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It took Larra only two days to reach southern
She settled for what she could pick up in the local market, which was a dark blue shirt tucked into tan trousers that allowed her freedom of movement, but also showed off her astounding figure. In spite of Prinz’s comment about her getting fat there did not appear to be an ounce of extra weight anywhere on her body, but Prinz was right about something. Not being able to perform her daily drills and exercise had left her in less than top condition, but she felt strong enough to deal with Marchand and his minions.
She had acquired a bit more firepower.
Weapons were not that difficult to acquire in
She timed her arrival for night, knowing that the tomb would almost certainly be deserted except for a light guard to keep tomb robbers away. She had nothing against the men who worked for Marchand as long as they were not among those who had helped subdue and violate her the day she had been ambushed.
She recognized no one as she followed the road to the archeological site. As she had hoped activity at night was almost nonexistent and she gained the tomb entrance without meeting a soul. A single bored watchman loitered outside the tomb entrance puffing on a cigarette. Larra couldn’t be sure if it was one of the men who had raped her so she gave him the benefit of the doubt. Slinking silently behind him she took him out with a choke hold that cut off the supply of blood to the brain. Leaving him where he was she paused by the tomb entrance.
Marchand had set up a ladder in order to facilitate entrance into the tomb. Larra looked down into the darkness. Below she could see the glow of lights. She could hardly contain herself. While Prinz’s prisoner she had learned nothing of the progress or perhaps lack of it made by Marchand. Had he opened up the sarcophagus? He certainly should have by now, but there was no way of knowing without going into the tomb.
Her burning curiosity got the best of her. Almost certainly Marchand would show up in the morning. What better place to surprise him than the place where he had betrayed her? Throwing caution to the wind she hurried down the ladder.
A long string of electric lights illuminated the long corridor that led to the burial chamber an improvement no doubt made by Marchland, but it made Larra suddenly cautious. Was it possible that the tomb was better guarded than it appeared or that someone might actually be working in the burial chamber this late at night?
She drew her sidearm and moved cautiously down the corridor into the great hall of pillars that supported the monumental roof of the burial chamber. Here too lights had been strung, bringing light into even the darkest recesses of the chamber. For the first time Larra was able to fully appreciate its incredible beauty and magnificent structure. Brilliant scenes from Greek mythology covered every surface including the row upon row of pillars that marched off in every direction. Unlike the artwork of the other ancient Mediterranean buildings Larra had seen, these paintings had lost none of their original colour. For a few seconds she stood breathless and just stared before she remembered the possible danger she might be in.
“Incredible,” she murmured. The splendour of the tomb matched anything she had seen anywhere, even in the lost civilizations she had stumbled upon during her many adventures. She forced her attention back to the task at hand. Ahead of her was the tomb brilliantly illuminated by a dozen large lights.
It was clear even at a distance that Marchand had broken the seals. The huge sarcophagus lid had been sealed by pouring molten lead into the recesses between the coffin lid and the granite of the sarcophagus itself. The lead had been laboriously removed, chunks of the metal lying scattered all around the tomb. Larra experienced a pang of disappointment that it had not been her who had revealed the inside of the sarcophagus to the world as it rightfully should have been. She mounted the steps of the tomb and peered inside.
It was completely empty.
She stared in disbelief and then a slow smile of comprehension spread over her features. Marchand had opened the tomb and he had found nothing. She could imagine the mortification he must have felt when he realized that what was supposed to be the greatest discovery since Carter’s opening of the tomb of Tutankhamen turned out to be a complete bust. No doubt Marchand, in keeping with his personality, had invited the media in order to flaunt his grand discovery, intending to become world famous. Instead he would have become a laughing stock.
It was almost too good to be true. “Poetic justice,” she thought. But if the supposed tomb was empty, then where was the real tomb? It seemed almost inconceivable that the ancient king would have gone to all of the expense of building such a magnificent burial chamber without making some use of it other than a decoy. Her eyes flitted around the huge chamber looking for some sort of clue.
“I knew you’d come here.”
The words echoed through the chamber and had Larra spinning into a crouch, her Browning at the ready, until she realized that the words had the electronic echo of a poor quality speaker.
