Tales of
Erogenia
Based
on the online comic created by J.E. Draft.
Episode 3: The
Chapter
4:
Cats
Seven cycles of the sun
found Zenaria and her fellow slaves exhausted almost beyond
endurance. Bitten by flies, exposed
to the unrelenting sun and enervating wind, and forced to march tied to the
cruel horizontal yoke, every step became pure
torture. Added to that the repeated
blows of the slavers’ rope ends; and the occasional encounter with poisonous
snakes, the march became a nightmare.
Even at night they were yoked and exposed to attacks by scorpions
and monstrous centipedes. All
that kept them going were the frequent rest and water
stops. Queron and his brutal
companions seemed to have a fine sense of just how hard they could drive
their captives without causing total
collapse.
In spite of her exhaustion
Zenaria could not help noticing that the slavers constantly checked behind
them as if they were being followed.
“The
Urulana,”
Zenaria
thought.
“Of
course. Queron has the Urulana
princess. It is only natural
they would pursue.”
There was not much she could
do with the knowledge. The painful
position of her arms left her helpless to do anything more than place one
foot in front of the other and then collapse whenever a rest was
offered.
Communication between the
prisoners was limited. The slavers
did not allow conversation, and they were usually too tired to do more than
flop down each time they were given a chance to
rest. Zenaria was, however, able
to study her fellow captives; especially Urulanan princess who she learned
was called Sulia. Although she
was equally helpless it was clear that she tried to be an example to the
other slaves, holding her head high and attempting to stare down any of the
slavers who met her eye. That
small act of defiance was usually followed by a beating, usually delivered
by the slavers’ fists as they were reluctant to mar her splendid body
in any way. “You don’t
damage the goods,” as Queron put it.
Zenaria would have been
equally defiant, but Queron soon figured out a way to force her
cooperation. Instead of beating
her he beat Varden, forcing her to lower her eyes in order to keep her lover
from being punished on her account.
She spent most of the day looking at the feet of the slave in front
of her; fearful that her defiant gaze might bring pain to
Varden. Only at night were she
and Varden able to hold a whispered conversation and by then they were usually
so fatigued that they quickly fell
asleep.
On the night of the seventh
day, however, Zenaria was wide awake, listening in fearful fascination to
the campfire conversation of the slavers.
After their brutal rape of the Urulana girl the slavers had tempered
their violence, but only because they wanted to keep their captives in condition
to continue the gruelling journey.
But the farther away they got from the white mountain the more the
slavers looked at the other Urulanan women.
“I think it’s
about time we got them accustomed to their future,” Gron
said. “We’ve shaken
off any pursuit. The Urulana
don’t even know which way we’ve
gone. We should enjoy the fruits
of our labours. Our customers
will thank us for it. The Urulanan
bitches will be more cooperative.”
“Not yet,” Queron
argued. “We want the slaves
to keep up. It’s taken the
one we fucked until now to get her legs
back. We don’t want to slow
down. Wait a few more
days.”
Gron grabbed his
crotch. “I say we’re
far enough away. Giving a couple
of them some of this won’t hurt as long as we share it between the other
five. You can keep your two
virgins.”
Zenaria listened in horror
as the slavers casually discussed raping the Urulana
prisoners. It was as if they
were talking about what they intended to cook for
supper. It sent chills down her
spine to realize that they could have been talking about her if Varden had
not restored her virginity. She
was almost sick with anger as the argument
continued.
“Cowards!”
she
thought.
“They deserve to die, and I can do nothing to
help.”
“Let’s vote on
it,” Daget said.
“It’s the way we’ve always done
things.”
There was a general chorus
of agreement. It was obvious
that even before the vote what the answer would
be. A few feet away Varden growled
in anger, but like Zenaria he was helpless to do more that express his
frustration.
Zenaria heard Queron vote
no, then the vote went through the
slavers. One by one they voiced
their agreement with Gron, their voices interrupted only by the usual animal
screams that filled the night.
