Barbarian Tales

Episode 1

 

Mistress of the Sword

 

by L'Espion

 

 

Chapter 16: Claimed

 

Shailaja awoke with a mouth as dry as sand.  At first she had no idea where she was except that she was lying on a bed and staring toward the ceiling of a tent.  And then Selvan’s face loomed before her.  He held in his hand a cup and placing one hand behind her head tilted her upward so that she might swallow.  “Drink this,” he said quietly.  “It will help with the pain.”

 

Shailaja was aware of numerous aches, but especially one in each of her hands and then it all came back to her.  Seized by a sudden panic she tried to get up, but Selvan pushed her back, but not before she brought up her hands to where she could see them.

 

Each was swathed in a clean white bandage and marked with a spot of blood on each side.  They throbbed agonizingly and she stared at them panic-stricken. 

 

Selvan almost certainly knew her fear.  “Rest and do not worry about your hands.  I have done all I can for them, but Velag has told me to bring you to him when you awoke.  I will delay telling him, but his men are without and the one called Quorash has been in and out of here a dozen times this day hoping to find you awake.”

 

“I am enslaved and crippled,” Shailaja replied bitterly.  “What chance do I have?”

 

“A better chance than you had yesterday.  There is always hope as long as you live and you are not without friends in this camp.  Not all appreciate Gorvag’s rule, although few dare oppose him openly.”

 

That was both good and bad news.  But it was hard for Shailaja to think of how she might turn this to her advantage.  And the presence of the Belusendrans in the camp was hardly reassuring.  It seemed from the way they had spoken that they had worked out some sort of arrangement with Gorvag and that she was part of that arrangement.  With her hands maimed she could not defend herself and she dreaded the coming of Velag who was almost certain to check on his property.

 

She lay back and tried to follow Selvan’s advice.  While she lay with eyes closed he spoke quietly to her, explaining how things were in the camp.

 

“With Den’s death there was no one to oppose Gorvag when he returned.  By all intelligence Siva would have made the best leader, but she was a woman and therefore unacceptable.  As a result Gorvag assumed the leadership and then began to reorganize the Ravens to his liking.  His first step was to enlarge the band by inviting every brigand within calling distance to join.  This soon eliminated many members of the band who were most loyal to Den.  I would have gone too and so would Ulriggan, but Gorvag knows he needs us and ordered us to stay.  We are watched by those loyal to Gorvag and have not yet found the opportunity to flee.  For both of us it is difficult, as Ulriggan would have to give up his metal-working equipment and I would lose all of my supplies of herbs and medicaments, many of which have taken me years to collect.  So we are prisoners of a sort ourselves.  Siva chose to stay of her free will.  I am not sure of her motives.  I know that she harbours no love for Gorvag, but something holds her in the camp.”

 

Selvan’s whispered tale came to a sudden end as someone entered the tent.  “I heard you speaking.  She is awake isn’t she?” 

 

Selvan moved to block access to where Shailaja lay.  “She is awake, but hardly in a state to walk.  You know what happened to her.  She needs time to recover.”

 

“Velag demands her presence,” the speaker continued, pushing into the tent and shouldering Selvan aside.  He stood hands on hips looming over Shailaja.  “You would do well to behave when brought before him.” It was the Belusendran who had been referred to as Quorash. 

 

“And does the mighty Velag fear a warrior who cannot hold a sword?” Shailaja asked bitterly.  As Quorash stood over her she felt no fear of death.  She had been betrayed and dishonoured and her attempts at vengeance had brought her only further dishonour.  All that was left to her was death in spite of her instincts for survival.

 

I see your spirit is not yet broken,” Quorash said.  “That is good for it makes you worth keeping if only for the pleasure of breaking you.  But try to hold you tongue when before Velag.  It will do you little good to anger him.”

 

 Shailaja did not answer, and Quorash mistakenly took her silence for compliance.  “Can she walk?” he asked, turning to Selvan.

 

“She has been badly abused,” Selvan temporized.  “It would be better if she were allowed to rest and heal.  She will be of little use as a slave if she does not live.”

 

“I will take that as a yes,” Quorash sneered, returning his gaze to Shailaja.  “Are you going to come willingly or shall I force you?”

