Capítulo 120: Amazons
The only city-state on the island with a strange name, Themyscira, with barely two thousand inhabitants, we moved out after half an hour, because we had to wait for the Amazons to help their battle-stricken sisters. I was glad for the delay, though, because it gave us time to recover a bit and take a couple of well-deserved trophies. I would have liked more, of course, but the increased mana drain, which was no longer compensated for by the bound diamonds and natural regeneration, insisted that one more anthropomorphic bug corpse could fit into the spatial pocket, but then I would definitely kill myself. It seemed a little strange that I had managed to cram two rather large bodies into the spatial pocket, but the thing was that the storages I had created, unlike Zee's hat, lightened the weight by seventy-five percent at the most, distributing the rest throughout the aura, and the storage conditions were far from ideal, not allowing me to put living or high-energy objects inside.
By the way, while the beautiful allies were organizing the caravan and the first aid, if this nightmare can be called that at all, I was able to see for myself that the Amazons were much stronger, stronger and more resilient than ordinary people. Of the twenty warriors, not counting those who died in the collapsed temple, almost all of them survived. Only two of the reborn were unlucky enough to be struck by Steppenwolf's axe during his mega-jumps.
General Darkseid's weapon must have had some magical properties, besides the ability to release sparks (even Harley's vibrator could do that), because, unlike his queen, even with severed limbs and terrible wounds the warriors did not show signs of imminent death, as well as profuse blood loss. Hmm... Though Hippolyta did not look quite dying until the last moment and was quite cheerfully giving out instructions.
In any case, most of the injured really enough banal bandaging with the first rags that came to hand, and only some still had to help climb on the four-legged transport to their more capable friends.
I, too, was not spared a horseback ride in the company of an Amazon. Despite a little rest, my condition was hardly satisfactory. I could still stand and move slowly, leaning on my faithful assistant, but I couldn't follow the caravan, I wouldn't be able to do so with all my might.
In principle, Harley could carry my body on her hands to the gates of the city, and taking into account her metamorphism skills, she wouldn't even be out of breath, but I didn't like this approach. And what was the point of torturing myself and my beloved, if I could get comfortable?
I took a couple of steps and stumbled to the ground... Well, I didn't really mean to do that and really just lost my balance on the slippery rock, but it was better to gesture that it was some kind of cunning plan than to explain to Harley that one brainless moron had once again miscalculated his strength.
Judging by the very heavy sigh and sad look, the girl did not really believe in my game, but almost immediately cheered up a little when the queen noticed the hiccup and asked her assistants to take care of the guests.
In the end, the "plan" worked perfectly, and soon I was riding comfortably on a horse in the company of a disgruntled girl named Astarte, sitting behind me and holding me with her hands to make sure I didn't fall off.
By the way, this statuesque, tanned brunette with brown eyes and predatory features fought Darkseid during his first arrival on Earth. And what's more, it was she who, leading the breakout group, managed to be the first to reach the portal, fight off one of the Cubes and survive, which already speaks of unreal skill and experience. So, after a short questioning, now I know that the winged monsters are called parademons, and they really have demonic energy, which means that most of the methods that Konstantin told me about are suitable against the freaks. And as a nice bonus, my idea to use their body parts as the basis for artifacts definitely has a right to life. At the same time, it suddenly turned out that these creatures are created from representatives of intelligent races enslaved by the Apocalypse, and this fact makes me ask myself moral and ethical questions.
On the one hand, they and I are of different species, and after rebirth into a parademon, the original personality is at best a mere remnant, tested by the gods after an epic battle. On the other hand, they were once sentient beings, and creating artifacts from them is practically practicing necromancy. There's a not-so-nice section on creating magical bling from human corpses. Although, some magical creatures are quite successful in developing intelligence, becoming even smarter than some people. For some reason, their parts could be used in rituals without any problems, and even the all-right Zee wouldn't look askew. It was indeed a dilemma, but I decided to deal with it when I recovered and returned to my private island.
After another twenty minutes of leisurely traveling through picturesque fields, meadows, and forests that would have been perfect backdrops for Peter Jackson's legendary trilogy, the caravan rounded a mountain range, and a beautiful town built on a hillside, drowning in greenery, came into view.
As we approached the cherished goal, my eyes picked up more and more details.
Majestic cyclopean buildings with snow-white columns and beautiful bas-reliefs were next to more modest two-story dwellings with red tiled roofs. Between the buildings there were wide roads paved with stone slabs, and in the northern part of the city there were large aqueducts. Giant bronze statues depicting goddesses were always present in the spacious squares. And when I say giant, I mean at least twenty meters high. Hmm, and after all, according to legends gods were able to inhabit their images, so such art-objects may well serve as one of the lines of defense, especially the sculptures necessarily had some weapon in their hands, like a sword or a spear, to match their height.
