Barbarian Tales
Episode 1
Mistress of the Sword
by L'Espion
Chapter
10: Trial by Water
It took Shailaja only a
quarter of a moon to find her way from Fellem to the port city of
Closer to the coast the
towns were more common and she was able to stay at
inns. However, this was hard
on the relatively small supply of coin she was
hoarding. She had no idea how
long she might have to make the money last, so she camped off the road where
possible, keeping in mind the fact that when she reached Svend she would
need money for her passage.
As a result of her previous
adventures she had a adopted a rather brusque manner, and had taken to drawing
her sword when approaching strangers.
This frequently resulted in children and sometimes adults fleeing
from her presence, but she found this preferable to being ambushed and taken
prisoner as had already happened twice.
Usually if she waited long enough those who fled to the shelter of
their hovels would open the door to see what she
wanted. When staying at inns
she made sure that she was placed in a room by herself and slept against
the door just in case it was opened during the
night. In this way she traveled
in safety for the rest of her journey.
Finally the town of
Below her and stretching
to the horizon was the blue of the sea, and upon it were many vessels both
large and small; some at anchor; some tied up at the extensive docks; some
leaving; and some arriving. She
was able to make little sense of it except to understand that the port seemed
very busy with myriad inhabitants going about myriad
tasks.
With some trepidation she
remounted her horse and headed toward the
town. After her reception at
Fellem she was somewhat concerned about how she might be received, as a result
she sold her horse and mule at a livery stable outside the gates of the town
and waited for nightfall.
Still very young and
inexperienced, Shailaja worried that there might once again be an attempt
made to arrest her as she entered the
town. Narahan had assured her
that this should not happen as no one in the town had any reason to think
ill of her, but she was taking no
chances. With the money for her
passage in her pocket she retired with her bedroll to a small grove of trees
within sight of the walls and waited until
It was easier than she had
hoped, as she was helped by a blanket of fog so thick that she could barely
see an arm’s-length in front of her.
Indeed, she almost walked into the
wall. However, once at its base
she found that the stones had numerous gaps that made climbing easy even
in the dead of night and surrounded by the impenetrable gloom of the
fog.
Reaching the top of the
wall she descended to the streets and made her way as best she could toward
the waterfront. In this endeavour
she found the fog to be a handicap and it was not long before she lost her
way. However, she had achieved
her goal. She was in the town
and all she had to do was wait until morning and then make her way to the
dockside; and that is what she did.
Once again Mirana smiled
upon her. The day dawned bright
and warm and soon burned off the fog and with the help of a few townsfolk
who were polite enough to direct her, she was able to make her way to the
dockside.
The town of
It was also crowded with
people, most of whom pushed and shoved as they made their way past one another,
although Shailaja was quick to note that they were quick to step out of her
path. As usual her appearance
attracted stares, and not a few comments, but she ignored them and continued
toward the waterfront. No one
tried to stop her and she grew more confident as she moved through the town,
eventually reaching the dock area.
She saw a few Kaltarans as she walked, easily distinguishable by their
height, but avoided contact, not wishing to draw attention to herself, and
finally reached the confusion of the dockside.
To the untrained eye, and
Shailaja’s certainly fitted that description, a busy harbour epitomizes
chaos. Dozens of men and not
a few women hurried to and fro, carrying bales and crates; and pushing carts
and barrows. Here and there large
nets were being used to hoist cargo onto a ship or to hoist cargo off a
ship. Bewildering as the streets
of the town had been she had reached an area of even greater
confusion. Dozens of workers
scurried about the dockside loading and unloading the huge vessels docked
alongside the wharf.
She had never seen a sailing
vessel before, being familiar only with the small boats used upon rivers
and lakes and they were both much larger and much more complex than she had
ever imagined. She had never
seen such a confusing maze of ropes, most of which seemed to have no use
that she could fathom. She supposed
there must be a way of contacting someone about boarding one of these vessels
and so she worked her way through the mystifying throng until she spotted
someone who looked as if he might be in command.
He was a large man, not
as tall as her, of course, but probably weighing at least twice her
weight. He was bawling orders
at a trio of sailors who were hauling on a
rope. She stopped before him,
directly in his line of sight and caught his eye.
“What do ye be about,
girl?” he demanded.
“Can’t ye see I’m busy?”
“I would like passage
on a ship,” Shailaja replied.
She stared directly into his eyes and attempted to look as confident
and unafraid as possible.
“Would ye now?”
he asked. “All by
yerself?”
“I am a warrior of
Kaltara,” she answered.
“I need no one to accompany me.”
“Aye,” the man
agreed, looking her up and down in a manner she did not particularly care
for. “I can see that yer
well grown. It’s just that
few women travel alone.”
“A warrior of Kaltara
does not answer to anyone,” Shailaja replied
angrily. She was getting very
tired of men who refused to see her for what she was and her temper began
to rise. “I thought you
someone who might offer me passage, but I see I was
mistaken.” As she spoke
she began to turn away, but he stopped her with a hand upon her
arm.
Shailaja returned him a
glare for that indignity and he immediately withdrew his
hand. “Begging your pardon,
miss,” he apologized. “I
can see that yer well able to look after
yerself. As I said, few women
come down to the docks alone, but I reckon a Kaltaran warrior need fear no
one.”
“That is indeed the
case,” she said, somewhat mollified.
“Are you in a position to be of
service?”
“Aye, that I am,”
he replied, offering his hand.
“I’m Captain of the Pelican, Margus
Torg.”
Shailaja took his hand,
noting that it was twice the size of her own, and her hands were not small
by the standards of most women.
However, she was not the least bit
intimidated. Captain Torg’s
size mattered little to a warrior of
Kaltara.
She returned his greeting,
“I am Shailaja of the Kaltara, and I wish passage to Tungay,” she
said, naming the country that lay southwest of Svend and across the
“Then yer in luck,”
the captain grinned, his white teeth shining through his heavy black
beard. “I’m bound fer
Dorhulf just across the gulf. Four
to six days sailing should see us there.
However, the Pelican’s cargo.
No fancy cabin fer a lady.”
“I know nothing of
this thing you call a lady,” Shailaja replied, somewhat
angrily. “I can sleep where
the crew sleeps.”
The captain
laughed. “I expect they’d
like that,” he chuckled.
“But do ye really mean to say yer
alone? I’ve never carried
a woman without an escort.”
Shailaja reached over her
shoulder and drew her sword.
