THE TRIALS OF THE SPIDER QUEEN

Jasmine had but a moment to take in the court of the Faemen before her Diamond Suit was removed and she was forced to her knees by the ready hands of the Rocket Rangers who had escorted her from the blasted surface of Venus to this, the Tunnel City of the Faemen. The tunnel city itself had been far from what she had expected ... rather than the endless warren tunnels of rabbits or rats, she had seen instead remarkable vistas of carved caverns that were large enough to fit entire enclosed habitations within, lit by the dark light of glittering, artificial suns that shone their own dim luminescence upon vast forests of artfully glowing mushrooms – fungal growths the size and elegance of redwood trees. The buildings constructed betwixt and between the fecund fungus had been elegant ones of shale and stone, lined with illumination that was alien to her Earth-adapted eyes ... but beautiful none the lest. Rather than bright whites or warm oranges, the Faemen preferred cool purples, searing blues, and shimmering opalescent hues that flickered betwixt and between many reaches of the luminous spectrum.

The Faemen themselves were not the hunched, bestial, pale creatures that Prince S’kye had described. Rather, they were of modest height – no shorter than your average industrious Chinese citizen – and had skin of such complete blackness that they might have been at home within the furthest reaches of Africa. Their facial and bodily features struck Jasmine as being quite like those noble Africans that have so long struggled against the vicious colonization and conquest of their lands, with a beauty and grace that was markedly different from Jasmine’s own European descended features ... save for three marked differences from the Earthmen that Jasmine compared them too.

The first was that their hair – whether it be done in long dreadlocks, cut short and frizzy, or allowed to expand in luminous afros – was scattered among shades of bright white, silvery blue, or ashen gray! The second was that their eyes were, also, spread among alien hues: Reds, purples, azure! And the third, most striking of all, were their ears! Elongated to a staggering twenty centimeters if they were an inch, they came to elegant, rapier points that bobbed faintly as they walked about their daily lives, though quite a few of them did stop their daily work to gape at her and her acid pitted, grime smeared diamond suit...

The court itself, though, was another thing entirely.

There was a massive glittering throne made of cut diamond in the center of a raised plinth above the court, with beautiful murals made of carved gemstones set into midnight black walls, all of it lit with the dim illumination of artfully grown plantlife that flowed along the ceiling and the walls, their faint shimmers being caught by the gemstones and refracted outwards to shine out into the rest of the chamber, illuminating the riotous (if dark) colors of the Faeman court. They tended towards tunics and robes and small, elegant capes – save for those that preferred jerkins and breeches that clung taut to their athletic bodies – and they watched Jasmine as her armor was removed, piece by piece...

And sitting upon that diamond throne was a Faewoman of such stunning beauty that Jasmine felt her own cheeks heating despite herself – watching intently as Jasmine was stripped, her ruby red eyes widening the instant she saw Jasmine step from her suit and to the floor of the throne room, her borrowed sword-hilt clattering to the ground next to her.

Gasps rang out, and two Rocket Rangers stepped forward, one snatching up the sword-hilt. He snarled: “An assassin!? Who didn’t search this Hawk...” He stopped, looking at Jasmine as she started to stand up, revealing that she was no Hawkwoman at all!

“How were we supposed to do that, sir?” one of the other Rangers whispered, while soft murmurs rang out. One of the Faemen in the court stepped forward, wearing a dark red tunic and pale gray set of skintight leggings, clearly showing his rather impressive bulge. He was a beautiful looking, short haired man, with one of the self-same bladeless sword-hilts that Jasmine had been carrying strapped to his hip. He thrust his finger.

“Speak, stranger. What brings you to our fair city? Why do you wear the armor of our hated enemies, the perfidious Hawkmen?”

Jasmine sighed, then shook herself, feeling the humid warmth of the chamber caressing her sweat streaked skin. She brushed her short cropped black hair back, then gave the Faeman a cheerful smile. She held her hand out. “I am Jasmine Starr,” she said. “I am an Earth Woman – come from beyond the clouds of your home to make contact with your people, as an envoy of the Hawkmen, to sue for peace between your two races.”

