The Scrolls of Solomon Magus
The Life and Times of a Wizard from Arabah 
“And so, it was during this time that I came into the world to learn the arts of 
magic, to share the ecstasy of Bliss, to chronicle the events of my life, and 
the adventures of those whom our Lady called forth to fight the evils of Shiva.” 

-Solomon Magus 
The First Scroll 
Wizard Of Arabah
A Novel of Historical Fantasy 


by
Tristan Parrish



Copyright © 2006 by Michael Woodhead 
Dedicated To 
THE TOMLINSONS 
Chris, Marvel, Debbie & Jodi 
With thanks 


A NOTE TO THE READER 


Since I’m only the translator and editor of the manuscript you’re about to read, 
I thought I should give an explanation as to how I came to possess what I’ve 
called The Scrolls of Solomon Magus. 
During World War II, my Dad was a medical orderly in the British Army’s 99th 
Field Artillery Regiment in Burma. Although he would later tell me many stories 
about his wartime experiences, none intrigued me more than this one did. 
Shortly after a particularly heavy bombing raid by Japanese forces, a group of 
natives emerged from the jungle and made their way to the hospital tent. They 
carried two stretchers. On one, they bore an old, metallic chest; on the other, 
a mortally wounded man in his mid-forties who weakly introduced himself as 
Franklin Michael Parrish. 
Apparently, he’d been excavating at some sort of archaeological dig, and 
probably an illegal one from what my Father surmised. 
At any rate, when the Japanese shells pounded the area where he worked, Franklin 
didn’t have time to run for cover, and several shards of shrapnel hit him. 
Although he could tell Franklin didn’t have long to live, my Dad still tended to 
the man’s wounds, and even administered a hefty dose of morphine to help 
alleviate the pain. 
Then, as Dad quickly took personal information from Franklin for the army 
medical records, it soon became evident that through this strange, yet fateful 
meeting, Franklin was, in fact, my Dad’s natural Father, about whom he knew 
practically nothing. 
Franklin related that, after the death of her first husband, Dad’s mom, Mary, 
met and had a serious relationship with Franklin; serious enough for him to stay 
with her long enough to father two sons—my Dad, Frank, and my Uncle Albert. 
A few years later, when Dad was four or five, Franklin left England in the early 
1920s, and traveled to India where he planned to do some privately funded 
excavations. 
Although he never returned to England—something he regretted, but circumstances 
prevented him from doing so—Franklin made sure his two sons had food and 
clothes. He periodically sent money to their mother until the boys were old 
enough to find work and earn their own wages. 
All this information shocked my Dad, and he thought at first that it was the 
morphine-induced ramblings of a hallucinating man. 
That was until Franklin showed a small picture frame that contained a photograph 
of himself with Mary, Dad, and Albert. 
So it happened that, in his last few moments alive, Franklin entrusted the trunk 
he'd brought with him to Dad’s care. It held, he explained, various scrolls and 
documents he’d acquired after extensive and oftentimes perilous searches through 
the jungles of India and Burma. He begged Dad to take the artifacts back to 
England as soon as he could, and attempt to find a publisher for them. 
Franklin succumbed to his wounds shortly thereafter. Dad buried him in the 
jungle and, for a long time after, lamented the fact that he couldn’t have had 
more time to get to know his Father better. 
After the War, my Dad made it back to England with the chest and its contents. 
However, he never tried to find a suitable, if even interested, publisher. 
There were several reasons for this. 
For one thing, he’d reunited with his wife, Ivy, whom he’d not seen for nearly 
four long years. She soon became pregnant, first with me, then two years later 
with my sister, Margaret. 
Thus, the start of a new life and family entailed many more important 
responsibilities than the contents of a box. Dad needed a decent job that would 
at least allow his family to live somewhat comfortably in post-war England. 
In addition to this, Dad discovered that the scrolls in the chest needed to be 
translated from a very ancient script. Even though my Grandfather had provided a 
key to decipher the texts, Dad just couldn’t find time to do the necessary work. 

Consequently, Dad put the trunk in the attic of his house on Acre Avenue in the 
town of Stacksteads. 
There it remained until it moved with us to Calgary, and lay virtually untouched 
for some fifty-odd years until I eventually received it as part of my 
inheritance after Dad died from liver cancer at the age of eighty-four. 
Even when you take into account its apparent age, the chest has remained in 
remarkable shape. 
It measures two feet long, two feet wide, and just over a foot high. At one 
time, there must have been some sort of carvings on the sides and cover, but 
sun, rain, and wind wore them down, or someone deliberately rubbed them off. 
I’ve not yet bothered to determine the make-up of the box, but it’s certainly 
some sort of metal alloy. 
Also well preserved, the manuscripts come in several forms— primarily papyrus 
scrolls, along with some metal plates, rice paper sheets, and several crudely 
bound books. 
As I’ve already mentioned, there's a deciphering key. I used it to translate the 
current book, which I’ve entitled Wizard of Arabah. 
In my search through the contents of the box, I’ve also discovered what appear 
to be some commentaries, and a rather crude map. 
In the works I’ve translated so far, almost everything seems to be the dictated 
life and times of a man called Solomon Magus (a name I’ve transliterated as 
close as possible to the original, which means ‘peaceful wizard’). He may have 
lived some six thousand years ago, but to be honest, I’ve not yet verified the 
exact period. 
Judging from the map, and some of the places Solomon describes, the world he 
calls Arabah seems to include lands in and around the Mediterranean Sea (or 
‘Great Sea’ as he and other ancient civilizations called it), as well as parts 
of East Asia and India. Names of some areas are recognizable, others are not, so 
it’s often hard to determine precisely what country or place Solomon means. 
How my Grandfather obtained the chest and manuscripts, along with the key, is an 
intriguing adventure in itself, but one best left for another time and, perhaps, 
another book. For, indeed, Franklin included a personal journal of his exploits. 

However, that’s enough of an explanation for now. Until I, or others, get a 
better understanding of Solomon’s written language, any errors in translation 
will be mine. I leave it to you, the reader, to determine the veracity of the 
tales, fantastic as they might sound. 
Yet, even disbelief won’t prevent your imaginative escape to the ancient world 
of Arabah, for a short time, at least. 
TRISTAN PARRISH 
Summer 2005 



INTRODUCTION
Concerning the Author of This Tale
And How It Came to Be Written

Being as I am now well-advanced in years, bed-ridden, and not as naturally 
virile as I once used to be, Granddaughter Shalini suggested I set down in 
writing some of my past experiences. Thus, I could give to future generations, I 
suppose, a true and accurate account of my life and times. 
“Hah!” I replied to Shalini as I turned my head on the pillow in order to face 
her. “Would that it could be as simple as putting quill to papyrus.” 
Nineteen summers old, soft brown skin, long black hair and the brownest of brown 
eyes—Shalini looked at my hands. They shook uncontrollably with the tremors, a 
somewhat debilitating side effect of profuse and powerful magical gesturing over 
the years. 
“I can write it down for you,” she suggested. “You just tell me your story.” 
I sighed heavily. One as young as she was did not yet understand. Therefore, I 
explained what I meant. “’Tis not the fact that I can no longer write with any 
degree of steadiness, dear child. Rather, it is the remembrance of things past.” 

Shalini pressed her lips together and nodded, but I knew my meaning still 
escaped her. 
It had been many summers since my own youth, when I thought that I, too, knew 
everything there was to know; a time when I had dark skin like hers, and not the 
pale blotched flesh of today. That was a time, too, when my hair shone with 
vitality, and not the bald pate and loss of eyebrows that also came as a result 
of the prolonged use and abuse of magical power. 
Therefore, I felt I should continue to elucidate for her. “I have memories, to 
be sure—many pleasurable and sweet; still more, painful and pungent. But for me, 
as for many of us with years of experiences, that which actually transpired 
becomes confused with that which we think happened, or we wish had come about, 
but also that which we want others to believe about us.” 
Shalini smiled, sat down on the side of the bed, and then patted my trembling 
hand. “No doubt some things happened for which you feel ashamed, Grandfather. Of 
course you would not wish to speak of them.” 
I laughed aloud, an action that soon segued into a fit of coughing. Shalini gave 
me a cup of water to ease my throat. “There are many things for which I feel 
shame, my child. Many things. “ 
“Well, then, leave them out.” 
So logical, so simply put. 
“Ah!” I replied as I nodded in agreement, but countered with another thought. 
“However, it would not be a full and complete history, would it?” I raised a 
non-existent eyebrow at her. 
Shalini merely smiled knowingly, and shrugged. 
I fell silent for a few moments. 
Certainly, I had related a few—nay, more than a few—stories from my life as a 
wizard and historian. I told of my time amongst the Amazons, my voyages and 
adventures with pirates and warriors and priests, of my numerous sexual exploits 
in my need to share Bliss with any who sought it, and my on-going quest to rid 
the world of the evils that followed Shiva. 
However, I had never shared the complete history of my life with its joys and 
sorrows, its mysteries and wonders, its adventures and studies. 
Perhaps now would be a good time to do so. 
“All right,” I said to Shalini. “Retrieve your pen and papyrus. For better or 
for worse, I shall tell you how I, Solomon Magus, made my presence known on the 
world of Arabah.” 


PART ONE




CHAPTER 1
Concerning the Commencement of My Voyage to Madai,
And the Event That Would Change My Life



“Solomon, get down!” 
Those words rang in my ears as my Mother, Zudora, shoved me down between a pile 
of ropes and tackles on the Sea Maiden, and then quickly yanked a nearby tarp 
over me. 
“Stay there!” she commanded in a low voice. “Be quiet. Don’t come out, no matter 
what happens.” 
Moments later, what had previously been a few angry shouts, now blossomed into a 
cacophony of noises that assailed my ears— screams, curses, grunts and groans, 
the clash of steel against steel, the tearing of clothes, and the heavy thump of 
bodies that resonated through the floorboards of the ship’s deck. 
My imagination pictured all too vividly what transpired around me. Terrified, I 
covered my ears with my hands in a futile attempt to muffle the sounds. Tears 
filled my eyes, and I shivered with fright as I wondered what was going to 
become of me. 
I had just turned twelve. 
A few days earlier, my parents decided it was time for my sisters and me to see 
a little more of our world. Therefore, my Father, Tabor, arranged passage to the 
eastern city of Akkrabim in the country of Madai, one of the Midland Empires. 
With decent weather, the journey would take some twenty-odd days—seven by boat 
across the great Sea to the shores of Madai, and the rest by camel caravan to 
Akkrabim. 
Excitement filled each of us as we set our belongings into a cart and prepared 
to leave our farm in the village of Khet. 
Father and Mother originally came from Arpakshad, a country of the Eastern 
Realms. As a young couple, and for reasons still unknown to me, they came to 
Javan, one of the Isles of the Gentiles. There, in the province of Elishah, they 
settled in Khet, where they desired to become farmers. 
I can only assume the dark brown colour of their skin made that first year 
difficult. The white Khetians did not know whether to trust their new 
neighbours. However, such a thing happens all too frequently, I have seen, when 
people of different colours or beliefs or cultures meet for the first time. 
There is always a period of adjustment. 
As it turned out, my parents gradually increased their base of friendship until 
the village finally accepted them. Eventually, my Father became a well-respected 
member of the Khetian council. 
My parents raised, slaughtered, and sold sheep along with the various 
by-products made from them. 
Mother had even concocted a delicious, spicy mutton stew. It became a favourite 
meal and brought accolades of praise from many folk of the neighbouring towns 
and villages. For, there were indeed several occasions when many of them joined 
us for sumptuous banquets during one or more of the numerous festivals 
celebrated from one summer to the next. 
I do not think any of the merchants and farmers in Khet became what some might 
consider wealthy, but they did live comfortably. 
Once we climbed aboard our cart, Father guided the horse along the pathway that 
led to the nearby seaport of Samudar. There, we boarded the merchant ship known 
as the Sea Maiden. 
Deva and Yasmeen, my sisters, chatted excitedly between themselves. Both were 
older than I was, Yasmeen by ten years, Deva by eight. Although they were pretty 
girls, they were also yet unbetrothed, but hoped to find some suitable 
candidates for marriage in Akkrabim. Apparently, there were too few suitors in 
Khet since the Javanite army drafted many of the eligible men to help fend off 
various military incursions by barbarians from the north. 
While the girls dreamt of husbands, I stood and watched the crew set our barrels 
of belongings and trading goods into the hold. 
The Sea Maiden was not a large vessel, but it was adequate for the merchants of 
Samudar. Four rear paddles steered the ship, while seamen manned eight oars to 
use when sailing into the wind. Otherwise, a bipedal mast held a vertical sail 
that would catch any favourable, strong gust. 
By midmorning, a stiff, warm breeze had picked up. The ship’s sail unfurled, 
billowed, and, along with several dozen other passengers headed east, we finally 
set out for our destination. 
For the first half day, I knew the sea somewhat intimately since I expelled into 
its blue-green depths anything that remained in my belly from my last breakfast 
on land. However, my body gradually adjusted to the heavy swaying motion of the 
boat, and I have been a lover of sea travel ever since. 
There is nothing quite like it. Light sprays of salt water caress the skin; the 
unique fishy odour of the ocean fills the nostrils; waves slap against the 
wooden hull of the ship as it plows its way through the water, and a stiff wind 
fills the sail. 
More than anything, though, there is a keen sense of curiosity and wonder as one 
gazes to the horizon to see what hint of land will next appear. 
Or, as Fate decreed on our third day at sea, the blood red sails of the dreaded 
Turushan pirate ships. 
Two of them. 
They appeared shortly after we left the port of Massala on the island of Dodan. 
“Everyone get below!” bellowed the captain, once he knew the pirates had us in 
their sights. 
Mother grabbed my hand, and pulled me down the steps into the semi-dark of the 
hold. 
A strange mixture of unpleasant smells emanated from the place, but we had no 
choice. The rest of the passengers, as well as my Father and sisters, joined us, 
and all engaged in low, worried conversations. 
For my part, curiosity grabbed me. I wanted to see what would happen on the 
deck. I loosed myself from Mother’s hand, and then pushed my way through the 
crowd of mingling passengers until I found what I sought—a pile of boxes that 
would give me easy access to one of the ventilation holes above. I clambered up, 
and put my eyes to an opening. 
“Solomon, come back down!” Mother’s worried voice whispered loudly from below, 
but I ignored her. 
By this time, the pirate ships had already drawn alongside. I watched as they 
flung hooks and lines onto the railings of the Sea Maiden, and then securely 
tethered the ships together. Moments later, the pirates scrambled across and 
boarded us. 
“Solomon!” I heard Mother’s urgent plea again, but still I stared at the motley 
group of robbers who had attacked us. 
They appeared amazingly clean and well dressed, their outfits no doubt purloined 
from other victims of their plunders. Their heads were bald, save for a braid of 
hair that seemed to sprout from above their left ears—apparently a 
distinguishing mark for pirates. They also brandished long, curved swords. 
Since ours, as I said, was a merchant vessel, the captain had hired on only a 
handful of guards for protection. They would have attacked the boarders 
immediately, had not the captain told them to stand down since the pirates 
outnumbered them. 
Just then, I heard orders barked in a strange language come from the entrance to 
the hold. 
“Solomon, come back, now!” My Mother used her sternest tone, one I could not 
resist. I bounded down the boxes and ran to her. She wrapped her arm around me 
protectively, and then guided me up the steps to the deck behind the rest of the 
passengers. 
Deva and Yasmeen stood quietly beside my Father as the pirates herded travelers 
and crew into a group at the center of the main deck. Here, they kept us under 
guard whilst their slaves emptied the ship’s hold of its cargo. 
I saw a large, rough brute of a man with a bulky frizzled beard of black, lumber 
about the ship. He must have been the pirate captain since he shouted orders in 
a very efficient manner. Like his men, he carried a long sword that reflected 
the sunlight as he waved it about to emphasize his words. 
As young as I was, I certainly got the impression he liked to board a ship, and 
then leave with its cargo in the least amount of time, and with the least amount 
of fuss possible. 
Then, I noticed something odd, and certainly unexpected. 
A girl around my own age dogged the pirate’s footsteps. She, too, wore the 
multi-coloured garb of the robbers, further decorated with brooches and 
necklaces, as well as finger, ear, and nose rings. However, she had not shaved 
her head bald in the customary manner. Instead, her hair hung black and long, 
straight to her shoulders. Fine silver chains had been interlaced with several 
braided strands. 
She watched the pirate captain closely. Her eyes darted from his face to those 
of the clustered group of travelers, perhaps to judge their reaction to him and 
his crew—genuine fear, to controlled anger, to apparent apathy on the part of 
some, as if they’d been through this sort of thing before, and wanted to get it 
over with so they could be on their way once again. 
As the pirate captain and she passed by me, the girl stopped and stared into my 
eyes. Pale green, her lids lined with black dye, her eyes held no fear as mine 
might very well have done, even though I know they were wide with interest. 
The pirate saw the girl and me as we looked at each other. He glanced at my 
Mother and grinned. His yellowed teeth spoke to her in Turushan and, after a 
moment’s pause, she answered him in the same tongue even as I felt her fingers 
press firmly, but gently, into my shoulder. 
Although I did not understand what was said—but I suspected it was about me—the 
pirate and the girl both laughed, he more boisterously then she did. 
As the pirate turned his attention back to the activities of his crew, the young 
girl giggled, and continued to look me over with a curious expression. Those 
bright green orbs sparkled with amusement and interest. “Solomon the Strange?” 
she asked in my own language. 
I knew, then, the pirate had asked Mother for my name. 
I nodded to the girl, blushed, and hoped I would not have to go into an 
explanation of my peculiar surname. 
However, the pirate captain saved me from doing so. He called out, “Jasmin, 
venitay!” 
“My name’s Jasmin,” the girl said, and then she winked at me before she skipped 
away to join the captain. 
I daresay everything should have gone quite smoothly after that. The pirates 
would have returned to their ships and sailed off. We would have continued on 
our way to Madai, albeit with much less cargo. 
As it turned out, our lives were about to change forever through the stupidity 
of one of the passengers. 
Somehow, a merchant managed to pull a dagger from his robes. Before anyone could 
stop him, he thrust it towards the pirate captain, who turned at the last 
moment. The blade dug deep into his shoulder. 
The captain exploded with pain and rage. His sword arced through the air. The 
sharp steel bit into the merchant and cleaved him cleanly from shoulder to groin 
in one slice. 
Blood spurted, covered the pirate and several other passengers who stood nearby. 

Women screamed. Men shouted. 
Using this momentary diversion, the ship’s guards yanked out their swords, and 
attempted to attack the pirates. 
That was when Mother shoved me in amongst the ropes and tackles, and threw the 
tarp over me. 
And so, I heard the pleas for mercy that went unheeded as pirate swords hacked 
and slashed whoever stood near them. I heard the thump of bodies that fell to 
the deck, and I heard the terrified shrieks of women, and the tearing of their 
gowns as the pirates violated their bodies. 
Tears streamed down my cheeks. My body trembled uncontrollably. I pissed myself, 
and wet my gown. Yet, I kept my teeth clamped on my sleeve so that, true to my 
Mother’s warning, I uttered no sound. 
The horrible racket continued for several long moments, then faded. 
Suddenly, the tarp flew back. 
I cringed. 
I looked up. Through my tears, I saw Jasmin gaze at me for what seemed an 
eternity. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a bloodied sword that 
swayed in her hand. 
However, instead of using her weapon on me, she put her finger to her lips, 
smiled, gave me another wink, and then said, “Farewell, Solomon the Strange. 
Perhaps we shall meet again.” 
Jasmin flipped the tarp back over me, and I heard only the receding thud of her 
boots upon the deck boards. 
Shaking with fear and relief, I sobbed and sobbed into the sleeve of my robe. 
Long after all had become quiet, save for the rhythmic slap of the ocean waves 
against the hull of the Sea Maiden, I finally dared venture forth from my hiding 
place. I shivered with trepidation as I crawled from the protective cover of the 
canvas, and then rose to survey the massacre that lay around me. 
The ship’s crew, the guards, the merchants, and the other passengers—the pirates 
had slaughtered them all like the sheep on our farm. 
Wide-eyed, I took in the horrifying spectacle with disbelief and uncertainty. 
Everywhere, I saw men and women with their throats slit, their bellies 
disemboweled, some even decapitated. It seemed I stood in another world, a 
nightmare from which I wanted to waken, but could not do so. 
I was the only one left alive. 
Dizzy, I stumbled over and around the bodies, slipping on the mess of blood and 
gore. 
Of the twenty women who had sailed with us, fifteen of them lay dead. Half 
naked, covered with blood, and their bodies sprawled in the most awkward and odd 
positions, the pirates had subjected them to tortures or debasement the like of 
which my young mind could not yet comprehend. 
Amongst these unfortunates, I found my sister, Yasmeen. With her hands bound 
behind her back, the pirates had tied her to a mast. Her torn clothes fluttered 
in the breeze as they hung from her body, her flesh crisscrossed with welts, 
scratches, and lacerations. 
My hands shook as I untied the cords that held her to the mast. She crumpled to 
the deck in a heap. I tried to drag the corpse—to where, I did not know—but the 
weight of it was too much for me, and I had to leave her where she fell. 
My Father’s body lay amongst those of the other merchants. His open, glazed eyes 
told me all I needed to know. 
A wail finally escaped my lips as I dropped to my knees beside him. Tears 
streamed profusely down my cheeks, and my thoughts only now began to comprehend 
that I had probably become an orphan. 
For, indeed, I could not find my Mother or Deva anywhere. The pirates must have 
slaughtered them and tossed their bodies overboard, not unlike other victims of 
the massacre. 
Pirates, it was commonly known, showed very little, if any mercy when provoked. 
Thus, only the grace and protection of the Goddess, Shakti, Blessed be Her Name, 
through the hand of Jasmin, helped me survive. 
However, unbeknownst to me then, it would be another eighteen years before I was 
to learn the true fate of my Mother and sister. 
Dry sobs wracked my chest. I vomited onto the deck until my stomach ached. 
Shaking, I staggered to my feet, slipped, and slid my way below decks to the 
captain’s cabin. Once there, I crawled onto the soft blankets of his bed, and 
curled into a ball. 
Not only was I orphaned, I was also now stranded on a ship of corpses that 
floated aimlessly in the midst of the Great Sea, and subject to the whim of the 
wind and waves. 
Some time later, as I continued to wonder with trepidation what my future fate 
would be, I fell asleep. 


CHAPTER 2
Concerning the Years of My Childhood
And the Meaning of My Surname



For three days and three nights, the Sea Maiden drifted. 
The stench of Death and the squawking of scavenger birds drifted down to the 
cabin almost continuously. 
In the cabin, I found a supply of food and fresh water that the pirates had 
apparently overlooked. I did not feel like eating, but when my stomach ached to 
be filled with something, I forced down a few bread cakes, and sipped the water. 

So, for those few days and nights, I ate sparsely and slept fitfully. 
Then, on the afternoon of the fourth day, the Sea Maiden lurched violently, and 
I heard the crunch of wood as I tumbled from the bed to the floor, and then 
banged against the sidewall. A few moments later, the boat listed sideways and I 
knew it must have crashed into something. 
Although a horrendous sight no doubt waited above, nonetheless I clambered up 
the short flight of stairs to the main deck and threw open the door. 
I shrieked aloud. And retched. 
The bulging, lifeless eyes of the merchant who had stabbed the pirate captain 
stared at me from his bloated, green face. The hacked, split halves of his body 
lay in two directions. 
I vomited on the stairs, tried to calm the quickness of my breathing, and then 
maneuvered past the corpse so I could stand on the angled deck as best I could 
in order to see what had happened. 
The impact had already thrown or slid numerous other cadavers into the sea, 
Yasmeen and my Father amongst them. Some bodies floated on the surface, others 
doubtless had been seized and yanked into the dark blue depths to be torn apart 
and consumed by whatever ravenous creatures lived there. 
Again, waves of guilt, remorse, and abandonment washed over me, but I could have 
done nothing to change what happened. As my Father so often reminded me—we are 
all in the hands of Shakti, no matter what our fate might be. 
A cursory investigation revealed that the wind and sea had carried the Sea 
Maiden against a shoal of sharp rocks. The impact had been strong enough to 
puncture a hole in the hull so that the hold quickly flooded with water, and 
caused the ship to list to the port side. 
Beyond the rocks, a long sandy beach stretched to the distant horizon in two 
directions while, at the edge of the sand, a dense jungle area chattered with 
the sounds of birds and animals. 
I grabbed a length of dangling rope, and climbed my way down the lower side of 
the ship to the rocks. 
Everywhere, blood mixed with water. I moved unsteadily across the sharp crags 
until I finally padded onto the soft and white, silt-like sand of the beach. 
I turned, sat down, and stared at the Sea Maiden. I did not really look at the 
wreck itself, though; rather, through it, as my mind traveled back to Khet, 
where the townspeople would probably never know the fate of my family. 
However, if none of us returned by the coming of a new summer, certainly they 
would assume the worst, and no doubt confiscate our land, farmhouse, and 
animals. Such was the Khetian way of life. 
As I stated previously, I never learned why my parents left Arpakshad; they 
never talked about life before Elishah, or about my Grandparents whom I never 
met. 
That the births of my sisters and me were miraculous is, to say the least, 
somewhat of an understatement. Usually, my parents complained they were so 
exhausted after a full day’s work, they did not have time for any sensual 
pleasure. 
However, I would venture to say that, during the festivals when all work ceased, 
they obviously found at least three occasions to enjoy physical pleasure. 
For, on the fifth day of the third month in the year of our Lady 1185, Mother 
gave birth to my eldest sister, Yasmeen. 
On the twenty-first day of the tenth month, 1187, Deva came into the world. 
And on the sixteenth day of the seventh month in the year of our Lady 1195, my 
own eyes opened to the bright glare of the sun. 
Two days later, my parents named me Solomon. 
As was the custom in those days, they did not bestow surnames until the ninth 
summer. Thus, during those first formative years, parents had time to study and 
ascertain their children’s personalities and proclivities, such as they had 
developed by that time. 
Yasmeen would always want to try something new, regardless of the peril to her 
own life, and the undue worry it produced in our Mother. Deva, on the other 
hand, had a very loving and caring nature towards people and animals. 
Thus, my parents called them Yasmeen the Daring, and Deva the Gentle. 
My own appellation, however, probably requires a little more explanation. 
That I was a precocious youngster became all too evident by the time I reached 
the age of five. 
I began to walk and talk in less than a year, although I am sure only my Mother 
could understand my incessant babbling. As I grew older, I demanded many answers 
in order to satisfy my insatiable curiosity about the multitude of new 
discoveries I made in the world around me. 
Following my seventh summer, I began to mix strange concoctions from the spices, 
liquids, and powders I found in our home, much to the consternation of my 
Mother, who found such antics to be wasteful of food. In addition, I would wave 
my hands and utter nonsensical vocalizations. No doubt I pretended to be some 
great wizard, not unlike those we saw perform on occasion in the village 
marketplace during the festivals. 
I always gazed in awe as objects changed from one thing to another in their 
hands before my very eyes; wizards climbed ropes and disappeared into thin air; 
others pushed pins and needles through their flesh, never drawing blood and, 
apparently, never feeling any pain; and still others had themselves buried 
alive, only to re-emerge at the end of the festival with virtually no 
ill-effects. 
The rest of my family often reminded me that the performers were not real 
wizards, merely those who had learned the art of conjuration in order to fool 
the locals who did not understand how the tricks were done, but who were willing 
to part with their hard-earned money to see them. 
Nonetheless, I still found such things fascinating, and I often envisioned 
myself as a wizard with great powers, which I would use to aid those in need. 
I suppose it did not help my personality, either, when I mimicked the movements 
and sounds of the farm and forest animals. 
All this make-believe on my part apparently proved too much for my Mother. 
Father, of course, more easily tolerated my fanciful antics and wanted to call 
me ‘the Seeker’. However, Mother asserted herself quite strongly, and thus I 
became known as ‘Solomon the Strange’. 
As you might imagine, such a name caused me no small amount of jests from my 
siblings and playmates. At first, these taunts bothered me, and I used to run 
home, tearfully recanting a tale of woe, only to receive a stern admonition from 
my Father to ignore the name-calling. 
Therefore, after awhile, I began to weather the taunts better, and I do believe 
they eventually made me stronger of character. For, in later years, I cared not 
what people thought or said of me. I was an individual. Perhaps a bit eccentric, 
to be sure—for that added to my popularity, or notoriety, as the case might 
be—but in certain situations, such a trait served me well and occasionally saved 
my life. 
I daresay some of the village people may have considered me a rebellious child, 
but neither my parents nor my sisters thought me to be so. I obeyed my elders, 
and learned how to treat all people with respect and honesty. However, I 
retained the uniqueness that made me what I am today, and always have been, for 
that matter. 
After I passed my ninth summer, Yasmeen and Deva took me with them to the tablet 
house, there to begin my schooling. 
The Scribes taught me to read and write. I used a hard wood stylus to impress on 
a soft clay tablet, the multitude of lines, swirls, dots, and wedges that 
comprised various words and phrases when placed side-by-side in a particular 
order. 
I soon developed a love of languages, and an interest in numerous subjects that 
has not abated to this very day. 
Of course, inattentiveness and daydreaming brought a sharp rap on the bare leg 
from a stiff, long reed—not enough to cause any damage, just enough to bring my 
mind back to the studies at hand. 
With an abacus, I also learned how to calculate numbers. I learned of other 
countries and cultures found on Arabah, and I marveled at the many flora, fauna, 
fowl and fish that could be found and hunted for food—all of which the Scribes 
said I would find useful as I grew older. 
Many are the lands I have visited, many the cultures and people I have seen, 
many the rituals I have shared with others. Through them all, I have come to see 
that Shakti, blessed be Her Name, is a Goddess of variety, and Arabah a world of 
beauty and diversity. 
However, as a young lad, with all this new knowledge came new responsibilities. 
Thus, shortly after the bestowing of my surname, my Father sat down with me. I 
could tell from his demeanour that he had something important to say. 
“Solomon, after nine more summers have passed, people will consider you a man. 
By that time, you will need to have chosen some sort of trade if you are to make 
your way in this world. If you have not chosen something, then you will be 
obliged to manage the farm alongside me so that it may one day become yours. 
But, whatever you chose to do, Solomon, I will always be proud of you.” 
Given my natural curiosity and precocious nature, you might well imagine that 
such a prospect did not excite me; sheep farming was not for me. Moreover, 
although I loved my parents, and dutifully—though perhaps begrudgingly—performed 
my chores alongside Yasmeen and Deva, I knew early on that I was destined for 
something else. 
Of course, just what that was, I did not know. However, I felt sure that when it 
appeared, I would be ready and willing to throw myself wholeheartedly into 
whatever task that might be. 
As it happened, my destiny manifested itself sooner than I thought, and in a way 
I never would have imagined. 


CHAPTER 3
Concerning the Seer of Kumar
And His Vision for My Life



In all our lives, there have been many fortuitous circumstances that, quite 
understandably, we do not recognize as such until much later in life. 
As I sat on the soft sand and stared sullenly at the Sea Maiden, another memory 
returned to me. I had not actually forgotten it, but the appropriateness of it 
began to make sense in light of my present predicament. 
One of these moments occurred when I was ten years old. 
The fact that I had not found the Cave of Mon before this time still surprises 
me. I am sure I scouted and wandered over a lot of land around the vicinity of 
our farm. I memorized the location of every river and stream, every good 
hiding-place for when I did not wish to be found, as well as the most abundant 
fishing spots, and the best trees on which to find the tastiest fruit. 
So I was quite taken aback when, parting some bushes, I noticed a long gash in 
some large rocks beyond. Perhaps, I thought, this could be another hiding-place 
for me. If I had not found it before, then surely it would take some time for 
anyone to find me. 
I was a slender lad, so it was a simple matter for me to slip through the sliver 
of an entrance. 
Since I had just come from the bright sunlight, I waited for a few moments to 
allow my eyes to adjust to the partial darkness. As they did, I began to note 
that there was indeed a cave, albeit a small one, but one that might serve very 
nicely as a place to secrete myself should the need arise. 
Then I noticed something near to a wall that seemed not unlike the sacks in 
which we kept the wool from our sheep. 
Suddenly, my heart leapt with shock as a man’s voice from within this sack said, 
"Thou art Solomon the Strange." 
Normally, I would have bolted from the cave like a frightened gazelle from the 
charge of a lion; but the voice held no menacing tone, and it intrigued me that 
who, or whatever it was, knew my name, if not one of my friends playing a joke 
on me. 
"You know me?" I asked, a slight quaver in my words. 
"I know many things," the sack replied. Then I saw two hands appear. They 
reached up and pushed back a cowl to reveal one of the oldest men I had ever 
seen, for his face possessed a multitude of wrinkles, and his grey eyes, 
generations of knowledge and wisdom. "I am Lomad,” he went on. “The Seer of 
Kumar. I have been expecting thee." 
Immediately I fell to my knees, prostrated myself on the ground, and hid my eyes 
in the palms of my hands. "Forgive me, High Father, I did not know—“ 
Lomad chuckled loudly, probably because he knew the Elders taught all children 
to show reverence to those of the Oracle caste. 
"Rise, young Solomon," the Seer urged after several long moments. "There is no 
need to be down there all day." 
I lifted myself to a kneeling position, but kept my hands over my eyes since 
they warned us not to gaze on the face of an Oracle lest we be blinded forever. 
"Am I that ugly that thou canst not look upon me?" 
"It is forbidden..." 
The man snorted, apparently with some displeasure. Then he said, "Perhaps 
elsewhere, but I do not forbid it. Put down thy hands and let me see thine 
eyes." 
Somewhat hesitantly, I did so. 
I gaped. The Seer’s face no longer possessed the craggy lines of age, but seemed 
as smooth and unblemished as my own. Perhaps the aging effect had been a trick 
of the dim light within the cave. 
Lomad handed me a small cup. "Take. Drink. Refresh thyself." 
I took the cup and downed whatever liquid was in it. The taste seemed not unlike 
the sweet juice of the mango fruit, but possessed a thicker consistency. "Thank 
you." 
Lomad nodded, took back the cup, and motioned me to sit properly in front of 
him. "As I said, I have been expecting thee." 
"For what reason, High Father?" 
"To speak to thee of that which has been, of that which is even now, and that 
which is yet to come." 
"I do not understand," I said truthfully, for indeed it seemed to my young mind 
that the man talked in riddles. 
"I speak of thy life, Solomon," he explained rather cheerfully. "I see thy past, 
filled with questions; I see thy present, and its thirst for knowledge and 
understanding; and I see thy tomorrows, filled with mystery and wonder.” 
These words I understood, for I knew the Oracles had been given the ability to 
see into the lives of anyone the Goddess chose to reveal to them, though how 
they accomplished this, I did not know. 
“There will be pain,” the Seer continued, “but it shall be tempered with 
pleasure; there will be sorrow, but it shall be tempered with joy; there will be 
adventure, but it shall be tempered with study; there will be riches, but they 
shall be tempered with want; there will be freedom, but it shall be tempered 
with slavery." 
Such a pronouncement could have applied to anyone, I reasoned. 
Lomad fell silent for a moment, then lifted up his hand and put it before my 
face. "I see a voyage before thee, Solomon—a long voyage that takes thee across 
the Great Sea, back to the homeland of thy forefathers. There thou wilt learn of 
thy destiny. I see a teacher and student, a lover and friend. I see the 
awakening of thy Bliss and a sharing of thyself with many until thou hast found 
the One. 
“I see a long life, a short death and much happiness, and the gain of secret 
knowledge; but I see also times of tribulation, solitude and loneliness." 
By this time, my head began to feel strange. Lomad's words seemed distant and 
echoed as if we were in a much larger cavern. My body felt very relaxed and I 
had no choice but to lie down on the dirt floor of the cave. 
Colours rippled before my vision. A moment later, I stood in a lush garden with 
the greenest of grass, colourful and vibrant flowers, and with trees bearing 
much fruit, some I did not recognize. 
Then there appeared before me a beautiful woman, her naked body clothed in a 
turquoise light, her head surrounded by a halo of white. Strains of soft music 
caressed my ears, sounds the like of which I had never before heard, but which 
soothed my soul and spirit. 
The woman’s almond-shaped eyes gazed lovingly into my own, my thoughts and 
desires melting into the brightest crystal-blue of her irises. She smiled at me, 
held out her hand. I reached forward, touched it, felt a strange energy surge 
through my body, filling it, seeping through my pores, mingling with the 
turquoise light and the majesty of the world in which I found myself. 
I needed none to tell me that I met and merged with the Great Mother, the 
Creator of All, the Giver of Life—the Goddess Shakti, blessed be Her Name! 
Immediately after I received this revelation, strange words poured into my mind. 
Visions of new worlds, strange people, and myriad stars flowed through my 
imagination. Sensuous, ecstatic emotions and sensations washed over me, so much 
so that it was greater than I could bear, and I cried out for release. 
And so, I awoke. 
Covered with sweat, I lay on the cool grass outside the cave. I rose unsteadily, 
pushed through the bushes to examine the rock wall. I saw no cave, not even the 
sliver of an entranceway through which I had gone. 
When I arrived home, I went immediately to my Father and blurted out what had 
happened to me. 
"What was the name of this Seer?" he asked, for in my haste to tell it all, I 
had neglected to say. 
"Lomad, the Seer of Kumar," I replied. 
My Father looked at me with a rather stunned expression on his face. "Lomad?" he 
exclaimed. "I think someone has been toying with you, Solomon. This Lomad of 
whom you speak has been dead for nigh on fifty summers!" 
He shook his head at me as I turned and left him. 
A dream it may have been; but all that Lomad prophesied did indeed come to pass. 

