They traveled the main caravan route for a week, moving across the desert until one morning they turned north onto a smaller track toward the snowcapped mountains in the distance. After another week, they found themselves in the foothills wending their way along seemingly nonexistent paths deeper and deeper into what appeared to be a total wilderness. The canyons grew narrower, the stone walls higher, leaving but a strip of bright blue sky above them. Yet each night they camped at perfectly suitable sites near running streams. It was obvious that this was a familiar passage for the Kavans.

Once they had reached the foothills, each of the male slaves being transported was given a pair of sturdy leather sandals to protect their feet from the rough terrain. And to Dagon's amazement the men were not forbidden from communicating. He fell into the habit of speaking with the men behind and before him. Both knew of Kava prior to their enslavement, and were delighted to have been chosen by the High Procuress to become new members of the women's community.

"She is a former queen herself, old Zenaida," one of the men, called Wit, said one day as they walked and spoke of the future.

"How do you know that?" Dagon was surprised.

"One of the women warriors told me," Wit said with a chuckle. "She favors me, and has made our trip quite pleasant. Tell me, why are you kept in the High Procuress's tent each night? Does she favor you, Dagon of Aramas?"

Now it was Dagon's turn to laugh. "Nay," he answered, "but she means to give me as a gift to their current queen."

"Ahhh," murmured the other companion, Ziv, "to have a cock twice the size of mortal men, and half again as big as a god's!"

"Their women are wearing me out," Dagon complained. "I never knew such lustful creatures. Women should not be so forward. It is unnatural. They treat me like some toy with which they gratify their own desires and passions. I am nothing more to them than a plaything!"

"I can't complain about such treatment," Wit said seriously. "It is every man's dream, my friend. A lustful woman upon whom one can pleasure himself, and yet have absolutely no responsibility to that woman. I shall be very content in Kava."

The caravan climbed higher now, moving into the mountains. Soft, light wool cloaks were issued the slaves, for, despite the sun, the days were cooler, and the winds sharper.

One evening Zenaida announced to Dagon that they were but three days from the city of Kava, but on the morrow they would enter into its kingdom.

"Your mighty cock is well primed after all these weeks of travel," she told him. "My girls cannot say enough in praise of you, my princeling. Until we reach the city, you must rest that magnificent organ so the queen may know its full power the first time you couple with her. Tonight I shall tell you of Kalida."

They sat opposite each other, a charcoal brazier between them heating the tent. They had eaten a fine repast of roasted gazelle, a freshly caught fish that had been grilled with steamed greens and served with a bowl of groats, and a large bunch of green grapes. He was warm, and the wine was mellowing him.

"Is she beautiful?" he asked, curiously.

Zenaida nodded. "The goddess has more than favored her, and in more ways than just her beauty. Kalida's grandmother was a queen of Kava. She is a very proud woman, and a very intelligent one as well. This has perhaps contributed to her inability to fall in love. I do not think she believes she can give herself to anyone who is not her equal. Many men have been brought to Kava, both noble and peasant alike, but never have I found a king's son, a future king, among my slaves. I believe the goddess has sent you to be Kalida's mate, Dagon."

"And yet it was my great penis that attracted you first, lady," he teased her gently.

Zenaida chuckled. "Aye," she agreed, "it was, but was that also not a ploy of the goddess to bring you to my attention?"

He laughed with her. He liked this big kind woman who had more the qualities of a good mother, it seemed to him, than a queen or a dignitary. "Tell me what Kalida looks like," he said. "You say she is beautiful, and the goddess has favored her, but how beautiful?"

"She is tall for a woman. Her head will come to your shoulder. She is slender, yet her form is most womanly. Her breasts are like high cones of snow topped with rosy tips like a pale sunrise just touching the mountain's peak. Her face is shaped like a heart, her forehead smooth, high and unmarked. Her eyes are oval in shape, and the green of an emerald. Her nose is slim, and in perfect proportion with her face. Her mouth is large for a woman, and very, very sensual. Her hair is the color of gilt, the palest gold touched with silver. You have never seen hair this color before, I promise you."

"She sounds most fair," Dagon said softly.

"If you are to win her, you must tread a very fine line, my princeling," Zenaida cautioned him. "She must be treated like a queen at all times, but you must also make her feel like a woman. None have accomplished this feat before you. Do so, and your fortune is made."

"You are asking me to subvert my own nature to please your queen, Zenaida, and I do not know if I can," Dagon said honestly. "Your handmaids tell me each night as they mount me how inferior men are to women. Yet I believe the opposite. How am I to reconcile these two adverse reasonings then? And I must if I am to succeed in this endeavor."

"It is not unknown, although it is not spoken of aloud, for a man to hold a dominant position within his lover's bedchamber," Zenaida said quietly. "Although I shall deny it if asked, my size makes it far more comfortable for my mate, Durantis, to ride between my generous thighs than for me to mount his slimmer frame. I should crush the poor darling," she chuckled. "Once, however, I was as slender as our queen. Age has increased my girth, but even in our youth, Durantis and I sported in a variety of positions," she concluded. "You will have to have forbearance, Dagon, my handsome princeling. You must attract Kalida first with your great sexual prowess, and then with your intelligence and wit."

"How must I approach her?" he queried his mentor.