All of the above created an inexpressible atmosphere of Ancient Greece, and exactly the one represented in myths and legends.
Soon our brave band of invalids finally reached the powerful gate, padded with sheets of bronze, which in true vision sparkled from the amount of heavy mana, for some reason having a rather unusual pinkish color. As we approached, a horn sounded from the wall, and the gate swung open majestically, letting the arriving caravan inside.
After passing a couple of turns, clearly designed to hold off any enemies who broke through, we came to a wide square where a sizable crowd of locals had gathered.
To my great surprise, I noticed among the people I met, small figures, clearly belonging to teenagers. Were the Amazons kidnapping children? I immediately turned to Astarte, who began to explain in detail the physiology of the locals, thus helping to distract me from the surprised and indignant murmurs of the crowd discussing the man who had arrived on the island (the messengers had not been canceled).
Back to the teenagers present in the square. This is how the reborn look like at the beginning of their life journey. They, like ordinary people, are able to grow up, but they do not start from infancy, but from the age of twelve. As I said, the Olympic gods are in serious decline, and the goddesses simply do not have the strength to immediately grow a full-fledged combat unit, but they leave her the opportunity to develop independently, and in terms of genetics, if such a concept can be applied to the animated clay with a human soul, the reborn Amazons all just great. All of them with time turn into tall beauties, at least one meter eighty, and with near-perfect athletic figures without hypertrophied muscles, which I want to touch, and judging by Harley's burning eyes, I'm not the only one. But I would have problems with that, because all the way to the temple I tried to distract myself with meaningless conversations, interested in local architecture and history, but still I couldn't help but feel the hostile glances directed at me.
In the temple itself, which I had managed to see from the hill earlier, the atmosphere was much better. The priestesses were a little surprised by the man's presence, but they were not going to express their contempt or any other negative feelings, and they didn't have time.
Such a large number of injured people had not been seen here for a long time, but the local employees were able to sort everyone quickly into those who needed urgent help and those who could tolerate it for the time being.
Amazingly, even I was asked about my health, noticing the pale color of my face, but they did not touch me, but were satisfied with the answer that everything was normal. But Harley was examined and recognized as healthy.
After sorting, I walked under Astarte's supervision to the central room, where there was another statue of the goddess, full of majesty. Only this time, instead of the standard weapon, she held a staff with a snake coiled around it.
Beside the bronze sculpture there was a huge stone bed, decorated with beautiful floral ornaments around the perimeter, where Hippolyta, as the most injured, was placed.
No one was going to kick me out, so I planned to join the healing magic of the Amazons, wanting to see and memorize new charms, but there was a big bummer waiting for me.
Gathering around the bed, which looked a little like an altar for sacrifices, five priestesses wrapped in white rags, began to sing a dreary song in Ancient Greek. It was surprising, because up to this point we'd all been able to communicate in English without any problems, even if it was a little archaic on the part of the Amazons, and this was such an abrupt transition.
I didn't understand it by ear, and I didn't understand it in writing either, since I hadn't studied it thoroughly yet, concentrating on Latin, but I still managed to understand that it was literally a prayer to the goddess, asking her to heal their queen. Yes, I would hardly be able to repeat such a thing, because I don't want to ask Delirum for anything.
After a couple of minutes of vocal exercises, a pinkish haze began to emanate from the women's bodies, absorbing into the statue standing in the hall, as well as into the stone bed. At first glance, there was nothing else interesting going on, no constructions appearing in the air, no change of luminescence intensity, no usual activation keys, although I had definitely gone deep into the third level, trying in vain to see something. Despite the lack of visual effects, after a while Hippolyta began to sniffle heavily, holding back painful moans. The reason for them became clear when, in true vision, some faint black stuff flowed out of the wound, quickly soaking right into the altar. It wasn't a pleasant procedure, judging by the sweat on her forehead, but when the dark mist had completely drained away, the wound closed, leaving no scar, and the cracks in the clay hand healed.
I guessed that now I was seeing a visual application of divine energy, without any auxiliary crutches like focusing weaves and other mana constructs. The question remained as to what that strange pink haze was that I was seeing for the first time. It didn't look like mana, and I didn't have the depth of vision to see the ba-hion, so I had to rule out prana.
