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Lisha awoke to a cold mist swirling outside her little den. Pushing out of her bed of leaves and grasses her naked body shivered in the cold. She really did not like the chill of this strange mid-latitude climate. It was so different from her rainforest home. Even in high summer the mornings were cool, especially this close to the sea. She knew that if she was to survive she needed to acquire clothing from somewhere and that meant heading back toward the castle. That was not something she was loathe to do since it had always been part of her plan. Larra, Katie, and Ayashe were there and somehow she had to find her way past the hundreds of men Moeller had and rescue her friends.
She broke into a jog along the beach trying to warm up through activity. She kept her eyes open for something to eat. During her flight through the forest she had seen lots of animal sign and knew that there was game on the island. It was just a matter of having the proper tools to hunt it. Otherwise she was going to be stuck with her shellfish diet, and although the mussels were edible they were far from her favourite meal.
Her blood pumping she decided that the beach was probably a bit exposed and she swerved off into the trees and moved inland. Once back in the forest she slowed her pace. Taking out the strips of willow bark she had strung together, she picked out one of the smooth stones she had put into the bag she had woven. The willow strips were still flexible thanks to the fact that she had placed them in a pool of water to soak. Given time she would make something better, but right now she needed better raw materials.
She got her first chance when a small deer bounded out in front of her. Instantly she placed the stone in the sling and let fly. It was a motion she had performed thousands of times, but one she had not used for a couple of years. As a result the stone went wide and the deer darted off into the trees. Undaunted, Lisha took out another stone and continued to move silently through the forest. Usually where there was one deer there would be another.
It took her three tries before she finally struck true. She brought down a small buck. Taking out her crude tools she skinned and gutted the carcass and while some of the meat roasted over a fire she carefully prepared the skin using one of the pieces of flint to scrape it clean. During her hunt she had noticed a few promising trees and she retraced her steps until she found one she thought suitable. Once again she used the flint tools, this time as a chopper to cut down a small tree. She didn’t have time to fashion what she wanted properly, but by the time the meat was cooked she had put together a crude bow using some of the gut and sinew from the deer for a bowstring. It would not have passed inspection in most primitive societies, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances.
Her belly full, she took more time to search for suitable arrows. She found a dozen or so that were straight enough. Preparing them properly was a challenge as she had no feathers to fletch them. But she substituted by using some stiff leaves. She didn’t have time to fashion proper arrowheads, instead hardening the arrow points in the fire. All of this took time and it was mid-afternoon by the time she finished. It was then that she once again heard the sound of dogs.
It was not unexpected. Lisha was surprised that it had taken Moeller this long to come after her. Possibly it had taken him some time to organize a party large enough to be sure of success. She doubted that it would be just the six men and six dogs he had used before. A more likely reason for the delay, however, was the fact that it had probably taken a little time to pick up her trail. She listened a little longer and came up with another reason. The sound of the dogs was coming from two directions. Moeller had set a trap and was closing in on her from two sides.
She wasn’t the least bit dismayed. She was a warrior and enjoyed the challenge of a fight. However, the dogs were something she would have to deal with first. She remembered that just offshore was a small rocky island. It was so small she could cross it in only about ten strides, but it had a few small trees and was separated from the main island by a stretch of salt water. Breaking into her ground-devouring jog she headed toward it.
Reaching the beach she plunged into the water and headed for the island. At first the water was hardly up to her waist, but farther out it deepened until it reached her neck. Had she been normal height she would have had to swim, but she was able to hold her bow and other weapons over her head and wade to the shallower water around the island. Gaining dry ground she climbed to the highest point of the island and moved into the trees just as the dogs rushed onto the beach.
They were followed a few seconds later by their handlers; eight men armed with weapons ranging from the air rifles that were supposed to bring her down alive to more dangerous weapons such as assault rifles. In spite of her dislike of firearms, Lisha knew the difference between those that could kill and others that would merely render her unconscious. She watched contemptuously as they milled about the water’s edge. Eight men to bring down a single woman; and more coming. Well, they were in for a bit of a surprise.
She readied her crude bow. It was so primitive she doubted she could hit much of anything except at point blank range, but she now had a much improved sling, made out of the skin of the deer she had brought down. She crouched in the trees at the top of the island and waited.
