I’m not in the habit of free-climbing almost two hundred feet of cliff-side and masonry wall, just to sneak into a royal celebration.

For one thing, climbing such a distance is the sort of thing that normally gets noticed. On a world with a decent cycle of light and darkness, I might not worry so much. I could make the climb in the dark and get an excellent chance of avoiding detection. On Tanûr, where Rehaan never wanders far from its fixed position in the sky, a tall woman clambering up a stone wall is frighteningly visible, and from a long distance.

For another thing, there’s the matter of free-climbing almost two hundred feet. Even on Tanûr, that’s more than far enough for a mistake to turn you into a smear on the rocks at the bottom.

The royal keep and palace at Arikossa proved to be an exception.

Security at the front gates looked tight. After observing the palace for several hours, I knew I had no chance of bluffing my way past the guards, the iron-bound gates, or the long entrance tunnel lined with murder-holes. Once the royal fête began, every guest would be more carefully scrutinized. The najhar and his men seemed unwilling to take any chances.

The palace’s position suggested an alternative. A great promontory protected the grand harbor of Arikossa from the open expanse of the Circle Sea, and the palace stood out on the headland. The lay of the land meant the castle had to face back toward the harbor and the city – and back toward the sun. The back wall of the castle stood above a sheer cliff, a hundred and twenty feet down to the rocks and the surf, and all that expanse of bare rock lay in perpetual shadow. A bleak place, one the palace guards might not be accustomed to watching. After all, only an insane person would try to sneak into the castle that way.

I waited in concealment until the fête was about to begin, all the najhar’s people focused on the obvious way in. Once I was sure, I began climbing.

I took minimal gear: rock shoes, light clothing, a climbing harness, chalk for my hands, and a small backpack to carry what I would need once I got inside. I ascended slowly and carefully, only a few feet per minute, constantly looking upward to plan my next move. The natural cliff face seemed easy enough to navigate, with plenty of holds and places to set anchors. I rested for a few minutes at the base of the palace’s curtain wall, before setting out on the shorter but more difficult pitch.

For the last few minutes, as I approached the top of the wall, I tried not to think about how easy it would be for a watchman to lean out and drop something heavy on me from above.

Fortunately, I didn’t need to climb all the way to the top. About an hour after I set out, I reached my objective: a specific window set high in the curtain wall. Peeking inside, I saw a lavishly appointed apartment, currently unoccupied.

Carefully, I reached into a pocket of my harness and retrieved my thinnest dagger. A moment’s work tripped the hook-and-eye lock holding the window closed. I clambered through and closed the window behind me.

I was inside, and undetected thus far. I will admit, it was reassuring to feel a solid floor beneath my feet.

A short search turned up a basin with clean running water, a towel, and a full-length mirror. I took a few minutes to wash the chalk off my hands, strip out of my climbing gear, and buff away the sweat of the ascent. I ran fingers through my hair, a thick black brush, cut close to my skull. I checked the crimson-and-black body paint that marked my face and swept across my arms, torso, and legs. A few lines had taken wear during the climb, so I touched those up with a brush and two tiny pots of dye. I put on court dress: an immodest leather harness, a few wisps of sheer cloth, and about three pounds of heavy gold jewelry around my neck, arms, and ankles. Finally, I arranged weapons here and there about my person, one obvious and showy, the rest cleverly concealed.

A last glance in the mirror, and I nodded in satisfaction. I was armed and ready to be considered dangerous.

I found the front door of the apartment, listened for a moment, and slipped out into the hallway. No one was there to question my arrival. From there, it was simply a matter of following the sound of music. From a balcony above the grand dance hall, I could watch and survey the najhar’s guests, the wealthy and well-born of all Arikossa’s domains.

They were a feast of fitness and well-trained grace, robust men and striking women. Like most of Tanûr’s people, they benefited from ages of genetic contrivance and lives spent in vigorous exercise. Only a few of them appeared softened by indulgence or wizened by the centuries. Coloring varied from light gold to a warm medium brown, almost all with sable-black hair and dark-brown eyes. I was about to stand out, a few shades darker than anyone else on the floor, but I was born under a more vigorous star than Rehaan.

A few moments to take in the ebb and flow of the crowd, and I was confident enough to find a long staircase and descend to the floor. My timing was as fine as ever. I stepped out into the midst of a knot of people, and within moments seemed as if I had been present at the fête from its beginning.

I listened to gossip, and sipped at a flute of fine brandy, and flirted with men and women alike. I got plenty of practice at smiling and saying nothing of consequence, while I filed observations away in the back of my mind.