“This is my own escort,” she
replied. “I need no man
to protect me.”
Torg stepped back from her
blade, an expression of cunning flickering briefly across his face, but in
her inexperience Shailaja missed it.
“I see,” he said, his features returning to
normal. “It’s just
unusual fer a woman to be by herself, but as ye are I can cut ye a
deal. Twenty silver gets ye a
cabin next to me. It’s cramped
but private and one we use fer passengers.”
She had not the slightest
idea as to whether the captain’s demand was fair or not, but guessed
he was probably asking more than was
required. She had only six gold
pieces in total, plus a few silver and copper coins and had no idea of how
the money added up in Svend. She
knew that in Lorholm one gold piece was worth forty silver, but she had found
as she travelled that coins often varied in weight and
purity. However, she guessed
that an area like the docklands would probably have a moneychanger nearby
and it would also give her a chance to properly evaluate the captain’s
demand.
“I will return
later,” she told Torg.
“Do not leave without me.”
“The wind and tide
wait fer no one,” Torg replied.
“The Pelican sails in three turns of the
glass. Be here with yer money
if ye wants passage.”
Shailaja nodded her
understanding and moved back toward the
town. A few questions got her
directed to a moneychanger located two streets from the
docks. She found that her six
gold converted into just sixty silver, making Torg’s asking price a
little steep. However, armed
with that information she returned to the Pelican and found the captain where
she had left him.
“I have money,”
she said. “But not the amount
you demand. I can give you ten
and no more.”
Torg was an adept haggler
and countered with sixteen, whereupon they bargained back and forth for the
next hundred or so heartbeats, finally settling on fourteen
silver. Torg took her money and
motioned her toward the ship.
“I’ll have one of the crew help with yer luggage,”
the captain offered.
“You see my luggage,”
Shailaja answered, indicating her bedroll and pack.
Torg gave her another curious
look, but said nothing. Instead
he called to one of his men.
“Roker, this lady will be sailing with
us. Help her with her gear and
show her where she’ll be staying.
Put her in the passenger cabin.”
Roker too gave her an odd
stare at these instructions, but asked no
questions. “Right,
captain.” He reached for
her pack, but Shailaja picked it up easily and waited for him to show her
the way to the cabin. With a
shrug he turned. “Follow
me if ye please, mistress.”
He headed toward the ship and
she followed.
Eyes wide with curiosity
Shailaja studied the ship as she followed
Roker. She was immediately aware
of a slight rolling sensation as she stepped upon the
deck. She found it a little
unsettling, but was able to follow Roker well enough and soon reached a short
steep stairway that led into the interior of the
ship. Never having been on a
ship before she found everything quite interesting, although she understood
less than half of what she saw. She
also discovered that she was as much of a curiosity to the sailors who were
loading the ship as the ship and crew was to her.
“Well, this is a
change,” said one. “The
captain’s got us something interesting this
time.”
“Very interesting,”
another agreed. “Maybe the
entertainment will be a bit more than just fiddle playing this
time.”
Shailaja did not understand
what either of the men was talking about nor did she appreciate the wide
smiles of the other men. After
her encounters with the Brothers Belehm and her misadventure in Fellem she
should have been a little wiser, but sadly it was to take another lesson
before she truly appreciated what could happen to a lone woman in the world
of men.
Roker opened the door and
motioned her within. She found
herself in a small windowless room that contained a small table and a bench
that ran down one wall. There
seemed to be no place to sleep until Roker fetched down a roll of canvas
and showed her that it could be suspended on hooks from one side of the cabin
to the other. “Ye sleep
here,” he explained.
It seemed strange to Shailaja
to sleep in a sort of swing until she considered that a bed would have taken
up most of the room. Later she
found that the hanging bed, which Roker called a hammock, was also well suited
to the motion of the ship. In
fact she became rather too well acquainted with her hammock when she discovered
that the slight motion of the ship alongside the dock was far from its normal
motion upon the open sea.
With nothing better to do,
she stowed her few possessions in her cabin and returned to the deck where
she ignored the stares of the crew and watched the preparations for
departure. A short time later
Captain Torg returned to the ship, and catching sight of her walked over
to where she was. “Perhaps
ye should stand with me,” he
suggested. “We are about
to cast off and the main deck is going to get very
busy.” He motioned her toward
the back of the ship which she later found out was called the
stern. This section of the ship
was raised and featured two massive oars which were used to steer the
ship. They were worked by two
men, although a single strong man could move them if
necessary.
From this place of relative
calm Shailaja watched the crew scurry about the deck and rigging of the ship,
performing all sorts of incomprehensible tasks as they got the ship ready
to sail.
Not having been on anything
larger than the small oared boats used to navigate the rivers and lakes of
Kaltara, she found the Pelican to be
huge. It had a single very large
mast in the middle of the central deck, which she learned was usually called
midships. This mast supported
several crossbeams called spars, which in turn carried the
sails. Everything seemed held
together with rope and looked very complicated so she watched in fascination
as the last of the cargo was stowed in the ship’s hold and the decks
were cleared for sailing.
The ship was pushed off
from the dock and then four large oars were pushed through holes in the rail
of the midships deck. Each was
manned by three sailors, and pulling on these huge sweeps, they soon had
the vessel underway.
Captain Torg explained things
as she watched and she learned that the sails would not be raised until they
were farther out and the danger of collision with other ships would be
lower. It was as he
said. The ship was rowed to the
middle of the harbour and then the oars were shipped and the sailors ran
to the sails. She watched with
interest and admiration as the sailors scampered up the rope ladders to the
spars and began to unfurl the sails.
They let them out only partway
at first, until the ship had sailed a bit farther from land and into more
open water and then they let them down all the
way. The wind caught, blowing
the sails out like huge sheets on a line of laundry and she ship picked up
speed, moving across the harbour and out toward the open
sea. It was then that Shailaja
began to notice a most disturbing sensation in her stomach, a sensation that
quickly eclipsed the wonder of her first moments at
sea.
Captain Torg quickly picked
up on her condition. “Ye
look a bit green around the gills, girl.
I think ye’ve got a bit of the sea
sickness.”
Sea sickness was an apt
description. Within a few heartbeats
Shailaja went from being merely uncomfortable to decidedly
ill. It took her only three strides
to make it to the rail, but even so she barely made
it. Less than a heartbeat later
she spewed whatever food she had eaten into the blue-green water moving past
the ship.
