by Nick Carter
Khaleen had sunk to the floor of the platform, legs outstretched, back arched, her belly leaping in the spasmodic movements of rapture, and the waxen phalli continued to burn down. I could feel the sweat of my own palms, and the back of my shirt was damp. As Khaleen continued to rise and fall to the insistent beat of the music, a man leaped from the audience onto the platform. He stood over her, legs outspread, his torso working. Khaleen rolled over and he jumped away and fell from the platform to lie panting on the floor. Another figure leaped onstage and danced before Khaleen, now rolling back and forth on the stage. She turned her head away, never ceasing her own erotic movements, and he retired. Khaleen, I could see, was caught up in her own frenzy, and she slithered and rolled about the stage, moving her back and shoulders in sensual rhythm, lifting her belly in eager, thrusting motions, as the waxen phallic symbols continued to burn down.
In front of me, a woman half screamed and fell backwards across my legs. Immediately, she rolled over and began to move her body, serpent-fashion, over my legs. Another woman and a man joined her and they rubbed their bodies across one another in slow frenzy. More men were offering themselves to Khaleen and each one was rejected by a twist of her head or a turn of her body. The phalli were not much more than a few inches from their bulbous waxen bases. I heard her father's hoarse whisper.
"She cannot refuse much longer," he said, his voice strained. "She must choose someone. Time runs out for her."
The wails and screams now resounded as one continuous din, and I realized that Khaleen, carried away by her own frenzy, had nonetheless held off the terrible moment as long as she could. My own hands were wet, and the perspiration trickled down my arms. I leaped to my feet, vaulted over writhing, prostrate forms, and ran for the platform. I saw Hilary Cobb, transfixed, pressed against the wall, watching the scene of unbridled erotic desire. I caught her startled glance as I flashed past. Khaleen's eyes were closed as I leaped onto the platform, stood over her and called her name. She opened her eyes and her writhing body continued its sensual rhythm. Standing over her, I felt my loins swell with desire, and I shook my head and clenched my hands. God, the contagion of the place was overpowering. I wanted to drop onto her beautiful body, to seize that perfectly formed little shape and make it my own. But that wasn't why I'd come here, I reminded myself. I was here to prevent something, not perpetrate it. Suddenly Khaleen rose, reached up and grabbed my legs. She pressed her face into my groin, rubbing her head against me and then, throwing her head back, she let out a piercing scream of release.
The noise ended with a frightening suddenness, and for a long moment there was dead silence. The waxen images sputtered out and near darkness settled over the hall. Now only the sounds of spent breathing and stifled sobs broke the stillness. I looked down at Khaleen. She had fallen backwards to the floor, unconscious. I picked her up and carried her from the platform, past Ghotak's burning eyes. I threaded my way out of the hall and found her father at my side. I kicked open a door and walked out into the cool wind of the night, a clean, refreshing wind. Khaleen was a feather in my arms, a beautiful, sleeping doll. As I walked off with her, I saw a blonde head emerge from the hall, and I glanced back to see Hilary Cobb leaning against the wall of the building, eyes closed, composing herself.
Khaleen stirred and I stopped. She opened her eyes and a wonderfully soft smile crossed her face. I set her down on her feet, and her deep eyes held mine.
"Can you walk?" I asked. She nodded and her father put an arm around her waist "It is over and you're all right," I said. I saw deep relief and gratitude in the old man's eyes, and Khaleen leaned a head on his shoulder. I walked on and left them alone. The erotic excitement had temporarily erased the real dangers, but only temporarily. They were still there, perhaps more so. But once more, they had been covered up in the infuriating way of this strange land. A challenge had been flung and answered and then obscured by an eruption of sexual frustration on a mass orgy scale. Tomorrow, an old man would go into the mountains to prove he wouldn't be slain by something that didn't exist to prove a mythological god didn't communicate through a power-mad monk. I shook my head and tried it again, but it still came out the same way. Everything wore a mask in this place, and I had the uneasy feeling that death was hiding behind one of them.
