The enemy warrior lunged at Sarya, and cut at him with his axe. Sarya was struck on the knee, and fell with a cry.
I rushed forward with one of the other men. Before we could reach them, the victor leaped behind Sarya as he lay bleeding. Sarya looked up at the man with the axe, seeing his death. The warrior brought down his axe, nearly severing the neck of the clan chief.
I shouted, and rushed up to the warrior – a man lacking in honor - holding the bloody axe. He turned, and tried to bring up his axe. I stabbed at him with my spear. He toppled over, with a cry.
I plunged my lance into his neck, causing him to drop his axe. I stabbed him once more, ending his efforts to reach his weapon. The men of our clan, filled with rage, rushed forward.
I looked around. Only a few of the enemy champions were left on their feet. We had got the better of them, with our armor and swords.
Both sides advanced, en masse. The archers on both sides loosed arrows. Our own warriors came forward, and sounded the paean as they advanced. I turned to face the enemy, and waited for the men of my clan to reach me. I deflected an arrow of the foe with my shield. The two opposing lines of warriors soon drew together. The first enemy to reach me struck at me with his spear. I thrust at him with my lance. He cried out, dropping his weapon.
I drew my sword, since we were at close quarters. We were then separated by other men pushing forward on their steeds. All about me men were engaged in combat. The enemy warriors were at a disadvantage without armor. They fell before the better armed men of the city.
One of our foe came at me with his axe. I deflected the blow with my shield. One of my comrades came at him from the rear, stabbing at him with his sword. I closed with him and slashed at his arm. The man cried out, and fell backwards, the stump of his arm gushing blood. I left him to his fate.
The losses of the enemy mounted. They were convinced. They ran off, casting down their weapons. No one wanted to be left behind, and all joined the rush into the desert.
Without the burden of their spears and shields, they outran our men. The clansmen pursued, to scatter the enemy, and to bring down the men who were the hindmost. The Royal Guard, all mounted, slaughtered many of the foe.
The enemy returned to their people, in the desert wasteland, without their shields.
This was a sign of shame; the mark of a man who had fled before their foe. They would need to recount the battle to women seeking their own man. The women would ask each man who returned to their camp about the fate of their man.
“Did you see him after the battle, in the desert?”
“Did you see him fall in the fight?”
“Was he wounded, when you last saw him?”
“Where there any parties of men behind yours in the wasteland?”
* * *
I looked about for the body of my friend. We had to carry it home to his wives and mother. We wrapped Sarya in his robe and used his shield to bear his body on our shoulders.
The other clans also bore the bodies of their slain comrades through the streets. At the compound gates, women waited for their men to return, some with their shields, some on them, as it was said. The clansmen raised the paean as we bore the body of our slain chieftain. Our chieftain returned on a day of victory, but it was a sad and sorrowful return.
We bore the fallen home in triumph, a victory that would be bitter for the women of the fallen chieftain. To us, his comrades, he had died well, with a sword in his hand, in the words of our ancestors. To his women these were empty words.
* * *
My newfound clan had three men with bad wounds, and one killed – their leader. We returned to the clan compound. The women of the compound ran forward to find their men.
The women cried out when they were able to catch sight of the men. Each one embraced their warrior, and looked to see if he had a wound. They each made a careful examination of their man - to be sure all was well. Those who were lucky to find their men alive and well held tight to them, the victors. They proudly led them away as soon as they could, to wash them clean of the dust and blood of war.
The women of our slain leader could only weep and wail. His body was carried back to his family quarters. The women would prepare the body for the pyre.
Tiya came forward, and wrapped me in her arms. Her face was covered with tears. I kissed her cheek, and squeezed her arm. She was followed by my other woman. One of my comrades told them of the course of the battle. They beamed with pride to hear of my day on the field. The women were alarmed at first, to find me covered with blood. Their tears dried when they found that the blood was not my own.
* * *
The next day the bodies of the fallen were committed to the flames – the funeral pyres. This was the only fit passage for a warrior. The soul would rise with the flames into the heavens. We carried the body of our clan chief on his shield to the meadow, outside the walls of the city. We had built a large pyre of timber. We lay him in the center, wrapped in his plaid robe. At his feet we lay the bodies of three of our enemies. The bodies of the raiders were missing their heads.
Outside the walls, the people had raised wooden stakes. The heads of the enemy were impaled on the top of the poles. The gruesome trophies had been daubed with tar. The heads might remain on the stakes for years. The clans believed that the souls of men who were dishonored in death would wander the wastelands, and never find peace.
Some of the women claimed in the coming months to see the headless warriors, wandering among in the hills at dusk. They were said to carry their heads in their arms. At first, I dismissed this as the foolish talk of women.