No clue yet as to what has happened. At least no one seems to realize yet that I don’t belong here.

I heard a male voice, addressing me from somewhere close by. “Might we share the next dance, my lady?”

I looked and didn’t quite do a double-take. The man before me spotted my instant of surprise and made a self-assured smile.

Cosmos, he’s pretty.

Even in the company of aristocrats, he stood out. Tall, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, with well-defined muscle from neck to toes, a “clean-limbed fighting man” as the saying has it. Nothing marred the beauty of his face, aside from a jaw that might have been just a trifle too strong and square. Deep-brown eyes gleamed as he examined me, just as closely and appreciatively as I examined him.

“I am Ivras,” he told me, and something in the pit of my stomach went warm at the easy confidence in his voice. “I have the honor to serve as a prince-elector of this city.”

I smiled. “My lord Ivras. It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance. I would be delighted to share this dance with you.”

We moved out on the floor together, while the orchestra played the introductory bars of the next dance. He moved beside me like a big predator, all power and grace, one of his big hands resting lightly on the small of my back. I felt the calluses of a practiced swordsman and nodded to myself.

“I don’t know your name, my lady,” he observed, as we moved into the opening passage.

“True.” I smiled at him, letting him wait for a moment. “You may call me Tivala.”

He nodded, not missing a movement as I traced a series of steps around him. “I thought as much.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve seen your likeness. You’re the one they call the Kingslayer.”

I didn’t miss a step. I turned on my heel at the right moment and looked back into his face, as we completed the first passage. “Hardly a proper epithet. I don’t make a habit of killing monarchs.”

“What of the dagór of Kelath?” he inquired, easing into the next measure.

“I can produce seven witnesses to attest I was five hundred leagues away from Kelath when the dagór died.”

“No doubt. The kelafa of Charik?”

“Not my fault. The kelafa took offense at the time her consort spent in my company, and she challenged me to a blood duel. One must defend one’s life and honor.”

“Of course. Then there was the arhan of Nadassa.”

“The arhan committed suicide. He leaped from the highest balcony of his palace.”

“Weren’t you cutting your way through his elite guardsmen at the time?”

“Yes, but I had only been paid to capture the poor man. As he would have learned, if he had been willing to wait a few more heartbeats.”

He paused at the correct moment in the dance, looking me full in the face. “What about the najhar of Merkant?”

I had to think for a moment, before nodding in rueful agreement. “That one I must admit to. Still. One monarch is hardly enough to warrant an epithet. Especially such a dramatic one.”

His arm went around my waist, his other hand rose to point at the vaulted ceiling, as we promenaded in a slow right-handed circle. “I suppose the most important question,” he said calmly, “is whether you are here to kill me.”

“If you are truly concerned, you’re a fool to permit me to get this close to you.”

“True, I suppose.” He watched as I did a slow pirouette just outside his reach. “After all, aside from the rather flamboyant dagger strapped to your hip, I see two more hidden knives. Not to mention the garrote in your hair.”

“Impressive.” I smiled at him and stepped back into his arms for the final passage of the dance, not mentioning the third hidden knife. “Most people assume women’s formal dress gives one no place to hide weapons.”

He nodded.

I hesitated for a moment, watching his face, cursing the well-trained reflexes preventing him from showing anything but bland disinterest.

I needed to know more about this man before things got to this point. All I’ve discovered is that he’s much more capable than anyone realized.

I decided it was time to take a risk. “To answer your question, no, I’m not here to kill anyone. My employers wish me to remove a certain object from Arikossa.”

“What object would that be?”

I let my voice drop to a murmur, to ensure no one else would hear me. “The item which caused you to fail of election to the post of najhar, after your father went to his ancestors.”

He didn’t miss a beat. We paced through the last few measures of the dance, and bowed to one another courteously once the music stopped. As an ovation rang through the hall, the dancers applauding themselves and the musicians, he stepped close and set one hand behind my shoulder. Then he pressed his lips to mine.

Let the record show: Prince Ivras of Arikossa was a very pleasant kisser. Slow, thorough, and he tasted delicious. For a moment, I was strongly tempted to set the mission aside, at least for a leisurely hour or so. For a moment.

“I apologize, my lady Tivala,” he murmured in my ear. “I think we should discuss this in private. Now we have an excuse to depart for a while that no one will question.”

I gave him my best scorching smile, slipped an arm around his waist, and walked off the dance floor with him. I doubt anyone in the hall had any doubts as to what I intended to do once we had a little privacy. I caught more than one half-concealed smile along the way, which told me my lord Ivras had something of a reputation among the women of Arikossa. All the better, if he truly wanted a chance to talk in private and wasn’t about to slide a knife between my ribs.

