Now I was curious, and stood tall to indicate that I felt ready to embark into the next hall.
Sinclair motioned to the orange-gold plate. ‘Lemuria awaits you.’
I hesitated a moment. ‘And shall I be seeing you there?’ I gazed into Sinclair’s blue eyes and his smile was answer enough. ‘So who was my key third root race incarnation?’ I continued. Sinclair had already walked the Halls of Amenti, therefore I assumed he knew all that had happened in this second hall.
It seemed I was wrong for he was shaking his head. ‘Although you and I have incarnated together in all of our lifetimes in order to aid each other to greatness, we did not necessarily reach enlightenment in the same lifetime,’ he explained. ‘When I entered this hall, I only bore witness to my own key Lemurian lifetime; your key incarnation may have been born in another lifetime altogether.’
‘I see.’ I gave up trying to siphon information from my host and turned to face Amenti’s second porthole.
When I stepped onto the activation plate, I perceived a great welling of energy within my navel area. The whirling force extended to my spleen, where the second chakra of my subtle form was located. The chakra began to vibrate with a sonic tone, and as the note grew deep in my belly, the sound resonated up to my larynx and became a deep vocalisation. The particles of my subtle body went into an excited frenzy as they brought themselves into alignment with the glowing orange-gold porthole before me.
The water within began to swirl clockwise into the centre, and the second counter-clockwise water spiral penetrated the swirling column from behind. Orange light erupted from the vortex and my consciousness was drawn into the otherworldly passage, back to the time of the first physical manifestations of humanity.
ROOT RACE THREE—PHYSICAL (45,000 BC); THE HA-MAZON
I am Antiope, daughter of Otrera, of the Hamazon. Our enemies have come to call us the Antianeira—‘those who fight like men’—or the Androktones—‘killers of men’; both are well founded. We Ha-mazon are a tribe of warrior women, the progeny of gods and queens, legendary for our prowess in battle and despised by every kingdom in the known world for our independence from the shackles of male bondage. No Ha-mazon has ever married, nor will ever do so. We seduce any prisoners of royal blood, then kill them to prevent any attempt to claim us or our offspring. Our daughters are raised to be warriors; our male progeny are slaughtered at birth.
Today we have two captives: Herakles, whom it is said has the blood of the Lord of the Sky in his veins, a man of Lilian stock belonging to the clan of the god, Enlil; and Theseus, the son of Queen Aethra of Attica and a fair specimen of Kian stock. Both are of bloodlines that could empower our race. Our warriors ambushed them on the shores of the Euxine Sea, before they could begin their attack on our capital, Themiscyra, with the aim of possessing the legendary girdle of invincibility worn by our queen, my older sister, Hyleana. Their quest is folly, however, as the only way the treasure can be transferred is if it is given freely. And as our queen is renowned for her chastity and her skill in combat, any man believing he will one day possess the girdle of power is the greatest of fools.
Herakles and Theseus are brought before Queen Hyleana in the High Temple of Lilith, the great founding mother of my tribe.