 

Shailaja was nude beneath the blankets, as Quorash knew full well, but she threw them aside, hiding the pain the movement caused her.  With her hands swathed in bandages she used her elbows and pushed herself to her feet.  She swayed but managed not to fall.  Ashamed at her weakness, but not her nudity she waited for Quorash’s reaction. 

 

“Put something on her,” he ordered Selvan.  “We will allow her some modesty at least for now.  How much she is allowed later will be up to Velag.”

 

Selvan helped Shailaja with a loose-fitting sleeveless robe.  Designed for someone of normal height, it came only to her knees and fit her body tightly everywhere else, but she managed to get it over her head with a little help from the healer.  It seemed a shameful act to hide from those in the camp; especially in so humble a garment, but she was far from her best, and despite her despondency there lingered within her a faint wish for survival.  It was something that was always with her, sometimes even defeating her sense of honour.  Dressed as a slave she was now ready to accompany Quorash.

 

“Take this before you leave,” Selvan said.  From a small leather pouch tied he took out a tiny paper packet and poured it into a cup of water.  “This will help with the pain and healing,” he explained.

 

Shailaja knew that the drink was more than a pain killer and nodded her thanks after she swallowed it.  For a Kaltaran warrior the only dishonour greater than that of being captured and used was to be forced to carry the child of her captor.  The powder contained the crushed leaves of the senna bush.  It would prevent conception for a quarter of a moon.  She had taken the leaf even after taking up with Den. Her lover had voiced no disapproval as neither he nor Shailaja wished the blessing of a child until they had given up the mercenary life.  What Selvan was giving her was a bit of extra insurance against impregnation. 

 

Quorash voiced no objection to the potion, but he took no chances that she might escape.  Outside the tent two more Belusendrans waited.  As Shailaja emerged they quickly closed about her and shackled her wrists, forcing her arms behind her.  Had she been even remotely fit she would have killed all three of them, weapon or no, but in her weakened state she was no match for them and the spectacle of a warrior struggling in the arms of her inferiors was a further humiliation Shailaja was not going to subject herself to.  She already knew how she would face Velag, and she did not intend to make him happy.

 

She was marched through the camp, escorted like a felon being led to her punishment, and she felt not much better.  Her hands still pained her terribly and every part of her body that had been violated protested against movement. 

 

As she was paraded before the leering gaze of Gorvag’s mercenaries she could not help but think of how just the day previous she had ridden into camp like a true warrior, head held high in search of her enemies.  She knew now that she had been a fool, and had allowed her arrogance and self-confidence to get in the way of common sense.

 

Velag was waiting outside his tent.  With him were several other olive-skinned warriors dressed in dark armour typical of the Belusendrans.  Apparently a few more had arrived in camp in the last day.  Shailaja had not had much contact with Belusendrans and she studied them closely.  She was struck by how professional they appeared when compared to the rabble Gorvag had gathered about him.  They looked at her keenly as she approached.

  

Velag stepped forward.  Of the five Belusendans only his armour was chased with silver attesting to his rank.  “So,” he said.  “Are you ready to serve or must I break you first?”

 

“I have little choice but to serve, chained as I am,” Shailaja replied.  “But if you mean willingly, the answer is no.”

 

“It is as I had hoped,” Velag grinned.  “I enjoy a challenge and I suspect you may be most challenging.”

 

He stepped closer, looking her over as he might a prize horse.  “It is a pity, about your hands.  I would have been most interested in crossing blades with you.  But no doubt you will be well suited to serving on your back if nothing else.”

 

Shailaja hated the way he spoke of her as if she were nothing more than some animal to be bred.  But she knew that to a Belusendran warrior that was all a woman was; something to lie beneath him and give him pleasure while he furthered his ambition of getting her with child.  As a Kaltaran warrior he saw little more in her except an example of excellent breeding stock.