My thoughts of Lomad faded as I continued to stare at the wreck of the Sea 
Maiden. 
Had this been the voyage of which he spoke? Would I be able to find my way home? 
Was there even anyone around who would offer help? 
Then, something behind me snarled. 


CHAPTER 4
Concerning My Day on the Beach
And the Things That I Found There



I whirled around onto my hands and knees. My heart sank as I stared into the 
wide yellow eyes and bared sharp fangs of a black panther. 
Saliva dripped from its mouth as the creature crouched to a pouncing position, 
its hind quarters slowly swaying back and forth. 
Instinctively, I closed my eyes and cried out, “Shakti, preserve this unworthy 
soul!” For I had occasionally heard condemned criminals utter such exclamations 
before the sword lopped off their heads during a public execution. Such things 
did not happen often, but were meant primarily as a deterrent to other criminals 
who had not yet been caught. 
It certainly made me think twice about doing anything unlawful. 
At any rate, after my plea, I thought death would come quickly since I knew I 
could not outrun or kill the beast. 
However, nothing happened. 
Timidly, I opened one eye, and then the other. 
The cat still stood before me, but it seemed to look at me with something I 
could only explain to myself as intelligence, as if the creature actually 
understood what I said. 
After another menacing growl, it turned and loped off quickly into the trees. 
Tears of relief trickled down my cheeks. I shivered. “Thank you, Goddess,” I 
murmured, and tasted the saltiness of my tears on my lips. 
I was not actually convinced that Shakti Herself had saved me, or if something 
else had scared the cat away—perhaps the smell of Death from the Sea Maiden—but 
I wanted to give Her the benefit of the doubt. 
I was not going to take any chances; Shakti would get all the credit 
nonetheless. 
As the shaking of my body calmed down, my stomach fluttered with hunger. 
I rose and looked back and forth along the beach. I had no idea where I was, but 
hoped someone would be around to offer me food and, perhaps, help me get home. 
From the position of the sun, I estimated there to be less than half a day’s 
light left. If nothing else, it would be prudent of me to find some sort of 
shelter for the night since I did not want to return to the ship. 
I headed west, and kept my pace fairly steady and quick on the harder ground by 
the edge of the jungle. Trying such a walk on the sand would have worn me out 
much faster. 
After a short while, as I glanced through the jungle vegetation, I recognized a 
mango tree. I hurried inland, plucked a fruit from its branches and bit into it. 
The sweet juices filled my mouth and dribbled down my chin. Ah! It tasted so 
delicious after four days of water and bread cakes. 
I removed my overcoat, set some more mangoes on it, then bundled it up, and tied 
the sleeves and hem into a knot. Those would do me until I found more 
substantial food. 
I decided it would be better for me to continue down the beach rather than tramp 
through the underbrush in an unknown forest on an unknown land. At least if any 
fishermen lived here, I would find them much more quickly. I backtracked the way 
I came, and then headed west again. 
After awhile, I noticed that the sun, instead of being in front of me, now shone 
at my back. This continued for some time, and then I realized why. In front of 
me once more, the sun had dipped almost to the horizon when I came upon— 
--the wreck of the Sea Maiden. 
Any remaining energy seeped from my body, and collapsed on the sand. I walked 
all that way, only to come back to where I started. 
I was on an island, and a relatively small one at that. What chance would there 
be of anyone living here if I had not seen them already? 
My throat tightened, and my eyes watered. 
No! I would not cry again! I had done enough of that. I would sleep for the 
night, then at sunrise I would head into the jungle to see what I could find. 
Since it was an island, then I really could not get lost. No matter how far I 
walked through the jungle, I would always come back out somewhere along the 
beach. 
I removed the mangos from my overcoat, rewrapped it again, and set it down on 
the sand as a pillow. 
Fortunately, the night air and sand were still warm, although I knew that by 
morning they would no doubt be quite cool. 
I lay down, closed my eyes, and waited to fall asleep. 
Some time later, I was still awake. I rolled onto my back, and looked at the 
twinkling lights in the sky. Literally thousands of them filled it from one end 
of the horizon to the other. 
The Scribes taught that they were torches held by good spirits, the children of 
Shakti, standing guard over the earth to keep the evil spirits at bay until She 
Herself rose to spread Her warmth and brilliance over everything again. 
I wondered how many of them happened to exist out there; and what did they look 
like? Had anyone ever seen any of these spirits, good and evil? For, in spite of 
everything else said about spirits, the Scribes could not really describe their 
appearance. 
As I looked at the lights that stretched as far as I could see, once more I felt 
insignificant and alone. 
Why had I been marooned here, on an island that so far had nothing but birds and 
wild animals? I reasoned that if a black panther lived here, then surely there 
must be other creatures, perhaps some of them waiting to make a meal of me. 
I shivered, wrapped my clothes tighter around me in an effort to keep warm, and 
tried to ignore the stench of my dried urine. I needed a bath, and that meant I 
had to find fresh water. I could not survive on mangoes alone. 
The next thing I became aware of was the warmth of the sun caressing my face. 
I opened my eyes, sat up, and glanced around. The Sea Maiden still lay on the 
rocks in her watery grave, and now appeared to be totally devoid of corpses. 
However, when I stood up and looked towards the jungle, I was surprised to see 
the remains of what appeared to be a small, ancient temple. 
How had I missed seeing it when I first came ashore? Perhaps my attention had 
been riveted too much on the wreck, my predicament, and then the panther. 
I picked up a mango, bit into it, and then sauntered to the temple. 
The temple could not have been much more than ten paces square, with three steps 
leading up to a small dais in the middle. Toppled and broken columns lay in 
disarray on the ground, and that they had obviously been there for some time 
since grass and vines had grown quite thick around and over them. 
For what god or goddess had someone built it? Moreover, by whom? How long had it 
been here? What rites or ceremonies had taken place on it? 
I could not answer any of the questions, of course. However, my gnawing hunger 
and thirst momentarily quenched by the mango, and my innate curiosity greatly 
piqued, I moved closer to inspect the ruins. 
Painted glyphs and pictographs covered several of the fallen pillars. A few of 
the symbols looked familiar, not unlike some of those I had already studied in 
the tablet house. 
However, I was not a scholar of such things, so could not interpret any of them. 

I recognized a pictograph of the sun, which I felt represented the sun itself, 
or perhaps the Goddess, or perhaps even a day. And the glyph of a man or woman 
probably meant people. 
However, anything else proved beyond my comprehension. 
I left the columns, then, and stepped onto the dais. 
Too late, I realized that was a mistake. The stone collapsed beneath my weight, 
and I hurtled down into blackness. 


CHAPTER 5
Concerning My Search of the Temple
And the Wonders I Found There



I yelped as I fell heavily on the rocks at the bottom, probably some ten feet 
down. A searing pain shot through my thigh, and I knew a dozen other parts of my 
body doubtless would be well-bruised and sore ere the day had passed. 
My nose crinkled as a fetid stench filled my nostrils. 
Fortunately, light from the morning sun dimly illuminated the shaft into which I 
had fallen. 
Then, as the disturbed dust that billowed around me began to settle, I stared 
into the empty sockets of a yellowed skull. Black holes peered ominously at me, 
seemingly with a life of their own. 
I glanced round, and swallowed the hard lump in my throat. Over a dozen broken 
human skeletons, and a corroded cadaver, lay amongst the chunks of rock that had 
fallen with me. 
I sneezed and scrambled to my feet. I winced as I felt pain in my thigh again. I 
touched it lightly, felt blood. 
I lifted my robe. The wound on my leg looked ugly, but I surmised most of it 
would be dirt and blood. 
I tore a long strip from the hem of my garment, brushed off as much of the grime 
from my thigh as I could, and then wrapped the material around the wound and 
tied it tightly. I felt that would suffice until I could get out of the hole, 
and find some water with which to wash the gash clean. 
However, as I looked at the walls, I could not see either ladder or hand holds. 
My brow creased with curiosity once more. Why would the shaft be here with 
naught but skeletons, and no way out? Surely all these people could not have 
accidentally fallen into the shaft as I had done? 
Then I reasoned that, perhaps, since this was a temple, someone had sacrificed 
these unfortunates in some ceremony, and then tossed them down here. Some time 
later, perhaps the half-decomposed cadaver, attempted to seal the hole above, 
but had not entirely finished and fell down himself. 
I did not know. However, that seemed a plausible enough explanation for me. 
Unfortunately, it did not offer a way out of the hole. 
An idea entered my mind. The Scribes told us stories about how the Ancients had 
secret hiding places for their priests—either beneath or in statues—so that when 
they spoke, it sounded as if the god itself were speaking. After the people 
left, the priests would surreptitiously remove any offerings that had been 
placed on the god’s altar. 
Perhaps, here, they would have entered the shaft through a concealed door in 
order to remove or retrieve any personal effects the sacrifices might have worn. 

I began a quick, but systematic search of the walls in an attempt to locate a 
trigger or other device that would open a secret door. Then I realized that 
would be impossible; they would not need to open the door from inside the shaft. 

Therefore, I changed my tactics and pushed against one of the walls. It did not 
move. I tried another wall. The rock suddenly gave way and, with a loud scraping 
sound, swung outward on a hinge. 
Dust clouds swirled around me, and I could just make out a dark corridor beyond. 

I wished then that I had kept my wits about me the day before. Instead of my 
rush to get off the ship, I should have looked for some essentials—food, 
clothing, and water, even a torch. However, these things were furthest from my 
mind. I just wanted to leave that floating graveyard. 
Only, now, I found myself in another. 
I stepped gingerly into the corridor, and hoped it would somehow lead to the 
ground above. 
No sooner had I set foot on the corridor floor than I heard the release of some 
sort of latch. 
My breath caught in my throat. 
I had triggered a trap! 
But, no! Amazingly, light began to flood the corridor as several tiles on the 
right wall slowly slid open to reveal round, brightly-glowing medallions behind 
each one. 
At the same time, I heard a scuttering noise. I looked down to see hundreds of 
many-legged beetles scamper for darkness in the jagged, shadowed cracks of the 
walls. 
I put my hand in front of one of the circular objects. It threw a shadow of my 
hand on the opposite wall, but emanated no heat. Something magic produced the 
light. 
I tried to ignore the throbbing of my wound as I proceeded down the corridor for 
several hundred paces until I came to another door. This time, when I pushed, it 
did not move. I soon located a hidden switch and released it. 
As I relate this story, it amazes me today not only how ingenious, but also how 
terribly naïve a young boy I was. The door, or trigger, could very easily have 
been rigged to prick my prying fingers with a poisoned needle, or spray some 
sort of incapacitating gaseous substance, perhaps drop me into another 
inescapable pit, crush me with a falling slab of rock, or subject me to any 
number of other deadly fates. 
Thankfully—and, again no doubt, the protective hand of Shakti covered me—such 
was not the fate that day. The door opened, and I stepped safely through into— 
Into what? 
My heart beat faster, and my eyes grew wide at the sight in front of me as the 
same mode of lighting as that in the corridor lit up a large chamber. 
The room appeared to be a natural cavern, and was roughly thirty paces across. 
Wooden boxes, earthen jars, and metal bowls covered much of the floor; many of 
them overflowed with delicate and beautiful trinkets. Gems, jewelry, decorated 
weapons and armour, statuettes inlaid and overlaid with gold, silver and other 
precious metals—my mind boggled at the vast array of it all, like some pirate’s 
hidden hoard. 
Then, too, books, parchments and scrolls—all in a cluttered mess—protruded from 
rock shelves, and from a very long bookcase; others lay scattered about on a 
large table, and on the floor. 
In the midst of this entire wondrous find, I saw a long, cylindrical box studded 
with jewels and other decorative stones. The molded or carved top appeared to be 
the torso of a woman, complete with very lifelike facial characteristics. 
I ran my hand over the smoothness of the box, and admired the fine craftsmanship 
of detailed carvings that covered the sides along the length of it. 
Then I stopped, and took a closer look at them. 
I blushed. 
Tiny figures of men and women—singles, couples, and groups of three or more—all 
of them had been carved to represent various intimate positions of Bliss. 
Once, accidentally, I saw Deva coupling in the hay with a young man. Both moaned 
and groaned in a way that seemed to indicate they were not in pain—more of 
pleasure. I also saw animals mate on numerous occasions, so the act of Bliss, if 
not the sensuous nature of it, was familiar to me. 
However, to see so many tiny figures carved into such a blatant display of 
intercourse certainly made me feel uncomfortable. 
I took my hand from the box. I thought I felt a tingle or vibration on my 
fingers. I looked at them, and at my palm. 
Then it struck me. 
There was no dust on them. 
In fact, as I glanced around the chamber again, a fine layer of dust covered 
everything except this oblong box. 
The hairs on the back of my neck quivered. I pulled away from the ornate box, 
not really sure whether I had sensed another presence, or whether the intrigue 
of such a magnificent and wonderful discovery toyed with my youthful and 
possibly overactive imagination. 
I soon found out. 
The box suddenly shimmered with a scintillating gold halo, and blinded me for a 
few moments. When the light disappeared, and I opened my eyes, the lid had slid 
sideways, leaving the interior open. 
I held my breath. 
Nothing else happened. 
However, curiosity once more got the better of me. I moved forward and slowly 
peered into the box. 
I could only stare in amazement at the beautiful, naked woman who lay there, her 
skin as brown and smooth as my own. Her long black hair curled over her 
shoulders and demurely covered her breasts; her arms and ringed fingers rested 
at her sides; a small, glittering jewel lay in her navel, another on or in her 
forehead. A triangle of soft down enveloped her sex; her legs were long and 
curved, her feet slendour, her toenails painted with a red hue. A silver 
bracelet encircled her right ankle. 
Whether she was dead, or asleep, or in some sort of trance, I could not tell. 
She did not appear to be breathing, and yet she looked so very much alive. 
As my gaze traveled up her beautiful form once more and rested on her face, her 
eyes suddenly opened. 
For a moment, we stared at each other, and her silver blue irises captivated me, 
held me motionless, as it seemed she peered into the very depths of my soul. 
Then I lost consciousness. 


CHAPTER 6
Concerning the Woman of Beauty
And An Offer I Could Not Refuse



I awoke to the mouth-watering aroma and gently sizzling sounds of fried eggs and 
pork. 
For a fleeting moment, I thought I was home. Then I recalled the events under 
the temple, and sat up with a start. 
Had it all been a dream? 
If so, the dream continued, for that very woman who stared at me from the 
cylindrical box, now sat on the edge of the bed in which I found myself, and she 
gazed at me with no small amount of interest. 
I guessed her to be about thirty summers old. Although her brown skin meant she 
must surely be a native of the Eastern Realms— from which my parents had 
come—the almost translucent silver blue of her eyes suggested some Gentile blood 
in her ancestry. 
Her dark hair hung straight and shiny to her shoulder blades. Two woven braids 
dangled in front of her ears. In her forehead, just above and between her eyes, 
as I had seen in my dream, a small green crystal had somehow been affixed to her 
skin. 
She wore a low cut purple blouse, a short jeweled vest, and a long dark blue 
skirt held around her slim waist by several strands of leather. Her long and 
slendour fingers wore what seemed to be several intricately molded rings. 
“Good morning,” she said, her voice liquid and sweet as honey. “Wilt thou join 
me for breakfast?” 
I could only gaze at her silently for several long moments as I tried to 
comprehend how I got to where I was—sitting up in a bed— from where I knew I 
should have been, on a dusty floor in a temple. 
But, of course, I did not know. 
I glanced quickly round to see I was in a small, but comfortable-looking hut, 
about fifteen paces square, with a single door and several small uncovered 
windows. Several shelves held jars, plates, and cups, all neatly stacked. A 
fireplace, glowing with hot embers, cooked breakfast in a large skillet. A table 
and two chairs occupied the floor near the bed. Everything appeared to be well 
kept, orderly, and clean. 
My stomach grumbled its desire for food as my eyes traveled back to the 
fireplace. Breakfast sounded very appealing. I coughed my dry throat clear, and 
nodded as I replied, “Yes, please, milady.” 
Her delicately curved eyebrows arched. “My!” she exclaimed. “A young man with 
manners.” 
This, because I had referred to her as ‘milady’. It was a term I had been taught 
to use whenever I talked with women older than I was. 
As the woman took a plate already laden with a small breadcake, and slid some 
eggs and pork from the skillet onto it, I felt the urge to relieve myself. 
I threw back the blanket that covered me, and slid off the bed. 
My plate in her hand, the woman had already turned back to give it to me. Her 
eyes fell immediately upon my youthful nakedness, and she smiled a curious 
smile. 
For my part, I blushed quite freely since my maleness had grown long and hard as 
a result of my morning urge. Other than my Mother, no woman had seen me thus. 
I excused myself, quickly opened the door to the hut, and hurried outside to 
piss into the bushes. 
The hut sat in the trees a short distance from the beach and the ocean. The 
wreck of the Sea Maiden was nowhere to be seen. Neither could I see any sign of 
the temple. 
When I remembered the gash in my thigh, I looked down; there was nothing to show 
that I had even been injured. 
So, perhaps it was a dream after all. 
After I returned to the hut, the woman gave me a new gown to wear. I slipped it 
over my head. The hem came to mid-thigh. I waited for a loincloth, but she gave 
me none. 
I sat at the table and dove into my breakfast. 
“How old art thou?” 
“Twelve, milady.” 
“Ah…” It seemed she sighed with some disappointment. “And what is thy name?” 
At that moment, it occurred to me she had spoken with the same dialect as had 
Lomad the Seer. I swallowed the mouthful of food in my mouth and said, “Solomon 
the—“ 
I stopped, quickly decided I did not want to discuss my ‘strangeness’, and 
continued, “—the Seeker.” 
Father would have been proud. 
“A seeker!” the woman exclaimed with a sparkle of surprise in her eyes. “What is 
it you seek, young Solomon?” 
It took a few moments for me to respond. 
For one thing, I could not seem to get the eggs, pork and breadcakes into my 
mouth fast enough. For another, my mind sought a viable answer to her question. 
What did the strange behaviour of my childhood forebode? No one had ever asked 
me that before, and I had never consciously given it any thought. 
Eventually, a word came to me. “Knowledge, milady.” 
Her eyebrows went up again. “I see.” 
She partook of her own breakfast, then, and occasionally glanced over at me, as 
if she endeavoured to peer beneath my youthful exterior to my inner self. 
She passed a bowl of fruit to me, but I shook my head. “What kind of knowledge, 
Solomon?” 
Did I know the answer to that? I thought I did. On the surface, I suppose I 
wanted to know about Life and Death, about why my parents and sisters died 
whilst I remained alive. 
However, beneath it all, there yearned a need for certain knowledge and 
abilities with which, had it been possible, I would have saved them. 
Finally, I blurted out, “Magic.” 
The woman nodded slowly, as if she already knew what I would say. “You want to 
learn the way of the Yidayoni—the Wizards?” 
“Yes, milady.” 
She stared at me long and hard as I continued to eat. It seemed that she had 
indeed penetrated to the very core of my thoughts, there to search and test, 
listen and evaluate. 
“I have heard such knowledge does not come easily,” she commented. “And not 
without a price. Apparently, many years of study, so I have been told. Also, 
those who do not understand the ways of the Wizards oftentimes seek to destroy 
them and their knowledge.” 
“If I knew a wizard willing to teach me,” I responded, “I would willingly pay 
that price, whatever it might be. If I had known magic, perhaps I could have 
saved my family and—“ 
My voice faltered. Then, I suddenly broke down into heart-wrenching sobs. 
The woman quickly moved her chair next to my own, put her arms around me, and 
pressed me to her bosom as I shook and wept aloud with many a mournful wail. She 
stroked my back soothingly, and I found such ministration to be strangely 
comforting. However, she said not a word until I finished crying. Then she 
urged, “Come. Eat up. After breakfast, we shall have further words about your 
desire.” 
I accepted a second and third plateful of food, as well as a large mug of cool, 
fresh water. 
During the remainder of the meal, my kind hostess asked further questions as to 
where I lived, and how I came here. I gave answers as best I could, and tried 
not to cry again as I related how the Sea Maiden brought me to the island, of 
the black panther, of my search along the beach, of finding the temple ruins, 
and then how I fell into the hole. However, of my apparent dream I said nothing, 
for I knew not when it began—perhaps after I landed at the bottom of the shaft, 
if indeed I had been knocked unconscious there. 
After I sated my appetite, the woman bade me go outside again. “I will join you 
in a few moments, after I clean up.” 
I offered to help, but she turned me down. I was a guest. 
A warm breeze blew in from the sea as I found a large rock on which to sit. 
Although so very grateful for the meal and conversation, I realized I had told 
the woman so much about myself, and yet she disclosed nothing of her own life. 
Who was she? Did she live alone on the island? If so, why? 
A familiar growl from behind me interrupted my thoughts. I turned slowly and, to 
my dismay, once again looked into the eyes of the black panther. 
“Milady—“ I started to call for the woman, but the words stuck in my throat. 
Then, a wondrous thing happened. 
In the matter of a few moments, the panther’s body changed— it stretched, 
elongated, shrank, and altered itself until it finally metamorphed into the 
beautiful woman, who presented herself before me on her hands and knees. 
I nearly toppled from my rock in surprise. 
As I gaped at her, the woman held out her hand towards me. She muttered 
something in an unknown language, and immediately there sprang from her fingers 
a little whirling ball of blue fire. 
My eyes widened with wonder and excitement as my heart beat hard and fast. 
The woman rose to her feet, and then looked down at me as she balanced the ball 
of fire on her fingertips. 
“My name is Narmada Magus,” she announced. “I am the sixth generation of a 
family of wizards, and the last in the line. There has been no worthy successor 
to our name and, in spite of my magical abilities, I can bear no children.” 
She smiled, waved her fingers gracefully. “Can you catch it?” 
The tiny blue globe left her fingers and floated quickly towards me. 
Without hesitation and, I daresay, almost without thinking, I brought my hand up 
and balanced the ball of fire above my open palm. I felt no heat, but did sense 
some form of energy on my skin that tingled as if some many-legged insect 
crawled in a circle on my hand. 
Whether or not I actually held the sphere in place, or whether Narmada did it, I 
do not know, but a moment later, it dissolved into the air. 
Narmada sat on a stone opposite me. “It can only be the providence of Shakti 
that has brought you to the island of Ithamar, Solomon. For, I see in you a 
genuine thirst for truth and knowledge.” 
She gazed out to the open sea, almost with a look of sadness. “What I am about 
to offer you,” she continued, “I do not do so lightly. I give you two choices. 
You can return to your home in Elishah, or you can remain here with me, and 
agree to become my apprentice.” 
My mouth fell open. 
Narmada turned back to me, her gaze steady and stern. “It will not be easy,” she 
cautioned. “There will be much study for you to do—the memorization of 
languages, glyphs, and formulas. You will have to spend time practicing correct 
gestures, the mixing of potions, and the learning of incantations…” 
Her voice trailed off to let what she said sink into my consciousness. Then she 
finished. “Such knowledge and power will not be acquired with a day, tens of 
days, or even ten summers. It will be a long time before you know enough to earn 
the title of ‘Magus’. 
“But if you will devote your time to the diligent study and practice of all I 
show and tell you, such a thing could indeed be possible for you. You seek a 
wizard willing to teach you, Solomon; I am that wizard, if you are willing to 
learn. 
“Go home, or stay. Which do you choose?” 


CHAPTER 7
Concerning My First Summers with Narmada,
My Lessons on Meditation, And the Three Aims in Life



For the first few months, as Narmada’s apprentice, my work consisted primarily 
of doing chores around the hut. 
I planted seeds, cultivated and watered them, and eventually picked fresh fruits 
and vegetables from two small gardens behind the hut. 
I learned to cook, wash dishes, and to clean clothes. 
However, even though I carried out work much the same as I had done on our farm 
in Khet, this time more incentive lay behind the dedication I put into my tasks. 
Gradually, they became not what I used to think were tiresome chores, but an 
integral part of my lifestyle. 
Narmada also schooled me on subjects I would have received if I had been able to 
continue my education at the tablet house. Thus, I learned more writing, 
calculations, and the rudiments of commerce. 
One of the first things I wanted to do for myself was to find the temple—to 
examine the dais and see if the rock had indeed caved in, and if there was a 
shaft beneath it. However, I found neither the temple, nor the wreck. They must 
have been on another part of the island, but how far from the hut they lay, I 
did not know. 
Narmada watched me with interest as I pursued my various studies and did my 
daily chores. Certainly she helped on occasion, but for the most part, she left 
me to myself, and occasionally even went away for two or three days at a time. 
Where she went, she never said, nor how she traveled, whether by land or by 
boat. However, when she returned, she brought nothing with her; and she left and 
came back while I slept. 
I hoped I would find out one day, because such trips seemed all so mysterious. 
To begin my education in the knowledge of the Magi, Narmada taught me the basics 
of meditation. For with the quietness of the mind and the stillness of the body, 
she explained, I could acquire, examine and assimilate more information in a 
lesser amount of time. 
My teacher also instructed me in the use of spices, herbs, and other plants 
which, when combined in the correct amounts, could not only make foods more 
tantalizing to the taste, but could also bring about healing and rejuvenation 
when one is injured or fatigued. 
Alternatively, incorrect combinations could cause sickness or general malaise 
for short periods. 
More lethal doses, of course, brought death. 
However, Narmada also informed me that, when used with the proper incantation—an 
ability I would later learn—these same elements could create things of a more 
magical nature. 
As you might well imagine, I found such studies to be fascinating; indeed, more 
so than I used to get at the tablet house. Mind you, it helped that Narmada 
proved to be a thoroughly competent and patient teacher. 
The Scribes taught more by lecture, and applying the rod of correction when my 
schoolmates and I got something wrong. Narmada, by contrast, instructed through 
demonstration, repetition, and a more caring demeanor. 
Consequently, by the end of my second summer with Narmada, I must have shown 
enough interest in, and aptitude for my work to prove that I was indeed a worthy 
apprentice. 
Like a dutiful slave, I performed my tasks without complaint—at least, not to 
Narmada—and asked questions when I truly did not understand some concept or task 
she endeavoured to explain. 
Now, lest my readers exclaim that I was ‘too good’ to be believable, such was 
certainly not the case, as will soon be seen. However, to be truthful, I had 
never done anything dishonest or criminal. My parents taught me well; it simply 
was not in me to want to do anything wrong. 
Certainly I made mistakes, such as the time I ruined several of my Father’s 
garden crops by forgetting to water them. However, that was an honest mistake 
for which, after a good and much needed scolding, my parents forgave me. 
Consequently, on Ithamar, there really was no way for me to do anything 
untoward, even if I had wanted to do so. 
Thus, it came about that, on one particular day, Narmada drew aside the table 
and chairs, and opened a trap door in the floor of the hut. 
Why had I not seen that before? 
Narmada bade me follow her down a flight of steps and, upon doing so, I found 
myself in a large chamber filled with many wizardly instruments, bottles, 
flasks, and bins. In addition, I gazed on many more books, parchments, scrolls, 
tablets, metal plates and potions than I had ever seen before since— I caught my 
breath. 
It was the chamber of my dream. 
For, I recognized immediately the open, cylindrical box in the midst of the 
treasures I had seen two summers previously. 
As before, light emanated from the walls, and the accumulation of dust on 
everything proved none of these things had been touched in a long, long time. 
“The light comes from a special underground rock,” Narmada explained when she 
saw me studying one of them. “The bright glow is quite natural; nothing magic 
about it at all.” 
She put her hand on my shoulder, and I felt the warmth from her palm on my skin 
through my thin robe. The touch seemed almost affectionate for some reason, not 
unlike my mother’s, and certainly not like the firm grip of a Scribe’s hand as 
he attempts to make a point to his student. 
“As you can see,” Narmada said, “it has been some time since last I touched much 
of what is down here. But I can tell you that from many of these scrolls and 
tomes, you will begin to glean that which you seek.” 
She picked up a book and blew dust from its cover. “However, first you must get 
busy and clean up this room. Dust off everything, then sort and arrange the 
books—by title or by subject matter, however you wish, since you will be the one 
using them—so that, when the time comes, you will be able to locate any 
information you might need in very little time.” 
For several moments, I stared in amazement at the world of magic that had lain 
beneath my feet for so long. I offered profuse words of thanks to my teacher, 
and began the arduous task to which she had appointed me. 
I asked her what I should do with the bountiful treasures—sort them, too? 
“That is up to you, Solomon,” she replied. “Should you acquire Magus stature, 
then you shall inherit these treasures to do with as you see fit.” 
On the island of Ithamar, I reasoned, there would obviously be no use for such 
treasures. I decided to place them all in one corner of the chamber in order to 
leave me more room to sort the things that mattered most to me—the magical 
tomes. 
As the days passed, Narmada saw that I took to the task with great enthusiasm 
and delight. True to her word, she began to share with me her knowledge of the 
Magi. 
First, however, I had to learn the language of the Ancients since most of the 
scrolls and parchments contained instructions in that tongue. I realized then, 
more than before, that my training would indeed take many summers. However, I 
was willing to wait, and learn. I could do nothing else with my time. 
One day, during my lessons, Narmada waved at the many books I had already sorted 
and shelved. 
“These are the words of Sarasvati Magus,” she said, “first and most powerful of 
the Magi. Unto her Shakti gave knowledge of the Four Aims in Life, those that 
concern one’s approach to life, and one’s relationship with others. These I 
shall now reveal to you.” 
“The first aim in life is to obtain sufficient material goods so that you can 
dwell, as much as possible, comfortably, contentedly, and in good health. 
“How is this done? Through buying, selling, trading, bartering, or plain hard 
work. 
“Indeed, there are those who attempt to gain wealth by theft, cheating, or 
through other unlawful or even magical means. However, the love of wealth itself 
motivates these ways, and in the end will bring only fleeting happiness, and not 
true contentedness. Further, their unholy desire for wealth leads to even 
greater evil deeds until their lust consumes them, and brings distress not only 
to themselves, but misery to those on whom they have perpetrated their vile 
acts.” 
I could hear Narmada’s voice strain slightly, and I felt she must have recalled 
something from her own life that triggered such a response. 
As for me, her words brought back thoughts of the pirates. However, I buried 
them again. 
Narmada glanced at me, her eyes wet and glistening. “Heed my words, Solomon. Let 
your accumulation of wealth be done fairly and honestly, without malice to 
anyone; and let there be no jealousy or covetousness of another’s goods, for 
such is the way of Shiva.” 
She fell silent for a short time, her attention focused once again on something 
in her own memory. Then she returned to her explanations. 
“The second aim in life is to follow moral guidelines that will allow you to 
live, as much as possible, peaceably with all men, and in harmony with all that 
Shakti has created. 
“To do this, you should attempt to adapt yourself to whatever culture you come 
to live with for any period of time. However, this does not mean that you ignore 
or abandon your conscience or personal convictions. 
“For example, there is a tribe in the Southern Kingdoms that practices human 
sacrifice. Although they believe they do so to appease their gods, such an act 
is an effrontery to Shakti Herself. All life is sacred, and you must do whatever 
you can to preserve it, and hopefully in such a way that you do not offend, and 
thus become a sacrifice yourself. 
“Again, I admonish you—be more than willing to abide by the laws of a monarch or 
culture, as long as they do not contravene the natural laws of Shakti. 
“That is a subject that can no doubt cause much discussion, but which is beyond 
the scope of the matter at hand. 
“Do you understand so far, Solomon?” 
I nodded. “Yes, milady.” 
“Good. Now, we come to the third aim in life—namely, to engage in sensual 
pleasure in order to ensure the continuation of life and to share the Bliss of 
Shakti in so doing with those willing to seek and receive it. Do you know 
whereof I speak?” 
I recalled the intertwined figures on the box. 
My eyes sought any place but Narmada’s eyes as I felt heat rise on my neck. 
“I—uh—no, milady, not fully.” 
“Ah…” Narmada knelt down, caught my eyes with her own. I saw in them sadness I 
could not fathom, and a yearning I was yet too young to understand. 
“Then,” she said, “it will be something we must discuss at a later time when you 
are old enough to—“ She stopped, and seemed to search for the right words. “Old 
enough to grasp the fundamentals of Bliss.” 
“Yes, milady,” I said. “And the fourth aim?” I wanted to change the subject as 
quickly as possible. 
Narmada seemed almost as desperate to move on, but not because she found this 
subject embarrassing. In fact, she seemed quite comfortable with it. Nay! There 
was another reason for her decision to do so, a reason I would learn on my 
nineteenth summer. 
“Yes; the fourth aim in life is to grasp an understanding of what is known as 
Moksha, the world beyond this world so that you may know our fight against Shiva 
is not totally in the realm of the physical senses, but in the mental and 
spiritual realms as well. 
“These, then, are the four aims in life as Sarasvati Magus handed them down to 
her son, Padmashara Magus, who gave them to his son, Bharibhasa Magus. He, in 
turn, entrusted them to his daughter, Urvashini Magus, who passed them to her 
daughter, Ganika Magus who, after a time, taught them unto me. 
“If your studies go well, Solomon, and I see that you will indeed be able to 
understand and use the principles of the Magi power, then I will certainly 
entrust them to your keeping. 
Her face took on a look of sternness. “But beware,” she continued. “Such power 
cannot be used for evil purposes, nor can it be used for your own gain. To do so 
would incur the wrath of Shakti and the other Magi, and you will most surely 
die. Then, that knowledge would be lost forever.” 
It was only after she had spoken these things that the magnitude of what Narmada 
intended to do impressed itself upon me. Though grateful and excited, I suddenly 
felt very humbled. Later in my studies, I oftentimes would feel so unworthy of 
all she wanted to teach me, especially when I endeavoured to follow the aims in 
life, many time unsuccessfully. 
However, the more I learned, the more my confidence grew, and the more I felt 
privileged to be considered worthy to learn the knowledge of the Magi. 
By the time I passed my sixteenth summer, my easy grasp of the ancient languages 
surprised me as much as it did my teacher. 
Thus, some things came easily to me; others, understandably, did not. 
My facility to grasp, memorize, and apply theory and magical incantations was 
nigh unto faultless. 
My practical work, however, fell short of perfection. 
Many’s the time I added too much or too little to a compound or potion. The 
resulting explosion left my ears ringing, my face and clothes blackened, my hair 
singed, and my pride quite humbled. Narmada, of course, had quite a chuckle at 
my expense. 
Oftentimes, I became extremely frustrated with my own ineptness. More than once 
I sent an empty beaker on a swift voyage across the room, with the expected 
crash and broken pieces everywhere. 
Not only did I then have a mess to clean up, but Narmada also chided me, saying 
that such receptacles were hard to replace on the island, and the lack of core 
ingredients for making more meant she could not produce them with magic. 
Therefore, I hurled things that did not break. 
However, always the patient instructor, Narmada persevered with my shortcomings, 
and told me not to hurry with the practical lessons, that another day would 
always dawn when I could try them once more. Eventually, I became more 
proficient at concocting mixtures. 
Once I did so, I then learned how to put them, along with the incantations and 
physical gestures together, as needed, in order to produce the required magical 
effect. 
Not only did I follow Narmada’s precise and carefully taught instructions, but 
now that I had learned much of the ancient tongue, I also began to peruse some 
of the many books and scrolls on my own. 
Thus, it happened, that, while I rearranged some voluminous tomes, I came across 
a thick book entitled, Love-Making Spells: the Enhancement of Bliss. 


