Deviation Actions
Description
Under the Ray Edward Bradley pseudonym this time was the only female writer to work on the Thandra stories, Eleanor Lamb. Lamb was, in 1945, the author of the infamous “Thandra in Chains”, which saw the Panther Princess enslaved by a tribe of Amazons. At this point in the series, Thandra’s on-again, off-again love interest Rick Banning, having done his part in the Second World War, had returned to the Lost Island to marry Thandra (with the help of a shipwrecked missionary Thandra rescued from her long-time foes the Ape-Men in the Summer 1946 issue “Captives of the Cannibal Beasts”). Thus, the Panther Princess spent the last two and a half years of Spicy Jungle Tales in lawfully wedded bliss.
Considering the Sapphic overtones of Lamb’s Thandra stories, it should perhaps not come as a surprise that Lamb later wrote a number of lesbian paperbacks in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s under a number of pen-names.
Chapter 1
Thandra lay on the grass beside the lake, letting the sun bronze her limbs. She was a splendid figure of femininity, Rick Banning thought, from her golden tresses down to her shapely bare feet. Her only garment was a simple strapless leopard-skin dress.
Once she had been Diana Carson, daughter of the ill-fated Flying Carsons. When their plane went down over the Lost Island, she was orphaned, forced to survive among savage beasts and savage men. Survive she had and by adulthood she reigned over a jungle kingdom. To the Bakulla she was their Golden Goddess, the Panther Princess.
A few months past she had become Diana Banning, according to the laws of distant civilization. But she had been his mate in his heart long before that.
Lean and dark of hair, the former soldier-of-fortune was stripped to the waist, letting the hot tropical sun bronze his skin. Nearby his gunbelt, with ammuniton and holster .45 automatic lay in the grass. Rick was not ready yet to don a loincloth, but the rugged life on the Lost Island had certainly warmed him to the possibility.
Nearby, his wife’s faithful panther companion, Naru, lounged in the grass, watching the newlyweds with feline indifference.
Rick took Thandra in his muscular embrace and reveled in the closeness of her.
“The smartest thing I ever did was make an honest woman of you at last,” said Rick.
Thandra frowned.
“Are you saying I was not before?”
“Not what?”
“Honest.”
“Whoa there, baby, that’s just a figure of speech we have—”
“Rick, I may live in the jungle now, but I wasn’t born in one. Of course I know what you meant.” She smiled and Rick’s panicked expression relaxed.
“Thandra baby, I—”
“Foolish man, just kiss me.”
And he did. Rick crushed her mouth with his and they enjoyed a long, passionate kiss.
Suddenly, Naru cocked an ear. Thandra froze, listening.
“What’s—” Rick started, then fell silent, knowing something was up. His wife’s senses were keen, more so than any other woman’s, having lived in the wild environs of the Lost Island for so many years.
“Many men,” Thandra said. And now, in the distance, Rick heard the faint sounds of men and beasts. “I shall go.” She was all business now, the loving wife put aside for the jungle queen. Rick got his gun-belt and strapped it on.
“I’m going with you,” he said.
“No. Warn the Bakulla. If these are invaders they need to be ready. I will scout them out so we know their numbers.”
A protest died on lips. There was no arguing with Thandra on matters such as this. She had been doing this long before he parachuted into her life, but that was before they were wed and he felt a stab of apprehension every time she went off to do battle. Thandra was an exceptional woman, but she was still only mortal.
“I love you!” He said.
Pausing, she turned, smiled, replying, “And I you.”
And then she bounded away, scrambling up a tree, and disappeared into the trees.
Thandra leapt through the trees with a monkey’s agility. Since she marooned as a girl, she had made the jungle her domain. No athletic feat was beyond her. Free and powerful, she moved from tree to tree, until she came within sight of the intruders.
She crouched on the branch of a great tree and observed them as they marched past. There were perhaps a hundred of them, spearmen and bowmen, not a large army, but enough to cause trouble for the smaller tribes. They were dusky men, with dark hair, wearing white linen kilts and armed with spears and curved swords of bronze. She remembered a book from her childhood showing Ancient Egypt. These people might have stepped from those illustrations. And why not? Remnants of many civilizations, from the Carthaginians to the Mongols to the Amazons could be found in the far corners of the Lost Island.
A woman rode in a golden chariot. And such a woman! The proud beauty had hair black as a raven’s wing, wore a striped headdress and was clad in gold that gleamed in the sun and white silk that clung to her magnificent form like a second skin. To look upon her was to know immediately she was the ruler of these people, that her every utterance must be law. Cleopatra must have looked much the same.
