King Solomon's Gains (Patreon)

And here's another butchering of a classic English novel for the sake of shoving in gratuitous amounts of muscle, only this time instead of the original science fiction novel, it's the original pulp adventure novel. Enjoy!

 

It is a curious thing that at my age I should find myself picking up a pen and write a story. I have done a good many things in my life, which seems a long one to me, owing to my having begun work so young, perhaps. At an age when other boys are at school I was earning my living as a trader in the old colony. I have been trading, hunting, fighting, or mining ever since. It was only in the second part of my life thus far that I made my gains. They are big gains now that I got them- I still don’t yet know how big- but it was unbelievable to how I came across them. I am not known for my prose, as I am no literary man, and this story is not one that many will believe. Let me set down my reasons, just to see if I have any.

First reason: Because Sir Henry Custer and Captain Gooding asked, to aid their bids to become Mr. Britannia. 

Second reason: Because I am tired of the insinuations that I have used steroids. I am a gentleman, or at least try to be, and would never sink so low. 

Third reason: Because I want my son Alfred, who is studying in London, to have something that will amuse him while he works out, and to hopefully keep him out of mischief in his bid to secure his own gains. 

Fourth reason and last: Because this is the strangest story I have lived through, about the greatest bro I have known. 

I, Sir Allan Trenton Quadricep, by my reputation as a lion and a gentleman, make oath and say that this story is true- that in travelling with Sir Henry Custer and Captain Gooding, we proved the common connection between the Broers and an until now hidden native tribe, in the land of Hunkuana. In doing so, we found the secret behind one of the great treasures of the dark continent, and the greatest gym known to man- King Solomon’s Gains.

Well, it was eighteen years ago or so that I was first approached by Sir Henry Custer. Sir Henry had a position in the colonial government, younger than myself, and he was from a good family. He was a dandy; dressed in the latest fashions even on the savannah, a well-groomed, handsome greyhound who was as lean as they come. His “business” partner- though I came to understand they were partners in many senses- was Captain Gooding, of Her Majesty’s 17th Lancers. Born of an Indian mother and an English sailor, he was a tall, broad-shouldered tiger that towered over his soldiers, his chiselled features marked with a long scar over one eye. Where Sir Henry was a consummate aristocrat with impeccable manners and witticisms brimming out of his lips, Gooding was a man whom I much preferred their company, which was evident when I first met them.

“You are Sir Allan, then?” Sir Henry began with a pithy smile, nodding his head. “We understand you to be one of the most experienced guides in the colony. I’m quite glad we found someone of decent breeding.”

“Cor, you’re quite the strikin’ bloke, ain’t ya?” Gooding grabbed my arm and shook vigorously, clapping me on the back, then ruffling my thick mane. “Lookit this pretty brown mane, Henry- he looks right regal, don’t he? Wears that stetson hat like it were the crown jewels.”

“Quite.” Henry seemed impatient. “We’re here to talk to you about the Broers, Sir Allan.”

“You don’t mean the Boers, do you?”

“Hah,” the well-to-do greyhound scoffed. “Not quite. The Broers, you see, are a part of the Boers, it’s true. They live just on the border of the colony, near Rhodesia. But they’re… large.”

“Large? Cor,” Gooding chuckled. “They’re bleedin’ huge. Well, not all of them are as big as me…” He paused to strike a pose, puffing out his broad, muscular chest, which made the medals on his uniform bounce. I noticed that Sir Henry’s eye drifted over to watch. “But still. They went from lean and reedy farmers to the type of bruisers with shoulders like oxen, tossing boulders around for fun, almost over night.”

I frowned. An entire group of people suddenly growing larger and stronger? I had heard of stranger things, but not many. “I’m no scientist and never heard of anything like that… so I don’t quite see what you want me to do about it.”

“It puzzled us for a while, as well,” Sir Henry replied. “But the one thing that they all have in common is that the Broers have started relying on the Limpopo River for their drinking water.”

“So there’s something in the water,” I concluded.

The thickly built tiger chuckled. “Well, seems bleedin’ obvious, don’t it? We want you to take us up the river, follow it to its source to see what’s gotten in there.”