It didn’t take them too long to figure out where she was, but no one, not even the dogs wanted to swim out to the island. However, as Lisha watched she realized that for some strange reason the sea seemed to be receding. She remembered a word Larra had used about the sea. Something about a “tide,” but she had never quite understood it. Now it was more clear, although she still had no idea why it was happening.
Her little island refuge was now a trap, the only way off to swim or force her way through the enemy. Lisha sat and waited while the water continued to drop, her eyes fixed on her enemy. Soon the water would be shallow enough for the dogs to come and after them Moeller’s henchmen.
While she watched several more men and another pack of dogs joined the men who were waiting. They spoke to each other in German, a language Lisha had no understanding of. But she didn’t much care. Their gestures were enough to understand the gist of their conversation. They clearly knew she was on the island and were waiting for the water to recede. There was no sign of Moeller, which was a bit of a disappointment. If he had been there she would have chanced taking a shot at him, but since the coward did not dare face her on his own she waited and kept hidden. Soon his henchmen would come and when they did she would be ready for them.
She didn’t have to wait much longer. Moeller’s henchmen started across the wet sand. They had leashed the dogs, probably remembering what had happened the last time they thought they had her cornered. Lisha picked up her sling and in a single motion let fly.
It would have been hard to miss hitting someone in the mass of men that was heading toward the tide island, but Lisha did even better than that. The smooth stone bounced off the forehead of one of the men in the lead and dropped him to the sand. The unexpected attack brought the advance to a halt. Lisha’s attack had been so quick that none of the men appeared to have seen her. For a few seconds they milled about, some pointing their weapons toward the trees on the island, others rushing to their fallen comrade. There was a great deal of loud talk which Lisha guessed was probably swearing. And then the men surged forward.
Lisha rose quickly and let fly another stone. She didn’t wait to see its effect, but immediately ducked away just in time to avoid a hail of bullets. Apparently some of Moeller’s men were no longer interested in trying to take her alive.
Slings and stones against bullets were poor odds. But they had her trapped except for one direction. Not pausing in her retreat she headed for the back of the island, hoping that her attack would delay Moeller’s men long enough for her to find some way to escape.
A small beach and a large log offered the chance she wanted. It was not a particularly good chance, but it would have to do. Reaching the beach she dragged the driftwood log down to the water and pushed it in. She waited until it balanced and then attached her bow and a sling she had made out of the deer hide along with her flint tools. Then she pushed it out into deeper water.
Soon she was forced to swim, and she kept on pushing the log farther out until she was several yards offshore. Lisha was a fairly good swimmer and although the ocean was foreign to her, she managed to move the log in the direction she desired keeping the bulk of the log between her and the island. She was just in time. A few seconds later several men and a pack of dogs rushed out of the woods and onto the beach. They halted at the water’s and several of them directed shots in her direction. She could see the spouts of water where the bullets struck and hear them slamming into the log, but it was thick enough to protect her. Keeping her head low, she continued to kick with her legs and moved the log even farther out.
Fortunately the sea was in one of its better moods. A low swell rolled toward the shore and made it easy for Lisha to keep the log moving through the water. Still, it was very slow going and she could feel the cold water sapping her energy, but she was getting farther and farther away from her pursuers, who had made no effort to follow her. With any luck she might actually be able to get far enough away she could turn the log and head it toward another part of the main island.
It was at that moment that she was distracted by the sound of a high-pitched motor. She had heard such a sound before, but at first she did not recognize it, but as the sound increased in volume she suddenly remembered what it was and raised her head out of the water. A few hundred feet away, and closing fast from the direction of the castle was a small motor boat.
With a sinking feeling, Lisha realized she had outsmarted herself. All of her improvised weapons were completely useless when she was in water up to her neck. She remembered something else about the marvels of Larra’s world. Men could communicate by radio. Undoubtedly that was exactly what the men who had tracked her to the water’s edge had done and now she had trapped herself in the ocean.
Desperately she tried to think of a way out of her foolish predicament. The small boat was closing fast and taking with it any chance to escape. There was only one thing Lisha could think to do. Abandoning her weapons she ducked under the log and swam for shore keeping her body submerged.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t stay under water forever. She managed a dozen strokes before she was forced to surface for air and when she did she found the boat just yards away and a triumphant Moeller standing in the prow with his hands on his hips.
