Tales of
Erogenia
Episode 1: The
SnowPrincess
Chapter 4:
Spirit
Quest
Zenaria strapped her sword
over her shoulder. The movement
pulled at the cuts Garrod had inflicted on her during
their duel, but her face displayed no sign of
discomfort. The Shaman had done
a fine job of dressing the wounds, his stitches so fine that the scars would
be no more than thin red lines that would slowly fade to white over
time. She could, of course, have
had a priestess of the Snow Leopard heal the wounds magically, but that was
not the Erogenian way. Erogenian
warriors wore their scars with pride and Zenaria already had a half dozen
to go with those she had received from
Garrod.
She slung her bow and quiver
of arrows over her left shoulder and draped a bag of miscellaneous supplies
around her neck. She was
ready. Striding from her rude
hut, she headed for the gate and without a backward look entered the
forest.
For the first few hours
she walked without really watching where she was
going. A spirit quest was supposed
to take the quester in whatever direction the quest warranted, the success
or failure of the quest being left in the hands of the
gods. She wandered from tree
to tree, flower to flower, and rock to
rock. She was, however, not entirely
oblivious to her surroundings.
Several hours after the stockade had faded from sight she realized
that she was being followed.
She
stopped, a slight smile on her lips and turned toward
a line of trees just behind her.
“Jarree,” she said
softly. “Come
out. I know you are
there.”
There was an almost
imperceptible movement in the underbrush and then a sleek form ghosted into
sight. Zenaria made a gentle
clicking sound with her tongue and the huge snow leopard strolled majestically
toward her. “Come on,”
she chided. “It wouldn’t
hurt you to run.”
“Rrrrrrrrrr,” the big cat rumbled, butting
its head against her leg and then following with the length of its
body. The strength of the animal
almost pushed her over.
“Jarree,” she
murmured wrapping her arms around the leopard’s
neck. She
lay her head against the soft fur, allowing the
rumbling purr to vibrate through her.
“Jaree,” she
repeated. “I would like
to take you with me, but a spirit quest must be completed
alone.”
The big cat sat back on
its haunches and regarded her with golden
eyes. It was obviously completely
unimpressed with her declaration.
After a moment it lifted a paw and gave it a languid
lick.
“Perhaps you can
come,” Zenaria conceded.
“After all, you’re not really a member of the
tribe.”
It was a moot
point. Zenaria’s bond with
the leopard did not extend to giving it
orders. She was blessed above
almost all members of her tribe in that she even had a rapport with a member
of her tribe’s namesake.
Although the mountainous
area inhabited by the Snow Leopard tribe was the homeland of the members
of the cat family from which the tribe took its name, there was little or
no contact between the powerful beasts and tribal
members. However, on rare occasions
a tribal member established a rapport with one of the almost mythical
cats.
No one knew exactly how
the link was established. The
fact that the tribal shaman or priestess was most likely to establish such
a connection went some way to explaining it, but even the most adept
practitioners of magic could not describe it; it was simply something that
happened.
And it had happened to Zenaria
when she was barely old enough to swing a
sword. She and a number of other
four and five-year-olds had been accompanying an older priestess on a nature
walk. Encouraged to reach out
to the life around them, they had formed a meditation circle, sitting
cross-legged in a quiet glade while the forest lived and breathed around
them. Something had called to
Zenaria. In a trance-like state
she had gotten to her feet and moved toward the irresistible pull of another
mind.
But it was a mind quite
unlike hers. It was a consciousness
filled with animal hungers; one filled with thoughts of blood and flesh and
tooth and claw. But it was one
that bonded with her and had been with her ever since.
Jarree, as she called the
snow leopard, had been only a few months old when the bond was established
between them. What the snow leopard
called itself, or whether it even had a name, Zenaria
never knew. Nor was the link
between them one of mistress and servant.
As far as Jaree was concerned Zenaria and he were equals at the very
least. He came and went when
he wished and Zenaria never knew when or if the giant cat would show
up. Nevertheless, the link was
there and whenever she left the stockade she would call to
him. Except
today. This time she had
expected to go alone and the huge snow cat had no place in her
quest.
Or did
it? Jaree made up his own mind
about what he did. If he wished
to come with her she could not stop him.
Nor could she stop him from
leaving. She got to her feet,
strung her bow and grinned at the
leopard. “Come on,”
she said. “Let’s
hunt.”
The big cat gave a growl
of assent. This was something
he understood. On numerous occasions
the leopard and the warrior had hunted through the thick forests and Jarree
had learned that Zenaria’s bow could often reach out and bring down
game that even he could not catch.