It was a tempting thought. The Limpopo was one of the last unmarked places on the map; despite that all the land around it had been claimed by the nations of Europe, no one truly knew where the river’s headwaters lay. 

“You’ll be paid handsomely, of course,” Sir Henry added, presuming I needed some extra incentive to accept. 

I smiled, offering my hand. “I can accept that, gentlemen. Give me a day to prepare, and I’ll see you to the Limpopo’s source.”

Our journey began in earnest. Sir Henry had economic interests in the area, and if whatever made the Broers grow could be harnessed, he stood to benefit greatly from it. We left Cape Town in high spirits, moving deeper into the interior and soon made it to the northern extreme of the colony. There was little in the way of civilization out here, save for the vast Zulu army, but even those hardened warriors gave the Broer territory a wide berth, and we soon saw why. Reaching Pretoria, we would be headed out into untamed wilderness, and needed to hire more porters for our expedition. When Sir Henry made the call, several applicants arrived, many of them from the local ranches and farms.

They were the easiest to spot on account that they dwarfed any other candidates. We met them at a local cattle ranch, where we saw the Broers in action. Never had I seen so many simple farm laborers so strong and hardy. Many of them were stoats and otters, usually lean animals, but these lads were filling out their shirts and trousers with limbs thick as tree trunks and shoulders like cannonballs. The three of us were taken aback as the ranchers tossed hay bales the size of carriages like they were cricket balls, and handled cattle that were also obscenely large; each heifer and bull had enough beef on their frame to feed the royal army. 

We had our pick of extremely able-bodied porters, but as more gathered at the outskirts of town, one outclassed even the local Broers in terms of sheer brawn. He was a native; an African wild dog the size of a bull elephant. Towering above us all, his calico pelt covered a mountain of muscle. It was remarkable, as I had never seen anyone quite this big- at that moment in my life, at least. His name was Umbropa, and he dressed in a fashion similar to the rulers of local tribes and kingdoms, with a circlet, leather, and furs that, admittedly, covered little. He had a handsome face as I recall, and piercing green eyes. As I was at that point, I only came up to his chest, and as he drew nearer, his massive, bulging pecs cut me off from sight of his head.

“I have heard that there is to be an expedition, further up the river,” he stated, speaking the Queen’s English perfectly. 

I had to step around him just to see his face properly, and got a close look at arms that were thicker than my waist. “I’m just the guide. We’re looking for porters to carry the surveying gear.”

“I can carry all of it,” he said plainly. As if he needed to prove it, he lifted up his arm and curled, making the spotted, colorful fur around his enormous arm ripple as the muscle surged up like a mountain.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. “I can see that…” 

“Blimey!” Captain Gooding had caught up with us at this point, Sir Henry in tow. “What’d you do, mate? Eat one of the other Broers fer the protein?”

“I am no Broer, for I have studied them and know that they lift not. Among my kind, I am a bro- a warrior and companion. My name is Umbropa.” He stepped forward again, looming over Gooding and Sir Henry. His thighs, brazenly on display with every swollen muscle rippling, were alone thicker than the captain’s waist. “I will join this expedition. I care not for payment, but I am going.”

Sir Henry and Captain Gooding, thoroughly befuddled, looked to me, but I had nothing for them. I had survived the wilds of Africa this long precisely because I knew when not to pick a fight with large animals.

“Well… I suppose we have room for one more,” Sir Henry cleared his throat, the greyhound nervously slipping behind Gooding and gripping the tiger’s broad shoulder. “You will, of course, follow the lead of our guide, Sir Allan Quadricep.”

Umbropa turned to me. “You can lead us to the source of the river?”

I was surprised at my own serenity; this giant dog could snap me in half if he wanted to. I had faced down raging elephants, survived the worst disasters nature could throw at me, and I had been in my fair share of scraps, but never had I seen such a one as Umbropa. Still, I nodded and answered confidently. “No one, at least to my knowledge, has made it to the headwaters of the Limpopo. They say a mythical kingdom, Hunkuana, is at the river’s source, and only the people of that kingdom can survive the savage environment, but I’ve never seen anything in nature that couldn’t be bested and tamed by quick thinking and sheer grit.”