The entire court bust into clamorous conversation – courtiers murmuring, the Rocket Rangers growling and stepping forward. The Faeman Prince (at least, Jasmine presumed he was a prince) stepped back and put his hand to the hilt of his bladeless sword. His ruby red eyes narrowed and he frowned. “An Envoy!? From the traitorous Hawkmen? Why should we believe you?”

“A better question, Faeman, is if you have any option but to believe me – even now, Zardo the Terrible seeks to tighten his grasp on the entire solar system! If you wait too long to join the people fighting against him, then he will soon be unassailable!” Jasmine said, her voice ringing out against the walls of the chamber, over the murmuring of the couriers.

“You will do well to know I am Prince Fireth Spidrena when you address me-” the Prince said, but before he could continue, his mother raised one regal hand.

“Wait, my son,” Queen Spidrena said, her voice a warm and husky and sending a shiver along Jasmine’s spine. Her eyes tried to subtly drink in the Queen’s body – not wanting to be too obvious about the fact she was admiring her ebony dark skin, her long and elegantly braided ashen white hair, her muscular shoulders and sleek belly, her full breasts, and her glittering golden earrings and the hint, beneath her white breast band, of pierced nipples. Her eyes narrowed and she brushed her ring covered fingers along her chin. “I am curious about this Earth woman and her claim of envoy. Tell me, oh Earth Woman, do you bring with you a way to make up for the centuries of acidic hell from Faeman treachery?”

Jasmine’s brow furrowed. “I, uh, what treachery exactly are you referring too? The Hawkmen see it in quite a different light.”

Prince Fireth snorted. “They broke the Treaty of Venus – the agreement was to make the atmosphere of our world thinner and thinner until it was akin to the atmosphere of Earth. Then both Hawkmen and the Faemen could live together on the surface. Instead, they sought to merely terraform the upper atmosphere of Venus so that their precious floating cities would be more habitable!”

“They say the exact opposite story in the sky city!” Jasmine said. “And-”

“Aha!” Prince Fireth spun to face his mother. “She proves her duplicity – she accepts the lies the Hawkmen have said about our people since Dark knows when!”

Jasmine huffed. “Enough of this!” She shook her head. “While we dicker and argue, Zardo’s war rockets oppress the free peoples of the solar system and seek to conquer my home, the Earth! What must I do to prove that I have nothing but good intention? What quest might quiet your wrath and prove that I have, at least, the aims of your people in my heart?” Jasmine looked past the glaring prince to his mother, who nodded slowly as she did so, looking impressed by Jasmine as she reclined on her throne.

“Very well,” she said, clapping her hands together twice. “The Earth woman has requested a trial. And so, we shall give it to her!” She stood, her breasts heaving as she drew in a breath. “First, we shall do the Trial of the Goddess!”

Fireth snorted and then grabbed Jasmine’s arm.

“Arm the Earthwoman,” Queen Spidrena said. “If she survives the Trial of the Goddess, the Trial of Combat will follow.”

Fireth narrowed his eyes. Jasmine narrowed her eyes right back at him and resolved to herself, once she had aced these trials, she would make a point of fucking his mother, purely out of spite. She smirked, slightly, as one of the Rocket Rangers stepped over and handed back her bladeless hilt. Jasmine hung it from the thin strip of her lower bottoms, then walked confidently with Prince Fireth to the Trial of the Goddess.

The chamber in question felt ... more important than the throne room, despite its clear lack of adornment. Age seemed to seep from every single pore of the rough hewn stone of the room, which was filled with irregular surfaces along the floor, creating a kind of simple bowl shape that, at the very base, was dominated by a pillar of obsidian that thrust from the ground, covered with tiny holes that looked just large enough to allow an arm within. The Queen remained at a distance, allowing her son to stalk towards the pillar, with Jasmine at his side.

“This is the Trialstone, placed here by the Goddess herself,” Fireth said, his eyes sweeping along it. “It is a test of all nobility – if you cannot pass it, then you are not fit for the throne.”

“All right then,” Jasmine said, smirking slightly. “What does it entail?”

