Chapter 7: Vengeance and Betrayal

 

The storm shrieked and howled, drowning out all other sounds and making for an uncomfortable and strained situation within the cramped interior of the tent.  “What in the name of the gods are we doing here anyway? Mov growled.  “There’s no profit in chasing a barbarian across the desert.”  He was always the first to complain and Vasanta was ready for him. 

 

“We’re not here for profit and you’re here because I say so,” she replied.  “I’m paying you and you will damned well do what I say.”

 

Mov lowered his eyes.  He was a strongly built warrior and very good at killing, but after Vasanta had challenged and killed the warrior who had been his leader he was as submissive as the rest when it came to dealing with her.  However, in the close confines of the tent the collective courage of the five men was given a dangerous boost and she had no intention of letting it get out of control.

 

“We continue as soon as the storm abates.  If we can’t move neither can those we are after.  We can’t be more than a day or so behind.”

 

“Why are we chasing the northern barbarian anyway?” Gren asked.  “So she killed your brother.  What of it?  Men die in battle all of the time.  There is no need to avenge them.  Does this barbarian have something of value?”

 

“Just her head,” Vasanta said, running her finger along the blade of her dagger.  It was important to appear dangerous in front of these ruffians.  They followed her for two reasons only.  She had killed their leader and she was paying them more than they had been making by stealing from the occasional caravan.  It was also easy work.  Essentially they got paid for simply following her around, but it was rather like having a pack of wolves for pets.  She was never sure when they might turn on her and so she always made sure that they knew she was the pack leader. 

 

“Get some rest,” she ordered.  “All of you.  We start as soon as the storm passes over.”

 

The storm did pass, but not until they had spent two days in the tent.  By that time the men were bored to the point of picking pointless fights with one another.  The only thing that kept an all out brawl from occurring was Vasanta’s glowering presence.  But it also meant she didn’t get much sleep.  When the storm finally blew over she was awake before dawn and booting the men out of the tent. 

 

Outside she regarded the wind swept surface of the desert with anger.  She should have caught up to the slow moving slavers by now, but it seemed that the very elements were against her.  The storm that had caught them had come up so suddenly they barely had time to get the tent up and secure before the storm descended upon them like a vengeful god and they all took a few mouthfuls of sand before they were able to get under cover.  Had it not been for Windar, the Del Zarnan guide Vasanta had recruited in Meldin, they would probably have been caught by the storm and buried beneath the driving sands. 

 

She sighed as she surveyed the trackless waste before her, knowing that her prey could be almost anywhere.  However, she did have one asset that might overcome her lack of knowledge.  She turned to Windar.  He was the only one of her companions who didn’t complain.  No doubt he was too intimidated to say anything.  He was a little brown-skinned man and any one of Vasanta’s companions could have killed him in an instant, so he kept in the background except when he was called upon.  Vasanta looked at him.

 

“That way,” Windar pointed.  “That is the only way through the rock wall.” 

 

The landscape looked very much the same to Vasanta no matter where she looked, but she followed his pointing finger.  “Then we go that way,” she said.  “Strike the tent.” 

 

A day later, as Windar had promised, they picked up the trail of the caravan.  “Half a day ahead,” Windar said.  “If we move fast we should catch them by nightfall.”

 

“Perfect,” Vasanta replied.  “We will catch them off guard.”

 

 

Shailaja collapsed at the front of the column.  Zenon had pushed the column of slaves particularly hard that day in order to make up for the lost time.  They had been delayed two days by the storm; two days in which they had huddled in crowded makeshift shelters while the wind and sand buffeted the tents.  Being at such close quarters with the brutal slavers had been extremely unpleasant.  But for Shailaja conditions had actually improved.  For two days she had been spared the brutality of being gang raped although she had been constantly threatened with a repetition of the event. 

 

Now, with the slave caravan once again returned to a normal routine, Shailaja could not help notice the lascivious stares of the slavers as they set up camp and set about preparing to feed and water their captives.  Nor could she ignore their comments. 

 

“That’s a mighty sweet muffin you’ve got.  The best I’ve ever had,” one man observed.   “Tonight I’m going to enjoy it again.”

 

Zenon was even more blunt.  “You got off easy the last two days, bitch.  Tonight we make up for it.  I’m not going to call off my men after just one go.”

 

Shailaja tried to ignore the taunts, but her stomach fluttered at what she knew was coming.  It was exactly what Zenon intended.  He’s going to break me.  I can’t endure this forever.  As the slavers went about setting up the camp she was almost sick with the fear of what was going to happen to her. 

