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From: Robber Baron <robberbaron023@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Arthur's Reward Ch 3 
Date: Fri, 26 Dec 2003 07:10:02 -0500
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Arthur's Reward
by Robber Baron - Chapter 3

This story is a work of adult fiction and contains sexually
explicit material that some may find offensive. If you are not at
least 18 years of age (or the age of consent for your locality),
or if you object to sexual situations, you must exit now.

All characters and events in this story are fictional, any
similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

The author reserves all rights to this work. It may be freely
distributed, posted and archived electronically only in its
entirety including all header material. It may not be sold in
whole or in any part, or as part of an electronic document,
printed material, voice recording or in any other manner without
the written permission of the author.

Note: There are at least two other stories, 'The Reward' by W.G.
and 'My Reward' by Azil, based on the same premise as this story.
I acknowledge my debt to those authors for the idea.

This is pure adolescent male fantasy, with the protagonist
gaining, through supernatural means, absolute power and a lot of
sex. I am writing this for my own amusement, so I include those
behaviors I enjoy, or enjoy fantasizing about. These may or may
not be what you enjoy. If you like it, that's fine, if not,
that's okay too. Either way, I would be happy to receive your
input and ideas for future development of the story.




---------------------------------
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<1st attachment, "Arthur03.txt" begin>

Chapter 3

SON OF THE SULTAN

With my eyes closed, I sensed a momentary feeling of dizziness, a
slight breeze, then a sharp feeling in my back that quickly
disappeared.

Immediately, I felt the increase in the size of my body. Opening
my eyes and looking down, I saw that I was probably now well over
six feet tall, and I could feel how muscular my shoulders and
arms were. I was wearing a loose, red jacket held together with a
sash at my waist, blue pantaloons, and sandals. I could feel a
turban covering my head. A scimitar and dagger hung from a belt
at my waist.

I was in an encampment in a desert oasis. Several round, Arab
style tents were set up around the pool of water in the center of
the oasis. The largest tent, which I guessed was mine, was
directly behind. I estimated that more than fifty men in Arab
costumes could be seen around the camp, some checking their
weapons, others exercising, wrestling, eating or sleeping.

I was about to summon Klaatu to find out what was going on when I
saw him walking toward me. He was dressed similarly to me, in a
turban, blue doublet with a sash and pantaloons, and now he had a
small beard. As he came to where I stood in front of my tent, he
quickly salaamed.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"I think you'll find everything in this world will meet your
desires," he said, smiling. "I am Omar, your chief councilor. If
you need or want anything, you may call on me, either in person
or through your thoughts and I'll do all I can for you."

"Okay, that's a good idea. Having you here in person makes me
feel a lot better. But what's going on?"

"Arthur, in this world, you are the rightful Sultan of Basrah. A
little more than a year ago, you came to the throne. Because of
your youth and inexperience, the commander of the army, General
Malik, was able to overthrow you through treachery and take the
throne for himself. Your enemies planned to assassinate you when
they took the palace, but due to your courage and skill with the
sword, you were able to escape into the desert with some of the
Royal Guard who remained loyal, and I, your Grand Vizier.

"Here, at this oasis, you hide from the usurper's patrols and
work to retake the throne. Through what little wealth you have,
and your charismatic personality, you have been able to recruit
many of the bandits of the desert to your cause. You support
yourself by raiding enemy caravans. Half of what you gain goes to
help the people of Basrah, who are downtrodden and impoverished
under Malik's rule. Some of the second half is used to support
your small band, and the remainder is hidden in a secret location
until you have enough to raise an army of mercenaries and retake
the throne of Basrah.

"That should be enough background for you now. You'll find that
as events unfold, whatever information is necessary will become
known to you. If you need more, simply summon me."

I could tell that Klaatu was proud of the world he had created
for me, however I still didn't feel comfortable here. "But what
should I do now? I don't have any idea how to retake the throne
of Basrah."

Klaatu didn't reply, just pointed at one of my guards who was
positioned on a high rock, scanning the desert. I saw the guard
shade his eyes, then shout down, "Lord Arthur, Lord Omar, a rider
approaches."

"Good, Ali," Klaatu-Omar shouted up. "Can you see who it is?"

"It looks like Abdul, from our patrol. And I can see the dust
from the rest of the patrol behind him."

It wasn't long before Abdul rode up, jumped off his horse, and
knelt at my feet. "How am I going to ride with these men?" I
thought. "I've only been on a horse three times in my whole
life."

"Great news, sire," Abdul shouted despite his shortness of
breath. "We have captured the tribute caravan from the Emir of
Samarkand to the false Sultan, may Shaitan grind his balls. There
may be enough in that one caravan to hire all the mercenaries we
need to restore you to your throne."

