Gates to Glory

ASHURRAN: GATES TO GLORY

The Story of Ashurran, Warrior Princess

She was born in a tribe of fierce female warriors. As a child, she played with swords and spears. She had the only path before her, to become the tribe chief after her mother. Yet Ashurran dreamt of strange lands, of bigger battles, of greater fame. She took the magical Gates to Glory, traveled to another world and won renown, riches, the rank of general and a husband (beside many lovers of both sexes). She met sorcerers and kings, elves and savages, dragons and demons. She became a goddess.

Gates to Glory, by Tiamat

ISBN: 9781370998586

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2017 Tiamat

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means — by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise — without prior written permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design © 2017 Heneya Natus

Cover art source: shutterstock.com

This is a stand-alone novel, although it could be considered a part of the three-part series with dominant female characters. The other two parts are:

My Angel of the Dawn

Denna’s Choice

The first one is available for free on Wattpad, the second one hasn’t been translated yet.

https://www.wattpad.com/user/tiamat-press

http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiamat_Corruptor_of_Elves

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15371253.Tiamat

* * *

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

Laozi

Cattle die, kinsmen die,

you yourself will die.

But glory never dies

for he who can get it.

Poetic Edda, trans. Jeramy Dodds

The complete account of the travels and exploits of Ashurran, the legendary female warrior, Princess of Arrian, General of Yunan and Younger Goddess of Pandeya.

Book I: Bird Feathers

1. Of Irshawan

Irshawan was a rich and thriving continent. Its vast lands stretched for thousands of leagues, from the burning-hot deserts in the south to the sparkling glaciers in the north, from the boiling sea abyss where the sun rose to the black barren cliffs where it set.

In those days people said ‘Irshawan’ thinking ‘the whole world,’ because they knew no land that wasn’t a part of it. They were: Lankmar in the middle, Arrian in the south, Sogda in the east, Hirmend in the west, Iredge in the north.

The mighty and glorious Lankmar consisted of nine kingdoms. Southern Tiers was renowned for its vineyards and gardens, and northern Feidamar – for its forests and plentiful game. Eastern Luallan was famous for its fish and pearls, and its twin, Western Luallan, for its blacksmiths and goldsmiths, marble and iron ore. Horses were the pride of southwestern Kanbars, and cattle, of southeastern Huttalar. Northwestern Akhsatan boasted of fine silk, velvet and brocade, and northeastern Orgende, of silver and gold.

The central kingdom of Uallakh, with its capital Kinsala, was like a beautiful diamond set among eight pearls, like a stallion of a pure blood among eight fine mares, like a great hero’s neck adorned with a priceless necklace.

There was no city in Irshawan more beautiful than Kinsala. It was known to lack any building made of wood or clay, having only those made of white marble and colored jasper, their roofs covered with yellow tiles. Its streets were paved with granite, its bridges — with pure silver. The tallest and prettiest of all buildings was the King’s Palace. It was where the High King of Lankmar sat on his golden throne, sovereign of nine kings, lord and master of one third of Irshawan. He ruled not only in the nine kingdoms, but in Sogda as well – a land of fishermen and pirates who roamed the seas of Irshawan and plundered its coasts. He ruled in Hirmend also – a land of stern mountain-dwellers. Only Iredge was not under his rule, because he needed not those frozen deserts. And Arrian had never been conquered by high kings of Lankmar, though many of them tried to do so.

Arrian was the land of wild steppes, vales and meadows, green hills and crystal-clear rivers, stone idols and female warriors that had no peers in the entire Irshawan.

In Arrian no one touched the earth with a plough, considering it a great blasphemy. The Arriany bred horses and cattle, and when they needed grain, they took it at the point of the sword or bought it for silver and gold from merchants. The rest of the world respected and feared Arrian, and hated it at the same time. The hatred was well-mixed with envy. The Arriany were rich and wanted for nothing, even though they didn’t work except with steel blades, battle axes and tight bows. It was the Arriany custom to fight not on horseback, but in a chariot. Usually they chose their charioteers not only as comrades-in-arms, but as lovers also. Such pairs were inseparable, like a blade and its hilt, a saddle and its stirrup, a banner and its flagstaff, a helmet and its visor.

The Arriany ruthlessly raided the bordering kingdoms of Lankmar — Tiers, Kanbars and Huttalar, sometimes going even further, taking cattle and captives. They kept men as slaves and bed-warmers, making them pasture cattle, prepare food and nurse children.