Fireth began to pace around the obsidian stone. His knuckle reached out then rapped against the side of the pillar. “Within,” he said, as a low chittering hiss came from the many holes, echoing and ringing softly. “Lurks a deadly Venusian Rockspider. We call her Rocky.” He smirked slightly. “Her venom can kill in a single second!”

“I see,” Jasmine said, dryly.

“Now ... you must stick your arm into a hole. If you choose correctly, then Rocky will spare you. If you choose poorly ... then you will die.” Fireth said, his voice gloating.

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. Her first impulse – to mock the trial for being a random, idiotic way to kill the majority of your noble line – died on her throat. Surely, no people would be so foolish as to make it purely down to chance. There had to be a trick. The solution was to find that trick. She began to slowly walk around the pillar. Her eyes flicked along it, trying to find differences between the holes. And to her surprise, she spotted some almost immediately!

Several holes had thin lines of green slime that glittered along the bottom edge of the hole.

“The venom, Rocky bites you, eh?” Jasmine asked, casually.

“Of course,” Fireth said, snorting. Jasmine, armed with that knowledge, touched her finger to one such bit of green slime and felt no tingle. But she did hear a faint chittering sound. A warning? She reached towards one hole – then snapped her hand back before her fingers withdrew. A few Faemen chuckled and Fireth smirked – but the chitter sound had come again!

“You must choose o-”

“Shush up, little boy,” Jasmine said, putting her left hand’s finger upon his lips.

Queen Spidrena chuckled, while her son glared daggers at Jasmine as she rapped her knuckles on the stone pillar. The sound that escaped from it was higher pitched, angrier, and ended on a loud trill ... Fireth glared even more at Jasmine as she smirked a bit, then held her hand out to one of the unmarked holes – and heard the same warning trill as she yanked her hand back again.

“Stop!” Fireth started, clearly about to snap at her for, as the children of the day say, ‘chickening out’ once more. But before he could say a second word, Jasmine stepped forward and thrust her entire arm into the middle of the green marked holes, her arm sliding within – and she felt the soft, feathery touch of Rocky against her skin, brushing her as Rocky made a crooning trill. Jasmine looked right at Firteh and chuckled, quietly.

“Voila,” she said. “The test was not one of luck at all – but observation and intelligence.”

Fireth narrowed his ruby red eyes as his mother clapped slowly. “Very good,” she said, then stepped from the wall, smirking. “The venom only causes uncontrollable lust. Rocky is no Venusian creature ... she is nothing but a pet European Crystal Spider.” Her eyes sparkled. “While her venom can kill if you do not orgasm oft enough, I’m sure we could have found willing men and women to alleviate that!”

Jasmine laughed, quietly. “Not you? You do seem quite a gallant queen – the kind to lead from the front, eh?”

“That’s my-” Fireth snarled, but his mother laughed gaily.

“Oh I do like you, Earth woman!” she clapped her hands twice. “Now! The Trial of the Maze!”

The whole court began to stream through the exits – but rather than Fireth leading her, it was instead Queen Spidrena herself, striding through the narrow, winding corridors ahead of them. “That magneto-rapier of yours ... you know it is one of Zardo’s weapons. Did you take it in prize combat?”

“I actually claimed it from a Hawkman – I believe it must have been provided to them by Zardo, as part of their nominal alliance,” Jasmine said. “I’ve never drawn it in anger ... how does it function, exactly, oh my queen?”

“I am not your queen, my dear,” Queen Spidrena said, chuckling huskily. “You may call me m’lady, if you wish. Or maybe Evilla.”

“Evilla Spidrena...” Jasmine murmured, her hip bumping against the athletic hip of the ebony skinned Faewoman goddess walking beside her. “How about Evie?”

“Oooh,” the Queen murmured, her ruby red eyes flickering. “Now.” She reached out, taking hold of Jasmine’s hand, her fingers brushing along her skin, her other hand pointing. “The magneto-rapier is a hilt that contains within a reserve of bimagnetic liquid. The droplets, when charged with an electric field rotating clockwise, become paramagnetic. When they are rotated counter clockwise, the droplets become diamagnetic. This allows articulated magnetic fields to shape the liquid into any shape and form required. This button here will simply extend the blade...” Her finger pressed to Jasmine’s thumb, slowly gliding Jasmine’s finger along the sword as both of them stood in the antechamber beyond the Trial chamber. Jasmine found that the Queen had moved behind her, literally holding her slighter body between her muscular arms – and thus, the movement of her thumb felt more erotic than it had any right to. The small nub of the sword’s button depressed beneath the Queen’s thumb pressure as she used Jasmine to activate the blade.

