Once upon a time there was an amazing city on the trades routes of the ancient silk merchants. Along the Silk Road and through the desert the caravans would pass many places of wondrous sights. From oasis cities such as Kashgar, Turpan and Dunhuang in China to Samarkand and Bukhara in Uzbekistan. Yet there was one such thriving place, just off the beaten track where the men avoided. For traders had heard tales and rumours and they didn't want to tempt their good fortunes.

They'd all heard of The Harem, but none dared visit the proximity. It was said the prettiest or manliest of men were taken there and never left again. On lonely cold nights in the Bedouin tents strong courageous warriors shivered at the whispers of the owner of that Harem. They called herالجانب المظلم من القمر which in Arabic means the dark face of the moon, for to look on her was to be devoid of light and hope. She was a great and powerful Sultana, but she had a very dark side. Too high to be toppled, too cunning to be thwarted, so the local tribesmen tolerated her unusual whims and proclivities. Indeed, some desperate and cruel parents might visit her palace to sell their unruly sons to the rich owner either for her guard, or in the hope she was attracted to them and in the mood to add to the swelling numbers of her suitors, lovers and husbands. Either way, for those chosen there was little reward in a life with the Sultana. To be in her employ was to know misery and sorrow, but to be in fear of the reprisals for insubordination or refusal of orders.

Hisham was a blue eyed thief from the poor streets of some back water Turkish village. He'd stolen along in the great caravans, jumping from one camp to another doing odd jobs for the traders. He'd steal what he could and gamble with the hired soldiers who were paid to keep the merchants safe from bandits. He had fine golden hair and skin so pale they often mistook him for a Western prince, for he loved to spread lies and gossip. He would pay handsomely for the right lies to be...