Down a short corridor, around a corner, and Ivras ushered me through an elaborately carved door into a dim-lit room. The place was appointed with couches, soft cushions, fine silks, and mildly pornographic art hanging on the walls. The prince didn’t invite me to disport myself upon the furnishings. Instead, he paused by the door, watching the corridor we had come by until he was satisfied no one had followed. Finally, he closed the door and turned to me. “What do you know about nahjar Velassi?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet but avoiding a whisper that would carry.

“I know he is foreign,” I told him. “He came to Arikossa perhaps a hundred saala ago. He quickly built a faction among the nobles of the city and earned your father’s trust. Two untimely deaths gave your father the opportunity to appoint Velassi to a senior ministry, then to the college of prince-electors. At last, it was your father’s turn to die before anyone expected it of him. When the electors convened, instead of confirming your inheritance as would normally happen, they selected Velassi to become the new nahjar.”

“Indeed.” No longer did Ivras wear the look of an affable but slightly stupid prince, interested only in wine and women. Now his face had set into lines of darkest anger. “These are men and women whose houses were loyal to my ancestors for thousands of saala. While my father lived, none of them so much as hinted they would prefer a foreigner for the throne. None of them are such fools as not to notice the sudden deaths which cleared the path for him. Yet they all voted for this impostor. Velassi has some power about him. He is preternaturally persuasive. Speak to him for but a few moments, and you become his willing servant, willing to obey his every whim and accept his every lie.”

“Except for you.”

“Except for me.” He shook his head with a cynical smile. “I think it pleases him to leave me untouched. He does not even bother to have me watched. I may hate him as much as I please, for he knows I can do nothing to unseat him. Not when I cannot persuade anyone to act against him, even in the smallest matters.”

“Haven’t you considered taking revenge into your own hands? You appear to know how to use a blade.”

Ivras turned away from me, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “A thousand times, I have thought of it. He is not all that well-guarded. You must understand, I have no fear for my life . . .”

“You fear losing your spirit, that which makes you Prince Ivras of Arikossa, if he should use his power against you,” I murmured. “I understand you, all too well.”

“Yet you say you are here to remove an object from Arikossa.” He turned back to give me a speculative stare. “I suspect the source of Velassi’s magic must be something he keeps close at hand.”

“Have you any idea what it might be?”

“Perhaps.” He rubbed at his chin with one hand, thinking intently. “There is one piece of jewelry he always wears. Even, as I have learned, when he is alone with one of his lovers. A golden collar about his neck, with a large fire opal set in the hollow of his throat.”

“Interesting.” I thought through the possibilities for a moment and nodded to myself. “I would hazard a guess, my lord prince, that Velassi cannot sway someone’s mind at a long distance. Nor can he do it when there are many people around him. He changes minds one at a time, and in close contact.”

Slowly, he nodded. “It would fit. His power rests upon all the noblemen he was won to his faction. The common folk despise him, and for excellent reason.”

“Oh?”

“He turns the nobles loose to oppress the people, refusing to receive their appeals as the nahjar should. He taxes the people until they groan, so he can live in luxury and give rich gifts to his friends. He offends our long-standing allies and flatters our hereditary foes. If the nobles and their household troops did not stand by him, the people would rise up in a moment . . .”

Ivras caught the ironic smile on my face and came to a stumbling halt. I didn’t say anything. To his credit, I didn’t have to.

“Well. It’s true, my lady, my forefathers also did not always rule Arikossa with justice or mercy. At least then, the aristocracy acted as a check on the nahjar, as they are expected to do! Now we have nothing to look forward to but tyranny.”

“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” I told him, “if you are able to direct me to Velassi’s rooms.”

“I can do better than that,” he said. He turned away from me, appearing to closely examine the far wall of the room. One hand rose, his fingertips searching, and before long he pressed firmly at a specific point on the wall. There was a soft click, and a panel sprang open slightly.

“Take this passage, always choosing to move upwards and to the left. It leads to the nahjar’s quarters in the highest level of the palace.” Ivras gave me a fierce glance. “I will wait here for an hour, and then I must sound an alarm. You understand me, I think.”

I nodded, knowing that an hour would be long enough. “Spend the time coming up with an interesting story,” I suggested. “Too bad I can’t stay to give you some inspiration.”

He grinned. “I have a vivid imagination. Now go, before I change my mind.”