In Lankmar the Arriany were called tigresses, furies, snake daughters, and witches as often as not. Every Arriany of noble birth had a natural gift of doing some magic. The Arriany warriors, who had killed a sorcerer as if he were a mere human, were not unheard of.

The Arriany had no taste for peaceful life, and their tribes were continuously waging war on each other. There were many tribes in the steppe; each one had its own name and customs. The Red Foxes adorned their helmets with fox tails and were renowned for their cunning warfare. The Snake Tongues used forked spears and wore masks of snake skins over their faces. They even cut their tongues at the tip, to make it look like a forked snake’s tongue. The Ursas covered themselves with bear skins and fought with long and sharp steel claws on their gloves. The Eagles wore headdresses made of eagle feathers. The River Daughters fought with glass blades. The Wolves made their spearheads and arrowheads from wolf bones, and wounds inflicted by them didn’t heal. There were also the Leopards who wore leopard skins and believed themselves descendants of the union between the greatest warrior of the past and a male leopard. They roamed along the Lankmar border, among green hills and groves, and were highly respected by all the tribes.

A tribe chief was called ‘subhadra’ in the Arriany speech. The subhadra of the Leopards at that time was Argamaida daughter of Armorica daughter of Amarantha.

When the time was right, Argamaida had got with child. As men could delay or hasten an ejaculation, the same way the Arriany females could delay or hasten a conception, and that made them able to choose the father of the child and even the day of its birth. On the chosen day Argamaida could not deliver for a long time, even when a naked sword was laid between her legs, as it was the Arriany custom.

Bring my banner, the subhadra said.

The moment they laid her war banner on her legs, a baby girl was born.

She is to be a great warrior leader, soothsayers foretold.

She was named Ashurrantha, Ready for Battle. She was to be called by the shortened name Ashurran until it was her turn to be the tribe chief after her mother. She was like her mother in almost every feature: her skin swarthy, her hair raven-black, her eyebrows and lashes long and dark. Only her eyes were unique, of a dark-blue color, like the evening sky, like the water in a deep well.

She grew up, as every Arriany girl, playing with no other toys than wooden swords and shields, and small bows and spears for children. At the age of three she learned how to ride a horse, at the age of six, how to fence with a sword and shoot a bow. From her earliest years she excelled her peers in agility, strength and marksmanship, being victorious in every contest and mock battle.

Ashurran was also exceptional in another way. She was very curious and had a vivid imagination. She loved fairy tales and stories about faraway lands, which Emrys, the steward of Argamaida’s household, knew plenty. He told her about ancient gods and the creation of Irshawan, about Atalantha and other great heroes of the past, and Ashurran was eager to listen from dusk till dawn.

2. The Creation of Irshawan

In the beginning of days there was nothing except the crystal Vault of Heaven and the emerald sea spreading out in all directions beneath it. The gods lived upon the Vault of Heaven, and there were only two of them at the time — Dagmor and Dagmara.

Dagmor was born of a piece of crystal falling into the sea, and Dagmara, of sea foam splashing upon the vault of heaven. So, he was adamant and steadfast as crystal, and she was pliant and changeable as sea foam.

They had lived in full accord with each other for an eternity. Alas, water is known to wear away stones, and Time grinds even the highest mountains into sand. So, with time discord arose between Dagmor and Dagmara. They started to argue which one of them is the mightiest.

Dagmor cast a net into the deep sea and brought out a vast piece of land from the sea bottom. That land became Irshawan. Dagmara cut out a strand of her hair, cast it upon the land, and it became fresh water, in the form of lakes, rivers and springs.

Dagmor took out seaweeds and spread them upon the land. They turned into all varieties of plants: trees, bushes, grass, flowers and fruits. Dagmara cut her hand with a piece of crystal, and from the drops of her blood various beasts and birds emerged.

Indeed my creation is far superior to yours, the goddess said to the god. Without water your land would have been a barren desert. Without beasts and birds your meadows and forests would have been empty and silent, and their fruits would have rotten on the branches uneaten.

Dagmor got angry. He came at her, and they began to wrestle. Both of them being naked, it came to pass that they embraced each other intimately and learned the pleasure of carnal love. The god penetrated the goddess and sowed a new life in her womb, and they brought forth many lesser gods. From the drops of her virgin blood and his manly semen spilled upon the surface of Irshawan, mortal men and women were born.