A dozen beautiful young women armed with spears and carrying rectangular wooden shields, wearing corselets of shimmering bronze scales, their faces like expressionless masks, were arrayed around the chariot.
One of those soldier-women turned and spotted her, then raised the alarm. The soldiers and chariot came to a halt. Bowmen fitted arrows to bowstrings and loosed. Thandra sprang from the branch as the first arrows whistled her way. She landed on the ground in a crouch and rose up, bellowing the war-cry of the Bakullas, ready to sell her life dearly.
“Halt!” Cried the Queen, and her soldiers froze. “I am Queen Neferi of Amara,” she proclaimed, her dark eyes flashing with anger. “And who are you, savage, to bar my way?”
Thandra spoke with fierce pride. “The Bakulla call me Thandra, the Golden One. I am their protector. These lands belong to the Bakulla. If you intend to invade, then I warn you that you will not only face the spears of the Bakulla and their allies, but me as well!”
“Let me slay this one, O Queen,” demanded one of the bodyguards, a tall Amazon of a woman, who carried a long spear and glowered at Thandra with undisguised hatred.
“No, Aya, her insolence intrigues me,” said Neferi, a sly expression on her face. The Queen disembarked from her chariot and strode towards Thandra, her empty hands raised. “I am unarmed,” the queen declared. “I wish only to speak.”
“Then speak,” Thandra said, suspicious of the mysterious queen, but willing to hear her out.
“You can see how small my army is. You can see that my intentions are not warlike. I have come forth from Amara to bring peace . . . peace . . .” Those dark eyes softened and became pools of warm mystery into which Thandra found herself sinking into. “Think of how much more peaceful this island shall be under the rule of one strong monarch, a ruler of great wisdom, whom all shall look upon and adore . . .”
Queen Neferi seemed almost to glow. Yes, Thandra could see it now. A land of peace. No more fighting, just peaceful submission . . . But, what about the Bakullas? What about Rick?
“I . . .” She struggled to speak, frowning. “I . . .”
“How much easier it might be if you stopped struggling against me and just gave in? There is no need for your weapon, no need to fight, only the simple act of submission . . .”
It was as if her thoughts had been wrapped in the softest silk, smothering her fears. Why had she ever defied this wondrous woman? Thandra smiled a dreamy smile, all thoughts of violence forgotten. She sheathed her knife.
“Will you not show your Queen the depths of your devotion?”
The strength went out of her limbs and Thandra sank down to her knees before the Queen, bowing her head, a supplicant kneeling before the image of her goddess.
Neferi smiled in savage triumph.
As a young slave, Neferi had learned that she had a power in her gaze and voice that could persuade anyone to obey her will. With that power she had quickly risen to the royal seraglio to the throne of Amara itself. None could stand against her. Now those who had opposed her were slaves and she their mistress. In hushed tones the common people now spoke of her as the Witch-Queen and it pleased her. But ruling Amara alone was not enough. It was clear that the gods had given her these powers so that she might make herself queen not only of Amara, but of the whole island. What need had she of a vast army when she could turn her enemies into allies?
Neferi admired the jungle woman’s supple physique. Such strength she possessed! She desired to possess such a woman for her own uses. There were many things she might do with a woman such as that.
Reaching down, she cupped Thandra’s chin, tilting her head up so she could gaze into those soft gray eyes once again.
“Your life before now has no meaning. It is a fading dream.”
Her memories dimmed as if the Queen had drawn a heavy veil across them.
“Do you swear to serve and obey me, and no other?”
Thandra smiled eagerly. “I do, O Queen.”
“Then rise and take your place among my guard.”
The golden-haired savage rose and joined the ranks of her bodyguards.
Nearby, Thandra’s black panther watched all this, growling.
“Send your beast away,” Neferi said. “I would not wantonly slay such a creature.”
Thandra knelt and bade the beast leave. While it seemed confused, it listened, and bounded away into the jungle.
“By Set, she shall make a fine addition to my royal bodyguards!” Neferi turned to Aya.
“Yes, my Queen,” Aya said, unable to hide the jealousy in her tone.
Rick was able to reach the Bakulla village and tell them about the approaching army. Shango son of Shakat ruled the Bakulla nation now, and listened to Rick’s report. The young king agreed to prepare the warriors of the village while Rick returned to find Thandra and learn what she had discovered.