Chapter IV
I'd walked on in the cool of the night air and let Khaleen and her father go home first. Finally I slipped into the silent house and up to my room. The events I'd just witnessed would leave a marble statue disturbed, and I found myself tossing and turning in the stillness of the night. The fur blanket was warm and soft, too damned much like a woman. I was awake when I heard the faint sound of my door opening. I sat up, naked except for my shorts, and Wilhelmina was in my hand, ready to blast, my finger pressing tensely on the trigger. A soft, blue light came through the window as I waited, watching the door open further. Suddenly the figure appeared inside the room, a petite shape beneath a loose, voluminous silken robe.
"Nick, are you awake?" the small voice asked softly.
"Khaleen," I said. "What are you doing here?" She moved into the room, shutting the door behind her. She sat down at the edge of the wide bed and the soft moonlight through the window lighted the angles of her face. Her eyes were black, bottomless pits with pinpoints of brightness in each one.
"I have come to you, Nick," she said. "It is written that the girl shall give herself to whom she has chosen."
"Khaleen," I said, putting my hands on her small shoulders. "I thought you understood. I came to you so you would not need to give yourself to anyone."
"I understand," she said softly. "I know you did it for me."
"Then there is no need for you to be here," I said. "You needn't carry through with me."
"But it is also written that the girl becomes filled with desire for the man she has chosen," Khaleen answered. "And this, too, is true."
"This is so with you, Khaleen?" I frowned. She didn't answer. Instead, she bent low and with one, quick motion, the voluminous robe was cast aside and I saw a creature so perfectly formed, so delicately sensual, so jewel-like in every aspect as to be overwhelmingly exciting. She sat straight, her back curving in a beautiful arch, her breasts pointed upwards, full and rounded beneath her nipples and curving with perfect symmetry to tiny, thrusting peaks. Her fine-limbed legs were beautifully molded and her hips smoothly rounded. She moved closer on the fur blanket, putting her hands on my shoulders.
"It is so, Nick," she breathed, and I felt the small body quivering. She pushed me back onto the bed and began to cover my body with her lips, blowing soft, hot breaths on my skin, moving lightly down my chest, across my abdomen, down, down, down with a touch as delicate as a butterfly's wing. She was sending a frenzy of desire through me, and I felt my body answer. I rolled her back on the fur blanket and let my hands caress the two small, beautifully peaked mounds of her breasts. She moaned softly and her legs encircled my waist. I felt her arms tighten around me and suddenly all the soft delicacy had given way to a tremendous, driving hunger. Her delicate body masked a fantastic, wiry strength, a tensile power that was matched by her stamina. Only later that night, reflecting back, did I recall how she had moved through the treacherous and tortuous mountains with such ease.
"I am yours, Nick," she breathed. "I am yours." She moved out from under me, relaxing the tight grip of her legs, and turned her body to offer more of herself to my lips. Her own mouth was a feverish, hungry animal, thirsting for my touch. I found her beneath me, astride my hips, languishing across my face, all done in fluid motions of grace and ease. She could slide her body in and out and across with the effortless beauty of a snake, and her lips and tongue sang a ceaseless hymn to Priapus. I let my lips rest over the perfect tips of her breasts, and I felt them throb to the touch. Khaleen gently moved her chest, drawing and pulling her breasts against my lips. Then she pressed them down hard, so hard I was afraid I'd hurt her, and her arms were around my head, holding me tight. She pulled away with an abrup
t suddenness and fell back, arching her body backwards on the bed, thrusting her hips upwards for me to take, and once more she was as she had been during the ritual, feverishly pulsating with desire. I came to her and she released her breath in a low moan. I moved slowly in rhythm with her body until, with her small, fine-boned legs pressed around my waist, she shuddered in the moment of moments, her arms spread-eagled on the bed, hands digging into the blanket. She stayed that way for a long moment, immersed in the pleasure-pain of her climax, unwilling to release even an infinitesimal moment of rapture. When, finally, her body went limp and she fell back upon the bed, she pulled my head down upon her breasts, holding me there almost as a mother holds a child.