The fate of the dead foe was a warning to any spies who might lurk in the desert. It was also a promise to our enemy. We were waiting for them.
Tiya intoned a soft chant, as we gathered about the pyre. The other women joined in the hymn.
Warrior, we found your body on the field,
The bodies of the foe piled high,
Round about you, slain by your sword.
Glory to you everlasting.
Your women wail, your sons are without bread,
They hunger for vengeance,
They do gird on the sword of their father
And raise the paean…
I was given a torch by Tiya. I stepped forward and spoke.
“Go to our fathers, my brother," I said as I had been taught. I laid the torch on the pile of slender branches. The flames spread quickly to the oil-soaked wood and rose high into the sky. "May the gods be with you,” I said softly. “We will meet in the Final Formation, on the day of the Last Battle.”
The spirit of the fallen was carried into the sky along with the smoke. He would join the other slain warriors of ages past; men who had died with a sword in their hand.
The clans believed that a fallen warrior had been called to give battle on the Last Days, the Day of Wrath, at the side of the Immortals. He would join the ranks of the doomed, in the Twilight of the Gods.
The people of the desert believed that in the final days even the gods would be destroyed. The goal of any warrior was to fight heroically, until the day of his personal doom.
The keening of the women rose as the flames consumed all. The people of the clan were all related, or tied by marriage to the rest of the clan. The death of the clan chief was a blow to all.
* * *
Some of the raiders had been captured in the battle. A few days after the raid, the clans assembled at the main gate. There were five prisoners. Each had been wounded, but could still walk.
The captives were each given a wicker basket. In the basket were the heads of some of their comrades. The men accepted the baskets silently. They turned, without a word, and filed off into the forest, lucky to still have their own heads. This was a final insult, and another warning. I had expected a much more grim fate for the captured men.
Thus ends my account of the raid of the tribes, and the final rites for my friend. All this was written as commanded by the Queen, the Divi
ne Astarte, for the annals. I pray that our dread sovereign find all that I have written to be pleasing to her.
* * * *
Myth of Astarte
Three
* * *
Astarte was feared by the races of her empire, a fear which had been cultivated by her. Her provinces were quiet, and her people docile. The fate of rebels was horrid and certain. She was served by legions of shield maidens, who gloried in war.
Imperial Annals, XX II. p. 23.
* * *
Astarte called me to her side because she had need of my sword. In her own chosen time, she decided to call me to her side. I questioned the people of the city about Astarte. They informed me that Astarte ruled a city deep in the western desert.
She lived in an arid wasteland called the Empty Quarter. She was immortal by human standards, and was always young and beautiful.
The people explained to me that a statue of Astarte was in the Holy of Holies of the temple of the city. The gods had created the world, and had given rise to the race of men. After death, those who died bravely in battle would be carried by the ladies of the goddess to live in the Hall of Warriors. They would do battle against the forces of evil till the end of the age, and the Twilight of the Gods.
There were traditions of visits by the gods to the cities of men. There were also tales of visits by favored men to the Halls of the Gods. There were also stories that gods sometimes took the daughters of men as lovers, and that goddesses sometimes bore children sired by mortal men.
Demigods had walked the halls of men, and had built empires by the sword. They had warred against men, monsters, and beasts. The traditions of the clan seemed to be memories of events, tales of wars, and the deeds of kings. I decided to await events, and to visit Astarte, if such was my fate.
* * *
The call of Astarte soon came. I woke one morning to find that a slave girl had been sent to summon me to the great hall of the compound. I found the leaders of the clan waiting for me. There was also a stranger. A tall man, dressed in a black tunic.
“I salute thee, Warrior,” said the stranger. “I am Astinius, servant of the goddess. She commands that you ride with me, to await her pleasure. We must leave as soon as you are ready. Your questions will be answered at the Palace of the Divine Lady.”
The man spoke in my own tongue.
“I shall go with a glad heart,” I replied.
I spent a few hours in the preparation of my weapons and gear. There was little to take. I woke early the next day and was ready to ride in short order. I went to the courtyard to seek out the stranger. He was waiting for me, with his mount saddled. He carried a long lance, with a blue silk pennant tied behind the blade.
I mounted my own steed. Men of the compound led two pack animals to our side. I took the lead rope of one of the mounts. Astinius touched his forehead with a finger, nodded to me, and rode through the gate of the compound. I followed. Some members of the clan stood beside the gate, waving as we rode down the street.
We made our way down the road leading to the city gates. The hour was early, but the streets were filled with carts. They were stacked with goods intended for the shops of the city.