Rick returned to the lake but found no trace of his wife. Diana was no weak sister. The toughest broads of so-called civilization had nothing on this jungle Artemis. But she was flesh and blood like anyone else. Death lurked in a thousand terrible forms here, and other dangers, as well.
Rick heard rustling, glanced up, and saw Naru padding out of the jungle. Something must be wrong indeed if Thandra had left her beloved panther behind. He wished he could ask the big cat what happened. Instead, he had a different idea.
“Naru! Find Thandra!” Normally, he would have felt silly giving orders to an overgrown kitty, but this Naru was one smart puss. The panther went north, and Rick followed. They found Thandra’s trail quickly. The delicate imprint of her bare feet was mingled with the prints of the army she had encountered. Had she been taken captive? Or had she managed to make peace with them? But if that were the case, surely she would have tried to contact him.
Within a few hours they came to an encampment. The soldiers were Egyptian, a fact that some other time would have been of some interest to him, but all he was interested in was finding out if his wife was safe. He watched intently, but saw no sign of Thandra among them.
Around him the bushes rustled, and Egyptian soldiers emerged, encircling the American with their spears as he unholstered his .45.
“Another stranger!” One said.
“Go!” Rick shouted at Naru. “The village! Shango!”
He raised his automatic and took aim. And then the butt of a spear slammed hard against Rick’s head and he crumpled in a dazed heap upon the ground, the gun slipping from his limp fingers.
“Bring him to the Queen,” he heard a voice say as if from far away. The soldiers jerked him up and dragged him to the camp.
Thandra lunged at the other woman, her blunted spear barely missing her opponent’s leg as she thrust. They drew back from one another and resumed circling.
Seated on a throne of gilded wood, Neferi watched this fight with interest as Thandra and one of her younger guardswomen, panting with their exertions and bright with perspiration, vied to please her. The Amaran army had made camp for the night and Neferi had her pavillion erected.
The two warriors come together again in a flurry of thrusts and blocks that ended with Thandra knocking the spear from her opponent’s grip. She then threw the other woman to the ground, planted her foot on her vanquished foe’s chest, and pressed her spear against her throat.
Neferi stood and applauded.
“You have pleased me!”
Thandra stood there proudly, showing no expression. This golden-haired savage would don the armor of her guard soon, but Neferi toyed with the idea of adding leopard-skins to their uniform.
“Thandra, kneel before my throne,” Neferi said, and her new slave obeyed her silently.
Casting a sideways glance to the captain of her guard, she said, “She is magnificent, is she not, Aya? Men shall look upon her loveliness and despair, knowing that she belongs to me.”
Aya narrowed her eyes as she glanced at the newcomer.
“Once you found me so, O Queen.”
When she assumed the throne, Aya had been the first of the women she had . . . recruited into her service. She had no more loyal protector.
“Don’t worry, you are still first among my guard, dear Aya.”
The other woman did not seem placated.
A soldier entered her pavillion. “My Queen, we have captured a stranger. A man armed with a strange weapon.”
“Bring him,” she commanded, curious. Perhaps this day had not yielded up all its surprises.
Rick was escorted to the Queen’s tent, where he was greeted by the most fantastic sight.
It was Thandra! His wife was kneeling submissively upon the ground before the Queen’s throne. She looked up at his approach and her face was a mask of seeming indifference. Was he really seeing it, or was it the lingering effects of the blow to the head he had taken?
“Thandra, what’s the matter?” He started forwards was but was yanked back by the guards. Pain jolted through his head. Thandra looked at him with none of the warmth or kindness he had seen only a few short hours ago.
The Queen looked to Thandra. “You know this man, my servant?”
“Once, I believe.”
Hot anger rose up inside him at his wife’s sudden callousness. “Say, Thandra, what’s wrong with you all of a sudden?”
Thandra looked at him with no expression. “Wrong?”
Rick wheeled around, jabbing an accusing finger at the Queen.
“Square with me, sister! What did you to my wife?”
As he said that, the Queen smiled mysteriously.
“Your wife.” The Egyptian woman locked gazes with him, speaking in a tone that compelled absolute attention. “Yes, she is a fitting mate for one such as yourself. I have only shown your wife the glories that await all who enter into my service.” Rick could not tear his eyes away from that gaze. It immobilized him as surely and completely as a magnet would an iron nail. All the pain in his skull was quickly forgotten. “Those who serve me know the most wonderful rewards. You understand that there is truth and wisdom in what I say . . .”