We all stood waiting until the caravan, escorted by our patrol,
arrived at the camp. One of my men brought me a cup of wine.
"Cooled in the waters of the oasis," he said as he offered me the
cup. Though it wasn't any hotter in this desert than in Phoenix
during the summer, so I was used to the temperature, I found the
wine refreshing. Like in the "B" movies this world was modeled
after, these Arabs didn't seem to object to the consumption of
alcohol.

The caravan was made up of more than twenty mules and camels
carrying boxes and bags of rich tribute that should have been
mine, and now was. Murad, the portly, mustachioed commander of
the patrol dismounted, then knelt, placing a leather dispatch bag
at my feet.

"Lord Arthur, this bag may be more valuable than all the
treasures of the caravan. It contains secret communications from
the Emir of Samarkand to the usurper Malik, may ten thousand
djinn fill his anus. In this bag are secret papers. I ... I read
them a little, but as you know, lord, my ability with the written
word lags far behind my ability with the sword."

"Or your ability with the wine flask and the wenches,"
Klaatu-Omar laughed. Taking up the bag, "No worry. I will read
the documents and let Lord Arthur know of their import."

As the end of the caravan made its way into our camp, I saw two
camels carrying closed howdahs. "What's on those camels?" I asked
Murad.

"Oh, yes, lord, in my excitement I forgot to tell you. That is a
pleasure girl and her servant, sent as tribute from the Emir of
Samarkand to the Sultan of Basrah."

Stroking his beard, looking at me, "Ah, the pleasure girls of
Samarkand are well known," Klaatu-Omar said.

I watched as the camels knelt, the women dismounted and two of my
men led them to us. Though both were covered with long garments
and veils, I could tell that one, clearly the servant, appeared
to be older, perhaps in her forties. She was dressed in a long,
dark robe. Her hair was covered by a black scarf, with a black
veil covering all her face except her eyes.

The other, presumably the pleasure girl, was dressed in a long
blue, richly embroidered robe, apparently made of a lighter
weight material because it hinted at the lushness of the figure
it was meant to hide. Like her servant, her hair was covered by a
scarf, but this one was dark blue, of a silky material, with a
few strands of lustrous black hair escaping out the sides. Her
face was covered by a filmy, white veil through which I could see
the shadow of her rouged lips. Her kohl dark eyes flashed as she
was brought to stand before me.

"Kneel before our lord," Murad commanded. As the guards started
to force the women to their knees, I gestured for them to stop.

"Who are you and what were you doing in that caravan?" I asked,
staring at both of them.

The older woman answered. "I am Julna, servant to the Lady Sari,
sent as a pleasure slave by the Emir of Samarkand to the Sultan
of Basrah."

The girl's dark eyes flashing, "Who shall destroy your tiny army
and cut out your heart the moment he hears of my capture," she
said, almost spitting the words into my face.

Stroking his beard, looking from one woman to the other, "Have
you not heard that he who sits on the throne of Basrah has no
interest in women?" Klaatu-Omar said, smiling slightly. "He ...
ah, prefers more masculine companionship."

I watched as Julna's eyes shifted from Klaatu-Omar to Sari, then
back as she replied. "We have heard that the women of the harem
pine for their former lord, the slain Sultan Arthur. However, the
Emir sent this pleasure slave as tribute to the Sultan of Basrah,
and so she must be delivered."

Klaatu-Omar stared into Julna's eyes, then shifted his gaze to
Sari as he said, "But the former Sultan was not slain. He stands
before you, Arthur, the rightful Sultan of Basrah."

"No," Sari said, her eyes moving from Klaatu-Omar to me. "I don't
believe it."

"You know of that mark all those of the royal line of Basrah bear
on their bodies, that mark the usurper has refused to show the
people of the kingdom?" Klaatu-Omar asked, still staring at the
two women.

"I have heard tell of the Hawk of Basrah which marks those of the
royal line," Julna whispered, looking from Klaatu-Omar to me.

"My Lord, will you bare your chest that these women may see that
you bear the mark of the royal line of Basrah?"

I loosened my belt and sash, then pulled open my jacket, seeing
on my broad chest a dark brown birthmark that looked vaguely like
a hawk. As the women saw the mark, they fell to their knees
before me, first Julna, then Sari.

"To whom has this girl been sent as tribute?" Klaatu-Omar asked
Julna, as she knelt at my feet.

"To the Sultan of Basrah. She is to be the pleasure slave of the
Sultan of Basrah."