I slipped into the passage. It was narrow with a low ceiling, and very dark once Ivras had closed the panel behind me. I tapped at the bracer on my right wrist, activating it to emit a warm glow, and then it was easier to see. I could hurry, passing by more closed panels and side branches, taking the route upward and to the left whenever I had a choice to make.

I kept a running guess in my head, as to how much elevation I had gained. Soon enough I suspected I was approaching the top floor. There, if anywhere, the nahjar would lurk.

At last, the passage came to an end. I examined the wall closely, finding the locking mechanism that held the panel closed. I pressed an ear to it, listening and hearing no sound. Finally, my best dagger in my right hand, I opened the panel.

The chamber beyond was silent and dimly lit, closed shutters over windows that faced away from the sun, only a few small lamps to stave off the gloom. I slipped through the panel and stood silent while my eyes adjusted, and then I saw what manner of room I stood in. It was someone’s study, sadly little used in the time of the current nahjar. Books on shelves, small bits of statuary standing in niches, fine oil paintings . . . and a pair of swords hanging crossed at the center of one wall.

I gave in to temptation and went over to examine the weapons. They were long, tapered, and exquisitely well made. When I took one down and drew it a hand’s breadth to look at the blade, I saw the gleam of fine steel in the dim light. It settled into my hand as if made for me.

Well, I thought, perhaps Ivras won’t mind me borrowing this little piece of his heritage.

Better armed, I went to the door and listened once more. Still no sound, except for a hint of the revelry taking place in the great hall far away. I opened the door, slowly, blessing whatever servant had kept the hinges clean and oiled. Outside, a hallway ran from my left to my right, with golden light spilling out of an open door at one end of the hall, not far away. I reviewed what I knew of Arikossan architecture and made a wager with myself, creeping silently toward that door.

“Don’t be shy,” came a voice, a high tenor but confident and firm. “Come in, Kingslayer.”

I cursed under my breath and gave up any attempt at stealth.

Stepping to the door, I looked in, and saw a well-appointed receiving room, the kind of place an aristocrat might greet visitors who were not welcome to his private chambers. The place was perhaps twenty feet across, most of its floor covered by a glorious Kelathi carpet in crimson and gold, the walls covered with dark wood paneling. This room faced the sun, and glass windows admitted plenty of the eternal golden light. On the far side of the room stood a large semicircular desk, and behind that sat a man.

Velassi, the nahjar of Arikossa, was a tall man, well-built though clearly not a warrior by trade. His hair and beard were a russet color, his skin somewhat pale, his eyes a startling silver-grey. His skull was long and narrow, his face sharp under a high forehead, not unhandsome but somewhat exotic. He was certainly not native to Arikossa. In fact, I couldn’t think of any place on Tanȗr where that exact combination of coloring and facial structure would be common.

Of course, Velassi was no more native to Tanȗr than I. I wondered, not for the first time, if he knew anything of my own origins. I had taken great pains to conceal them, but I didn’t look much like a native Tanȗri either. He might have guessed.

“Come a little closer, Kingslayer,” he invited me, the fingertips of his right hand just touching the fire opal in the hollow of his throat. “Somehow, I thought you would be taller.”

I snorted and took three steps into the room, making a show of placing my new sword in a wary guard. “My reputation precedes me, I take it.”

“Oh, yes.” He rose from his seat and walked around the end of his desk to face me more fully. “Adventurer, mercenary, a swordswoman without peer. Tivala the Kingslayer. The tales have made their way all around the Circle Sea.”

“All the better to command a high price for my work.”

“What price were you paid to kill me?”

“None at all,” I told him truthfully. “That’s not why I’m here. Although if we can’t come to an arrangement, it may turn out to be the alternate plan.”

“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement,” he said, his voice gone smooth and pleasant. “Why don’t you put your sword down?”

At once, I set the sword on a table little way to my right, and then I turned my back upon it.

“Very good,” said Velassi, relaxing a little and using his left hand to point to a spot on the floor just beyond arm’s reach from him. “Come closer. Stand there, if you would.”

I paced across the luxurious carpet, enjoying the feel of it against my bare feet, and stopped exactly where he had commanded.

He took a long two minutes to make a wide circle around me, observing me closely from every side, never approaching within my reach. The fingertips of his right hand never left the gemstone at his throat. When he passed behind me, the skin of my back prickled, but nothing touched me but the tracks of his eyes.

“Remarkable,” he said at last, emerging from behind me once more. He stood before me again, his eyes alight with appreciation, a little closer than before. “How many knives do you still have on your person?”

“Three,” I answered at once.

“Remove them and toss them over to the far corner.”