With a bound he moved down the forest trail, his keen senses, searching
for prey. Just as cat-like Zenaria
followed.
Zenaria knelt beside the
bleeding body of the stag her arrow had brought
down. A few feet away Jaree gulped
down the stag’s still warm liver.
Zenaria said a quick prayer thanking the Snow Leopard for success
during the hunt. Then she begged
the stag’s spirit for forgiveness for taking its life and giving its
liver to Jaree before properly carrying out the ritual, although she supposed
that because Jaree was the living symbol of the tribe’s totem she might
be forgiven.
The prayer finished she
properly bled and then butchered the
stag. Even with Jaree gulping
down a sizable portion of the stag there was far too much meat for her to
eat or carry with her, but she knew that it would not go to
waste. Scavengers and other predators
would make short work of the remaining
carcass.
It was still a bit early
to make camp, but she decided to stop
anyway. She was in no hurry and
the meat would take a little while to
cook.
Jaree climbed into the lower
branches of a fir while Zenaria set up
camp. There wasn’t much
to it, merely a few spruce boughs set over an aspen sapling strung between
two small trees. Finished, she
kindled a fire and set part of the butchered stag to roast near the
flames. The other meat she hung
higher up to cure in the smoke.
While waiting for the meat
to cook she took out her sword. It
was four feet of finely balanced steel, a weapon worthy of the daughter of
a queen. Weighted to add to its
cutting power, it was slightly wider near the tip than it was at the cross
guard. Few warriors of the tribe
including the men had the strength to wield it
properly. For Zenaria the sword
had a special meaning. It had
been her father’s sword and it had been taken from his dead fingers
when his torn body had been found.
Carefully she lay it across her knees and taking a soft deerskin cloth
began to polish the blade. It
would have been difficult to get the blade much shinier, but Zenaria kept
at it until she was satisfied and then carefully sheathed the sword and set
it to one side. Then she started
on her arrows, carefully inspecting each one for straightness and working
on the goose feather flights.
The sizzling of the meat
reminded her that she was hungry. A
little of the excitement of starting out on her quest had worn off and she
found she had a real appetite.
Tearing off a chunk of the unleavened bread she had packed with her
she used it to wrap a piece of venison and stuffed it into her
mouth. The bread would not last
long, but she would enjoy it while it
lasted.
She ate until full, tossing
the remaining bits of roast meat to Jaree and then wrapping the smoked venison
in the leaves of a wild cabbage she found growing next to a nearby
creek. Then, stretching herself
out beside Jaree she slept, secure in the knowledge that with the great cat
lying next to her, nothing would disturb her sleep.
She awoke long before dawn
and fashioned a breakfast out of what remained of the
venison. She then made her way
to the stream and used it to both quench her thirst and wash the grease from
her face and hands. Then picking
up her gear she continued her quest.
For the first hour or so
Jaree walked beside her. Then
toward midmorning the leopard moved off on its own, disappearing into the
forest. He would return later
or he would not. Zenaria touched
him with her mind and then let him go.
By now she was walking through
unfamiliar territory, but she knew where she was going, and headed steadily
south toward a range of mountains that flanked the southern border of Snow
Leopard territory. For the first
time she felt that her quest had really begun and her spirits
rose. This was not the first
time away from the safety of the stockade, but it was the first time she
had no idea when she would be returning.
It was an exciting event for a fifteen-year-old warrior who had not
yet blooded her sword.
By the end of the day she
was moving steadily upward, and in spite of the fact that it was summer she
could see patches of snow on the higher
slopes. She reflected that she
was not really prepared for cold weather.
She would have to take care of that
problem.
She strung her
bow. There had been plenty of
deer sign during the last two days and she should have no trouble bringing
down another one.
Her confidence proved
accurate. A short time later
she brought down a large doe. It
was now early afternoon and she decided to camp right where she
was. A few yards away there was
a large boulder that hung over the trail.
It would make a good shelter and she tossed the carcass of the deer
over her shoulder and carried it there.
Over the next few hours
she carefully skinned the carcass and then worked on the skin, cleaning and
scraping it. For what she wanted
to use it for it would have been better if she had time to stretch and cure
the hide, but she didn’t want to spend that much time where she was,
so she just prepared it the best she
could.
While a haunch of venison
sizzled on the fire she worked on the
doeskin. In just a few hours
she fashioned a pair of boots that would stand up to ice and snow, as well
as a poncho to cover her arms and
shoulders. It was the best she
could do without killing another deer which she would not
do. And she surmised that since
it was high summer it would probably not be too cold in the high mountain
pass.