“I know you can hear me, Larra,” Marchand’s voice continued. “I saw you go into the tomb. Did you think you would catch me by surprise by suddenly showing up in the place where you met your match? Did you think Prinz would not contact me after what you did to him? That was very nasty, Larra and I promise you that you will pay for what you did with your life, but not before I have had a little bit of fun with you.”
Larra wondered if the speaker was two-way, although she had no intention of replying to Marchand’s boastful ranting. She immediately tried to think of a way out of her predicament. Marchand had her trapped. There was no way out of the tomb except the way she had gone in. All he had to do was wait for her to try to escape and then pick her off as she climbed up the ladder. However, she doubted that he would bother with that. Marchand was not the patient sort. If he had wanted her dead he would not have alerted her to the fact that he knew where she was.
There was no food or water in the tomb, at least none that she had seen. And even if there was she knew that she could not stay where she was forever. Sooner or later she would have to try to escape and then Marchand would be waiting for her. And yet, his threat nagged at her. He had something else planned, something he would no doubt gloat about even as it took place.
There was a slight popping sound and an unmistakable odour overwhelmed her nostrils. “Ether,” she gasped, staggering away. She had already taken a breath and her head swam as she tried to move away from the cloying smell.
“Are you scrambling for safety, Larra?” Marchand mocked. “There really is no place to go, as you will soon learn.”
Holding her breath Larra attempted to move toward the entrance, but there was a second “pop” from in front of her and then another to either side. Although her mind was fogged, she realized that Marchand must have placed gas cylinders all around the tomb. A sea of gas was now flowing across the floor of the tomb chamber and she was at its centre.
“Bastard,” Larra thought. She should never have entered the tomb. Of course Marchand would be watching. She staggered, barely catching herself against a pillar and then sank to her knees. “I can’t stay here,” she thought and forced herself to her feet, but her lungs were on fire. Her lungs exploded and she sucked in the sickly sweet air. A strange buzzing sounded in her ears and dark spots danced before her eyes. She breathed again and then pitched forward.
She awoke in an all too familiar position, hanging from her wrists from the ceiling. She was not stretched full length, but had been lifted until she was on her knees. However, since she had spent some time in a state of unconsciousness her arms and shoulders already ached agonizingly. To her surprise and relief she was fully clothed, but the fact that Marchand stood leering at her from just a few feet away nullified a good deal of that feeling.
“You’re such an arrogant, stupid, bitch,” Marchand sneered. “How in god’s name did you think you could betray and mutilate Prinz with my finding out? I have been following your career as a whore and apparently it is a role you were born to play. It is sad that such a superb sucker of cocks must finally meet her end. First, however, you are going to provide me with a few hours of entertainment.”
Larra did not reply. She was furious with herself. Marchand was right. She was an arrogant, stupid, bitch. She had blundered headlong into a trap without taking the slightest precaution and now she at the mercy of the very man she had sought vengeance against. “I’ve got to stop doing this,” she thought. “Sooner or later it’s going to get me killed.”
“First the usual,” Marchand continued, unbuttoning his trousers, “and then a little fun.”
Larra tried to rise. Kicking Marchand in the balls was almost impossible from a sitting position, but one of his henchmen pushed her down, holding her on her knees. Marchand stepped forward and slapped her face, rocking her head first one way and then the other. “Stupid cunt. Still fighting. I’m in charge here and you will do what I say. I’m going to shove my cock into your mouth and you are going to suck it. Refuse and I’ll take great delight in cutting off you nipples.” To emphasize his point he seized the lapels of her shirt and ripped open her shirt. His fingers closed over her nipples crushing them until she winced in pain.
“Bastard,” she gasped. “Completely gutless. You’d never dare do that if I wasn’t helpless.”
“But you are helpless,” Marchand replied increasing the already painful pressure and twisting his fingers until she was sure her nipples were going to be torn off. “And you better remember that. Now open up your mouth and do as I tell you.”
Larra turned her head away again. If he was going to torture and kill her anyway why should she cooperate?
“Stupid bitch.” Marchand grabbed her hair and slapped her so hard her eyes went out of focus. “Give me a knife,” he ordered.
“No!” Larra cried as he pulled her right nipple out from her breast and held the edge of the steel to it. “No,” she moaned. “I’ll do it.”