This seemed to impress Umbropa; it was a little hard to see his expression as his chin was half-way into the cleft of his chest, but I felt like he was smiling. He thumped his fist against his huge chest, his bicep colliding against that overgrown mass. “Then I swear to you that for this journey, I am your bro. I will follow your orders.”

“Hell of a resume, bruv. He acts like he just hired us,” Gooding muttered. Sir Henry quickly hushed him. 

We began our trip in earnest, travelling north from Pretoria. Besides Sir Henry, Captain Gooding, Umbropa, and myself, we took a dozen Broers as porters. It was unnerving at first to be the smallest members of our group, but Captain Gooding put his military training to good use. The tiger endeared himself to the Broers, and quickly established himself as a leader. Umbropa also helped keep them in line as we made our way to the shores of the Limpopo, but there was one thing he was most adamant on.

“What do you know about Hunkuana?” he demanded of me.

I shrugged. “Well… just the stories. A hidden kingdom built around defending a lost treasure of King Solomon, yes? A place where the worthy can harness great strength and power, supposedly.” I studied Umbropa for a moment, who looked at me with an intense gaze filled with purpose. “What does it matter to you? You know it’s just a story, don’t you?”

The giant dog snorted. “It is no story. Hunkuana is my home, and I must return, urgently.”

I stopped in my tracks, looking Umbropa up and down. “Hunkuana’s your home? Then why do you need to travel with us?”

Umbropa, for all his stern looks, was suddenly ill at ease- no, he was embarrassed. I did not think someone of his size and strength could feel such a thing. “I have never left Hunkuana, and knew not the lands beyond its borders. I was thrown in the river, and when I next awoke, I had washed ashore far from home. I have been trying to find a way back ever since.”

He rebuffed any further questions I had when we reached the Limpopo. Wide, calm, and clear, the Limpopo snaked its way down to the sea, cutting through lush rainforest. The water was known for being sweet and clean, and although our expedition was predicated on studying its source, we had little choice for drinking water. Sir Henry, who had studied chemistry and natural sciences in his education, evaluated the water’s viability a number of times before deeming it safe to drink.

I believe Sir Henry and Captain Gooding could already tell what the results would be. Needless to say that, after a few days of living off the Limpopo’s waters, the three of us began to share more in common with our porters. Captain Gooding grumbled about how tight his uniform had become, and Sir Henry fussed over every frayed thread as his fine clothes became tighter. For my part, well, it was odd, to say the least. Every morning I woke up sore as my clothes got tighter and my limbs thickened, yet oddly reinvigorated. We pushed further, never losing our momentum, because our strength was never sapped, only added to. Within a week, Gooding, Henry and I were in the best shape of our lives. Our shoulders widened, our limbs thickened, our chests puffed out, and our stronger backs filled out our clothes. Poor Sir Henry didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, but Captain Gooding embraced his new stature, which shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“Cor, would you lookit this?” Gooding chuckled, thumping his enlarged chest as he unbuttoned his fine red jacket, then flexed his arms, splitting the cloth as his striped muscles forced their way out. “Do you know how quickly we would’ve beaten the French in the last war if we had this type of artillery on our side?” He laughed again, slapping his tensed bicep.

Personally, more strength and stamina was always welcome in my line of work. Hardy as the porters, Gooding, and Umbropa were, I was the one that made a living surviving in the harshest environments in Africa. Hiking through the jungle, hacking away underbrush and forging a path had never been easier as my own body expanded from the river’s water. As my arms grew, my dexterity and agility faltered, but I had never felt more energetic. A good thing, too, for as we travelled closer to the source of the river, we soon realized that we were not the only ones drinking from the Limpopo, and benefitting from its unusual properties.

Umbropa became particularly attached to me. The water’s properties suited me more than Gooding and Henry, as I was soon the biggest among the three, to a small bit of dismay on behalf of the good captain. I had taken to undoing the buttons of my shirt, and rolling up my sleeves to not constrict my bulging arms, and to let my now slab-like chest breathe more easily. 

