Chapter 31

At this moment, Arzan already had an inescapable problem on his hands. It was only after galloping furiously for half a day that he realized he had snatched the wrong person; even if he were to return her to Izmir now, no one would believe it was a mistake.

There are advantages to being a rogue, especially when that rogue is a monarch of a nation and a man of great sophistication. He made a prompt decision: taking advantage of the fact that darkness had not yet fallen, he ordered his entire army to halt, rest, and conduct a headcount.

By then, Arzan was already prepared for Izmir to come and settle the score. If he had merely abducted Inanna, Izmir might have swallowed the insult, perhaps causing some friction when he needed the Hittites in the future, but it would not have affected the big picture. However, the one on his horse happened to be the flat-chested "Goddess" who had turned several great powers upside down. He had to prepare himself to be at odds with other nations.

Arzan was indeed an ambitious ruler. In that brief moment, he had already steeled himself to fight a hard battle. It must be noted that horses were a monopoly of Western Asia at the time; even the Persian Empire a thousand years later would need to raise horses in Cappadocia, the very place where Inanna had arrived as a traveler. Regardless of the circumstances, the mount Arzan was riding could not outrun Izmir’s, and it was only a matter of time before the Hittite army caught up.

Rather than groveling for an apology, he chose to focus on self-preservation while seizing some benefits along the way. He selected a narrow valley to set up camp, stationing the majority of his five hundred soldiers on the hillside, bows and arrows at the ready. Meanwhile, he led the rest of his men in setting up camp, leisurely roasting fat, wild rabbit meat to eat.

Carol was tossed onto the grass to one side by Arzan. Her clothes were tattered, especially the hem of her skirt, which Arzan had torn; it could barely cover half her backside. Fortunately, as night fell, the soldiers on the perimeter could not see clearly, saving her from the miserable fate of being the center of attention for hundreds of men.

Arzan tied her hands together and looped the other end of the rope around his own wrist, eating the rabbit meat with nonchalance. Jomari, as the King’s favorite concubine, was lucky enough to be given a rabbit leg, but she had no idea this was the prelude to her tumultuous life, or perhaps the final dinner the King of Assyria would ever bestow upon her.

At this point, a close attendant minister was still trying to persuade Arzan: "My King, we should continue moving forward. Prince Izmir may not necessarily catch up with us."

Arzan spat out a bone and picked his teeth. "Since we have already offended him, we might as well offend him to the end. The Daughter of the Nile is the best hostage. Even if the Egyptian Pharaoh Memphis were standing in front of me right now, he would have to surrender obediently. Hehehe."

This unintended remark gave him a great spark of inspiration. Since the alliance with the Hittites was likely beyond repair, Prince Izmir himself was an excellent hostage. And with the Daughter of the Nile in his hands, it would be an insult to the gods not to use her against Egypt. By venting his anger on both countries, he was killing two birds with one stone—he was surely a hero the likes of which the world had never seen!

His eyes darted around, and he licked the grease from the corner of his mouth. He watched Jomari finish the meat in her hand with satisfaction before asking with a grin: "My beloved concubine, I have a task for you. Do you have the confidence to make a contribution to my Assyria?"

Jomari was stunned, but immediately, with a professional air, she put on a beaming smile: "My King, you need only command it. Jomari has no other talents, only this body which, fortunately, still pleases you."

Arzan laughed heartily. His judgment was truly excellent; this woman was simply too interesting. If not for her low status—unable to bring him territory or wealth—it would not have been impossible to make her his primary queen.

His laughter, echoing through the valley like a beast, made Carol shrink back again and again. However, Arzan simply flicked his wrist, easily dragging her back.

After a long while, when Arzan had laughed his fill, he said lewdly: "I am merely letting you fulfill your promise. In a moment, I will give you a mare and two disguised servants. You are to travel to Egypt under the guise of a traveling performer. As long as you claim to know the whereabouts of the Daughter of the Nile, Egypt will surely treat you as an honored guest. What you must do is lure the Egyptian Pharaoh Memphis to my Assyria. As for your body, if you can make Memphis like you, that is your skill. You may ride him over and over again!"