Our great foremother was not of Lillian stock, as her name suggests. For although the god Nergal, a son of Enlil, raped Lilith’s human mother, her mother claimed that the spirit of the Lord Enki had come over her attacker just before Lilith’s conception to transform the base act into one of love and healing. Because of this, Lilith considered herself Kian. Her father, Enki, had been cast out of the Nefilim city of Eden long before Lilith’s birth and branded as a serpent traitor thereafter. Due to Lilith’s insistence that she was the daughter of Enki and not Nergal, she was branded a serpent also—the Dragon Queen—and considered a lowly creature, giving the gods the perfect excuse to use her for their pleasure and for the breeding of other demi-god daughters to abuse and exploit. They even tried breeding Lilith with a man, Adama, but as a demi-god Lilith refused to take a subservient role to a human. For twelve thousand years the gods held her captive, first on Earth and then in the heavens. During the course of her long suffering, Lilith’s spiritual father spoke to her in her sleep and eventually she came to realise that the legacy of her spiritual parentage had instilled in her many superhuman talents: the ability to read minds, to see spirits, to predict the future, to comprehend different languages, to move objects with her mind, and the art of levitation. When the Nefilim returned to resume their mining and scientific projects on Earth, Lilith and her many daughters rebelled against their oppressors and fled. They founded the Ha-mazon race—‘Ha-mazon’ being our word for ‘warriors’—and for thousands of years Lilith ruled the Ha-mazon, nurturing the superhuman talents of the women in her company and teaching them how to use these talents for the construction of cities and to make war on those who tried to take what was ours. Once the Ha-mazon were well established and prosperous, Lilith, weary of her earthly burdens and battles, called upon her father, Enki, asking that he show her the way to her repose. It is said that the Lord of the World sent his seraphs to escort Lilith to his heavenly house of many halls, where she sleeps peacefully in a flower beneath a healing ray, where she will remain until the end of days, when Enki shall recall all his spiritual warriors to battle for the redemption of this Earth and her human children.
Today our Queen Hyleana is dressed as a goddess. Her golden hair hangs in long ringlets and the crown of our foremothers is upon her head. A veil covers her face, but many necklaces, rings, anklets and bracelets adorn her person and her prized girdle of gold bands the top of a fancy flounced skirt—a plainer version of which is our warriors’ uniform. Every Ha-mazon wears a metal vest that exposes one breast and flattens and protects the breast of our bow arm. It is rumoured among our enemies that we Ha-mazon burn one breast in infancy to more fully develop our weapons arm, but those men who learn the truth never live to tell.
‘I live in the opulence of Athens and I have seen the splendour of Troy, yet never have I witnessed architecture so remarkable and elegant as this,’ Theseus compliments her, on being introduced to our queen.
‘Women are by nature constructive,’ our queen explains. ‘Men have proved more efficient at deconstruction.’
‘A sweeping generalisation, your Majesty.’ Herakles speaks up in defence of his sex. ‘Indeed, your entire tribe proves that there can be an equal amount of creator and destroyer in one person, so does it not stand to reason that some men are gentle and creative by nature too?’
Our queen is more amused than insulted, thus Herakles ventures to expand on his argument.
‘Take young Theseus here,’ Herakles motions to his companion, ‘he did not come to Pontus to make war. He is here purely to admire and learn about your culture and history.’
‘So that he might better know how to conquer us once he is King of Attica,’ Asteria, head of our armies, interjects, and the laughter from our troops seems to indicate that they agree.
‘That is not my intent,’ Theseus insists. ‘I am compiling a book on the belief systems of different nations in an attempt to draw parallels and establish some understanding and respect of foreign cultures. I hope that people might learn to cooperate for the mutual benefit of trade, rather than destroy those lands we covet or do not understand.’
‘That is a noble pursuit,’ Hyleana grants, although all we Ha-mazon know Theseus will never have the opportunity to complete the work.
I will be the warrior who seduces and kills the Prince of Attica. My sisters have instructed me in the art of seduction, but this is the first opportunity I have been awarded to test my comprehension. Killing, however, is second nature.
‘And why are you here?’ Hyleana turns her attention back to Herakles.
‘I come to ask if I may borrow your girdle of power—’
Laughter drowns him out. It takes our queen a few moments to compose herself before she makes a signa
l to restore silence in the temple. ‘You would have to kill me or seduce me to take my girdle,’ she explains, ‘and as I am invincible in battle and sworn to chastity…’ She shrugs in conclusion.
‘There must be some task I can perform for you so that I may merely borrow the girdle,’ Herakles suggests gamely.
‘Why is it so important to you?’ Hyleana sounds genuinely interested.
‘I am doing penance to my sworn enemy as punishment for the deaths of the two souls who meant the most to me in all the world.’ Herakles looks pained by the fact and to my people there is nothing more attractive than a man in pain. ‘As part of that penance he has ordered that I bring to him your girdle of power…but he did not specify that I must leave the girdle in his possession. My only hope is to somehow win this favour from you, and then return the girdle when my task is done.’