 

A touch on her arm made her jump.  She turned and saw Hanla.  “You must be strong.  You are stronger than the slavers.  You must not let them defeat you.”

 

Shailaja nodded, but did not trust herself to speak.  She had broken out into a cold sweat at the thought of what awaited her.  As the slavers began their routine of escorting each slave her gut clenched so tightly that she feared she was going to be sick, and then it was her turn.

 

As usual she was escorted by two slavers and controlled by ropes attached to each side of her collar.  She was the only slave treated in this manner and it was obvious that the slavers respected her skills.  They had learned a bit of a lesson when they captured her.  Even taking her by surprise she had still managed to kill two of the men who had attacked her and wound several more.  The element of revenge over the death of two of their number was another reason why Biel Zenon and his men were so determined to break her.

 

At the edge of the camp her escort waited and watched while she pulled down her trousers to perform her bodily functions.  As she got to her feet one of the men laughed.  “Might as well leave those off, red.  You’re not going to need them for the next few turns of the glass.”

 

Shailaja pulled her trousers up anyway.  If she was going to be raped she was at least going to make her violators undress her.  This time, however, she did not resist as she was escorted across the camp to where the other seven men waited.  She would conserve her strength and wait until the last heartbeat before she attempted to break away. 

 

Her escort must have suspected her plan as they kept the ropes attached to her collar especially tight, keeping well out of her reach.  When they reached the place Zenon had chosen they increased the tension, holding her immobile in the semicircle of men.  Helpless, she could only stand where she was as two men circled behind her.  She tried to twist her tired body to face them, but the man holding one of the ropes gave it a harsh jerk, throwing her off balance and giving the two men behind her time to close in and grab her arms.  They wrestled her forward while Zenon sneered at her.

 

“Still full of fight.  That’s good.  You don’t know how much better it is when you wiggle your ass.”

 

As before they had found a convenient boulder on which to spread-eagle her.  Holding her tight the nine men stripped off her clothing and then Zenon stepped between her legs once more. 

 

Shailaja fought even though she knew it was useless.  Even though she knew it gave the men violating her more pleasure.  She couldn’t lie back and allow them to rape her without a fight, even if it would have spared her more pain. 

 

And so she fought as her clothes were stripped away; fought as her legs were spread; fought as Zenon pushed into her. 

 

Once again she unthinkingly arched her back as she was penetrated, grunting in pain as the feeling of utter helplessness and degradation swept over her.  But there was nothing she could do as Zenon began his slow and brutal use of her body. 

 

 She had thought that this time it might not have been as bad as the first time she had been used, but it was even worse.  Two days was not nearly enough time to recover from what had been done to her.  Her bruised and battered nether region protested as Zenon ploughed into her, ripping her tender furrow with savage brutality.  Her world shrank into one of agony and humiliation as his swollen shaft plunged into her and his brutal hands closed over her breasts.  She was barely aware of the pounding sound that came out of the desert night until six demons charged out of the darkness.

 

The slavers were caught completely unaware, many of them without weapons, as the six camel riders swept into the camp.  Zenon died first.  With his cock thrust deep inside Shailaja he didn’t even move as a sword stroke from the lead attacker took off his head.

Shailaja was sprayed with blood as Zenon toppled onto her.  The slavers around her scattered, releasing their grip on her arms and legs.  With an angry shove she heaved Zenon’s corpse off her and rolled to her feet.  She was naked, covered with blood, and weaponless.  She stood and watched in stunned amazement as the warriors charged through the camp, cutting down the slavers almost before they had a chance to fight back.  Only the two guarding the chained slaves escaped, fleeing into the darkness. 

 

“Let them go,” one of the warriors shouted.  To Shailaja’s surprise it was clearly the voice of a woman.  “They won’t live long in this demon-possessed land.”

 

 Dropping the reins of her camel the warrior who had spoken swung easily out of the saddle and dropped to the ground.  She was magnificently dressed in splendid black armour.  The helmet was especially impressive being shaped in the snarling face of a demon or some other mystical beast.  Sword in hand she strode toward Shailaja.  “So you are the northern barbarian who killed my brother.  I should kill you where you stand, but that would be too easy.  I am taking you back in chains to Nahn.” 

 

“I have had enough of slavery,” Shailaja replied.  She was free of the slavers.  A sword lay on the ground just a few feet away and she snatched it up.