The hilt hummed and the bimagnetic liquid gushed from the slitted hole in the hilt, forming into a glowing silver blade that seemed to ripple like a pond of mercury.

“The field in this form will move the droplets in a circulating pattern – you can witness the movement of it, yes?” Her voice was warm in Jasmine’s ear as Jasmine held the blade before her, thrusting it up into the air. “Just as a hydraulic drill can bite into even solid stone, this blade can slice through almost anything given pressure and time.”

“Remarkable...” Jasmine whispered.

“Even more, the blade can be reshaped into various formats. Grapnel. Weighted mace. Short bladed dagger...” the Queen murmured in Jasmine’s ear. “You surely can see the uses.” Her palm clapped against Jasmine, who laughed as she bucked her hips and stepped forward – their progress once more resuming. Jasmine grinned as she tapped a button and the blade retracted once more.

“Why thank you. Evie,” Jasmine said, then reached out to slap the Queen’s ample buttocks, enjoying the vibrations imparted with a little smirk.

She stalked off – and enjoyed, almost as much as the Queen’s hungry gaze ... the glare of her son!

The Trial of the Maze was significantly newer than the Trial of the Goddess. There were many seats, carved into stadium positions so that an entire crowd could sit and watch, and huge picture screens that showed the entrance to another chamber with a large bronze doorway flanked by two guttering torches. Fireth, his eyes flashing angrily, stepped forward, pointing his finger at the narrow doorway carved at the far end of the room. “This door will take you to the chamber you see on those video screens. We will watch as you navigate the Trial of the Maze. If you survive, you will face the final trial, the Trial of the Sword. And I assure you, you will not pass such a trial!”

Jasmine smirked. “So, you will all get to watch me show off then?” she asked, then flicked her eyes from him to his mother, who was taking a seat in the front row. She looked back and Fireth leaned forward, his voice an angry snarl.

“You will never see my mother’s bedchambers, Hawkman’s servant,” Fireth growled.

“Isn’t that her decision?” Jasmine asked. “Why do you hate Hawkmen so?”

“They are arrogant and cruel, they look down upon us and strive endlessly to defeat our efforts to make our world terraforming. More...” Fireth shook his head, then stepped back, turning half away. “More ... would take too long to grasp, and your simple Earth mind would never grasp the subtleties of our hatred!”

Jasmine snorted. “We shall see, Prince.”

She turned, then headed in through the doorway, confidently prowling towards the door leading to the Trial of the Maze.

The bronze door that waited for her opened just as she arrived and Jasmine stepped into it, holding her magneto-rapier up and activating it. As the sleek silvery sword swept into the air beside her thigh, she advanced, shoulder first, into the narrow corridor. Her eyes adapted to the darkness and dimness of the cave as the maze’s first chamber opened before her: A rectangular chamber of rough hewn stone, with the only light coming from faintly glowing fungus that shimmered along the ceilings. There was a door at the far end of the room ... but Jasmine knew, for a fact, that it could not be so simple as to just walk across the chamber.

Her eyes narrowed as she cast them left, then right. Ah. There ... she saw them: Holes, set at about thigh and shoulder height, evenly spaced along the walls. From them could be cast anything from death ray to toxic darts. But she saw no sign of anything that might serve as a pressure plate...

That left only the more subtle means of detection.

Jasmine drew her magneto-rapier up, aiming it at the room as if she were a British officer, leading a charge. Her thumb flicked along the control, adjusting the bimagnetic liquid that formed the blade, transforming it into a single thick disk, located at the end of a telescoping magnetic field projected from the hilt. Despite there being no physical connection between emitter and the swirling disk of liquid, Jasmine could feel the weight of it transmitted to her wrist – a mercy, as a truly weightless blade would be almost impossible for anyone to use without being gifted neigh magical abilities of foresight and self control.