Dagmor proclaimed, I will make man the master of woman. Henceforth they will take mutual pleasure in lovemaking, and the peak of their pleasure will bring them close to gods.

Dagmara proclaimed, I will make woman the mistress of man. The day will come when a woman has taken vengeance upon you for my disgrace.

That’s why the Arriany worshipped their Heavenly Mother Dagmara, and the people of Lankmar, their Heavenly Father Dagmor.

3. Atalantha Who Assaulted a God

Atalantha was the greatest Arriany warrior. The likes of her had never been seen in Irshawan – neither before nor after.

In battle, they said, she reaped a harvest of blood, and mowed down her enemies in dozens, as a reaper mows down ears of wheat with his sickle. They also said, she had never lost a fight, and no one could withstand her.

One day Atalantha looked upon the vault of heaven and craved for reaching it, because it was the only place she hadn’t reached yet. The distant skies, peaceful and unmarred, seemed to be mocking her power.

So, Atalantha went to seek the highest mountain in Irshawan. She had had to overcome countless dangers and hardships on her way there; were we to tell all about them, this story would have been as long as the Eternal Night at the World’s Edge. At last she had found the highest mountain in the known world, reached its peak and set her foot on the Vault of Heaven.

She walked upon it for a long time and came across a palace made of crystal, very skillfully decorated with jewels and pelts of unknown beasts. There was a youth in the palace, beautiful beyond the measure of men, tall and slender as an ash tree. His face was fair as moonlight spilling upon Arriany tents on a night of full moon. His hair was like molten gold streaming down his shoulders in coils and rivulets. His eyes were blue as the waters of the Great River while they reflected the clear blue skies. His lips were pink and soft as rose petals.

Atalantha looked at him and immediately felt desire stirred inside her. She said to him, You will come with me, to be my favorite bed-warmer, and I’ll give you dominion over all my slaves and cattle.

The youth laughed and said, Come and take.

Atalantha rushed at him, and they began to wrestle. For three days and three nights in a row they had been wrestling, before the Arriany warrior began to weaken.

Who are you? she asked. Never before have I met my equal.

I’m not your equal. I’m The One Above All, for I’m the creator of Irshawan, and Dagmor is my name.

Atalantha was amazed but not shaken, and didn’t unclasp her iron grip on the god’s shoulders. But her strength was exhausted, and Dagmor was able to throw her down on the marble floor.

Kill me! she said. Before today I haven’t known the shame of defeat!

There is no shame to be defeated by a god.

What will you do to me?

Nothing you wouldn’t want. You are as beautiful as a starry night above the Arriany steppes. You have lost the fight yet won my heart which has never been captured by any other of my creations.

Dagmor took off Atalantha’s armor and made love to her, and his was the first male touch she knew. She liked it plenty; he truly made love like a god. Atalantha became pregnant, and in due time she gave birth to Idari the Demigoddess, the future queen of the whole Arrian, who descended from the Heavenly Father and an earthly mother.

* * *

So the story went which Ashurran was told by Emrys, and she was listening to him enchanted, with bated breath.

At that time her mother Argamaida went by with her charioteer Nathauri at her side. She said, Don’t listen to the slave’s nonsense, Ashurran, for he is sly and deceitful as every other male. The truth is Idari was conceived by Atalantha with a male leopard in the steppes, and was nursed by a leopardess with its milk. Our tribe descends from that union. We are the only ones who inherited the true glory of Arrian.

Emrys lowered his eyes and dared not protest. Yet Ashurran, fearless, sprung to her feet and said to her fierce mother, If you know this legend better, tell it yourself, and if you don’t, keep silent and don’t interrupt!

Nathauri’s face darkened with anger, and she raised her hand to slap the girl. Argamaida stopped her. The charioteer said with a frown, You are too lenient with your daughter and that slave both. At least punish him, if not her, to teach him a lesson.

Argamaida just laughed. It’s good he had passed down his arrogance to Ashurran, as well as his ready tongue and his beautiful dark-blue eyes.

It was not hard to guess that Emrys was Ashurran’s father. She didn’t know it, and he couldn’t explain it either, for there was no word for ‘father’ in the speech of Arrian.

