by Chanta Rand
At the suggestion of Nadesh, Amonmose arrived secretly by chariot to the Festival. Nadesh was concerned about his safety. Nadesh was always concerned about his safety. But despite his dramatic precautions, Amonmose trusted the man’s judgment.
Heavily guarded, he made his way to the arena floor just in time for the archery competition. Two of his trusted servants carried his large bow, quiver of arrows, and a spare bow, just in case. He believed in being prepared, no matter what the occasion. Baal walked directly behind him, his eagle-sharp eyes surveying everything. They found the royal advisors waiting them just outside the arena.
Nadesh stepped forward. “Greetings, Sire. You are looking exceptionally fit today. May I be the first to congratulate you on your victory?”
Amonmose laughed good-naturedly. “The contest has not yet begun, Nadesh. Have you been indulging in that Asian cannabis again?”
Even the dour Nadesh shared in a jovial laugh. “No, I am merely stating the inevitable. You are a master at this sport and you will win, I am certain.”
Meketen nodded. “Most certainly. Although, I am told there are a few challengers who may test your skills today, Pharaoh.”
“Good,” Amonmose replied. There was no benefit to participating if he had no real competition. Some of the nobles would go so far as to purposely lose games because they believed it would garner his favor, only to find themselves later shunned. Like any other man, Amonmose wanted to test his talents against others, to win or lose based on his effort, not his position as Pharaoh.
With a nod to each of his men, he set out across the arena to take his place among the contenders.
“Archers ready!” the announcer shouted.
Amonmose felt the blood coursing through his veins with new vigor. This was what he’d been waiting all year for.
“There will be three contests,” the announcer said. “The first event is the flight contest, which will measure how great a distance each archer can shoot his arrow. Each competitor will be given two opportunities to shoot. The ten men who land their arrows the furthest distance will advance to the next competition. Needless to say, the remaining men shall be eliminated.”
Amonmose studied his competition. There were close to one hundred men of various ages and backgrounds gathered to hear the announcer’s words. They had gone through pre-qualifying events and were the best in their cities. Still, as good as he believed they were, he knew he was even better.
The announcer continued. “The next event will be the target contest, which measures how accurate the archer’s aim is. Points will be awarded based on proximity. The closer the arrow to the middle, the greater the amount of points. Each competitor is allowed three attempts, and after each attempt, the target will be moved back ten cubits. So, by the third attempt, the final target will be thirty cubits away. The five men who score the greatest points shall advance to the next competition.
“The final event will be the field contest. This category measures speed, marksmanship, accuracy, and skill. Six apples will be placed atop six wooden poles five cubits in height. The poles will be placed an equal distance from each other. Each contestant will be required to shoot each apple from each pole while riding a horse at full gallop.”
The crowd cooed in anticipation at such a spectacle, but the announcer lifted his hands and motioned for silence.
“In addition,” he cried, “the first two apples must be hit upon approach, the second two must be hit while passing by, and the last two must be hit after you have passed the targets.”
Amonmose smiled. He had practiced shooting like this before. The trick to winning was in controlling the horse. He would not be riding his own mount, so he hoped the horse he was given was a competent animal.
Kama watched closely as each man lined up for the flight contest. She immediately recognized Amunmose in his short blue tunic with long sleeves. With his muscular physique and impressive looks, he stood out from all the other contestants.
Kama’s stomach was turning flips as she watched him walk to his mark and prepare to shoot. He was the epitome of masculinity. The corded muscles of his strong legs rippled with each move he made. He wore gold cuff bracelets and a thick, gold collar encrusted with garnet and turquoise. He held his head high, gaze steady.
“No man should be so handsome,” Kama heard one woman say.
“Yes,” another woman agreed. “I would stare at him all day and never get a thing done.”
“I can assure you, we would get quite a few things done—over and over and over again!”
Kama smiled to herself. Amonmose was indeed pleasing to the eye. Yet, while these women could only imagine being with him, she’d had the pleasure of knowing his touch, feeling his caresses and tasting his sweet lips. After the contest, she would go to him. If only she were as confident as Dyzet about her effect on him.
The flight competition was the quickest way to eliminate the weaker archers. Anyone could shoot an arrow, but it took strength to launch it over great distances. After almost an hour, all but ten were disqualified.
Amonmose had easily advanced. His arrow fell a distance of seventy-five cubits—a Festival record. The exuberant cries from the crowd lifted his spirit, and he felt certain he would win again this year. With so many men competing, this was
The second event was harder, but the Pharaoh had spent the past two days practicing for this very event. The archers drew straws to decide who would go first. Amonmose drew the next to the last man in the event.
The first contestant did not hit the middle but did earn thirteen points, setting a high standard for the subsequent archers. The second and third contestants were both equally bad, scoring high on the first launches, but poorly as the target was moved a greater distance away. One man missed the target completely, causing raucous laughter among the spectators. After almost another hour, eight contestants had competed, and it was finally Amonmose’s turn.