Finally, I moved and she curled up in the crook of my arm, her lovely little breasts still provocatively pointed upwards. I gazed at her, a child-woman, a creature so like this land of hers, a paragon of contrasts. As she lay in my arms, arms that almost enveloped her entire little body, I thought of the line from the Hindu prayer — Om mani padme ftum — "O, the jewel in the lotus." It was truly descriptive for there was a jewel-like quality about her physical perfection. She lay quietly for a while and then began to stir Without opening her eyes, her hand roved down my body and her lips and flicking tongue moved across my chest once again. Eyes still closed, she stroked and pressed and caressed with the inflaming gentleness that was hers and hers alone. I moved beneath her touch and only when I reached down and pulled her head up to mine did she open her eyes.
"I am yours, Nick," she repeated, and once more began to show me how completely and wholly she meant those words. When finally she lay spent in my arms again, I fell asleep holding her. It was typical of her that at dawn she slipped away so silently that I was only dimly aware of her leaving. When I awoke, I was alone and the sun was bright and my body still thirsted for her. I stretched, swung out of bed and washed and shaved. I was still in my shorts when the door opened and Khaleen entered, a tray of tea and biscuits in her hand. Wearing a loose-fitting robe belted at the middle, she set the tray on the bed and poured the hot, strong tea. It was eye-opening and invigorating. She spoke but a few words but her eyes, deep and soft, said volumes. As I finished the tea she moved the tray from the bed, flipped off the robe and lay naked beside me.
"Suppose your father is looking for you," I said.
"Father knows I am here with you," she said casually. "Besides, he is spending most of the day at prayer and in preparing his pack for the night."
Despite the overwhelming loveliness of that sleek, tan, clean-limbed body stretched out before me, the upturned breasts so piquantly pointed, I found myself uneasy as I thought about what the night might bring.
"I don't like this whole bit," I said aloud, more to myself than to the girl. "I don't buy the yeti business, but I don't trust Ghotak not to pull off something."
"He can do nothing," she said. "We will walk with my father to the foot of the mountains. There, some Sherpas have been hired to stand guard and see that no one enters the pass to the mountains and no one leaves until tomorrow."
I knew that the only way into the mountains was through the narrow pass in the foothills. I grunted in agreement but I wasn't satisfied. Khaleen had come to rest against my body, her arms draped across my stomach. "I am yours, Nick," she murmured again and pressed herself closer. She lay beside me, letting my eyes drink in her perfect little form, and then she rose and slipped on the robe.
"Father will leave an hour before sundown," she said.
"I'll be ready," I answered. She left without a backward glance and I dressed and went out. The streets were busy with people, farmers with their products, street vendors, and holy men walking austerely alone. I sauntered down the street, the aimless casualness of my walk masking the far from casual objectives I had. The old patriarch had been convinced that Ghotak had trapped himself by his challenge. I wasn't so sure of that. I was seeing the thin smile on the monk's lips as Leeunghi accepted the challenge. The Sherpas were to prevent anyone from entering or leaving the pass after the old man went into the mountains, or at least to report on it. Yet Ghotak was a monk, a venerated person, and these were simple people. He could, I was certain, easily convince them to pass him through and say nothing about it. They would not be about to disobey the words of a Holy One. If that was his plan he'd find more than the old man in the mountains, I vowed grimly.
Chapter V
I'd been casually moving down toward Ghotak's temple when I caught the flash of blonde hair some distance behind me. I slowed my pace and paused at a street vendor selling rugs. A quick glance told me the blonde head had pulled behind a goat cart. I smiled and started to walk on. I was at the temple now and I walked around it, back to where the long meeting hall almost joined the temple itself. Beyond the long, low building, at the rear of the temple, I saw the windows of what appeared to be living quarters. That was what I was looking for, and I crept closer and peered in. I saw a room, fairly large, sparsely furnished in the severe setting befitting a monk. Another room led off beyond the first one. I went on quickly before someone came by, circled the temple and returned to the street I saw Hilary Cobb duck back behind the corner of a building, and I crossed the street, darted around the corner and almost fell over her as she stood pressed flat against the wall.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I said. "Playing detective? Baby, you've got a lot to learn about tailing somebody."
"I'm not playing detective," she snapped back, relaxing. "Digging for a story, it's called." She wore a soft brown windbreaker, and the way it jutted out made me again recall the full-blown softness of her breasts. "There's no law which says I can't watch who does what or goes where in the streets," she commented, superior and smug.