She set out early the next
morning, and climbed steadily all day.
Her exertion kept her more than warm enough so she didn’t need
her extra clothing until she actually encountered
snow. Even in the warmest month
of summer the pass the people of the Snow Leopard tribe called the “Ice
Gates” was snow covered, a factor that had
greatly contributed to her tribe’s
isolation. Only the most intrepid
traders braved the snow-covered heights.
By late afternoon she had
not yet reached the summit and the temperature had dropped enough that she
had donned the boots and poncho.
The snow had gotten deeper, up to mid-thigh in places and she realized
that she might have to spend the night in the pass, something that she had
not expected. She began to look
around for a place where she could set up camp out of the
wind. It was then that she caught
a slight movement out of the corner of her eyes.
She swept her sword from
its sheath and over her shoulder in a single smooth
move. Two-handed she caught the
attacking snow beast as it charged, ripping the point of the blade through
the flesh of its shoulder and arm.
With a roar of pain and rage the beast lurched back and began to circle
for an opening.
Facing her was a white-furred
monster almost nine feet tall. It
was man-like, but massively built, its shoulders the length of her sword
across. Arms almost as long as
Zenaria was tall reached out for her, the talons on the five-fingered hand
ready to rip her limb from limb.
Six inch fangs were bared in a ferocious grin, and blood-shot eyes
were fixed on her.
Zenaria turned to face her
foe, her blade at the ready. She
was hampered by thigh-deep snow that prevented her from moving quickly forward
or back. She had never seen such
a beast before, but her people told legends of the ferocious snow-beasts
that guarded the high mountain passes and waylaid unwary
travelers. It took little imagination
to realize what would happen to her if the attacking monster got hold of
her. Only four feet of steel
separated her from a brutal death.
The monster held back,
indicating that she was not fighting a mindless
beast. There was intelligence
behind those gleaming eyes a characteristic that only made the snow beast
that much more dangerous. Slowly
it circled her, occasionally taking a step forward and then stepping
back. Zenaria followed its every
move, wondering why it did not simply
attack. It almost seemed as if
it was waiting for something.
At the last second she
understood. Ducking low she dove
into the snow and rolled to one side.
The howl of rage from the second snow beast told her that her instinctive
move had saved her life. She
kept rolling and came up with her sword in motion as the first snow beast
charged in, attempting to take advantage of her momentary
distraction. But her blade was
already moving. There was an
ugly “thunk” and the right hand of her assailant flew through the
air.
The snow beast gave a terrible
scream as blood spurted from its severed wrist staining the snow
red. But Zenaria was too intent
on the second monster to pay much attention to the wounded
beast. However, her dramatic
and savage response to the attack seemed to have intimidated the second snow
beast. Although Zenaria had not
been certain of the sex of the first animal she could clearly see that the
second was female, and although it growled menacingly it slowly backed
away. The remaining snow beast
also retreated, grasping its arm just above the bloody
stump.
Zenaria whispered a prayer
of thanks to the snow leopard and wiped her sword in the snow and then dried
it with her deerskin cloth. She
felt some regret that she had been forced to cut off the hand of the magnificent
creature that had attacked her. The
beasts seemed intelligent and for all she knew they might be capable of thought
and reason. She had been trespassing
in their territory and by her standards they had a right to defend
it.
The dangerous encounter
changed her mind about staying the night in the
pass. The animals that had attacked
her might return or there might be more of them lurking
nearby. She dared not expose
herself by setting up camp. She
had no choice but to press on even if it meant she would have to walk at
night.
Fortunately she was aided
by the long summer nights, and when night finally fell, a gibbous moon provided
enough light that she was able to make her way without fear of
falling. She picked her way
carefully, however, conscious of the fact that her spirit quest would come
to an ignominious end if she stepped into a hole and twisted her
ankle. There was also the danger
of another ambush, although that threat diminished as she reached the top
of the pass and began her careful descent of the other
side.
Morning found her tired
but cheerful as she reached the tree line once
more.
She was now walking through
territory that few members of her tribe had ever visited, and her encounter
with the snow beasts had increased her
self-confidence. However, she
needed food and rest, and coming across a suitable campsite she
stopped.
The place she chose was
an area of flat ground between two large
boulders. It was easily defensible
and there was a small stream nearby.
She kindled a small fire and roasted some of the venison she had packed
away. Then, her hunger sated,
she crawled into the small lean-to she had built and closed her
eyes.