CHAPTER 8
Concerning the Awakening of My Bliss,
And My Discovery of the World Beyond



Curious, I opened the book, and flipped through the pages. 
I saw numerous chapters of written material—most of which I could now 
understand—but when I turned to the back, it opened on a page that held a 
lifelike diagram of a man and woman united together not unlike Deva and her 
lover that day in the barn. 
As I stared at the page, the picture suddenly came to life and demonstrated the 
position with actual movement. 
I swallowed the hard lump of embarrassment that arose in my throat, and quickly 
slammed the book shut. 
However, even though the lump in my throat disappeared, I quickly became aware 
of a strange cramping sensation within my bowels, accompanied by the lengthening 
and thickening of my manhood. 
Although this was by no means the first time it happened to me, I had never 
before experienced odd sensations. The feelings became extremely uncomfortable, 
and I felt compelled to open the book again. 
I chose another diagram; it too came alive to demonstrate a new position. 
Instinctively, I reached beneath my robe to rub myself, naively thinking the 
motion would relieve me of the ache as a good massage had done at other times 
for my sore leg and arm muscles. 
As you can imagine, relief came; however, not in the way I expected. 
The explosion of consummately ecstatic sensations that washed over my body, 
coupled with breathless spasms and moans, weak knees, and the gush of the 
essence of Life—all startled me. I could not believe the intensity of those 
wonderful feelings, but I remembered them to be not unlike those I had 
experienced when meeting Shakti during my apparent dream in the Cave of Kumar. 
It was an ecstasy I hoped to experience again, and I understood now why Deva 
enjoyed her coupling. 
When I regained my composure, I quickly cleaned up and returned to the book. I 
leafed through some of the written chapters. One in particular caught my 
eye—Pleasing Women: Spells to Make Women Feel Fulfilled. 
To be honest, I had become rather infatuated with Narmada during those first few 
summers with her, in spite of the fact that she was apparently old enough to be 
my Mother. I never said or did anything to betray my feelings towards her for 
fear that she would be disappointed in me, and no longer teach me the arts of 
magic. So I kept my secret desires to myself. 
However, amongst the many spells in that chapter, I found one that was quite 
simple to learn—a verbal enchantment coupled with visualization, and no material 
components other than my manhood. 
I memorized the spell in but a few moments, although I did not think I would 
ever get to use it. 
For one thing, in spite of the diagrams, I did not know the first thing about 
sharing Bliss with a woman. Neither my parents, nor my sisters had spoken to me 
about such things. 
For another, Narmada was apparently the only woman on the island, and I never 
thought any sort of intimate relationship could develop between us. She was my 
teacher, and I, her student. 
Nonetheless, I learned the spell. 
I had just turned back to the illustrations when I heard Narmada’s footsteps on 
the floor of the hut above me. I quickly closed and set that marvelous tome back 
on the shelf, swiftly made sure things were still clean, and then hid behind a 
bookcase. 
If my face or my body bore any other telltale signs of my ecstatic experience, I 
did not want her to see. 
“Solomon?” I heard Narmada come down the steps. “Solomon, are you down here?” 
I said nothing, and peeked through a crack between the shelf and the table. I 
was confident she could not see me. 
Narmada glanced round the chamber, frowned as if to wonder where I had gotten 
to, and then turned to ascend the steps to the hut. 
The trap door closed. 
I rose from my hiding place. 
For many months thereafter, I looked forward with great eagerness to the times 
when I could be alone downstairs so that, with the aid of the illustrations, and 
my growing fantasies of Narmada, I could enjoy further sensations of Bliss. 
In addition, I could continue to read the chapters, and learn how to share Bliss 
with women, and to make them feel fulfilled. 
The cylindrical box fascinated me from the very first time I saw it. That it was 
some sort of sleeping chamber, I had already assumed, since that was where I 
first saw Narmada—even if it had been in a dream, and I was not yet fully 
convinced that it was a dream. 
Besides, Narmada let me sleep in her bed, and she slept in the box. 
However, the longer I remained with her, the more I became convinced that it was 
more than just a place to sleep. There was obviously something magical about it, 
but Narmada had not yet explained its purpose. 
Therefore, I decided to take a closer look. 
The many-sculptured figures in coital poses fascinated me, now, and I wondered 
what they had to do with the box. Were they just decoration? Alternatively, 
would they move like the illustrations in the book? 
Some sort of black material composed the rest of the cylinder—not wood or stone, 
but something with which I was not familiar. 
Since the box stood a good half my height off the ground, I wondered how Narmada 
got into it since there were no steps. 
I retrieved a small pot, set it on the floor, and used it to step up on and 
climb into the box. 
The material layer inside felt soft and comfortable against my skin. 
I lay down. 
No sooner had I done so than I heard a distinct hiss. 
The lid began to close over me. I put up my hand to try to stop it, but I was 
too late. With a heavy thud, the lid sealed me in. 
I heard the crackle of energy, and then the flash of light blinded me again. 
Instinctively, I put my hands against the lid in an attempt to push it open. 
Imagine my surprise and shock as my hands went through the lid. 
A moment later, my whole body—or, at least, some nonmaterial part of me—floated 
outside the box. 
Panic rushed through me. What magic was this? What had I done? 
I frantically tried to find some way to re-enter the box, but my body continued 
to float away from it. 
“Narmada…” I whimpered, hoping she would be nearby to free me. 
However, I soon discovered other things were. 
For I saw black, shadowy creatures approach, things that possessed legs not 
unlike insects, but no distinct appearance. Moreover, they hissed like snakes. 
I wailed in terror, and flipped my body this way and that in a futile attempt to 
get away from them. 
The creatures drew closer and, as they did so, I saw red slits open, and sharp 
white fangs glinted. 
“Go away!” I screamed, but the things only approached more quickly. I knew they 
would pounce upon me at any moment. 
Somehow, in the midst of the panic, the words came to me again as they had done 
on the beach. “Shakti!” I called out. “Protect this unworthy soul!” 
The effect startled me. 
The black shadows shrank back as if I had burned them with fire. 
For a few moments, they remained at a distance and watched me. Then, as 
uncertainty and unfamiliarity with my present circumstances once again began to 
sweep over me, the creatures moved in a second time. 
“Shakti!” I exclaimed. 
The things retreated. 
Then I realized that they turned away at the mention of the Goddess. It also 
dawned on me that my fear attracted them. The more scared I became, the closer 
they came—they fed on my terror, and would no doubt have ultimately fed on me if 
I had ‘allowed’ them to do so. 
Suddenly, I felt my otherworldly body jerk back down through the lid of the box. 
Again, I heard the hiss, saw the light, and then I watched the lid slide back. 
Narmada glared at me, her anger evident in the fiery nature of her eyes. “Get 
out!” she snapped. “Get out of there, now!” 
I scrambled over the edge of the cylinder, put my feet down on the edge of the 
pot, slipped and fell heavily to the floor. 
“You foolish boy!” Narmada cried out, and I felt the slash of a bamboo cane 
across my bare buttocks. 
I yelped with pain. 
“I could have lost you forever—“ 
The cane kissed my flesh once more, then I heard it clatter across the floor of 
the chamber as Narmada tossed it aside, knelt down, picked me up and cradled me 
in her arms. 
I sobbed and sobbed into her shoulder, more from the sense of freedom from the 
box than from the pain of the switch. 
“Solomon, are you all right?” The tone of Narmada’s voice had changed to a 
soothing one, and I knew then that she was gladder to see me alive than angry 
for my subterfuge of entering the box. 
I felt her hand stroke my back. 
“I—I’m sorry…” I mumbled into her shoulder. 
“So am I,” she whispered. “I did not mean to punish you like that, but I was so 
upset, so angry at what you have done. By the goddess, child, you have no idea 
what—“ 
“Yes, I do,” I replied quickly. “I saw those—things—those creatures you said we 
fight against. The ones that feast on our fears.” 
“Ah,” replied Narmada. “Those were only the small ones…” 
I did not want to hear about any bigger monsters. I hugged Narmada, glad to be 
alive, and to be close to her, to listen to her voice once more, and to inhale 
the intoxicating scent of her body. 
Soon, I would experience even more. 


CHAPTER 9
Concerning the Nature of Magic,
And the Surprise of My Nineteenth Summer



My nineteenth summer approached. 
Since she knew the importance of that time to all young men of Arabah—for they 
were no longer seen as boys, but men—Narmada said that when the day arrived, she 
would have a special present for me. 
I wondered what it might be, and how she could have obtained anything since, as 
far as I knew, she had never left the island. Nor, for that matter, did any 
visitors arrive. 
In the meantime, my studies continued. 
Although I think my grasp of magic fundamentals came easier to me than to most 
people, I still had a lot of information to read, absorb, meditate upon, 
practice, and implement. 
Overall, though, my progress pleased Narmada. 
In addition to my now-daily magical studies, Narmada also insisted upon and made 
sure I had regular exercises to keep my body fit. This included running, 
swimming, and tree climbing. In addition, she allowed me to eat foods that were 
not only tasty, but also good for the well being of my body. 
Most of the meats, fruits, nuts, and vegetables that we ate grew abundantly on 
Ithamar. In addition, thanks to my farming knowledge, we grew several crops, and 
captured some of the wild chickens and turkeys in order to obtain a more 
abundant supply of eggs, rather than simply trying to find them in the forest. 
Of course, we could also cook the birds, as well as any fish we could catch. 
“A wizard’s health and constitution need to be strong at all times,” Narmada 
once explained. “The creation of magic can oftentimes drain extraordinary 
amounts of energy from the body. So, a great expenditure of magic power could 
kill a wizard if the body is not kept in excellent condition.” 
Another time, my teacher remarked, “Wizards are not omnipotent. Far from it. We 
are not gods, nor should we aspire to be like them. We are not invincible, 
either. We all have our weaknesses regardless of whether we acknowledge them or 
not.” 
On another day, I wondered why Narmada could not simply create our food with 
magic. When I questioned her on that very thing, she replied that such was not 
her area of expertise. Besides, why use magic in place of something that we can 
do with our own two hands? 
In other words, I reasoned rightly, Narmada did not tolerate laziness. 
However, the discussion also led her to explain the nature of magic. 
“What might be construed as magic by the uninitiated,” she began, “is nothing 
more than the manipulation of forces which already exist around us. This is done 
through the use of mantras, mudras, and yantras—that is, incantations, gestures, 
and inscriptions.” 
Narmada took a piece of papyrus and drew three circles of different sizes, one 
inside the other. 
“We exist as three states, if you will,” she went on. “Body, soul, and spirit. 
The body, as you can readily tell, is the material manifestation in which the 
other two aspects of our being dwell. 
“The soul is that part of us which constitutes our personality, our thoughts, 
our emotions—that which makes us unique. 
“The spirit is the Life force given to each of us by Shakti upon leaving our 
mother’s womb to draw that first breath. By its very nature, it is the force 
that keeps us alive. 
“Now, if you look around you, Solomon, you will see three elements, or sources 
of power in the world around you—earth, water, and air—for without these, Life 
could not exist on Arabah.” 
I nodded my understanding of what she explained. 
“Therefore,” she continued, “in order to use the energy of these forces to 
create what we call magic, power can be focused and allowed to flow through 
gateways in the body. 
“In the lower portion of the torso--the groin--lies the gate that harnesses the 
power of the earth. This power then manifests itself as magic using yantras 
alone, or in combination with various material components of an earth nature. 
Wizards who specialize in Earth Magic gain a certain amount of control over the 
dust of the ground, the rocks, the trees, the grass, and any animal that dwells 
in or on them. 
“The heart is the gateway for the power of water. This energy then manifests 
itself as magic using mudras alone, or in combination with various potions. 
Wizards who specialize in Water Magic gain a certain amount of control of 
streams and rivers, oceans and seas, and the rain that falls on Arabah, as well 
as any creature that dwells within these waters. 
“Lastly, the throat is the gateway for the power of air. This energy then 
manifests itself using mantras alone, or in combination with gaseous forms. 
Wizards who specialize in Air Magic gain a certain amount of control over the 
wind and weather, as well as any creature that flies within them.” 
As I mentioned previously, through those first years, I gradually grew quite 
fond of my teacher; so much so that when I performed my pleasurable simharkranta 
in the workshop, Narmada became the object of my fantasies, on whom I practiced 
the techniques of Bliss as outlined and explicitly displayed in the book. 
So it happened that, on the morn of my nineteenth summer, Narmada came up from 
the workshop. She carried a leather bag that she promptly handed to me. “Go 
ahead,” she urged. “Open it.” 
I did so, and reached inside. My fingers touched two books. I withdrew the first 
one. 
It was about a thumb’s-width thick, with a stiff cover. Intricately carved gold 
symbols embossed on the front cover proclaimed in the language of the Ancients— 
�������������� 
--‘Santa Tantric’ which, roughly translated, meant ‘Solomon Magus’ or ‘peaceful 
wizard’. 
I glanced through the inside pages; they were all blank. 
I glanced at Narmada. 
She grinned at me. “It is your very own spell book,” she explained. “In it, you 
can write whichever spells you wish to keep and remember. On the other hand, you 
can write in it whatever you wish, for that matter. When you reach the last 
page, another blank one will magically appear, and will continue to do so up to 
a total of one thousand pages. The book itself will grow with the pages. Later, 
I shall teach you a warding spell so that no one but you may open it.” 
I felt overwhelmed. “Thank you, milady!” I exclaimed as I leaned forward and 
gave her a big hug. She did not seem to mind my show of thankful affection. 
The book was indeed a wonderful gift, and I felt overjoyed that she considered 
me advanced enough to have the title ‘Magus’ imprinted after my name. 
“Now, quickly,” she said as she waved a finger at the bag. “Remove your second 
gift.” 
Narmada moved from her chair and sat on the bed to watch as I reached into the 
satchel, grasped the second book, and eagerly pulled it out. 
What would it be? A history of the Magi, perhaps? Or, a more thorough treatise 
on the nature of magic? 
My heart sank suddenly, and I am sure I must have blushed a thousand times more 
than I had ever done before as I stared at the familiar cover—“Love Making 
Spells…” 
“M-m-milady—“ I stammered. My brain feverishly sought for some words to explain 
or apologize, but I could think of nothing. Instead, my eyes roamed the floor 
frantically in hopes that I could find some small knothole into which I could 
somehow hide myself. 
“Solomon.” Narmada spoke my name softly, soothingly, her voice liquid and sweet 
as it had been the first time we met. “Look at me.” 
Slowly, I lifted my eyes to hers, and gazed deep into those mesmerizing depths 
of icy blue. I saw no malice, no judgmental look, nor even displeasure. 
“Did you think I would not know?” She said it more as a statement than a 
question. “So tell me,” she continued. “Have you enjoyed Bliss?” 
“I—“ I paused, blushed again, and then said with a dry mouth. “Yes, milady.” 
I still desperately wanted to run away, to hide beneath the bed, to disappear 
somewhere. Anywhere. 
However, there was nowhere to go. 
Narmada patted the bed. “Come. Sit beside me for a moment.” 
It took an extraordinary amount of effort to move my feet. However, I managed to 
shuffle to the bed, where I did as she asked. 
Then, before I had time to say anything or move again, her warm hand slid 
beneath the hem of by robe. 
That first, intimate touch of a woman’s hand upon me ignited once again those 
strange and yet exciting sensations I experienced whenever I gazed on the pages 
of the book of Bliss. 
And, verily! I did swell within her grasp. 
“You are nervous, Solomon,” she observed as a slight tremor coursed through my 
body. 
She released me, then, and said, “Remove your robe.” 
I pulled the garment over my head, then sat, brown and naked before my teacher. 
The sun’s rays bathed my body as they streamed through the window. 
Narmada stood, unfastened the cords of her gown. It slid to the floor. 
My breath hissed through my teeth, and my eyes widened to drink in the 
shapeliness of her almond-curved breasts, the slimness of her waist, the sweep 
of her thighs, the suppleness of her legs, and the soft thatch of her sambadha 
that seemed to beckon to me with its dew-drenched tendrils. 
Any words stuck in my throat as Narmada once again reached out and ministered to 
my linga in such a way that I moaned with exquisite pleasure, not sure if this 
was real, or but yet again another dream. 
Dream or not, my lovely teacher gently pushed me to my back on the bed. She 
knelt on the bed, straddled my hips, and then guided me into the very core of 
her being. 
For several long, delicious moments, she gyrated her hips and brought me no 
small amount of pleasure—almost, but not quite to the point of Bliss, as if she 
knew just how far to take me before easing back. 
Then, as I looked up into her face, I noticed a trace of disappointment, and I 
heard her murmur, “It is too small, too small.” 
I have never been sure whether such a pronouncement was for my benefit so that I 
could do something about it, or whether she actually did think my Manhood to be 
too small to pleasure her fully. Certainly, such a complaint would have deflated 
what length and breadth any other man might have possessed. 
Nonetheless, I remember the first spell I memorized from the book of Bliss. It 
seemed to fit the situation. I pictured my linga in my mind, and then whispered 
the magical incantation. 
For what seemed an eternity, nothing happened. 
Had I wrongly spoken or mispronounced the spell? 
Then a new and even stranger sensation swept through my body to culminate in the 
length of my buried spear. 
I heard Narmada gasp aloud, and then yelp with surprise and joy as my linga 
magically swelled to twice its size, throbbed more strongly, and then filled her 
fully, pressing soft and firm against the sensitive walls of her chasm. 
She cried aloud, then, with exquisite pleasure. Tears of gratitude streamed down 
her cheeks, dropped from her chin and splashed onto my belly. 
She rode me then as if she had mounted some magnificent steed, rocking us both 
to an explosive climax. 
Not once, nor twice—nay! Thrice she impaled her body on my enchanted staff 
until, both of us exhausted, sticky and wet, she eventually collapsed beside me 
with a satisfied sigh. 


CHAPTER 10
Concerning the Nature of Bliss,
And the Wrath of Lazhar



From that time on, not only did I continue my training in the arts of magic, but 
I also learned the arts of Bliss. For, as it happened, Narmada proved to be an 
exemplary instructor of both. 
Indeed, she confessed that she had not shared Bliss for many years, and was more 
than overjoyed to know that not only did I grasp the fundamentals of magic, but 
I also proved to be a keen student of Blissful techniques. 
For my part, I revealed that I had desired her for some time, but did not wish 
to spoil our teacher-student relationship. 
Narmada insisted such could never be the case. Instruction in the arts of Bliss 
necessitated a close bond between the participants. 
Proof to me that what Lomad the Seer said, was true—“ I see a teacher and 
student, a lover and friend. I see the awakening of thy Bliss and a sharing of 
thyself with many until thou hast found the One.” 
Although I had not ‘shared myself with many’, was Narmada the ‘One’ of whom he 
spoke? 
I did not know. Nevertheless, it was to Narmada’s credit that she was able to 
keep her desire for physical gratification suppressed until I reached my 
nineteenth summer. 
Or, perhaps more likely, she pleasured herself as I had done, both of us 
secretly harbouring our own fantasies until it became possible to see them 
fulfilled. 
On the other hand, she may have done as I have had to do many times—sublimate 
her Blissful urges in order to increase the level of her magic energy. 
At any rate, the burgeoning of our love also led Narmada to explain the nature 
of Bliss. 
“Just as there are three states of existence, three elements of power, and three 
gateways through which the power of the elements can be focused, so also there 
exist three states of Bliss. 
“Quite obviously, the first is physical—in most cases, a fleeting rush of 
ecstatic sensations caused primarily by massaging the male lingam, or the 
bhagankura of the female. If timed correctly during maithuna—coition—a couple 
can achieve such physical and ecstatic release simultaneously, thus bringing 
mutual satisfaction to both partners. However, as you have begun to discover, 
you can kiss, caress, suck, or stimulate many other areas of the body in various 
ways to heighten the physical sensations. 
The second state of Bliss occurs when the souls of the lovers leave their bodies 
during maithuna, and unite in the realm of pranamano. You can induce such a 
state through several methods— trances, magical potions, or by the buildup of 
physical ecstasy, yet withholding its immediate release. These methods force the 
soul from the body for a period of time so that it might find and entwine with 
its mate. 
“In pranamano, the soul experiences Bliss unlike that of the physical realm. 
For, a sheath, or oval-shaped shell, of continually pulsating energy surrounds 
the soul. When one shell touches another, they release a surge of energy not 
unlike, but certainly different from physical Bliss. Rather, Bliss is prolonged 
and much more fulfilling, shared equally by both souls. 
“Again, there exist dangers for the uninitiated. Evil, lustful entities wait on 
that plane that seek to feed off the energies created by lovers who join at this 
level. 
“The third state of Bliss—ananda—is the union of one’s spirit with the eternal 
spirit of Shakti. This Bliss is beyond any spoken or written terms, but to 
obtain such pure and undefiled ecstasy is certainly a gift you can desire and 
treasure above all else. 
“But this state only comes as a result of deep meditation on the Person of 
Shakti, or by special touch of the Divine Mother, Herself. 
“Again, such an experience of Bliss involves neither maleness nor femaleness in 
any sense, for, in spirit, there are no men or women; there is only a total 
Oneness with all things, although we retain our own unique individuality. 
“You must understand, also, that we must not seek pleasure for its own sake, 
however delightful that might be. However, without sensual play, our minds and 
bodies become restless and unsatisfied, the result of which could very well be 
the desire for more unhealthy and degrading modes of satisfaction.” 
She paused for a moment, and then continued. “It is to be understood that in 
order to combat and offset the evil creatures that have been set loose on Arabah 
by the Destroyer, Shiva—“ 
What she meant by that, I did not understand, but no doubt I would learn about 
such things eventually. 
“—It necessitates the propagation of our own species. Otherwise, these vile 
monsters will overcome our race and we, as a people, will cease to exist.” 
Narmada thought about something for a moment before she concluded by saying, “By 
the same token, this also means that one cannot and should not force one’s 
erotic intentions on those unwilling to accept them, for such is the way of the 
Nokri. Indeed, one’s partners must of their own volition desire to share the 
pleasures of Bliss.” 
Now, lest my readers think Narmada and I enjoyed an idyllic lifestyle on the 
isle of Ithamar, pray think again. Such was not the case. 
Here, I must digress to a day shortly after I passed my thirteenth summer. 
A great storm suddenly hit the island as howling winds swept torrential rains 
across the length and breadth of it. I felt sure the Great Sea would swallow the 
whole of Ithamar. 
“Do not be afraid, Solomon,” assured Narmada. “’Tis only for show.” 
I thought that a strange remark to make about the weather. However, I did not 
have time to question it as Narmada drew me out of the hut. 
The sky rumbled noisily as dark clouds billowed one over the other in a way 
that, to me, seemed unnatural. I had witnessed many a storm on the farm, but 
none like this one. 
Then I heard laughter echo from the tumult and, a few moments later, I saw a man 
floating in the midst of the clouds as they churned about him. 
“Who is that, Narmada?” the man called out. “A boy? And what help do you think 
he will be to you?” 
I assumed then that the man was another wizard as he waved his hands. The rains 
fell harder as the winds howled even more. I grasped hold of Narmada’s skirt, 
for the force was nigh enough to blow me away. 
“One day, Lazhar—“ my teacher shouted above the noise of the wind and driving 
rain. “One day, he will be your Master!” 
The wizard called Lazhar laughed even more. With a flick of his wrist, jagged 
bolts from his fingertips spat down and exploded on the ground only a few paces 
from Narmada and me. 
I shrieked. 
Narmada quickly thrust me behind her. As I shielded my eyes from the stinging 
drops of the driving rain, Narmada held up her hands and muttered a mystical 
incantation. 
I looked on a dramatic sight as the wind whipped her wet black hair across the 
light brown of her skin that glistened with moisture. Her cloak snapped loud 
back and forth in the wind while all around us, the thunder and lightning bolts 
raged. 
A bluish bubble appeared from the air. It enlarged quickly, and then totally 
engulfed the hut and the two of us to protect everything within the bubble from 
the natural or unnatural elements that hammered against the magical shell. 
“Will it hold?” I shouted above the tumult, for the shell did not keep out the 
sounds. 
Narmada smiled confidently, and nodded. “It has held before,” she called out. 
“It will hold yet again.” 
If it proved to be a strenuous task to hold the shell in place, Narmada showed 
no strain. From the safety of that blue sphere, we watched as the water swirled 
around us, and steam hissed from the barrier even as the raindrops touched it. 
Still not completely convinced of our safety, I snuggled into the warmth and 
comfort of Narmada’s arm as I let my cheek rest lightly on her breast. I gazed 
up to her soft face. 
Her fingers stroked my forehead and pushed back a lock of my hair. She smiled 
again, but with an odd look on her countenance, perhaps admiration tempered with 
pain. 
“Look at the cowardly child!” Lazhar bellowed. “He hides behind your skirts, 
Narmada. This stripling is to be my Master?” He roared with laughter again. 
My lips pressed together with anger. I let go of Narmada’s hand and strode in 
front of her to the edge of the protective shell. 
“Should Shakti so will it,” I declared loudly, “I shall be your Master by my 
twenty-fifth summer!” 
This proclamation from my lips brought more derisive laughter from Lazhar. 
Who was he, anyway? Why had he come like this? 
If Narmada had the power to read minds like the Saraphim do, she never said so. 
However, it seemed she heard my thoughts just then, for she said, “Many years 
ago, in the land that is now known as Bharat, I was born the only daughter to 
Srijan and Ganika Kanwal. My father was a powerful and benevolent king, well 
loved by his people. My mother, one of the Magi, taught me those things that I 
will teach you. 
“As far as I know, my parents had no enemies but one—this Lazhar, an evil wizard 
who desired to wrest the kingdom from my father. He attempted to do this several 
times, but mother and I used our powers to repel him and his forces. 
“One day, after my twenty-seventh summer, Lazhar impersonated an uncle and 
gained access to the royal chambers. There, he murdered my mother while, held by 
magic, my Father and I watched helplessly. Then he slew my Father. 
“From that day to this, he has been a terrible blight on the land of Bharat. 
“Lazhar demanded that I marry him, but of course I refused. At that time, my own 
magic was not strong enough to defeat him alone. 
“So, to punish me, he banished me to this island, and then placed a curse on me 
that remains to this day.” 
“A curse?” 
Narmada nodded sadly. “As long as I remain physically on the island, my body 
will not grow old. However, as soon as I leave, I will revert to my true age.” 
“What age is that?” 
“Older than I appear,” she said simply, and gave no further explanation other 
than to say, “By the same magic with which he cursed me, he prolonged his own 
life. Moreover, every few years, he returns like this to the island to see if I 
will join him—which I will not do. Then he taunts me, and looks to see if I have 
found someone worthy enough to defeat him.” 
Narmada fell silent for a moment, and the crashing of the wind and waves seemed 
louder to me. Then she continued. “There were others before you, Solomon. 
However, they did not have the determination, the desire, and the fortitude that 
you possess. None of them stayed to complete their studies. Some of them died, 
and you saw their bones at the bottom of the shaft in the temple.” 
I shivered. How could Narmada think I could defeat this Lazhar? If he had the 
power to command the elements as he did now, I certainly felt helpless. 
“But his day of reckoning will come,” Narmada said, “and you shall be the 
instrument of his defeat.” 
Just as suddenly as the storm arose, it abated. The clouds, the rain, and the 
howling winds—they all disappeared along with Lazhar. The sun shone once again, 
and it was as if the storm had never happened. 
“What is wrong, Solomon?” Narmada must have seen my look of consternation. 
“I do not think I will be able to defeat him,” I said truthfully. 

“Perhaps you expect too much of me.” 
Narmada laughed, and then hugged me. “My dearest Solomon, wizards are not 
invincible. Find Lazhar’s weakness, and you will find the means to defeat him.” 
For my sake, I hoped she was right. 


CHAPTER 11
Concerning My Trek Across Ithamar,
And the Serpent Clan



On one particular day, some time after my nineteenth summer, I decided to look 
round the island. I had wanted to do so when I was younger, but Narmada remarked 
that it was not yet safe for me to do so. 
Nonetheless, when I made my desire known to her this time, she agreed that it 
would probably be in my best interest to see what I could see. 
Narmada had already taught me several protective spells by this time, and had 
impressed upon me that I should never kill or harm another human or 
animal—except, in the latter case, if I required food that could not be acquired 
elsewhere. There were always other means, she said, to ensure the safety of 
others and myself. 
However, still uncertain of my own abilities as a young wizard, I secreted a 
dagger in my belt beneath my robe when Narmada’s attention was diverted 
elsewhere. 
Such is the curse of the young, to think they know better than their elders do. 
Such is the curse of the elders, to think the young foolish with their dreams. 
However, without such curses, great accomplishments would never be made, 
treasures would never be found, and empires would never be built. 
And such is the curse of Solomon Magus, to always find occasion when he can 
pontificate on some universal truth, and thus become diverted from his story. 
To return— 
I gathered a few things together and put them into a bag. I recalled my time in 
the shaft of the temple, so I made sure I had included some food, rope, water, 
and a medallion of light. 
I kissed Narmada good-bye, and then set off down the beach. 
A short while later, I came upon the derelict Sea Maiden. Very little of it 
remained above water. Time and the crashing waves had virtually demolished the 
vessel. 
Half the rotted hull still perched on the rocks, but I knew that after a few 
more heavy storms, even that would no doubt be gone and, with it, any ties I 
might have held to it. 
It seemed strange to gaze on the last of it, almost as if it were a part of my 
life that never happened—another dream, perhaps, in which my past would be 
forever gone when I awoke. 
For a little while, I reflected on the fates of my parents and sisters, and felt 
tears fill my eyes. I could not believe that I still grieved for my family. 
However, I soon sniffed it away and, with a final sigh, turned and headed into 
the jungle. 
Animal and vegetable life abounded in plentiful supply. I caught sight of 
strange creatures, the like of which I had never seen before in Khet. 
Horned beetles the size of my hand clattered over rocks; multi-colored birds 
with huge, gaudy plumages squawked at each other above my head; and once I 
caught sight of a reyem, a creature that looked much like the horses on the 
farm, but from its forehead, a single horn protruded. 
Everything I saw fascinated me. 
Thus began my desire to record all that I saw and heard. I quickly pulled my 
spell book from the bag, and then my quill and ink. I sketched the unicorn as 
best I could, setting down short notes to remind me of its size and color. I 
decided that when I returned to the hut, I would draw a better picture, and 
create a more vivid description. 
Soon, my book under my arm, I set off through the jungle once more. 
Ithamar, Narmada once informed me, was indeed a small island, with numerous 
animals and very few, if any, other human inhabitants. At least, she had never 
seen any. 
So it surprised me to hear, only slightly above the constant chatter of the 
birds, the very distinct sound of voices somewhere in front of me. 
Moments later, as I parted some bushes to see beyond them, I gazed on a small 
encampment. In the center, a staff implanted in the ground bore the molded 
silver representation of a snake curled atop it. On the forehead of this 
serpent, a bright jewel glinted in the sun. 
Seated on some rocks, three women played musical instruments—a double flute, a 
lyre, and a tabla. They wore long, semitransparent tunics that did little to 
hide the curvature of their slendour bodies. 
Around the staff, three other women and three men went through the motions of a 
dance I did not recognize. 
These dancers, also dressed in similar tunics, circled the post. The flowed 
around each other, their bodies swaying back and forth, their hands and arms 
gesturing up and down, almost like an indication that they wanted someone to 
join them. 
After several turns around the staff, they stopped and drummed their feet on the 
ground for a short while before the sinuous dance began anew. 
Now there appeared from somewhere—I did not see from whence since my attention 
riveted on the dancers—another woman who slowly gyrated towards the group. She 
wore the same garments as the others, but I also noted that she wore a 
jewel-studded tiara that, like the gem on the snake, glinted very brightly in 
the sun. 
It was as this woman approached the other dancers that I noticed something else 
slithering towards them through the grass. 
The red and purple striped ekkidna—a poisonous snake. 
I reacted without thinking. Instead of yelling—for that might cause the snake to 
strike one of the dancers—I quickly yanked the knife from my belt, muttered a 
protective spell for myself, and then quickly leapt forward. 
Four quick strides brought me behind the snake. 
It must have heard my approach because it swung round and reared up to strike, 
but it was too late. 
In one quick, but vicious swipe, my blade sliced through its flesh and lopped 
off the viper’s head. 
My sudden, unexpected entry also caught the attention of the dancers and 
musicians. Their reaction, however, was not quite what I expected. 
Their serene countenances darkened, and they began yelling at me in angry tones. 

Of course, I could not understand them. 
The woman with the tiara spoke tersely to the men and, a moment later, they had 
me in their grip. One of the men tore the knife from my fingers and hurled it 
into the bushes. 
I was unable to stop them as they dragged me in front of the priestess—for such 
I assumed her to be. 
By this time, she had picked up the lifeless head of the snake. 
She still spoke to me in words I could not understand, but when she tore my robe 
open and lifted the serpent’s head, I knew what she meant to do. 
I struggled to get loose, but in vain. The men held me tight. 
With her fingers, the woman squeezed the sides of the viper’s head. Its mouth 
opened, and its fangs extended from the pressure she applied. 
I shook my head, begged forgiveness and wept profusely. 
However, either the priestess did not understand me, or she ignored my pleas. 
She scraped the skin of my chest with those deadly fangs, opened the flesh, and 
deposited their deadly venom. 
I cried out with pain and frustration and I felt the burning liquid enter my 
bloodstream. 
It did not take long for the poison to do its work. My body grew limp and weak, 
devoid of feeling. My vision blurred, and my breathing became labored. 
I collapsed to the ground as the men released me. A rush of energy began at the 
core of my bowels. It thrust upwards through the length of my spine, and ignited 
what felt like internal fires in my groin, my chest, and my throat. Then this 
strange fire rushed to my head where it exploded in a brilliant flash of white 
light, accompanied by a crackling like as of a burning piece of wood. 
Then, suddenly, I floated above my body, and watched it from a distance since I 
now possessed a new form, a naked body of red light that hovered in the air, 
although I felt sure I was not in the same ‘world’ as my material form. 
However, I could see into that other world, and I saw the men pick up my body 
again, and then lay it down before the serpent staff. Beside me, the priestess 
also lay on her back. 
Moments later, I saw the priestess’s otherworldly form, naked as my own, but 
brilliant blue, depart her physical body. 
Although she wore no tiara as such, I did see a glittering stone similar to that 
which Narmada had on her forehead. The gem on this woman’s skin glowed with a 
yellow light. 
She rose to stand before me. 
Are you comfortable with this form? I heard her words in my mind, for she did 
not move her lips. 
Yes, I am familiar with it, I replied, recalling my time in Narmada’s sleeping 
cylinder. 
The woman drifted closer and, around her, I saw three colorful sheaths. Then I 
noticed three egg-shaped transparent shells also surrounded me, but in different 
hues and shades, in different thicknesses and sizes. 
Milady, I said quickly, realizing that since we could understand each other, 
then she could hear my apology. Whether she would accept it or not, of course, 
was another matter. I offer you my most humble apologies for slaying the 
serpent. I have obviously, though naively, offended you and your people. I was 
wrong to intrude on your ceremony. 
The woman looked ay me as Narmada had first done, her eyes searching mine, 
perhaps studying the shells around me, for I later learned they tell of one’s 
physical, mental, and spiritual states. 
I am Vandana, she replied, priestess of Ower, keeper of the Light. 
I am Solomon the Seeker, apprentice to Narmada Magus, and a student of Life. 
She smiled. And a silver-tongued speaker, too. I see no deliberate malice in 
your actions, Solomon, but a true humbleness of spirit. Your apology is 
accepted. 
I bowed my head in thanks. 
Vandana floated towards me once more. Her outer shell touched mine. I sensed a 
surge of energy ripple through the auras and into my non-physical body. This new 
sensation was like unto Bliss, yet felt purer, more ecstatic, and devoid of any 
carnality. 
I recognized, then, Narmada’s description of the second state of— 
Would you share Bliss with me? Vandana inquired. 
Most assuredly, milady, I replied, eager to smooth over any misunderstanding I 
might have caused. 
Vandana drew closer still. Our shells merged. Her arms encircled me, and then 
held me to her. My arms went about her, and the fusion of our auras with the 
touch of our spirit-forms sent streams of Bliss flowing up and down our entwined 
bodies as we united in daiva-ananda, a marriage of spirit. 
Her mind touched my own, her soul merged with mine, my spirit fused with 
Vandana’s until both of us experienced a rapturous, extended explosion of 
intoxicating energy that was indeed so much more wonderful and fulfilling than 
its physical counterpart. 
Eventually, we parted, and Vandana explained how I could return to my body. 
I awoke with a start. 
Beside me, the priestess sat up, took my hand and helped me to my feet. 
“No ill effects?” she asked in my own language. 
“I don’t think so.” I still felt like I was half in and half out of my body. I 
told her so. 
“The feeling will pass as your bodies blend together again,” she explained. Then 
she went on to tell of the strange dance. “It draws the serpents to the staff. 
We capture them, milk their venom, and then use it to achieve pranamano. The 
scratches I gave you were enough to induce the condition in you without actually 
killing you. Forgive me for doing so, but I had to know your true intentions.” 
For which I was truly grateful. 
Moreover, my bodies now seemed to be settling down. 
“We have only come to the island lately,” she went on as we sat to eat a meal of 
vegetables and fruit with the others of her small clan. “It was not safe for us 
in Mizraim, our homeland, as many do not understand the potency of the ekkidna 
venom, nor our need to share Bliss.” 
I nodded. “How does the dance attract the serpents?” I asked. 
Vandana shrugged. “We do not know. Kohini, a priestess in Mizraim, taught us the 
dance. Perhaps it is the vibration of the footwork, or the swaying of the body, 
or the smell of our sweat. On the other hand, perhaps it is the energy we exude. 
Whatever the cause, the snakes come.” 
I found such information to be fascinating, of course, and recorded it in my 
book, along with a sketch of the staff and its silver serpent. 
I spent two days with Vandana and her companions, from whom I learned the 
secrets of acquiring and using the ekkidna venom to induce trances such as I 
unwillfully experienced. 
We shared physical and pranamanic Bliss and, in spite of my somewhat violent 
introduction to the group, we became fast friends. 
I said my good-byes on the third morning, and set out once again through the 
jungle. 
Of the remainder of this trip, there is not much to tell. Except for Vandana’s 
people, the island bore only animals and vegetation. It was as Narmada had said. 

