The Sword Lord (16 page)

He had been overcautious, he knew that now. This morning's inspection had shown that these people possessed nothing more advanced than their simple bows and arrows. He looked to the slave girl, noting that she was young with firm breasts and a slim waist. Her manner was half fearful but her interest in him was undisguised. He felt his manhood begin to harden and turned onto one shoulder to study her more critically.

A Gheddan woman would have been bolder or she would have withdrawn. On his home planet, when a woman wanted a man she let it be known. If she didn't she kept out of his sight. The latter course would not necessarily save her from his attentions, but it was the best chance she might have. This girl could do neither. She did not have the courage to come closer, or the sense to go away. If he took her, he felt that she would be a disappointment, and yet he had a powerful need.

Before he could make up his mind, there was an interruption. Maryam entered with a tray bearing fruit and wine. She spoke a curt word of dismissal to the slave girl, who promptly fled.

Raven watched as Maryam carefully poured the wine. She wore a sari of red silk and a gold lace shawl. One shoulder and part of her waist were bare, and suddenly he wanted to see much more of that warm brown flesh. He smiled, the lazy smile of a man who had suddenly made his decision and was fully confident of his ability to carry it out.

Maryam's hand trembled and a splash of the sweet golden wine spilled onto the tray. She had been instantly aware of the sexual tension that hovered invisible in the room, and they had been the cause of her brief flare of anger toward the slave girl. She had been intuitively jealous, but now she in her turn was afraid for the tensions were still there and were growing stronger.

She handed him the glass, willing herself not to spill any more. She was afraid to fully meet his gaze but in avoiding them her gaze was drawn like the slave girl before her to take in the hard muscles of his beautiful blue body. She too was half fearful, half attracted, and fully fascinated. She felt her heart beat faster. Almost beyond her control, her gaze flickered further down the length of his body, resting on the now definite thrust beneath the chain mail armour at his groin. The crescendo of her heartbeats almost became an explosion.

Raven put down his glass and casually unfastened the last of his constricting armour. He threw it aside, and with a firm hand on each of her shoulders, he drew her down onto the bed where he lay. She came wide-eyed and wide-lipped, but unresisting. The cry of protest that struggled to be born within her throat was smothered and suppressed by a confusion of different reasons. She believed that he was a god and that therefore she was honoured, and that it was his right to take her and her duty to submit. She was also afraid of his power and she did not want her uncles and her brothers to all die on her behalf. She knew that one cry for help would be enough to bring Jahan and a dozen others rushing to her rescue, but she also knew that they could only die in vain.

Stirred in with her belief and her fears were her own pulsing desires, flooding through her in a hot cascade of violent feelings and emotions. Shocking visions of those explicit amorous couples, locked together in stone on the temple walls, tumbled hotly in her mind. She knew what was expected of her and she wanted all of it with all her being. All the restraint and decorum of her royal upbringing was being washed away in the heat of these fateful moments. He was a god, and so nothing could possibly be wrong.

Raven's mouth was hot and fierce on her own moaning lips, and then on her throat, and then, oh ecstasy, on her bared and heaving breasts. Her shawl had disappeared and his practiced hands were deftly unwrapping her sari. To be loved by a god was a priceless gift, beyond the dared hope of any mortal woman, and yet he was about to love her—or at least to take her. The distinction and the doubt caused a flutter of anguish in her mind, to be followed by another thought of such brazen magnitude that she was shocked by her own impious audacity: she would make him love her by loving him with all the woman's arts of which she knew or could imagine.

Raven had expected submission and to slake his own physical needs, but nothing more. Thus, to suddenly find the girl taking an active and eager part in their lovemaking was an added pleasure, and after his initial caresses, he relaxed and allowed her to set the pace. Always a connoisseur, he was intrigued by new techniques and a new planet seemed a likely place to offer new surprises.

He was definitely not disappointed, and when finally they reached the erotic peak of mutual fulfillment, they both cried out aloud. From Raven, it was a laughing shout of lustful triumph, and from Maryam, a rapturous cry of exquisite pain and joy.

