Azrak feared that the impact from the crash might have given the injured stranger a concussion. He had to keep him awake. It didn’t matter what the subject of the conversation would be; as long as the Azurian man would keep the man awake.
“I know you must be in terrible pain, my friend,” said Azrak, looking over the strange man’s wounds. His attention was fully focused on the dislocated arm. “But can you move your arm?”
The man grunted with effort, and sucked his teeth in pain. Beads of sweat dripped through the pores of his forehead, and his face turned red.
“I think it’s broken,” he answered the tall blue man.
Azrak studied the severe ailment. “It’s not broken, only dislocated.”
“Can you put it back into place?”
“Yes, I can,” Azrak replied, placing his hands on the man’s shoulder. “I must warn you, the pain will be excruciating.”
The man took a breath and looked at Azrak in a state of readiness. “Then do it.”
Azrak gripped the man’s shoulder. “Be still. I’m going to do it on the count of three.”
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The man closed his eyes and muttered a prayer in his native tongue.
“One…” the blue man began, and then a loud popping sound erupted inside the man’s eardrum. The man howled in pain.
“I thought you were going to count to three!”
Azrak gave him a small smile. “I am very sorry. I thought you would back out at the last second.”
He expected the bizarre pink man would be angry. But he was surprised to hear the sound of laughter.
“I would have too,” the man laughed. “Well played, my friend. Well played.”
Azrak laughed along with him, while he checked the arm, which was now placed back into its socket.
“Your arm looks better, but it’s going to take some time to heal. What is your name, stranger?”
The adrenaline from the minor operation was wearing off, and the man had a feeling he could pass out at any moment. He mustered all the strength he had left to answer his savior’s question.
“On the Isle of Kish, I am a hero,” he began, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. “In the city of Abu Dhabi, I am a thief. And in Baghdad I am to be killed on sight.”
Azrak leaned onto every word the man said. He had no recollection about the cities and countries that were mentioned. It was then Azrak learned that this man wasn’t from around here at all.
“My friends call me a sailor. My enemies call me a pirate.”
Pirate? Thought Azrak in fear. Is he affiliated with the deadly pirate Rhadjan Vix?
Then the man placed his hand onto Azrak’s. “But you may call me Sinbad.”
Sinbad the Sailor quickly surveyed his surroundings. Nothing was familiar to him. He had been all over the world, but he didn’t remember anything about this place. Then he feared he wasn’t in his beloved city of Baghdad anymore.
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He finally gave into the shock and rolled his eyes inside his head. Azrak stood up in alarm and lifted Sinbad into his arms, and carried him off over the dunes.
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CHAPTER ONE
IT’S ALL FATE AND CHANCE
Deep into the subterranean dungeon of the malevolent Emperor Akhdar Dadgar, the newly crowned monarch of the Dozhakian throne and ruler of the Thulian people; in the middle of the prison cell sat a man whose broad shoulders and sun-browned skin seemed out of place among these dismal surroundings. He seemed more a part of the sun and winds, and the high planes of the outlands. The legendary sailor Sinbad knelt on top of the red Martian dirt and began to greet the morning’s dawn on this strange world he has been stranded since far back as he could remember by praying to Allah. The first of the five sessions he had to perform for the day. Salah is intended to focus on the mind of Allah, and seen as a personal communication with Him. Sinbad hoped the benevolent deity would hear His worshiper’s prayers from all the way back to Earth. But Sinbad wasn’t pleading for himself, but for those he had befriended on this planet.
Sinbad stood upright facing Qiblah and then proceeded to make Niyyah in his heart. He raised his hands to his ears and said softly, “Allah is the greatest.” Sinbad placed his right hand on top of his left hand on his chest and looked downward to the ground. “O Allah, how perfect You are and praise be to You,” the humble sailor silently began. “Blessed is Your name and exalted is Your majesty. There is no god but You. I seek shelter from the rejected Satan. In the name of Allah, the most Gracious and Merciful.”
Sinbad took a breath to replenish himself before he could continue. He held onto his chest tightly and recited the first chapter of the Quran.
“All praises and thanks be to Allah, the Lord of the worlds, the most Gracious, the most Merciful; Master of the Day of Judgment. You alone we worship, from You
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alone we seek help. Guide us along the straight path, the path of those whom You favored, not of those who earned Your anger or went astray.”
The Earth warrior bowed down and kept his head in line with his back, while he continued his vespers. Sinbad’s turban rested on the ground in front of him, as the sun’s rays poured in between the jail’s bars. A luxury only the most fortunate of prisoners would ever receive in this broken down palace.
Sinbad prostrated on the floor with his forehead, nose, palms of both hands, his knees, and toes all touching the floor. Then he sat up with his knees and palms placed on them and said, “O my Lord! Forgive me.” And he softly whispered “Allah, please grant me the strength and courage to face what is to come.”
His fellow inmates had long since given up their attempts for any chance of escape. They have accepted their fates as gladiators for Zhar Akhdar’s own personal amusement. The prisoners were native to Mars’ soil. Their appearance was humanoid but they were much taller than average human height. Also much thinner, but muscular given the current diet the guards provided for them. Their skin was blue as if they were suffering a severe case of hypothermia. And their yellow eyes pierced through the darkness like a cat on the prowl. They all sat defeated waiting for the chilling sound of the guards opening the door. That only meant one thing for them: death.
This was no place for Sinbad. He felt more comfortable at the helm of his ship, The Chimera, sailing the seven seas with the sun on his back and the sea salt in his beard. But he was depraved of his true love of freedom in exchange to be the star attraction for the grisly entertainment of corrupt and malicious aristocrats. Sinbad couldn’t remember the last time he ever enjoyed the majestic beauty of the ocean. He had been on land for so long he feared he had lost his sea legs. No matter what evil they
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had done to him, he will always carry his love for the sea and freedom in his heart.
He wore no ring or ornaments, except for the golden medallion that hung around his neck. Sinbad’s pendant glimmered in the sunlight when he slipped it off his neck. Sinbad wrapped the chain around his hand so it wouldn’t tangle, and placed it gently inside his turban for safekeeping. He didn’t want its shimmer to catch any of the