We reached the main gates, already open to the rising sun in the distance. We halted on the road after an hour. My guide left the road, and headed into the sands of the desert. We rode on till the fall of night, then stopped to rest. We watered the horses, and ate a meal of dried fruit and wine. I spread a blanket over my saddle on the ground, and was able to sleep for a time.
After a few hours of sleep, we mounted our horses once more. In the cool of the night we made good time. The constellations seemed all wrong, very different from those that I had studied. The largest of the moons hung low in the sky.
We traveled through the night, stopping for short meals, and to sleep for an hour or two. As we rode deeper into the desert we could see a line of dark peaks in the West. Sarya had told me they were called the Mountains of the Moon. They rose like a dark wall from the plain.
* * *
I followed Astinius into a range of foothills. We came to a small valley, with a small paved circle. A broad road paved in stone began at the circle, and led into the mountains. We followed the road.
In a few hours, I saw the towers of a city in the distance. The towers seemed to waver in the moonlight. This city had large white domes, and soaring towers. As we rode closer, the city no long shimmered. However, at our backs, a strange haze covered the horizon. We continued to ride toward the city. The towers grew larger on the horizon. I was able to make out a gate in the city wall. There were massive towers on each side.
In another hour, we were at the gates of the city. The gates opened on their own. We rode through the gateway and into a large square. On each side of the square were huge domes of bright metal.
With Astinius, I rode into the square, and followed the road past the buildings. The road led straight into the city. We saw no signs of life. As we rode on, I could make out a large pyramid at the center of the city. The pyramid was made of a dark glass. It had steps leading up to an entrance on one side.
We rode up to the steps and dismounted. There were large fountains in a circle around the great structure. We led our horses to the low pools to water them and filled our water skins from the fountains.
I gestured to my companion, and pointed to the stairs. I turned and walked up them, with him following. We approached the double doors of the structure as they swung outward.
I did not slow my pace. I walked into the structure. My eyes adjusted to the dim interior. I was able to see a platform at the opposite end of the room. On the platform was a throne, with a motionless figure seated upon it. The throne was a huge convex chair, studded with gems.
As I walked forward, I could see that the person on the throne was a woman, wearing a long blue robe, crowned by a silver diadem. She held a spear of gold in her hand. The woman raised the spear, and spoke.
“Welcome, warrior. I am the ruler of this city, Astarte, the Immortal.” The woman spoke in my own tongue.
I stopped, drew my sword, and saluted.
“Glory to the Queen of the Mirage.”
“Your deeds in war are those of a hero. I command you to lead my legions in the wars. You will be taken by my ladies to a place where you may rest. We shall talk further.”
The Queen rose, and raised high her spear of gold.
* * *
Three ladies of the Queen came to my side, and gestured for me to follow. The women were all dark, like their queen and wore white tunics. I was taken to a suite of rooms, with a large fountain. The women, helped me to bathe, and then took me to a large sleeping platform.
The women pulled me onto the mat, joining me with giggles. After a time, I was able to sleep.
When I woke in the morning, the room was empty. I rose from the bed, and looked about me. A woman appeared through a side door. She was one of my new attendants. She took me into the room with the fountain. She helped me to bathe and to don a tunic.
After my bath, I was led to the queen. She was seated in a large, ornate convex chair. She greeted me, and bade me to sit down next to her in a chair. There was a pitcher, and two goblets on a table next to her. She filled the goblets with a dark red wine and gave one of them to me. This was all a signal honor.
The woman was very tall, over six feet, close to my height. Her classic features were lovely. Her hair and eyes were black, her skin dark brown. Her hair fell in waves.
After I had taken some of the sweet drink, Astarte took my hand. Her hand was solid, and strong. It was also very cold. She had a good figure, steel covered by velvet. She led me into another room with a large pool.
Three women stood by the edge of the pool. They came to my side, and helped me to remove my tunic. I stepped into the pool. The women removed their tunics and joined me. One of the ladies took a basin from the edge of the pool and filled it with water. She poured it over my head. The women and the Queen giggl
ed.
Later, one the women led me from the pool. She helped me to dry with a towel. Another gave me a cloth, and helped me to wrap it around my waist. Astarte took my hand, and led me into yet another room. The room contained a divan, draped in blue silk. She sat down on the couch, and pulled me down beside her. She kissed my cheek. She placed her hand on my chest and touched my lips with the back of her fingers. Her scent was a mix of exotic spices.
“Your lips are warm, and moist. I can feel the blood rushing through your veins, Warrior.” She rose. “You will be my champion. You are like the men I remember from my youth.” She then took my hand, and led me to a large sleeping platform. She sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled me down beside her.
Apis, the Baboon God: Three Histories of the Dark Empire (The High Strangeness Erotica series Book 14) Page 4