He closed his eyes and focused inward, visualizing his arrow hitting the target. He’d done this a thousand times, and today would be no exception. When he opened his eyes, he concentrated on the simple target. He pulled an arrow from his quiver. He’d used the same type of arrow for the past ten years. Constructed of solid wood with an arrowhead made of ram’s horn and fletching of eagle feathers, it had never failed him. The placement of the fletching was critical in achieving the desired flight path of the arrow. His feathers were attached at an angle, which caused the arrow to spin in flight. It did not add to the accuracy, but it made a spectacular presentation when it was launched.
Without further hesitation, he drew back the sinewy cord of his bow until it was taut and took aim. He breathed in deeply and released the arrow, holding still and he watched it fly towards the target. With lightening speed, it spun through the air and landed in the middle. The crowd erupted in cheers.
Amonmose smiled before drawing another arrow from his quiver. He was now in second place, a position he did not intend to stay in for long. The next launch would put him in the lead.
He waited patiently as the announcer directed a young boy to move the target back ten meters. He aimed, released the second arrow, and watched it spiral toward the target. Just when he was certain it would hit the coveted spot in the middle, it dipped and landed squarely, just missing the center. Again, his efforts were met by cheers. It was not a perfect shot, but it put him decisively in first place with a score of fifteen.
Kama watched nervously as Amonmose prepared to his final arrow. He was an amazing marksman. She held her breath as she watched him pull firmly on the string of the bow. His brawny arms were bundled tightly, the muscles of his biceps and forearms flexing with each movement. She shivered, remembering how those arms had gently held her that day in the garden. She had felt his strength and his passion.
She saw him pause briefly before releasing the arrow. In the next instant, the arrow solidly hit the red center of the target. Both she and Dyzet stood and clapped wildly, their shrieks of delight melting in
to the roar of the spectators around them.
Nadesh strutted like a proud peacock as he watched the competition from the tunnel into the arena. That totaled twenty-five points for Amonmose. “Didn’t I tell you he would be victorious?”
“There is still one more competitor and one more event,” Hai reminded him.
“Easily crushed,” Nadesh said, keeping his eye on Amonmose. He had shaped the Pharaoh into a strong and competent warrior, into the best among them.
“What of this surprise you spoke of, Nadesh? You said we would find out today.”
Nadesh grinned and cut a look at Hai. “Be patient my friend. A good mystery is like a fine wine. The longer you keep it bottled up, the better it tastes when it is finally shared.”
He scanned the stands until his eyes fell on Kama. So, she was here after all, looking as bewitching as ever in her delicate white tunic, her dark braids pulled back from her comely face. Her skin gleamed like finely polished ebony.
Nadesh hid a sneer. She had turned out to be more of threat than he’d ever imagined when he’d cornered her in the dark and sliced her dress from her body. Since the day she’d arrived, she’d made no secret of her contempt for him and all of his men—they who preserved Egypt. Nadesh saw her giggle happily to her friends and smiled darkly. Soon, he would give Kama her comeuppance and then, he would have the last laugh.
The last contestant was a tall, burly man with massive forearms and thick fingers. His long reach was ideal for archery. Under any other circumstances, Amonmose would have recruited him for his army. Earlier, he’d heard another competitor refer to this man as the Barbarian from Morocco. His long, dark hair and menacing gaze drew hisses and scorn from the crowd, but it was marksmanship that mattered today.
The Barbarian proved to be an excellent marksman. All three of his arrows hit the center of the target. While he was clearly not the crowd favorite, the spectators showed their appreciation of his skill with a standing ovation nonetheless. He now had a total score of thirty points, easily securing his victory in the second round.
Amonmose did not dwell on his defeat. He was now in second place among the five remaining competitors. There was one more event, and he was determined to win.
The third and final contest involved shooting six apples from the tops of six wooden poles while on the back of a moving horse. Five sturdy mounts were led in for the contestants. He could see each mount was quality horseflesh, with rich-looking coats. Amonmose wondered from whence these fine animals came. They were definitely not from his stables.
He was so focused on the horses for a moment that he almost overlooked the woman leading them. To say she was gorgeous was an understatement. Amonmose watched her approach slowly and seductively. She was tall and voluptuous with a firm bosom. Her caramel-colored skin almost matched his, but it was lighter and no doubt, softer. Her long, reddish brown hair was worn in thick braids and upswept to reveal her lovely oval-shaped face.
Nadesh stepped out into the arena and took the woman by the hand. “I present my niece, Zahra,” he said. “Zahra has graciously loaned her family’s prize Arabian horses for this event.”
Zahra slipped her hand from her uncle’s and kneeled before Amonmose. “It is a pleasure to be of service, Pharaoh.”
Amonmose had both of Nadesh’s wives, and neither looked like they could be related to this beauty. He motioned for her to rise. “All of Thebes thanks you for your contribution, Zahra.”
Zahra stood and licked her lips seductively. “May I say that you are even more handsome up close?”
Amonmose raised an eyebrow at her boldness. “Thank you,” he said graciously covering his surprise. “I promise, your mare is in good hands with me.”