Especially one animal scream that sent shivers of recognition down
Zenaria’s spine.
Without thinking she reached
out with the animal sense she had always had; and found something she
recognized. It was another mind;
but one so unlike hers that the images she encountered were almost
incoherent. They were violent,
sensual images, filled with blood, smells, and primal urges.
They were so intense that she
almost shut them out of her mind.
But they were familiar images as well; images she had shared many
times with the giant snow leopard she called
Jaree. She forced hr mind to
relax; to become part of the violent sensual world of the great hunting
cat.
“Sister,” she sent,
“I
need you.” Images
flooded her mind again; savage, bloody, almost erotically cruel images that
she had to fight through.
“Sister,”
she sent again.
“Help
me. Help your
sister.” She sent
images of fire, ropes, and pain. Of
vicious brutes threatening her cubs; of the slavers and their dark slavering,
brutal faces.
She got a single, almost
painfully sharp reply:
I
come.”
The reply was in fact nothing
that could be determined as speech the way humans thought of it, but as series
of images that somehow conveyed consent and friendship; or at least as much
friendship as a cat could muster.
Zenaria waited every muscled
tense. She had done all she could
now all she could do was let events transpire.
The voting was
over. As Zenaria had already
foreseen the slavers had chosen to enjoy their female captives
immediately. Like vultures on
dead meat, they descended on their helpless female
victims.
“No,” Sulia protested,
as she watched her female companions dragged toward the light of the
fire. Each of the women struggled
pitifully, terribly aware of what was going to happen to them, but like true
warriors they battled in silence while their princess
raged.
“Cowards,” Sulia
screamed. “Hyenas,
jackals. Take me
instead.”
Queron walked over and stood
in front of her. In spite of
his opposition to the rape, he had been quite content to take part in the
lottery that followed, in which each man took straws to determine when it
would be his turn. He looked
down at the helpless Urulanan princess and licked his
lips. Then he bent and straddled
her nude body, pressing her into he ground and eliciting a grunt as his weight
pushed the air from her lungs.
“Don’t ever think
you might not join them, princess.
Valuable as you are I’m almost tempted to take you as my share
instead of selling you for gold.”
He motioned toward Zenaria.
“I’ve already got one prize
virgin. It might be fun to listen
to you scream on your first night.”
He fondled her breasts as he spoke, squeezing and kneading the firm
flesh, and ended by twisting her nipples so hard that Sulia
winced. “Now shut your mouth
or you’re like to find something in it you hadn’t counted
on.” He finished with an
obscene gesture and went back to where his men were readying their night’s
entertainment.
One of the young women had
already been untied from the yoke that restrained
her. Four slavers held each of
her arms and legs while another performed a lewd and suggestive dance in
front of her, playing with his swelling phallus and taunting her as she was
held for his pleasure. She fought
bravely, her firm young breasts quivering and her body arching as she attempted
to hold off the inevitable; but other than her heavy breathing she made not
a sound.
Unable to turn away from
the sickening scene, Zenaria watched, her pulse racing as the slaver moved
between the girl’s legs.
“By the Moon, Sun and the Snow Leopard, please come,” she
murmured.
A blood-freezing scream
answered her cry and a mottled gold and black shape hurdled the thorn boma
and plunged into the camp. It
tore into the surprised and terrified slavers almost before they knew it
was there.
In her sending Zenaria had
tried to differentiate between the slavers and their captives, but she knew
that the terrible beast that was now raging through the camp would not
necessarily be able to tell the difference between friend and foe, especially
in its blood rage. But alone
among the captives, she had been hoping for the attack and she moved as soon
as the leopard pounced.
While the screams of the
slavers sounded in her ears, she rolled to her feet and headed toward the
closest fire. There were two
of them, one at each end of the camp to deter
animals. Reaching it she fell
on her back so that the right arm of the yoke was in the
flames. She stifled a cry as
the fire seared her flesh, forcing herself to endure the pain while the ropes
holding her wrist and elbow burned.