She awoke in late
afternoon. However, there seemed
little point in proceeding in the few hours of daylight remaining and she
decided to make it a day of rest.
She was in no hurry to get where she was going and she already had
a perfectly good campsite set up, so she ate a leisurely meal and sat by
the fire for a few hours before turning in.
She awoke before dawn, prepared
a breakfast consisting of strips of venison and a small amount of the thin
wafer called waybread and set off.
She made good
time. Most of her walking was
downhill and by
By the fourth week of her
quest she was deep in the greatest of the Erogenian forests, a situation
that bothered her not in the slightest.
To a member of the Snow Leopard tribe, the forest was the source of
all that was important. It provided
the tribe with food, clothing, and shelter; and indirectly with metal and
other objects obtained through trade for forest
products. Zenaria was a perfect
example of the forest’s bounty.
The clothing she wore was soft doeskin, from the brief halter that
contained her breasts to the boots that protected her
feet. Even her sword might be
considered to have come from the forest as the metal from which it was forged
had been obtained from traders seeking the fine furs Zenaria’s people
obtained.
From childhood Zenaria had
accompanied members of her tribe into the forest on foraging and hunting
expeditions. Her skill with the
bow rivalled her ability with the sword and so far she experienced no difficulty
in providing for herself. Each
day some small animal such as a rabbit or possum provided her with meat for
her evening meal. Occasionally
she saw larger game, but chose not to take advantage of the
situation. Jaree had not returned
and she could not eat an entire deer by
herself.
She also found numerous
wild plants to add to her diet. She
was familiar with hundreds of plants and their uses both as food and
medicine. As a result she had
no difficulty in providing herself with wild onions, and numerous nuts and
berries. And so it was with perfect
confidence that she strode into a forest that was greater than any she had
yet visited.
The trees were now larger
that any she had ever seen. In
places the branches of great oaks, elms, and beeches interlocked overhead
cutting off most of the sunlight.
But here and there brilliant shafts of light penetrated the canopy,
creating a cathedral-like effect among the giant trees of the
forest. Underfoot, a thick blanket
of dead leaves muffled her footsteps, allowing her to move in almost complete
silence. It was good for hunting,
and the thought of game reminded her that she was hungry and she decided
to stop and have a bit to eat and drink.
She sat down between the
massive buttress roots of a huge oak.
In this sheltered location she was completely out of
sight. If she was lucky some
hapless animal might come from upwind and cross her line of
sight. It would save her the
effort of engaging in a serious hunt.
She lay her bow at her feet just in
case.
Overhead a jay gibed at
her. She furrowed her
brow. No game would come near
her with that chatterbox nearby, but she did not change her
position. The jay too was entitled
to its
cha. Eventually it would tire and move
off in search of something to eat.
She decided to make the
break special and unstoppered her
wineskin. It was the last of
the small amount she had taken with her, but there was no sense in saving
it for later and she finished it in one
swallow. The wine of her people
was not of the highest quality; certainly it did not rival the imported vintages
of Kirvalia or Sandak, or even the wines of other Erogenian tribes, but she
was used to it and it soothed her parched
throat. She took out one more
carefully wrapped package of waybread.
It was almost gone, but there was no point in letting it go
mouldy.
She chewed slowly and
thoughtfully, alternating bites of bread, with pieces of smoked rabbit that
she tore off with her strong white teeth.
Then, her hunger temporarily satisfied, she got to her feet, stowed
her remaining provisions and continued her
quest. She decided to follow
the sun. It was as good a direction
as any and it would take her deeper into this strange
forest.
For the most part the forest
was open. Giant trees shaded
the forest floor and kept down the development of undergrowth, and wherever
the forest thickened she managed to find a game trail that took her through
it. Whenever she came to a stream
she stopped to drink. Water was
plentiful this time of year and despite the shade of the huge trees, the
temperature was perfect for walking.
“The gods must be smiling
on me in my quest,” Zenaria thought.
It was at that point she heard a twig
snap.
Immediately she unslung
her bow, strung it, and nocked an arrow to the
string. It took her only seconds
to perform this task and she stood ready to take advantage of whatever game
might show itself. But it was
not game that stepped into view.
“Well done,
princess,” Garrod said mockingly.
“Were I a deer you would have had me.”
“Garrod,” Zenaria
gasped. He was the last thing
she had expected to see and his sudden appearance left her temporarily at
a loss for words. She realized
that it was more than mere coincidence that had brought Garrod to
her. There was only one way he
could possibly be where she was. He
had to have followed her.