“Stupid black bitch. Did you think you were a seal?” he jeered. The small motor pushed the small boat nearer and Lisha saw that another man was standing up, a long hooked pole in his hands.
She dove again, staying under longer this time, but when she surfaced the boat was closer than ever. Again she submerged, desperately aware that she could not keep this up for much longer. All Moeller had to do was wait until she exhausted herself and then pull her helpless body out of the water. But she would not give up. Diving again she went deep and then swam toward the boat, trying to throw off her pursuers. If she could get close enough perhaps she could capsize it.
Moeller and his crew, however, were equally adept at playing the game of cat and mouse. When she surfaced they were right on top of her, and before she could dive again the hooked pole snagged in her hair.
The man holding the pole gave it a quick twist tangling the hook in her waist-length hair. Reflexively Lisha reached up and grabbed the pole, trying to wrench it from his grasp before her could pull her toward the boat, but she quickly found out that such was not his plan. Instead of fighting her for the pole he pushed down ducking her head under the water. Too late she realized what he was doing and tried to fight her way to the surface, but he kept her there, her struggles doing little more than tangling the hook ever tighter in her hair.
Lungs bursting, Lisha kicked hard trying to force her way to the surface, but she was held underwater. Stretching out both arms she tried to grab the pole and use it to get to the surface, but the crewman merely pushed it down farther, submerging her even more.
Frantic now, Lisha kicked even harder trying to find someway to get to the surface before she was forced to draw that fateful breath. But she could not. And eventually nature won out over her strength of will. She sucked water into her lungs and in spite of the belief that drowning is not a painful death, Lisha found it far from pleasant.
As her lungs filled with water her body spasmed, her limbs flailing as she fought against the horrors of drowning. It was a terrible experience to feel her senses slipping away even as she fought so frantically to survive; her lungs filling with suffocating sea water. And then suddenly, she was pulled to the surface. Coughing uncontrollably she could offer little resistance as hands reached out and dragged her into the boat. She was aware of being pushed into the bottom of the boat and hung across one of the thwarts. Hands gripped her wrists and ankles and they worked her body, forcing the water from her lungs until she was breathing properly. Then, still half unconscious from her ordeal, her arms were forced behind her back and her wrists and ankles were tightly bound.
She lay cold and shivering in the bottom of the boat, Moeller’s voice grating in her ears. “What’s the matter, nigger? Didn’t like your swim? Well, I’ve got something in store for you that will warm you up.”
Unable to see where she was going, Lisha could only surmise that she was being taken back to the castle a guess that was proven true a few minutes later. The boat edged up to the jetty and she was lifted to her feet. The ropes around her ankles were loosened enough that she could walk and then she was lifted from the boat to the jetty and marched toward the castle.
For the proud Ullabomba warrior being marched through the castle gate was a shameful experience. Moeller had made sure it was as humiliating as possible by having a rope tied about her neck and having her led like a trophy of war in front of the castle walls. Unknowingly he had emulated the one of the traditions of Lisha’s warlike people; the parading of captured enemies. However, her greatest humiliation was yet to come.
As she entered the courtyard she saw Katie, Larra, and Ayashe lined up where they could see her enter. She tried not to look at them, not wishing to see their expressions of shock and fear. But something about the way Larra was standing caught her attention. She could not help looking toward her leader, trying to catch her eyes and realized that Larra was looking straight ahead, her violet eyes unfocused. Her spirits sank. If Larra was blind…
Her attention was torn back to Moeller by a painful jerk on the rope. It staggered her, almost causing her to fall and she had to stumble forward to regain her balance. Pulled forward she was led to a heavy wooden framework consisting of two massive uprights set into the ground about five feet apart. They were joined eight feet above the ground by a wooden beam. Massive iron rings were set into the frame at the top and bottom and a large eyebolt was screwed into the bottom of the lintel. Lisha hardly had to have an explanation of what it was intended for.
She was pulled forward between the two uprights. With her wrists bound behind her she was unable to resist as another rope was tied to those binding her wrists and was then passed through the eyebolt overhead. As it was tightened her arms were pulled up strapado behind her. Immediately two of Moeller’s henchmen attached ropes to her ankles and secured them to the two lower rings in the timber frame.