Torg was quick to sympathise
with her plight. “Ah,
girl. You’re sick as a
dog. Yer no good to anyone that
way. I was hoping the crew and
I would not have to wait on ye, but I guess we’ll have to wait until
ye get yer sea legs.”
Shailaja was too busy trying
to bring up even more of what was no longer in her stomach to pay much attention
to Torg’s words. If she
had, she may have been better prepared for what happened
later. “Help the girl to
her cabin,” the captain continued.
“Bring her something to settle her stomach and we’ll see
if we can’t help her through this.”
Roker was there to carry
out the command. To Shailaja’s
shame she was so ill that she had to lean on him even though he was a good
head shorter than she was. She
stumbled as she walked, her legs confused by the motion of the ship, while
her stomach continued its attempts to bring up what was left of its
contents.
She and Roker finally made
the cabin, but there was little relief for her
there. Her stomach heaved and
burbled and she could do nothing except sit on the bench and hold hard to
the table in an effort to try to control her churning guts while waiting
for Roker to return.
He finally showed up carrying
a small flask. She guessed what
was in it before he opened it. It
seemed that the people of the western region of Kaltara were obsessed with
spahr as a cure-all for almost anything that ailed them; whenever they were
not using it to drink themselves into a
stupor. He held the bottle to
her lips, and in spite of her reluctance she
swallowed. Surprisingly, the
powerful drink seemed to help, her queasiness easing
somewhat. Unfortunately, her
recovery was only momentary. Within
a few heartbeats she was once again heading for the ship’s rail, a place
where she spent a good deal of the rest of the day.
Roker attended her, offering
her spahr whenever she could force herself away from the
rail. She drank as much as she
could, hoping by some blessing of the gods that if she swallowed enough of
the fiery liquid she might drink herself into
insensibility. Forgotten was
the one thing she had determined she would not do, and that was leave herself
vulnerable to attack by the two dozen men on board the
Pelican.
Tormented by her rebellious
gut she was quite oblivious to what was happening around
her. Thus she did not notice
when her weapons disappeared until it was too late.
For three days Shailaja
fought the seasickness or rather she fought to survive the
seasickness. Unable to eat more
than a mouthful without bringing it up; and half drunk much of the time due
to the large amounts of spahr Roker forced into her, she hardly knew where
she was. Finally on the morning
of the third day after leaving port, she awoke ravenous, slightly, dizzy
from the drinking of too much spahr, stinking of sweat and vomit, and desperately
thirsty. It was also at that
time that she noticed her sword, dagger, and bow were
gone.
She swung out of her hammock
where she had lain for most of the three days, when she was not rushing to
the rail in a desperate attempt not to foul the ship, and made one final
check to determine if by some mistake she had overlooked her
weapons. But the tiny cabin was
too small. She began to realize
that her untimely and debilitating bout of seasickness had left her at the
mercy of the captain and crew.
She looked about the cabin
for a possible weapon, but it seemed that all she had was her hands and feet,
weapons which normally would have been quite
deadly. But her three days of
illness and deprivation had left her
weakened. Against multiple opponents
she would have a difficult time.
However, if she wished to avoid capture it appeared she had little
choice.
Just as she resigned herself
to a desperate battle, however, the cabin door opened and Roker
appeared. She prepared to defend
herself, but to her surprise and relief he offered not the slightest sign
of hostility. “Ah,”
he said. “You seem much
better. Perhaps you would like
some food and drink.”
For the first time in days
the notion of food had Shailaja’s stomach rumbling in anticipation rather
than revulsion, however, she was still on her
guard. “Where are my
weapons?” she demanded.
“Return them at once.”
“Don’t worry,”
Roker answered, seemingly undisturbed by her
anger. “They are quite
safe. You were delirious for
awhile and we thought it best to put them where you would not harm yourself
or anyone else.”
“I remember being
sick,” Shailaja retorted.
“Not delirious.”
“Too much spahr no
doubt has left you confused, as well as the fact that you have not eaten
since you came aboard,” Roker replied
calmly. “Come with me and
I will take you to your weapons and also see that you get some
food.”
Foolishly Shailaja followed
him from the cabin; although in retrospect, there is little else that she
could have done. Certainly she
could not have remained trapped in the tiny room without the least chance
of escape and without food and water.
She had to do as he requested.
She followed him up the
steep stairway, moving slowly due to her weakness and emerged onto the
deck. She was immediately seized
by several pair of hands and forced to her
knees. As she had half-expected
the attack she responded immediately, breaking the grip on her arms and lashing
out at the men around her. Those
who held her were caught completely off guard, no doubt not expecting any
sort of resistance at all, and for a few heartbeats she broke
free. But her success did not
last long. She was surrounded
by half the crew and they surged toward
her. Had she not been so weakened
by her illness she might have put up a better fight, but she lasted only
a few heartbeats before they had her.
Someone tackled her, wrapping
his arms around her thighs; several others grabbed at her arms and one seized
her hair. Once again she was
forced to her knees and this time they made sure that she stayed there by
tying her ankles. They also tied
one of her arms, securing her left hand behind her with a length of rope
they tied to her ankles. She
was left kneeling on the deck, arched back with her right arm free, but not
able to do much with it.
Captain Torg came to stand
before her. “Now settle
down, girl. We’ve got ye
good and proper and yer not going to get
away. Ye might as well make things
easy on yerself with a little
cooperation. The more ye fight
the more ye are likely to get hurt and we don’t want to hurt a beauty
like ye, just have a bit of fun until we reach
port.”
“Release me,”
Shailaja demanded. “Your
treatment of me is quite dishonourable.
I entered into a contract for passage with you that was fair and
equitable. You have no right
to treat me like this.”
“You can forget about
that, girl,” Torg replied.
“On the sea my word is law and I’ve decided that ye’ll
fetch a mighty fine price in the slave markets of
Thar. And while we are on the
way there we might as well have a little enjoyment from
ye. First though, ye need to
be fed and watered.”
He stepped aside and Roker
was already there with a pannikin of
food. This time Shailaja’s
stomach did not revolt at the sight of
it. Three days of starvation
had left her so hungry she would have eaten almost anything and what was
presented to her was decent victuals.
Using her free hand she wolfed it down and finished it with a mug
of beer. With each bite she felt
the strength flow back into her, and she could have eaten more, but that
was all she was to get for the moment.
