Princess of Amathar

by Wesley Allison

  While we were eating, I looked around at the other diners. The little restaurant seemed to be about half full. A young Amatharian couple sat across from us looking into each other's eyes. Both were wearing the black bodysuit-tabard combination of a warrior, though neither sported the crest of knighthood. There was a group of four men in green bodysuits, which indicated they were farmers. Finally, there was an older Amatharian man wearing a long robe of gold with a small crest above the heart, depicting a cloud with a sword through it. Across from him was a being unlike I had ever seen. It stood beside the table, rather than sitting in a chair. It had to because it had four legs, and was built rather like a deer or a goat. From its shoulders sprouted an extra set of limbs, with which it manipulated its food, and its face looked like the head of an iguana painted deep blue. The coloring faded slightly down its neck and its body to a light blue on its legs.

  "What kind of thing is that?" I wondered.

  "That is a Preemor," said Malagor testily. "I suppose you would refer to me as a "thing."

  "That is the leader of the Bestamor Trading Group," Norar Remontar informed us. "I gather that he is concluding a trade agreement with the Preemor."

  "It's just that I didn't expect to see any non-Amatharians within the city."

  "I would imagine that at any one time," said the knight, "there are between one and two million non-Amatharians, as you term them."

  Just as we were finishing our food, the young server brought out three stoneware mugs filled with a dark ruby liquid.

  "This is mirrah," explained Norar Remontar. "It is the traditional drink of warriors, a blend of fermented juices."

  I sipped the concoction carefully. It was sweet and thick, and reminded me of a mixture of apple juice, prune juice, and honey. For a moment I wondered that the traditional drink of warriors would be so tame, and then I felt the kick. Suddenly my heart raced, my head pounded, and I had a great desire to run a long distance very fast. Looking into the cup, I confirmed that I had drunk only the top half inch of the liquid. I imagined that if I had downed the cup at once, I would have quite happily taken on an entire Zoasian battleship on my own.

  "Perhaps we should have tasted this before dinner," suggested Malagor.

  "If we had," explained the knight, "you would never have enjoyed the meal." We stood up, and following the Amatharian's example, thanked our server, then continued on our way. We did not take the larger of the two roadways, but continued on our original course for another two blocks. Here we entered a large building, and took an escalator down to a level below the surface of the street. Here we found what could only be described as a subway station. It was not quite like the subway stations I had seen on earth. There were no turnstiles, ticket windows, sleeping vagrants, or discarded trash. There were no wandering policemen, though there was a single Amatharian knight standing near the edge of the waiting platform. The entire place resembled more the lobby of an expensive hotel, than a transport hub. Everything was lit brightly by artificial light. We waited only a very short time, at least from my perspective, before the subway ran into the station. The train, if one may refer to it as such, had no engine that I could see--just six cars, one behind the other. Each car was cylindrical in shape, with two oval openings. When the procession had come to a complete halt, the doors opened, and we, along with four or five others who had been waiting entered. Norar Remontar, Malagor, and I had a car all to ourselves.

  Just as the station was atypical of what I would expect of public transportation, so too was the train car. It was furnished more like a living room, or a comfortable den, than a public transportation system. There was a piece of furniture very much like a sofa, a small table in front of it, and a several very comfortable chairs. The sofa and chairs were covered with material that was patterned after animal skins, though it appeared to be man-made. Most surprising of all, there was a large bookcase against the back wall, filled with books. I stepped over to the small library once the subway had started into motion, and pulled one of the books from its place.

  The book was very much like the book of Amath’s teachings which Norar Remontar had previously shown me. It was a bound volume with a spine, and it had a cover made of leather. The pages were made of a material something like plastic. They were thin and they could bend like paper, but they had a strength far beyond any paper product. The entire book was written in Amatharian, which of course I was unable to read, but the lines and letters seemed to be laid out in a familiar fashion. As I had noticed, the characters resembling simple line drawings of stylized animals and other almost familiar images. After staring at it for a moment, I almost thought that I could see tiny predators ready to pounce upon their prey.