Horribly vulnerable, Lisha’s gut tightened as she guessed what was coming. But the situation was made worse by the tether around her neck being attached to a ring set into the ground. She was pulled cruelly forward so that her arms were almost dislocated at the shoulders and her torso was parallel to the ground. With her legs spread she offered all too inviting a target to Moeller or anyone else who wanted to take her.
Moeller paced up behind her and ran his hand over her the smooth contours of her buttocks. “You’re going to be a very pleasant fuck,” he said in English. “For me and every man who helped me catch you. I hope you enjoy it as much as we do, but I doubt you will.”
As he spoke Lisha could hear him unbuckling his belt and then flicking open the buttons on his trousers. She tried not to show emotion as he moved tight behind her and pressed himself against the taut moons of her backside. He was already erect, the tip of his phallus moving against her vulva and then he pressed into her.
Lisha didn’t make a sound as he entered her, but Moeller
did. He grunted in satisfaction
and then with the effort of penetrating
her. “Tight bitch,”
he muttered. “But you’ll
be looser than a
Lisha ignored the pain, as Moeller’s cock tore into her. She focused on remaining calm and suffering the humiliation of her defeat and torture the way a true warrior should. It was an ugly price to pay, but Ayashe and Katie had suffered just as much, and Larra appeared to have suffered worse. She could do no less.
Fifty feet away, Ayashe watched Lisha’s punishment. She flinched mentally each time Moeller thrust into her friend knowing the terrible pain and humiliation she was experiencing. Lisha’s body shuddered each time Moeller penetrated her, her large breasts swinging in an erotic display Ayashe found hard to tear her eyes away from. The sheer brutality of what Moeller was doing filled her with intense hatred and she vowed to she exact savage vengeance on the man who had dishonoured both her and her companions.
By now Lisha’s heaving body was streaked with sweat, her obsidian skin glistening in the sunlight as Moeller continued to enjoy her. Ayashe knew from the sound of his breathing that he was close to climax. She had heard the same carnal grunts when Moeller had raped her and when she had been captured and raped by the Japanese. To her it was an ugly sound, completely devoid of the emotion that was supposed to exist between man and woman.
Finally Moeller finished, pulling out just before he climaxed and spurting his thick cream over her buttocks and back. In spite of having satisfied himself, however, he seemed far from pleased. “Fucking black whore,” he muttered. “I’ll teach you to show a little appreciation for Aryan cock.”
Ayashe could only conclude that he was angered by Lisha’s complete lack of movement. Other than a slight gasp as Moeller thrust into her, she had shown not the slightest reaction to anything he had done.
“Stretch her out,” Moeller ordered.
Several men moved to do his bidding. Removing the tether holding her neck, they stretched her against the heavy frame and bound her wrists to the upper rings on the uprights. She was stretched tight, her body in the shape of an X and Moeller moved behind her, a heavy whip in his hand.
“Let’s see if this makes you move,” Moeller growled. He let the whip go, scoring across the middle of Lisha’s back.
The pain was savage, but Lisha hardly moved as the whip cut into her flesh. It opened a long red weal diagonally across her back. Moeller spat on his hands and grinned. He’d interrogated many a prisoner using the whip and he knew that sometimes the victim didn’t react to the first few blows. The black bitch was strong, but she’d break after a few more lashes; just like all the others had broken.
Five strokes later he wasn’t quite so sure. By now the big nigger should have been screaming her head off, but she had hardly reacted. She had to be suffering terrible pain, but the only indication he had so far was a slight quivering of her muscles and a clenching of her hands each time the lash landed. Even worse, if she didn’t scream, she would make him look like a fool in front of his men and the other women prisoners.
He shifted his position, moving around to where he could target the front of her body. From this angle her magnificent breasts were an obvious target. He hated to mar such beauty, but if his theory was correct she would probably heal in a week or so anyway. And in the meantime he was going to enjoy breaking her.
He struck with the whip, the cruel lash striking just below her breasts. The black warrior hardly moved. In spite of himself, Moeller began to feel some admiration for her, but he would have her screaming; he had never failed before.