Satisfied that her hunger
had been attended to, Torg next ordered that she be properly
cleaned. For this her left wrist
was untied from her ankles and her captors proceeded to undress
her. It would have done her no
good to protest this indignity and there was little she could have done to
prevent it as each of her arms was tightly held while her shirt and vest
were stripped from her. With
the removal of her bandeau she was stripped to the waist, the sight of her
full, rounded breasts drawing the usual admiring
comments.
By this time Shailaja was
almost used to such degradation, although she raged at the effrontery of
her captors. She was filled with
fury at the way men seemed to think nothing of the taking of a woman and
using her for their own use, much as if she were little more than a chattel
to be used in any way they pleased.
It was, she supposed, a form of slavery, and she was thoroughly sick
and tired of being treated in such a manner.
But there was nothing she
could do about it. Stripped to
the waist, and surrounded by a dozen strong men she could only fume at the
injustice forced upon her. Her
hands were quickly tied in front of her and her captors then proceeded to
the next stage of her disrobing.
She was pushed face down
to the deck and held there while her boots and trousers were
removed. Then, completely nude,
she was hauled to her feet. She
expected the usual immediate use of her body, but there was one more ritual
to undergo before her captors were ready for her.
She was taken to the bow
of the ship; a place she knew was used for the performance of bodily
functions. She had been there
several times in the early stages of her seasickness, until she became so
ill that she was unable to make there it in
time. She also knew that even
at the best of times it could be an extremely unpleasant place to
be.
The Pelican, like all ships
had a miserable habit of riding up one wave and then pitching forward into
the next. The result was a wall
of water that rolled over the bow and the supports placed there for the use
of the crew. It was a good idea,
allowing the sea to wash away any human waste that missed falling into the
sea. However, a possible consequence
of using the facility was the likelihood of being in the middle of a breaking
wave. Unfortunately for Shailaja,
that was exactly what Torg and his crew had in
mind.
A length of rope was tied
to her already bound wrists and quickly secured to a spar that normally served
to load cargo into the forward hold.
She was then raised into the air, her feet dangling a body length
over the deck, and then swung out over the bow and lowered to just in front
of the bowsprit. In that position
she was helpless as the Pelican plunged into the next wave.
The shock of suddenly being
immersed in cold water would no doubt have left most persons breathless,
but Shailaja had endured much colder baths in her native
land. Still, it was not a pleasant
experience after what she had already suffered, especially since the wave
buffeted her body, threatening to slam it against the bow of the ship, and
completely submerged her for several
heartbeats.
However, it accomplished
what Torg and the crew wished, washing the filth and sweat of her illness
from her; especially since they left her hanging over the bow for three
successive waves. She was returned
to the deck completely soaked and lowered only far enough for her toes to
touch. She stood there, her arms
stretched over her head and her feet barely touching the deck, exhibited
for the pleasure of the captain and the
crew.
Her chest heaving, and her
pale skin freckled with drops of water she presented a most pleasing sight
and the crew was quick to surround her each eager to participate in the spoils
her body represented.
“She is a beauty, is
she not?” Torg intoned.
“She will give us much pleasure between here and Thar, but we
must be careful to use her gently so as not to wear her
out.”
Looking at the rough sailors
surrounding me, Shailaja wondered what use of a woman they would consider
gentle. With the exception of
Narahan most men had used her hard and she expected little more from the
crew of the Pelican.
Captain Torg approached
her, moving to within less than an arm’s
length. With her body stretched
taut she could do nothing to defend herself against him, but she determined
that she would not surrender without some show of
resistance.
Few men would have dared
approach so close to a Kaltaran warrior, even one restrained as Shailaja
was, without making sure that her feet were secured
first. Apparently lulled into
false confidence by her lack of real resistance, Torg had grown careless,
supposing her his helpless captive.
In fact she was almost helpless, but that did not mean she was not
dangerous. As he stood before
her she struck out with her right foot.
It caught him where it would
do the most good and in a heartbeat he was writhing on the deck, his hands
clutched over his manhood and moaning in
agony. The crew was quick to
respond, swarming toward her with the clear intent of dealing out swift
retribution.
She waited until they were
upon her, and then seizing the rope that bound her wrists she swung clear
of the deck. It left both feet
free to slam into the startled bodies of her
attackers.
Two men went down at once
and then another, but she could not defend in all directions at once and
was seized from behind by a man who wrapped his arms about her waist, while
still another caught hold of her hair, pulling her head back
painfully. However, neither thought
to grab her legs and she made them pay for their
mistake. Releasing her grip on
the rope she let her weight fall upon her left leg and then struck back and
up with her right foot. It caught
the man holding her waist hard in the crotch and he joined Torg on the
deck. With one man out of the
way she turned her attention on the other, and twisting her body with the
aid of the rope that forced her arms over her head, she was able to find
him, driving her foot into his midsection and hurling him away from her,
his grip on her hair broken.
This sudden and unexpected
success from one the crew of the Pelican had thought helpless caused the
rest of the crew to back off.
Although they outnumbered her by over twenty to one it was clear that
they were not used to fighting a true warrior and they circled her as if
she was a cornered beast, keeping just out of reach of her
legs.
However, their timidity
did not last long. Realizing
that she could not move from where she was they moved in search of weapons
and soon found them in abundance.
The most common weapon they found was a sort of club
Shailaja had learned was
called a belaying pin. Aboard
a ship it was normally used as a means of quickly securing the many ropes
that were needed to operate a ship, but it was a tool that fitted well into
the hand and very quickly she was faced by a score of men armed with these
makeshift but deadly effective weapons.
It would no doubt have gone
very hard with her had not Torg recovered from the blow she had dealt
him. It was fortunate that she
was worth more to him on the auction block at the slave market than as a
beaten and submissive plaything for him and his
crew. “Hold off,” he
shouted. “We don’t
want her marred. She’ll
fetch a very poor price if she’s
scarred. There are other more
pleasant ways to punish her.”
His bellow had the desired
effect. The crew surrounded her,
but kept out of reach of her legs and took no action against
her. She waited, her chest heaving
from exertion and the awkwardness of her
position.
“Secure her legs,”
Torg ordered. “Use a few
lengths of rope and keep out of her reach.”
It was easily
done. In spite of her best efforts
it took the crew no more that a few moments to wrap several lengths of rope
about her thighs and pull them tight.
Thus immobilized, she was unable to prevent what Torg ordered
next. “Slack off the rope
holding her arms and then tie her ankles to her
thighs.”
