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The lone rider followed the small stream through the narrow canyon. The sun was high and reflected off the steep granite walls, turning the canyon into an oven. The only relief came from the small stream which wended through the canyon. The rider stopped and walked his mount to the stream. They both dipped their heads into the cooling water. Ariston had been riding for several days and had more hard days of riding ahead.
He patted his horse's neck and said, "A few more days and we'll be down in the lowlands. It won't be cooler but it will be easier." He hopped onto the steed's back and they set off down the trail again.
A noise alerted the lone rider. His stallion heard it as well and stopped, head up, ears forward, tense and ready to fly. Two riders broke from behind some scrubby trees just ahead, holding aloft blades which glinted evilly in the bright sun and yelling blood curdling oaths. His horse, tired from the long ride, had no hope of outrunning the attackers. He pulled his sword from his belt and prepared to meet the riders. The horse, wise to the ways of war, danced under him prepared to jump or fly as his master commanded.
The riders split at the last moment, one to each side of Ariston hoping to both attack at the same moment so that he could parry but one blow. His steed danced toward the stream, forcing one rider to swerve or break his mount's legs on the streambed rocks. Ariston raised his sword at the last second parrying a vicious cut by the second rider as he swept past. The first rider turned quickly and aimed at Ariston's back but again his stallion saved him by kicking violently at the horse behind. The rider was almost unseated as the horse stumbled from the kick. Ariston turned his horse and swung wildly at the nearly unseated rider. His sword found the man, cutting deeply into his arm, severing tendons, muscles, and arteries. The rider dropped his sword screaming in pain as his horse bolted.
Ariston heard the second rider and turned in time to parry a thrust in sixth, the attacker's sword partially slicing thru his thick leather jerkin. The bandit's sword caught in the laces of Ariston's jerkin pulling him slightly off balance. Ariston buffeted the man with his fist as their horses danced away from each other. Righting himself, the bandit scowled at Ariston and challenged him, "Yield, and you will live."
"I'll piss on your grave, thief," Ariston answered.
The rider shouted, "Die then, fool," as he spurred forward, his sword raised and slashing toward Ariston's head. Their blades rang in the mountain air, flashing as they beat, thrust, and parried.
The rider was very good but Ariston was better. Sweat trickled into Ariston's eyes and his grip began to loosen as the sweat ran down his arm. Tired, and now worried, the rider made a small mistake; just a fraction of an error, but it was enough. The rider's blade turned in his sweat slickened hand and in a quick counter, Ariston's blade slid past the guard and flicked at the tendons in the man's wrist, severing them. The sword dropped from the bandit's useless hand. Ariston slashed viciously at the thief's head which leapt from his body. The headless corpse tumbled from the horse, landing on the dusty trail, blood coagulating the dust into a muddy puddle around the dispatched thief.
Ariston looked for the other rider. The second thief was trying to stanch the red flow from his arm. Already he was swaying in his saddle. His face was wan and pale from the loss of his life blood now staining pants, saddle and horse. The rider raised his head alerted by the cessation of sounds. Realizing his peril, he booted his horse into a gallop. Ariston followed, blood lust in his eyes. The chase was quickly over. As Ariston neared, the rider pitched forward and tumbled from the horse landing on the rocks of the streambed.
Ariston rode up and stopped over the man. The thief lay on the rocks, his head split open like a ripe melon. Breathing deeply, Ariston collected himself. He jumped from his steed and dunked his head in the chilly stream to clear it. He searched the thief but found nothing of value. Ariston collected his horse and grabbed the reins of the other horse. Walking back he soothed the thief's horse and tied the reins of his booty to his own horse. He looked into the sky and smiled at what he saw. Leaving the thieves to the vultures, already circling overhead, Ariston turned and rode on, leading his captured horses toward Bashram.
Five days later, Ariston was riding through the blue-tiled Great Gate of Bashram. Full sized lions, golden against the brilliant blue tiles along the city walls which soared five men's height above the plain, stared down at the rider, their great jaws open, warning strangers of the might of the lords of Bashram and the wealth of the city which could build such large and beautiful walls. Ariston smiled at the display. 'I must avail myself of a fair share of this wealth, ' he thought.
Bashram sat along two great caravan routes. Caravans carrying goods from the East, North, South, and West, all traveled through Bashram. The people of Bashram were accustomed to strange sights, and barely noticed a lone dusty rider as he trotted to the Street of the Inns.
Ariston's first business was to hire a room for himself and fill his belly with meat and good beer.
His second business, after satisfying his stomach, was to sell off the two captured horses, his compensation for nearly having been skewered by the thieves. His pouch jingled brightly as he left the barn of the horse merchant. The price he got would provide for his needs until he settled himself in his new home.
His third business brought a great smile to his face. He cleansed himself in the ritual baths of the Temple Square of Bashram. Refreshed, with the dust of the trail washed from him, he gaily walked to the Great Temple of Ashtar.