4. Emrys of Uallakh

Now it’s time to tell the story of Emrys. He was born in Lankmar, in the kingdom of Uallakh, in a wealthy family. He always had had an inquisitive mind. Even as a child he had strived to learn any science possible, especially history and geography. Barely having turned five-and-twenty he already became one of the most famous Lankmarian scholars. He had traveled through Irshawan’s great many lands, charting its maps, learning morals and manners of its inhabitants. For him the most appealing of all was the mysterious Arrian, homeland of wild and passionate female warriors. He dreamt of visiting it in person and learning the truth behind the legend.

He started out with a caravan of merchants and reached the land where the Leopards were dwelling in their tents. He presented subhadra Argamaida with lavish gifts and asked her permission to spend a few months with them. The permission was readily granted.

Emrys was a naïve and romantic man, and so he became completely enthralled with the rough life of the Arriany. Truth be told, he was enthralled most of all with the subhadra herself. Argamaida too looked upon him with desire. Not even a month passed before they had shared a bed. Argamaida chose him to sire her first child, because she liked his elaborate speech, his stately manner like a prince’s, his glib tongue, his quick mind and his beautiful dark-blue eyes.

Their love for each other was great, but one single moment had ended it, and that’s how it had happened.

Emrys desperately wanted to see the great subhadra on a battlefield. Never before had he seen the Arriany fight. When they marched into battle, he had always been left behind in the camp, under guard. When they moved their tents and cattle into a new pasture, he traveled in a wagon at the rear, not on horseback in the vanguard with Argamaida, and if there were skirmishes along the way, he had never witnessed any of them.

One day the tribe of Wolves suddenly attacked the Leopards. They managed to crush the sentries guarding the camp, and soon the violent battle raged so close to the tents that even girls of ten years of age and older snatched their weapons and rushed to help their mothers.

Unable to quench his curiosity, Emrys climbed the closest hill and watched the battle. He saw the subhadra scud across the battlefield in her chariot, killing the enemies left and right, hewing off their arms and heads. She was like a goddess of war, and the sight of her was terrible: splashed with blood all over, her eyes fierce as lightning, her laugh wild and rough as a roar of a leopard attacking its prey. She was the one to smite down the commander of the Wolves; then she cut out her still beating heart and crushed it under her heavy boot.

Emrys was struck with fear, for his soul was that of a scholar, not of a warrior. His love transformed into disgust, and no more could he answer his lover’s passion. He decided to leave Arrian for good and asked permission to visit his parents, promising falsely to return.

On your own free will have you come into my land and my tent, the subhadra said. You belong to me now. I will release you when I see fit, not before.

Nothing else could be expected from savages, Emrys said bitterly. You can force me to stay, but can’t force me to love you.

So what? The mighty subhadra grinned. To lay with a man without love is no less pleasant.

Having said that, she dragged him into bed, inflamed his passion with a spell and forced him to have sex with her.

From that moment on Emrys was reduced to a common bed-warmer. He was being brought into Argamaida’s tent when she so wished, drugged with aphrodisiacs or bespelled, and he could do nothing but pleasure her in every way possible.

The life of a slave became unbearable for Emrys, and he decided to escape. He stashed away some food, stole a horse and rode into the steppe towards the distant Lankmar. He had been riding from dawn till noon when he found himself near the Leopards camp again. Sentries seized him and brought him before Argamaida.

Didn’t you know, great scholar, the subhadra sneered, that an Arriany horse can’t be stolen. Unless its mistress rides it, it will go back to wherever it came from.

The cruel warrior commander ordered Emrys to be whipped for his escape attempt. He was unable to stand for two days after the whipping. Yet he didn’t give up. Next time he hid in a merchant wagon, promising the merchants lavish reward for his delivery into civilized lands. Again his escape attempt failed. The Arriany were skilled trackers, and they had no trouble pursuing and catching him.

Argamaida became furious with her defiant bed-warmer and ordered to give him to herders, who were the lowest among male slaves. For three whole days those brutes clad in stinking animal skins used poor Emrys as a woman. So inhuman and horrible was their lust, they seemed like demons or wild beasts to him.

When he was brought again before Argamaida, he was quiet, pliant and dared not raising his eyes. Argamaida thought he was broken at last. She smiled a satisfied smile, sat him by her side and fed him roasted quail with her fingers.

Yet after a month Emrys tried to escape for the third time. He went into the steppe on foot, having nothing on him except a short knife that he was able to steal. He had been walking for a whole day. At sundown he climbed a hill and saw his pursuers not very far behind. Emrys didn’t want to be captured alive by the Arriany, not again. He cut both his wrists open, and his blood came gushing out from the wounds onto the green grass.

