Sinbad: Rogue of Mars. John Garavaglia
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gasped loudly as Kasson kept on attacking without displaying any shred of mercy. It was amazing on how Sinbad took all that brutality, but a chill ran through the very ventricles of her heart.
He was going to kill Sinbad.
Kasson’s eyes narrowed to see the puny outlander was still alive. Crawling weakly towards him. Smirking, Kasson
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swung his sword high above his head, preparing to finish the fallen Earthman off. His sword sparkled as it sung upwards through the air, catching a thousand glimmering reflected on its polished surface.
Sinbad pitched his body and threw Sinbad in Kasson’s eyes. His attacker was blinded. Lunging forward, Sinbad crossed the few steps that separated them and plunged his sword so deeply into Kasson’s chest that its tip pointed out through his back in a spray of dark crimson blood.
Kasson staggered backwards, furious. Snarling at Sinbad, he tried to rip the sword out.
The he stopped.
Total shock registered on his face as he felt death was taking him.
Sinbad sagged to the ground, exhausted beyond measure.
Kasson dropped his sword with a clang and turned towards the outlander, outraged. He clutched at his chest, and spat out blood. He staggered forward and reached out toward Sinbad. Then he slowly sank to his knees. His eyes flickered open, glaring with a feeble internal light.
He wiped the blood from his chin as realization crept over him. Sinbad had beaten him. And he was going to die.
With an effort, Kasson turned his head to face Sinbad. The outlander got back to his feet with numerous promises his body would be aching the next morning.
A tide of darkness flooded Kasson’s synapses and to framed, blinking hard as his vision briefly wasted out in a sea of sparkled grey. Physical weakness was not something that he was used to, and how the murderous inmate was experiencing all kinds of strange sensations. Not all of them were pleasant.
Kasson gasped as a lifetime of bright images were shown in front of him. He gazed at them with wonder. He had once heard that one’s life flashed before one’s eyes as death approached. Of course he had never thought he would have the opportunity to find out, yet here he was. He laid back and readied himself.
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Villages burning, women screaming, and the smell of death were in the air as his enemies broke ranks and charged at him.
Kasson smiled, enjoying the show as it washed over him, filling his mind with a thousand gory images. He had slaughtered indiscriminately, the young, the old, the sick, and the wounded—all held fallen beneath his sword, or else by his hands. And in the end, he had no regrets. He had enjoyed every last moment of it.
He coughed weakly, blood trickled from his wounds. A very special part of him, had always known that the day would come when he would lose. Then he frowned. The person to vanquish him was a lowly pink outlander.
Where had he come from?
What circumstances had led him to become what he was?
It all didn’t matter. Sinbad had succeeded where all others had failed.He turned his head stiffly to the side so he could look closely at Sinbad’s face. “Well done, outlander,” he whispered. “Well done.”
There was no reply. Then a moment later, Kasson died.
From atop Zhar Akhdar’s private terrace, his sister Aella watched Sinbad delivered the killing stroke to the unfavorable gladiator. She looked at her brother, who was enjoying the show, and gave him a smile.
“The outlander fights well, dear brother,” she said, twirling a lock of her long red hair with her finger.
“That he does, sister,” Akhdar replied with a smirk on his face. “That he does. Although I suspect you admire him for things other than his combat ability.”
Aella’s green cheeks blushed red, and laughed off her brother’s ridiculous concept.
“Akhdar, whatever do you mean?”
“Do not play such childish games with me, Aella. I’ve seen the way you look at him. If you wanted a private audience with this Sinbad, all you had to do is simply ask.”
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Aella admitted her feelings for Sinbad, and held her brother’s head. She couldn’t keep a straight face to acknowledge Akhdar’s offer. She merely nodded in response. Akhdar gave her a half smile and snapped his skeletal fingers. Tarkuhn, his trusted advisor rushed to Akhdar’s side, waiting for his master’s orders.
“Bring me the outlander, Tarkuhn,” said Akhdar. “I wish to speak with him.”
Sinbad looked down upon his fallen challenger with Kasson’s blood sprayed all over his bare chest. The champion looked up to the skylight where the sun and the moon were almost aligned. He silently prayed to Allah to give him a sign. As Sinbad watched the sky, the moon united with the moon and caused a solar eclipse.
“Praise be to Allah,” Sinbad said softly.
He heard heavy footsteps on the sound from behind him. Sinbad didn’t bother to turn around to see who the messenger was.
“His majesty wishes to see you, outlander,” said Tarkuhn.
Sinbad knew his time had come to bargain once again for Azrak’s freedom. He was relieved all the fighting wasn’t for nothing.
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CHAPTER FOUR
AN UNJUST KING IS LIKE A
RIVER WITHOUT WATER
Sinbad walked behind Tarkhun, flanked by several armed guards. Entering the throne room, the guards split apart, opening a path for Sinbad to walk alone. He strode with a purposeful gait, not breaking pace, and proceeded to the center.
The chamber was vast and was filled with interesting antiquities throughout the far reaches of the universe. It was decorated with Martian sigils, galleries and other trappings of the court. There were plenty of candles and lanterns, but they were not illuminated. But if they were, the bright ember would create a large circle of light in the enormous space. There were also rich tapestries on the polished paneled walls, deep rugs on the ivory floor, and with the lofty ceiling adorned with intricate carvings and silver scrollwork. The floor, ceiling and walls were highly polished and gleamed dully, and they were carved with the figures of Akhdar’s ancestors and half-forgotten gods.
Whoever designed this room like this must have an eye for beauty of Allah Himself, thought Sinbad.
What stood out the most was a mammoth jade statue of the six-armed Kali that loomed over Akhdar and Aella.
Sinbad looked wary at the giant idol. It stared back at him ominously, as if it were to spring to life at any second.
There she was standing before him.
Kali, the Black One.
The consort of Lord Shiva.
Hindu goddess of time and change, but mostly death.
Sinbad hadn’t seen the accursed idol since his journey through Marabia. He and his crew had to engage in combat against a reanimated statue of Kali. And they also had to contend with a one-eyed centaur.
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Sinbad was very familiar of Kali’s background. She, Durga and her assistants, the Matrikas, wounded the demon Raktabija with a variety of weapons in an attempt to destroy him. Actually, they only worsened the situation for every drop of blood that was spilt from Raktabija and he created a clone of himself. The battlefield was consumed