Hyleana looks thoughtful. ‘There is only one thing you could achieve that I cannot…’
‘Name the task, your Majesty,’ Herakles encourages.
‘Impregnate all my troops,’ our queen says jovially. A loud cheer rises from the thousands of women in attendance.
Herakles seems overwhelmed by the prospect and his face takes on a bemused smile. I have seen many a man led to his death wearing just that smile.
‘That could take some time, your Majesty, and I have several more tasks to perform before my penance will be done,’ Herakles barters, believing that he still has choices.
‘Then you had best get started,’ Hyleana advises him. ‘Take them away, ladies.’
Before either man can protest they are hit with several tranquillising darts and drop to the ground immobilised.
Hyleana rises and removes her veil to smile at me. ‘Theseus is all yours,’ she says encouragingly. ‘Enjoy yourself, sweet Ann, and bring me his head when you are done.’
I bow; it is my honour to perform her will.
I bathe in scented oil and drape myself in a fine fabric of crimson red. In my bedchamber I find Theseus, stripped to his loincloth and strung between two support pillars; he does not look happy.
‘So the rumour that you rape and murder your royal captives would be true?’ he says.
‘I am here for your pleasure,’ I assure him as I approach. ‘You are bound for my protection.’ I bury a kiss deep into the nape of his neck.
He seems to find my justification amusing. ‘Look at you,’ he admires my warrior physique, ‘you could crush me with your little finger.’
It is true that Theseus is slighter than your average hardened warrior, but he is prettier too.
‘I am no threat to you,’ he whispers, so tenderly that I almost believe him. ‘Cut me loose and it will be my pleasure to indulge you.’
I push away and let the red cloth fall from my body; it billows to the floor at my feet. It is arousing to have his eyes so intent upon me.
‘I guess the mutilation rumours were false,’ he says, referring to my unscathed breasts.
I lie down on the bed before him and, stretching out, run my hands over my naked, oiled form. ‘I know how to pleasure myself.’
Theseus is aroused by my display. ‘Pleasuring yourself will not get you with child.’
‘Oh, I think I can persuade you to rise to the occasion,’ I say, amused, and slide my fingers deep into my pleasure zone, expressing my satisfaction with a moan of delight.
Theseus closes his eyes tight. ‘And if I do not cooperate?’
I rise, approach and rip the loincloth from his body. ‘Fortunately, men have no control in this matter.’ I press my naked form against him.
He strains to focus on resisting my will, but his member hardens with my every caress. He knows that surrendering to his desire will be the death of him and yet the event is inevitable.
‘You do this a lot, don’t you?’ he whispers, hurt evident in his tone.
I smile at his misconception. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think that men are like cattle to you…and I am just another piece of meat to be bred from and slaughtered.’
‘Which is exactly what I am to you,’ I counter.
‘That is not true, Antiope.’
I am shocked that he knows my name, for we have not been introduced.
‘Yes, I know you,’ he goes on softly. ‘You are the reason I accompanied Herakles on this quest. I have heard rumours of your beauty and prowess in battle and I was curious to see if the stories were true.’
‘And are you disappointed?’ I ask, even though I know I am leaving myself open to emotional attack. One of the first rules of sexual engagement we learn is: do not allow the act to become personal by indulging in idle talk.
‘In appearance you are every bit as beautiful as reported,’ he assures me. ‘But true beauty comes from the heart, Antiope, and your heart is closed.’
My body is wrapped around Theseus and so he cannot see how hurtful I find his remark. I cannot resist telling him the truth—not only because it will be a rude shock to him, but because it will inflame his desire. ‘I have never lain with a man,’ I utter softly in his ear. I pull back to look him in the eyes, and the passion I see there sparks a fire in my chest.
‘And I am a dead man,’ Theseus replies. His member jumps to attention as he kisses me, and the emotion conveyed through our bodily contact sets my head and senses reeling. I pull myself up to mount him.