As his pursuers came near him Emrys was ready to breathe his last. But some of them were skilled at treating wounds with magic. They stopped the bleeding, closed his wounds, brought him into the camp and threw him to the subhadra’s feet.

Argamaida’s charioteer Nathauri said, Kill the deceitful slave. He won’t stop trying to run away. Have we nothing else to do than catching him and bringing him back?

Argamaida was silent for the long time, and Emrys felt more dead than alive waiting for his punishment. At last she ordered to cut off his hamstrings, taking away his ability to walk. Also she put a spell on him making him unable to hold cold steel, so that he wouldn’t cut his veins open. As for other means of suicide, there were few trees in their land and few streams deep enough.

Emrys decided to starve himself to death, seeing no reason to go on living. He sat near his tent, weak and blear-eyed, looking across the camp and waiting for the death to come. Suddenly he saw Ashurran playing amongst the children. She was three years old, already handy with a little wooden sword. Emrys felt that he wouldn’t welcome death until he had seen his daughter grew up and held a real sword.

He accepted the life of a slave and asked for only one thing — the permission to teach Ashurran. Argamaida agreed, glad he wasn’t craving death anymore. In her cruel and possessive way, Argamaida loved Emrys and respected him above any other man she had ever known. She made him Ashurran’s teacher and gave him dominion over all her slaves, cattle and household.

Emrys stimulated Ashurran’s adventurous nature, trained her inquisitive mind, and sowed the thirst for knowledge in her. He told her all fairy tales and legends he knew. He even taught her to speak Lankmarin, his native language spoken in Lankmar. His only regret was that he couldn’t teach her to read and write, for he had no ink and paper. Ashurran was the apple of his eye.

Emrys never got tired of watching Ashurran grow and learn, until she had turned fourteen. That’s when Emrys saw that his daughter, his flesh and blood, was taking more and more after her mother, the cruel warrior. Even at her tender age she had already learned how to kill, and her sword had been bathed in human blood neither once nor twice but many times over.

Emrys felt that he couldn’t bear to watch Ashurran turning into her mother. He died quietly of a broken heart. But on his deathbed Emrys cursed Ashurran, May you never bear a child with a mortal man, my only offspring, so that my bloodline would die with you. Many times before did he pray, curse and call to the gods, and there was no answer, yet this single curse came true.

Emrys was buried on the green hill which he loved to climb on a clear day, trying to see Lankmar’s gardens and forests in the distant skyline. Standing over his fresh grave, Ashurran felt strange sorrow, not known to her before, as if a part of her own self had gone into the ground with him. Her eyes filled with tears, but she wiped them hastily off, for it was unbecoming the subhadra’s daughter and heiress to shed tears over a slave.

Ashurran had never forgotten neither Emrys nor his lessons. She knew not the word ‘father’ but revered him as one. Among all legends he told her she liked and remembered best the one about the Three Gates of the Mount Albourze.

5. The Three Gates

The Mount Albourze — White Bear — is called so because of its shape like a sitting bear. Its slopes are milk-white. Some people say they are covered with snow and ice; others say, with precious pearls and nacre; the rest claims the slopes of Albourze are covered with monsters’ bones bleached by the sun and winds.

There is a huge cave near the very top of the mountain, resembling jaws of a beast. Its entrance is spiked with sharp stone rocks closed so tight, even a snake wouldn’t slip through. A visitor should state his name and origin, recount his journeys and exploits. If he is deemed worthy, the rocky fangs will open and grant him entrance into the cave of the Three Gates.

The cave floor is paved with three kinds of gems — rubies, emeralds and sapphires, and the ceiling is made of glass, crystal and ice.

There are Three Gates in the cave: Gates to Glory, Gates to Knowledge and Gates to Power. The first ones are adorned with a sword, the second ones with a shield, and the third ones with a crown. Why? Easy to explain. From the earliest times the only sure way to win glory has been with a sword in hand, and there is no greater fame than that of a valiant knight. As for knowledge, it’s often called a shield against all woes and sorrows, all evils and wrongs, villains and tyrants, injustice and sin, sickness and misery, hunger and thirst, swords and arrows. And a crown always has been a symbol of absolute power, a sacred relic of kings and their greatest treasure.

Those gates are for people who have been seeking something in vain. Anyone who takes one of the gates will start his way to the great glory, great