An unexpected but logical conclusion that explains the oddities of Amazon magic. Their abilities, according to the lectures of the sexy sorceress, are limited to self-reinforcement (just what Qi is intended for) and they lose, in terms of technique and scope of application, to the Atlanteans with their water magic.
I got confirmation of these thoughts when the priestesses began to treat the next person. Here they had to chant for less than a minute, and first of all the draughty energy coming from them was absorbed directly into the patient, quickly healing her wounds. A small part of the prana went to the statue and the altar, apparently setting the vector of influence.
The healed Hippolyta did not wait for the end of the treatment of everyone present. Instead, she promptly organized our transportation to the palace complex, allocated us guest quarters and two assistants, and went off to prepare some "message", having previously informed us that there would be a feast at night, to which we were invited.
In my opinion, it's strange to have a celebration, considering the pile of dead (while we reached the city, it turned out that there were still Amazons in the collapsed temple holding back the Parademons and Steppenwolf), but it was stupid to refuse.
Naturally, all previous arrangements were still in force, so after a brief tour of the complex and a quick sightseeing tour, I headed straight for the library built on the southern slope of the hill.
In principle, the palace was also quite interesting. There were bas-reliefs telling the history of the island, unique Greek architecture, a trophy room where artifacts of the past were displayed, and about which Astarte could talk in detail. Even the armory looked tempting, because it contained various magical weapons, but the unique knowledge of the hidden island was much more important to me.
Harley came with me, though I'd suggested she stay and rest, so the four of us piled into the library, surprising the local keeper to no end. She even got a little jammed up, and when she did, she immediately tried to stab me with a sword she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"Ismem, he's a guest! - Astarte deftly deflected the Amazon's lunge.
"He's a man! - The battle librarian jumped back, not in a hurry to put her weapon away, and eyed suspiciously the long cane sticking out of the pocket of my spacious breeches, which I had somehow managed not only to pull out on reflexes but also to put in the path of the blow. - What's he doing here?!
"Didn't you hear about the attack? - Our protector asked in surprise. - He helped repel the Mother Cube and saved the queen with his magic. As a reward, he was given the opportunity to share our knowledge and training.
The new acquaintance's eyes gleamed strangely, and she hurriedly put her sword away in its scabbard.
"If you'll excuse me," she said with a slight bow. - The last time a man had come to the island, it had not ended well. My name is Ismem, and I am the keeper of the library.
"It happens," I try to smile amiably, which is very hard to do with my face hidden by illusion. - My name is Joker, this is Harley, - I introduce my companion, putting my favorite Glock in the pocket with extension. - First of all, I'm interested in the local school of magic, and, if anything, I'm ready to exchange knowledge.
"Hmm... This is going to be very interesting," the dark-haired beauty in the white toga beckoned us to follow her into the depths of the book labyrinth.
I followed the girl and got a better look at her, recognizing her as a reborn. Her height was quite decent, but she was still a little inferior to her older sisters, though she still had the same figure as all the Amazons I'd seen before. I think that Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, had interfered here, and she had to adjust her flock to certain standards.
We stayed in the library almost until the feast, but I can't say we found anything really interesting during that time. To begin with, seventy percent of the books were in Ancient Greek, about fifteen percent in Latin, and the rest in various languages, including Sumerian, Akkadian, Aramaic, Sanskrit, and Old Scandinavian. There was English, too, but it was limited to a selection of newspapers from the forty-fourth year. By the way, here I learned why I have no problem understanding spoken language. It's all about the goddess of wisdom - Athena, or rather in her charms, allowing everyone on the island to understand each other. Do not forget that the souls of warriors could belong not only to different eras, but also to different countries, so the goddess made sure that her wards could immediately understand each other, thereby increasing their combat effectiveness and speed of learning.
Unfortunately, this trick didn't really work with writing, so I had to torture Ismem, though it couldn't be said that the latter wasn't happy about it. Despite the incident at the meeting, she turned out to be quite a good conversationalist, very interested in the big earth and various schools of magic. The other Amazons did not care about such things from a high bell tower, and it was not only their rejection of the patriarchal world, but also the way of thinking of immortals.
The islanders could do the same things year after year without any problems. They could communicate with the same personalities, train daily in the arena, improve their skills, work in the field, and have absolutely no desire to change anything. Ismem, on the other hand, was an anomaly, and she wasn't shy about pulling information about the outside world out of us, in exchange for translating texts. But all good things come to an end. So I had to put aside my books and go to the feast, having found out only that the Amazons really can't do normal sorcery, and at the same time have a very decent reserve of life force, which is spent on the buffs of their body.
Estado de energía semanal
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