Therefore, after five days, I made my way back to the hut. I was eager to see my 
beloved Narmada once more, and tell her of my experiences with the serpent clan. 

However, I was not prepared for what would soon happen. 


CHAPTER 12
Concerning the Rest of My Time with Narmada,
And the Day of My Departure from Ithamar



I came within but a short distance from Narmada’s hut when I noticed the sky 
began to darken. At first, I thought a storm had begun, but then I noticed the 
clouds seemed unnaturally massed together. 
They were the churning black-and-gray clouds that signaled the presence of 
Lazhar. 
My bag thumping against my hip, I dashed across the jungle floor until I came up 
behind the back of the hut. Neither Lazhar, nor Narmada could see me. However, I 
could hear their voices. 
“Where is he?” Lazhar shouted above the tumult. “Where’s that boy you had with 
you?” 
“No need for your dramatics, Lazhar. The boy has gone.” 
“Gone? Gone where?” 
“To seek another path.” 
I grinned. I supposed, in some respects, that was true; so Narmada did not 
actually lie, nor did she tell the truth. 
Lazhar must have interpreted the way she wanted, for he laughed. The billowing 
clouds dissipated slowly, and as I peeked round the corner of the hut, I saw 
Lazhar approach Narmada on the beach. 
“And yet another who could not follow the path of the Magi,” he said. 
“It is a hard road,” replied my teacher. 
“And still you refuse to marry me?” 
“Of course. What you did was unforgivable and—“ 
Lazhar shook his head. “Faugh! I cannot believe this—you have spurned my love, 
and still have not yet found a worthy apprentice even after one hundred and 
forty-five summers—“ 
The words hit me like the blow from some magical spell. I reeled back, and slid 
down the side of the hut to sit on the ground. Eyes wide with shock, I stared 
into the jungle foliage. 
I could not believe what I heard. My lover, my teacher, my friend—Narmada was 
supposedly one hundred and forty-five summers old? 
I heard nothing more of their conversation. My mind attempted to grasp the 
concept of that length of time Lazhar’s curse trapped her on the island. Oh! By 
the gods! The cruelty of such a thing. 
I rose to my feet, and, determined to lash out however I could at Lazhar, 
staggered around the hut. 
However, the wizard had gone. 
Narmada saw me, recognized immediately the look on my face. 
“You heard?” 
“Tell me he lied—about your age,” I demanded. 
Narmada smiled a sad smile. “Ah, but it is true, Solomon.” Her voice sounded 
hollow and pained. “For some, I suppose an extended life span would be welcomed. 
However, for me, here on this island by myself for so many summers, longevity 
has been as Lazhar planned—a living curse. O for the day when it will be 
lifted!” 
She wept, then, the first time I had seen her do so openly. I took her in my 
arms and tried to comfort her, and I wished I could somehow release her from 
Lazhar’s wretched spell. 
Alas! The next few summers passed all too quickly for me, even though each 
brought me new knowledge, new skills, and new experiences. 
“Although I am teaching you the ways of the Magi,” Narmada said to me once, “you 
must be aware that there are other kinds of magic, if such they can be called, 
some of which you no doubt will have seen as a youngster. 
“There are those who create illusions. The first of this type will be found in 
carnivals, and performing during the festivals. With the deft movements of their 
hands and bodies, together with guileful words, they make you see that which 
they want you to see. By doing so, they seem to make things appear out of 
nothing, or disappear before your eyes, or move from one place to another. 
“The second of those who create illusions do so through the use of their low, 
monotonous voice; this is occasionally enhanced or aided through the use of 
whirling lights, swinging medallions, or burning candles. With their very words, 
they can cause those susceptible to enter into a trance and do or experience 
almost anything the illusionist desires. However, the subjects do not seem to do 
anything that would be against their true nature. 
“And there are those who have the ability to so utilize their minds that they 
are able to influence not only the thoughts and actions of others, but sometimes 
the very world around them. The Saraphim have this ability although, to my 
knowledge, very few of them still exist. 
“Some illusions are also created through the use of drugs, potions, and various 
herbal compounds—much like we do. However, that is not real magic, but is part 
of the healing arts.” 
And so, through the summers, Narmada taught me many skills, and I gained much 
knowledge. The more she taught me, the more I realized that such abilities could 
be used rightly or wrongly, that the powers themselves were neither good nor 
evil, but it was indeed the manner in which the practitioner used them. 
Narmada also continued to educate me in the arts of Bliss, and reminded me that, 
like magic, those too could be enjoyed and shared in a proper manner—thus 
bringing mutual satisfaction to all parties concerned—or abused. 
Youth, she explained, is the time to acquire knowledge, to learn whatever is to 
be known, for that is the best time when the mind can assimilate information. 
Adulthood is the time for lovemaking, a time to experience and utilize what has 
been learned, and for the achievement of one’s desires, taking into account that 
the welfare of others must also be considered in the acquisition of personal 
wealth and status—one of the four aims in Life I have previously mentioned. 
Finally, old age is the time for reflection, a time to enjoy the fruits of our 
labour, to undertake spiritual pursuits, and the teaching of right ethics to the 
young. 
For ten summers, the love between Narmada and me deepened, not only as teacher 
and student, but also as lovers and friends. 
Eventually, when I passed by twenty-sixth summer, a day came when Narmada took 
me outside and bade me stand apart from her. 
Tears glistened along the edges of her eyes as she said, “Solomon, I have taught 
you all that I can. There is much more that you can learn, but this you can do 
not only from the books and from scrolls in our library, but also from the world 
beyond Ithamar. Truly, I am tired—not of you, my dearest Solomon, but of life 
itself. Now, it is time for me to leave the island forever.” 
The words stabbed my heart like a sharp knife. I began to protest, but she held 
up her hand to silence me, and I realized she would listen to none of my pleas. 
“You knew this day would come, and I have waited longer than you can imagine. 
“For many years I awaited the arrival of one such as you on whom I could bestow 
my trust, my love, my knowledge and ultimately, my mantle.” 
She reached out and stroked my cheek. 
My eyes misted over. 
“As I told you before,” she went on, “there have been others who came here. Some 
I was able to teach but a little, and love just a little, before they became 
disillusioned and departed; others I’ve sent away, and still to others I did not 
bother to reveal myself because I ascertained their motives to be predicated on 
greed, pride and lust.” 
She sighed heavily. “But you—you, my dearest, dearest Solomon. You possess the 
ability to be taught, and yet you remain open to new ideas; you accept, and yet 
question as you seek to know the full truth of a matter; you voice your own 
opinions, and yet you respect the thoughts and opinions of others. You love, and 
are willing to be loved in return. You are curious, but wary as well. Such 
qualities are rare in people, and still more proof to me that Shakti had sent 
you so that you could be taught, and for a purpose only She has predestined.” 
In spite of my sorrow, nonetheless I felt humbled and certainly unworthy of such 
praise from Narmada. Yet, I too thanked the Goddess for leading me to this 
amazing woman. 
Narmada stood silent for a few moments. Then she said, “Now that you have 
learned what I desired to teach you, it is indeed time for me to depart. When I 
am gone, you will become the last of the Magi line, and you must never forget 
the heritage that is ours. Use your magic for the good of others, my dearest 
Solomon Magus; strive to bring peace and happiness and Bliss to those who truly 
seek them, and be an instrument of Shakti’s vengeance to those who truly deserve 
it. Come with me.” 
We trod across the beach to the edge of the Great Sea where a small dinghy 
waited. I wondered briefly where it had come from, but concluded just as quickly 
that she had either magically created it, or somehow previously hid it from my 
eyes. 
She climbed into it, motioned for me to join her, but I held back. I could not 
believe this was happening. Tears trickled down my cheeks. 
She gazed at me with tearstains on her own cheeks. “Do not make this harder than 
it already is, Solomon. You know I will always be in your heart and memories, 
and we shall always be One in spirit. Our time together has brought me more joy 
than I ever thought possible, but now the hour is come for you to re-enter the 
world of Arabah, and begin the journey for which Shakti and I have prepared 
you.” 
Narmada held out her hand to me. “Get in the boat.” She spoke sternly, as if to 
a child. 
Reluctantly, I stepped into the small craft. We hoisted its sail and secured it. 
The fabric blossomed like a mushroom as a wind— natural or magical, I did not 
know—filled it. Gradually, the boat began to draw away from the shores of 
Ithamar. 
“It begins…” Narmada’s voice seemed strained, but with a note of contentment, 
perhaps expectation in it. I looked at her. Already she appeared to be older to 
me, but I took that to be a trick of my eyes. I did not want to lose her. 
However, she stood then, unclasped the broach that held the purple Magi robe she 
wore, and drew it from her shoulders. She moved closer to me, and with a wide 
sweep of her arms, threw the garment over my head. 
Even as it settled on my shoulders and enveloped me, a surge of energy flowed 
through my entire body. 
“The mantle of the Magi is now yours, Solomon Magus. Kiss me one last time, my 
beloved.” 
I embraced her, then, and she almost felt frail and thin to me. We kissed long 
and hard, passionately, our tears mingling together on our pressed lips. 
Suddenly, with a cry of pain, Narmada collapsed to the deck. 
I knelt down, scooped her into my arms, and knew that her age and frailty had 
not been an illusion. 
Her smooth skin withered and crinkled; her black hair turned white and thin. But 
her eyes, those beautiful, haunting, ice blue eyes— they still held mine and 
reflected her deep love. 
“Narmada—“ I whispered. But any further words choked off in my throat. 
“Remember me, Solomon Magus. Do not forget my teachings…” 
Those were her last words. For the remains of her mortal body shriveled in my 
arms and crumbled to dust. 
I screamed my loss and rage to the blue sky. 
Thunder suddenly crackled, and lightning pierced the sky. Laughter echoed around 
me from a voice I recognized as Lazhar. Then it was gone, and I remained alone 
on the sea as my sorrow and heartache racked my body with heavy sobs. 
Only one thought trickled through my mind. 
Why were the people I loved always taken from me? 


PART TWO




CHAPTER 13
Concerning My Days on the Sea
And the Approach to Kaphtor



The urge to turn the boat around and sail back to the island burned in my heart, 
but I resisted it. No matter what lay before me, Ithamar would always be there—a 
haven of rest whenever I needed one. 
A mild breeze caught the sail and took me further out to sea. The shores of 
Ithamar gradually disappeared, and the vast expanse of the Great Sea once again 
surrounded me as it had done some fourteen years earlier. 
For a day and a half, the boat carried me across the waves, and for that time I 
mourned the loss of my beloved Narmada. 
Such emptiness pervaded my soul, a void I felt sure would never be filled again. 

At times, my mental state was such that I wanted to throw myself from the boat, 
and let the depths of the sea carry me to my mentor in the Afterlife. 
However, I knew she would not approve of such action. Besides, that would only 
cut short whatever mission Shakti had planned for me. 
Exactly what mission? I did not have a very clear picture of what I was supposed 
to do with my life, with all this magic I learned. No one had told me, “Solomon, 
do this” or “Solomon, do that”. I had exhortations from Narmada to do good, to 
help others, to rid the world of Shiva’s evil. However, she never quite told me 
how to accomplish such things. 
Nor, for that matter, had she revealed the kind of evils against which she 
expected me to fight. The Scribes taught about giants and other strange 
half-human creatures that lived during the days of the Ancients, but I doubted 
they existed even then, let alone now. 
However, perhaps the Goddess would somehow reveal more to me as time went on. 
At night, I did not sleep soundly. What dangers lurked beneath the sea that 
might take a fancy to attack the boat while I slept? Seamen told of 
many-tentacled sea monsters that swept whole crews from the decks of ships. 
At all times, of course, I kept an eye out for pirates, and decided that if I 
did run into any, I would create some sort of illusion that might scare them 
off. 
Not that I carried anything they might want. 
Narmada had obviously prearranged this trip. She had placed a satchel on board 
with a small amount of food and water, some money and gems, a fresh set of 
clothing, and my magic journal. Apparently, I did not need anything else. 
On the afternoon of the second day, whether by chance or predetermination, a 
merchant vessel appeared on the horizon. In due course, after the sailors caught 
sight of my sail and waving hands, the ship drew alongside and took me aboard. 
“Tie a rope to the skiff so we can tow it behind us,” the captain ordered one of 
his crew. 
“No, that will not be necessary,” I remarked quickly. “Just set the boat adrift. 
I no longer need it.” 
The captain gave me a puzzled look. 
“Wherever you are going,” I explained, “that is where I shall go.” 
I reached into my bag and removed some money, as well as a sparkling ruby. I 
gave them to the captain. “I trust this will pay for my way?” 
Indeed, I no longer wanted the skiff. Narmada’s ashes would go to whatever fate 
the sea held in store for them. 
The captain took my fare, shrugged, and then nodded to his men. 
As they pushed my little craft away, the captain continued to eye the gem and 
inquired, “How did you come to be sailing alone out here?” 
“I was stranded on Ithamar for many years, and only just lately found the boat.” 
A half-truth was better than no truth, I reasoned. I said nothing of Narmada, 
nor of my lessons, for I remembered she had forewarned me that not all would 
embrace or allow the arts of magic. 
Over the next couple of days, the crew no doubt thought me an inquisitive yet 
bothersome traveler indeed, for I questioned them about many things, especially 
what had transpired on the world over the past few years. 
Though the men gladly imparted information, naught could I learn of my old home 
in Khet. 
One time, the captain asked if I was bound for any place in particular. 
“No,” I replied. “However, I will disembark at your next port of call, and 
continue my journey by land from there.” 
The captain gave me an odd look. “The gods be with you, then, lad, since men are 
not welcome on the isle of Kaphtor except during the spring and fall.” 
“Why is that?” 
He chuckled loudly, then replied, ”You’ll find out soon enough.” 
Late on the second night, as I lay asleep in a corner of the deck (I never 
acquired the ability to sleep in rank-smelling holds), the creaking of the 
floorboards woke me. 
I opened my eyes just to slits. 
In the moonlight, someone knelt down just a few paces from me. I thought at 
first it to be one of the sailors checking the rigging, but then I realized the 
individual was opening my satchel. 
I waited a moment. 
Fwoosh! A flash of light, then a crackling sound, followed quickly by a yelling 
man. 
The noise brought other crewmembers. 
“What’s going on?” demanded the captain as he strode up to find one of his crew 
moaning on the deck and shaking uncontrollably. 
I rose to my feet. “Apparently, he intended to take something from my sack,” I 
replied. “He touched something he should not have.” 
The captain eyes blazed at the culprit, then nodded to a couple of other men. 
They reached down and pulled the whimpering man to his feet. 
“Koste, I might have known,” the captain muttered with a shake of his head. 
“Take him below; we’ll deal with this tomorrow.” 
As the men dragged the sailor away, the captain turned back to me with a 
not-too-happy expression on his face. “A wizard?” 
I merely stared at him. He knew. 
“Koste’s been caught before trying to steal things from passengers. Thought he’d 
learned his lesson. Obviously not. I’m sorry about that, but I think the sooner 
you’re off my boat, the better it’ll be for all. I don’t have problems with you 
lot, but some of the other men dislike anything to do with magic. Goodnight to 
you, then.” 
The captain nodded at me. I lay back down, retrieved my bag and brought it 
closer to me. 
I awoke the next morning to find the captain sternly reprimanding the man called 
Koste. 
“This is the last time you’re going to be stealing anything with those hands, 
wretch.” 
Koste’s eyes widened with fright. “No! No, cap’n, I’m beggin’ you, no!” 
However, the captain ignored his pleas as two men grabbed Koste by the arms and 
held them out in front of the captain who had drawn his sword. 
I stepped forward as I realized what was to happen. “Captain, I don’t think—“ 
My interruption came too late. With a mighty heave of his sword, the captain 
cleaved off Koste’s two hands. 
The man screamed, then howled again as another sailor thrust a burning torch 
against the blood-spurting stumps that remained. Flesh and blood bubbled and 
sizzled before the man mercifully fainted and dropped to the deck. 
My stomach heaved. 
“Take Koste below, see to him,” the captain ordered with a kinder tone in his 
voice. He glanced over at me, nodded, and then went about his way. 
I reeled back, lurched and leaned over the railing. 
For the two days after I came aboard, the merchant vessel sailed east. Several 
times during the voyage, I stood on the bow and recalled the trip with my 
family. 
However, my years with Narmada had softened the painful memories. Although I 
missed my parents and sisters, I yearned to see and touch and kiss Narmada 
again, even though I knew such a thing could not happen. 
Narmada wanted me to use my magic for the betterment of others; here, my warding 
spell on the journal had unwittingly caused the loss of a man’s hands, even if 
it was his own fault. 
Apparently, my trip was not getting off to a very auspicious start. The sooner 
the ship got to its next destination, the sooner I could leave. Perhaps the 
captain was right. 
“Land ho!” 
“Kaphtor,” the captain remarked as he drew near to me. “We’ll put in to shore 
for water and rations only, then we’ll sail on to Pathrus. I’d take you further 
than this, but that might not be a good idea…” 
I nodded, picked up my satchel, and then watched as the captain returned to the 
business of guiding the ship to the wharf. 
In but a short time, we docked. Along with the sailors who would acquire the 
needed supplies, I trod down the gangplank, along the wharf, and onto the shore. 

The sparsely warehoused docks seemed strangely deserted except for two lame men, 
both of whom had their right legs apparently broken at some time. They hobbled 
forward to meet us. 
As I left them so that I could look around, I must have become the object of 
some joke because one of the crew jabbed a thumb at me, and said something to 
the cripples. They all broke into raucous laughter while they shook their heads. 

However, I paid them no mind as I headed down a dirt road that seemed to lead 
towards the interior of the island. 
It was not long before the forest area around me grew thicker with brush, and 
noisier with the sounds of birds. 
I thought for a moment that I heard the sound of hoof beats, but I could not be 
sure. 
However, as I rounded a corner, I found myself confronted by three warriors on 
horseback. 
And not just any warriors. 
Nay! These warriors were women. 


CHAPTER 14
Concerning the Group of Warrior Women
And the Night I Spent in Their Camp



This was the first time in my life I had ever seen women warriors, and for 
several long moments I could only stand and stare at them in awe. 
Although I could see minor personal preferences in decorative jewelry, all three 
dressed much the same—a knee-length skirt and short-sleeved blouse of leather, 
boots of fur, and short capes of the same material. On their heads, they wore 
ear-flapped skullcaps. 
Each woman possessed a sword that hung in its scabbard from a wide belt, a bow 
with a quiver of arrows that dangled from one side of the horses, and a 
vicious-looking two-headed axe that hung from the other side, but which could 
obviously be yanked from its harness at a moment’s notice. 
They also carried round shields that appeared to be made of snakeskin but which, 
I later learned, had been created like the skullcaps from tough dragon hide. 
The apparent leader of this feminine trio seemed to be a stunning black woman 
who stood two or three thumb’s-width above my eighteen hand’s-width height. 
She it was who spoke to me forthwith, her words sharp and demanding. 
“Who art thou, stranger, and what doest thou here on the island of the Amazons?” 

Although I understood the language quite well, the strange dialect made it a 
little difficult to interpret correctly. 
Believing discretion to be the best mode of approach, I bowed slightly to her 
and explained in the standard Arabahic tongue, “My Ladies, I am a traveler from 
a far country, a simple pilgrim in search of enlightenment, and a student 
seeking knowledge. I carry no weapon, no shield, no malice, and bear ill will 
towards none. I ask only for a bowl of food, a mug of wine, and a good night’s 
sleep so that I might be refreshed to continue my journey on the morrow.” 
The Amazons gazed at me with not a little astonishment. Then they glanced at one 
another and broke into laughter even as the men on the dock had done earlier. 
“Have I offended you?” I inquired, not sure of the reason for their outburst. 
The woman who had spoken to me slipped her leg over the horse’s neck and, with a 
broad smile, dropped to the ground. She strode towards me and I noted the lithe, 
muscular arms and legs. 
“Nay, traveler, you have not offended,” she said. “We were but amused by your 
explanation.” 
“It is the truth.” 
“If it is the truth, then surely we do believe you. Are you not aware that men 
are not allowed on the isle of the Amazons at this time of year? Yet, you are 
not like other men—your manner of speech and your dress indicate a man of some 
breeding and culture. Is this observation true?” 
I bowed my head slightly. “As true as can be possible for one as young as I am.” 

“Will you, then, accept the hospitality of my sisters and me in our camp?” 
“I would be honored, milady. My name is Solomon Magus.” 
Although I knew Narmada had conferred on me the right to call myself ‘Magus’, 
still the word sounded strange coming from my own lips. It would take some time 
getting used to it. 
“I am called Maramba,” the muscular woman said. She motioned with her hand to 
the two mounted women, also black like herself, and evidence that if they were 
not from that area of Arabah, they at least had ancestors in the Southern 
Kingdoms. “My sisters— Wajiru and Sisay.” 
I bowed again, this time to the companions, and they acknowledged with curt nods 
even though I could tell they remained unconvinced of my intentions. 
I did not know whether by ‘sisters’ Maramba meant they shared the same parents, 
or if the term applied to all the women of her tribe, but I assumed the latter. 
She remounted and turned her horse. “Follow us to our camp, Solomon Magus.” 
I did not expect anyone to offer me a ride. From their attitude, I could tell 
these proud women desired to be in control. I could not quibble with that—their 
muscular frames and weapon accouterments left no doubt in my mind that they 
would be a force to be reckoned with in any field of battle. 
The horses moved at a slow gait, so I did not have any trouble keeping up with 
them. Presently, the women dismounted, and I found myself in a small encampment 
beside a pool of clear blue water. 
A small fire crackled a short distance from it, and the carcass of some animal 
cooked slowly over it; large drops of fat and juice dropped into the flames with 
a hiss and sizzle. 
The aroma of the cooked meat reached my nostrils. My mouth watered and I licked 
my lips. 
“Sit, Solomon,” Maramba said as she gestured to a flat rock by the fire. 
I drew the satchel from my shoulder, settled down as comfortably as I could, and 
watched as Maramba sliced a sliver of meat from the carcass. She handed it to 
me. 
The slice burned my fingers, and I handled it gingerly, blew on it to cool the 
meat. 
This elicited chuckles from the warrior women whose hands the heat did not seem 
to bother as they slit of their own hefty chunks and hungrily gobbled them down. 

By this time, they had divested themselves of their skullcaps and capes. I 
marveled at the sinuousness of their muscularity that contrasted with the beauty 
of their countenances. In spite of the fact that, for the most part, they 
appeared to dress as men—or perhaps just for the sake of practicality—it did not 
lessen their femininity in any way. 
Their hair, which they apparently kept bound up beneath the skullcaps, now hung 
loose and long, flowing like black rivers over their shoulders. 
I found all three of them to be quite fascinating. 
Or, perchance I was jealous because my own body lacked as much muscle and 
solidarity as their own. 
“Are there other women such as you?” I ventured to ask between mouthfuls, 
hopeful to start an informative conversation. 
Maramba laughed, whilst the other two warriors grinned. “Of course, Solomon. In 
the city of Arduina, which is some distance from here. However, we shall wait 
until morning before we travel there.” 
“Would you take me with you?” 
The woman named Wajiru handed me a skein of wine, and I took a long drink. “If 
that is what you wish.” 
“As long as I break no taboo in doing so,” I replied as I remembered my time 
with the snake charmers. “You said men are not welcome on Kaphtor…” 
“That is true, Solomon,” Maramba agreed as she cut another hunk of meat and 
handed it to me. “But you are now our guest, and I am quite sure Queen Resmina 
would be interested to meet and talk with you.” 
I bowed my head slightly to acknowledge the privilege, and then bit into the 
meat. 
The rest of the meal passed in silence for the most part. Although they said 
very little unless I directed questions to them personally, Wajiru and Sisay 
nonetheless kept their eyes on me. 
Then, as we finished eating, Sisay asked, “What is your purpose in coming to 
Kaphtor?” 
“As I have said—to learn what I can about other people, other cultures, other 
languages—“ 
Sisay rose suddenly to her feet. “You are a spy!” she cried out as she grabbed 
the hilt of her sword. 
However, Maramba grabbed her wrist. “Stay thy hand, sister,” she chided, “and 
pray let us hear what he has to say.” 
“—for in so doing I will increase my knowledge of Arabah,” I went on. “I have 
taken it upon myself to compile a record of our world, to share Bliss with those 
willing to share it with me, and to seek the will of our Lady Shakti, Blessed Be 
Her Name!” 
I realized, then, that, in my own words, I was beginning to summarize the Aims 
of Life that Narmada had taught me. 
So I continued. “There are four necessities—four aims in Life—Artha, the 
necessity of acquiring those material things required for us to survive; Kama, 
the necessity of Blissful activity not only for pleasure, but for the 
propagation of our race so that we might continue to battle against the forces 
of Shiva; Dharma, the necessity of following a moral code of conduct; and 
Moksha, the necessity of being aware of the presence of Shakti so that we might 
seek and learn Her Will, and so that our souls may live on after Death.” 
All three women gazed at me with interest, and I daresay they never expected 
such philosophical words to come from one as young as I was. 
“However,” I said, “we must also understand that we cannot seek pleasure for its 
own sake, delightful as that might be. Without Bliss, our minds become restless 
and unsatisfied; if we do not seek and use material goods, we shall grow weak 
and thin; without a code of moral conduct, our conscience becomes numbed, and we 
shall not understand the difference between right and wrong, truth and lies. 
Moreover, if we seek not union with the Goddess, then our souls become degraded. 
In short, there must be balance in our lives, for without that balance, there is 
only chaos. If we live by these tenets as much as we can, then we shall do well 
wherever we go.” 
“That is quite profound,” observed Maramba. “Art thou a priest?” 
I shook my head. “What are your aims in life?” I asked. 
“The Amazons desire to protect the Motherland and our Sisters everywhere,” 
proclaimed Sisay somewhat dramatically. “And to subdue all men.” 
“All men?” I exclaimed. “Why would you do that? Do they not provide for you?” 
The three women laughed, and then Sisay snorted and spat on the ground. “Amazons 
provide for themselves. Whatever men can do, that also can we.” 
Maramba remained quiet. Wajiru grunted her assent, and then she said, “We have 
done so for many years. That is the way it has always been for our people; that 
is how it always will be.” 
She picked up and threw a small log onto the fire. It exploded and crackled, and 
threw a thousand sparks into the darkening sky. 
I stared into the flames for what seemed a long time as the women talked and 
argued amongst themselves in their own tongue. 
Finally, Maramba announced, “Now we shall sleep. Tomorrow, we shall show you the 
wonders of Arduina. We perceive that you are indeed a wise man, and believe what 
you have told us.” 
“Thank you, Maramba.” 
I sought out a comfortable spot on the grass close to the fire. After I removed 
a blanket from my satchel and laid it out, I set the latter down for a pillow, 
lay on the ground and closed my eyes. 
I heard the rustling sound of clothing as the Amazons continued to chat quietly 
in their own language again. 
Presently, I ventured to open my eyes to see if they had settled down to sleep. 
Instead, completely naked, the three warriors sat on the other side of the 
campfire, and each of them gazed at me in somewhat of a strange way. 
I leaned up on an elbow and glanced from one to the other. “Is something wrong?” 

“You sleep with your clothes on,” remarked Maramba, her eyes wide, white, and 
sparkling. The ridges of their black, muscular bodies appeared more defined and 
hard as the firelight danced over them. 
“If I don’t,” I returned, “then I will most likely have a restless and 
uncomfortable sleep. I have not yet grown accustomed to lying naked in the cool 
of the night as you obviously do.” 
Sisay nodded. “Ah!” she said, “then perhaps we should sleep together, and our 
body heat shall keep each other warm.” 
For someone who had an apparent dislike for men, Sisay’s suggestion took me 
quite by surprise, delightful as it was. 
“If you so desire, I would be honored to share my bed with you,” I replied. 
It was all I could do to control my Blissful urges as I rose to my knees, pulled 
my robe over my head, and laid it on my bag. If my manhood had sprung from its 
nest, I felt sure I would most surely have offended them, something I did not 
wish to do. 
The cool night breeze caressed the nakedness of my skin. I shivered as I lay 
down again. 
Sisay rose and strode towards me, her black skin glistening, her hard muscles 
the result of some excellent training. Like her other two companions, her beauty 
excited me, and I marveled at such a magnificent feminine form. 
However, I noted that no sooner had Sisay begun to approach me than Maramba and 
Wajiru rose and made their way across the grass in my direction. 
Suddenly, I realized why. 
I was to sleep with all of them. 
Sisay prostrated herself on my right, Maramba and Wajiru to my left. 
I allowed them to snuggle in close. Not sure where to put my hands, I turned to 
my side and brought them up against my chest and Sisay’s back. 
For a time, we lay there quietly. Gradually, I felt sleep begin to lay heavy on 
my eyelids. 
It was just after this, then, that I felt someone’s fingers encircle my manhood. 

I swallowed hard, my mind plying images of some Amazon knife unceremoniously 
slicing my privates from my body. 
Then I felt Maramba behind me rise slightly. “Is this your only weapon, Solomon 
Magus?” she whispered in my ear. 
I opened my eyes, turned my head and gazed into her eyes. “It is.” 
Then, behind and beside Maramba’s head, that of Wajiru appeared. “And, can you 
use it?” 
“Better than any other man,” I replied. 
Sisay turned over to face me. “Can you prove it?” 
I glanced from one woman, to the second, and then to the third. “Do you wish to 
share Bliss?” I asked. 
“We do,” they all chimed together. 
Therefore, I did, much to their obvious delight and surprise. 


CHAPTER 15
Concerning My Arrival at Arduina
And My Audience with Queen Resmina



By the following morning, the beautiful Amazon warrior women swore to be my 
friends. Indeed, I had proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that I was certainly 
not like other men. 
After we dressed and gathered up our belongings, we mounted up. This time, 
Maramba allowed me to sit behind her. Although riding in such a manner proved 
somewhat uncomfortable for me, nonetheless I was grateful I would not have to 
walk the distance to Arduina. In fact, Maramba told me that by mid-day we would 
reach a small settlement where they could obtain a horse for me. 
The morning passed uneventfully other than normal chitchat amongst the four of 
us, the women demanding to know more of my personal history, and of the years I 
spent with Narmada. 
I found I shared freely and truthfully, and revealed to them that I practiced 
the magical arts as well as the arts of Bliss. 
However, no doubt they already guessed this when I brandished my weapon during 
the night as no other man could do. I surprised and thrilled them beyond even 
their wildest expectations, especially since I used my powers to duplicate 
myself twice, and thus satisfied all three at the same time. 
It did not seem to bother them, therefore, that I knew magic, and for that I was 
glad. In fact, much later in my life it would stand me in great stead, for I 
ultimately became, for a while, Chief Mage in the court of the Amazon queen, 
Vanida. 
However, that would be many years after I first set foot on Kaphtor, and I would 
experience many other adventures before then. For the moment, I was content just 
to be accepted by the three women, and I hoped my newfound friendship would lead 
to acceptance by their Queen and tribe. 
As Maramba said, mid-day we stopped at the small settlement she mentioned. 
There, also as she promised, I obtained a horse to ride. 
This particular encampment consisted of about thirty women, most of them in 
their late thirties and older who, Maramba explained, had finished their stints 
in the Amazon army, and now settled down to become farmers, tradeswomen and 
mothers. 
All the girls began military training at an early age. However, it was not until 
they reached maturity at sixteen that their teachers discerned whether they 
should continue in the army for another ten years, or if they would be more 
suitable to a life of arts and crafts. 
After my Amazon companions introduced me to these other women as an envoy from a 
far land—for I am certain they would have questioned my presence—we all sat down 
for a communal meal that consisted of venison, vegetables and fruits, and a 
well-aged wine. The cooks followed this with a rather sweet and flat cake-like 
dessert that I found to be incredibly delicious, and one I have never found 
elsewhere during my travels across Arabah. 
Obviously, it is a particular Amazon dish they did not bother to export; perhaps 
it would not have kept well on long ocean voyages to other marketplaces. 
Once we finished the meal, we rested until mid-afternoon, and then we mounted 
once again and continued on our way. 
By early evening, we crested a hill and I gazed for the first time on Arduina, 
city of the Amazons. 
It must have been nearly one hundred and twenty reeds across [1/4 mile – 
Editor], and consisted of dozens of small huts that clustered around a larger 
building. A wall of logs just over one reed high [approx. 11 feet – Editor], 
placed vertically in the ground and laced together with ropes and vines, 
surrounded the city. 
“Male slaves did much of the construction,” Maramba explained. “Especially the 
heavier work; but we Amazons did our own share of the task.” 
We headed down the hillside and approached the main gate. Two Amazon guards 
challenged us. Maramba answered them, and vouched for my presence. 
Although the guards let us through, I had to remain with them whilst my three 
companions entered the large edifice in order to obtain an audience for me with 
their queen. 
In fact, the Amazons had, and always have had, two ruling queens at the same 
time. One commanded the army and military duties; the other presided over 
domestic affairs. However, at the time of my arrival, only one queen was 
present; the other traveled elsewhere on the island. 
The guards warily eyed me as I waited, and I must confess to being somewhat 
nervous without the presence of my friends. 
Fortunately, I did not have to wait long, for the three women returned and 
escorted me to the building that turned out to be a combination of temple and 
ruler’s quarters. 
I had already noticed a few men here and there—slaves, I imagine—not unlike 
those I saw on the wharf. Frail-looking with twisted legs. The Amazons made sure 
they would be no trouble at any time. 
My companions and I passed through the main door where two more guards visually 
looked me over as I passed. 
We entered a large room. Seated on a hide-covered throne, a woman about twice my 
age gazed steadily at me as I approached her. 
I bowed. “In the Name of our Lady Shakti, I greet you, Queen Resmina. My name is 
Solomon Magus.” 
“Welcome, Solomon,” she answered. “Apparently, you made quite an impression on 
my daughters.” 
I shrugged, and smiled weakly. I preferred not to say anything of the night 
before. 
“They tell me you are a powerful wizard.” 
“A wizard, yes, milady,” I agreed. “However, it is not for me to say whether I 
am powerful or not. Perhaps the potency of one man or woman is only recognized 
by the weakness of another.” 
Too late, I realized the words did not come from my lips the way I intended them 
to do. Unfortunately, I had just inferred that the Amazons were weaker than I 
was, and that I was superior to them. 
However, the queen seemed to overlook my inadvertent slip of the tongue. She 
rose from her throne and stepped in front of me. 
“Will you perform some magic?” she inquired with a slight twist of her head. 
“For what purpose, O queen?” I asked, for I promised Narmada that I would not 
use my magic ability lightly; that is, not to amuse the slightest whim of common 
folk. 
Or queens, for that matter. 
Besides, depending on the type of magic performed, it could drain too much 
energy from my body to leave me in a weakened, vulnerable state. 
Such happened the night before but, fortunately, the women let me sleep until I 
regained my strength. 
“To prove you are a wizard,” replied Resmina. 
That said, she suddenly jerked a dagger from her belt, raised it, and plunged it 
down towards my chest in what seemed no more than a heartbeat. 
The point of the knife stopped a thumb’s-breadth from my breast, the blade, and 
Resmina’s hand immobilized by a vaporous cloud of brilliant yellow light. 
With a bemused expression on my face, I stared into the queen’s eyes. I moved 
back a couple of paces, but did not release her. 
She tried to pull her hand free from the yellow cloud; but she remained firmly 
held. 
“Release me!” she commanded, and although her voice sounded harsh, I noted the 
tone did not appear to be threatening. 
I raised my hand, waved a finger at her. Immediately a second cloud of light 
enveloped her other hand, drew it up to the one that held the dagger. Both were 
thus securely held. 
“What is the meaning of this?” Again the harsh, but nonthreatening tone. She 
could easily have called the guards, or commanded my Amazon friends to arrest 
me, but she did neither. 
“Milady—I have no desire to cause you harm, but I also do not like to be tricked 
into using my magical abilities. It is not Shakti’s purpose for me to amuse or 
master others, but rather, to serve them. So, with that understanding, I shall 
release you.” 
The yellow clouds vanished immediately, and Resmina’s hands dropped to her 
sides. She resheathed her dagger as she said, “We have an understanding, Solomon 
Magus.” Then, more sternly, she continued. “But know this—hold me captive again 
without my permission, and I shall order your immediate execution.” 
“As you wish, milady.” I smiled at her, and knew that from the way she said it, 
she hinted that she wanted to be held captive, for Blissful purposes, by me at 
some time in the future, a prospect to which I looked forward with anticipation. 