Behind the closed door of the next chamber, Thorn listened to the faint but umistakable sounds, his face sullen and brooding as he sprawled back on his own bed. The two slave girls he had used the night before were still with him and one of them dutifully tried to arouse him. Thorn pushed her angrily away. He had found both slave girls tame and boring. A dozen of them together could not add up to one good Gheddan woman.

He heard and recognized Raven's climatic shout and felt pure envy. He knew that Raven was with Maryam and obviously the highborn women on this planet had more fire and spirit than the dullards who had been offered to himself and the others.

Thorn would have liked to try Maryam for himself, but she was to remain inviolate for as long as she retained Raven's interest. However, there was another highborn one. His lascivious thoughts centred on Namita. She was younger, not quite so ripe for plucking, but Thorn enjoyed despoiling virgins and it was just possible that she might be as lively as her sister.

 

 

 

While Raven and Maryam made love, and while Kananda and Zela fought desperately for their lives, the distraught rulers of Karakhor met hastily in secret council. It was a measure of Kara-Rashna's fear and uncertainty that he did not dare to call them together in the high vaulted audience hall, which had too many approaching corridors and access points. Instead they gathered in one of the smaller anterooms in the royal apartments. The king made do with an ordinary cushioned chair in place of his ornate throne. In a half circle before him stood Jahan, his brothers Sanjay and Devan, his sons Rajar and Nirad, and the titular heads of the three great houses of Gandhar, Tilak and Bulsar. There was no one else present. The priests were in such total disarray after the desecration of one of their temples that they were worse than useless. The warriors who guarded the closed and locked door did so from the outside.

“If they are messengers from the gods, then why should they attack a temple to the gods?” Kara-Rashna asked the question in confusion. It seemed to him that his mind was growing feeble in its efforts to wrestle with these startling new events, and that like his body, it was failing him when he needed it most.

“They cut the head from
Shiva
at the temple of
Varuna
,” Sanjay reminded them. “Perhaps this means that these strangers come from
Indra
. Or perhaps there is an even greater god than either
Indra
or
Varuna
—a god as yet undreamed of with power as yet unimagined.”

“A greater god than
Indra.
” The king's mind reeled. “How can this be?”

“We are not priests,” Devan said slowly. “We cannot answer such questions. Not even the priests can answer them.”

“But what does it mean? What must we do?”

Devan shrugged. “I would say that we must face the things that we know as they are. We have as our guests a group of very powerful strangers. Perhaps they are gods—perhaps they are not. All we know is that they are here. They came in a temple from the sky and they possess a power that can melt rock, burn whole forests, and cut the heads from our known gods.”

“Then we must not anger them.”

“No, brother, but we must consider more. We know also that we face an inevitable war with the forces of Maghalla. With these strangers as our allies, our cause is secure. We must befriend them and secure their aid to defeat Maghalla.”

Sanjay frowned, the expression making his face seem even leaner and sharper. Where Devan saw the issues as clear-cut, Sanjay saw deeper into their complexities.

“This course could be dangerous,” he argued. “If the blue-skinned ones are messengers from
Indra
or some mightier god, then their violation of
Varuna's
temple could bring down the vengeance of more messengers from
Varuna
. If we seek their aid in our battle against Maghalla, then it might be that we will find ourselves involved in an even more terrible war between the gods. Such a war would destroy Karakhor more swiftly and with more finality than any conflict with Maghalla.”

The noble heads of Gandhar, Tilak and Bulsar made varying signals of agreement. They would fight if it became necessary, but they were all older men. The fire of youth no longer burned in their blood and so they counselled caution.

Kara-Rashna closed his fist and chewed on his knuckles, something he only did when extremely agitated. He felt that he was receiving good advice from both his brothers, and yet their reasoning conflicted. He finally looked, as always, to his warmaster general.