It was done as he
commanded. She was lowered to
the deck and forced to her belly.
Then each of her legs was bent at the knee and tied securely to her
thigh. Following Torg’s
further instructions, her wrists were then untied and pulled behind her back
and then retied at the point where her ankles met her
thighs. Further ropes were then
added to so that she could once again be lifted into the
air. As she was finding out,
sailors were very good with ropes and knots and she found herself suspended
above the deck just below waist height.
Shailaja presented a most
enticing sight to the men gathered about
her. Her full breasts swayed
as she swung slowly back and forth, her body glistening with sweat brought
on by her helpless struggles. She
had fought every effort to bind her, fruitless as the effort had been, and
now she swung helplessly, completely at the mercy of her captors and they
were quick to take advantage of it.
“You’re a feisty
one to be sure,” Torg observed.
“I should give ye a beating fer that little trick ye pulled,
but I think there’s better ways to punish ye.”
Shailaja was already being
punished simply because of the way she was
bound. Swinging a yard over the
deck, all of her weight was carried by ropes passed under her arms and
ankles. It placed a great strain
on her arms and shoulders and made it so hard to breathe that she panted
as she waited for Torg to enjoy her.
He lifted her heavy mane
of hair and let it fall over her left shoulder; then using both hands he
massaged her shoulders and back, moving his hands steadily lower as he did
so and then moving them back up again, but this time stroking her sides until
he reached her lower ribs. At
that point his fingers slipped lower and found the sides of her
breasts.
Shailaja gasped as he caressed
her breasts, his fingers brushing gently against the firm, supple flesh,
slowly moving lower and lower until he cupped them, his thumbs flicking over
her hardening nipples. Once again
as it had done when she had been previously taken her body betrayed
her. In spite of the painful
manner in which she was tied and the peril of her situation she could not
prevent her body from responding.
A flush spread from her
cheeks to her neck and then to her shoulders and
chest. Her breasts firmed, swelling
as the blood poured into them and her nipples became erect and proud, and
so sensitive that the slightest touch forced her to suppress a moan of
desire. Between her thighs her
petals throbbed and Selene’s sweet river began to flow within
her.
Her state of arousal was
plain for all to see in spite of her best efforts to hide
it. She had to clench her teeth
to hold back a cry of craving as Torg slipped his hands between her
thighs.
“She’s as slippery
as an eel,” Torg grinned as his fingers came away from between her
legs. “She tries to hide
her awakening, but she’s as ripe for taking as a seal cow in mating
season.”
Shailaja did not understand
his reference, never having seen a seal cow, but there was no denying the
writhing of her body as Torg brought her to a state of undeniable
readiness.
“Now, girl its time
fer ye to receive what ye got
coming.” Torg moved behind
her as he spoke, and gripping her knees forced her legs
apart. Her thighs opened all
too willingly and this time she could not hold back a cry as she felt the
outside of his thighs pushing hers apart.
He took her all at once,
driving full into her and forcing a cry sharp from her
lips. The suddenness of his
penetration had her arching her back in pain, but it was her moan of pleasure
that shamed her.
“Ye like that, girl?”
Torg taunted. “I hope
so. Yer going to get plenty more
of it.” He withdrew a little
and then rammed back in even harder, forcing another cry from her
lips. Then he began to punish
her fiercely, pounding her about as hard as she had ever been
taken. She took it for a short
time, the panting of her breath the only sound, but soon her gasps turned
to moans of pleasure, and then cries of
desire. Like a river bursting
its banks her passion seemed to overflow and she responded
uncontrollably.
“Fer all yer reluctance
ye seem to like this well enough,” grunted Torg as he finished
her.
Shrouded in shame Shailaja
could not reply, unfortunately neither could she hide her disappointment
that he had finished so early. She
need not have worried; the rest of the crew was more than happy to satisfy
her eagerness and they did so immediately, each one taking her with such
enthusiasm any normal woman would have been more than
satisfied.
To her utter shame the flames
of her desire raged even higher, so much so that she cried out with eager
acceptance as each man took her.
Even the pain of her bondage and the awkward position of her body
could not dim the light of her passion and she was sorely used by every man
on the ship until finally the last man took her.
Only then did Torg order that
she be taken down.
It was only as her feet
returned to the deck that her ardour left
her. Her knees buckled, too weak
to support her weight after her use by two dozen crew members and she knelt
on the deck. However, Torg was
not about to return her to her cabin without removing the evidence of her
ordeal from her body first. He
ordered her swung over the bow once more and let the ocean wash the sweat
and filth of her use from her body. This time the shock of the water drained
the last of her strength and she crumbled to the deck when she was returned
to the ship.
Although it was not necessary
her wrists were bound, and then two members of the crew half-walked, half-carried
her back to her cabin. There
she was placed in her hammock and left to rest up for the next time the crew
decided to use her.
As Shailaja lay in the dark
of the cabin, listening to the creak of the ship’s timbers, she was
filled with shame. Once again
she had allowed her basest instincts to rise to the fore, allowing her captors
to have full use of her body. It
was an act so dishonourable she was ashamed to call herself a
warrior.
The fact that she had been
taken under duress did not mitigate the distress she felt at her reaction
to being so used. Her actions
had not been those of a warrior and to make matters worse it was the second
time that she had reacted in so base a
fashion. With these depressing
thoughts whirling about in her head exhaustion caught up with her and she
slept.
She awoke with the usual
soreness that accompanied heavy use by many
men. Fortunately, Torg was true
to his word. She was allowed
to rest all of that day and all of the daylight hours the following day.
However, her hours of leisure
were not particularly pleasant. She
was kept in her cabin and although she was not bound there was little to
do but sleep. The only light
came in through cracks around the frame of the
door. The only saving grace was
that she was not bound, the heavy door providing more than enough
security. Searching for some
way out she explored every nook and cranny of the cabin and even crashed
her full weight against the door to test its
strength. That effort resulted
in the door finally being opened, but not through her efforts, but those
of captain Torg.
He stood in the doorway
backed up by half his crew.
“I’m glad to see yer so well
recovered. I thought it would
take a little longer than that, but I won’t have ye hammering at the
cabin door. Continue to heave
yerself against it and I’ll have ye tied up again.”
“I have nothing to
do,” Shailaja railed.
“You keep me confined like some animal in a
pen. What else am I to do but
try to escape?”