However, for the moment, she turned from me and clapped her hands twice. From 
behind a curtained entranceway, a lame man appeared. He carried a tray, which 
held two mugs and a bowl of fruit. 
“Let us drink,” Resmina announced. “To our mutual understanding and to our 
future friendship.” 
I took a goblet, saluted Resmina with it, and took a drink. 
“Now,” concluded the queen as she downed her own drink in one gulp, “you must 
join me for dinner.” 
Queen Resmina guided me from her throne room through another veiled entrance 
that led to a smaller, but more comfortable area. Indeed, a canopy of silks and 
satins covered a large bed, and two lounge chairs surrounded a small, low table. 

She gestured towards one of the seats, and I reclined on it. Resmina lay on the 
other. No sooner had she done so than a train of male and female servants 
entered and proceeded to place trays and bowls on the table. These contained 
various foodstuffs—breads, fruits, vegetables, and meats—from which we both 
began to partake whilst we conversed about many different subjects. 
The queen appeared to be a very well read and cultured woman as we shared 
thoughts and opinions on a variety of topics that included philosophy, art, and 
music. 
Then she said to me, “Solomon, do you know the history of Arabah?” 
“What do you wish to know?” 
“How it came to be, and what happened in past times.” 
I pursed my lips, and then replied, “I can only relate what I have heard, and as 
it was told to me, O my queen, so shall I tell it to you…” 


CHAPTER 16
Concerning the Creation of the World,
The Great War, and the Seven Ages of Arabah



“A full and true history of Arabah would indeed be impossible to relate, O 
queen. So much lies behind a curtain of obscurity, and comes down to us by word 
of mouth in tales of myth and legend. 
“What I am about to tell you has been given to me by the Scribes of my village, 
and from what I have read in several of the scrolls in my library on Ithamar. 
Some of them are quite old, and written in an ancient language, and are thus 
open to many possible interpretations. 
“This, then, can be but my own interpretation of events that I have endeavoured 
to piece together, from the creation of the world up to the present time.” 
-I-
Therefore, these sources revealed to me that when the Creator, Shakti, Blessed 
Be Her Name, when She formed Arabah, She first made it as one great continent 
from the Waters of Abundance. She called this continent Prakriti, which means 
‘Great Nature’. 
How beautiful this world looked, filled with riches and abundance of all things. 

Thus it was that, on this continent, Shakti brought into existence seven races 
of seven colours in seven lands. However, their actual names and places have 
been lost to us. 
Once placed within their boundaries and content to remain there, these first 
peoples multiplied and inhabited Prakriti. 
In time, these civilizations became far more advanced than our own. They built 
great cities, traded and shared the natural wealth of the continent, and dwelt 
together in relative harmony. 
It has also been told to me that these early cultures also possessed the power 
to fly through the air, to travel long distances beneath the sea, and to 
traverse the land at great speeds. 
But of this, I must confess, I am not certain since the truth of these legends 
cannot be verified to any great degree. 
So, this was the first of the seven ages of Arabah. It is known as Yuga Arambha, 
the Time of Beginnings. 
-II
91 
After some time, it came to pass that the Destroyer, Shiva, drew near to view 
the world that Shakti had made. 
Moreover, when he saw the marvels of Prakriti—the great cities of commerce, the 
concord of the people, and the lands that flowed with milk and honey—when he saw 
these things, he grew exceedingly jealous. 
Therefore, Shiva caused a great mountain from the stars to fall, and it crashed 
upon Prakriti, and destroyed much of the world the Creator had made. 
Then Shakti looked upon the devastation and wept loudly; and the cry of Her 
lamentation reverberated throughout the heavens. 
Soon, there came unto Her many of the inhabitants of the heavens to inquire into 
the reason for Her great sadness; and She showed them the destruction wrought 
upon the continent by the jealousy of Shiva. 
So many of the inhabitants gathered under Shakti to comfort Her, and they spoke 
openly against the wickedness of Shiva. 
Then the Destroyer called forth the denizens of the Netherworld and of the 
Outerworld, and gave them entrance into the heavens. 
And a great war erupted between Shakti and Shiva. And the armies of the Creator 
came against those of the Destroyer, and they waged war for a hundred, thirty 
and seven summers. 
Across the heavens, and upon Prakriti, the armies clashed, bringing with them 
destruction and death, famine and pestilence. 
Finally, Shakti prevailed against Shiva, and cast him into the depths of the 
Great Abyss where, it is said, he remains bound to this day, and for all time. 
Moreover, the host of shaitana which chose to side with the Destroyer during the 
Great War—Shakti sent them to the Abyss with him, but they were not bound. 
It happened that some of them made their way from the Abyss in secret and began 
to wander the world of Man. And lo! With their coming in and going out, these 
devils make known the works of men to Shiva and do his bidding. Thus, it is 
said, they bring sickness and disease, famine, hatred and war. 
However, most of our knowledge of these times, and of the Great War itself, has 
been lost to us, so nothing remains and nothing else can be told. 
This was the second of the Seven Ages of Arabah. It is known as Yuga 
Andherapana, the Time of Darkness. 
-III-
From the carnage and rubble that remained after the Great War, Shakti formed yet 
another world, and this she called Arabah, which means ‘darkened plain’. On it, 
she once again placed seven races of seven colours in seven lands. 
In the ice-and snow-covered regions of Barphila in the far north lived the 
white-skinned Labanim. 
In the thick and humid jungles of Kush to the south, lived the black-skinned 
Shakorim. 
On the rolling, verdant steppes of Chicano to the east, the yellow-skinned 
Zahobim. 
In the mountainous, forest areas of Lakadi to the west, the red-skinned Adamim. 
On the central, dry desert lands of Yogyata, the brown-skinned Khoomim. 
In the depths of the oceans dwelt the blue-skinned Tekelethim. 
And, in the dark recesses of the earth, where caverns lay in abundance, there 
lived the green-skinned Karpasim. 
These people flourished even as those of the former age had done. They rebuilt 
their cities, and established new trading centers. However, they were not as 
great as those who came before because much knowledge had been lost, neither was 
there harmony amongst all the peoples. 
There were wars, and rumors of wars; there were treaties, and the breaking of 
treaties; there was peace for a season, and times of unrest. 
Yet, from amongst these people there also arose wise ones who became known as 
Zakanay, the Elders. 
They possessed the ability to commune directly with Shakti, and She revealed 
Herself to them from time to time, and made Her Will known to them so they could 
guide the steps of those who worshipped Her. 
In so doing, the Elders came to know many things. They gained much knowledge of 
Arabah, of its peoples, and the wonders of its natural resources. 
During this time, the Elders wrote down the words of Shakti upon ten scrolls, 
those we know today as the Sacred Scriptures. Indeed, there are still those who 
claim to possess the arcane knowledge, to hear the voice of Shakti, and to guard 
the Sacred Scriptures. We know them as the Oracle caste. 
Therefore, for the most part, a troubled peace lasted for one thousand and ten 
summers as Arabah’s inhabitants prospered. 
This was the third of the Seven Ages of Arabah. It is known as Yuga Sattva, or 
the Time of Light. 
-IV-
And it came to pass at the end of the thousand and one summers, that there 
appeared from the heavens a race of beings whose intelligence far surpassed that 
of the people of Arabah, but who lusted after the daughters of men. These were 
the Nokri. 
Down they came from their floating chariots of light, to take whomsoever they 
desired. 
Some of the women fought back, and died; others, the Nokri entranced into 
helpless submission; still others—may their souls dwell forever in infamy—they 
gave of their bodies willingly. 
However, there were those of the Nokri who found favor in the eyes of some 
people of Arabah. And they came in unto those women, and did with them, as they 
were wont to do. 
Then the Nokri departed to the heavens. (Though it is rumored, there are certain 
areas of Arabah where some of them still dwell in secret). 
And the daughters of men conceived, and brought forth children who would become 
men and women of renown—some of great stature, others of notoriety. 
However, the effects of this Outerworld visitation would not yet be felt for 
another generation. 
This was the fourth of the Seven Ages of Arabah. It is known as Yuga Mulakata, 
the Time of Visitation. 
-V-
Then it came to pass, in the year of our Lady 1033 that giants arose in the 
land. Moreover, from the Great Abyss, Shiva sent forth dragons and beasts to 
plague the inhabitants of Arabah, and to further corrupt the world Shakti had 
made. 
And behold! Evil sorcerers and warlords joined these creatures, and they began 
the systematic subjugation of Arabah, its lands and peoples. 
And they slaughtered a multitude of people, enslaved others, and drove still 
others to the far corners of the world. 
Thus, a world of freedom and beauty became defiled once more, filled with 
depravity, slavery, and wickedness; a people who once embraced love, trust and 
tolerance became filled with fear. Hatred and base desires. 
So did the offspring of the Nokri ally themselves with the minions of Shiva, and 
pervert the world of Arabah. 
After they enslaved the people, they abused the forests and seas and mountains, 
stripped the world of its natural beauty and destroyed its resources, filling 
the land with that which was unfit for both man and beast. 
This was the fifth of the Seven Ages of Arabah. It is known as Yuga 
Prithakakarana, the Time of Separation. 
-VI-After threescore summers and ten, Arabah itself began to revel against the 
atrocities unleashed upon it. 
Thus, it came to pass that cataclysmic upheavals rocked the world. Oceans rose 
and deluged the land, their walls of water sluicing away and drowning the 
wickedness and filth upon it. Moreover, from the depths of the seas, massive 
mountains of rock rose, broke through the crust, and divided one land from 
another; others exploded into fragments because of the buildup of hot gases 
beneath the surface of the earth. 
The continent itself was torn asunder and split into pieces so that, in the 
space of but a few summers, there remained new lands, news seas, and rivers. 
This devastation of Arabah was unparalleled by anything that had gone before, 
save for the devastation of the Great War. 
This was the sixth of the Seven Ages of Arabah. It is known as Yuga Nasha, the 
Time of Desolation. 
-VII-Silence and Death reigned supreme on Arabah after this for five and twenty 
summers. 
However, it came to pass that, gradually, life began once again. The clouds 
poured their rains upon the ground, the sun shone its rays across the world, and 
the wind blew its breath upon all that remained. 
From caves and shelters crept forth those who had survived the holocaust of 
nature—man and beast, human and nonhuman. 
And they multiplied upon the new face of Arabah, there to establish tribes and 
clans and families, cities and temples and kingdoms, to barter and trade once 
again, as they had done so many times before. 
But our Lady Shakti, in Her Wisdom, foresaw what was to come yet a third time, 
and She set about to balance the forces of evil that Shiva would unleash once 
more upon Arabah. 
So, it happened that there arose great and mighty men and women who chose to 
battle the wickedness of this world in the name of our Lady Shakti. 
This was, and is now, the seventh of the Seven Age of Arabah. It is known as 
Yuga Nirmalata, the Time of Cleansing. 
And so, it was during this time that I came into the world to learn the arts of 
magic, to share the ecstasy of Bliss, to chronicle the events of my life and the 
adventures of those whom our Lady called forth to fight the evils of Shiva. 
So, as it has been told me, O my queen, so have I told it to you. 


CHAPTER 17
Concerning the Arts of War,
And How I Won the Respect of the Leopard Clan



“That was indeed a fascinating history!” exclaimed Queen Resmina. “And one such 
as I have not heard before.” 
“What of the history of the Amazons?” I inquired. “Can you tell that to me?” 
“It is a story of struggle and bloodshed,” she replied. “Of armies and wars, of 
slavery and migration. However, to tell our history would take several days. 
Tonight, I shall begin it.” 
I nodded my understanding, and with that she regaled me with a good tale of 
adventure, the length and depth of which is too much to tell here. Rather, it is 
a tale I shall no doubt set down for all to share at some later date should 
Shakti, Blessed Be Her Name, allow it. For, indeed, Resmina took the time to 
tell me the whole of it. 
At any rate, by the end of this night’s narrative, Queen Resmina looked tired. I 
suggested I take my leave so that she could retire for the night. 
I rose then, bowed to her, and then moved to the doorway. 
“Solomon—“ 
I turned. 
“Would you honor the queen of the Amazons by sharing her bed this night?” 
My eyes sought hers. “As you wish, my queen.” 
She stood and approached me with a comfortable smile. “Call me Resmina, for if 
we are to share the comforts of my bed, then the formalities of my office must 
be put aside. I am a woman who desires a man, Solomon, not a subject, servant, 
slave or visiting dignitary. You have learned the arts of Bliss, as you said?” 
I nodded. “As much as I am able to learn for one still as young as I am.” 
“It is said that true Bliss is unlike the mere physical joining of a man and 
woman. Is this true?” 
“It is.” 
“Will you teach me to achieve that kind of Bliss?” Resmina unclasped her gown. 
The material flowed to the floor to leave her naked save for the sparkling rings 
and bracelets that adorned her fingers, wrists, arms and ankles. 
She was a vision of loveliness, her black skin smooth and supple, marred only by 
a now-long-healed light brown scar that crossed her bosom where her right breast 
should have been. 
She saw me stare at it, raised a finger to the jagged line and asked, “Does this 
offend you?” 
I gazed into her eyes. Had I seen a glimmer of inner pain, a flash of 
uncertainty as to whether we should continue because I thought her to be an 
incomplete woman? 
Whatever thoughts crossed her mind faded as I answered, “On the contrary, 
Resmina. ‘Tis but a starting point for my quest to discover the rest of your 
body.” 
That said, I divested myself of my robe, leaned forward and ran my tongue 
lightly along the length of the scar. I felt the soft ridges, flicked my tongue 
across them. Resmina sighed. I could have used magic to enhance the experience, 
but I decided to leave that for later. 
The queen moaned loudly, wrapped her arms around me, and drew me into a tight 
embrace, pulling me up to meet her lips in a passionate kiss. 
From that point on, we continued to share the ecstasies of Bliss and, of course, 
the enchantment of my staff, far into the early hours of the next morning. 
For two days and nights, I remained in the bedchamber of Queen Resmina so that I 
could teach her the pleasures of Bliss. She proved to be a willing and 
enthusiastic student, sharing her heart, soul and body in so many different 
ways. 
On the third day, after breakfast, we dressed, and then Resmina bade me follow 
her outside. 
The two guards bowed as we passed, then Resmina beckoned to Maramba, who 
happened to be nearby with several other warrior women. 
She strode towards us. “My queen?” 
“Let it be known through the camp, and the Amazon nations, that Solomon Magus is 
free to travel wherever he so desires. He is to be treated with honor and 
dignity, and not as the other men.” 
“Yes, my queen.” Maramba flashed a wide grin at me, and then returned to join 
the others. 
“Solomon—“ 
I turned to face Resmina. She removed an engraved pendant on a chain from around 
her neck, and slipped it over my head. The medallion came to rest on my chest, 
and Resmina laid her hand on it. “Whenever you are on Amazon territory,” she 
cautioned, “always wear this symbol of my authority. They will recognize it even 
if they do not know you on sight.” 
“Surely I do not deserve such an honor—“ I began. 
Resmina placed a finger on my lips. “It is not a privilege lightly given,” she 
said. “But, it is one that you have earned. Not because of your skills at 
teaching and sharing Bliss, but because it is obvious to me and my captains that 
you are the only man to accept us as we are, and who treats us with respect. As 
long as you do not despoil that privilege, you may pass through unharmed, and be 
welcomed in all Amazon clans on Arabah.” 
I felt humbled indeed. “Thank you, milady.” 
“Now, we will speak no more of this matter,” she remarked, and then kissed me 
lightly on the lips. “Tell me, Solomon, what do you know of warfare?” 
“What sort?” 
“Close quarter combat. Hand-to-hand—“ 
“Fighting?” I laughed aloud before I shook my head. “I know nothing other than 
the scraps I had with other boys in the tablet house.” 
That was true. As a young lad, I knew very little. No one taught me how to 
protect myself, and I probably would not have learned anything until I turned 
sixteen. Moreover, although it was highly unlikely, I could have been drafted 
into the Javanite army had I remained in Khet. 
Resmina pressed her lips together and shook her head. “If you are to survive on 
this world, Solomon, you had best learn something. Magic is not going to be able 
to save you all the time. Come, let us speak with my mistress-at-arms.” 
The sun had already risen to mid-morning as the queen led me to a walled 
compound from which issued the sharp clash of weapons. 
Once we went through an opening in the wall, I gazed on twenty-four Amazon 
warriors battling each other. They were probably three to four years younger 
than I was, and I could tell they were practicing since they did not lay into 
each other with any great force. 
Elsewhere, three pairs of naked women wrestled in a large sand pit, the sinews 
of their arms and legs black, hard and sweat-covered so that granules of sand 
stuck to their skin. 
I glanced at Resmina. 
She chuckled, and then said, “Nay, the only wrestling you will do at the present 
time is in my bed. Your body will have to get in better shape before you engage 
in this sort of fighting. Ah! There is Aja!” 
She caught my hand and guided me past the grappling warrior women, who stopped 
for a moment to smile at me somewhat coquettishly. 
News apparently traveled fast in the camp. 
A tall, muscular black woman saluted as the queen and I drew near. 
“What is this?” she asked. Apparently, she referred to me. 
“This is Solomon Magus, Aja. By my command, you will treat him as one of us.” 
Aja snorted. “No man is my sister,” she said. 
“Nevertheless, you will treat him respectfully.” 
The woman sighed as she glanced at me, but she apparently acquiesced to the 
queen’s command, as she bowed her head. 
Resmina smiled at me. “I shall talk to you later, Solomon.” Then she turned and 
departed. 
Aja, meanwhile, circled me as she glanced up and down my form. “There is no 
strength in this body,” she remarked as she correctly assessed my physical 
appearance. For indeed, my strength lay in my wizardly talents and, of course, 
the Blissful ability of my linga. 
“Remove your clothes, then, Solomon. Let me have a look at you.” 
I shed my robe and stood naked before Aja’s scrutinizing gaze. 
“You are from the Eastern Realms?” she inquired, noting my brown skin. 
“My parents were,” I replied. “I was born in Elishah.” 
“Ah!” She fell silent as she continued to go round me. Her fingers prodded and 
poked various muscles on my arms and legs. Then she shook her head. “I fear the 
queen may be asking too much,” she mused. “I do not think you can hold a sword 
and shield—at least, not at the same time.” 
She retrieved two swords from a nearby hanging rack, and then motioned me to 
follow her. 
As we padded onto the sandlot, the sun felt warm on my skin. Aja handed me one 
of the short-bladed swords, then called over an Amazon who seemed to be about my 
own size and weight. 
Aja threw the sword to the woman—Noya, I believe, was her name—who caught the 
weapon by the handle and swung it around a few times to ascertain the balance of 
it. 
Noya glanced over me, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, and a noticeable smirk 
on her face. 
I noticed then that a group of ten Amazons had gathered round to encircle us 
both, some of them staring at my nakedness, others chuckling and chattering 
amongst themselves. 
And, making bets, by the look of the nods and shaking of hands. 
“We shall have two fights,” announced Aja to those gathered, and it occurred to 
me then that she was, in fact, trying to greatly embarrass me in front of them. 
“We shall have two fights,” she repeated. “One with Noya’s weapon of choice, the 
sword, the other with Solomon’s weapon of choice.” She paused for a moment. “If 
he can find one.” 
The crowd howled with laughter. 
“Begin!” 
Noya brought her sword up, and then she dove towards me. 
Quite honestly, I did not know what to do. Certainly I watched the other youths 
and men in Khet when they practiced and sparred with each other, but I was too 
young then to begin any sort of martial training. However, I did watch them 
closely, so I had a general idea of how sword fighting progressed. 
Thus, for the first few moments, I dodged the blows and thrusts that Noya 
attempted to lay on me; and I daresay they would certainly have done me great 
bodily harm if they landed, for I noticed she aimed to slice off my manhood. 
I tried to strike back with some attacks of my own, but feebly since I did not 
consciously want to hurt Noya, even accidentally. Therefore, my noticeable 
reticence to fight with any force only brought rounds of jeers and laughter from 
the assembled Amazons. 
Suddenly I winced in pain, and looked down to see a thin line of blood appear 
above my right nipple. 
A roar of approval erupted from the women. 
The next moment, I felt Noya’s leg knock my feet from under me. I fell heavily 
to the sand and, the next moment, the point of Noya’s sword tickled my linga. 
“Enough!” Aja called out. “This round belongs to Noya. Now, Solomon, it is your 
turn to pick your weapon of choice.” She swept her hand towards a rack filled 
with swords, spears, tridents, and axes. 
I picked myself up, and dusted off the dirt that clung to my sweaty body. I knew 
there to be only one weapon of which I was master. 
I spoke the incantation that would greatly increase the size and length of my 
personal lance. 
Noya caught sight of it immediately and gasped quite audibly. A great hush fell 
on those present as they, too, gazed in awe upon that wondrous staff of Bliss. 
“What trickery is this?” cried Aja, her eyes wide as she stared along with the 
rest of them. 
“’Tis no trickery,” I replied. “Magic, yes, powerful magic. It is my weapon of 
choice. With it, I can satisfy one, two, three—nay! all of you. Will you accept 
this challenge? If I do not satisfy you, then I will become your servant.” 
A bold statement on my part. However, I felt sure I could fulfill such a boast. 
Aja laughed aloud. “If you can indeed do that,” she replied, “then you will be 
our master, something no man has ever done in the history of the Amazon nation!” 

I counted the number of women. Ten others besides Noya and Aja. I closed my 
eyes, visualized the effect I wanted to create, and uttered an ages-old 
incantation. 
I had performed a variation of the spell with Maramba and her warrior friends, 
and it left me totally drained for the rest of the night. This would be a little 
more difficult, but possible nonetheless. 
Their air shimmered with a sparkling gold light about me. The Amazons buzzed 
with amazement at my display of magic. For where once I stood alone, there now 
appeared a second image of my naked body, then four of me, then eight, and 
finally sixteen—for that was how the spell of multiplication progressed. 
As the number of my bodies equaled the number of warriors, I myself moved 
forward to embrace Aja whilst my other selves each took a woman of his own. 
With identical gestures, endearing and meaningful words coupled with sensuous 
gestures, I set about to gratify each warrior maid gathered in that small 
compound. 
The stroke of my hand, the brush of my lips, the caress of my fingers—every move 
mirrored by my other selves until the final entry of my enchanted weapon into 
each of the women, filling them to the full, sating their lust for exquisite 
Bliss. 
Though, upon completion of that most arduous but delicious task, I lay totally 
spent for the remainder of the day, yet I did complete my boastful challenge, 
satisfied them all, and won the admiration and respect of the Leopard clan of 
Kaphtor. 
I never did learn the arts of war. 


CHAPTER 18
Concerning the Palace of Cnossos
And the Rite of the Bull



Those who have been fortunate enough to enter an Amazon encampment (and leave) 
will at once be struck by something rather strange. 
For one thing, certain warrior women had only one fully developed breast, while 
others had both. 
Such an anomaly did not make them any less desirable to me, as you have seen, 
but I did ask Aja the reason for such disfigurement, which I thought to be 
cruel, even though I understood the logic behind it once she explained it to me. 

“That is so the archers do not unduly injure themselves with their bowstrings,” 
she said. “After the girls are born, or somehow come into our camp from 
elsewhere, they are watched closely for several years until it can be determined 
whether they have a natural inclination towards domestic or military duties. 
“If domestic, they come under the tutelage of the Mistress of the Hearth, who 
teaches them how to buy and sell, merchandising, the creation of art and various 
crafts, the manufacture of clothing, armor, and other implements. 
“Those in the military learn warfare, along with the full use of various 
weapons—particularly the bow, the sword, and the double-headed axe. They also 
learn to tame and ride horses.” 
“Who does the cooking and cleaning?” I asked. 
Aja laughed heartily, and then said, “Certainly all the women can do that; but 
when we are in battle, we take along our menservants to handle those menial 
chores. You see, if a man-child is born to one of us, and he looks robust and 
healthy, we break one of his legs so that he is unable to walk properly. He 
grows up as a servant, and learns to cook and clean. 
“However, if the babe looks weak and thin, perhaps destined to be more trouble 
than he is worth, then we toss him into the forest.” 
That seemed a cold and dispassionate thing to do, and I daresay I myself would 
have met such a fate had the Amazons seen me on my day of birth. Although I did 
not say anything aloud, I gave Aja a look that intimated I disapproved of such 
action. 
“That is the way of the Amazons. If the Goddess smiles on the child, others of 
his kind will find him and care for him. If not, well—“ She merely shrugged. 
“Those girls who have been chosen to become proficient with the bow,” she 
continued, “have a bandage tightly bound across their breast before their 
twelfth summer so that it cannot grow normally as the other one. Thus, when the 
string is released, it does not injure the side of the breast. Many years ago, 
the breast used to be seared, or cut off—as you have seen on our queen—but these 
days the bandage is used.” 
Just at that moment, a warrior approached. “The queen wishes to see you, 
Mistress. And you, Solomon.” 
She smiled at me, waited until Aja nodded to her and then left. 
Moments later, we stood before the queen. 
“It is time for you to take a contingent of warriors to replace those at 
Kairatos,” she said. “Take the Fifth and Sixth squads immediately. Moreover, 
take Solomon with you, too. I’m sure he would be interested to see the city.” 
“Yes, my queen.” Aja saluted, turned and strode from the hall. 
“Take care of yourself, Solomon,” Resmina said softly. She stroked my cheek 
affectionately, and then she kissed me long and hard. After, she said, “Remember 
to wear the medallion at all times in the lands of the Amazons.” 
“Yes, milady.” 
“Mount up!” Aja hollered, and fifty armored warriors climbed onto their horses. 
They were a magnificent sight, these women—fully armed and clad in shining 
breastplates, greaves and helmets; indeed, I am sure they appeared intimidating 
enough to make even the strongest man pause for a moment. 
Perhaps that is from where much of their power comes—at first sight, soldiers 
are somewhat reticent to fight women, and that pause is enough for the Amazons 
to sweep through their enemies’ lines of defense. For, indeed, these men soon 
find that the warrior women are just that—fierce combatants on and off the field 
of battle as their swords and battleaxes hack and slash a path of bloody corpses 
in their efforts to divide and conquer their foes. A hail of arrows precedes and 
follows such a battery, the former to weaken the lines, the latter to cut down 
stragglers and deserters. 
I have seen such tactics used repeatedly by these women, and can vouch for their 
effectiveness in routing an enemy. 
Therefore, these fifty amazing Amazons and I set out for Kairatos, a seaport 
town on the southern coast of Kaphtor. 
Aja and I rode in front, followed by four columns of twelve rows, four abreast, 
with a single rider at the rear. 
Armour, weapons and horse accoutrements jangled noisily, and reflected the rays 
of the sun as dancing forms on the trees of the surrounding forest as we headed 
down a dirt road at a light trot. 
After some time of riding, I noticed buildings begin to appear on the horizon. 
“Argath?” I asked. 
Aja shook her head. “Cnossos,” she replied. “We will set up camp there for the 
night, then make our way to Argath on the morrow.” 
At first, I thought the buildings to be a small town of some sort, but as we 
drew closer, I saw that it was a large building with many rooms attached to it 
in various places. 
Within a short time, the Amazons dismounted and began to construct five 
campfires. 
Aja came near. “The palace of king Mynos,” she said, as she saw me studying the 
architecture. 
“King? I thought men would not be allowed to rule.” 
“Over the Amazons, never. But there are some conquered provinces where we allow 
the ruling king or queen to continue their reign—with limited power, and under 
our auspices, of course.” 
I followed Aja into the palace through a small door. 
Those familiar with the construction of most palaces will recall that they are 
built beginning with the outer walls or fortifications, and then move inwards; 
that is, the rooms or other buildings are constructed into the space bounded by 
the outer walls. 
The palace of Cnossos, however, and all palaces on Kaphtor, for that matter, 
were built in the opposite way. 
In each of them, there is a central courtyard built diagonally to the rising and 
setting of the sun. On the setting side, the state apartments are constructed 
while those for the king and his family are on the rising side. 
What one will notice, however, is that there is no set pattern or size to the 
rooms, other than that they are rectangular shaped. Indeed, instead of being 
built for a specific purpose at the outset, they are added on as needed. 
Because of this type of construction, there appears to be no grand entrance. 
Rather, one could enter the palace by any number of small doors, and then a long 
walk down various routes and side routes would bring one to the central court. 
As a whole, the palace reminded me of one large labyrinth in which, if one did 
not know their way around, one could quite easily become lost—perhaps for days. 
Aja, however, led me down several corridors as she pointed out to me that small 
hieroglyph markings on the sides of the buildings indicated in which corridor we 
happened to be, and these could help us find our way out again. However, I am 
quite sure that by this time, Aja had long since memorized the path we used. 
As we made our way down the corridors and halls—which had no roofs so sunlight 
and rain could fill them—I also noted the preponderance of paintings that 
covered the walls. 
These seemed to include scenes of palace activity, as well as plants and 
animals, each picture compositionally arranged so that it exactly fit the space. 

Aja and I finally entered the courtyard. I had begun to think the palace was 
deserted since no other people seemed to be around, but I quickly became aware 
of the low rumble of a crowd gathered somewhere. 
At that moment, I saw a young man appear from a corridor. Tall and slendour, his 
height and thinness exaggerated by a high feathered crown on his head, he wore a 
short loincloth and a linen frontal sheath that covered his apparent ample 
manhood. However, his face seemed to be more feminine than I first imagined it 
to be. He smiled as he approached us, and held up his hands palms outward. “Aja, 
the blessings of the gods be with you. It is nice to see you again.” 
The warrior woman returned the greeting, and then she said, “Tideos, this is 
Solomon Magus, a friend and traveling companion. See that he is treated well.” 
“Welcome, Solomon!” Tideos said as he turned to me. “I will try to make your 
stay here a pleasant one.” 
His eyes slid up and down my body, and I could tell he obviously desired men 
more than he did women. 
“You must come see the bull,” he exclaimed. “Have you seen the bull before?” 
“I don’t think so,” I said. 
“That’s why there is no one around,” he explained. “Everyone is watching the 
bull dancers.” 
I glanced at Aja; she nodded her assent to me. 
“Thank you,” I said to Tideos. “I would be most pleased to watch the bull.” 
He re-made the two-hand gesture to Aja again, and then motioned me to follow 
him. 
The noise of the crowd grew louder as we made our way down a corridor. 
We arrived somewhat abruptly at another large courtyard where some one hundred 
people gathered in groups as, in the center of the court, a strange but rather 
interesting custom was taking place. 
A large bull—larger than I had ever seen before, and so large that its weight 
slowed its movement—lumbered in the middle of this dirt-floored compound as 
blasts of air from its flaring nostrils spewed up small clouds of dust. 
Around the bull, several figures not unlike Tideos moved back and forth, their 
muscular and lithe half-naked bodies painted from head to toe with white or red 
paint. 
When the bull stopped its movement for a few moments, a young man closest to its 
head suddenly pranced forward and situated himself between the horns, which he 
then grasped with his hands. 
The bull shook its head to try to rid itself of the boy, whose body flipped back 
and forth but who never loosed his grip on the horns. But then the bull tossed 
its head back, and which time the youth released his hold and flipped over onto 
the creature’s back, then flipped again, somersaulted through the air and came 
to an unsteady standing position on the sand behind the bull. 
At this, the crowd howled and clapped its congratulations. 
I could tell such an acrobatic feat was not easy to do. Many times the 
youths—who seemed to be boys and girls of eleven or twelve summers—managed to 
flip from the horns, but missed the animal’s back and fell heavily to the 
ground. However, they did not seem to be hurt. 
The bull now galloped its way rather ungainly around the courtyard. Dozens of 
spectators shrieked and ran from its path as it headed towards them until one of 
the youths deliberately ran in front of the bull to divert its attention, and 
led it in another direction. 
The creature stopped again. A young girl jumped forward to position herself for 
the leap. 
However, either her timing was faulty, or the bull unexpectedly decided to move 
its head. 
At any rate, the girl screamed as one of the bull’s horns punctured her abdomen, 
ran her through and erupted from her back, her blood gushing down to stain the 
white paint on her back and legs. 
The girl shrieked again and writhed for a moment like a skewered pig before she 
went limp. 
The crowd gasped at the first impact of the horn, and I heard a woman wail 
loudly, no doubt the mother of the girl. 
I started to move towards the leaper, but Tideos caught my arm. “No, Solomon, do 
not interfere.” 
The bull flipped its huge head and tossed the girl’s body. It thumped heavily 
onto the dirt. 
The other bull jumpers yelled and distracted the creature as they chased and 
guided it through a doorway on the opposite side of the court. 
Meanwhile, other people rushed to attend to the girl who, by this time, was 
obviously dead. 
I turned away, my stomach churning. “This is terrible,” I muttered. “An 
unnecessary death.” 
“Not to my people,” replied Tideos. “You see, Solomon, each summer we hold these 
rites. The tumblers volunteer to participate in order to please the gods. They 
practice between summers just for this very day. If, by the end of the ritual, 
all the tumblers manage to survive—and we sincerely pray they do—then we 
sacrifice the bull to the gods in order that we can have good crops and weather. 
If, however, the bull kills one of the tumblers, as we saw today, then we must 
assume that someone in the city has angered the gods. This girl’s death has 
appeased them.” 
“It is still a barbaric ritual,” I complained. “The Goddess, Shakti does not 
require such sacrifice, only our love.” 
Tideos shrugged. “To each his own,” he remarked. “We have practiced this ritual 
for many years, and I’m certain we will continue to practice it no matter what 
you or anyone else says.” 
I shook my head with disbelief, and then turned to walk down the corridor. 
Tideos accompanied me silently until we arrived back in the main court. 
Aja was there. “Do you want to stay in a room here for the night, Solomon, or 
out under the stars with the Amazons?” 
Disturbed by what I witnessed, I had no desire to remain in the palace. 
I followed Aja back to the camp, and there shared Bliss with her until late in 
the night. 
I do not know what hour of the early morning it was when I awoke. Darkness still 
covered the sky. Nevertheless, something had stirred me from my sleep. 
I slipped from Aja’s arms and stood up. 
The cool night air caressed my face, and a bright moon illuminated the palace 
with ghostly white and gray colours. 
I could not explain the sensation I felt, only that it did not feel Good. 
I did not understand it, then, but I would soon learn that I had sensed Evil. 