“Where are your people from, Quadricep?” Umbropa asked as we gathered around the fire that night. Some of the men were on edge, and I remained armed. We had a quiet moment, but something deep in my gut told me it would not last. 

“England. Back centuries. My family’s an old one, and I have a title, but I didn’t know that until I was already a man. I grew up here, after a poor investment of my father’s ended in his death- I was left alone after that, made to fend for myself,” I had explained.

“You grew up in this land, and yet you have no interest in King Solomon’s Gains?” Umbropa asked.

“It’s just a myth, isn’t it? I don’t have time to chase dreams about unimaginable power and strength.” 

“It is not a myth. I grew up with it, the training place of heroes. How else can you explain the effects of the Limpopo?” Umbropa demanded.

“It’s an age of science, Umbropa,” I returned. “We’re learning new things about the world every day. Whatever has caused us and the Broers to grow this way, there’s bound to be a scientific explanation.”
“You do not question how I became as large as myself?” Umbropa asked. “I know what the source of the Limpopo has in it; I had it undiluted. All of you would be as big as me, if we were at its source.”

I stared at him. I had met many people, credulous sorts given to superstition and flights of fancy, but never had I heard them speak with such conviction as Umbropa was doing so. I began to speak again, but then one of the porters let out a shout, followed by Captain Gooding shooting his rifle.

“All of you! Get up!” The tiger shouted. “We’re under attack!”

The more we had travelled into the jungle, the more we had noticed that the wild beasts drinking from the river benefitted from its altered properties, but we never considered it would also affect the smallest of God’s creatures, until I was grabbed from behind by an ant the size of a horse.

Umbropa, true to his word as my bro, was quick to come to my aid. Without weapons, he grappled the giant insect grabbing me, his mammoth biceps denting its thorax and forcing it to squeal in a way I had never heard before. I was able to force myself free before digging my knife into the insect’s head. Our camp was being overrun by many other ants and a monstrous centipede as large as a boa constrictor. 

Captain Gooding was faring well, swinging the butt of his rifle like a club as he beat back one of the ants. Already, two of the porters had been killed. The Broers, for all their strength, did not know how to fight. Gooding fell back to defending Sir Henry, leaving the majority of the counterattack to Umbropa and myself. We shared a similar fighting style, hitting the monstrous bugs hard and fast. My new strength powered me on as I slashed at these creatures with my knife, while Umbropa, his back spreading out like wings and arms rippling, hefted one of the giant bugs overhead, his shoulders and traps rising up to pinch at his cheeks. With a roar, he threw the huge ant, sending it crashing into a tree. An ominous chittering spread between the remaining insects, and we heard more of the creatures coming after us.

“The water!” I shouted. “Everyone, into the water- these things can’t possibly swim!” 

Captain Gooding threw Sir Henry over his broad shoulder, finally tearing off his sleeves to give his engorged arms more room. Umbropa slammed his immense mass into the monstrous centipede, grappling it and squeezing the overgrown insect until its thorax splintered with a satisfying crunch. Picking up one of the surviving porters, he waded into the water, and we began the arduous task of trying to swim upstream, as the insects were now crowding the bank. None of us were graceful swimmers, especially now- Umbropa’s sheer density saw him fighting for his life, thrashing in the water like two hippos charging at each other. We flopped on the opposite riverbank after some time, with Sir Henry being the first to sit up. 

“By Jove! Look at that… I think we found the headwaters.”

The rest of us struggled to sit up, and there we saw a wondrous sight. A towering, craggly cliff rose above us, with a wide waterfall pounding down on the churning pool below. At the top, what we had first taken as the peak of a mountain was a statue, of a titanic warrior. His musculature was vast, and lovingly carved out of the stone.

“Who the ruddy Hell is that?”

Umbropa’s chest rose up, pressing up against his chin as he grinned with pride. “At last. My friends, that is the Sentinel, the first Bro of Hunkuana, who guards the entrance to King Solomon’s Gains.”

“Well… what do we do now? I don’t suppose there’s a staircase somewhere,” Sir Henry quipped. 