"I guess not," I answered. "Speaking of watching, I saw you do a good bit of it last night."
Two faint spots of color appeared on her cheeks but she only glowered at me.
"Why didn't you let your hair down and join in the fun?" I asked mockingly. "I thought for a moment or two you were about to do so."
Her jaw clenched and she continued to glower at me.
"You didn't lose any time in participating, I noticed," she answered waspishly.
"You wouldn't believe the truth if I told you," I said.
"I know, you were saving her from a fate worse than death," she sneered. Sarcasm was dripping all over the place.
"In a way, that's just what I was doing," I replied.
She snorted. "Please," she said. "The pose just doesn't fit. You just couldn't let an opportunity go by."
"Hilary, honey," I said, 'Tour envy is showing, amongst other things."
Her blue eyes flashed lightning sparks. "I ought to slap you for that," she hissed through clenched teeth.
"You won't," I said laconically. "You know I'd no doubt hit back."
"Yes, and I know something else as of last night," she shot out. "I know I've got onto my story, and I'm not going to let go. There's no bloody reason for you to be so concerned over a little immigration if that's all there is to it."
"You know, I've been thinking about you, Hilary," I said casually. "I've decided you can't be more than a pest. Even if you got a story you couldn't send it from here. You'd have to wait till you got back to Darjeeling or Bhutan. By then I'd have a lid clamped on you by other sources."
"You just keep thinking that, Yank." She smiled coldly, turned on her heel and walked off. I watched her go, frowning after her, conscious of the attractive, long curve of her legs. What the hell did she mean by that cryptic remark? She could bluff and bluster, I knew, but something in her tone told me she wasn't doing either this time. The remark swam irritatingly in front of me. This was strictly an undercover operation, a walking on eggs, as Hawk had put it, only in between the eggs there was something deadly. It was a hush-hush affair before, during and after, especially during. We were trying to meet a clever Chinese Red move which utilized their usual combination of inside treachery and undercover infiltration. It was a sneak m
ove, and we had to meet them on the same terms. Publicity of any kind would be sure to trigger all kinds of face-saving direct action, which was the last thing we wanted in this show.
I walked slowly back to the house with a very uneasy feeling. Hilary Cobb's remark needed further checking into, I was certain, and I made a mental note to do so. At the house, Khaleen was seated at a window, a silk robe wrapping her petite form.
"You were talking to the English journalist," she said simply, as I went over to her. "I was out at the market and passed you. She is very pretty."
She gazed at me, her deep eyes saying a lot of things, some of which I didn't dare to read. I put a hand on her shoulder and she leaned against me for a moment and then walked away.
"Father is leaving a little earlier," she said. "I will dress and be ready in a few minutes." I watched her walk to the doorless archway between the rooms. She turned, gazed back at me, and let the silken robe fall from her shoulders to stand nude, beautifully nude, a young doe poised in flight, a nymph glimpsed for a fleeting moment, and then disappeared through the doorway. She had done it so beautifully, offering me both a reminder and a promise, a gesture both powerful and subtle.
I went to my room, found that she had repaired my torn heavy-weather parka, and dressed for the walk to the shadow of the mountains. When I went back downstairs, Khaleen was there, swathed in yards of material, looking not unlike a bundle of old clothes. Her father, dressed in heavy yak-skin jacket and boots, with fur-lined trousers, carried a small, blue pack on his back and held a long walking stick in one hand. We shook hands solemnly, or at least I was solemn. The old man was smilingly confident; he had merely to carry through the night and Ghotak was automatically discredited. We set out together for the walk to the mountains. Numerous villagers bowed in respect, their hands folded in the traditional gesture of prayer and good wishes. Outside the village, the temperature dropped noticeably as we approached the pass into the bowels of the towering peaks. As we neared the foot of the mountains, I saw Ghotak and three of his men waiting before the four Sherpas who stood in a line across the mouth of the pass. Leeunghi halted and bowed to the monk who bowed his head in return. I noticed that beneath the saffron robes, Ghotak wore heavy, snow-covered boots.