CHAPTER 19
Concerning My Discovery of the Labyrinth
And the Evil That I Found There



The stone walls loomed gray and ghostly in the pale of the moon as I made my way 
around the outside of the palace. All seemed quiet and normal. 
Then, about sixty or seventy paces away from the building, a flickering light 
and muffled voices caught my attention. 
At first, I thought them to be part of the Amazon encampment, but I had left it 
on the other side of the palace. 
I headed towards the light, and then rounded some large rocks to find myself 
gazing upon a strange sight. 
A bearded man with a torch herded seven young men and seven young women tied 
together with ropes into what appeared to be a cave. The youths did not appear 
to want to go since they pleaded for the man to release them, but he whipped the 
complainers until all fourteen shambled sullenly into the cave. 
As soon as they disappeared through the entrance, I left my hiding place and 
hurried to the opening where I stood for a moment, deciding whether or not to 
enter. 
“Sir?” 
The voice of a small child came from behind me. 
I turned. The moon illuminated a young girl of seven or eight, who gazed up at 
me with eyes wide and tear-filled. 
“Please, sir, can you free my sister?” 
I knelt down, wiped away tears that had puddled on her cheeks. 
“What do you mean?” 
“My sister, Nabila—they have taken her inside to the beast.” 
“What beast, child?” I asked, curious. 
“I don’t know. But every year, they bring the same number of boys and girls, and 
send them in there.” She pointed to the cave. Then, somewhat ominously, she 
said, “They never come out.” 
Moreover, as if to punctuate her words, a savage deep growl came from somewhere 
in the cave, followed by frightened screams. 
The girl threw her arms around me, hid her face in my shoulder. “Please, sir! 
Bring Nabila back to me!” 
I pulled her away. “I will do what I can,” I promised. “Wait here.” 
She nodded, and then stood back as I rose and strode into the dark mouth of the 
cave. 
From somewhere within, the low, guttural moan of a bull carried to my ears. The 
smell of manure and hay filled my nostrils and for just a moment I was back on 
the farm in Khet and walking past the cow pens. 
I removed my light medallion from a pocket in my robe, and slid the cord 
attached to it over my head so that it lay against my chest. It shone for a 
distance of about ten paces. 
I moved down the musty corridor a bit, and then stopped. It branched off in 
three different directions. 
Which one to take? 
For a moment, I thought of splitting myself into three, but knew that would 
drain my energy. I needed to conserve my magic for whatever I needed to do when 
I met that beast of which the girl spoke. 
“Sir?” 
The girl again. 
I turned to face her. “What are you doing here?” I chided. “Go back outside.” 
“Perhaps this will help?” 
She held out her hands to me. In them, she held a ball of twine. 
“Ah! Yes, indeed!” I exclaimed, somewhat amazed by her ingenuity, so much so 
that it never occurred to me to wonder how she knew I might need the twine. 
I tied a free end of the cord to an out-jutting piece of rock on the wall, and 
then headed down the right hand corridor while I let the twine slowly unwind 
behind me. If I did get lost, I only needed to follow the cord back to the 
entrance. 
I almost stumbled over the first corpse after four zig-zag turns. The dead boy’s 
neck had been chopped half through by some sort of weapon, then I took a closer 
look; no, not a weapon—the flesh was too torn and jagged to be a sharp sword or 
axe; more like a bite, for I saw similar marks on sheep that had been attacked 
by wolves. The fangs clamp down tightly on the flesh, and then tear the throat 
out. 
Again I heard the growl; again another scream. 
Just then, the bearded man appeared suddenly in the light of the amulet. 
Whether he saw my face or not was inconsequential. At any rate, he snarled at 
me, drew his sword and lunged forward. 
The weapon narrowly missed me as I sidestepped. I muttered several words, and he 
froze where he stood, immobilized by a simple hold spell. 
Was he the beast? 
Somehow, I did not think so; the growl came again, reverberating down the 
corridor. 
Apprehensively, I licked my lips and moved forward. 
Another body, a girl this time, lay bloody and discarded on the ground like the 
other one. 
I bent down to check her. She too had been killed in the same manner. 
I heard a loud snarl behind me. 
I rose and turned at the same time. 
My heart leapt with shock as the light from the medallion shone upon a strange 
and frightening creature, its eyes blazing. 
Almost seven paces tall, it possessed the thick shoulders, neck and head of a 
bull, and the muscled body of a man. 
Its jaws and teeth covered with blood and dangling entrails, it glared at me 
with complete animosity. 
Just the sight of it would have been enough to terrify even the bravest of 
soldiers. I knew then that not only had I encountered the beast that the girl 
mentioned; I had also met an evil entity of Shiva, and the Evil against which 
Narmada said I must fight. 
I have never been one to be lax on giving a comeback to any subject in a 
conversation; jests and proverbs come easily and quickly to my mind. 
Being new to using magic in such situations as this, however, proved to be a 
little more difficult. 
What spell would be most effective? 
Frozen where I stood almost like the bearded man, I shrieked with fright. A 
jumble of ancient words tumbled through my mind, none of them making any sense, 
or even forming a decent spell phrase. I almost wished for a moment that I had 
learned how to use a sword or an axe from the Amazons. 
However, such was not the case. 
The creature lunged towards me with a snarl from its gaping jaws as it sought 
the softness of my throat. 
As I had done with the bearded man—who I knew now to be some sort of slaver—I 
stepped to one side and quickly cast the hold spell. The beast stopped 
momentarily, but I could tell it would not stay frozen for long—already I could 
see its muscles straining to free itself, something it would do in but a few 
moments. I ran down the corridor, and stopped when I came to the 
still-immobilized man. 
It was then that my thought of the Amazon weapons brought to mind the 
incantation for a spell that might work. I reasoned that if the creature behind 
me were indeed an evil entity from Shiva, then a possible course of action would 
be to strike at its incorporeal form. 
It was a chance I had to take. 
I retrieved some dust from the ground, chanted a mystic phrase, visualized a 
weapon in my mind’s eye, and then lightly blew on the dirt. 
Immediately the air glowed between my hands and from sparkling ethereal dust, I 
had created the radiant replica of the double-bladed axes the Amazons carried. 
It was a vicious weapon in the natural realm; perhaps it would be in the other. 
The handle solidified so that I could grasp it firmly and, being ethereal, the 
weapon proved to be incredibly light, almost weightless, and easy to handle. 
Even as the hold spell wore off and the bull-man continued to lunge towards me 
down the corridor, I swung the magical axe. 
The keen blade passed directly through the beast’s skull, neck, chest and 
abdomen, and then exited between its legs. 
Although naught appeared visible in the natural, I knew something had happened 
in the other world. 
The creature jerked back and bellowed in pain; the noise of its cry reverberated 
down the hallway. 
I struck again, this time sideways, the shining blade mimicking a slice through 
the creature’s thick neck. 
Again the beast howled, and then dropped to its knees and onto its side. 
I used that moment to release my hold on the ethereal axe, which then dissolved 
to glittering dust again, and then nothing. I quickly bent down, scooped up the 
bearded man’s sword from his grip and, with my own two hands, thrust it with all 
my might into the heart of this terrifying beast. 
Another shriek of pain and rage. 
The hilt protruding from its body, the creature rolled over, got to its hands 
and knees, then rose unsteadily to its feet. Blood poured from its jaws, and its 
eyes blazed at me. 
However, the damage had been done. 
With a final roar, the bull-man collapsed heavily to the dirt. Its body jerked 
spasmodically a couple of times, and then lay still. 
“Nabila!” I yelled, my voice echoing. “Nabila, are you there?” 
“Y-yes!” a frightened voice called out from somewhere in the darkness. 
“Stay where you are, child! The beast is dead. I am coming to get you as fast as 
I can.” 
However positive I might have sounded, finding Nabila and the others proved a 
time consuming, if not frustrating, experience since there were numerous 
corridors that twisted and turned in many directions, or came to dead ends. 
Indeed, without the aid of the cord that unraveled behind me, I fear I might 
have remained in that labyrinth indefinitely, ever trying to find my way out. 
However, eventually, by careful and patient work, I eventually located ten of 
the fourteen youths, Nabila amongst them. The others had met their gruesome end 
as the two I had found. I guided them all to the cave entrance where daylight 
had already begun to shine. 
As soon as we walked into the sunshine, the youths suddenly vanished. 
The young girl stood alone, a smile on her face. 
I merely frowned with puzzlement. 
Then the girl’s form changed; she grew before my eyes to a young and beautiful 
woman with a purple aura that surrounded her form. 
“Shakti is pleased with you, Solomon Magus,” she said. “You have passed the 
first of many tests and trials in your service to the Goddess. I am Her 
messenger, Ariathne, and She bade me give you this as a reward for your 
faithfulness.” 
Ariathne held out her hand. I opened my own and she dropped two gems into my 
palm. 
“When you arrive at a place known as Raamah, seek out the Temple of the Goddess, 
place these two gems into that which requires them, and I shall speak to you 
again.” 
I nodded, though still mystified. 
It has never ceased to amaze me that great teachers and divine beings have 
always spoken in riddles and unfathomable profundities. Whatever happened to 
straightforward Truth? 
Ah! But then, we would never come to a real understanding of that truth unless 
we are ready for it, and the lessons along the way would never be learned. 
Ariathne changed again, back to the young girl I first met. She waved at me. 
“Goodbye, sir! And thank you!” Then she skipped over the stones and was gone 
behind a row of trees. 
I sighed heavily, relieved that the test had ended. I also experienced the 
feeling one gets from a job well done. 
In spite of the fact that my sleep had been disturbed, nonetheless I felt rested 
and energized. I knew that when the gems fell to my palm, spiritual energy all 
passed into me from Ariathne. I felt it. 
I looked at the gems, each about the size of a large pebble— one red, one green, 
and both of which shone with an unnatural brilliance. 
I put them into my bag. 
If I wanted to get to Argath with the Amazons, I had best get back to camp. 


CHAPTER 20
Concerning My Arrival at Argath,
And the Staff of Radames



Argath is a place of exotic wonders. 
On any given day—save the Day of Celebration when all businesses close and the 
people remain at home, or congregate in the temple to honor the Goddess—but on 
most other days, one can travel through the marketplace of Mengesha Square and 
see a variety of merchants from all over the known world. There, too, one can 
purchase many different items of interest. 
It was to this marketplace that I first came with Aja and the Amazon warriors, 
and it was here that I bade them goodbye for the time being. It was a long time 
since I had been in such a port, and I wanted to have a look around. 
The marketplace buzzed with activity. Foodstuffs, utensils, trinkets, jewelry, 
clothing, and weapons, even slaves—all were readily available. Mind you, not all 
were of good quality, but one could certainly barter for a half-decent price, 
and sometimes a rare and beautiful item could be had for less than what it was 
actually worth. 
So it happened that, in Mengesha Square, I came to purchase the Staff of 
Radames. 
I had not sought out the artifact, nor had I even heard of it; but as I perused 
various stalls, I happened across one that displayed a variety of tools for 
sensual pleasure. 
Most appeared to be replicas of the linga, made from wood, smoothed and polished 
to a lustrous finish. However, there were also bottles and flasks probably 
filled with heady perfumes designed to heighten the Blissful experience. 
“Do you see anything of interest?” 
I looked up. 
A woman in her early sixties gazed steadily at me with a slight smile on her 
face. She stood about a hand’s-breadth shorter than I was, with light gray hair 
tied up in a bun behind her head, and her light brown skin indicated she was a 
white woman from the north who had obviously been exposed to the sun for some 
time, giving her a golden tan. Her low-cut gown revealed much of her ample 
cleavage, and sunken hollow between her breasts. In her hands, she held a long, 
shallow box. 
I smiled back. “These articles would benefit more your own pleasure than mine,” 
I replied. 
She waved the box at me. “Perhaps this might interest you?” 
“What shall I do with a box?” 
She threw me a sly, mischievous look. “Perhaps you can fill my box, sometime,” 
she remarked. “But, nay! It is the contents of the box I want you to see.” 
That said, she unlocked the lid and flipped it open. 
The object within was, to be sure, an intricately and delicately carved 
representation of some man’s erect member, complete with veins, sac, and quite a 
bulbous head. Extremely lifelike in detail, its total length from tip to base 
measured the length of my foot. 
I looked at the woman. 
“What, pray tell, is this?” 
Another amused smile crossed her face. “I would have thought you to be familiar 
with such an item since I suppose you possess a real one.” 
We both laughed simultaneously. I found her flirtatiousness extremely appealing. 

I said, “To be truthful, it is a magnificent artifact; but I have one that is 
both bigger and, I’m sure, better equipped to bring pleasure.” 
The woman’s eyebrows arched and she pursed her lips provocatively. Then she 
said, “Perhaps you can prove that some time, young man.” 
“If you are willing to test it,” I returned. “And my name is Solomon Magus.” 
“I am Jamila, and I will gladly share Bliss to discover the truth of your claim. 
But this—“ And she held up the box again. “This is known as the Staff of Radames 
which, it has been said, was well used and passed down by the five queens of 
Mizraim.” 
“Really?” I exclaimed. “And how did it come to be in your possession, Jamila?” 
She coughed, then said quietly, “I cannot reveal my sources, Solomon; however, I 
have it on the best authority that it is genuine, a true artifact.” 
“I see. And is there a story that comes with it?” There usually was. 
Jamila shrugged. “Not much of one. According to ancient legends, there once 
lived a magician named Radames who loved an enchantress called Nyla. Radames 
proved to be so great a lover that Nyla had eyes for no one but him. Then, one 
day, she caught him dallying with her sister, Thais. Infuriated, Nyla took up a 
sword and secretly slew her sister. Then, during the height of arousal the next 
time she made love to Radames, Nyla caught him by the privates and sliced them 
off completely. 
“Presumably, the magician bled to death, because naught was heard of him ever 
again. At any rate, even before Radames engorged member could deflate, Nyla cast 
a spell, solidified it into this kanchuka, and declared that although Radames 
himself could no longer make love to her, at least she could be satisfied with 
the most important part of his body. 
“And so, this Staff of Radames has been passed down from generation to 
generation until it came into the possession of the one who gave it to me.” 
Astonished, I stared at Jamila. “You really expect me to believe a story like 
that?” I exclaimed. 
Jamila shrugged. “Still, I’m sure it would make a decent present for someone you 
know…” 
I sighed, partly amused by her apparent determination to sell me the piece. “How 
much do you want for it?” 
“One thousand gold pieces.” 
I could not help but roar with laughter. “Is the Staff made of gold, too, that 
you should ask so much?” 
“You look like a wealthy man, Solomon. I am sure one thousand would be naught to 
you.” 
“The Staff is probably not really worth anything to begin with, my lady. I’ll 
give you two hundred for it.” 
“Solomon!” exclaimed Jamila as a pained expression crossed her face. “You do me 
a great injustice. Seven fifty at the very least.” 
“Three fifty,” I countered. 
“Six fifty,” she offered. 
“Four fifty.” 
“Five hundred,” demanded the merchant woman. Then, with a note of finality, she 
said, “Plus a night of pleasure with you. I would only have made it a short 
evening, but if you prove to be as good as you say you are, then a night would 
cover the other five hundred gold.” 
I grinned. “That is the first time I have ever been asked to barter my 
pleasuring skills.” 
Jamila gazed at me. “Do we have a deal?” 
I nodded. “Very well. Five hundred gold, plus a night of pleasure.” 
It has been said that older women neither want nor enjoy Bliss. Whoever 
conjectured such a thought has not met Jamila; for behind this rough-hewn, 
bartering vendor lies a woman with great enthusiasm and energy for sensual 
pleasure. 
Although her time for bearing children had passed, and the natural fluids of her 
chamber dried up, yet she found ways to make my penetration of her body all the 
more simpler for her. Wise in the ways of the Herbalists, she mixed various oils 
and creams, and then applied them to herself so that not only would they make 
entry easier for myself, but also painless and more pleasurable for her. 
Moreover, even though her skin had lost much of its elasticity and tautness, and 
now hung in folds, still the robustness of her sensual energy consumed us both. 
“O Solomon!” she moaned as I lifted her thighs to rest them on my own. “It has 
been so long…” 
I slid into her, my lance reaching to the very core of her being. 
“Ah, yes! Do it now! Fill me with your raging lion!” 
I do not think she realized what would happen. I surmised she was just as 
delighted to have a man, any man, inside her once again. 
Nonetheless, I visualized my linga as I had done before, and murmured the magic 
words. 
“Aieee!” Jamila cried aloud with surprise and ecstasy as I swelled within her, 
filling her chamber, pressing against its walls and igniting lost fires within 
her. 
Her legs wrapped around my waist, and her thighs gripped me tightly. “Thrust, my 
lord!” she exclaimed with excitement. “Let me ride your roaring lion! Let me 
feel the warmth of your seed!” 
I moved my legs outward, leaned back so that she rose and rested on my thighs, 
forcing my enchanted member even deeper into her if it was possible to do so. 
She rocked back and forth, gyrated her hips. She screamed with delight, and 
screamed yet again, pounding her buttocks on the tops of my thighs. 
Then, much to my delight as hers I am sure, our Bliss exploded simultaneously, 
transporting both of us to realms of exquisite ecstasy. 
And not just this once. Nay! Twelve times that night she slaked her lust on me. 
“Oohhh!” 
By the end of it, Jamila was beside herself with exuberant pleasure. She fell 
down upon my chest, her tears of thanks mixing with the sweat upon my neck. I 
wrapped my arms around her, held her close and comforted her until she fell 
asleep. 
“So, tell me, Jamila,” I asked a short while later after she awoke, and we lay 
side by side on her bed. “Have you ever used the Staff of Radames?” 
She gave me a curious look. “Why, no. I never thought to do so since it is 
considered an artifact.” 
I retrieved the box from the floor where she had laid it when we returned to her 
abode. Set it on the sheets. Opened it. 
“Would you like to?” I inquired. 
“Your own staff is more than adequate for me, Solomon,” she replied. “However, 
perhaps later, when you’re not around.” 
I smiled and nodded. Later, the box and Staff would be mine, and it would not be 
available for her. Perhaps she forgot that I purchased it. 
I set the box back on the floor again. I lay back against my pillow and Jamila 
snuggled into my shoulder and closed her eyes. She looked very happy and 
contented. 
I, on the other hand, could not help but feel that something, somewhere was 
wrong. Like the sensation of Evil outside the Amazon camp in Cnossos, I felt 
such here; but nothing, as usual, was obvious to the eye. 
The following morning, I rose early while Jamila slept and soaked in a hot bath 
for a while. On my return to her bedroom, I heard Jamila moan, and the sounds 
were not those of any kind of pain. 
Although I did not wish to disturb her lest she desired this time alone, I 
discreetly peered through the latticework of a small window that adjoined her 
bedroom from the hallway. 
The box on the floor lay open. Jamila had removed the Staff of Radames and was 
now sliding the kanchuka up and down her body, tracing a line around her dark 
nipples, then moving it to her mouth so she could suck on the tip while, with 
her free hand, she stroked her bhagankura in order to fully arouse herself. 
She stopped for a moment, reached for the jar of lubricating cream and scooped 
out a liberal amount, which she then applied to the Staff. This she slipped 
between her legs and pushed slowly into her bhaga. Her chamber swallowed the 
Staff almost whole. Jamila thrust in and out with the instrument, her hips 
rocking and gyrating as she began to work up a steady rhythm. 
I had already begun to feel my own ardor rise when I saw something that 
shriveled my desire almost immediately. 
Jamila had her eyes closed as she enjoyed the pleasure the Staff brought her, 
when a strange purple glow emanated from between her legs, and then a billowing 
cloud flowed directly above her and solidified into the human form of a black 
man attached to the base of the kanchuka, and which had taken over the plunging 
motion of her hand. 
From the general appearance of this creature, I knew beyond the shadow of a 
doubt that it could be none other than the tormented spirit of Radames himself. 
It thrust repeatedly. Jamila cried in ecstasy as she approached her point of 
Bliss. 
Then the creature’s hands and fingers snaked around her neck and began to 
squeeze. 
I dashed into the room. 
The Radames creature sensed me, turned its head to look at me. Its eyes shone 
with a bright violet light, and its face contorted in a sneer of disdain. 
I knew then it was not interested in bringing pleasure to Jamila only; it also 
wanted to murder her! 
Jamila began to choke and moan at the same time, not yet grasping the full 
intent of the conflicting emotions she experienced, not knowing that at the same 
time her Bliss exploded, Radames hands would also snuff out her life. 
I thrust out my hand, spoke two mystic words. Immediately, a yellow coil of 
translucent light spurted from my fingertips, spiraled through the air and 
wrapped itself around the upper torso of this hellish thing that remained of 
Radames, the great sorcerer. 
The spirit-creature shrieked in torment as the rope touched it, and loosened its 
hold on Jamila’s throat. It pulled away from her. 
The Staff popped from her chamber. Jamila’s eyes open. She saw the demon above 
her, screamed, and then tumbled to the floor. 
The creature rolled uncontrollably on the bed as the tendrils around its form 
squeezed tighter. Its eyes blazed at me with unholy anger and torment, but it 
could not free itself. 
I leapt forward, grabbed a piece of cloth from the box and wrapped it quickly 
around the black Staff. I clutched it roughly, and then yanked it free from the 
spirit form. 
The creature shrieked its rage, but then dissolved into the purple mist before 
it disappeared completely. 
I dropped the cursed artifact into the box, slammed the lid shut, and then 
turned to help Jamila to her feet. 
She staggered into my arms, sobbed onto my shoulder and thanked me for saving 
her life. 
It happened that some years later I learned the full truth of the story behind 
the artifact. 
It seems the queens of Mizraim all died under mysterious circumstances, each 
apparently strangled by some unknown assailant, and with the Staff still lodged 
in her chamber. 
No one ever guessed the artifact had been cursed, and contained the vicious 
spirit of the ancient lover seeking revenge. 
As for the present whereabouts of the Staff of Radames? 
It still lies in its box on a shelf in my hut on Ithamar. There it will remain, 
sealed, forever. 


CHAPTER 21
Concerning My Departure from Kaphtor,
And the Storm at Sea



Over the next few days, Jamila and I spent a lot of time together, and we became 
fast friends. Not only did we share Bliss, but also she offered me a place to 
stay during my days in Argath. In addition, she taught me more of the 
Herbalist’s craft for creating lotions and creams like those she had used on 
herself, and some for making the face look younger, healthier and oftentimes 
without wrinkles by tightening the skin. 
In turn, I shared some of the more advanced techniques for perfecting Bliss, not 
only when coupled with another person, but also during her times of 
self-gratification, since she confided that she found it necessary to do so on 
frequent occasions. Lovers, young and old, seemed hard to come by these days. 
Eventually, a day came when I told Jamila I would have to leave. There were 
other parts of Arabah I wanted to see, experience and record in my journal. 
Saddened by the news, she nonetheless reminded me there would always be a place 
for me to lay my head whenever I returned to Argath. 
After a long kiss, and an even longer hug, I waved goodbye and set off down the 
dirt road that led to the docks. 
Following instructions from Jamila, I sought out the harbormaster and inquired 
into booking passage on a ship bound for Mizraim. 
“The gods must be with ‘e,” he exclaimed with a shake of his head. “The Arela 
leaves at mid day. That do?” 
“Yes, thank you,” I replied. How long will the trip take?” 
“Two, three days at the most. She’s a fast and light ship, used mostly for 
carryin’ medicines. Cap’n’s a good man—probably put ‘e ashore anywhere ‘e want 
along the coastline.” 
I nodded my thanks, paid my fare. The harbormaster handed me a small stone, 
marked in such a manner as to indicate I had paid for my space on the Arela. 
The docks, like the marketplace, teemed with people from all 
occupations—merchants and seamen, mostly, but with a smattering of folk like me 
who prepared for voyages to other parts of Arabah. 
Some carried small bags of clothing or other personal effects; others had crates 
filled with materials and trading goods. 
Kaphtor was well known for its place as a central point for traders from all 
over the known world, and hundreds of merchants mingled together speaking in 
languages unknown to me, some quietly, some quite vociferously. 
Everywhere, of course, could be seen the Amazon guards, certainly a strange 
sight to newcomers used to the male guards at all other ports of call. 
I soon found the Arela, trod up the gangplank, and handed my marked stone to the 
seaman who checked everyone coming aboard. 
“Where to?” he asked, once he assured himself I had paid the fare and the stone 
had not been forged. 
“Mizraim,” I answered. “I am not familiar with any of the ports there, so if you 
could suggest one--?” 
He gave me an odd look, but then shrugged and said, “Nath would be your best 
bet. Got most amenities there.” 
“That will do fine,” I responded. 
He jabbed his thumb towards a door in the rear of ship. “You can bunk below, 
next to the cap’n’s cabin. ‘E usually likes a bit o’ company at mealtimes, so 
if’n you don’t mind--?” 
“Not at all,” I said. “I am sure the captain and I will have much to talk 
about.” 
Indeed, Captain Hamid proved to be an extremely likeable man. Over fifty, he 
said he spent a good twenty-five summers of his life on the sea, and had 
traveled to most of the accessible ports around the Great Sea. 
“And even beyond,” he continued as we sat together and dined on a meal of wild 
rice and cold meat pies. 
“Beyond the Great Sea?” I inquired, for although Queen Resmina mentioned that in 
her account of the Amazon history, no one else had said such a thing to me. 
“Aye. Through the Towers of Erythia lies an even bigger sea which some have 
called the Sea of Atlas; but, other than myself, very few sailors have actually 
ventured to travel the coastlines there.” 
“Why is that?” 
Captain Hamid laughed. “Nowt much there, truth be told,” he said. “Trees and 
rocks, to be sure, then more trees and rocks is most of wot I’ve seen. Animals, 
too, of course. But nary a sign of people— leastways not along the shore up 
north. Southwards, I’ve run into scattered tribes of Amazons and all of ‘em none 
to friendly. Heard tales about that being where they originally came from, but 
don’t know the truth of ‘em.” 
“And to the east, in Madai,” I prodded. “What shall I find there?” 
“Ah, yes!” The captain nodded and closed his eyes. “Merchants and craftsmen 
populate most of the Midland Empires with their ‘ighly cultured prosperous 
kingdoms of Asshur, Madai, Aram and Kanaan. But these, too, are also breeding 
grounds for thieves and smugglers, all of them endeavoring to increase their own 
wealth and social standing through various under’anded means.” 
“And, elsewhere on Arabah?” I wanted to get as much general information as I 
could. 
"Well, The Northern Wildlands are 'ome to the ferocious barbarians, those whose 
naked flesh is tough enough to withstand not only the chill of a freezing 
winter's night but also, I daresay, the glancing blow from a sharp-edged weapon. 

"There are five provinces in that land, three of them independent---Ashkenaz, 
Riphath and Togarmah. The other two, Magog and Gomer, are ruled by King Gog, the 
most tyrannical ruler of our time, I should say; an evil and terrible man who 
thinks naught of tossing helpless children, women and cripples into the feeding 
troughs of 'is wild dogs. 
"Elam and Arpakshad comprise the Eastern Realms, the former being virtually cut 
off from the rest of the known world by the lofty Ganeza Mountains to the west 
and the rough salt waters of the Sea of Salacia to the east; the latter country 
being the land of the sorcerers and the insidious snake-people about whom the 
less said the better. 
"The Southern Kingdoms of Phut, Mizraim and Kush are much feared by many of 
those who dwell on their borders, for their black-skinned warriors are keen 
bowmen and well-trained throwers of the spear, their accuracy unmatched by few 
others. 
"Lud and Meshek, two countries which make up the Western Territories, are 
populated by farmers and tillers of the soil, some of them also trained in 
'unting and tracking skills. 
"And finally--the Isles of the Gentiles: Javan, Kittim, Pathrus, Kaphtor, Dodan, 
Elishah and Turusha. These coastline countries and islands which circumvent the 
great Inner Sea offer a variety of goods and services, cultures and beliefs from 
the attractive priestess-courtesans of the goddess, Orexis, to the piratical sea 
peoples of Kleptis-" Just then, there came a knock at the door. 
"Come!" the captain called out. 
The door opened slightly and a young seaman poked his head through the crack. 
"Beggin' the cap'n's pardon, sir, but looks like we have a storm comin' up." 
"Thank 'e, Dawit, I'll be right there." 
The boy nodded and closed the door again; then Hamid turned back to me. 
"Best you stay here, lad," he suggested. "Should be dry enough for 'e." 
"Yes, sir." 
As the captain rose to leave, I could already feel an increase in the swaying 
motion of the Arela. 
The captain reached the door, opened it, and then looked round at me. "Oh. 
Probably be a good idea to ‘ang on to something solid," he said. "Could be in 
for a rough ride." I grinned at him. 
He closed the door behind him. I grabbed a few more victuals, went to my cabin 
and lay down on the bed. 
For a few moments, I remembered my time on the Sea Maiden, my body curled in a 
ball and shivering with fright. However, this time I felt more secure and 
comfortable. 
The Arela lurched gracefully sideways as a swelling wave caught her and carried 
her upwards. I grabbed the side of the bed. 
The captain was right, I thought with a grim smile. It appeared we were in for a 
rough ride. Just how rough, I soon found out. 
Back and forth, the wind, rain, and waves buffeted the Arela, but the craft 
seemed quite buoyant and seaworthy. 
That was until I heard shouts from just beyond the door. Then, unexpectedly, the 
door crashed inward followed by a wall of water that gushed into my room, 
accompanied by a howling wind and driving rain. 
Surprised, I loosed my grip on the bed. I fell to the floor and splashed into 
the seawater, sprays spilling up to fill my mouth with the salty liquid. I spat 
it out. The water sloshed rhythmically back and forth in time to the rocking 
motion of the boat. 
Suddenly, the whole ship seemed to be borne up, and flipped to one side. I flew 
through the air and hit hard against a wall, then twisted around and struck the 
floor again as the Arela swung in an attempt to right herself. 
A frighteningly loud crack sounded above the baying wind. A moment later, my 
cabin upended once more, and more water rushed inward through the door. Then I 
hit my head on the floor and lost consciousness. 
When I opened my eyes, the ship had disappeared. Immersed in the ocean, the 
waves swept me up and down as I clutched a large board. I do not remember 
finding it, but I was certainly glad of it, and nonetheless thanked Shakti that 
She saw fit to keep me from drowning. 
Huge waves swept me up and over, tossing me hither and yon, churning up huge 
whitecaps and eddies in their attempt to wrench me from the board and suck me to 
the uttermost depths of the sea. 
Still I clung to those lifesaving planks, and gulped down air whenever my head 
broke the surface of the ocean. 
Eventually, the storm abated and the sea calmed down. Gently, I bobbed like a 
cork on the lightly swelling waves. I looked this way and that for any sign of 
land, but I could not see any. 
I thought of using magic to somehow save myself, but knew that doing so would 
weaken my already-tired body. Clinging to boards in the midst of the sea is not 
exactly the easiest thing to do, especially when a rough storm buffets you back 
and forth. 
I was glad, however, that the tempest had gone, though how long I could remain 
clinging to the wood was another question. However, I decided that I would try a 
magic spell only as a last resort. 
Time passed. 
Thirst plied its desire on my dry, salt-cracked lips. The sun baked me. I knew 
it would only be a short matter of time before I would have to try some magic 
incantation that would hopefully save me, or doom me to my death at the bottom 
of the Great Sea. 
I do not know from which direction the boat came; I could not see properly 
because of the brightness of the sun. But a pair of hands helped me into a 
dinghy, and I lay exhausted on the floor of it as a sailor rowed a short 
distance, and then hoisted me up with the help of other men to the deck of a 
larger ship. 
My eyes cleared as I entered shadows and collapsed to the deck. 
Then I heard a woman's voice mutter in a heavy Turushan accent, "What 
water-soaked rat is this you've dragged from the sea, Kenric?" 
I looked up, squinted a few times to clear my vision. 
The woman gazed down at me with her green right eye, the left one tightly 
covered by a flap of leather. Her thick black hair, entwined with fine chains, 
hung loose to the middle of her back. Her colorful garb enhanced her 
all-too-obvious attractiveness. 
It had been many years, but I still remembered. 
"J-Jasmin…?" 