Torg seemed to think a few
moments and then replied. “Ye
have a point. I don’t want
ye pining away in there. Perhaps
I can find a way to let ye spend more time on
deck. In the meantime stay away
from the door or ye’ll not like the consequences of yer
actions.”
He closed the door and she
was left in frustration in the dark.
Angrily she returned to her hammock and tried to
sleep.
She must have dozed, because
when she awoke the light no longer shone through the cracks around the
door. However, she was not left
alone. A noise outside the door
told her that her captors had returned and with them they brought a
“gift.”
It was not something she
would have chosen had she any choice.
She was ordered out to the deck and her wrists were bound and then
the ship’s carpenter came forward.
He was carrying a wooden contraption that judging from the newness
of the wood, he had apparently fashioned that very
day. It was a padded wooden collar
and it was quickly placed about her throat and locked in place with a heavy
padlock that fastened at the back of her
neck. Dangling from the lock
was a length of chain and another lock.
“It’s a good
fit,” Torg declared. “It
should allow ye a bit more freedom than just staying in yer
cabin.”
Shailaja could not hide
her anger at being subjected to still one more indignity, but she held her
piece knowing there was little she could do to alter the way things
were. However, the collar was
the least of her worries. Torg
had decided that she had rested long
enough. Wearing her new collar
she was walked across the deck to the mainmast, her wrists still bound behind
her back.
She had been allowed to
dress and so was fully clothed, but she now knew that a good deal of the
pleasure men have when they use a woman comes from the ritual of undressing
her, either willingly or unwillingly.
Reaching the mast, her new
chain and collar were put to immediate
use. She was bent forward and
the chain secured to an iron ring at the bottom of the
mast. It prevented her from moving
from where she was placed or even standing
upright. The best she could do
was to kneel at the base of the mast, but that position was not what Torg
had in mind.
The crew closed in around
her, lifting her to her feet. Her
wrists were untied and once again her shirt and vest were stripped from
her. Shailaja was helpless to
prevent this although she tried, however, her arms were each held by two
strong men and with the chain holding her head down, she was able to offer
only token resistance. Her boots
and trousers went next, but not before her wrists had been tied behind her
back again. With her head still
down she gasped in pain as her arms were pulled suddenly upward, wrenching
them painfully at the shoulders.
She was forced to her feet, her legs spread slightly for balance,
with her arms pulled up painfully behind
her. She stayed in that position
as the rest of her disrobing continued.
Finally she stood as seemed to be her fate in the company of
men. Completely nude she was
at their mercy and expected another painful and prolonged session at their
hands.
Her expectations were met,
but it was not to be as protracted as she had feared.
Torg took her
first. The captain moved behind
her while one of his crew members held each of her
ankles. It was apparent that
a lesson had been learned and that she would not surprise the captain or
his crew again.
Tog’s hands found the
moons of her buttocks. “You
going to take her up the spout, captain?” some wag
shouted.
“Not likely,”
Torg replied. “She could
crush a man with muscles like
these.” He squeezed her
moons to emphasize his point and then moved lower and between her
legs. “Already warm and
wet,” he observed, touching Shailaja in a place that made her gasp and
arch upward.
To her shame his observation
was correct. Selene’s sweet
nectar flowed freely, truly indicating her shameful
eagerness. In truth this time
the heat of passion had arisen within her as soon as her captors had forced
her into the submissive position in which she was
bound. Painful and humiliating
as it was she could not contain the flames of desire that ignited within
her.
In spite of her all too
obvious state of readiness, however, Torg was not content to take her
quickly. He opened his trousers
and then leaned against her, allowing her to feel his
hardness. She moaned in anticipation
and then gasped as he pressed against her and found her
breasts. Her nipples were already
hard as thimbles and it was not due to the cool sea breeze that pushed against
the ship.
She moaned again, arching
her back even more sharply and presenting her firming breasts for even greater
stimulation while at the same time anticipating the hard thrust of Torg’s
maleness. When it did not come
she cursed in frustration.
“You have me,”
she cried. “Now do what
you would with me and have done with it.”
Her words were intended
to hide her pain, but they fooled no one.
“You will receive what ye deserve when I decide, girl, and no
sooner,” Torg replied. He
continued to play with her, teasing her nipples and massaging her breasts
until she was almost mad with desire.
Around her the crew jeered at her agony and cheered on their captain
as he lowered his hands to the place between her
thighs. She needed only the lightest
of touches there to make her scream.
“Take me,” she
pleaded. “Take me
now. End this
torture.”
Her words, or more likely
Torg’s own burning lust, seemed to have the desired
effect. Shifting his hands from
between her thighs to her hips, he steadied her and then forced his staff
deep into her.
In truth, in spite of the
free flow of Selene’s waters, his penetration was not
easy. Still sore and swollen
from her use of just two days before she felt as much pain as pleasure, but
the latter was so powerful that it was worth all that she
suffered.
Shailaja screamed her enjoyment,
her body quivering in passion as he took her, actually attempting to push
back into him in order to further his use of her
body. He eagerly reciprocated
her actions, driving even harder into her so that each thrust penetrated
fully. It took her little time
to respond. With remarkable intensity
her body convulsed, clamping so hard around Torg’s member that he cried
out in surprise. “By the
gods, ye are a real woman,” he
gasped. “I’ve never
had anyone like ye. If ye
wouldn’t fetch such a fine price I should keep ye fer
myself.”
Panting from her reaction,
she moaned as Torg finished her off, finally finding his own release while
at the same time rekindling her heat.
She whimpered in disappointment as he withdrew, but she was not left
unattended long. Roker stepped
up next and without preamble began to use her almost as hard as had
Torg. Her grunts and groans of
pleasure were immediately restored; if anything they were even louder, a
fact that she was not proud of, but could not
deny. For a second time her loins
contracted; this time with an even stronger
reaction. And then to her further
shame it happened again as Roker continued to plough her
furrow.
Her condition could hardly
been hidden and the sailors around her were quick to
applaud. Fortunately her pride
was to suffer no further blows.
“That’ll be all
fer tonight,” Torg declared as Roker
finished. “We’ll be
more than a month reaching Thar with good winds and I don’t want ye
worn out. Tomorrow ye’ll
be given to two more of the crew until each has had a
share.”
Shailaja found Torg’s
concern for her welfare most unusual, especially considering that he and
his crew had already used her thoroughly.