As soon as Arzan finished speaking, everyone around them burst into laughter. Carol felt a surge of panic. Assyria was a power that would one day dominate Western Asia, but they were not famous in history for creating a glorious civilization or leaving behind a brilliant culture; the Assyrians were known for unimaginable cruelty and bloodshed. Yet she had no way to warn Memphis to be careful, and she was currently in the hands of King Arzan. If Memphis didn't come to save her, who else could she count on?

Jomari's face stiffened, but she immediately calculated the gains and losses. Arzan was right; the Egyptian royal family would certainly treat her well, but she wouldn't gain any greater advantage. How could a lone woman traveling through various countries take on such a losing deal?

Amidst the catcalls of the men, she gave a charming smile and stood up, shaking her hips as she adjusted her red gauze dress: "The King’s request is something Jomari would naturally face death to fulfill. However..."

Arzan knew Jomari was a smart and pragmatic woman. She had been with him for several years; there was a bit of affection, and they were incredibly compatible in bed. To use a trendy term from three thousand years later, they were quite a good pair of bedfellows. As a man, he certainly had to be generous, so he asked with composure: "Speak, what do you want?"

"Whatever I do for the King, I do it willingly," Jomari said, coyly leaning against Arzan’s chest. "But, if I return after the deed is done, I ask that you name me your Queen."

Arzan paused, then laughed heartily. Just as Jomari thought he was going to mock her for overestimating herself, Arzan lifted her chin, a sinister grin on his face, completely unoffended: "Good, Jomari, I promise you. Once it is done, you shall be the Queen of my Assyria."

Having secured the promise—and ancient people took promises very seriously, at least on the surface, and there were hundreds of soldiers as witnesses—she felt at ease. She did him a favor, pointing at the flat-chested "Goddess" whom she had envied for so long but ultimately found disappointing: "King, although she is a bit tough, I must depart immediately. On this journey, there will be no other woman to accompany you, so you had better get on with it."

This was truly a considerate queen-to-be. Arzan patted her on the bottom, gave it a hard pinch, and said, "Go quickly. If Izmir comes, you won't be able to leave."

Jomari wiggled her hips and disappeared into the dim night. Arzan sighed, thinking of Jomari’s suggestion. Of course, it aligned with his own plans. Dealing with Carol—now, it wasn't about whose country was wealthier or whose military was stronger, but whose "brother" between his legs was faster and more powerful.

Arzan really couldn't understand Memphis. Not only did he ostentatiously belittle his own sister, Isis, to elevate this flat-chested hen, but he also let her flutter about everywhere. If he had devoured this creature with no chest and no hips earlier, none of this would be their business today.

Compared to Memphis, Arzan understood Izmir even less. He was still obsessing over the future beauty by Izmir's side—if she grew up to be a stunning woman with both inner and outer beauty, he didn't know what it would be like—yet Izmir had stubbornly made no move. Now he knew that Izmir had secretly hidden this "hen" in his tent for a long time without seizing the chance to take the prize. Arzan truly didn't know what this "wise and intelligent" prince was thinking.

Could it be that Izmir preferred men? Arzan shuddered. Even if he were as beautiful as a woman, our great King of Assyria had no interest in that.

Since both the Hittite Prince and the Egyptian King were impotent, he shouldn't be blamed for showing off his own secret weapon.

He ordered the guards to stand aside, leaving only one attendant to serve him. Clutching the rope, which was thicker than a thumb, he slowly dragged Carol toward him. Carol sensed the impending danger and refused with all her might: "King Arzan, I am the wife of Memphis. You cannot treat me like this. Let me go, you... you must let me go!"

Arzan paid her no mind. Seeing that her strength was no match for his, Carol was so terrified that tears streamed down her face, her legs trembling until she collapsed onto the ground, still being dragged toward him relentlessly.

Carol finally gave up on the civilized way of communicating and began to denounce him: "Arzan, you are despicable, you are shameless! Memphis, save me!"

Her shrill cries echoed through the valley, but unfortunately, no one would come to stop the rogue's violence. Arzan was not Izmir; he wouldn't get veins popping in his forehead from such words. The vein representing shame in Arzan had long since been thrown into the Tigris River.

He dragged Carol to his side, kicked her so she lay face-up, and mounted her.

