My relief upon entering Jordan’s Kingdom would have been obvious, had anyone been within twenty kilometers of me. It’s not that I had felt threatened wandering through the Insect Tribal Lands, because, I mean, the only thing they do hurt is flies. That ten-foot cicada did scare me to wetting myself, but with the tribe around, I did not really feel much fear.

But here, finally, I was back to real civilization. I hope. See, I’m kind of new to the job, being a bard, that is, so my travels are not overly extensive. Okay, fine, so Jordan’s Kingdom is only the second place I’ve been outside of my native land of Arubaria. I had heard plenty about Jordan’s Kingdom from traders, so I knew mostly what to expect. What I had learned is this.

Jordan’s Kingdom, based upon a river of the same name (Jordan that is, not, well you know what I mean), has a great deal of history dating back many thousands of years. Unfortunately, nobody has any clue what that history is, and those who are inclined to find out have a tendency to disappear for a time and then reappear in the King’s dungeon. King Jordan, probably somewhere around the tenth with that very name, wants his people to think that he’s the only Jordan there has ever been and ever will be, so he “discourages” any evidence that may prove otherwise. Of course, everyone knows otherwise, but that’s okay so long as no one says anything about it in public. Everyone figures that even the King was allowed to have a few fetishes, and if a few people were imprisoned because of that, so be it so long as it isn’t me. So the town prospered. And they eat real (i.e. non-insectoid) meat.

Anyway. I knew that I was entering Jordan’s Kingdom because the forest was thinning and I could hear the sounds of sheep bleating. Had I not been afraid of being arrested for poaching or trespassing, I would have gone over to kiss the sheep, I was so happy to see them and be away from animals with exoskeletons.

Sheep poaching, I learned later, is the most serious offense (to the people at least. To the King, it was treason) that could be committed in Jordan’s Kingdom. They tie your hands to the ground, your feet to a tree branch, and then tickle you mercilessly until you pass out from suffocation. Then they feed you, give you an hour to digest, string you back up, and tickle you some more. They do this every day, all week, for three months. Those who actually survive the ordeal tend to wander somewhat aimlessly, giggling at odd times and without provocation. Don’t know about you, but that scares the willies out of me.

Anyway. There I was, walking along a road that I knew was leading into Jordan’s Kingdom. About an hour after hear the sheep, I began passing other people on the road. Their accent was quite strong, significantly different from the Bug-Eaters, but close enough to my own for me to get along and sound only slightly like a moron. I had not realized how long I’d been with the Tribe until I started hearing the Jordanians speak, and it sounded so good. I walked slowly so that I would be slightly more accustomed to speaking the language by the time I made it to the capital.

I was still about four hours out of the city when night began to fall. Well, the Sun fell from the sky, so one could say the night rose. Anyway, I found a nice little ditch to settle into for the night.

I woke just before sunrise, just as I do every morning. It’s safer that way, especially if you wish to take leave of hosts unwilling to let you go. I found some nuts and fruits that looked somewhat edible to nibble on whilst I walked.

I had gone no more than a kilometer when my eye caught a glittering reflection of the rising sun from something just off the path. What I found there surprised me more than had my old friend Albert (dead these ten years, Allah bless him) jumped from the bushes screaming an Arubian war chant. What I found was a finely crafted ancient necklace. Attached to that necklace was an equally finely crafted young lady.

Unless standards in Jordan’s Kingdom were different, I thought. This is one gorgeous gal! Even her clothes were fine. Now I know what you’re thinking, because the very same thing was running through my head: nobility.

Oh great, I thought. I’ve found the King’s runaway daughter, just like in all the stories. Not wanting to get involved in any way, because such things were different, I slowly stood up to walk away. Unwilling to leave such a beautiful specimen of the human race, and unwilling to wake her, I began turning. It was then that she pulled the pearl (Oooo)-hilt stiletto any took a swipe at me. I quickly leapt backward with reflexes taught me by the Bug-Eaters, and once safely out of range spread my arms wide in the symbol helplessness that is universal (I wasn’t, of course. Every bard has his handy-dandy eight-incher folded where the casual search will not find.).

“Bard!” I shouted, hoping that she would not think I was cursing her. She looked me over warily then slipped the knife back into her bosom (I was watching carefully. The knife, of course). I hadn’t seen her stand up, truth be told, she moved so fast.

“Where’s your lute, then?” She asked seriously, but the tightening around her eyes betrayed her sense of humor. I bowed low.

“`Twas taken from me in yon southerly lands for playing without a license, my lady,” I replied in my best dead-pan. She snorted and looked me over again. I was not, as one would say, a sight for sore eyes. I was hoping to get something new in Jordan’s Kingdom. I was also quite amazed because she had spoken more like the Bug-Eaters than the Jordanians.

“I am heading for a meeting with King Jordan as an emissary from the Aridae Insect Tribe, the closest to his lands. I can see that you are heading in the same direction. Join me?” Not completely unexpected, I guess. The men in the Tribes had much better reflexes, but no brains, per se. So the women had to do the read work while their moron husbands and sons had fun. And as for her proposal to join her, well, that too was expected. Everyone liked bards, because they made good translators, traders, and storytellers. I mean, why would anyone want to do anything else?