I studied the cliff. It was rocky, with plenty of footholds. “We climb up.” I turned to Umbropa. “There’s something worthwhile at the top, right?”

For the first time, our massive canine companion laughed. “It is the greatest treasure of this land.”

We began climbing up the cliff. Umbropa and I took the lead, as the Hunkuanan bro’s strength was so great, his hands were able to break apart the rocks, carving a path for the rest of our party as I pointed to the best places to form handholds. Our bodies had been so enhanced by the river’s water, that even Sir Henry climbed his way up with little trouble. We reached the top of the cliff at the base of the statue, and could see the entire length of the Limpopo river, cutting its way through the landscape to the horizon. Brimming with pride, Umbropa called our attention to the other side of the cliff. Gesturing with his arm, tensing his huge bicep, he announced in a grand voice. “My friends, welcome, to Hunkuana!”

Below us, nestled in a valley ringed by mountains, was a city of stone buildings, adorned with bright, vivid paints and watched over by more colossal stone statues, each one a figure with immense musculature.

“Cor,” Captain Gooding whistled. “Would you look at that.”

“I can’t believe it! I thought King Solomon’s Gains was nothing more than a fanciful tale,” Sir Henry gasped. I, too, was in a state of wonder. 

I turned to Umbropa, patting his huge shoulder. “I’m sorry, my friend, that I ever doubted you. Is there any way that we may see the Gains for ourselves?”

The canine grinned. “You can do anything you like here, my friends. I can’t thank you enough for returning me to my home. In truth, I have not been honest with you. I am the King of Hunkuana, until I was overthrown by my wicked uncle. If you will help me harness the power of the Gains, you will be rewarded as only a king may do so.”

We were stunned as Umbropa led us to the foot of the statue, where an opening besides the pool had been broken open. The huge canine knelt down, and we saw that a powder, like finely sifted flour, was seeping out of the statue and into the water.

“It’s a granary?” Sir Henry asked.

“Of sorts,” Umbropa explained, taking a pinch of the powder. “This is the treasure of King Solomon’s Gains. In the mountain, the great facility that my people have carved out produces this fine powder, made from plants and substances found only in Hunkuana. As I expected when I joined your expedition, it is this power that has made the Broers, though they lift not.”

“So wait.” Captain Gooding stepped forward. “You’re tellin’ us that this bloomin’ powder is makin’ everyone huge?”

“It is an alchemical secret, passed to us from the great king to whom we named the Gains for,” Umbropa told us. “Sir Allan, my friend, do you have your canteen?”

I handed my companion the canteen. He poured liberal amounts of the powder in, then filled the rest with fresh water from the pool, shaking it vigorously. “You have only tasted a very diluted version of this, the drink of Hunkuana’s bros- Brotein.” He offered us the canteen. “Drink my friends, and know the true power of King Solomon’s Gains! Together, we will take back my throne, and you will be rewarded.”

Sir Henry, Captain Gooding, and myself conversed among ourselves. “Are we actually going to do this?”

“I don’t know about you,” Gooding declared, “But I wouldn’t mind another sip.” He flexed his arm again; a particular affectation he had adopted as of late, and used often. “This is some of the best stuff that’s ever happened to me.”

For myself, I was keen to agree. Wielding this new strength was an invigorating feeling, and I would be lying if I didn’t like the figure I now possessed. Still, something nagged at me. “Are we really in a place to intervene in a country we didn’t believe existed until ten minutes ago?”

“My dear Sir Allan,” Sir Henry scoffed. “We’re British. Of course we are. If we don’t do it, who will? The French?”

There was probably an argument to be had, but by that point, Sir Henry had already taken his drink from the canteen. It didn’t really matter how big he got, the greyhound was still woefully inexperienced in terms of combat. If I didn’t join this mad venture, he was liable to get killed. We all shared the canteen, draining the contents. Instead of the slow growth we had experienced all this time, it was as if we were galvanized. Every strand of fur stood on end, and we felt energy jolting through every part of our body. I could feel every muscle on my frame tensing, and knew that our clothes were most likely not long for this world.