CHAPTER 22
Concerning Jasmin the Corsair,
And a Tale in the Boar’s Head Tavern



“Solomon the Strange,” said Jasmin the Corsair to me some time later when, 
washed and dressed, I sat across a table from her and devoured a scrumptious 
meal of hot cooked antelope and breadcakes. 
It surprised me that she remembered. 
“Solomon Magus,” I corrected. “The boy you knew as Solomon the Strange is no 
more. He died with his family over twelve summers ago. Perhaps it would have 
been better if you had slain him with your sword than let him live to see what 
remained of his father and mother and sisters.” 
Jasmin did not look at me. “I cannot right what wrong was done that day,” she 
replied. “One merchant’s knife in my father’s shoulder led to a retaliation by 
his men, and then—“ 
She stopped. 
I ate quietly in an awkward silence. Then I asked, “Why did you save me?” 
“Why does the lion choose one prey, and leave the other?” she answered. 
“Something stayed my hand, and—“ She stopped, looked at me, sighed, and then 
laughed. “By the gods!” she exclaimed. “I cannot lie to you, Solomon. I didn’t 
kill anyone until I was seventeen, so I would not have killed you.” 
“But, the blood on your sword—“ 
“Just for effect. Dragged it through a pool of it on my way to you.” 
I shook my head at her, and smiled. Even as she did back then, Jasmin attracted 
me with her charm and mischievous nature. 
“And now you command your own ship?” 
“My father’s. I often wish he could be here with me to give me a little counsel, 
or at least the comfort of his presence.” 
“What happened to him?” 
“Murdered. It was his own fault, I suppose. Too quick to trust King Gog, to 
eager to sail into the port of Lut. He’d been told a pardon waited for him and 
his men if they would undertake a dangerous mission for the king. No sooner had 
my father stepped on shore than a hail of arrows from hidden archers cut him 
down where he stood. 
“I was seventeen at the time, and I’d remained on deck. When I saw him fall, I 
knew immediately we’d been tricked; so I rallied the remaining crew and had the 
Moon Goddess out of port before any of Gog’s soldiers could board her. 
“As we pulled away, I watched as the soldiers clustered around my father’s body. 
They hacked off his head, skewered it on the point of a spear, and held the 
thing aloft for all to see. The soldiers on shore cheered, the sailors cursed 
and, along with me, vowed revenge. 
“Eight summers later, I still haven’t managed to avenge his death by killing 
Gog. However, I’ve led my crew on a killing and looting spree that the king will 
remember. Got quite a bounty on my head, too, so I’ve been told. But, one of 
these days, Fate will bring him and me together so our destinies can be 
fulfilled.” 
Jasmin gazed quietly, reflectively, away from me, then suddenly broke her 
reverie. “And you, Solomon—what have you been up to?” 
“I spent thirteen summers on Ithamar learning the way of the wizards, and the 
fulfillment of Bliss.” 
Jasmin’s eyebrows arched. “By the gods! I certainly did save you for a chosen 
destiny, didn’t I?” 
“Not what I expected, by any means,” I replied. “Obviously, the Goddess has 
meant our paths to cross once again; this is the second time you have saved my 
life. I am indebted to you.” 
Jasmin stroked her white cheek with a long, ringed finger. Then she smiled. 
“Yes. We’ll have to see how that debt can be repaid. Perhaps I can use your 
skills…” 
“My wizard skills? In what way?” 
“I don’t know, yet,” she answered. “But, I’m sure something will turn up. For 
now, you are my guest—nay! More like one of the crew, I should think.” 
I would rather have been her friend, but I said nothing except, ”As you wish, 
milady.” 
“And where d’you think these so-called Tablets of Zu are supposed to be?” 
inquired Jasmin. She tossed back her mane of thick black hair and stared into 
the granite-lined face of an old, retired pirate named Gorka. 
Only a short time earlier, the Moon Goddess had docked at the seaside village of 
Kinara. We had gone ashore and entered the Board’s Head Tavern where Gorka 
called Jasmin over and asked if he might buy her a drink for a few moments of 
her time. 
I felt very much out of place—one brown-skinned man amongst fifty-odd white 
people. However, Jasmin assured me I would not be harmed, or my presence 
questioned, as long as I remained by her side. Which, gladly, I did. 
I suppose Jasmin’s curiosity as to why the old man wanted her company made her 
accept his offer. 
“I knew your father, Sandez,” Gorka explained. “A good man. A good captain. And 
once, a good friend. That is why I would tell you about the Tablets of Zu.” 
He glanced at me, uncertainty about my trustworthiness showing in his eyes. 
“Solomon is with me,” Jasmin said, noting the look. “What you say to me can be 
said to him.” 
It was gracious of her to say so since she only knew me the few days we sailed 
across the Great Sea and visited several ports not out for her blood. 
Gorka waited for a serving girl to fill Jasmin’s and my cups with ale. When she 
left, he continued. 
“Two stone tablets containing ancient writings understandable only to the 
priests of Pelesheth.” 
And so it happened that Jasmin inquired into their whereabouts. 
“In the caves of Gul-Goleth, on the island of Mooth,” Gorka said in response to 
her question. “So I’ve been told.” 
“Mooth!” exclaimed Jasmin. “The Isle of the Dead?” She screwed up her face in 
disgust. Then she said to me, “An island with a skull-shaped rock, Solomon. I’ve 
never set foot on the place, but I’ve seen it from a distance. The inhabitants 
of Pelesheth cremate or bury their dead in crypts and catacombs there. An 
unholy, god-forsaken place, surely.” 
“You’re afraid?” Gorka grinned at her, his broken teeth showing behind his 
parted lips. An amused twinkle glistened in his eyes. Then, somewhat boastfully, 
he continued. “There was a time when your father and I were going to find them, 
but—“ 
He did not finish. Instead, he slid his leg from beneath the table to reveal the 
brown, scarred stump that remained of it. He rubbed the round end. “Aches,” he 
commented. “Always does whenever the weather’s about to change.” 
Jasmin glanced at the stump. She nodded with understanding, for she told me 
earlier it had been difficult enough for her to learn to maneuver properly with 
one eye. 
A knife had punctured the other beautiful orb when she was fourteen. Captured by 
some of King Gog’s men, they tortured her to try to get her to reveal the 
location of her father’s camp. She told them nothing, of course, and lost the 
eye before her father’s men rescued her. 
“I’m not afraid,” she returned. “Just cautious. Besides, what good are these 
tablets to me?” 
The old pirate shrugged. “I daresay they might bring a fair price in the 
marketplace as a relic,” he suggested. “But the priests were offering a reward 
for the safe return of the tablets.” 
“Why are the tablets so important to the priests?” I asked. 
“It has been said they have prophecies inscribed concerning the future of the 
Peleshtim people. In addition, they’re supposed to possess some sort of magic 
power, the nature of which I know nothing. Both of these reports are unverified, 
of course. But rumor, nonetheless.” 
“Mmm…” Jasmin sat back. Her icy green eye surveyed Gorka’s face closely. Her 
lips curled. “So how do I know the tablets haven’t been found already?” 
Gorka took a long drink from his mug. “Who’s to say they even exist?” he replied 
a moment later. “Like I said, they’re just rumors. But, if they’re not…” He 
shrugged at Jasmin and took another hefty swig. 
The woman sighed, her breath hissing through her teeth. “This smacks of a 
pirate’s drunken ramblings,” she said. “But since you mentioned my father, I 
might as well go have a look.” 
Jasmin reached into a pouch on her belt, retrieved twenty gold pieces and placed 
them down on the table in front of Gorka. “If the rumors are true and I find the 
tablets, there’ll be more of these for you on my return.” 
“You’re too kind,” returned the pirate with a grin as he reached out to take the 
gold. 
Jasmin covered them quickly with her hand. “However—“ She brought her face close 
to Gorka’s, and I knew the strong ale from his mouth wafted her nostrils even 
more than mine. “If this tale leads me nowhere, and costs me more money than 
it’s worth, be prepared to lose the other leg.” 
Gorka did not flinch. “Then, may the goddess Asherah smile on your journey, 
cap’n.” 
“Pray that your goddess will smile on you, Gorka, should I return; because I 
don’t believe in any god or goddess.” 
As the bow of the Moon Goddess cut through the choppy waters of the Great Sea, 
Jasmin and I watched the curling waves shimmer from black to white as they 
reflected the light of the moon. 
Jasmin turned to look at me. “I hope we haven’t set out on a voyage of 
disaster,” she mused. “Who knows what possible terrors lie on Mooth?” 
“If the people of Pelesheth do not fear to step on the island to bury their 
dead,” I countered, “why should we?” 
“Why indeed.” 
My eyes roamed over Jasmin’s face, her skin hardened somewhat from her life on 
the sea, her eye sparkling as she gazed at me. 
Something unspoken passed between us, then, a desire ignited many years earlier 
by that first look at each other as we stood on the deck of the Sea Maiden, but 
a desire to which neither of us could yield. 
But here, on the bow of the ship, with the glow of the moon illuminating both of 
us, our lips closed and met to culminate those years of yearning. 
At first, the touch of Jasmin’s lips on mine was light, exploratory; but then, 
typical of her personality, she aggressively embraced me. Her arms encircled me, 
drew me close, her tongue questing my mouth, searching for my own so that our 
juices mingled. 
I responded eagerly, my own hands stroking her back, tugging her shirt from her 
belt, then finding the nakedness beneath, sliding up, gripping her breasts, 
hearing her moans of pleasure and delight. 
One by one, our clothes dropped to our feet, and we took each other there, on 
the prow of the deck, our bodies and minds oblivious to the cool of the night or 
the prying eyes of the crewmen on watch. 
There was no need for magic that night, for a greater magic lay in the unspoken 
connection between us as we entwined and coupled, kissed and Blissed for half 
the night. 
Then, warm in the closeness of our hot bodies, and covered by my robe, we fell 
asleep in each other’s arms. 
To be awakened the next morning by a cry from the lookout. 
“Land ho!” 


CHAPTER 23
Concerning Our Arrival at Mooth
And the Search for the Tablets of Zu



Moments after the call from the watchman, Jasmin and I rose to our feet and 
quickly dressed. For a brief moment, we gazed at one another, smiled, and knew 
that the night had fulfilled each of our desires; but what we did not know was 
that we did so in more ways than either of us could have imagined. 
We rushed to side of the Moon Goddess and stared across the waves to the white 
skull-shaped rock wall that was Gul-Goleth on the island of Mooth. Bleak and 
rugged, this part of the isle lay in a heavy, low-lying fog. The stone of the 
skull rose above the mist, its two black eye sockets staring ominously in our 
direction. 
A shiver ran through me—not one from any cold breeze, but one of apprehension. 
It was the same sensation of Evil that I felt at Cnossos. 
“Shall I bring ‘er in close, cap’n?” called the steersman. 
“Nay, Kenric,” she replied. “We’ll take one of the boats.” 
“Aye, cap’n.” Then he bellowed, “Let down the anchor, mates!” 
A few paces from Jasmin and me, three large brawny sailors grasped a huge 
circular rock with a hole cut in the middle of it through which they tied a 
heavy rope. This they toppled over the edge. The rock splashed into the sea. The 
ropes whizzed and flapped across the wood deck. Moments later, the cords hung 
taut. 
“All set, cap’n,” Kenric announced. 
Jasmin nodded at him, and then made her way to the stern. Along with four men 
and me she had previously chosen, the Corsair climbed over the railing and 
lowered herself into a waiting rowboat. We took our seats and two men set their 
oars. 
Kenric loosed the rowboat from the Moon Goddess, and then tossed the rope down. 
I rose, caught it, and piled it by my feet, before I sat down again. 
Then we rowed for Gul-Goleth. “What magic be this?” breathed Dagan, one of the 
oarsmen as the fog billowed over us. “The fog steals the very sounds of nature.” 
For we had just previously heard the squawking of gulls and the light rippling 
of the waves on the shoreline. 
Another of the boatmen, Yavuz by name, and with a thick red beard, replied, 
“’Tis no magic. Keep yer wits, Dagan. Dense fog’ll do that anywhere.” 
A strange animal or bird cry echoed through the mist. It seemed to come from 
everywhere. 
“Gods preserve us!” complained Dagan. 
“The gods take thee for a coward!” spat another pirate, his swarthy brown skin 
glistening sweat, whether from rowing or from fear, I knew not. 
Dagan spun round. “I’m no coward, Roshan. But this fog has the smell of magic to 
it—“ 
“That’s enough, both of you,” snapped Jasmin. I could see the tenseness in her 
face. “We near the island.” 
The pirates glanced behind them. Indeed, a pebbled beach lay but ten paces 
distant. They leapt over the sides, splashed into the shallow water and shoved 
the skiff onto the shore. 
Jasmin hopped out, and I followed close behind. “Yavuz,” she ordered. “Stay with 
the boat.” 
The pirate’s lips twisted in an obvious pout, but he acquiesced. 
Jasmin and I headed through the rocks, then Dagan, Roshan and Obike, a black 
warrior from the Southern Kingdoms who stood a good fifteen hands-breadth tall, 
with rippling hard muscles that made him an imposing figure indeed. 
After we trudged for a long uphill climb through the jagged stones, the fog 
gradually dissipated. We found ourselves at the mouth of a cave. Above us, the 
sun shone brightly. Its beams pierced some holes in the cavern roof and 
illuminated the entranceway for some twenty paces. 
Jasmin turned to Dagan, a Madaite. “Wait here.” 
The pirate looked almost relieved to remain behind. He drew his sword, sat down 
on a flat rock and laid the weapon across his knees. 
“Luck to you, then, cap’n,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.” 
Now Jasmin, Roshan, Obike and I made our way into the mouth of the cave. 
After the sunlit twenty paces, it grew much darker. Obike withdrew a torch from 
his belt and Roshan struck a flint to light it. The torch burst into flame, 
crackled and sputtered, then flared occasionally until, at length, it gradually 
settled into a steady fire. 
A thousand shadows danced on the walls like black skeletons as we moved forward 
through the wide rock corridor, which soon began a slow descent into what seemed 
to be the very bowels of the earth. 
Heat. 
At first, just a mild warmth. Then it gradually increased until sweat trickled 
in tiny rivulets down my skin. 
A slight reddish glow radiated from further down the corridor and, as we turned 
a corner, the four of us stopped to look out upon a lethargic river of molten 
rock. 
The men gazed in fear and awe at this wonder of nature. 
“God’s Blood!” Roshan swore in a breathy voice. 
“If your god is the earth,” replied Jasmin. “I've seen this sort of thing before 
in Javan. Near the hot springs. Probably what makes them hot. Smells like it, 
too.” 
Indeed, a pungent, sulphur-like odour rose from the river. 
“Where to now, cap’n?” asked Obike, his voice deep and resonant. 
I had already seen a narrow ledge that ran beside the molten passageway. I 
pointed to it. “There.” 
Roshan’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. He glanced quickly around us, and 
then said, “Looks like there isn’t another way…” 
“You can wait here, if you like,” Jasmin suggested. “But I have to go on.” 
“Aye, cap’n. I know. But—“ He stared at the ledge again, and then at the glowing 
stream of instant death to anyone who fell in it. He sighed heavily. “Right. I’m 
with ‘e.” 
“Obike?” 
“Of course, cap’n.” 
“Solomon?” 
I nodded. “We should be all right as long as we watch where we step.” 
Jasmin forced a smile, then turned and made her way to the ledge. 
The narrow walkway went on for several hundred paces before it began to arch 
upwards at a slight angle. However, it also grew narrower to about one foot wide 
until we had to shunt sideways with our backs to the heated walls of rock. 
The deadly river now lay some thirty paces below us, shimmering waves of heat 
caressing us till the skin of our faces glowed red, and its slow-moving 
red-and-yellow flamed stream almost mesmerizing in a subtle tranquil way, 
inviting us to willingly drop into its fiery embrace. 
I blinked the sweat from my eyes, tried to see if we had much further to go. 
Suddenly, Jasmin’s foot scraped some pebbles. With a scream of horror, she 
toppled forward. 
Only to stop in mid-air, her arms and legs flailing, as Obike’s big hand swiftly 
grasped the sword belt that hung round her shoulder. 
“Stop yer struggling, milady,” he warned, “lest you drag us both into it.” 
Jasmin let herself go limp so that, slowly, as Obike’s big muscles strained and 
bulged, he managed to ease her back on to the ledge. 
I was glad for Obike’s quick reflexes. There would never have been time enough 
for a magic spell. Besides, my own terror prevented me from thinking clearly. I 
realized, then, that I would have to force myself to learn how to act and react 
under tense situations like this. My life, and the lives of others, might depend 
on it. 
Tears of relief streamed down Jasmin’s cheeks. Behind her sweat-soaked blouse, 
her breasts heaved, and the two sailors gazed on the rosy, pointed nipples that 
poked against the translucent material. 
Jasmin closed her eyes, breathed heavily, and tried to calm herself. She 
shivered involuntarily, and looked like she was about to throw up. “Obike…” she 
gasped. “Don’t ever call me ‘milady’ again. I’m not a lady, you hear?” 
“Sorry, cap’n,” the large man said with a grin. “Slip of the tongue.” 
“Can we hurry and get off this ledge?” I prodded. “There appear to be only a few 
more steps to go.” 
The others turned their heads. It was true. 
With renewed strength, Jasmin swung up and onto a shelf of protruding rocks; in 
a few moments, the burning stream lay behind us as we continued down a second 
corridor that soon opened into a large cavern. 
Something in the walls glittered in the light of the torch. 
Roshan ran to one, peered closely at it. Then, eyes wide, he glanced back at us. 

“Diamonds, cap’n! Diamonds ripe for the pickin’!” 
He yanked a knife from his belt with his right hand and lifted it to the wall in 
order to pry one of the gems loose, a little difficult since he held the torch 
in the other. 
“Roshan, be careful--!” exclaimed Jasmin. 
However, the warning came too late. 
As soon as the knife touched the wall, a piece of the rock the size of a large 
plate softened like leather and fell loose. Roshan barely had time to shriek in 
terror before the thing flopped onto his face and wrapped itself tightly around 
his head. 
The torch and knife fell to the ground. The pirate staggered backwards. Both 
hands scrabbled at the creature as he tried to pry it off. 
I raised my hand to begin a spell even as Jasmin and Obike moved forward to 
help. 
However, none of us was fast enough. 
Roshan’s body collapsed to the floor of the cavern, jerked once, and then lay 
still. The thing attached to his face did not move, but we heard a definite 
sucking noise from beneath it as the leathery patch gently undulated up and 
down. 
Jasmin bent down to retrieve the torch, and gave Roshan’s corpse a wary, but 
rueful look. “Stay clear of the walls, boys,” she said, stating the obvious at a 
time when it was not necessary to say anything. 
The Corsair held the torch aloft and turned round to scan the cavern. In one of 
the walls, we saw a dark niche. She approached, fanned the flames close to the 
wall to ensure no other creatures were present, and then reached into the cleft. 

“There’s a lever in here,” she said. 
She glanced in our direction. 
We nodded. 
She jerked the lever. 
A low rumbling preceded a snap. Then a section of the rock wall slowly swung 
outward. Jasmin and Obike both reached for their cutlasses while I readied 
myself again to mutter some useful incantation. 
Pitch black lay beyond the opening. Jasmin moved forward slowly, and let the 
torch illuminate our way. 
“Don’t like the looks of this,” whispered the black man. 
“I know, I know,” replied Jasmin, a hard edge to her voice. She drew in a 
breath, and then let it out slowly. “That large rock—both of you drag it over 
here and set it between the door and the wall. That might stop the door if it’s 
somehow triggered to close automatically once we’re all in here.” 
Obike nodded. He bent down and grasped the large boulder to which Jasmin had 
pointed. I moved forward to help him, but he grinned his set of white teeth at 
me, shook his head, and waved me back. 
Obike hefted the rock, his sweat drenched muscles swollen and hard as they 
bulged from the effort. He set the rock down, and then followed Jasmin and me as 
we made our way through the opening. 
Another chamber lay beyond, the torchlight revealing that it was not as big. 
I wished I had my medallion light source, but I lost that, along with my journal 
and other personal things, in the ocean during the storm, 
Understandably, I was upset with the loss, but I could do nothing about it but 
try to replace everything some time. 
On the ground in this new cavern, and propped against the wall, three skeletons 
gaped at us. Old, tattered garments dangled from their yellowed bones. 
Also on the ground, in front of these unfortunates, lay two thin slabs of flat 
stone. 
Jasmin and I knelt down to examine one of them. We could see various 
inscriptions, but neither of us was familiar with the writing. 
“Cap’n?” 
“Looks like old Gorka was right after all, Obike.” Jasmin grasped one of the 
tablets and lifted it. I took the other. It felt uncommonly light for stone. 
Jasmin handed hers to Obike, and he placed it in a satchel he carried. 
Even as I handed my stone to the man, a rumbling noise reverberated throughout 
the cavern. We looked at the doorway. The rock wall was closing! 
Then all three of us sighed with relief as the boulder on the floor held the 
door open. 
“Nice thinkin’, cap’n,” remarked Obike. 
Jasmin flashed a smile with a brief shake of her head. 
Then we made our way out of the chamber. 
The return to the Moon Goddess proved uneventful, though the rest of the crew, 
glad to see us return, mourned the loss of Roshan. 
Once in her cabin, Jasmin and I set the stones side-by-side on a table so we 
could examine them. The only magic that seemed possible was the fact that they 
were so light. 
Then I noticed that the tablet on the left had notches in the side; the one on 
the right, studs. 
“I wonder if they fit together?” I mused. 
We switched the tablets around, lined up the studs with the notches, and pushed 
the two together. 
As soon as they shunted into place, an explosion of colorful light burst from 
the slabs, blinded us momentarily, and filled our thoughts with things we had 
never seen before—tall buildings, strange craft that flew through the air and 
sailed beneath the oceans, terrifying explosions from some large molded 
crystals, mighty battles and strange creatures. 
It was as if the legends of Arabah came to life. 
A pouch of gold clunked down on the table in front of Gorka. 
“Here’s your share of the gold,” said Jasmin. She smiled grimly at him. 
“You found the tablets, then?” 
She nodded. “Lost a good man, too, but more because of his greed than anything 
else.” 
“You gave the tablets to the priests?” 
Jasmin stared at the old man for a long time before she said, “No. We tossed 
them to the bottom of the sea. 
Gorka looked astonished. “By the gods! Why’d you do that, girl?” 
“They were magic, indeed,” I explained. “But they contained naught of the future 
of the Peleshtim. Instead, they showed what happened in the past, or what could 
happen in the future. Strange contraptions that could kill hundreds of people at 
one time, of creatures that could be summoned forth in the service of Shiva to 
destroy our world. Such knowledge could prove dangerous in the wrong hands; and 
such knowledge is not meant for us, or for the priests of Pelesheth. Better, 
then, that the tablets remain where we threw them.” 
Gorka glanced at the sack on the table. “But, you said this was my share of the 
gold—“ 
Jasmin nodded. “From my own coffers. Gorka, your word was true—we found the 
tablets. But we made the choice about what to do with them.” 
She waved her hand at a nearby serving girl and said to Gorka, “Now will you 
join me for a drink to toast the memory of my father, and a brighter future?” 
“Aye, cap’n, that I will.” Gorka grinned and rubbed his stump. “Weather’ll be 
changin’ again, I expect.” 
Jasmin and I laughed. 
We did not tell Gorka about the other things the tablets showed us, things about 
our own future. 
Indeed, whether true or not, the day drew nearer when Jasmin would face King Gog 
once more. 
Moreover, one of them would die. 
What of my own future? That, too, we saw. 
For in that light of possibilities, I recognized the face of the evil wizard, 
Lazhar. 


CHAPTER 24
Concerning My Travels East
And My Purchase at the Slave Market



Of my further adventures with Jasmin the Corsair, I fear that, like the Amazons, 
I must leave them for another book. [Pirates of Arabah – Editor] 
We sailed two years together, in the first of which she gave birth to our 
daughter, Jasmina; in the second came her fateful meeting with the butcher, King 
Gog. 
Eventually, I crossed the sea once again and came to the land of Mizraim. 
The splendor and beauty of this country took me by surprise, as did the time I 
spent in the pits of Nimrud as a slave. However, I also discovered the Priests 
of Amentet in this place who spoke to me of the Afterworld and the wonders it 
held; here, too, I learned further magic abilities. 
Because of their teachings, my belief that Narmada survived Death increased 
greatly, and the thought much comforted me. 
I remained in Mizraim for five years, and during this time, I came to know its 
queen, Qetesh, a lovely and enchanting creature with whom I spent no little time 
enjoying and sharing the pleasures of Bliss; for, indeed, she desired to know as 
much as I desired to teach. [Slave Pits of Arabah – Editor] 
So it came to pass that, after those five years, I decided to move on once 
again. 
Following the major trade route across the desert between Mizraim and Madai, I 
traveled on foot eastward through the land of Kanaan until I came to the city of 
Miklat on the river Perath. 
By this time, my hair had grown past my shoulders, and I sported a neatly 
cropped thin beard and moustache. 
During my time with Jasmin, I acquired a new journal and began once more to add 
entries of things I witnessed, experienced, and thought. 
I also acquired several magical items I deemed necessary for me—a satchel in 
which I could keep all my belongings, but which gained not a whit of weight, and 
proved easy and light to carry; another medallion of light; and several other 
miscellaneous wands and potions. 
All these items I retrieved from Ithamar when Jasmin took me there at my 
request. The visit to the old hut brought back memories of my time there but, 
like those of my family, time had eased the pain. 
As I wandered through the streets of Miklat and marveled, as always, at the vast 
variety of people who mingled everywhere, I heard the voice of an auctioneer in 
the slave market. Remembering my time in the pits, I elbowed my way gently 
through a few people to watch. 
On the selling block, a young naked man stood with his ankles tied together by a 
short length of rope. He could walk, but certainly not run, if he had to. He 
kept his head bowed before the crowd. 
The auctioneer lifted the boy’s arms, turned him round, and bellowed how good 
the lad would be to work on a farm. Three merchants made several alternating 
bids, one of them even inferring other more carnal things that could be done. 
The crowd laughed. However, eventually, one of the merchants acquired the boy. 
The auctioneer threw a robe over the lad and led him away. 
Then the vendor herded a brown-skinned woman onto the block. Like the others 
waiting to be sold, she wore a loose leather wrap. This the auctioneer yanked 
from her shoulders so that she stood naked for all to see—thin, scrawny, and 
frail looking. 
“How much am I offered for this lately acquired woman from the west?” he bawled 
out. “She doesn’t look like much on the outside—“ Again, laughter from the 
crowd. “—but I’ve been told she’s a good worker. Ideal for the lady at home who 
needs a good cook and housekeeper.” 
“Fifty silver pieces!” yelled a voice from the assembled group of buyers, 
curious onlookers and, no doubt, voyeurs, all of whom laughed again at such a 
paltry offer. 
The auctioneer was not amused. “Come, sir, she’s worth much more than that. I 
don’t give these slaves away, you know.” 
“Perhaps you should!” someone else called out. “There’s no meat left on her 
bones. She doesn’t look like she could carry herself, let alone anything in my 
house.” 
The slave lifted her head, and I saw in her face a determination not to let the 
cruel remarks and derisive laughter affect her. 
Then I saw something else. 
“Fifty gold pieces!” I shouted. 
Heads turned to look at me. 
“Now, that’s more like it,” the auctioneer answered. He seized the opportunity 
to push for more money. “Do I hear sixty?” 
Silence. 
No one endeavoured to outbid me. 
The seller threw the wrap back around the woman. “She’s yours for fifty gold, 
young sir,” he announced. “You do have the money, I trust?” 
I nodded. 
He led the woman from the block, held out his hand. I dropped the gold pieces 
into his palm. 
“Untie her feet,” I said. 
He bent down and loosed the rope from her ankles. 
As she held the wrap tightly around her naked body, the woman let me guide her 
through the crowd, some of whom tittered and joked about how I had been rightly 
fleeced. 
However, I paid them no mind. 
“You have wasted your money,” the woman said to me as we cleared the 
marketplace. She raised her face to look into my own. “I am not even worth the 
fifty silver pieces the other man offered. I am— “ 
I interrupted her. “Not so! You are worth much more than that. To me, you are 
priceless—“ 
She frowned at me, not understanding my words. 
“—Mother,” I finished. 


CHAPTER 25
Concerning the Fate of My Mother
And the Arrival of a Messenger



“Do not jest with me, Master,” the woman said. Her lips trembled and tears 
filled her eyes. “I lost my family at the hands of Turushan pirates many years 
ago.” 
“Father, Yasmeen and Deva were indeed lost to us both,” I replied softly. “But I 
am still your son, Solomon the Strange.” 
At the end of these words, the woman collapsed against me in a fit of convulsive 
weeping matched only by my own heavy sobs. Her arms held me tight, and her eyes 
wandered across my face to see if what I said proved to be true. 
“Solomon—my son—it is you--!” 
And Mother wept all the more. 
I quickly acquired rooms at a nearby inn, gave my mother some healing herbs and 
tea, and then put her to bed. She needed some decent clothes, so I headed to the 
marketplace to find some for her. 
That she had come down with some disease was obvious to me, for her skin bore a 
sickly pallor, and her breathing laboured. 
However, within a few days, with some additional medications, she recovered her 
strength, appetite and health. 
I soon learned from her that after the pirates slaughtered most of the 
passengers and all of the crew of the Sea Maiden, Sandez took mother aboard his 
ship. Apparently, her resoluteness and defiance— the same look I had seen and 
recognized on her face in the slave market—had stayed his sword. 
“To keep from being easily caught,” she went on, “the pirates’ two ships sailed 
in different directions. They took Deva aboard the other ship with several other 
young girls. 
“Sandez sailed south, and sold me to a rich merchant on the shores of the 
Southern Kingdoms. There, I served as head cook before they brought me here to 
be sold again.” 
“They did not treat you well?” I asked as I recalled the emaciated condition of 
her body when I saw her. 
“On the contrary,” Mother retorted. “They treated me with great kindness, more 
so than I would have expected as a slave, and that perhaps because they 
purchased me from Sandez. 
“But my mistress contracted a terrible sickness which, over time, killed her. I 
caught it, too, since I cared for her. So the rest of the household decided to 
try and get rid of me on the slave block before the illness became too severe 
and noticeable.” 
Mother smiled and stroked my cheek. “Your healing potions saved my life, 
Solomon,” she said softly. “Where did you learn such knowledge?” 
Therefore, I told her that which I have already related to you, dear reader, and 
we both marveled how the hand of Shakti lay upon our lives and guided each of us 
in such a way as to bring us together once more. 
However, of my sister, Deva, neither of us would learn aught else. Not even 
Jasmin would have known her to be a relation. No doubt, along with the other 
girls, Deva must have been sold as a slave, or forced into a life of piracy or 
prostitution. 
Mother and I remained at the inn until she felt strong enough to travel. Then we 
passed over the River Perath and came into the lush garden country of Aram. 
Here, we crossed the Chiddekel River and entered into the land of Arpakshad. 
Near the town of Asheroth, I purchased an estate along with the necessary staff 
to care for it. 
There, I remained with my mother for two years. 
During that time, both of us became well known and influential through much of 
Arpakshad—I as a healer more than a wizard, and mother as a fair-dealing 
merchant. For, indeed, she traded in many forms of merchandise from around the 
area. 
One morning, during the seven-day Festival of Shakti, I wrapped my robe about me 
and answered a knock on the door to find a rather handsome young man of some 
nineteen summers. 
He bowed respectfully and said, “Forgive the intrusion, my lord Solomon, but—“ 
Then he stopped to gape at the messy state of my room, and the equally 
disheveled look of the two half-naked women who, clad in leather harnesses and 
entwined in an embrace, writhed on the floor. 
The boy coughed his throat clear of his embarrassment, leaned forward and said 
in a low voice, “May we—uh—speak privately, sir?” 
I raised an eyebrow at his apparent desire for secrecy, but shrugged and then 
waved my hand in the direction of the women. Immediately, they dissolved into 
nothingness. 
“By the gods of Kush!” exclaimed the young man with a look of horror on his 
face. He started to protest my apparent heartless and barbaric act, but I held 
up my hand. 
“Do not be alarmed,” I cautioned. “They were but simple phantoms that I conjured 
up for my visual pleasure.” 
Indeed, I had. However, doing so violated my interpretation of the basic aims of 
life, the result of my restless nature. Frankly, I had become bored lately, and 
thus had fallen easily prone to the occasional carnal pursuit to satisfy my 
desires. 
Although that is one of those things of which I now feel shame, nonetheless I 
make no apology for my behavior. We all of us yield on occasion to that which is 
forbidden; such is our nature. However, we must also learn to forgive ourselves 
and move on with our life in hopes that in the next moment of temptation, our 
resolve will prove stronger. 
My response seemed to satisfy the young fellow, though he continued to eye me 
warily as if he expected me to make him disappear if it fancied me to do so. 
“Come in, come in,” I said. “Shut the door behind you.” 
I took a moment to cast a Clean spell that straightened up the mess and the 
furniture, and set the room back to its original, neatly organized state. 
As he closed the door, the boy stared in awe at this extravagant display of 
magic, his eyes bright and wide and brown. 
“Well, lad, we are alone, now. What is it you wish to say?” 
“My lord, I have come at the behest of the lady, Jamila, currently in the keep 
of Eridu, and have brought with me this scroll—“ which he then produced from his 
loose-fitting robe and handed to me,”—and she bade me give to you personally, 
saying it was of the utmost importance that you read it.” 
Certainly, this sounded mysterious to me, and my curiosity concerning the 
contents of the scroll urged me to open it immediately. 
However, the young man continued, “I do apologize for interrupting 
your—uh—relaxation, my lord. Had the lady Jamila not impressed upon me the 
necessity of finding you as quickly as possible, I would not have—“ 
I tossed the rest of his explanation aside with a wave of my hand, and from the 
sudden apprehensive glance he gave, I am sure he thought I meant to make him 
vanish. Although I did not intend to do that, still the boy certainly did seem 
to natter on needlessly. 
“’Tis of no consequence,” I replied. “My companions can be conjured up at any 
time, if need be.” 
Then the boy said, “Perhaps you would allow me to be your real companion for 
awhile--?” 
That said, he pulled open his robe to reveal two of the most succulent and 
pear-shaped breasts that I had seen in a long time. 
“You are a woman!” It was my turn to exclaim in surprise since this disclosure 
fully took me aback. She seemed to be so boyish in her looks, mannerisms and 
tone of voice. 
She merely shrugged. “I’m not one to paint the eyes and lips for the task of a 
messenger,” she explained. “Sometimes it is best if I don’t appear to be a 
woman.” 
“Forgive me for thinking you a man, then,” I replied. “In truth, it was indeed 
hard to tell.” 
“No offense taken, my lord.” She removed her robe and let it fall to the floor. 
She was shorter than I was; the top of her head came to the middle of my chest, 
but as she stepped out of her boots and tugged off her breeches, I could see she 
was nicely proportioned for her height. 
I smiled. “You have me at a slight disadvantage,” I remarked as I opened my own 
robe. I was as naked as she underneath. “You know my name, but—“ 
“Taraneh,” she replied quickly. “But you may call me Tara.” 
Then, she gently but forcibly pushed me backwards until the back of my knees 
bumped against a chair and I sat down on it. 
In the next moment, Tara fell to her knees between my legs, her hands grasping 
my already-stiffening manhood. 
“Jamila told me of the magnificent and magical staff of Solomon Magus,” she 
whispered, almost in awe as her eyes widened again. “Now, here it stands before 
me.” 
I chuckled aloud, and then said, “It is no different than any other man’s,” 
since I was not yet ready to show her the proof of Jamila’s tales. 
Without further words, Tara opened her mouth and devoured me, her lips playing 
upon my linga a sweet melody such as I had not felt since my times with Narmada. 

When she came up for air, she said, “I would have you take me, my lord, but 
after my travels I fear I must smell like a pig, so I prefer to take you this 
way, if you don’t mind.” 
“Not at all.” So, I murmured the magic words. 
Tara screamed with shock and delight, as I grew even larger, thus confirming to 
her the truth of Jamila’s words. 
Then her exquisite ministrations thrilled me beyond words and carried me higher 
and higher until, at length, I shouted my release. 
Tara rose shortly thereafter and gazed at me with her young eyes sparkling and 
bright, wet with tears of gratitude. 
“You are still quite young to know such advanced techniques of Bliss,” I 
observed, my breathing heavy. 
“I began my training at an early age,” she explained simply. “I did what I had 
to do to survive.” 
“Ah.” I frowned at her. “Then, you expect some sort of payment for—“ 
“Oh, mercy! No, my lord,” she exclaimed. She laughed, her voice light and 
playful. Then she said, “That was done for my pleasure as well as yours. 
However—“ She held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “There are other things 
I can do with these. I consider myself somewhat of a skilled thief. There’s no 
door I can’t open, no lock I can’t pick, no trap I can’t disarm—“ 
“And, apparently, no modesty you can find.” We both laughed together at her 
audacity, as I pulled on my robe. “Although I am very skilled at my own craft,” 
I continued, “still I am aware of my limits.” 
“Ah, but you misunderstand me, master,” Tara answered as she helped me fasten my 
robe. “I know full well what I can or can’t do. Nevertheless, I always need to 
hone my skills, so I’m looking for some adventure that will let me do just that. 
Indeed, I suspect that’s why Jamila sent you the scroll—there’s some task she 
wants you to undertake, and I hope you will allow me to come with you, and 
perhaps help you out.” 
I raised my eyebrows and half-smiled at Tara. “Then, you have already read the 
scroll?” 
“By the gods of Kush, no!” she exclaimed. “I may be a thief, but I’m not without 
some standards.” She hung her head and said quietly, “Besides, I don’t know how 
to read.” 
“I see.” Yet, I noted her to be well spoken. I retrieved the scroll and checked 
the seal. It did not appear to have been broken. I slid my thumb beneath it. The 
wax cracked and broke away in pieces. I unraveled the parchment. 
“Very well,” I said. “You may travel with me, if such the case may be. And, if 
not, then perhaps you will allow me to teach you how to read.” 
“Master Solomon, you are too kind.” 
“It is the least I can do for someone who can bring such pleasure as you did, 
and then not ask for aught in return.” 
Tara smiled and shrugged. 
Already I had grown to like the girl—her charm, her confidence and, certainly, 
her pleasure technique. 
Perhaps there would be some adventure we could share to help pull me from my 
ennui, to draw us closer together so that I could teach her how to read, and 
share with her the beauty of a more ultimate Bliss. 
Therefore, I opened the scroll and read it aloud. 