  "Is this a private transport car?" I asked, replacing the book.

  "This shuttle train belongs to the air clan," Norar Remontar replied, "though they make it available to anyone who needs transportation."

  "I am surprised that it doesn't become damaged, or that the books and other furnishing aren't stolen," I said, noticing several small art objects atop the table, and hanging on the walls.

  "Why would some one take something that wasn't his?" the Amatharian wondered. "Of course there is a great deal of wear because of the number of people who travel on the train. That is why we must all take extra care, to see that this property of others is not needlessly damaged." I looked, but couldn't find any more wear and tear than one would find in the average living room. Just about that time, the shuttle train came to a stop. It had been a nice quiet ride, though the sensation of movement had constantly reminded us that we were not in a private home, despite the look of the interior. The doors slid open and the three of us stepped out. This train station was very similar to the one which we had left, though decorated in a different color scheme. Like the other, there were no ticket windows, no advertising posters, no street musicians, and no pan-handlers. We went up another escalator and stepped out once again into the warm Ecosian sun. The street we now stood in was like the one we had traveled before, with one exception--people. Huge throngs of Amatharians were making their way up and down the street, walking, either along side of, or on the three moving walkways going in each direction. The street was filled with the colors of Amatharian clothing, as I looked around to identify doctors, record keepers, biologists, food servers, archaeologists, and the ever present soldiers. Once more, Norar Remontar led the way, as we moved up the busy avenue. We moved quite slowly because of the abundance of foot traffic, and this afforded me an opportunity to closely examine the architecture. This section of the city was dominated by very large buildings, large enough to be considered skyscrapers, if one were so inclined to those types of names. Some were over one hundred stories tall, though many were considerably shorter as well. Most were quite broad, completely filling a city block. Just like the edge of the city, structures here were painted in a variety of pastel colors, and were trimmed with silver colored metal. Though truly unearthly in design, all possessed a simple beauty that I always thought lacking in modern buildings on Earth. While the sides were generally flat and unadorned, the corners usually featured an intricate design. And ledges were common every few stories.

  After a walk of some quarter mile from the shuttle train station, we turned and stepped through the large entryway of a massive structure, which completely engulfed a city block and rose to more than sixty stories. Once inside, we found the same type of lobby common to expensive hotels and luxury apartments on my home world. There was no doorman, or clerk, nor even a check-in desk--just plush appointments and a large pair of escalators leading up and down. We made our way upwards in the customary Amatharian fashion, by walking on the escalator, to the second floor, where another escalator led upwards yet again. I knew that Amatharians had used elevators, since I had asked Norar Remontar about them after our experience below the mountains of the Orlons, so I was surprised not to find one in this building. I later learned that almost every building in Amathar possessed extensive escalators, but very few
had elevators. Amatharians did not care for them it seems, and preferred to use them only when absolutely necessary, such as when large cargo needed to be moved from floor to floor. This time, the three of us walked up forty five flights of escalators to reach our destination.

  "This is my home," said Norar Remontar, when we had at last arrived at the desired floor. The hallways on this floor, like each floor we had visited on the way up, were spacious, and filled with small tables, and art objects, much like I would have expected in the hallway of a private residence, though it was clear from the doors lining the wall, that this was more akin to an apartment building. It was then that I noticed that there were no carpets on the floor, and I realized that I had not seen wall to wall carpeting anywhere in Amathar. Here and there was an occasional throw rug, designed to look like an animal skin in shape and texture.