"And do you acknowledge that Lord Arthur, the rightful Sultan of
Basrah stands before you?" Klaatu-Omar continued.

"Yes, it is he. He is the lord to whom Sari is sent as tribute,"
Julna answered, her face to the ground.

As Julna spoke, Sari gasped, but said nothing.

"Sari," I said, "Do you acknowledge me as the rightful Sultan of
Basrah and your lord?"

"Yes, lord," she whispered. "You are my master. I am the slave of
your body." Then, she crawled forward and kissed my feet.

I looked down at Sari and Julna as they knelt before me, "Very
well, I accept you as my slaves," I said. Gesturing toward my
tent, "Wait inside."

"Lord, there is a tent for the women with the caravan," Murad
said. "Should I have it erected?"

"Yes, and have all the treasure brought here that I may know how
much you have gained for our cause."

It didn't take long before the treasure - coins, ornaments, gems
- was laid out on cloths spread on the sand. All the men of the
camp had a hand in this, most filching a coin or small piece of
jewelry as they helped. I understood this was expected from these
hard men and that my custom was to take no action as long as the
pilferage was minor.

Klaatu-Omar helped with the division of the spoils. The first
half to be taken by Murad and a contingent of my men to help the
people of Basrah. Out of the remainder, each of the men received
one or more coins (depending on rank) as their wages. I made sure
each of the men who had taken part in capturing the caravan
received an extra coin. Tossing a small bag to Murad as reward,
"Don't spend all this in the wine shops of Basrah and wind up so
drunk you forget to return," I laughed. For myself, I took a fine
emerald necklace and a couple of gem-encrusted bracelets and
rings, slipping them into my waistband.

What remained, approximately a third, I would take a party of my
men to transport to the secret hiding place of our treasure.
"Art, don't worry about the journey. You'll find you have all the
skills you need, and you won't have any trouble finding the
hiding place," Klaatu said in my head. "I'll be with you. Just
summon me if you desire anything."

Waiting for the treasure to be loaded on the pack animals, I
stepped into my tent. In the heat of the enclosed space, the
women, seated on large pillows, had opened a little the tops of
their robes and removed their headscarves and veils. "Klaatu,
keep the temperature at a comfortable level in my tent and the
women's" I mentally ordered, immediately feeling the air
beginning to cool.

As I entered, the women turned away, hiding their faces, then
seeing it was me, they turned back, the uncertainty they were
feeling apparent on their faces. Sari looked up for a moment,
then cast her eyes down. "Welcome lord," Julna said. "Will you
have a cool drink? Chilled wine and pomegranate juice have been
provided to us by your servant."

Telling her I'd take some wine, I sat on one of the many pillows
scattered about the carpeted floor. As Sari handed me the silver
goblet, her hand almost trembling, she looked up into my face.
Staring directly into her dark eyes, I let the corners of my
mouth turn up in a small smile. I couldn't help noticing how
pretty she was, with high cheekbones, her full lips slightly
rouged, a slight Oriental slant to her large, kohled eyes.
Glancing down, I saw the soft curve of the top of her bosom
barely revealed by the open collar of her robe. Then, looking
into her face again, I saw her smiling shyly back at me.

Feeling in my loins the months of sexual deprivation my body had
endured, I considered taking Sari now. But then I realized that
if I really wanted the full experience of this adventure, I
should probably play through the game as Klaatu had designed it.

Smiling at her, "Tell me about yourself, Sari. How old are you?"

Her eyes looking down, "I am sixteen, lord."

I didn't realize she was so young. "And how long have you been a
pleasure girl?"

"When I was nine, I was examined by the Emir's women and chosen
for the harem." Looking at me with those big eyes, "I was trained
in all the ways a woman may use her body to bring pleasure to a
man. Her eyes looking down, and then up into mine, "All so I
might please you, my lord."

Sorely tempted, I said nothing, taking a sip of wine, staring at
Sari until she again lowered her eyes before me.

"Lord Arthur," Julna quickly interjected. "In addition to being
expert in giving pleasure with her body, Sari is an accomplished
dancer, is skilled with the harp and has a lovely singing voice.
Also, she is an expert narrator of fabulous tales, and can read
and write."

"Remarkable in one so young," I said smiling at the women.

A scratching sound on the tent signaled the presence of one of my
men. I stepped out to hear his message, "Lord, the women's tent
is ready, also, the treasure has been packed on the mules and
your men are ready to depart."

The women had heard too, and in seconds came out, dressed to
conceal themselves as they had been before. I explained that I
was leaving on a mission and wouldn't be back until very late at
night, or tomorrow.

Sari's big eyes filled with tears, then bowing her head, "Lord, I
pray you may return soon and safely," she said.