With delight she watched as Rick Banning too fell under her power. The man’s defiant face had grown slack, the fire in his eyes dimmed, and his arms hanging limply at his sides.
Thandra’s mate! Neferi’s mind was aflame with the possibilities this presented. What more potent demonstration of her power over her new slave than to command her to slay the man she had once loved?
Neferi looked to Thandra and focused all of her will upon the woman. “You know this man not, my slave. You look upon him and see only a stranger. He is my enemy and I command you to slay him.”
“An enemy,” she repeated in a dulled voice. “I must slay him.”
“That is right.”
Neferi gave similar instructions to Rick Banning. When she was certain that her newest slave understood, she turned to Aya.
“Tell the men that we shall witness rare sport this day!”
Brazen trumpets blared and all the camp assembled to watch the bloody spectacle that the Queen had promised. Her men parted to make a circle and Thandra and Rick Banning entered it, armed with spears.
“Fight!” Commanded the Witch-Queen of Amara.
Thandra fell into a fighting stance, her spear thrust out, and began circling her opponent who did the same. She must slay her Queen’s enemy. The man made the first move, his spear flashing out to skewer her. But Thandra was already moving like a leopardess, twisting out of the spear’s path. She returned his thrust with one of her own and it drew blood from her foe’s shoulder. The man hissed in pain, then raised his spear to block Thandra’s stroke—too late. The spear went flying from his grasp.
Seeing her opportunity, she struck, jabbing her spear downwards savagely. The man just barely rolled to the side and avoided the spearhead. He lunged for her legs and tackled her to the ground. They grappled, and Thandra fought to keep a grip on her spear as her enemy tried to wrest it from her grasp.
Her enemy frowned. “Baby?” He croaked. The word seemed to echo in her head. In her mind’s eye she saw a billowing parachute and a man—this man—battling for his life against a sabertooth tiger. Saw him shooting down a pterodactyl that was swooping down to devour her. She saw his face, smiling. Smiling at her. When this man had looked upon her, it had not been as a goddess of the jungle to be feared and worshipped, but as a woman, with a woman’s desires . . .
For the first time since the battle was joined, she hesitated.
“Slay him,” came Queen Neferi’s voice. “You must!”
The conflict tore at her soul. Those orders beat at her brain. Something else as well. A word. No, a name . . . a name . . .
“Rick!” She cried out.
The man gripped his forehead as if in agony.
“Thandra!” The word burst from his lips.
Livid with fury, Queen Neferi snarled, “You must slay him! That is my inviolate command!”
Thandra stood over her fallen husband, spear quivering, caught between the man she loved and the woman she must obey.
With an anguished cry, she hurled the spear at her tormentress. Aya threw herself into the path of the spear and it pierced her chest. The warrior woman crumpled to the ground at her Queen’s feet. Neferi wailed and sank down to the side of the fallen woman, cradling her in her arms.
Aya looked up at Neferi. “Are . . . you pleased . . . O Queen?”
“Oh, Aya, I was never prouder.”
And then Aya—loyal Aya—died with a sigh.
Thandra and Rick embraced. The Queen’s bodyguards encircled them with their spears, poised to skewer the couple where they stood. Surrounded and outnumbered as they were, Thandra knew that there was no hope of fighting free this time. But if she must die, then at least it would be free and beside the man she had given her heart to.
“No one commands the Panther Princess!” She shouted defiantly. “You are beaten, Neferi! Slay us both if you wish, but you shall get no more satisfaction from it.”
The eyes of Queen Neferi were full of tears now, all their former mesmeric power fled. They were only the eyes of a woman who had been defeated.
“It seems that even with all my power I could not sunder the bond between you. If I cannot conquer one woman, how then can I hope to conquer an entire island? And in attempting it I have lost that which I treasured so greatly and yet esteemed so cheaply. So be it. Depart in peace. I shall return to Amara and wage war no more. You have the word of Queen Neferi.” Her head fell and she turned away, covering her face so that none would see a queen weep.
Looking upon the Queen now, Thandra felt a sort of pity for her, for a woman who could wield so much power over everything except for the human heart.
“Come, Rick,” she said. “Let us go home.”
Hand in hand, she walked with her husband, away from the camp, into the twilit jungles where the freedom of the green silences awaited them.
END
NOTE: Started this one not long after the first two Thandra stories but got sidetracked. Also I scrapped the original image and tried to make a better one. I hope I succeeded.
Very well done, perfect capture of a time and genre.