  The closest door was evidently Norar Remontar's home, since that was the one he chose to enter. I was expecting a "2B" or considering the number of floors we had transcended, perhaps "4502B", but there were in fact no numbers, nor any other characters or markings. The Amatharian knight slid the door open, for it slid from side to side rather than swinging on a hinge, and we stepped inside. His apartment proved to be a large and beautifully decorated home, with a central room that was two stories high. Several doors led into other rooms on the lower level, while a stone stairway led up to a balcony that stood against the wall just above the front door. Great shelves of books lined the walls of the upper level, and the wall across from the front entrance was one great two story window which looked out onto a magnificent courtyard. From this vantage point, I could see that the building was built like a huge hollow square, in the center of which was the courtyard which deserved the name forest more than it did that of park.

  "I have a guest room through there," said Norar Remontar, pointing at a doorway just to our right. "We should get some rest before we do anything else."

  As soon as these words left his lips, a great weariness overcame me, and I realized that we had gone a very, very long time without sleep. Malagor and I exited the main room through the designated portal, and found a large bed chamber. There were two beds, designed in what I later learned was typical Amatharian fashion--sunken into the floor, rather than standing above it on legs. They were covered with cushions and blankets, which like the rugs I had seen, were patterned in shape and style to resemble animal skins, though they were in fact man-made. Just beyond the beds, which occupied the center of the floor, was a large wash basin standing upon a stone pedestal. And against the wall was a kind of dresser, with open cubby holes rather than drawers.

  I pealed off my leather clothes, slashed some water over my face, chest, and shoulders, and dived into the closest bed. I neither noticed nor cared whether Malagor followed suit, because I was asleep before my body came to rest upon the firm mattress.

  Chapter Thirteen: Lessons

  I opened my eyes to find myself looking at the ceiling. For a moment I though that I was back in my bedroom at home, on Earth, and that all of my adventures in Ecos were just a fantastic dream. Then Malagor leaned over to look into my face.

  "I have slept, gotten up, explored the city, eaten, and slept again. You are just now waking."

  "How very nice for you," I replied.

  I sat up, and then climbed out of bed, noticing a distinct disadvantage to the Amatharian beds. Yet I felt so refreshed that my gravity enhanced muscles sent me bounding up onto the floor. I started toward the wash basin, but noticed the doorway just to the left. Passing through it, I found the bathroom. It was a huge room. The bath tub was a small pool, designed to look like a thermal spa, with water constantly flowing from a waterfall into the pool, and then out at the other end. The room also had the other features that one might expect, and they were similarly fashioned to resemble natural features. I hopped up into the bath and floated in the hot water. The little pool was large enough for me to swim around in, and when I stood up, the water still reached the middle of my chest. Beside the inlet waterfall was a small shelf with a variety of brushes and cleaning agents. I found something that seemed close to shampoo and washed myself from head to toe. I hopped out just long enough to retrieve my knife from beside the bed, then hopped back in and relaxed in the water as I shaved my ragged beard. When I exited the bath a second time, I felt presentable enough for polite Amatharian society. Malagor was waiting for me with some new clothes--a black Amatharian body suit, a plain white tabard, and a pair of boots.

  "At Norar Remontar's direction, I got these from the clothier on the first floor,” he said. "I had to have my own clothing specially ordered."

  I was interested to see how the bodysuit was put on. I found that it had an open waist in the back. Still it took me several moments to discover how to get my lower portion in, and still be able to insert my upper half. Fortunately the material used by the Amatharians was extremely flexible. Once I had it on, it seemed not so much to stretch to fit, as to shrink to fit. It covered every inch of my body in a cool embrace. It was extremely comfortable. The tabard which I put on over it was, as one would expect, slightly encumbering, though no more so than a light jacket or sweater. It reached just below my knees in front and in back, but was open on the sides. Finally I put on the boots, and found them to be the most comfortable footwear that I have ever tried on. All that remained was for me to strap on the weapons belt beneath my tabard. Malagor had also seen to it that I had the appropriate sheaths for my swords. I looked like an Amatharian that had somehow been deprived of his beautiful blue skin.

  "Where is Norar Remontar?" I asked.

  "He left to see members of his family," replied Malagor.