 

“Let’s have a better look at you now that you are standing,” Velag continued.  With a quick tug he loosened the ties on her robe allowing it to pool at her feet.  She stood exposed to the eyes of the camp, and in spite of her Kaltaran upbringing she could not help colouring, outraged that a warrior should be treated so.  Shailaja had always wondered at the fascination of the southern races in shaming a woman by baring her skin.  Kaltarans saw no shame in exposing the body, in spite of the fact that the climate of their homeland did not exactly encourage such action.  Nevertheless, the knowledge that what was being done to her was regarded by Velag and the others as demeaning, sent a surge of colour to her skin, a deep flush of shame spreading down her neck to her breasts. 

 

“She blushes prettily enough for all her bravado” Velag observed.    

 

“Do not be deceived,” Gorvag said.  “She will require much taming.  I will be most interested to see how well you succeed.” 

 

“It will take time and patience,” Velag agreed.  “Just as the taming and training of a warhorse takes time and training, but the result is well worth the effort.”

 

The discussion of how Shailaja was to be broken and trained sent her blood to boiling, and the haze of the blood rage returned.  Had she not been chained she would have attacked, in spite of the maiming of her hands.

 

Her captors saw this also and acted immediately, the two men who had flanked her seizing her arms and holding her steady as she strained forward. 

 

“I see she is as fierce as you have said,” Velag laughed.  He had not stepped back a hair, knowing her to be helpless.  Shailaja quivered with rage, something that did not go unnoticed. 

 

“See how she rages,” Velag marvelled, his eyes moving over her heaving breasts as she strained toward him.  “I can see she will have to be watched carefully.”  He licked his lips as he stepped closer and then reached out caressing her breasts. 

 

“Like ripe cherries,” he mused, his thumbs flicking over her nipples.  To her shame they rose to attention, firming into hard points that were so sensitive that she almost moaned in response. 

 

“Perhaps,” he said, as Shailaja continued to fight, “she will not prove to be to difficult to tame after all.”

 

Shamed at her response and unable to reach the object of her fury, her fit suddenly left her, and she almost fell, the surge of anger having robbed her of her strength.  She suddenly sagged in the arms of her captors, no longer able to stand, her chest heaving and her body covered in sweat. 

 

“Take her to my pavilion,” Velag ordered.  “I will deal with her later as soon as my business is finished.”

 

What business that might be Shailaja had no idea, as she was lifted under the arms and half-walked half-carried to Velag’s tent. 

 

Her shame could hardly have been more complete, and she had brought most of it on herself.  Now she struggled to keep from falling as she was taken in abject captivity to the pavilion of her master.

 

Inside she found herself in unaccustomed luxury.  Velag and his minions did not travel light.  The circular tent was large, some ten paces across and partitioned into two sections.  She had no idea what was behind the section at the back of the tent, but the larger front area was richly furnished.  It remained her very much of the sumptuous pavilion where Cleron had despoiled her.  Silk cushions were set about a low table that contained various decanters and cups of metal as well as what appeared to be bowls of fruit, nuts, and raisins.  The floor was covered in several thick rugs and unlit brass lanterns hung from the central truss supporting the tent.  Heavy wooden chests doubled as places for storage and seats.  However, what surprised her most was not the opulence of the furnishings, but the human occupants of the tent. 

 

Prostrated on the floor of the tent were two seminude young women and a youth in a similar state of undress.  They remained that way until Quorash, who had followed her to the tent ordered them to their feet.  “See to our new guest.  Velag wants her bathed, combed and perfumed in preparation for his return.”

 

The three slaves, for so Shailaja supposed them to be, immediately jumped to their feet and set about seeing to his instructions.  They could not begin at once, however.  First Shailaja’s guards had to insure that she did not attempt a highly improbable escape.  Escorting her to the table, they pushed her to her knees.  Producing a key, they removed the irons from her wrists, giving her a sudden faint hope that they might be foolish enough to leave her free, but it was merely a change of her shackles not a freeing of them.

 

About her right ankle was placed a light shackle; one that was, however, more than strong enough to hold her.  It was attached by a chain to a heavy iron stake that had been driven into the ground.  Their job of securing her finished, both men left the tent, leaving her to the ministrations of the slaves.

 

In the presence of the slaves Shailaja did not dare to test how well the iron stake was driven into the ground, but doubted that she would have had the strength to remove it without the help of tools even if she had not been in her weakened state, especially given the fact that she could not properly use her injured hands.