In a few seconds the ropes gave and she wrenched herself
away. Using her free arm she
quickly untied the ropes holding her other arm and those holding the yoke
around her neck and then got to her feet.
After so many days with
the yoke tied to her neck and arms she swayed unsteadily, but she fought
off the dizziness. In the middle
of the camp, the leopard was creating havoc, but that might not last
long. Even a beast as powerful
as a leopard could not hope to kill all of the slavers before they killed
her. She needed to free the other
prisoners.
Snatching up a knife one
of the slavers had dropped she ran to Varden and cut him loose then she moved
to the Urulanan prisoners, freeing one of the men and handing him the
knife. Without waiting to see
what he would do with it, but hoping he had the good sense to free the others,
she ran to join Varden who was already moving toward the
slavers.
Weapons were not hard to
find. The slavers near the campfire
had abandoned theirs when the leopard attacked and Zenaria picked up a sword
and a knife. By now the slavers
had formed a defence against the raging leopard, forming a wall bristling
with knifes and swords. On the
edge of that wall the leopard screamed and struck at them with her claws
trying to find a way past their defence.
Without hesitation Zenaria and Varden joined the
fray.
Her first blow took off
the hand of the slaver nearest her and her backhand ripped out the throat
of a second. She used the knife
to block a blow from another of the slavers and then stabbed her blade into
his belly. Beside her Varden
was swinging his sword two-handed, each blow taking off a limb or cleaving
a skull. He seemed oblivious
to the return blows aimed at him.
Their frenzied attack broke
the ranks of the slavers and the leopard charged into the gap, taking down
two men, ripping and tearing at them with its teeth and
claws. Trapped between Zenaria,
Varden, and the leopard and the boma they had erected, many of the slavers
fought desperately, but a few panicked, attempting to break through their
own thorn barrier. The result
was predictable with the slavers being treated to a dose of what had happened
to Zenaria. They were ripped
to shreds by their own defence.
And then several of the
Urulana arrived, led by Sulia.
The last of the slavers broke,
attempting to flee but unable to get past the thorn
barrier. At that point the remainder
threw down their weapons and begged for
mercy.
They were ignored, the now
freed captives showing little mercy.
One after the other they were cut down until only Queron, Daget, and
Gron remained, somehow having managed to somehow get themselves as far away
from the actual fighting as they could.
At this point Sulia’s anger seemed to
die. “Not these three,”
she shouted. “I have something
special for them.”
Zenaria held her blade as
did Varden and the others. Somehow
Zenaria also managed to calm the leopard who came to her side like a giant
house cat, a purr rumbling in its throat in spite of the numerous wounds
that marred its beautiful markings.
Sulia and the Urulana stared
at her in wonder. “You command
the beasts,” the tall princess said, her voice filled with
awe.
Zenaria, however, was weaving,
her efforts having drained her of her reserves of
strength. Most of the Urulana
were in a similar state, and Zenaria motioned to the three slavers and the
others caught her meaning. Quickly
they were trussed up, and Zenaria felt safe in putting down her
sword. But she wasn’t about
to completely relax. “We
must watch them,” she advised.
“I will arrange a
guard,” Sulia said. She
spoke quickly to the other Urulana who quickly worked out a roster for watching
the prisoners. All of them were
exhausted so each was given only a short
watch. That done they attended
to preparing as meal. The slavers
had not exactly starved their captives, but they had kept them on short rations
to insure their cooperation. Now
they raided the slavers’ stores and made up for a week of
fasting.
They ate quickly, too fatigued
to engage in much conversation and retired to their sleeping places, too
tired to bother with anything more than the ground the slavers had forced
them to sleep on.
Zenaria awoke
early. She had fed the leopard
as a reward for her service, but sometime during the night the animal had
returned to the wild, leaving no trace other than the ravaged corpses of
its victims. Several of the Urulana
were awake as well, having been arouse by the noise of the scavengers as
they circled the camp trying to find a way through the boma in search of
a meal.