CHAPTER 26
Concerning the Contents of the Scroll
And Our Journey to the Keep of Eridu



My dearest Solomon, Jamila wrote on the scroll. It is my fervent hope that this 
scroll and its carrier, Taraneh, find you alive and well. As for me—only time 
will tell. We arrived at the Keep of Eridu just a few short days ago, and 
already something strange has happened. 
For one thing, someone broke into my collection of relics, as if looking for 
something in particular, but nothing was taken. Moreover, for another, there 
have been some strange lights and monsters seen occasionally in and around the 
Keep. 
Can you do something to help? Taraneh is quite skilled in what she does, in 
spite of her age, and may be able to help, should you decide to look into this 
mystery. Besides, she knows her way around the Keep, small as it is. The 
protection of Shakti be with you until we meet again. 
“You see?” said Tara as I rolled up the parchment. “I told you it would be some 
sort of adventure.” 
“And, quite possibly, a dangerous one,” I retorted. “Based on past experience, I 
never know what I am getting into, and it is usually worse than what was first 
imagined. But, I suppose it is an adventure nonetheless.” 
“And what is life without a little danger now and then?” Tara said with a shrug. 
“So, shouldn’t we be on our way?” 
I chuckled and said, “You wish to go looking like that?” 
The young girl still stood in her naked state. 
She laughed back at me. “That’d draw attention to us, wouldn’t it?” 
“While you dress and get ready,” I said, “I will find my mother to let her know 
where we are going. I also need to get some things ready, so we should be able 
to depart by mid-day.” 
Tara nodded in agreement. “Shall I pick up some supplies for us?” 
“How long did it take you to get here?” 
“A day’s journey.” 
I took some coins from my purse and tossed them to Tara. She deftly caught them. 
“Get enough for two days,” I suggested. I don’t plan to wear myself out 
walking.” 
“Yes, my lord.” 
I was about to tell Tara not to be so formal since we had so recently shared an 
intimate moment, but I quickly decided that it was still good for the young to 
respect their elders in spite of a Blissful relationship. 
Tara began to slip into her breeches. They clung to her legs and buttocks like a 
second skin. 
“Oh, and young lady—“ 
She glanced up at me while she reached for her robe. 
“Please buy our supplies, do not steal them.” 
She merely grinned at me. 
Precisely at mid-day, as I said, Tara and I found ourselves on the dusty road to 
Eridu. 
Tara had exchanged her robe for a shirt and vest, both of which did nothing to 
hide her feminine attributes. 
I had not been to the Keep before, so did not know what to expect other than 
what Tara told me—that those who dwelt there were mainly soldiers and 
mercenaries under the employ of Preet, king of Shallamar, as well as various 
merchants who passed through from time to time. 
Apparently, the fighters provided protection along the border between Arpakshad 
and Aram, and patrolled up and down the River Ganga that ran from the Elburz 
Mountains in the north, east-southeast past the Rajasthan Desert to empty into 
the Sea of Salacia just off the Coromandel Coast. 
“Do you live in Eridu?” I asked as we walked through the cool grass by the side 
of the road. 
“Oh, no, Master,” Tara replied. “I was born in Alcander. When I was seven, my 
parents died of a plague, and I went to live with my aunt and uncle. But they 
weren’t kind to me, so I ran away, made my way south through Javan to Roda where 
I fell in with a band of traveling performers. I learned a few of my skills from 
them, and slept with soldiers whenever I needed money. I met Jamila in Kestor 
and traveled with her after that. That’s how I got to Eridu with her.” 
I nodded. “And I have no doubt you learned some of your love-making talent from 
her as well.” 
Tara grinned. “Of course,” she said. “That’s how I learned about you. And I have 
yet to feel that magnificent lance inside me.” She reached for my robe. “Come, 
let’s do it here.” 
“Now would not be a good time,” I cautioned. 
“Why not?” she asked, as she reached into my robe. 
“Look there.” I motioned to the nearby forest with my hand. 
Tara glanced round. 
I did not have to elaborate. Already she noticed the band of thirteen 
brigands—pirates from the look of them—who stepped from behind the trees. 
I did not see her reach for it, but Tara held her dagger at the ready, narrowed 
her eyes to slits, and hissed through her teeth as a warning to the clump of 
men. 
However, they made no indication that they planned to attack us. Even so, I 
started to prepare a spell to help even the odds if they did, although I 
wondered if Tara could handle even one of them. 
“What do you want?” she called out. 
None of the men answered. Instead, two of them parted slightly to allow a woman 
to pass, an attractive woman even with a patch over her left eye. 
I laughed. “Jasmin?” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” 
Jasmin grinned back at me, while Tara glanced sideways, perhaps wondering how I 
happened to know this Corsair. 
“I could ask you the same thing, Solomon,” she said. She approached us. She wore 
a white blouse with large puffy sleeves, almost skin-tight black pants and 
boots, and I am sure she must have carried at least two or three pounds of 
jewelry in the form of necklaces, rings, brooches and belts. From her side hung 
the cutlass that I knew had seen many a victim’s blood along its blade. 
I could almost see Tara’s eyes focusing hungrily on the jewelry. 
“A new companion?” whispered Jasmin as she embraced me, kissed me, and hugged me 
again. I caught a whiff of her personal smell which, though it should probably 
have stunk as I’m sure the men did, nonetheless was delightful of scent, and 
reminded me of the fruit from the Blessed Isles. 
“Tara,” I said, and introduced the two women. 
They eyed each other for a moment, each one glancing up and down the other’s 
form, and then Jasmin suggested, “Perhaps the two of you will join me for 
dinner. Then we can chat about what has transpired lately around here; for no 
doubt you’re headed for Eridu.” 
I nodded. “We would love to join you.” 
Tara gave me another look again that said, “What for?” Nevertheless, she 
followed along as Jasmin led us to the pirates and the forest. 
Oddly enough, it seems Tara and I would have inevitably walked into Jasmin’s 
encampment later that day since it lay close to the route we took to Eridu. 
Five tents lay in a circle, and I assumed correctly that Jasmin dwelt in the one 
from which hung several brightly colored flags— apparently stolen, I later found 
out, from some passing caravan. 
Tethered behind the tents were several horses which, I had no doubt, were 
probably stolen as well. 
Once inside Jasmin’s tent, I marveled at the beauty with which the Corsair had 
arranged everything—hanging silks, cushions, braziers, and several small tables. 
Jasmin had an eye for decorating, something not that apparent on board ship. 
Light sandalwood incense wafted through the air and that, plus a covered hole in 
the top of the cone-shaped tent, helped dispel the smoke that rose from burning 
lamps, which gave a soft light. 
It felt warm and cozy to be sure. 
Jasmin motioned us to seat ourselves. Tara and I half-reclined on several 
comfortable pillows. 
Several moments later, one of Jasmin’s men entered with a sumptuous looking 
plate of rare delectables—roast mountain lizard surrounded by dozens of 
pan-fried scarlet beetles. 
I knew the latter to be not only a delicacy but, if memory served me right, also 
a Bliss-enhancing food. 
As the man left, Jasmin handed Tara and me each a goblet of wine. Tara sniffed 
hers, stuck her tongue in the liquid, and then ran it around her lips. “From the 
southern vineyards of Valedon,” she announced. “Quite liberating to the palate.” 

Jasmin and I both stared at her. 
Tara merely smiled and then said, simply, “A skill I picked up when I was 
younger.” 
Jasmin smiled at me and threw a look my way that seemed to indicate my choice of 
a new ‘companion’ pleased her. “Come. Eat up. Marduk has prepared everything 
with great care. It wouldn’t be good to displease him by letting it go cold.” 
Tara shrugged and grabbed several beetles. I heard them crunch between her 
teeth. Apparently, she did not bother with table etiquette; she yanked out her 
dagger and sliced off a piece of the lizard. It followed the beetles into her 
mouth. She wiped the seeping juices from her chin with the back of her hand. 
I sampled the lizard first, savoring its delicate flavor—for I had not eaten 
such meat in a long time—and then followed it with several beetles which, 
although the crunching could grate on the nerves after awhile, nevertheless 
possessed a marvelous sweet-andsour taste. 
“So, you’re a pirate?” inquired Tara between beetles. “I thought pirates 
preferred to sail on the sea?” 
No tact, this Tara. 
Instead of answering, Jasmin turned to me and asked, “Tell me, Solomon, where 
did you find such a charming companion?” 
I opened my mouth to reply, but Tara spoke up immediately. “Tell me, Jasmin, 
where did you get such a nicely-built body?” 
She scrunched a beetle. 
It seemed a rather abrupt change of subject matter, and a very blunt question, 
but I noticed Tara staring at Jasmin for some time as we ate. Certainly, it was 
not uncommon for men to remark on her form—and usually in a very rude way—but 
for a woman to say anything was quite rare. 
Jasmin did not seem to mind. She cracked a half smile. 
Tara swallowed, and then shoved a finger in her mouth to dislodge a beetle leg 
stuck between her teeth. “You seem to be more muscular than most women,” she 
remarked. 
Jasmin nodded. “I spent a couple of summers with the Amazons,” she answered. 
“Trained and hunted with them.” 
“Is it true the Amazon women make love to each other?” 
Jasmin cocked her head to one side, raised an eyebrow, but smiled. “Of course,” 
she replied. “But when it comes time to renew the tribe, it’s necessary for them 
to mate with willing men in order to have children.” 
“And you,” continued Tara. “Did you make love to an Amazon?” 
My body felt a little warm. Perhaps the tent was heating up; perhaps it was the 
effect of the beetles. Or the conversation. 
“If I did,” replied Jasmin, “it wouldn’t compare to my times with Solomon.” She 
smiled at me. 
Tara sighed heavily and shook her head. “It seems everyone has been with Solomon 
except me.” 
I did not know whether Tara was angry, frustrated, or just in a playful mood. At 
any rate, she suddenly bounded over the cushions, grabbed Jasmin’s blouse, 
twisted, and tossed the pirate quite effortlessly onto some other pillows. 
Jasmin shrieked with surprise, and started to get up. By then, Tara leaped on 
her again and began yanking at the blouse. I heard the material rip. 
Jasmin grabbed Tara’s gown and pulled it. 
However, to make a long story short, I shall not bore you with the details of 
the events that followed. 


CHAPTER 27
Concerning My Time with Jasmin and Tara
And Our Approach to the Keep of Eridu



Then, again, perhaps I shall. 
Relate what happened next, of course, and, hopefully, not bore you. 
Since I wanted Jasmin, Tara and me to enjoy the full benefit of this moment, my 
hand touched the ground and I murmured a magic sentence. Immediately the dirt 
began to soften beneath the women’s feet. 
Both realized at the same time that something strange had happened. They both 
looked at me. 
“What’s going on?” asked Tara. 
Then she found out as Jasmin caught her by the shoulders and tossed her 
sideways. Tara splashed into warm mud, and shrieked with surprise. Jasmin fell 
on her with an exultant laugh, and then both women wiggled and squirmed and slid 
as each attempted to gain hold of the other in order to subdue her and win this 
somewhat unconventional wrestling match. 
It was evident that although she had been surprised by this turn of events, Tara 
enjoyed the grappling. She and Jasmin grasped each other, slipped from their 
grips, tried to hold on somehow, but each continued to slip through their 
respective grips. 
Tara caught Jasmin’s dirty blouse again and, now thoroughly soaked in mud, it 
shredded easily in her grasp. Jasmin’s breasts shone white for a moment, and 
then disappeared beneath the mud. 
Up until this moment, I watched with amusement from my cushion. Then, before I 
realized what happened, Tara managed to catch the hem of my robe and yanked it 
forward. I flew through the air, hit Jasmin’s legs and slid up her thighs until 
my face came to rest between her two marvelous globes of mud. 
She giggled and grabbed Tara’s shirt. The top ripped away and the thief’s 
magnificent breasts popped out to cover the back of my head. 
I scrambled to free myself—albeit not in great earnest—as both women soon had my 
robe off. 
I attempted to crawl away, but they caught me by the ankles and dragged me back 
in. 
Then we were at each other—boots tugged off, belts unbuckled, and pants jerked 
down. I tore away Tara’s skirt and loincloth and then, totally naked, the three 
of us tousled and writhed and wallowed in the mud for a good while, each of us 
trying to subdue the other two so that one of us could be declared a winner. 
However, we obviously were evenly matched since we ended up breathing heavily in 
each other’s arms, a virtual stand off. 
When, at length, we sat still, we stared at each other and then laughed at the 
filthy condition in which we found ourselves. 
However, I was prepared for that. 
I stood up and looked around the tent. Tara grasped my member but it slipped 
easily from her grasp. Both women laughed. 
“Not now,” I reprimanded them. “I need to concentrate.” 
I found a small metallic bowl on one of the tables. I dumped fruit from it, set 
it on the floor, and then made some gestures with my hands. 
The bowl sparkled with an eerie light, and then grew in size until it became big 
enough to hold the three of us comfortably. As we stepped over the edge and into 
the tub, I created some warm water that swirled around, and a magic waterfall 
that cascaded down on us from the top of the tent. 
“He’s a handy man to have around!” exclaimed Tara, still amazed by my 
not-too-frequent shows of magic. 
“Very handy indeed,” replied Jasmin. 
The shower from above sluiced the mud from our bodies, and the hot swirling pool 
carried it down, filtered it, and replaced the dirty water with clean liquid. 
The three of us sat down and let the warmth of the swishing water invigorate our 
tired muscles. 
Tara stared at Jasmin, who had leaned back to relax with her eyes closed. Her 
breasts floated just beneath the water, the tips provocatively protruding above 
the surface. 
The thief slowly glided forward, and gently planted her lips on one of Jasmin’s 
buds. I moved to the other one, and we both suckled slowly, sensuously. Jasmin 
moaned, and did not push either of us away as the water lapped into our mouths 
and her nipples hardened. 
Tara slid her mouth to Jasmin’s and kissed her solidly. Jasmin responded, much 
to my surprise, by wrapping her arms around the thief’s neck to return the 
embrace. 
The Corsair allowed me to move behind her back, and then I reached around with 
my hands to fondle and caress both women’s breasts that had pressed together 
against each other in the water. 
“Captain! Captain!” A man’s voice called urgently from outside the tent. 
Jasmin swore, pushed Tara and me away, and then swung herself over and out of 
the tub. 
As she reached for her clothes, I followed quickly whilst Tara remained in the 
tub with a sulking look on her face. 
Jasmin yanked on her pants, her boots, and then grabbed her shirt. She fastened 
a couple of buttons before she opened the tent flap and stepped outside. 
“By the gods, this had better be important, Dalmas,” she grumbled. 
For a moment, I heard only silence, and then Jasmin called out, “Solomon, you’d 
better come have a look at this.” 
Curious, I threw my robe around me, gathered it up and tightened my belt, then 
went to join the Corsair. 
Night had already fallen on the campsite but, in the distance, I saw them—the 
strange lights that Jamila had mentioned in her scroll. 
“Magic?” asked Jasmin as I drew beside her. 
“Possibly,” I replied. “That must be Eridu.” 
“Aye. We were headed there ourselves,” she answered. “Heard tales of a great 
treasure…” 
I smiled. “I do not know how great it would be,” I said. “But, whether there is 
a treasure or not remains to be seen.” 
Dressed, but still wet like Jasmin and me, Tara joined us. 
“Where do the lights originate?” I asked. 
“Just outside the Keep,” she said. “In a ruined temple. Nobody dares to go near 
it lest they be killed. 
“Then I need to have a look.” 
Jasmin laid her hand on my arm. “Let me come with you.” 
“And me,” chimed in Tara. I could tell she envied my past relationship with 
Jasmin. 
“Very well,” I conceded. “Three may well fare better than one if there is aught 
to fear.” 
“We’ll take the horses,” Jasmin offered as she nodded. 
I have never been one to ride a horse. For one thing, it is difficult to do so 
when one wears a robe such as I did; for another, the constant rocking movement 
chafes the thighs and bruises one’s privates. 
Nonetheless, I mounted sideways on my proffered steed, and the three of us 
headed down the road to Eridu at a steady, manageable canter. 
The closer we got to the Keep, the more I became aware of the magical aura, and 
the brighter the lights in the sky became. 
I think the horses sensed something, too, for they did not seem to want to 
approach the ruins of the temple. They snorted, shied back, and stamped their 
hooves. 
We were near enough now to see the ruins, and the lights themselves—flickering, 
pulsating, multicoloured balls of fire that danced above and around the temple. 
The building lay in a small grove. Once a single edifice, part of its walls now 
lay in a crumbled heap across the grass, divers sized rocks amassed as if 
someone or something had pushed their way through the wall. Perhaps something 
had done, a long time ago. 
Jasmin, Tara and I dismounted and began to slowly approach the temple on foot. 
“I do not think the lights are a danger to us,” I surmised. “They seem to be 
meant to just scare people away.” 
“The lights might not be dangerous,” replied Tara. “But, what about those--?” 
She jerked her head towards our right. I looked. My blood ran cold. 
Six half-rotted, animated corpses lumbered towards us, their arms outstretched, 
hands clutching the air. Skin and clothing hung in shreds, pieces dropping to 
the ground even as each labored step brought them closer; and the closer they 
came, the clearer we saw their gaping jaws, their slit noses, and their black 
eyes that glowed with the light of some unholy presence. 
Jasmin had already whipped out her cutlass, and she dived towards two of the 
undead creatures. 
Tara pulled two daggers from her belt and made for another. 
I rubbed the palms of my hands together, then lifted one up and aimed it towards 
one of the creatures. A small ball of fire spouted from my hand, and I felt the 
heat of it singe my palm as it left. I winced, not used to this sort of magic, 
but very aware of it. 
The fireball hit one of the creatures in the chest cavity. Flames exploded 
outwards, crept rapidly over the thing’s dry clothes and flesh. The corpse 
became a walking torch, stumbled aimless around for a moment before it collapsed 
to the ground where it continued to crackle and snap as the fire ate its 
remains. 
Jasmin’s blade chopped into her first corpse. The keen edge sliced off an arm, 
which dropped, useless to the ground. However, the creature turned and lumbered 
towards her with its other, as the second undead thing grabbed her around the 
neck. 
Meanwhile, Tara did not wait for any creature to get to her; she tumbled with a 
forward somersault—even with the two knives in her hands!—and came up behind one 
of the corpses even before it had time to turn towards her. 
She leapt upon its back, plunged a knife deep into one side of its neck, and 
then ripped across the front. Flesh and muscle shredded easily. The thing’s head 
lolled back. Tara grabbed it and dropped to the ground. 
I heard the sharp snap of its neck bone as it broke. Tara and the head hit the 
ground. The decapitated corpse’s body wavered for a moment, and then collapsed 
beside them both. 
The second of the two corpses that lunged at me grabbed my shoulder. Almost 
immediately, the thing recoiled and stumbled backwards, thrust away by the 
unseen aura of a protective amulet I had placed around my neck before we 
embarked on our journey to Eridu. 
Again, I winced as a fireball shot from my palm and exploded against the body of 
the undead. This creature, too, flared like a torch and stumbled around wildly 
until the fire consumed it. 
Jasmin struggled to release herself from the grip of the corpse that had her by 
the throat. It slowly applied pressure, intending to cut off the supply of air 
to her lungs. 
The creature had its back to me and, without thinking, I let loose another 
fireball. The burning sensation in my palm was now nigh unto unbearable, but I 
had to help her somehow. 
Only when the creature burst into flame did it occur to me that I might also 
have further endangered Jasmin. 
I heard her shriek as the flames on the corpse licked at her exposed face. 
“Solomon!” she yelled with exasperation. 
I ran forward, hit the undead with my elbow. The thing fell to the ground with 
Jasmin still in its grip. 
I quickly took the cutlass from Jasmin’s fingers and chopped into the flames 
where I knew the creature’s arm should be. It fell away and Jasmin, her clothes 
smoking, rolled free. 
“By the balls of Othnor,” she raved as she rose to her feet. “What were you 
thinking?” 
“Sorry, I acted in haste—“ I replied. “I meant only to help.” 
Then she smiled and shook her head at me, and I knew that she had feigned most 
of her rage. “I didn’t need any help,” she said. “But it looks like Tara does.” 
I turned to see the thief in the grip of the last undead creature. Both Jasmin 
and I hurried forward. Each of us grasped an arm and yanked forcefully. The two 
limbs tore off easily, and then Jasmin took her cutlass and chopped off its 
head. 
“Oithin’s balls!” Tara exclaimed as she rose to her feet. “Give me a live human 
to fight any time…” 
“Agreed,” said Jasmin. 
We could not see any more undead around, so we continued on our way towards the 
temple. 
That the balls of light were magically produced seemed obvious to me and, as I 
told the two women earlier, they posed no threat—merely a dazzling display 
designed to keep intruders away or at least at a distance. 
The undead creatures proved another matter entirely, obviously resurrected by 
some powerful wizard to take care of interlopers should they ignore the lights 
as we had done. 
We entered the temple. Except for occasional flashes of light from the magical 
spheres above the building, the interior lay in darkness. 
I reached into my robe and retrieved my medallion. 
Soft, but ever-present light filled the temple. 
“Nice,” commented Tara. “More handy than a torch,” 
The medallion revealed walls covered by tattered curtains, several overturned 
pews on the floor, and a small raised dais at one end of the room. 
Our search of the floor revealed nothing. Then, Tara discovered a hidden latch 
on one of the walls behind a curtain. 
A cursory glance from Jasmin or me would have missed it altogether, but Tara’s 
keen vision spotted it almost immediately. 
“Notice this rock,” she explained rather proudly. “It looks more worn than the 
others around it.” It did seem obvious now that she pointed it out. 
She pressed the rock. 
A grating noise preceded the opening of a hole in the floor as the dais slid 
sideways. A flight of steps descended into blackness. 
“A door to the Netherworld,” announced Tara. 
“Let’s hope not,” returned Jasmin. 
I agreed. I knew all too well some of the ungodly creatures that apparently 
inhabited the realm of the dead; not like the undead we had already encountered. 
Worse. I had no desire to go there just yet. 
My medallion illuminated our way as we began the descent. 
Someone had constructed the twenty steps, then the corridor became a naturally 
carved shaft, perhaps the result of some underground river that no longer 
existed. 
However, a damp chill hung in the air, and the walls glistened with wetness as 
the light revealed a larger chamber where, indeed, an underground river appeared 
from one rock face and disappeared beneath another. 
“Uh-oh…” 
I glanced at Tara. She stared at a doorway that had begun to appear as part of 
the rock wall dissolved away. 
“Someone’s expecting us,” whispered Jasmin. 
Whether whoever it was expected us, or wanted to get rid of us, I did not know. 
Nevertheless, a moment later, a shadowed figure appeared in the doorway. 
Before I could cast any sort of protective spell, a large ball of fire blossomed 
in front of him and then shot towards us, yellow, orange, and red flames licking 
the air. 
Even as it careened in our direction, I had already seen the face of our foe. 
The face of Lazhar! 


CHAPTER 28
Concerning Our Encounter with Lazhar
And the Withering Rod of Eridu



However, it was only a quick glance. 
For then, someone shoved me. Arms flailing, I lost my balance and fell into the 
river with a big splash, even as I heard the two women scream. 
A red glow illuminated the water around me, then everything went black, and the 
river reflected the light from my medallion. 
Thankfully, the water was neither deep, nor fast flowing. My head broke the 
surface. I quickly found a foothold, and pushed myself onto the rock floor. 
Light from the medallion flicked across the sooty chamber walls, and as I got to 
my feet, I looked round. 
Lazhar was gone. 
Jasmin was gone. 
Moreover, the smell of burnt flesh sickened me. 
For there, on the ground lay the blackened, charred, and smoking remains of 
Tara. 
A wail escaped my lips as I dropped to the ground beside her and wept heavily. 
It was obviously she who pushed me into the river, she who took the full blast 
of the fireball. 
Anger blazed in my eyes as I rose and stalked to the opening through which I 
knew Lazhar must have gone. 
I vowed to myself that whatever it took, Lazhar would pay for this senseless 
murder, just as he had, essentially, killed my beloved Narmada. 
This new corridor went for some thirty paces before I suddenly came face to face 
with a rock wall. I looked frantically about for another entrance. There was 
none. 
Breathing heavy, I shone the light on the wall in front of me, and the ones to 
the right and left of me. 
Something seemed odd, but for a moment, I did not recognize what it was. 
Then I realized the rock wall in front of me, and the one to my left, were 
identical. 
I put my hand out to touch the left wall. My fingers disappeared into the rock. 
It was an illusion. 
I smiled grimly to myself; Tara would have been proud of me. 
I stepped into and through the illusionary rock. 
I saw Jasmin almost immediately—naked and chained to a rock in a shallow gully. 
I started to head towards her, but then I heard Lazhar’s voice. 
“You’re certainly a persistent pest, aren’t you?” 
The wizard sat on another rock. His eyes, cold and mocking, stared at me. 
I raised my hands. 
“Before you do anything rash,” he said, “you may wish to notice the plight of 
your other friend.” He nodded at Jasmin. 
I looked more closely. The chains were not her only problem; water had begun to 
seep into the gully from some unseen hole. 
“It won’t take long for the water to fill the hole,” explained Lazhar. “It will 
eventually drain out again but, unfortunately, not before your friend has 
drowned. And I, for one, would certainly hate to see that happen—she seems to be 
a rather nice piece off flesh.” 
My eyes narrowed as I turned back to him. “What do you want?” 
Lazhar held up a slendour rod. “I already have what I want,” he replied. 
“Problem is, I can’t use it.” 
He tossed the rod to me. I caught it easily, and then perused the length of the 
shaft. Someone had inscribed an ancient script along its length. 
“The Withering Rod of Eridu,” he explained. “It took me a long time to find it 
down here—which is why I had those lights and cadavers up there. However, when I 
did find it, I realized the inscription was in a language Narmada knew. Since 
you were her student, I’m sure you could translate it for me.” 
“Why should I help you?” I snapped. “You’ve brought nothing but misery to me. 
You killed Narmada and Tara.” 
Lazhar waved a hand at Jasmin. “And this one will be next,” he said. “Her life 
for the translation.” 
“Don’t give it to him!” shouted Jasmin. 
I glanced at her. The water already covered her legs, and had now risen to her 
waist. 
“I cannot trust you, anyway,” I said to Lazhar. “Even if I give you the 
translation, you will probably let her die, and try to kill me, too.” 
“As I said,” he returned, “I think the young lady could be quite—useful, if you 
know what I mean.” 
I knew exactly what he meant. 
“Quite frankly, I don’t want to see her die,” he continued. “You can save her.” 
I looked at Jasmin again. She shook her head at me. 
“I don’t have a choice,” I said to her. “I will not lose you, too.” 
Lazhar smiled at me. “A wise decision.” 
I read the inscription on the wand again. 
“Well?” Lazhar asked, somewhat impatiently. 
“Just a moment. I want to make sure I understand this.” 
I stole a glance at Jasmin. The water now covered her breasts. Not much time 
remained before it engulfed her entirely. 
“This is not a withering rod,” I announced confidently. 
“What?” exclaimed the wizard as he rose from the rock. “That’s ridiculous. Of 
course, it’s the withering rod. You’re lying.” 
“Not according to this inscription,” I replied. “It’s an enlarging wand. Let me 
demonstrate.” 
Lazhar brought a hand up. I could see it shimmer slightly as he prepared to cast 
a spell. “No tricks,” he cautioned. 
“None,” I answered. I loosened by robe, and let it fall open. 
Lazhar frowned at me. “What are you doing?” 
“Something that might interest you,” I replied. 
I pointed the wand at my linga and pronounced an incantation. 
In response, as it had done many times in the past, my lance expanded and 
swelled to a marvelous size, almost twice that of its normal state. 
Lazhar gasped. “By the gods!” 
In the water that was now up to her neck, Jasmin moaned loudly, obviously upset 
that she might never get to ride it again. 
“Give the wand to me,” commanded Lazhar, quite obviously impressed by its power. 

“Set Jasmin free,” I countered. 
“The wand, first,” he answered. 
I threw the wand back to him. He attempted to catch it, but missed. It clattered 
on the rocks, but did not break. 
“What about the incantation?” he demanded. 
“Free the woman, and I will gladly give it to you.” 
Tight-lipped, Lazhar scowled at me. Then he reached back and pulled a lever in 
the wall. The chains must have dropped free, for Jasmin rose, stepped out of the 
water, and hurried over to stand beside me. 
Lazhar reached into his robe and removed a stylus and tablet. “The words,” he 
requested. “And the correct pronunciation.” 
I nodded, took the instruments and wrote down the inscription from the wand, as 
well as the way to speak them. I handed the implements back to Lazhar. 
“Now, let us go.” 
Lazhar laughed. “I want to try it first,” he said, and then looked at Jasmin. “I 
heard that lament when you saw Solomon’s dart,” he continued as he undid his own 
robe. “Wait until you see mine. There will be no comparison. I shall pleasure 
you as no one else can do.” 
Jasmin looked at me. 
I shrugged. “It is our only way to get out of here.” 
She glared with disbelief. 
Lazhar had already grown naturally hard as he gazed at Jasmin’s naked 
loveliness. He grinned at us both, turned the wand towards his linga, and 
pronounced the words I gave him. 
For a moment, nothing happened. 
Lazhar looked up at me. “You lied to me. This doesn’t work.” 
“Oh, yes, it does,” I replied. 
Indeed, it did. 
Before Lazhar had a chance to realize what happened, the wand glowed in his 
fingers. Then he shrieked as his thick and long linga suddenly withered to the 
size of my little toe. 
His screams grew louder as the withering continued up his abdomen and down his 
legs, the skin of his body wrinkling and shriveling as it dried up, moving up 
his abdomen, around his back, and down to his feet. 
Lazhar collapsed to the ground. His skin puckered and decayed before our eyes. 
His chest caved in, his neck, arms, and legs wasted away to the size of tree 
branches. Then, finally, his face sank back, his eyeballs fell from their 
sockets, and within but scant moments, a withered corpse lay hard and dry on the 
surface of the rocks. 
I kicked the dehydrated thing and it exploded in a cloud of dust. 


CHAPTER 29
Concerning the Death of Lazhar
And the Matters That Followed



“You did lie to him,” Jasmin commented as I retrieved the wand that fell from 
Lazhar’s hand as he withered. 
“Not so much lied as deceived,” I replied. “I did not want to do either, but he 
left me no choice. I had your life to think about, as well as my own. And, 
possibly, the people of the Keep.” 
“It really is a withering rod, then?” 
“Indeed. I knew that, once I read the inscription. However, I could not let him 
use it for some nefarious means. Narmada told me once that if I found Lazhar’s 
weakness, then I would find a way to defeat him. He obviously had a weakness for 
beautiful women like Narmada, and yourself, of course.” 
Jasmin grinned at me. 
“However, I also sensed a desire in him to be better than everyone else. I used 
both to my advantage, as you saw. The incantation I already knew to enlarge my 
linga—“ 
“To good effect,” she interrupted. 
“—and then I gave Lazhar the real incantation from the wand. Quite honestly, I 
did not think he would be tricked that easily, but apparently, his lust—and, 
perhaps, his age—clouded his judgment.” 
“For that, I’m glad,” said Jasmin. “Poor Tara—that must have been horrible for 
her—to die that way…” 
“She rests in peace, now,” I replied, “in the Bosom of Shakti. I suppose Lazhar 
captured you?” 
She nodded. “Some sort of magic held me motionless, then he drew me in here with 
it, removed my clothes, and chained me to the rock. The magic wore off by the 
time you arrived. I’ve never felt so helpless—except when held in your arms, of 
course.” 
I gave her a half smile. “Tara regretted not being able to share my linga as you 
have.” 
“I’d love to share it now,” she replied, “but it’s getting cold down here.” 
Goosebumps appeared on her naked flesh as she shivered slightly. 
“Ah, forgive me!” I exclaimed. I ripped off a loose piece of material from my 
robe. With a few magic words, I created a warm wrap and a belt, and set it about 
Jasmin’s shoulders. She tied it shut. “That better?” 
She nodded. “Let’s get out of here.” 
Slowly, but steadily, we made our way back to the surface. The ascent proved 
uneventful and, with the death of Lazhar, the lights that danced around the 
temple vanished. 
If the wizard had created any other evil phenomena, none appeared. 
A very short time later, we entered the Keep of Eridu, and soon located Jamila 
in one of the merchants’ stalls. 
When she saw me, her eyes brightened. “Solomon!” she cried out. “How good to see 
you again.” She threw her arms around me, hugged me tightly, and then bade 
Jasmin and me to join her for some breakfast. 
That confused me for a while. We had entered the temple just after dark. 
Somehow, Lazhar had managed to alter time in the chamber beneath the temple, 
though for what purpose, I never learned. Perhaps it had something to do with 
his own advanced age—for indeed, he was as old as Narmada. 
The news of Tara’s death saddened Jamila, but she rejoiced with us when I told 
her of Lazhar’s defeat. 
“I knew magic had to be involved,” she declared. “But I also knew that you could 
handle whatever it happened to be.” 
“Your confidence in my abilities is appreciated, milady,” I returned. “But I 
still have yet much to learn. If naught else, Narmada and Tara are avenged.” 
Images of Narmada and Tara floated in and out of my mind. I reached out to them, 
but they evaporated into nothingness. The leering face of Lazhar drew near. 
“There will be another time,” the face threatened. 
I woke up suddenly, sweat beaded on my skin, my body hot, flushed, and cramped. 
On either side of me lay Jamila and Jasmin. 
I swallowed hard. I hoped it was just a dream. 
By mid afternoon, I stood with Jasmin at the entrance to the Keep. 
Any sense of an evil presence had long since gone and, of that, I was glad. 
Narmada and Tara might indeed be gone, now unreachable, but so, too, was Lazhar. 
The dream was not an omen, just a dream. 
“What do you plan to do, now?” inquired Jasmin. 
I took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly as I thought about it. Finally, I 
said, “Continue my travels across Arabah. I lost my original journal—the one 
Narmada gave me—and I want to start another. There is so much to see, to 
experience, to learn. And you?” 
“Meet up with my crew, and return to the ship,” she replied. “My travels take me 
in a different direction.” 
“North—to King Gog?” 
She nodded. 
After a long pause between the two of us, she suggested, “Come with me.” 
I reached out and stroked her cheek, and then let my fingers caress her long 
hair. I felt so very tempted, but I said, “No. I need to go to the Southern 
Kingdoms. My Mother told me some interesting stories about the people and places 
there. I think there is much I can learn to increase my knowledge of magic. 
Jasmin nodded slowly. She understood. 
We embraced tightly, and kissed. Then she swung up on to her horse. “Until the 
next time we meet, then,” she offered, and I could see the wetness of tears in 
her eyes. 
“Until next time,” I agreed. 
She waved to me, turned her horse, exhorted it into motion, and then disappeared 
into the forest. 
I was indeed sorry to see her go, more so because my path did not follow hers. 
The time between seeing each other seemed so long. 
However, there would be new friends to meet, new magic to learn, and new seekers 
with whom to share the pleasures of Bliss. 
I shifted my bag to a more comfortable position on my back, and then set off 
down the road that led to my home in Arpakshad. 
No sooner had I entered the forest through which the path took, than I became 
aware of the presence of evil I so often before recognized. 
I stopped. 
From behind several trees, three cloak-shrouded individuals emerged, faces 
concealed in the shadows of their cowls. 
“Sssolomon Magusss?” 
“I am he.” 
One of them pushed back the hood to reveal a strange creature, one that appeared 
very much human, but at the same time bore marks of a serpent—scaled skin, 
slit-like eyes, no visible ears or hair. “What—have you done—with our massster, 
Lassshar?” 
Though their language came with the obvious hiss, the creature spoke it in a 
labored, almost rhythmic manner. 
“Lazhar is dead,” I replied. 
All three creatures sibilanted simultaneously, though whether with anger or 
surprise, I could not tell. 
I soon found out. 
‘Then—you, too—mussst die!” 
That said, they threw off their cloaks. All held savage-looking swords in their 
hands, and dashed towards me at the same time. 
Already prepared with a protective spell, I threw up my hands. 
However, my attention focused on the reptile men in front of me, I failed to 
notice two more that had appeared from the bushes behind me. 
These two hissed in my ears, their foul breath filling my nostrils, as they 
clutched my arms and dragged me heavily to the ground. 


CONCLUSION
Concerning the Author of This Tale
And the Works to Come



“What happened then, Grandfather?” asked Shalini as she glanced up from her 
writing when I said no more. 
“That is enough for now,” I replied, my eyes heavy with sleep. “The telling of 
this tale alone has tired me. My encounter with the Naga is another story, for 
another time.” 
I coughed. Shalini drew a cup of water, and then handed it to me. I drank 
slowly, letting the liquid moisten and cool my parched throat. 
“Obviously you managed to escape the snake people,” Shalini prodded. 
“Another time,” I repeated. 
She sighed heavily. “Oh, all right.” She put down her stylus, came over and 
kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you for telling this story, Grandfather. Can you 
at least give me a hint as to what else there will be?” 
“A persistent pest, are you not?” I said, repeating Lazhar’s description of me. 
Shalini shrugged and smiled. 
“What more can I tell?” I said. “I can tell you the history of the Amazons, from 
their birth to the conquest of fabled Atlantis; I can tell of my adventures with 
Jasmin the Corsair, with Anneke, Warrior-Maid of Arabah; of Talitha, the last of 
the Saraphim; of Zahra, the Jungle Queen; of my time in the slave pits of 
Nimrud, the lessons I learned with the love slaves of Arabah; of Pandora, my 
first wife; and of my journeys across Arabah. Of all these, and more, I can 
tell.” 
Shalini put the cup to my lips, and I took another draught of water. “We must 
pray,” she said, “that the Goddess Shakti, Blessed be Her Name, allows you to 
live long enough for you to relate these tales.” 
I laughed. “Nay—rather, let us pray she allows you to live long enough to record 
them.” 
“So let us beseech Her,” she agreed. 


The End