With our transformation complete, Umbropa led us into King Solomon’s Gains through the opening in the statue. As he led us inside, we saw a place of wonder. The interior of the cliff had been carved out into a massive cavern, with carvings of other muscular Hunkuanans adorning the stone walls. Lit with massive torches, we saw many people at work inside, toiling away with strange devices and heavy weights. 

“It is just as I feared,” Umbropa shook his head. “The Bros are being forced into labor, to make more of the powder for my uncle.”

Hyena guards, each one a hulking brute, loomed large over the Hunkuanans working with the strange machines. Some lied on benches while others lifted heavy weights, their repetitive motions powering machinery that rumbled throughout the cavern.

“I cannot let my people suffer so. This is supposed to be a place where the Bros and Hunkuanans can lift in peace!” Umbropa declared. “This cannot stand! For Hunkuana!” He shouted as a war cry, leaping down from our hiding place.

The guards were startled, and their prisoners looked up in amazement. “The King!” they shouted. “Umbropa has returned!”

“Ah, blast,” Gooding growled, readying his saber. “He’s only gone and started the fun without us. Come along, Henry, let’s make a man out of you!” the huge tiger declared, and smacked Sir Henry’s thick rear in a most undiscerning manner. I was not about to be left out, and the battle was on.

The three of us Englishmen were titans, thanks to Umbropa’s gift. Gooding’s uniform was reduced to tatters as he charged a line of hyena guards, tackling them all with arms stronger than cannons, mashing them against his rippling striped chest. He let out an exultant roar as the soldier was in his element once more; the thrill of battle.

Sir Henry, who did indeed possess a kind heart underneath his pomposity, joined me in freeing the enslaved Bros. Manacled and worked to the point of exhaustion, they had not the power to free themselves. But with the mere tensing of our arms, the rolling of our mountainous shoulders, and throwing our broadside backs into it, we broke the heavy steel weighing them down, and inspired by the huge figure of their behemoth king, found the strength to fight back. 

I joined Umbropa as he threw back the captain of the guards, tossing the muscular hyena against the stairs leading to the exit. It seemed like they were retreating in defeat, but too late did I spot the leader pull a mechanism that made the whole cavern shake.

“No!” Umbropa shouted. His trunk-like legs pounded against the ground as he caught a pillar about to fall, his arms cracking the stone as he pushed it back into place. “They’re trying to bring down the whole cavern on us! Quickly, my friend!” he shouted to me. “Capture their leader! That one is my uncle. Only he can stop the collapse!”

I raced to the stairs, dodging one of the guards hefting up a bronze barbell and wielding it like Sir Henry would a rapier. Throwing my whole mammoth weight, I leapt into the air, propelled by my legs that were now surging with powerful muscle, threatening to destroy what remained of my trousers. I slammed into their leader like a cannonball, knocking him flat on his back as I planted my foot on his chest, brandishing my knife in hand. I felt like a greek hero of legend, wielding strength no man back in England could ever dream of. It was a moment of triumph as I pinned him between my own legs now thick as an elephant’s hide, and demanded he stop the mechanism. Umbropa, his back surging out as wide as a condor’s wingspan, grunted under the impossibly heavy weight of the cavern’s ceiling. Beaten, the guard relented, and as I dragged him to the entrance, he used a key around his neck to stop the mechanism, preventing the cavern from collapsing. 

And with that, Umbropa was restored to his throne. Though we were treated well by a grateful king and his subjects, we had to return to our own people. On the other end of Hunkuana, near the savannah, we said our goodbyes. Umbropa embraced me, though it was with some effort- our pecs met several inches before the rest of us, as our biceps ground against one another. 

“Know that you, Sir Allan, are now my bro, as I am yours,” Umbropa declared. “Hunkuana will forever remember our English bros!”

I have visited Hunkuana only twice since then, and each time, came back larger. Umbropa was kind to share the Gains with us, and should any seek out Hunkuana for themselves, know that the path remains perilous, and Umbropa has only grown in strength these past years, as well; it is far, but there is no journey on this earth that a man may not make if his heart is set on making gains.