 

Shailaja wanted none of the attentions of the slaves and told them so in no uncertain terms.  They looked at her in something very near complete panic when she ordered them away.  “Do not touch me,” she growled, hoping that her sheer size and appearance would be enough to deter them, since she doubted she had the strength to fight off even such feeble opponents as the two girls and the effeminate young man for very long.

 

To her surprise the two female slaves fell to their knees and burst into tears, while the male looked at her with an expression of complete dismay.  She was a bit taken aback by this, but before she could react the young man, who she guessed was in his late teens, spoke.  “Please do not dismiss us mistress.  We will be beaten if we fail to complete our tasks.  You must allow us to do as we have been ordered.”

 

“It will not be your fault if I refuse you,” Shailaja answered.  “I will take all of the blame.”

 

One of the girls then spoke up.  Shailaja saw that the two young women were identical in appearance, both being small, dark-eyed and quite comely, with long ebony tresses that flowed down their backs to their shapely hips and beyond. 

 

“Mistress,” she implored.  “What you say will not matter.  We will be held to account for not doing our duty.” 

 

Shailaja sighed deeply.  The brief exercise she had been forced to take had left her completely exhausted and in no mood to argue with the three slaves.  They seemed much younger than she was, even though she and they could not have been more than a few years different in age, and she did not want to be the cause of their punishment.  Resignedly she shrugged and let them attend to her.

 

They immediately fussed about her, almost instantly causing her to regret her decision.  However, she welcomed the warm cloths they produced with which they cleaned the sweat from her body.  They could not, of course, remove the many bruises she bore as a result of her ordeal, nor could they do anything about her bandaged hands, but they were skilled at what they did and as their soft hands played over her body Shailaja welcomed the feeling of cleanliness.

    

Among their first tasks was to pour and set before her a cup of wine.  She found that she had a raging thirst, but to her shame she could not lift the cup, her bandaged hands preventing her.  However, the young man immediately saw her problem and hastened to lift the cup for her.  Chained, and reduced to the helplessness of a babe, she could hardly have been more shamed, but she drank, swallowing until the cup was drained. 

 

She now wished for food, but none appeared to be forthcoming and having no desire to drink herself into insensibility she refused a second cup.  However, the first had done its work and she began to feel quite drowsy.

 

She tried to fight it, fearing to sleep in the tent of an enemy, but it was no use.  Worn out from her ordeal and the pain of her injuries she slumped forward.  She was aware that her attendants moved to lower her gently onto a bed of cushions and then she slept, awakening only when the pangs of thirst and hunger forced her to. 

 

Shailaja knew first hand that injuries stimulate a strong demand in the body for drink and she awoke again with her mouth dry and desperate for water.  She jerked awake as she recalled where she was, and gazed about her in some confusion until she saw that she was lying on one side of the table.  The silk cushions were soft beneath her and she had no wish to rise, but she was aware from the soft light of lanterns that it was now evening, and also that there was someone sitting across the table from her.

 

Stifling a groan, and careful to place no weight on her hands, she managed to push herself into a sitting position.  She found the other side of the table occupied by Velag and to her consternation and undisguised anger, Gorvag.  The latter greeted her before she could speak.  “Ah, the Ice Maiden awakes.  Velag and I were just admiring the beauty of your form and I was just enlightening him on the pleasures of spreading your thighs.”

 

There was little Shailaja could say to so vile a pronouncement and in spite of her seething rage she said nothing.  Although she was not always temperate in her actions Shailaja was somewhat taciturn when it came to speech, a characteristic that had confirmed Gorvag’s view of her icy nature.

 

She found that while she had slept Velag’s three attendants had seen to bathing and dressing her.  They had also rubbed enough sweet oils and perfumes into her skin to serve a bagnio.  Her “clothing” if such it may have been termed was so minimal it hardly warranted the term.  It consisted of a diaphanous silk skirt that hung about her hips on a light golden chain and reached barely to her knees.  Her torso was covered in cloth of similar material.  Both pieces of fabric were so light as to hide little of what was beneath them and were obviously intended titillate rather than conceal, a fact that was born out by Gorvag’s eager stare. 