“A little reminder,” Marchand replied. He pushed the point of the knife into the top of her areola and twisted the blade. Larra gasped as a trickle of blood dribbled into the light blue of her shirt. Then he tossed the knife aside and opening his pants took one step forward, holding her by the hair and forcing his phallus between her lips.
Larra took it. It was certainly nothing she had not been forced to do several hundred times in the last few months, but it was still profoundly humiliating to be forced to perform oral sex on a man she detested and who had her completely at his mercy.
Marchand worked his cock in and out of her mouth, making sure she felt every inch of it and holding tight to her hair to emphasize her submission. And then he jerked into her, filling her mouth with the thick sweetness of his semen. “That’s a good start,” he said as he withdrew. Now I’ll have to find some other way of amusing myself until I’m ready again.” He nodded to his henchmen and they hauled on the rope, pulling her first to her feet and then onto her toes.
Marchand buttoned up his trousers and approached her, but not until his henchmen had tied ropes around each of her ankles to keep her from releasing a lethal kick. Methodically he ripped her shirt off, tearing it along the seams until she was nude from the waist up. He cupped one of her perfect breasts; giving it a hard squeeze and then releasing it before going on to run his hands over her belly and then even lower. “I’ll get to that in a while,” he said. “But first it is time to do something I’ve fantasized about for quite awhile.”
He unbuckled her belt while one of his henchmen took off her boots. Then they removed her trousers, jerking them down her long legs until she stood in nothing but her delicate panties. They were especially thin having been provided for her by Prinz and they concealed nothing, but with one quick tug Marchand removed even this miniscule protection.
“Now I’m going to flay you alive,” Marchand promised as he received a long flexible whip from another of his henchmen. “This time I don’t have to worry about marking your body.” He moved to her right where he could bring the whip to bear along the entire length of her body, and then drew the whip back.
“Aaaaahhhh!” The whip cut into Larra’s flesh for the thirtieth time. All of her defiance was gone, flogged out of her by Marchand’s relentless brutality. He had begun with her breasts and belly, creating ugly welts in her perfect skin, and then worked his way down to her thighs before moving around to the other side where he could target her back and buttocks. She could no longer hold herself erect, but hung limply from her arms as the whip exacted a cry of pain each time it struck.
“Now, Larra it is time for one more fuck before I say goodbye.” Marchand had tossed his whip aside and motioned to his men. They lowered her to the floor and then picked her up, carrying her to the altar. Larra knew what was coming but she could only whimper in pain as she was spread out on the stone and Marchand raped her. She was in so much agony that she hardly noticed the brutality of the rape as Marchand thrust in and out of her, finishing by leaving the marks of his teeth on her breasts and shoulders.
Marchand heaved himself off her, breathing heavily. “Now for one final gift,” he panted. “And then it’s goodbye.”
If Larra thought there was very little Marchand could do to her that could
cause her much more pain, she was proven horribly
wrong. She was vaguely aware
of a popping sound as she lay moaning on top of the marble
slab. Marchand loomed over
her. In his hands was a bottle
of
Marchand grunted as his men held Larra
down. It took a good deal of
strength to force the
Her arms were forced behind her back and tied at the
wrists. Then while she shrieked
in agony Marchand’s henchmen forced her legs together and tied them
at the ankles and thighs, embedding the wine bottle within
her.
“Aaaaagghhhaaaah!” Larra finished with one last scream
before she fainted.
She awoke to blazing agony. She was lying on a cold hard slab and it took her a second to realize that Marchand had placed her in the tomb. He suddenly loomed over her grinningly sardonically. “Goodbye, Larra. I found nothing in the tomb, but the next person who opens it will find you. And just to make sure you live long enough to enjoy the experience I am placing enough water in the tomb to last you for a couple of weeks. I hope you think of me often while you starve to death.”
Larra’s only reply was a moan of pain. She tried to move her arms in an attempt to untie the ropes that bound her legs, but found that although she could move them a little, Marchand had tied them so that she could not reach below her waist. For a very brief instance she thought about begging for mercy. Then she closed her mouth, clenching her teeth against the agonizing pain. Begging would not do the least bit of good. It would just make Marchand’s triumph all the sweeter.
Still, she could not hold back a cry of despair as the heavy marble lid of the sarcophagus cut off the light and then dropped into place. The last thing she saw was Marchand’s sneering face and then she was alone, trapped in the stone.
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