"May Allah protect you, lord," were Julna's words. Then they
hurried to their tent, which had been set up a little way from
mine.

Hassan brought me a chain mail shirt which I quickly donned. With
surprising ease, I mounted my horse, a dappled mare. Then looking
back at my men, raising my arm, I shouted "Forward," leading my
little party out of the oasis into the northwestern desert.

There were eleven in our party, all mounted and armed, six men
leading the six pack mules, two scouts and two outriders, plus
me.

Surprisingly, I rode easily, like it was something I had been
doing my whole life. Though the desert was mostly made up of sand
dunes, the bare sand was occasionally marked by a rock outcrop, a
half-buried mesa, or a small stand of palms indicating an
underground source of water. I knew the way, which landmarks to
follow. Heading generally northwest, I recognized each of the
landmarks as we came to it, leading my small band to our secret
destination.

The sun was hot, after a while shining almost directly into our
eyes as it neared the western horizon. We were approaching a
large outcropping of rocks when my horse, crying out in pain,
stumbled and fell, throwing me to the hard ground. My horse
whinnying again, I looked over to see an arrow stuck in the
saddle as she laid on her side.

My men were scattering to escape the arrows raining down on us,
though I was happy to see the men leading the mules stayed with
their charges. When I looked up again, my men were all on the
ground using what cover was available.

Bending over to make himself a smaller target, Hassan ran up to
me. "Lord Arthur, thank Allah you're not hurt. It must be
Rachid's band, that devil's brigand. If only we knew where they
were hiding. It's like the desert ghosts shooting at us."

"They're in the outcrop there, in the shadows from the rocks,"
barely raising my head to point out the location to our west. "We
can't see them because of the sun and the shadows. What men do we
have? Was anyone hurt?"

"Achmed is dead, an arrow through his throat. Two of the men are
wounded but can still fight."

I knew Rachid's band was made up of at least twenty men, and I
knew the only way out was through them.

"Alright," I said, trying to keep make my voice seem as confident
as possible. "We're going to rush them. Take four men toward the
north, staying low so you can't be seen, then take cover behind
those bushes. From that angle it might be easier for you to see
the location of Rachid's men than it is from here. I'll lead the
rest of the men in a frontal attack. When I signal, you attack
from the flank, keeping your men spread out so they don't make
too easy a target for the bowmen until you reach the rocks."

Within minutes, Hassan had his men moving to the north. With the
four remaining men, I waited until Hassan's men were in position.
The arrows had stopped. I hoped they were running short of
ammunition but thought they probably just didn't want to waste
arrows without clear targets.

The sun was getting lower and lower. I knew we had to attack
before it set. It would be suicide to try to attack the rock
outcrop in the dark, and if we stayed where we were, Rachid's
band could pick us off one by one.

"Ready men," I said. "Keep low and spread out." Then, sending a
mental message to Klaatu to protect me ("Don't worry, I shall."),
I drew my scimitar, moved out of my cover and began running for
the rocks, hoping my men were following.

I could hear the heavy breathing of my men as we ran for the
rocks, zigzagging to avoid the arrows falling around us. One of
the men cried out as he was hit by an arrow, then shouted, "I'm
alright, I can make it."

The shadows were much longer now as the sun neared the horizon.
When we were about halfway to the outcrop, just before we were
inside the shadow of the rock, I turned to my right, swinging my
sword over my head, signaling to Hassan. Seeing the glint of his
sword in response, I began running again for the pile of rocks.

Our eyes adjusting to the dark in the shadow of the outcrop, it
was easier to see our enemy now. I felt an arrow glance off my
chain mail, then we were clambering up the rocks, too close now
for arrows. In front of me, in a hollow, were three men, dropping
their bows, reaching for their swords. I jumped at them, hacking
one in the shoulder, turning to thrust through another as he
struggled to pull out his sword. The third man, seeing his two
companions down, turned fleeing down the rock.

To my right, my men were battling a large number of Rachid's men.
I joined the fight, slamming my shoulder into the side of one of
the enemy, knocking him off balance, thrusting my scimitar into
his belly, noticing the gout of blood, the intestines spilling as
I pulled out my sword. Then Hassan's men were there, a line of
five swordsmen pressing the enemy on their flank.

With that, the enemy's resistance collapsed, some throwing down
their weapons, others turning to flee. I saw Rachid fleeing down
the rock, running for where their horses were tethered. Running,
I caught up with him as he was grabbing for the reins of his
horse. "Rachid," I yelled, "Your time is up."