 

She was also decorated with various pieces of gold jewellery including a jewelled bracelet on her left wrist and a matching anklet on her left ankle.  A gold chain from which depended a large green stone hung from her neck and descended to the middle of her breasts.  A stinging sensation in both of her earlobes told her that her ears had been pierced and no doubt adorned with matching earrings.  Shailaja wondered if it was wine alone that she had drunk.  It seemed not, as the pain of having her earlobes pierced should certainly have awakened her.

 

She saw also to her considerable shame and annoyance that the nipples of her breasts had been heavily rouged, giving them the appearance of ripe raspberries.  However, there was a further horror that was revealed to her by an unnatural warmth between her legs and under her armpits.  She dared not raise her skirt to explore, but she knew without looking that the area above and around her petals had been cleaned of all hair.  She felt intensely shamed.  It was an action that said more than anything else Velag had done, including the way he had dressed and ornamented her, that she was his to do with as he wished. 

 

If the Belusnendran warlord had any knowledge of the humiliation he had inflicted upon her, he hid it well.  Instead, unlike Gorvag he greeted her graciously, a act of civility that somehow seemed quite out of place considering his previous boastful remarks regarding her.  “Welcome to my table, Shailaja.  I have no doubt that you are thirsty and probably hungry as well.  It is regretful that due to your injuries you cannot feed yourself, but be pleased to accept the assistance of Killa and Teela as well as Revtim.”

 

On either side of the table the two girls rose and behind her she heard the young man stir.  Immediately they were beside her filling the drinking goblets before her and piling her plate with meat and vegetables.

 

They first held the larger of the two goblets for her.  It was filled with what she took to be water while the smaller of the two cups was filled with what was obviously wine.  In spite of the indignity of having to be fed by hand Shailaja knew there was no other choice.  Her injured hands were not capable of grasping a fork, much les holding a larger object such as a goblet.

 

She drank first of the water and then of the wine.  She knew it might be drugged, but was hardly in a position to resist whether it was or not.   Then she allowed one of the girls to raise a fork to her lips.  Although she had been told their names, she didn’t know which was Killa or Teela and could not have told them apart in any case.  Revtim she did know, and he stood with folded napkin to pat her lips or catch any food that might fall.

 

In this manner under the watchful eye of Gorvag and Velag she was fed as if she were a sick child.  It was still another of the many humiliations heaped upon her, but one she could not avoid if she was to get her strength back and hope to escape. 

Shailaja was surprised at being treated so solicitously by her captors, having expected to be subjected to Velag’s promised “breaking,” and felt some hope that she might find someway to escape her captivity without undergoing further degradation.  However, by now she was under few illusions.  She strongly suspected that what might seem like mercy or perhaps a change of heart of the part of her “master,” had little to do with a concern for her dignity and very much to do with wanting her strong enough that he might enjoy the fruits of her body more fully.  With any luck, however, he might hold off long enough that she might recover from her treatment at Gorvag’s hands.  She could only do her best to heal and wait to see what happened.

 

“Just a little wine,” Velag said by way of explanation as she finished the last of the smaller cup.  “Water is better for the speeding of the healing process.”

 

Shailaja could think of no reply to this observation, and so remained silent.  Completely at the mercy of Velag and Gorvag, she tried to determine what she might do to extricate herself from their clutches without further loss of honour.  Unfortunately, death seemed the only way out until she could return to her former physical state. 

 

The meal proceeded with the slaves feeding her each bite until she could eat no more.  The episode achieved what Velag no doubt intended; impressing upon her that she was his to do with as he wished.  He could feed her or just as easily have her flogged, and it left her wondering just what he had planned for the rest of the evening.  However, she was not prepared for what he and Gorvag did next.

 

The table had been cleared and wine served to the two men.  Watching her to gauge her reaction, Velag set down his drink.  “How was the meal?” he asked Gorvag.  “Was it to your liking?”

 

“Very much so,” Gorvag grinned.  He stretched his arms over his head, emphasizing his powerful build.  “But I understand you have something special planned for dessert.”

 

Velag’s grin matched Gorvag’s.  “I do indeed.”  He turned his gaze on the two female servants.  “Killa and Teela, present yourselves.”