 

The warrior facing her laughed.  “I see you are not without spirit.  But it will do you little good.  You are coming with me even if I have to chop your arms off to force you to come.”

 

Shailaja readied herself for combat.  She was heavily outnumbered, but she was not going to be taken prisoner again.  If she had to die then at least she would die as befitted a warrior of Kaltara.  “If you wanted me punished why did you kill the slavers?  They were doing a pretty good job of it.”

 

“I see that they were,” the black-armoured warrior said, eyeing Shailaja’s nude body.  “But honour would not be served by leaving you to such scum.  I alone must avenge the death of my brother.”

 

Finally realizing who faced her Shailaja protested her innocence.  “Your brother was a bandit.  He preyed upon those who could not defend themselves.”

 

“You killed him,” the woman replied.  “And I will avenge him.”

 

Shailaja could see that there was little use in continuing the discussion or attempting to explain that bad luck and stupidity had gotten the woman’s brother killed.  He hadn’t fought particularly well and it had cost him his life.  She prepared to defend herself.

 

The woman attacked.  Not surprisingly she turned out to be highly skilled and her attack forced Shailaja back.  But Shailaja was not that easy to defeat.  Even weakened by her ordeal she was stronger than her opponent and had a longer reach.  She recovered, using her strength to beat down her adversary’s guard and drive her back.  The woman, however, was skilled in the use of a sword and she was tiger quick, parrying Shailaja’s attack and returning an attack of her own. 

 

They went back and forth across the campsite in a battle where neither gained an advantage.  And then something slammed into Shailaja’s head. 

 

The blow did not put her out, but it was hard enough to drop her to the ground, her sword falling from numbed fingers, and then the other raiders were upon her.  Before she could recover she was pinned to the ground by several pairs of strong hands. 

 

“Why did you do that?” the woman warrior demanded.  “It was my fight.”

 

“It was a fight you were not winning,” one of the men replied.  “I thought you wanted her captured.  So I hit her on the head.  Now you have her.”

 

Shailaja’s head ached, but in spite of the pain she struggled to get up.

 

“This one doesn’t know when to quit,” another of the men said.  “If you want her alive we should put some chains on her.”

 

“Do it,” the woman ordered.  “I’ll deal with her later.”

 

As Shailaja lay helpless she felt something locked onto her arms.  She struggled harder to break free, ignoring the pounding between her ears.  But even as she increased her resistance something else was locked onto her ankles. 

 

“That should hold her,” the warrior said.  “Handy of the slavers to provide the restraints.”

Several hands gripped Shailaja by the arms and lifted her into a sitting position.  “Bitch must weigh twelve stone,” one of them complained.  “Damned good thing she didn’t see me coming.”

 

Her head throbbed from the blow she had received, but Shailaja struggled to break free of her restraints until she determined what had been done to her.  Her ankles were secured by a pair of wooden stocks as were her arms above the elbows.  They were simple restraints and easy to remove provided she could reach the locking mechanism.  But she could only do that if she was given the chance, and the warrior who had placed the restraints on her was standing guard. 

 

The woman warrior removed her helmet and stood looking at her.  “Crude but they will do for now.  We’ll have to arrange something for her so that she can ride.  The sooner we get out of this overheated wasteland the better.”

 

Shailaja’s eyes widened slightly.  The woman warrior was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.  Blue-black hair cascaded over her armoured shoulders and spilled down her back, and eyes as dark and mysterious as obsidian met her own.  The woman smiled, but it was hardly a friendly expression.  Shailaja was reminded of a wolf just before it devoured its prey.  “I’ve come a long way tracking you,” The woman said.  “Now it is time to go home.”

 

“But it will take us several weeks to get this lot across the desert,” one of the men observed.  He moved toward the dark-haired woman almost threateningly. 

 

“I don’t see why,” she replied.  “It’s only two days back to Meldin and then we let them go.”

 

“By all the gods, are you mad?” another of the warriors exploded.  “Fifty slaves and all of them young and fit.  They are worth a fortune.”

 

“They are worth nothing,” the woman said.  “I do not trade in slaves.  They are free to go.”

 

“You can’t do that,” a third man protested.  “We are entitled to a share of the profits.  We helped you capture your quarry.  The slaves should be divided equally.  If you want to let your share go free that is your right, but I am keeping mine.”

 

The woman turned slowly, her dark eyes suddenly cold.  She was still holding her sword in her hand and the threat was obvious.  “I hired you to help me capture the woman who murdered my brother.  We have her now and you will be paid accordingly.  When we get back to Meldin I will give you your wages plus a bonus for fulfilling your contract.  But the slaves go free.” 