"First with respect, for she is a queen, though you are her equal. Still, make not the error one poor fool made several years ago when he decided that the queen was just a sweet little girl in need of a strong man's dominance. He was given that very night for public pleasures, and then sent to dig in our diamond mines where he still resides, greatly chastened, I am informed, and considered a fool by his companions. Kalida may try your patience at first, and even seem arrogant, but she knows of no other way, having been Queen of Kava since she was just fourteen. Once she believes your esteem for her is genuine, you may safely begin your campaign to win her heart. Every woman has a heart, even Kalida, the Queen of Kava."

"I shall try not to disappoint you, great lady," he told her. No. He would not disappoint her, for the only way he might escape Kava and return to Aramas would be to become the queen's mate. This would allow him to live in the Outer Palace of the Consorts, free of restraint. He had learned a great deal from Zenaida's handmaidens these past weeks. The consorts of the former queens were men who could be trusted. The women warriors who guarded Kava paid them little heed. He would indeed have to be patient, for it would take months to effect his plan of escape, but escape he would.

And one day he would return to Aramas. Nogad might have taken Aurea for a wife, and sired sons upon her, but he would nonetheless slay his traitorous sibling, and his spawn. If Aurea objected, he would slay her, too. He could not marry a woman defiled by his twin. And if their father still lived, he would applaud his eldest son's actions. His father was a man of honor. If his father, however, had gone to the gods, he would simply destroy Nogad and all that was his, and take his rightful place upon the throne of Aramas.

Halfway through the following day, the caravan stopped before the foot of a tall mountain whose top belched forth smoke. The High Procuress stood before a wall of flat, black rock at the mountain's base, and struck it three times with her staff of office, calling, "In the name of the goddess, Suneva, open to me!" With a rumble, an opening appeared in the rock, and the caravan passed through into a well-lit tunnel. Zenaida then turned, and, striking the earth with her staff, said, "In the name of the goddess, Suneva, close, and keep us safe!" The opening then disappeared even as it had earlier revealed itself.

They moved through the passage for several hours. It was very silent but for the sound of feet, both animal and human. The area was comfortably wide enough to accommodate the caravan, and very well lit. The air was still, and a trifle musty. Dagon had noted the smoking top of the mountain as they entered beneath it, but he saw no evidence of volcanic activity as they moved along. They stopped to rest and eat after an hour or more. A woman warrior came and unchained Dagon, reconnecting Wit to Ziv.

"The lady Zenaida wishes your company, barbarian," she said.

Reaching the High Procuress, he bowed deferentially to her.

She handed him a piece of flat bread to eat, and offered her flask of wine. "Walk by my side the rest of the way," she said.

"I thank you for your kindness," he answered.

"Nicely done," she remarked approvingly. "Polite, but not servile. I knew I might count upon your instincts, Dagon."

"Why does the mountaintop smoke?" he asked her. "This is no volcano, great lady."

"You are observant," she replied. "The top smokes because we make it smoke. People see it, and assume the mountain is dangerous. That, of course, suits our purposes as you will soon discover. It is so simple. The smoke comes from pitch burning in a kettle. The kettle sits atop a clay brazier so no flames from the fire can be seen." She held out a hand to him. Pulling her to her feet, he helped her into her cart, which was drawn by two sturdy white horses. "Another hour," Zenaida said, "and we shall exit this passage into the valley of Kava, my princeling. It will be another day and a half to the city from there."

It was late afternoon when they came forth from the tunnel. Immediately the sound of trumpets was heard echoing back and forth throughout the great valley with its rim of green hills. Dagon looked about him, and saw the fortifications at the tunnel's mouth. Upon the barricade walls stood well-armed women warriors, and a half a dozen trumpeters who were sounding both a welcome and a message to the forts farther on, and closer to the city itself. He was impressed in spite of himself.

They made their encampment that night by the tunnel fort. Looking out over the valley before the sun set, the Prince of Aramas thought he had never seen a more beautiful place. Their travels the following day confirmed his first impressions. Zenaidapointed out the road moving back into the mountains where the mines were located. They came down into an area of soft hills where sheep and cattle grazed. In the deeper valley there were orchards and vineyards. They passed through several small villages, the most interesting feature of which was the paucity of men, and older boys.

"Are there no men in these villages?" he asked.

"There are some graybeards, of course, whose good behavior over the years has earned them the privilege of remaining with their mates. Other men are allowed to come at planting and harvest times, and, of course, at festival times," Zenaidaexplained. "Each year on the great feast of Suneva the eight-year-old boys are gathered up throughout the land, and brought to the military barracks to begin their training."

"Have you ever had any sons?" he gently inquired.

"Durantis and I bred up three boys and four daughters," she replied matter-of-factly. "Our sons are long gone, and our daughters are a great comfort to us now. Sons leave their mothers when they take a wife anyway," Zenaida reasoned. "They would have gone sooner than later, my princeling."

It was midmorning of the next day that they saw the city for the first time. Dagon had to admit to himself that he had never before seen such a wonderful and fantastic place. It was all white marble. Golden domes and soaring silver-roofed towers that touched the sky, green hanging gardens, and glistening water courses all beckoned.

"There is the Outer Palace of the Consorts," Zenaida told him, pointing to a magnificent group of buildings as they passed it. "And there are the boys' barracks there."

He noted both were well outside the city's walls. He was surprised when the caravan turned off, but his mentor explained that the new male slaves would be bathed, evaluated, and then sent to their assignments. "What of me? Am I to go to the queen now?" he asked.