  Just then an ethereal voice spoke seemingly out of nowhere. "Nicohl Messonar is waiting at the door." The two of us looked around the room expectantly for a moment, and then at each other.

  "Must be a kind of doorbell," I offered. Malagor shrugged.

  I walked out of the bedroom, followed by my alien friend, and opened the front door. Outside, stood an Amatharian woman. She looked to be in her early fifties, and possessed a more mature form of the beauty that was apparently common to all Amatharian women. Her silky black hair cut straight across her forehead, and reaching the middle of her back, was touched with grey, but her dark blue skin remained flawless. She wore a white tabard with a crest--a flaming sun supported by a pedestal-indicating that she was a knight. But instead of the black bodysuit of a soldier, hers was light lavender. She carried no swords, just a satchel slung over one shoulder.

  Stepping confidently into the apartment, the woman looked me over, coldly, for a moment before speaking.

  "I am Nicohl Messonar," she said.

  "So I understand," I replied. "Nicole is a common name among my people."

  "The name is Nicohl."

  "Nicohl."

  "Yes, and my name is Nicohl Messonar." She arched an eyebrow. "It is impolite not to use both names. That is only for husbands and wives, sharing an intimate moment."

  "Well, that's certainly good to know," I said, looking sidelong at Malagor.

  "There are a great many things you will need to know, if you are to continue to live among us," she continued. "That is why Norar Remontar requested my help in tutoring you." She reached into her bag and removed a square touch pad, and handed it to me. Across the front of the device, were displayed a collection of the Amatharian letters, many of which I remembered seeing in the book on the shuttle train.

  "Do your people have a written language?" asked Nicohl Messonar.

  "Of course."

  "Do they use a phonetic writing, or a pictographic one?"

  "It is a phonetic system of writing," I explained, "though we have some anomalous words that maintain forms from long ago."

  Looking at Nicohl Messonar, I was reminded of the word "tough", which sounds nothing like the way it is spelled.

  "Good," she said. "That also precisely describes Amatharian writing. In your hand, you have a display of our alphabet.
There are thirty six letters. Press that one with your finger." She indicated the figure that looked like a predatory animal. Almost all of the Amatharian letters resembled something recognizable. I have heard that the letter "A" is based upon the shape of a cow's head, though I have never been able to see it myself. Here were animals, and clouds, and mountains, and a sun, all clearly recognizable for what they were. I pressed the letter.

  "Buh." The touchpad made the sound of a letter "B" in English.

  "You will memorize the sounds of the alphabet and decipher these simple texts," the teacher handed me several plastic pages of Amatharian writing. "Have it completed by the time I return. I will be back in 10

  city-cycles."

  "City-cycles?"

  I was then reminded that, in spite of Norar Remontar's assurances that there was no such thing as a uniform length of time, that the Amatharians did have a measure of time. Nicohl Messonar explained the system in more detail. Long ago they had discovered an electro-magnetic pulse that reverberated through Ecos. Later they had determined that it was a result of the artificial gravity in this created world. The Amatharians had digital time pieces throughout the city--there was even one in Norar Remontar's main room--which were all tied together and maintained a uniform measure of time. They used this time measurement for allotting work details and making appointments. However, once outside the city it meant little to them. The real difference between city-cycles and hours on Earth, were in how they were perceived by the people. If all the clocks of Earth were to go blank, hundreds of scientists would work weeks or even months, to find the correct time down to a fraction of a second. In Amathar, if the city-cycle were to fail, someone would take their best guess as to how much time had passed, and start it up again. As near as I have been able to pin-point it, the city-cycle is somewhere between two and four hours long. The Amatharians don't even believe that it is a regular interval, though I suspect that it is. So, after promising to, or rather threatening to return in ten city-cycles, Nicohl Messonar left. I was somewhat put off by her attitude, but then I recalled that upon first meeting, Norar Remontar had been somewhat stern, and in the interim we had become good friends. In any case, I threw myself into an examination of the Amatharian alphabet.