 

She looked each man in the eye, staring them down in turn.  Not one met her gaze. 

“Good,” she smiled.  “Then that is settled.”

 

“I don’t think so,” one of the men said.  “I’m taking my share and I don’t care what you say.”  He faced her with drawn sword.

 

“Don’t be a fool, Gren,” the woman warned.  “You know you can’t match me.”

 

“No,” Gren agreed.  “But I don’t have to.”

 

The woman detected the movement behind her.  But she was too late.  As Shailaja watched in surprise one of the other warriors threw something toward her. 

 

The attacker was the one who had attached the restraints to Shailaja’s arms and ankles and he had found something else of use amongst the slavers’ equipment. 

 

It spun as it flew through the air and caught the warrior woman just above the knees.  Even as she turned it wrapped itself several times around her legs, robbing her of her mobility.  Shailaja had seen such weapons before.  They were simple, consisting of two balls joined by a short length of rope.  In skilled hands they could bring down a running man at fifty yards and the man that threw the device was much closer than that. 

 

The woman warrior staggered, off balance, and the five male warriors charged in.  She tried to fend them off with her sword, striking so hard and fast that she was deadly even with her legs immobilized.  However, with her manoeuvrability gone it was only a matter of time.  One of them locked swords with her and while she was tied up the others jumped in and overwhelmed her. 

 

Bemused at the sudden turn of events Shailaja watched as the exotic warrior was overcome by sheer force of numbers.  Two men grabbed each of her arms and forced her to her knees.  She cursed at them, but could do nothing as they twisted her arms behind her back. 

 

“Trag,” Gren yelled.  “Bring something to hold her.  She’s as hard to hold as an eel.”

 

The woman warrior proved his point by getting an arm free and punching the man holding her other arm between the legs.  Gren responded quickly, smashing his fist into her face and knocking her to the ground.  He then grabbed both of her arms at once and twisted them behind her back in a wrestling hold.  With her ankles still ensnared she could not kick out and she battled desperately to break free.  But Gren held her until Trag arrived.  He was carrying a clumsy looking wooden apparatus, but Gren nodded approvingly.  “That will do,” he said.  “Get it on her fast.”

 

Shailaja watched as the warrior women was pushed face down on the ground.  She was held there while Trag unwound the bola from her feet and began to clamp the wooden contraption to her ankles.

 

Shailaja saw that the restraining device was a form of punishment stocks consisting of a heavy wooden board with two sets of hinges.  There were also two sets of holes for the hands and feet of the person it was intended to hold.  It was supposed to be applied by closing the hinged sections so that the victim was bent forward, their wrists clamped just above their ankles.  However, Trag decided that there was a more novel way to apply the device.  He clamped the woman’s ankles into the lower openings and then locked it into place.  Then with the help of the other men he forced her arms behind her and into the upper section of the stocks.  

 

Struggling desperately the woman was rendered helpless as the stocks were closed over her wrists.  It left her gasping for breath, her ankles and wrists clamped so that her body was arched back.  Helpless to escape or defend herself she could only wait to see what her captors intended.

 

A look of despair mixed with disbelief flashed across the warrior’s perfect features.  “Release me.  I am a princess of the Nahn.  The vengeance of my people will find you for such an insult.”

 

“Your people are nowhere near here, Princess,” Gren replied.  “We’ve been waiting for months for this chance and you played right into our hands.”

 

“You have betrayed your honour,” the woman protested, struggling helplessly to pull her wrists from the wooden clamp that held them.  But the stocks were a good fit; made even tighter by leather gaskets that allowed the clamp holding her wrists to fit tightly.  Try as she might she couldn’t slip her hands free of the restraints.

 

“We can’t afford honour,” Gren sneered.  “Honour is for fools like you who chase someone half across the world because they killed a brother who was nothing more than a brigand; and not a very good one at that; considering how he died.  Now, thanks to you we have what we want.  These slaves are worth a fortune.  We’ll be set for life once they’re sold.  And just as important; we’ve got you, Princess and that is going to be worth all of the shit we’ve had to take from you since you killed Krak.”

 

“Krak was scum,” the Nahn princess grunted, as she continued to fight the restraints.  “He didn’t even put up a good fight.”

 

“Krak was my brother,” Gren said calmly.  “My brother and the cousin to Mov, Trag, Shob, and Brok.”  He waved his arm indicating the other four male warriors as he spoke.  “We have our own debt to repay.  And we’re going to start by giving you a lesson you’ll never forget.  Strip her.”