The captain of the Pelican, however, was a merchant trader and so
far as he was concerned she was simply
merchandise. However, she was
merchandise that must be cared for, and to that end he intended that she
arrive at her destination in saleable condition.
After untying the ropes
that pulled her wrists upward, and releasing the end of the chain from the
ring at the base of the mast, she was allowed to return to her
cabin. There she was untied and
the collar removed from her neck, following which she was allowed to fall
into her hammock.
No doubt Torg intended that
the routine he had established for Shailaja would continue until she reached
Thar. However, by the grace of
Marana she was spared the fate of being permanently
enslaved. Knowing nothing of
the sea she had no idea how far the Pelican had traveled in the time she
had been aboard. Thus it was
with some surprise that when she awoke the next morning she sensed a change
in the motion of the ship and the sound of the crew moving about the
deck.
Her ears told her what happened
next. The sound of the oars being
placed in the rowing ports was unmistakable as was the sound of sea birds,
which had been largely absent once the ship had passed out of sight of
land. They were coming into a
port and she could only assume it was Dorhulf, the very place that Torg had
contracted to take her.
It appeared that in a fashion
the captain had lived up to his part of the bargain, but not in a manner
that did Shailaja the least bit of good.
She ground her teeth in
frustration. She was possibly
only a few hundreds yards away from freedom, but was confined in the prison
of her cabin without any way of getting
out. Further sounds informed
her that the ship was now pulling into the
dock. It went on like that for
quite some time, with the sounds of cargo being unloaded and then new cargo
loaded.
Several times she was tempted
to crash her weight against the heavy door, but resisted, knowing that it
was a futile waste of her strength.
It never occurred to her to scream for
help. Warriors did not depend
on others for their freedom, and the sound of her voice would probably not
have carried far through the heavy timbers of the
cabin. Frustrated, she paced
the tiny cabin, three strides one way and three the other, until finally
giving it up, she retired to her hammock and tried to
sleep.
The ship remained in port
all of that day and all of the following
night. During all of that time
Shailaja remained locked in the cabin, her only view of the outside a very
brief glimpse when Roker brought her food and
drink. Mercifully she was not
brought on deck for the entertainment of the crew, but neither was she allowed
even the briefest visit to the deck, not even for her personal
needs. For that she was forced
to make do with a bucket Roker left in her cabin and came to remove
later.
She was not sure of the
reasons for her day long confinement and supposed that it had something to
do with being in port. She later
learned that slavery was not one of the customs of the realm known as Tungay
and no doubt Torg was anxious to keep her out of sight of the port
authorities. Whatever the reason,
she was stuck in the cabin until the next day, when once again she was let
out on deck.
Once again she was controlled
with the collar and chain, an arrangement she found even more depressing
than being bound. Somehow the
weight of the collar on her neck signalled captivity and enslavement more
than anything else that had been done to her.
Once upon the deck she saw
to her dismay that the
Roker led her from her cabin
to the ladder leading to the raised upper
deck. Torg was waiting there
between the two steersmen. With
her hands free she was able to climb the ladder by herself and she was soon
standing beside the captain. Roker
used the padlock and locked the chain to the rail, making it more than obvious
that this was to be her place for the next little while.
From the sun Shailaja estimated
it to be mid-morning and she stayed on the steering deck most of the day,
even taking her meals there. For
some reason Torg seemed to enjoy her company, explaining the workings of
the ship and pointing out landmarks along the coast as the Pelican glided
slowly past them. However, she
kept fully in mind the fact that he had betrayed and shamed her and that
she owed him and his crew a debt of
vengeance. How she was to obtain
that vengeance she had no idea, but it was to come much sooner than she
hoped.
The ship sailed into late
afternoon and it was then that Shailaja learned something else about following
the coast. Due to the danger
of shipwreck at night the custom was for the ship to move a little farther
out to sea and then sail more slowly parallel to the
coast. In more uncertain regions
the captain would sometimes order the ship into a sheltered bay and wait
until the dawn. It made for slow
sailing, but at least the ship survived to reach its
destination.
It was under these early
evening conditions that Torg decided it was time Shailaja earned her
keep. “Get on yer knees,
girl,” He ordered, licking his lips.
“Tonight yer going to pleasure me with yer
mouth. Do it well and yer service
to me is done; displease me and the entire crew will use ye
again.”
Although Torg had decreed
that she was to be used each day by two different crew members until the
end of the voyage, that did not stop him from taking an extra measure for
himself, and the choice he had given her was very clear; submit voluntarily
and perform an act that was highly repugnant to her or suffer an even lengthier
ordeal. Slowly she went to her
knees, her green eyes blazing in anger.
“I like that look,
girl,” Torg commented.
“Yer eyes are like green fire and it tells me yer not
broken. A spirited filly fetches
a better price and I don’t doubt that with careful use ye’ll retain
that spirit until we reach Thar.”
He released the drawstrings
on his trousers and presented his member to
her. It was fully ready and seemed
even larger than she remembered it.
On its tip a single drop of male dew gleamed in the light of the setting
sun. Unconsciously she licked
her lips, her loins warming as libidinous thoughts coursed through her
mind. A slave to her passions,
she eagerly applied herself to the task Torg had given
her.
His member was firm between
her lips and became even more so as she swirled her tongue about the purplish
tip. Torg grunted in pleasure
as she swallowed him, taking him deep within her throat.
“Fer one who pretends
so much to dislike a man inside ye,” Torg commented, “ye do a right
good job of it.” He took
her head in his hands and helped a little, holding her head still while he
plumbed the warm depths of her throat.
Then he retreated, allowing her lips and tongue to finish
him. It took very little time
for him to find release, filling her mouth with his rich
cream. And then it was the turn
of his crew.
“Ye’ll make some
man very happy, girl,” Torg grinned as he returned his now depleted
member to his trousers. “I
hope ye get a master that treats ye
right.”
So well had she done her
job that Torg did something he had taken care not to do since her first day
on the Pelican; he removed the padlock that kept her chained to the rail
without calling on several of his crew members to make sure she caused no
trouble. He realized his error
as soon as he saw the look in her eyes, but she was already
moving.
With a quick jerk on the
chain Shailaja wrenched it from his hands along with the heavy padlock that
was used to secure it. Torg
immediately let out a yell, at the same time reaching for his knife, but
it was too late. Although the
hated wooden collar still enclosed her neck she could still wield the chain
effectively and it was much like one of the weapons she had trained
with.