Jasmine flicked her wrist and the magnetic field stretched out – sending the disk of liquid jerking away from her like a yo-yo on a string. It entered the room ... then withdrew back to her, three darts stuck into its viscous surface, as if she had provided a dart board to the blowholes beyond.

“By movement, eh?” Jasmine murmured. She stepped to the very edge of the entrance, her thumb shifting the blade back to its standard pattern – the moving liquid sheering the darts in half without even seeming to notice they were there. Once her shoulder was just at the edge of the entrance, she lifted her arm, moving with glacial slowness...

And no darts fired.

Jasmine took a very slow step forward. Measured movements took her entirely into the room – and not a single dart fired. She took another measured step, her weight shifting from foot to foot with the smooth grace of a dancer. The darts remained stilled as she came to the halfway point in the chamber ... and then...

The ceiling of the room groaned and creaked. The stone sent out tiny chips of rock as stone rubbed against stone, and the roof began to smoothly descend towards her. Its motion was almost as slow as her movements – but terribly insistent, the full weight of a thousand tons bearing down with every grinding creak. Jasmine forced herself to remain calm, knowing the true danger of the ceiling was not it crushing her fragile bones, but rather it spooking her into moving too soon.

Another step.

The grinding grew louder.

Another step.

The ceiling felt as if it was nearly touching her hair. The door was just before her.

Another, smooth step.

A wispy feeling of contact, as if the closing roof had almost touched her – but then Jasmine was in the next chamber of the Maze and the roof had closed off the pathway behind her. She breathed out a slow sigh, then stepped forward ... and nearly pitched into a vast emptiness. A chasm swept between her and the next change – light shining from a rectangular door to make it clear that that was her next direction. Jasmine measured the distance and saw it was a solid five meters...

It was quite a jump. Jasmine considered her own athletic abilities and knew...

Given the right tools? The right build up? The right momentum?

She could make that jump.

But the question was ... if it was merely a test of athleticism, then it was a terribly binary one, contrasted with the other tests, that had been solved through multiple methods. For instance, she could have charged through the dart room and simply evaded the darts – they had been situated at specific heights and distances, she could have contorted herself around their field of fire.

But this?

Either jump or do not jump.

Unless...

Jasmine knelt down, then leaned over the edge of the antechamber to this part of the maze. The chasm seemed to be infinitely deep, worn smooth by the passage of time. She lifted her head up and saw that there was a ceiling to the chasm – about ten meters above her. She rubbed her chin, then regarded her magneto-rapier. She adjusted the various options, finding that there was a grapnel and chain suspended in a paramagnetic field.

Jasmine thought, for a moment, that she could swing across ... until she noticed how the glittering silvery chain of bimagnetic liquid hung from her hand, how the grapnel rested beneath her. She reached out ... patted...

Then she laughed and swung her legs down onto the narrow bridge that spanned the chasm – cunningly hidden by an optical illusion! A leap of faith indeed! She strode forward ... and then her step at the midpoint went forward into nothing at all!

Jasmine’s eyes widened as time seemed to slow as she pitched forward. Her hand went to her magneto-rapier and she flashed it up and out, the grapnel sweeping up as she plunged down. It caught on the edge of the exit, hooked, and then she was swinging forward. She caught the hilt with both hands right before her mostly nude body crashed against the hard, smooth stone wall. She clenched her teeth and grunted with the impact, then remained dangling from the rope, her arms quivering. Her shoulders burned. Jasmine clenched her teeth and snarled: “I get it! Arrogance goeth before a fall!”

She dialed the magneto-rapier in and the emitter in the hilt began to retract the bimagnetic liquid, meaning that it drew her up to the exit, until she was able to swing a leg up and roll around onto her back, gasping heavily. Jasmine stood, shook herself, then stepped into the next room to find that it was nothing but a large, circular arena. Standing in the center of it, wearing a silver tunic that was clearly more armored than his previous attire, was Prince Fireth. He held in his hand his own magneto-rapier, the blade humming faintly as he held it to his side.

“I see the last trial is by combat, then?” Jasmine asked as she stepped into the room.