Zahra glanced suggestively at his hands before smiling. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
Kama watched the mysterious woman talking to Amonmose but, because of the distance, could not hear what was being said. She had been introduced by Nadesh, which Kama made Kama suspicious. Did Amonmose know her?
The announcer stepped up on his podium and spoke, his deep voice ringing loud and clear. “You are the last five competitors. Remember, you must hit the first two apples upon approach, the second two while passing, and the last two after you’ve passed the targets. The poles are fifty meters apart. Please draw to choose your steed.”
As the men drew straws, Zahra excused herself. Amonmose found his eyes wandering over tempting backside as she walked away, but he forced himself to focus on the contest. This year’s competition had proved the most challenging so far. He was enjoying himself, but he could not afford a break in his concentration.
The Barbarian drew the long straw, which meant he was allowed to choose his place in the order of the competitors and the first mount. He took his time, and after a thorough inspection of each animal, he selected a chestnut horse. Amonmose approved.
The Barbarian elected to go last. Amonmose pulled the shortest straw, so he would ride first. He mounted the mahogany mare and expertly took up the reins. As the horse adjusted to his weight, he surveyed the wooden posts in the distance. He could do this. He lifted his eyes to the crowed. Whether he won or lost today, it would surely be talked about for years to come.
The announcer signaled him. It was time.
Amonmose cleared his mind of everything except the contest. He took a moment to steel himself, and spurred his horse forward, thighs locking hard on the animal beneath him. Within seconds, he’d pulled the first arrow from his quiver and launched a shot. The release was smooth, and the apple toppled from its high perch. A roar that might have been cheering filled the air around him. The horse’s gait was flawless, and she moved to the rhythm of his commands.
He toppled the second, third and fourth apples from their perches, and knocked another arrow. As he passed the fifth apple, he shot, easily spearing the fruit, and it was on to the last.
Something was amiss. Instead of a wooden pole, Zahra stood in the arena, with an apple balanced on her head.
Stunned, Amonmose slowed his horse. Had she gone mad? What was she doing out there? As his concentration broke, he could hear the loud roar of the crowd, urging him on.
“Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!”
Madness. But this was the competition he had entered. If Zahra wanted danger, he would give it to her. He spurred the mare up again and they flew passed her. In one swift movement, he turned and launched his last arrow. It spiraled through the air and hit the apple dead center, splitting the fruit into two pieces. The cheers rattled the skies.
Amonmose did not know whether to be angry or elated at Zahra’s stunt. One movement from her could have caused his horse to spook. Not to mention that he might have missed and landed his arrow in the middle of her pretty forehead—or her lush bosom. She could have been killed, or worse yet, he could have been killed.
Amonmose turned his horse and rode back toward her. He extended his hand and pulled her onto his horse, intent on giving her a ride back to the starting point and chastising her for her recklessness. But Zahra had plans of her own.
The moment he lifted her onto his mount, she turned and straddled him, pressing her ample curves against him. Then, she planted a deep, searing kiss on his lips. Her mouth was hot and wet, alluring in all the right ways. She touched her tongue to his, coaxing, begging.
He gently pushed her away. “That was…foolish.”
Zahra fluttered her long eyelashes. “What was foolish? The stunt or the kiss?”
“Both.”
She laughed. “Perhaps. But you loved it, didn’t you,” she declared in a sultry voice. “The crowd loved it too. Listen to them!”
She was right. The cheering had not stopped. Amonmose had given them a show that they would remember for the rest of their lives, thanks to this brash, presumptive girl.
He smiled broadly at her. “The next time you plan something like that, let me know in advance.”
Zahra was silent as they rode back across the arena, a secret smile touching her lips
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Kama’s heart sank as she watched Amonmose and the mystery woman. Had this woman been the distraction that had kept Amonmose from coming to her? She heard mutterings of approval from the onlookers in the stands. The women wished they were down there, and the men made raunchy comments. Even Dyzet’s sisters were swooning with delight over the Pharaoh’s performance.
Kama felt anger begin to swell inside her. She whispered to Dyzet. “She must be the diversion that has held the Pharaoh’s interest for so many days. How dare he flaunt his conquest in front of me?”
Dyzet gave her a look of disbelief. “Diversion? I told you, he’s been preoccupied with preparing for this event. I don’t think that woman is his conquest. Besides, everyone knows he is smitten with you. The palace tongues wag about his continuing infatuation.”
Kama pointed to the arena below. “Look at him! Does he look like a man smitten? He has found another.”
Amonmose was grinning from ear to ear, with the red-haired woman by his side, lapping up the attention like a thirsty dog. The more Kama watched, the more her blood boiled.
“You cannot have it both ways, Kama. First, you run from him. Now, you are jealous.
“I trusted him.”
Dyzet clasped her hands and squeezed them hard. “Then go to him and tell him how you feel!”
“Never!” Kama stood, abruptly pulling her hands free. “My time in Thebes is done.”
Dyzet stared up at her, aghast. “You cannot simply—”
“It is clear he has chosen another, in which case he will have no further need of me. Tonight I will go to him and demand my freedom. This time, I shall not be denied.”