‘Wait,’ he pleads. ‘I want to hold you—could you not free just one of my arms? Please?’
My state of arousal sends me searching urgently for a blade—with two legs and one arm still bound, he is hardly a threat to me. I spy a knife and my mental summons brings it flying across the room and into my grasp. I slice through the leather strap that binds Theseus’s right arm. When I look into my imminent lover’s face I am moved, for I have never witnessed such adoration before.
‘You are extraordinary,’ he tells me, his voice rich with tenderness as his freed arm enfolds me and pulls me closer. ‘In another life I would marry you.’
I am not insulted, for I understand it is meant as a compliment. ‘To the Ha-mazon, marriage is an act of treason,’ I say.
‘And sex is an act of war,’ he adds regretfully.
‘And war is an act of love,’ I conclude.
Theseus is frustrated by our creed. ‘So in order to prove my love I must make war with you?’
‘Indeed.’ I smile to encourage him. ‘So what are you waiting for? Make war with me!’
Submerged in a kiss so involved and all-consuming, I am unaware of anything beyond the pleasure within my body. This experience is more intense than battle, and more exciting than a covert mission. New and powerful emotions rush through me like the waves of a stormy sea; I am drowning in a state of bliss previously unknown to me. By the time my objective is achieved and the seed of Theseus flows inside me, the Prince of Attica is free of all his bonds and our bodies lie entwined on my bed of padded skins.
‘Again,’ I urge playfully, and the source of my pleasure laughs and rolls on his side, propping up his head with one hand to speak with me.
‘Sweet Ann.’ He uses my sister’s pet name for me and I realise he must have still been conscious when she gave me my final orders. ‘Do you not have other plans for me?’
All the new emotions I am feeling weaken my resolve to carry out my orders; the thought of never knowing such pleasure as this again fills me with dread. Even though I am well aware that this prince’s fond words and caresses are merely his escape plan, I am willingly enchanted.
‘You would kill me if given half the chance,’ I say.
‘Is that right?’ His challenge is a little unnerving. ‘Do you recall cutting my other bonds in the course of our lovemaking?’
I do not, and shockwaves rock my body as I see him produce my blade from behind his back.
‘I have had it the entire time.’ He hands me the weapon and all I can do is swallow. ‘I can hardly kill the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Still, you have a job to do,’ he positions the knife
in my hand so that I might take aim at his heart. ‘If you are the last thing I see, then I die a happy man.’
My entire life has centred around one premise: that men are mindless, self-centred, murdering perverts. But if they are not, then how many good men have I killed?
Tears of protest well in my eyes. ‘I can hardly kill the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.’ I turn the blade towards my own heart instead.
‘No.’ Theseus stays my hand.
‘They will kill me anyway,’ I say, struggling for possession of the weapon.
‘Come with me back to Attica,’ he begs and I cease to battle him.
‘They will pursue us,’ I tell him, releasing my weapon into his possession. ‘You will start a war over me.’
‘Your queen started that war when she ordered my death,’ Theseus corrects. ‘And you may well be carrying the heir to the throne of Attica. I will not have him slaughtered at birth, or before.’
A voice interrupts us from the doorway. ‘Get dressed, we need to depart.’ It is Herakles, and he slaps his hands together to rally us.
I stand, naked, and will the knife back into my hand. ‘How did you escape?’
He shrugs. ‘I am Herakles.’ The knife is snatched from my possession and flies straight to the huge warrior’s grasp. ‘Did I mention we are in a bit of a hurry?’
He turns to face in the other direction while we dress. ‘Is there a back way out of this city?’ he asks.
‘I can get you out,’ I assure them, for our city is riddled with secret passages and escape routes and I know all of them.
There is no chance to engage in conversation until we reach the Mycenaean army still camped by the sea. As the troops prepare to depart, I ask Herakles about the sack he is carrying. He produces from it the golden girdle of the Ha-mazon queen.
My labrys—my double-headed axe—is in my hand faster than I can think to draw it from where it rested against my back. ‘What have you done?’