 

The last command was issued to his cousins.  They didn’t have to be told twice.  In short order they stripped off her armour and remaining weapons.  The ties were loosened from each piece of armour and it was removed until the dark-hair princess was wearing nothing but her sweat-soaked undergarments. 

 

In spite of her own helpless situation Shailaja took in everything, noting the magnificence of the woman’s body as it was slowly revealed.  Shorter than she was by at least a head, the woman was still as tall as any of the men clustered around her and she was perfectly proportioned, something that was more fully revealed as Gren took out a knife and cut her remaining garments from her. 

 

The body that was revealed rivalled Shailaja’s for perfection.  The warrior’s high rounded breasts quivered slightly as her chest heaved from the exertion of attempting to escape, and the emotion of what was happening to her.  Her skin was a golden-brown and other than the bruise on her face where Gren had hit her, was flawless.  With her body arched back by the stocks, her firm thighs were slightly spread inviting her captors to investigate the area of the dark-triangle between her legs.

 

Gren and the other warriors stared at her, savouring their prize.  Then Gren stepped forward.  “Hold her,” he ordered.

 

Mov placed his hands on the woman’s shoulders.  “I’ve wanted to do this ever since you gutted Krak,” Gren said.  He struck hard, two, three, four, open-handed slaps that rocked the helpless woman’s head from side to side.  She was powerless to avoid the blows and they left her so dazed that her head lolled to one side.  But Gren was not quite finished. 

 

Bending forward he seized each of her dark brown nipples between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed.  With a cry of pain the woman warrior’s head snapped up. 

 

“That’s better, Gren commented.  Then he slammed his fist into her stomach while the others held her.  He didn’t stop with just one lunch, but continued to hit her, driving the breath from her lungs.

 

By the gods, they’re going to kill her, Shailaja thought, but there was nothing she could have done to stop them and wouldn’t have anyway, considering that the exotic warrior had been chasing her for several months with every intention of killing her.  So far as Shailaja was concerned she was getting what she deserved.  However, she began to reconsider that opinion after what happened next.

 

Tired of beating his helpless captive Gren went to the next and most predictable stage of his revenge.  He removed his armour, and stripped to the skin.

 

The woman revived just in time to see the man who had almost beaten her unconscious standing before her.  “Now, Princess it is time for me to find out if you are as virginal as I think you are.  I’m guessing you’ve never had a cock judging from the way you’ve avoided men while we’ve been with you.  You never gave any of us so much as a look which tells me that you are either very partial to women or your honour demands that you remain pure for your wedding night.”

 

The woman’s golden skin paled and Gren smiled.  “Thought so.  You are as untouched and pure as the day you were born.  It’s time to loosen you up.”

 

Through battered lips the women spoke, but she did not beg; instead she threatened.  “You’ll pay for this.  The punishment for rape in Nahn is slow impalement.  It will take you days to die.”

 

“I’d be more concerned about my own impalement if I was you, princess,” Gren grinned.  He was fully erect and as well endowed as any of the men who had raped Shailaja.  Going to his knees he moved between the thighs of his victim.

 

As his cock approached the petals of her flower the warrior seemed to lose her nerve, her breathing quickening and her golden skin turning even paler.  For an instant Shailaja thought she might faint, but at the last heartbeat she seemed to recover.  Her chest heaving she fought desperately to pull her wrists free of the stocks, but her struggles only served to draw jeers from the men surrounding her and no doubt increase their desire to put their cocks into her.

 

“Now, princess it is time to settle the score.”  Gren thrust into her, bringing an immediate cry of pain.  The woman arched back even further as if trying to pull her body away from Gren’s invading phallus.  A second sound like a sob escaped her lips and her body bucked as Gren continued to thrust into her.  He grunted in appreciation.  “Just the way I like my women; helpless, struggling, and tight.”  He pushed in harder, quite obviously straining to force his way into the helpless virgin.  But then with a grunt of satisfaction, and a further cry of pain from his victim he slid into her.

 

The warrior woman gave a moan of complete desolation.  The sudden and degrading turn of events appeared to have completely demoralized her as well they might.  Just a short time ago she had led her men to complete and glorious victory; triumphing over her foe and capturing her hated enemy.   Now she was suddenly a helpless victim; the men she had commanded turning on her and brutally violating her. 