Turning, raising his sword to swing at me, "This is your last day
on earth, deposed Sultan," he cried. I ducked beneath his sword,
thrusting at his chest. He parried. Our swords locked at the
guards, as each pushed with all his strength at the other. Then
Rachid brought up his foot, kicking me in the belly. I went to my
knees, winded, lifting my sword to parry his rush. Raising his
sword, overbalancing, he created an opening for me. On one knee I
extended my reach all the way, thrusting him through the stomach.
Coughing blood, his wide eyes glaring at me, Rachid fell dead.

Standing over Rachid's body, I thought to myself "Typical - the
hero killing the enemy leader in single combat. Well, that's what
I wanted." Though, seeing real blood and death was shocking, even
if it was what I asked for and these weren't totally real human
beings. Then, my men arrived, cheering.

We had killed seven and captured four, one of those dying within
a few minutes. The rest escaped, though with Rachid dead they
wouldn't be any further threat. I told our three prisoners they
could join me, or I would release them weaponless into the
desert. I don't know if they believed I would really let them go,
but all three chose to join us. Outside of Achmed, who was killed
at Rachid's first attack, we had suffered no deaths or serious
wounds.

Ordering my men to hurry before the light disappeared, I had them
strip the dead of their weapons and valuables, then bury them in
a common grave covered with stones. We captured six horses from
the enemy, so with our three recruits, we had three extra horses,
plus Achmed's, to ride when ours tired.

We ate and rested until moonrise, about an hour. Soon the white,
almost full moon was shining down on us, the moonlight reflecting
off the sand producing sufficient light to complete our journey.
Though my horse was bruised, she could be ridden.

It took another two hours to reach the small oasis that was
located just outside the hiding place of our treasure. Leaving my
men at the oasis, tying each mule one to the other and leading
them in a line behind me, I rode to the elaborately carved cliff
face. Who knew how many thousands of years ago my ancestors made
this carving? Making sure the beasts were well tethered, I took a
torch from the entrance, lighting it with flint and steel, and
entered the tomb.

The way was dark, musty, smelling of bat guano. I reached the
small chamber at the end, empty except for a few carved stone
statues. There, after searching in the darkness, I found the
stone. Pushing with all my strength, the hidden entrance known
only to members of the royal house of Basrah, slowly swung open.
Bending low to walk the length of the passage, I reached the
burial chamber. Lighting one of the torches placed in sconces
around the chamber, I saluted the body of my ancestor lying in a
huge, stone sarcophagus.

With my greater strength and endurance, it took less than an hour
to carry the bags and boxes from the mules, depositing them in
the corner of the burial chamber where our treasure was piled.
Closing the secret passage, I left the tomb of my long-dead
ancestor and returned to my men at the oasis.

Soon, we were riding again through the moonlit desert on the way
back to our camp. With the moonlight shining off the bright sand,
I was reminded of the few times I had been out in a moonlit
snowscape.

With the mules no longer slowed by their burden, and without
having to battle any desert brigands, the ride back to the
encampment didn't take nearly as long as the trip out. Riding at
a steady pace, changing to extra horses when needed, without
stopping to rest, it only took four hours before we heard the
challenge of the sentry outside our camp. It was well past
midnight, probably closer to two in the morning, and except for
the sounds made by my men, the encampment was quiet.

As I walked to my tent, my way lit by the moon, I heard a voice
whisper, "Lord Arthur."

It was Julna, her head bowed before me, standing in front of the
women's tent. Looking up at me, the moonlight shining in her eyes
above the dark veil covering her face, she whispered, "Lord, the
Lady Sari awaits your pleasure in your tent."

Saying nothing, I stood before Julna waiting for what was to
follow.

"Lord, I ... I pray you be gentle with her. The lady ... Lady
Sari, she's ... she's never been with a man."

"What, how can that be? She was a member of the Emir of
Samarkand's harem, she was trained to please men with her body."

"Very few of the women of the harem are used by the Emir. They
are prepared to be pleasure girls to be sent as gifts or sold in
the slave markets of Samarkand," Julna replied the tears filling
her eyes obvious in the moonlight. "Sari was trained by me, and
other women, using our fingers, our mouths and tongues, and a
variety of devices that she would learn to bring and receive
pleasure with her body. But never has she lain with a man.

"I ... I love her like my own daughter. She has been in my charge
since she was a child. She is a lovely girl who will be a jewel
of your harem and bring much joy to you. All I beg of you, lord,
is that this first time, you treat her with the gentleness she
deserves. Please, Lord Arthur, take her as gently as you can."

Reaching out my hand, taking her hand in mine as she bowed before
me, "Very well, I will be as gentle with your lady as possible."
Turning from Julna, I walked to my tent.

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