Arzan looked at her golden hair and azure eyes, indicating that these things did not arouse him. Then he tore open Carol’s belt and stripped off her clothes. Two small, pigeon-like mounds trembled in fear. Arzan squeezed them twice, leaving rough, purple bruises, and lost interest.

He moved his gaze downward to the buttocks he had already experienced, which had no more meat on them than her chest. Without even the intention to touch her, he pried Carol’s legs apart. His strength was so great that he nearly forced the girl’s legs into a straight line.

Carol’s ligaments were not great, and the forced split made her shriek in pain. The night wind of the valley blew past, brushing against the cluster of soft golden hair. The pink, tender flesh in the crevice was clearly visible. Only the exposure of this delicate part finally aroused a tiny bit of interest in Arzan.

Carol was anxious and ashamed, desperately trying to close her legs, but she could only clamp them against Arzan's waist. With her hands bound, she was completely unable to struggle. Her screams went unanswered, leaving her to wait for the inevitable.

In truth, Arzan almost wanted to curse, because such a bland taste could not arouse his desire; he was only half-erect. He muttered a few curses, pulled up his hem, and stroked himself a few times. Once he was finally ready for the charge, he pulled back his hips, preparing to thrust inside.

Carol was far too tense, and her frame was too small. Arzan’s spear, though possessing power and aim, did not succeed. The dryness, devoid of any softness or allure, made him feel pain himself.

"Damn it, I have to serve myself!" he cursed, and without further ado, he shoved a finger inside and began to move. His harem was filled with beauties; where would he ever need to do the work himself? Since he had his first taste of women at twelve, every one of the hundreds of women in his life had been skilled. Although Arzan didn't serve women, he was intimately familiar with their bodies.

He didn't insert his finger very deep, pressing hard against the girl's tender flesh at the depth of two knuckles, his thumb circling on the outside. In a moment, like an experienced geologist, he breached the holy maiden peak.

Arzan laughed maliciously, pulling out his finger and twisting the faint moisture on it, mocking Carol so severely that she wished to die immediately: "What goddess? Once you see a man's tool, aren't you just a whore? Don't the Egyptians know? The priestesses in the Temple of Ishtar who serve men are called goddesses!"

Carol’s crying in the vast, silent night was not loud, like a weak cat, but in the stillness of the night, it sounded like thunder. Moreover, the sound was no longer a shrill cry for help, but mixed with something indistinct, making the soldiers who hadn't had a woman in over half a month stand "respectfully erect," though no one had the guts to disturb the King’s feast.

Izmir, leading a vanguard of 100 men, had long since snuck into the grass of the valley. Hearing the sound of Carol’s crying, his face turned livid. Even as a green youth, he could hear that the sound was not simple; he didn't know if this woman was begging for someone to save her or begging for a man to satisfy her emptiness.

At the critical moment, the Hittites sounded a whistle, surrounding the Assyrian camp. Arzan curled his lip and stood up brazenly, his dark, formidable member standing high in a display of arrogance. Carol lay naked under the faint firelight like a skinned white snake, both alluring and nauseating.

Izmir stepped forward, frowning as he avoided looking at the "smart and cute" girl, pointing his black iron sword at Arzan’s face: "Return the Daughter of the Nile, and what happened tonight will have never occurred. The alliance between our two nations will remain unbreakable."

Arzan was not afraid of him. He picked up his own sword and drew a bloody line across the buttocks of the prone Carol: "Prince Izmir, drop your sword, or I will make this woman with no chest and no hips never have them again!"

This was truly the height of despicability. Izmir had no good plan. His brows knitted tightly, and after a moment of hesitation, he calmly threw away the black iron sword. Yet, the moment Arzan’s guard dropped, he moved with incredible speed, intending to draw his waist knife and subdue the Assyrian King in one stroke.

This was the ultimate confrontation of wit and martial prowess between kings. Everyone watched with wide eyes as Izmir closed in on Arzan. The Assyrians were incredibly nervous for their King; Arzan was no slouch, but he was certainly not top-tier, and the odds of winning were slim. Time seemed to freeze at that moment.

Finally, Arzan burst into a roar of laughter: "Izmir, oh Izmir! You swordless coward, no wonder you have no sword between your legs and refuse to take a woman. You've made this King laugh so hard I’m going to go limp!"