 

Shailaja almost felt sympathy for her enemy; although her feelings were tempered by the fact that the woman was the architect of her own downfall, and what was being done to her was no more than what Shailaja had already suffered.  Should have been more careful of her companions, she thought.  She played right into their hands.

 

Still, it was hard watching any woman being subjected to so brutal an ordeal.  She had seen women violated before when she had lived the life of a mercenary, but it had always made her uncomfortable and she had never allowed any of the raiding parties she had led to take any women against their will.

 

Another cry from the helpless woman warrior brought her back to the scene in front of her.  Brutal as it was, she could not look away.  Perhaps she was fascinated because it had happened to her or because she knew that it could happen again.  She was still a slave and at the mercy of the men who were now raping their former leader.  She watched because the more she learned about her brutal captors the more it might help her to deal with them.

 

Gren violated the warrior woman with merciless intensity, ignoring or more likely enjoying her gasps and moans of pain.  The other four men crowded close, each waiting for his turn.  It was painful for Shailaja to watch.  The golden-skinned woman’s body jerked with every thrust, her perfect breasts shuddering in an erotic dance to the rhythm of Gren’s thrusts.  Her breathing was harsh; panting; gasping; and interspersed with pain-filled grunts and groans.  It was an ugly and painful drama and it was about to get worse.

 

Gren leaned forward, taking the woman’s left nipple into his mouth.  He sucked it erect and then closed his teeth on it.  There was a whimper and then a cry of pain as he bit down.  And then taking the entire areola into his mouth he closed his teeth hard enough to draw blood.  To her credit the woman only whimpered slightly in spite of what must have been excruciating pain.  And she continued her resistance when he savaged her other nipple leaving both breasts bleeding.  Then he shifted his weight back and slammed her hard and fast, finishing her with infinite brutality.

 

But as Shailaja had already observed, the woman’s ordeal was just beginning.  As Gren moved away from her, Mov took his place, and then Trag, Shob, and Brok, until every man had had his turn.  Then they started over again. 

 

As the gang rape continued into the night Shailaja finally looked away.  During the hideous ordeal one man had remained on guard; a man who did not take part in the rape.  From his features and dress she guessed that he was probably a guide hired from Meldin.  He looked on at the violation of the helpless Nahn woman with obvious distaste.  Only a single guard, but that was enough.  The fifty chained slaves made not the slightest attempt to escape, a not surprising event considering that the empty desert offered no place to go. 

 

The continual violation seemed to last most of the night; although it was likely much less than that.  Some time before it ended Shailaja’s exhaustion overcame her.  In spite of the discomfort of the way she was shackled, she fell asleep, curling up as best she could on the hard ground.  She awoke cold and with an ache in her ribs, which she discovered was caused by Gren’s boot. 

 

“Get up,” he ordered.  She found to her surprise that the wooden restraint that had been clamped to her ankles had been removed.  But her arms were still immobilized and, of course, the iron collar was still around her neck.

 

Still, Gren and his companions took no chances.  With Gren leading her on her usual length of chain, Mov and Brok held her arms.  She could probably have still broken away, but such an action would have served little purpose.  Her arms would still be secured and she certainly couldn’t escape by running into the desert.  She decided that her best course of action was to remain docile and hope to lull her new captors into a false sense of security.

 

However, it wasn’t pleasant being the topic of discussion as she was led back to the end of the chain.  “What do you think, Mov?” Gren asked.  “Would you like to see her on her back?”

 

“I’ve never sunk my shaft into anything that big,” Mov replied.  “But I wouldn’t mind finding out.”

 

“Well, we’ve got several weeks of desert before we reach Thar.  And I think we pretty much wore out the Princess tonight.  I think we are going to have quite a bit of time to find out.”

 

It was incredibly degrading to hear herself spoken of as if she wasn’t there.  The men spoke so casually they might have been discussing what they planned to have for their next meal.  And she got another unpleasant surprise when they reached the line of chained slaves. 

 

The Nahnian princess was there.  The golden-skinned warrior was barely conscious, but she stirred as Shailaja was pushed down beside her.  Shailaja noted that an iron collar had been fixed around her neck.  It was not a permanent fixture like the one Shailaja and the other slaves wore but it would be difficult to remove.  A heavy padlock locked it around her neck.  Without the key the collar was there to stay. 

 

It was not pleasing to be chained right next to the woman who had tracked her for hundred of leagues with the sole intention of killing or capturing her, even if she was so beaten up that she could hardly move.  But there was little that Shailaja could do about it.  For better or for worse, she and her greatest enemy now shared a common destiny; the slave pens of Thar.

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