Standing before the Temple, Ariston looked up at the carvings adoring the walls: A woman worshipping a phallus, lovers tangled together in serpentine displays of worship of pleasure, and scenes of wild abandon to the Goddess of Pleasure. At the door of the Temple of Ashtar a priestess greeted him. "Sojourner, welcome to the Temple of the Goddess. How may we serve you?"
"Disciple of the Goddess, why do you hail me, sojourner?" he asked.
"It is so that you are a traveler and stranger to Bashram. The Goddess informs me," the Priestess said with a wry smile.
Ariston glanced around recalling his recent adventures meeting the Goddess herself. The hair on his nape rose with the remembrance and wondering if the Goddess was watching him at this moment. But the thought quickly passed. Glancing down, he realized his garb was that of the Northern people, made for cold winters and rain, whereas all around him the People of Bashram wore loose white robes to allow the cooling air to circulate. He would need new clothes quickly of he had any hope of blending into his new home. "Of course," he said. "I wish to worship the Goddess with a devotee."
"Come," the priestess intoned and entered the Temple. The inside was alight from a course of windows high on the wall. The Temple was long and narrow with small alcoves along both sides. They had fine drapes which could be dropped to close off the alcoves from the main room. Sitting in many of the alcoves were women dressed in the robes of Ashtar. His head on a swivel, Ariston tried to look both ways as they walked into the temple.
The Priestess smiled as Ariston's eyes tried to see everywhere at once and said, "Chose the devotee of Ashtar you wish. She will accept your gift to the Goddess and worship with you as the Goddess of Pleasure has taught." She motioned him forward and Ariston took halting steps down the tiled floor.
So many women, tall and short, some smiling seductively, some with faces lowered coquettishly, but all watching to see whom he would chose. Half way along the great room, Ariston's vision came to rest on a woman, a beautiful sylph with the dark hair and smoldering eyes of the south. Ariston was entranced. His steps faltered as he stared at this vision. Her face was turned down chastely, but her eyes bored into his, burning his soul and setting a fire in his loins.
The Priestess saw the fire burning in the air between the two and said, "I see you have made your choice."
Ariston turned and looked at the priestess as if to argue, since he had not had the opportunity to see all of the women. She simply smiled a knowing smile and Ariston knew she was right. "Reverend One, I accept your wisdom," he said. He turned toward the alcove where the woman lounged on soft carpets and pillows. As he approached, her face turned up, boldly, daring him to come take her.
"Votary of the Goddess. I come to worship," he said in the ritual greeting.
"The Goddess accepts you," she responded in the ritual way. "Will you make offering to the Goddess?"
Ariston pulled a small gold coin from his purse and held it out. She rose, still holding his eyes with hers, and stopped in front of him. His breath caught in his throat. Without looking down, her hand found, then caressed his, taking the coin from his nerveless fingers.
As she turned and walked to the altar Ariston felt the breath whoosh from his lungs. He shook his head, clearing it as if from a dream. He watched as the girl knelt before the Altar of Ashtar and placed the offering at the foot of her statue. She invoked the intercession of the Divine Prostitute to bring pleasure to the worshippers. Ariston felt a faint breeze waft through the temple. He looked around but could see nothing to explain the breeze.
The girl had risen and caught his eyes again and once again, he was enraptured by her. She stopped before him and asked, "Will you join me?"
"Yes."
She took his hand and led him to the alcove where she had been. She released the curtain, closing them into their own world, lined with soft carpets, pillows, and tapestries displaying the pleasures of the Goddess. The tapestries were filled with men and women engaged in every conceivable position and combination. Ariston saw three men with a woman, lovers in every position imaginable, and all worshipping Ashtar. It was a textbook of love hanging on the walls. The scenes had a second purpose, arousing the man and increasing his pleasure.
The woman lay back on the soft pillows and beckoned, "Come. Come worship with me."
He joined her as her arms circled his neck, pulling his lips to hers. They kissed, passionately, their bodies coming together. Ariston felt her soft skin and wished to feel more. He quickly threw his clothes off even as they kissed until his body was afire with passion.
The votary of Ashtar knew only too well the signs and knew this one was ready for her. Reaching down, she took his full ready staff and led it to the goal. She rubbed it against her, then seated it into her cavern of pleasure. Ariston completed the joining with one great push. The girl sighed as he filled her, "Yes," she moaned, seeking the complete pleasure the Goddess promises.
Ariston pulled back and thrust into the girl, setting a rhythm slow and deep. She responded to his every move, meeting his every thrust, and drawing him into her deeper still. This was a girl who knew how to bring pleasure to herself and her partner. In short order, Ariston felt the pressure building in his loins. His pace quickened, the girl matching him, faster and faster, until the girl cried out under him. Her cavern of delights pulsed around his staff drawing forth his own explosion. "Argh," he cried out as he emptied himself into the girl, then collapsed onto the soft carpets of the alcove.
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