 

The two female servants plastered smiles upon their faces and moved to the side of each of the men and then proceeded to slowly rub their bodies against them.

 

Gorvag pulled Teela to him, his cruel lips moving over her arm and shoulder.  Then using his strength he arched her back over the table, bending her like a bow while at the same time he placed his right hand on her inner thigh.  With easy pressure he parted her legs and placed her backside on top of the table; then he lowered his head between her legs pushing the ruined nose Shailaja had given him downward until it touched Teela’s petals.

 

He took a deep breath.  “I like the smell of this one,” he exclaimed. 

 

Teela wiggled her hips suggestively, seemingly enjoying the attention, and perhaps she was, but to Shailaja it was a disgusting exhibition of submission, one that she was obviously supposed to learn. 

 

 Quickly, Gorvag released the silver chain from about the girl’s waist, allowing Teela’s brief covering to slip from her body.  Shailaja noted that, as in her case, the silken down of womanhood had been removed from about Teela’s petals.  Clearly this was the mark of a slave and she felt her anger increase as the spectacle unfolded before her.  Mixed with her anger, however, was fear.  Velag and Gorvag were intent on showing her the place of a slave; her place if they had their way. 

 

Teela moaned, moving her hips invitingly as Gorvag stroked her petals with his tongue.  She opened her legs wider and thrust her pelvis toward him and then cried out partly in pleasure and partly in pain as he gripped her breasts, allowing the firm flesh to flow through his fingers.

 

Both Teela and Killa were well made young women; each with full rounded, breasts and dark prominent nipples.  Long of leg, and narrow of waist, their shapely bodies writhed and twisted under the attentions of the two men.  By now, Gorvag, a man of little patience and quick to satisfy his urges, had Teela beneath him.  While she squirmed in anticipation he removed the laces on his trousers and mounted her quivering body.

 

Teela let out a cry as Gorvag thrust full into her and then moved her body in harmony with his as he began to work her.  He was not a gentle lover, making no effort to please his partner.  He simply drove into her until he released into her heaving body. 

 

Velag showed a good deal more patience and consideration.  He caressed Killa with his lips, moving them slowly over her breasts and belly before working his way lower.  She moaned and dug her fingers into his back as his tongue parted her petals.  She arched into him, her perfect features distorted with passion, finally screaming as he brought her to a sexual peak.  Then he allowed her to return the favour, her eager fingers loosening the laces of his trousers and easing them down over his hips. 

 

Killa’s eyes widened slightly as Velag revealed his manhood.  It was fully ready and as large a member as Shailaja had seen.  Unconsciously her breath quickened, and a familiar feeling flowed through her loins.  She could not look away as Killa began to use her lips and tongue and Velag groaned in response. 

 

As Killa slowly worked her magic Velag’s breathing quickened.  He caressed the slave girl’s breasts, pinching her nipples and eliciting grunts of pain and pleasure from her lips once more, even as she teased him into a state of groaning arousal.  Finally, Velag too took his full pleasure, lifting Killa onto his lap and easing her on to his manhood.

 

She groaned as he parted her petals, moving her body rhythmically as he entered her fully.  Then her movements quickened as Velag’s pelvis rose beneath her, placing his member deep within her.  For several hundred heartbeats Killa rode Velag, her movements gradually increasing in speed and her master’s grunts and groans of pleasure intensifying, until finally Velag released into her.

 

Gorvag had finished long before, but Teela had not been idle.  In spite of the fact that the mercenary chief had given her little satisfaction she seemed undismayed, running her hands over Gorvag’s hirsute body until he was once again in a state of readiness.  The second time, almost by way of reward, he took Teela more slowly finally allowing her release as well.

 

All of this took place no more than two paces from Shailaja and she could not easily have ignored it unless she had been both blind and deaf.  Affairs of the flesh frequently took place openly in mercenary camps, and she had grown used to them during her time with the Ravens, but she had never witnessed such activity in a well lit tent while laying just a body length away. 

 

The heat of arousal rose within her and she was breathing heavily by the time Gorvag finished for the second time.  It was a reaction that dismayed and shamed her.  To her good fortune, the light of the candles was not enough that either Gorvag or Velag noticed her loss of composure or else she might have been invited to participate.  Had that been the case, there would have been little she could have done to refuse. 