“We can’t stay
here,” Varden said. “Let
us leave this place and I will attend to thine
injuries.”
Zenaria had to
agree. Already the bodies were
beginning to decompose and she wanted to be away from the sounds of the circling
scavengers. Although still suffering
from their ordeal they prepared to leave the
camp. First, however, there was
the little matter of the slavers to deal
with.
“They are rapists,”
Zenaria said. “They should
be impaled.”
Having witnessed their brutal
treatment of the Urulana women, Varden did not
disagree. But Sulia had an even
better idea. She took out her
knife and called to her warriors.
“Help me bind them. We
will leave them alive, but they will wish we had
not.”
The punishment was carried
out with savage efficiency. The
three slavers were tied to three sides of a tree, their arms over their
heads. Then the punishment
began. The slavers first begged
for mercy and then begged for death.
Sulia’s blade worked quickly, shedding very little blood, but
it was gruesome work and even Zenaria had to look away when the Urulanan
princess made her final cuts. The
shrieks as the bloody stumps of their manhoods were cauterized were truly
horrifying, but no more than they
deserved. Stony-faced she and
Varden followed the others through the gap in the boma and left the hyenas
to feed. The screams of the slavers
faded in the distance as they moved farther and farther away, finally stopping
altogether. Zenaria wondered
if it was because they were too far away or whether the hyenas had finally
done their work.
They did not go
far. Even in this remote part
of their territory the Urulana had no trouble finding water and they settled
in a cluster of rocks where they could easily defend their
camp. They had hunted along the
way, bringing down two of the cow-like herd animals, which Zenaria learned
were called gnus. She learned
the names of the other beasts as well, filling in a proper vocabulary for
the huge variety of animals of the plain.
In the new
Eventually it was
Zenaria’s turn. Her main
injuries were the burns she had sustained in freeing
herself. The few cuts she had
received in the fighting were minor and would heal of themselves, leaving
honourable scars, but she knew that Varden’s healing powers were
indiscriminate and all injuries would be
healed. However, she was not
about to deny herself the opportunity to receive a month’s healing simply
for a display of battle honours.
She suspected that she would need all of her skills and strength and
so she let Varden heal her for the second time in just
days.
The healing left Varden
exhausted and an object of awe to the
Urulana. “Surely he is a
great shaman as well as a warrior,” Sulia
observed. “The spirits were
with us when we were brought together.”
Varden
blushed. In spite of his rather
conservative attitudes, Varden was not one to boast of his abilities and
he was modest to a fault, attributing his abilities to his faith in his rather
staid deity. She and the knight
had not gotten along at all well when they first met, even if Varden had
saved her life twice in just a few days.
He seemed terribly good at that and was now up to three rescues, much
to Zenaria’s exasperation.
However, she allowed him his moment of glory, even going so far as
to add her praises to Sulia’s.
“He is blessed in many
areas,” Zenaria smiled.
“Sadly his recent labours have probably left him too tired to
display his other talents.”
Varden’s colour deepened
and Sulia regarded Zenaria strangely.
“Are you not sister and brother?”
Now it was Zenaria’s
turn to blush. “It was a
story we invented to deceive the slavers,” she
confessed. “Varden and I
also have been thrown together by chance.”
“We will discuss this
further in my home. You must
return to with us to the
Zenaria was not certain
what the Urulana princess meant, but she nodded her
agreement. “We would be
honoured, princess.”
It was interesting how things
worked out. She and Varden had
been trying to reach the impressive mountain before being captured by the
slavers, hoping that there might be a settlement
there. Now it seemed that they
were to be taken there as honoured
guests. Sometimes things did
seem to be ordained by the gods.
PREVIOUS
CHAPTER WIZARD'S
LAIR MAIN PAGE
L'ESPION'S
STORY PAGE
NEXT
CHAPTER