Fireth smirked at her. “Normally, we use a sparring robot – but this is personal.”

“I’m so glad to see I’ve gotten under your skin,” Jasmine said, her dislike of the Prince growing only more intense by the moment. She stepped in, adjusted her stance, then brought her sword up. “It’s not to the death, is it?”

“It is to the first blood,” he said, grinning. “I will try and make the wound not too disfiguring.”

Jasmine laughed, then stood up to attention, swept her blade up, then swept it to the side in a courtly bow.

Fireth hesitated, then bowed in return.

The two of them sprang to readiness. Jasmine slipped, for a moment, back to the same posture and stance she had taken in the London when she had sparred in the 1948 Olympics. Her opponent, then, had been a deadly and elegant Frenchwoman. But unlike this time, Jasmine highly doubted she was going to be seducing her opponent after the match! Though ... Fireth wasn’t ugly – far from it. He simply needed his arrogant presumption slapped out of him.

Fireth shuffled forward, testing her with a high thrust, then low. Jasmine parried both, listening to the remarkable chime of magneto-rapier on magneto-rapier. Her forearm burned faintly with the exertion from earlier, but she ignored it. She countered: Slash to the leg, face, chest, then two quick thrusts, stepping forward each time. Fireth gave ground and parried strike after strike, his eyes narrowed, bright in the darkness. He pirouetted at the last thrust, then struck at her thigh. Only by side stepping and parrying low did she stop the point of his blade from striking home and drawing the very blood that would end this trial!

“You will never get us to see peace with the foul Hawkmen,” he said, panting softly at the exertions of their little exchange.

“Maybe,” Jasmine said. “It is you who will never get me to stop!”

Another exchange – lightning fast, but terribly strong all for it. Blade met made, and met air as Fireth dove aside, coming back to his feet. Sweat beaded on his arms and face, while Jasmine felt her own skin glisten as well.

“The Hawkmen are why my sister took ... her own life!” Fireth said, his voice tight with pain. “They slew her lover in orbit, during one of their many wars with our Rocket Rangers – she was so distraught that she took her own life! Ever after, I swore that I would see their city burn for what they had done to her!” His eyes flashed. “Now you wish me to turn the other cheek to them!?”

Jasmine looked aside, lowering her blade. “I know that the injustices of the past cannot be easily set aside – but there exists a greater danger than the Hawkmen you hate.”

“Let Zardo rule the system!” Fireth said, then sprang forward. Jasmine was forced to parry, once, twice, three times. “I care not!”

“Then you are a short sighted fool,” Jasmine snarled, blade locked to blade.

“It is what he would have wanted,” Fireth growled, leaning in close. Jasmine, though, could see the intention – his thumb was dropping to the controls on his magneto-rapier ... Jasmine knew, in an instant, this blade lock could transform into a close in knife fight, simply by adjusting a single dial, and in such sudden changes, the Faeman prince would be at an advantage. Jasmine, though, had not merely competed in fencing. She had trained in the arts of wrestling and half a dozen other martial arts – including the art of Akido!

Fireth reduced his blade to a knife...

Jasmine hooked her ankle around his, grabbed his wrist, twisted, and threw in one motion. Fireth yelped, dropping his magneto-rapier ... but not out of sheer clumsiness, no! Instead, he did so so that he could lock one hand onto Jasmine. They both landed on the ground, and in a moment, they were struggling, grappling, squirming to try and find purchase. Jasmine, though, had the better in the contest, and soon, Fireth was pinned beneath her – and it was here, at this moment, that Jasmine learned the shocking secret truth of the so called Prince of the Faemen, with whom she had been battling for the entire day...

Fireth ... was no prince at all! Her eyes widened as Jasmine and her body met in a way that left no room for doubt!

Jasmine blinked down at Fireth, her mouth opened in shock. Then she snatched up the discarded dagger and swept it up – the tip drawing a thin graze on her cheek. Fireth hissed as her bright red blood dripped along her cheek – her palm cupping against her face as she glared up at Jasmine. “That’s that then,” Jasmine said, quietly as the entrance to the arena opened, the sound of cheering filling the air as the Faemen court rushed in to congratulate the conquering heroine.