, then went limp in bleak death’s dark embrace.

William climbed off the corpse, breathing hard. Tayanthi rushed into his arms and hugged him tightly. Her eyes were wet with tears of vast relief.

The Danthian warriors looked on. The Earthman observed them with tense wariness, ready to defend. But the squad leader did not order an attack. He spoke, “Our king is dead, slain in honest combat. “Allow us to collect his body, and we will depart.”

William looked deferentially at Alphon. The king spoke. “Take the corpse. My guards will escort you safely to the gates. Go peacefully, and you will not be harmed.”

The chief warrior curtly nodded his assent. They took the body of the king and departed. It was over.

**********

Ten days had passed and normality had returned to Zor. It was evening. William lay upon the sleeping mat, while soft moonlight streamed through the window of the palace suite set aside for him and Tayanthi. The girl had confessed her love for him; her desire was no longer held in check by a sense of duty to marry Prince Vakis for the sake of loveless politics.

King Alphon had readily consented to their nuptials. Having thought he’d lost his daughter to the cruelty of Astak, he now realized there were far more important things than his own ambitions - her happiness chief among them.

The wedding of William and Tayanthi had been a simple affair. The Zorans were not ones for ceremony and ostentation. The ritual had been conducted in the octagonal temple of Isnet - a brief affair of solemn vows before a wizened priest, and the exchange of armbands that served as wedding rings.

William gazed at Tayanthi who lay on top of him, his manhood still deep inside her loins. His wife slept peacefully, with a slight smile on her lips. She had proved both passionate, vigorous, and imaginative. The Earthman reflected on the astonishing things he had experienced. Who made the crystal tablet, and how did it transport him across the depths of space to this distant world? He didn’t know, and probably never would. The old adage that “the universe is not only stranger than we imagine, but stranger than we can imagine,” came to mind.

Again, he looked lovingly upon Tayanthi, and despite all his unanswered questions and the terrible perils he had undergone, he felt that he was a very lucky man.

The End