“Jahan, without Kaseem I have no priest who is wise enough to guess at the ways or intention of the gods, but you have always known what is best in matters of war. What say you? Should we look upon the blue-skinned ones as potential allies against Maghalla? Or should we stay neutral and pray that they will depart without involving us in some greater tragedy?”

It was Jahan's turn to frown. For once in his life he lacked the background information that his carefully created espionage network had always been able to provide. He had been pondering deeply as he listened to the debate between the princes, but now he was thrown back onto nothing more than his own instincts

“Whether they are gods or not, I cannot say. I only know that I cannot wholly trust them until we know what they are and from where they have come and with what intentions. So my counsel is that we watch and wait until we do have some knowledge of these things. Only then can we decide whether we should court their favours.”

“If they are not gods, then what are they?” Gandhar asked helplessly. “Surely they are not mortal men?”

“Whether they are mortal or not, again I cannot say. But last night four of the blue-skinned ones took slave girls to their beds. The slaves reported back directly to me this morning. All the strangers used them exactly as ordinary men would use them, perhaps more crudely and more roughly but in the same way. The strangers all eat, drink and sleep, the same as ordinary men.”

“But they have such fearful power.” The head of the House of Tilak shivered as he spoke.

“But the power does not seem to come from the blue-skinned ones themselves,” Jahan said slowly. “At first the power came from their strange temple. Less than an hour ago, I closely questioned the guard captain I posted to accompany the strangers on their visit to the city. The one who cut the head from the statue of
Shiva
used some kind of weapon. The guard captain was very sure. The power did not come from the visitor's eyes or from his fingertips. It came from this weapon which he wears at his waist.”

There was silence while they considered these observations, then Sanjay made his own contribution.

“They also wear swords which appear to be similar to our own. So perhaps there are times when their weapons have no power and they must use swords.”

Jahan nodded. “It would be very useful to know how well they would fight if they possessed only swords. Are they really gods, or is it just the power weapons that make them appear to be gods?”

‘They came from the heavens,” Gandhar reminded them. “We saw them descend. Our talk could be blasphemy.”

Kara-Rashna groaned and chewed on his knuckles again. “If only our old friend Kaseem was here! Why must my high priest be absent when we need him most?”

“Perhaps we should send more runners to Kananda,” Devan suggested. “To urge the hunting party to return with all speed. The matter of Prince Ramesh killing a tiger seems of lesser importance now.”

“Yes, yes.” The king's agreement was immediate. It was the desire closest to his heart. “Send our fastest runners at once. Kananda and Kaseem must return without any further delay.”

Jahan nodded his approval and reserved his doubts. Despite the deep respect he held for Kaseem, he did not expect that on this occasion the high priest would be of any more use than all the other priests. In times of crisis, he had noticed that the priests rarely did more than they did in peace times, which was to consult their holy books, make sacrifices and pray. The only difference being that they did it all more fervently. However, the delay suited him, for at least it would give him more time to observe their uninvited visitors and hopefully to gather more information.

The meeting broke up with nothing positive decided or achieved and most of the participants left as uncertain and fearful as when they had arrived. Through it all, the two younger princes, the sons of Kara-Rashna, had listened silently. For once Nirad had realized that in this discussion he was greatly out of his depth and so he had curbed his normally imprudent tongue. His brother Rajar had been more intent on listening and learning.

Jahan's question—how would the strangers fight if they had only swords?—echoed through Rajar's mind. The idea that perhaps the strangers could be separated from the source of their power was both a comfort and a goad to his calculated scheming.

Chapter Nine

For three days, Kaseem fretted and worried about the fate of his young princes. He knew that, despite his youth, Kananda had been well trained in the use of weapons and the command of men. The old warmaster Jahan had seen to that. But Kananda's force was small and still vulnerable. Ramesh and his group were even more so. They were just children in Kaseem's eyes. Like newborn deer, a ready prey for any predator, even the lowest jackal. His anxiety grew when they did not quickly return together and he was haunted by his fears of what might have befallen them.