I obeyed him, apparently without reluctance. One by one, each of my knives sailed well out of my reach.

Now Velassi stepped closer, closer . . . still not quite close enough.

“I care not what mission brought you here, or how much you were paid, or by whom,” he said in his normal tone. “As you can see, before long you shall be my willing agent, to guard my person, or to slay at my command. Or perhaps we can find a better service for you. How would you like to be the nahjara of Arikossa?”

“I’m not interested in wedding any man,” I told him, “even if it means sitting on a throne. I like my life as it is.”

“Well,” he murmured, taking one more step. “Perhaps I can persuade you otherwise.”

“No.” I smiled at him. “You can’t.”

With no more warning, I struck with my right hand, fingers driving for his throat. My fist closed around his golden collar, around the fire opal that was no ordinary gemstone. Then, with all the strength in my arm, I twisted and heaved at what I held.

The clasp behind his neck snapped. As he recoiled from my sudden violence, his eyes going wide, the collar came free and dangled in my fist. The thing nipped for an instant, reading the genetic code of its new holder, and I nodded to myself in satisfaction at a hypothesis confirmed.

“Impossible!” he snapped, falling back to lean on his desk, all the music gone from his voice. “No one on Tanȗr can resist the collar!”

“I wasn’t born on Tanȗr,” I told him. “This little technological trinket won’t affect me. Velassi, you are under arrest for several violations of Title Fifteen of Imperial code, regarding trespass and possession of classified technology on an interdicted world. As a subject of Imperial justice, you have certain rights, which I would strongly advise you not to forego. Will you come quietly?”

Velassi’s face twisted with rage, and I knew at once that he would not come quietly. He produced a long knife and leaped to the attack, snarling incoherently.

I dodged aside, flinging the golden collar away behind me. A snap-kick broke his wrist, taking the knife out of consideration. One hand touched my hair, and then I was behind him, the wire garotte pulled tight around his throat.

It was over very quickly after that.

While I lowered Velassi’s purple-faced corpse to the floor, I heard a sound behind me. I whirled, temporarily out of weapons but ready to dive for the dead man’s knife if I needed to. Instead, Ivras stood in the doorway, just straightening up from a crouch, a gleam of gold in his hand.

I stood still, watching to see what he would do.

“So, was this the thing he used to work his magic?” Ivras asked. “It stings a little.”

“It was not magic,” I said, “but yes, it was the source of his persuasive power. How much did you hear?”

“I heard enough.” Ivras glanced up at me, the collar still resting in his hand. “So, he was from off-world after all, and so are you. I suspected as much. The old Empire still meddles in our affairs?”

“No. Your ancestors wanted to be free of it, to build kingdoms of their own on a world no one else was likely to want. The Imperium respected their choice, and still respects it. Which is why I was sent here, to see to it men like Velassi don’t get away with meddling in your affairs.”

“A pretty thing, this,” he said, looking down at the gold in his hand. “I suppose I could wear it as easily as he did, use the magic to retake the city.”

I tensed just a little, hoping I would not be forced to kill a second king on the same day.

“Better if it should vanish, I suppose.” He stepped close and held the collar out to me, a trace of regret in his face. “I will do well enough without this thing you say is not magic in my hand. Take it, and yourself, far away from Arikossa.”

“I will,” I told him.

I took the collar from his hand, and then moved around the room to recover my weapons. The sword, I left where I had abandoned it; it didn’t belong to me in any case. Once I was finished, and the collar was safely tucked away, I glanced back at the man who would doubtless be the next nahjar of Arikossa.

“An hour’s head start?” I suggested, with a crooked smile.

His somber mood lightened at once. He rested a hand on my shoulder and bent close for a farewell kiss. “I think I can do better than that,” he said. “Goodbye, Tivala.”

An hour later, I was out of the palace, out of the city, and far ahead of any pursuit. I didn’t see Ivras again for many saala. Still, he remains one of the better friends I made, during my time on Tanȗr.

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Author’s Note

“A Prince of Tanȗr” is the first story I’ve written for the setting described in my article, “Building a Better Barsoom.” I started it several years ago, just after I first published the article, and somehow never finished the story even though I knew more or less how it was going to end. Hopefully, now that I’ve finished this one, more stories in this setting will come to me. I’ve always wanted to write some good old-fashioned planetary romance.

As it happens, this is the first piece of original fiction I’ve published on this site that has never been shopped around to any of the pro markets. My readers here get the first light for it!

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“A Prince of Tanȗr” © 2020 by John Alleyn (Jon F. Zeigler). All rights reserved.