 

Fortunately, neither man seemed much interested in her, and she helped discourage them by feigning sleep.  Velag called for more wine, and while Teela poured and they drank, they spoke of other things including the reason for Velag’s presence in the camp.

 

“In half a moon the rest of my men will arrive,” Velag said, “and with them will come Bekor and his men.  Then can we move on Uvar.”

 

“It will be a pleasant undertaking, brother,” Gorvag gloated.  “I have had it in my mind to target Uvar ever since I first laid eyes on the Uvarian queen.  She is as a juicy a morsel as I have ever seen and will be a most worthy prize.”

 

“Let us hope it is as easy as you believe,” Velag replied.  “I would not like to see my men wasted in a long siege.”

 

“Uvar’s defences are weak,” Gorvag sneered, “and the Uvarians unprepared.  Like all Arkanians they are spineless weaklings when it comes to matters of war, preferring to hire others to do their fighting for them.  This time, however, they will stand alone.  I suspect they will throw open the gates of the city and surrender without a fight.”

 

“And you think they will surrender their queen into the bargain?” asked Velag dubiously.  “They must be great cowards indeed.”

 

“She is only a woman,” Gorvag replied.  “They will give her up without a second thought if their own lives are spared.”

 

“I am glad you think so, brother,” Velag said.  “We will speak further on it tomorrow.  As for now, I am ready for sleep.”

 

Gorvag stirred himself and Shailaja heard him move toward the door to the tent.  “Until tomorrow then.  I bid you a good night.”

 

Gorvag left and Velag was not long in following him to sleep.  What Shailaja had heard disturbed her.  She had met the Queen of Uvar and had judged her to be a most worthy woman.  She had no wish to see her shamed.  However, as a prisoner herself there was little she could do to help her until she could regain her strength.  With those thoughts in her mind she drifted toward sleep.

 

Her next day of captivity passed much as had the first.  Shailaja was confined in Velag’s tent, attended by Teela, Killa, and Revtim.  Selvan came in once to look at her hands, and pronounced himself pleased with their progress. 

 

Shailaja was less pleased.  Her hands were still swollen and very painful, and she could move her fingers only slightly.  The ugly wounds in the centre of the palms were mirrored on the backs and she feared that the tendons may have been damaged.  It left her feeling even more subject to Velag’s whims.  Perfumed and shaved like an expensive whore she could not help but be angered by the shame she was forced to endure.  Her day of enforced idleness was made bearable only by the potion Selvan forced on her.  It made her drowsy and she slept most of the day away.  That night, however, her strange captivity continued. 

 

Once again she was the unwilling guest of Gorvag and Velag, and once again her crippled hands forced her to be fed like a child.  And she was again subjected to the spectacle of the two Belusendran warriors amusing themselves with the slave girls.  This time they changed partners, Gorvag taking Killa and Velag taking Teela.  Shailaja wondered where Revtim fitted into all of this, but supposed that he might be reserved for guests of a different persuasion. 

 

More disturbing than the entertainment, however, was her reaction to it.  On the first night she had felt a slight sense of arousal, one that left her feeling so shamed that she had resolved not to watch if such a performance was repeated.  However, to her further shame, once the activity commenced she was unable to turn her eyes away.  She was filled with unreasoning desire, her body heating to the point where sweat beaded her skin as she watched the carnal exhibition.  By the time Velag had finished with Teela she was struggling hard to control her breathing and was glad that neither man could detect the warmth between her thighs.  

 

However, something gave a hint of her condition.  Still fondling Killa, Gorvag leered across the table.  “Was that to your liking, barbarian?  Perhaps tomorrow you might join us?”

 

“No,” Velag said.  “Not yet.  When I take her I want her whole and ready.  But I think that time might not be far off.”

 

He looked directly into her eyes and to her chagrin Shailaja could not meet his gaze for fear she would give herself away.  Like an obedient slave she lowered her eyes, trying to hide her state of arousal.  But certain states of excitement were hard to hide.  The wet heat between her thighs ached for the touch of a man.  She forced down the feeling, wondering how long it would be before she desired Velag’s touch. 

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