The next lash was better aimed, striking below her right breast and crossing up over the left, bisecting the nipple. She jumped a little, her breasts quivering, and he put the next lash almost in the same place. There was almost no reaction, but Moeller thought he detected a look of fear in the black warrior’s dark brown eyes.
The term warrior now seemed a natural way to think of
her. He had known that she was
a strong woman.
She was quivering now; a sure sign that she was close to breaking. Six ugly weals marked her breasts and below that another four crossed her belly. He moved behind her again and let her have four across the buttocks. The last one resulted in a cry of pain. It came out between clenched teeth, but it was a cry nevertheless. “Got you, cunt,” Moeller thought. Now to finish her off.
He let her have another five. For the first three she managed to suppress her pain, but the last two she screamed; the second scream louder than the first. It was enough. He had her where he wanted her and he had a throbbing erection once again. He tossed down the whip and motioned to one of his men.
The man grinned, moving forward with a sponge and a small silver pail. He dipped the sponge into the pail and it came out dripping. Touching it to the black warrior’s body he began to wipe her free of the blood and gore.
The scream that burst from the black warrior’s lips as the alcohol touched her raw wounds was most rewarding. She screamed again as the alcohol swab was moved across her body cleaning away the bloody mess that now marred her once-perfect skin.
Every touch of the sponge sent excruciating pain through her, but the cleaning did not stop until every trance of her bloody ordeal had been washed away. Lisha struggled against the pain, her tremendous physical strength keeping her conscious where most other women would have fainted.
“Take her down,” Moeller ordered.
As the ropes were untied Lisha struggled to stand as several of Moeller’s lackeys moved in to seize her arms. As pain and weakness coursed through her, she struggled feebly as she was carried to a low bench next to the wooden whipping frame. She was bent over it face down and held there while Moeller once again loosened his pants. Even more aroused than he had been the first time, he held her hips and once again thrust into her.
Lisha let out a grunt of pain as Moeller penetrated the bruised lips of her labia and penetrated her swollen vagina. He thrust hard, entering her deeply, slamming her body repeatedly against the bench. Five minutes into the rape he pulled out and changed his target. Lisha whimpered as he forced his way into her anus, too beaten to resist any longer and so weak that the men holding her were hardly necessary. The pain of Moeller splitting her backside had her moaning in agony, a melody that finally satisfied his sadistic nature.
Once again he released into her and then turned her over to his men. They raped her one after the other while Ayashe and Katie watched and Larra listened. The sight and sound of the ordeal were horrible. Too weak of offer any resistance, Lisha whimpered in pain while the men violating her raped her repeatedly. Her semen and blood splattered was finally released to her friends after they were through. The ordeal lasted most of the evening with her companions forced to be there the entire time. Between them Larra, Ayashe, and Katie carried the semi-conscious warrior to their quarters, Moeller having decided to cage them all in one room.
Once in the room Dr. Schneider attended to Lisha, giving her basic medical treatment. “Moeller won’t let me do any more,” Schneider explained. “He has a theory that you all have some magical ability to heal faster than normal and I have been instructed to test it out. If your companion recovers on her own it will validate his beliefs. Unfortunately, he will then be more determined than ever to force you to tell him what it is.”
Katie and Ayashe helped him as much as they could, washing and helping dress the barely conscious Lisha’s wounds. All three women burned with the desire for vengeance. But they were also very afraid. Moeller’s vicious determination to learn the location of the Lost World and discover the source of their mysterious healing powers, bordered on the fanatical. And his sadistic and callous treatment of his prisoners would sooner or later lead to one of them being so badly injured that their likelihood of recovery would be negligible. As Katie and Ayashe worked to help repair the damage to Lisha’s body they wondered how long it would be before one of them was killed.
As Schneider finished his work the door opened, and Moeller, accompanied by his usual legion of guards, entered the room. He took a few seconds to determine that Lisha was still alive and then looked at Ayashe. “Tomorrow, my little Indian maid, it will be your turn. Your black companion put up a good fight. It will be interesting to see how well you do.”
Ayashe felt her gut clench. If Lisha could not escape Moeller and his thugs what chance did she have? But she gave no sign of her fear, meeting Moeller’s gaze without flinching. He gave her a sardonic grin. “Better get some rest. Tomorrow you become part of the hunt.”
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