The war flail was not a
weapon Shailaja favoured, but she had worked at it until she was proficient;
and although the proper weapon had a long wooden handle, she could swing
the chain well enough to make up for that lack.
She swung the chain in an
arc and then struck with it, glad that the ship’s carpenter had chosen
so heavy a length of chain. Torg
made a desperate and futile effort to defend himself, raising his knife to
take the blow, but she had struck beyond the blade so that the chain, weighted
with the heavy padlock, struck him full on top of his
head. He went down like a bull
that had been pole-axed and lay unmoving upon the deck, but she paid him
little attention, and instead moved toward the two
steersmen. They dropped the steering
oars and reached for their knives, but they were fighting a trained warrior
and she took them out in quick
succession. Picking up the knives
they had dropped, she stopped to assess the situation.
On the main deck the crew
had massed, not in any particular order, and led by Roker they were rushing
toward the ladder leading to the steering
deck. She let them come and made
good use of her dominant position, striking at them as they came up the ladder,
taking them out with ease as they came up one at a
time. Roker came first and she
sent him sprawling amidships and then punished two more in the same
way. That seemed to lessen the
crew’s enthusiasm for battle, at least so far as a direct assault was
concerned.
Several of the crew, however,
scampered into the rigging and attempted to come at her from
above. After she had caught one
and hurled him overboard, and flogged another unconscious with the chain,
they gave up this tactic as well.
By this time Torg was moaning as he slowly regained his senses, and
not wishing to have to deal with a possible threat from that direction she
picked him up and hurled him down among the crew, but not without first relieving
him of the key to the padlock. With
a sense of relief she let the heavy collar fall to the
deck. The two steersmen remained
sprawled on the deck and for good measure she tossed them amidships as
well.
It was well for her that
the Pelican seemed to carry no missile
weapons. Shailaja would have
expected at least a crossbow or two on board, but no one produced such a
weapon.
Torg finally regained his
feet. His face was covered with
blood from where the chain had struck him, but she felt no remorse over his
condition. He had betrayed,
kidnapped, and abused her, and deserved even more than he had
received. However, when he spoke
she was minded to listen to his words.
“We’re drifting
for the rocks,” he shouted, pointing toward a line of white water she
could see a few hundred yards toward the
shore. “If we hit we’ll
all drown.”
Shailaja looked to the
shore. In the interval when the
crew had been fighting her the ship had drifted aimlessly toward the shore
and was in danger of running aground; however, she was
unperturbed.
“You will drown,”
she retorted. “I can
swim.”
“You’ll be smashed
against the rocks, girl,” Torg
countered. “You won’t
have a chance to swim.”
Shailaja considered the
fact that Torg’s last statement might be
correct. But there was another
equally important concern. All
of her gear was somewhere on the ship, including the medallion and dagger
given to her by her parents. She
had no intention of giving them up if there was any way to save
them.
“Then what would you
have me do?” she asked.
“Turn the ship back
over to me and the crew, and stand away from the tiller,” Torg
replied.
“I am not such a fool
as to do that,” she replied.
“I will control the ship and you will follow my
orders. If that is not acceptable
to you then I await your efforts to force me to do
otherwise.” She swung the
chain to emphasise this point.
Torg’s face took on
a look of desperation; but she knew she had
him. Attempting to drive her
from her position had failed and during their brief conversation the ship
had veered close enough to the breakers that the sound of the waves could
now be heard as they broke upon the
rocks. “Man the sweeps,”
he ordered, and several sailors rushed to push the huge oars through the
holes provided for them.
Shailaja gave an order of
her own. “Return my possessions,
or I let the ship go onto the rocks.”
“Yer mad, girl,”
Torg replied, but he sent one of his crew scampering to obey her
orders.
That left her to deal with
the steering oars and although she had never guided a vessel the size of
the Pelican she managed well enough, although she kept her eyes on the crew
just in case there were any attempts to rush her
position.
While she steered she also
waited for her possessions to be
returned. There was a slight
danger in this, as they included her bow and it would give Torg and his crew
a weapon that could reach her, but she doubted that anyone aboard had the
skill to use such a weapon.
As she had hoped no one
dared oppose her and she soon had her sword, bow and dagger
back. She discarded the chain
by tossing it over the side. Now
free, and with her weapons in place, it was time to plan the next stage of
her escape. Somehow she had to
get ashore and by chance she saw her opportunity to do that and pay back
Torg and his crew for their treachery.
“There is just one
more thing,” she said.
“Bring me a purse of silver.
Let’s say one hundred pieces, otherwise the ship finds the
rocks.”
Torg did as asked, tossing
the bag at her feet.
“You’re going to have a hard time spending it,” he
growled. “You’re not
going to get off this ship.”
“You forget who is
in control,” she replied. She
pulled the steering oars hard over, swinging the ship toward
shore. She had waited until the
Pelican was past the rocks and crossing a shallow
bay. It would do well as her
landing place.
“What are you doing,
girl?” Torg raged.
“You’ll run us aground.”
Since that was her intention
Shailaja ignored him, holding the Pelican on course for the middle of the
bay.
“Stop rowing,”
Torg shouted to the oarsmen. But
it was too late. The wind and waves had already caught the Pelican, pushing
her steadily toward the beach.
“Get her,” Torg screamed, but she had dropped the steering
oar and stood with her sword and dagger at the
ready. Confronted by a true Kaltaran
warrior none of the crew dared come at her and Torg could do nothing but
rail helplessly as every wave took his ship closer and closer to the
shore.
The Pelican struck with
a grinding crash that heeled the ship over so sharply that Shailaja was pitched
across the deck as was everyone else on
board. Fortunately she had kept
hold of her sword and knife and the bag of silver was tied to her
belt. Scrambling to her feet
she moved across the tilted deck and made her way to the
side. The ship was listing at
such an extreme angle that the deck was only a few yards above the
water. Less than a hundred yards
away the waves lapped the beach.
She took one step and jumped in and plunged to the
bottom.
By Marana’s good graces
the bottom was only the depth of her chest and she didn’t even have
to swim. Wading ashore she headed
inland, dripping water but otherwise
unhurt. On the deck of the Pelican
Torg shouted curses after her, but she was
safe. She also knew that it was
unlikely that he or any of his crew would
follow. Tomorrow with luck they
might refloat the Pelican on the tide.
Shailaja cared not. She
had reached the realm of Tangay and her escape was
complete. Now she only had to
find a way to survive in this new land.
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