Recovering, she blurted out a
question. “What are you
doing here? Why have you followed
me? I was told you were on a
spirit quest.”
“You are my spirit quest,
princess. And I am close to
fulfilling it.”
“You mock the gods,”
Zenaria said angrily. “You
destroy your
cha.”
“My
cha
will be restored when I have accomplished my
purpose. And that is to see all
weak females returned to their proper place in the tribe of the Snow
Leopard.”
“You would have us
reduced to nothing more than your chattels,” Zenaria
replied. She still held her bow
at the ready. A single smooth
motion of her arms and powerful shoulders would send the arrow on its
way. She was not afraid of Garrod,
but there was something about his sudden appearance she found
unsettling.
That, and the smug manner in which he confronted
her. How long had he been following
her?
“That is what women
are,” Garrod sneered taking a step toward
her. “Chattels fit to be
used the way men seek to use them.”
“Subservient wives
and whores,” Zenaria elaborated.
“Just so,” Garrod
smirked. “Although in your
case I think the latter is more fitting.”
“I am the daughter
of a queen,” Zenaria said slowly, controlling her temper only with
difficulty. “I will not
be referred to as a whore.”
“But that,” said
Garrod drawing his sword, “is what you are destined to
be.”
Zenaria drew back the
arrow. She would not make the
mistake of facing Garrod with a blade, at least not until her skills had
improved a little. “Hold
or you die,” she warned.
Garrod halted, but his indolent
manner and supercilious smile had Zenaria
worried. She cocked her ears,
listening for the slightest sound.
But she was still caught
unprepared by the heavy net that suddenly descended upon
her. Heavily weighted with stones,
its weight bore her to the ground and then before she could break free four
dark forms burst from the undergrowth and added their weight to the
tangle.
The bow and the unreleased
arrow were torn from her grasp, not that either would have done her a scintilla
of good in the tangle of the heavy
netting. She struggled to escape,
drawing her knife to cut through the net before Garrod could pin her, even
though she knew that it was impossible to cut through the tough rope strands
before he was on her.
But it was not Garrod who
reached her first. Her blood
ran cold. For the first time
in her life Zenaria felt real fear.
It couldn’t be, but there was no mistaking the fearful hissing
of the creatures that firmly wrapped the net about
her.
Urrts!
Zenaria could barely believe what was happening to
her. How was it possible that
she was being pinned to the ground by
Urtts? No member of the Snow
Leopard tribe or any other Erogenian would consider any sort of pact with
such vile creatures. Yet there
was no mistaking their foul lizard stench or the hissing sibilants of their
speech.
Garrod’s triumphant
laugh sounded just a few feet away.
“That’s it, my lovelies.
Hold her. I want her bound
just so.”
Bound!
Zenaria redoubled her efforts to escape, but there were at least four
Urtts, gripping her with reptilian
strength. Thoroughly enmeshed
in the net, she could not find anything solid to push
against. Her every movement seemed
to work against her. Even as
her body thrashed, the unusual sensation of fear now adding strength to her
efforts, she felt the net drawn tighter, restricting her more and more until
she was so thoroughly entangled that her every effort simply served to draw
the net even tighter.
“How does it feel,
princess?” Garrod gloated. He
was crouched on his haunches only a few feet
away. “Have you ever felt
so helpless?”
Zenaria’s reply was
a low growl as somehow she twisted her body and kicked out at
him. Beyond all odds, her foot
made weak contact and knocked him on his
backside. It wasn’t much
of a response, considering the circumstance, but it gave Zenaria a brief
moment of triumph.
“Bitch,” Garrod
spat. “I’ll tame you
yet. Hold her you cursed
lizards. What do you think I’m
paying you for?”
“You’ve paid ussss
nothing yet,” came the hissed
reply. Fetid breath wafted over
Zenaria as she continued her struggles to break
free. Sometime during her entrapment
she had lost hold of her knife and now could not find
it. It was apparent that she
was not going to break free, but she refused to give in, kicking and ripping
at the net with her hands.
“Sit on her and hold
her still,” Garrod ordered.
“I’ll get the
ibanak.”
Ibanak!
No!
Zenaria
somehow found new strength. Heaving
her body she actually succeeded in toppling one of the Urtts pinning her
to the ground, but it was a short-lived
triumph. With a hiss the creature
returned, slamming her head through the
netting.
“Enough,” roared
Garrod. “It will be me who
punishes her. Your job is to
hold her still.”
“Then hurry up
human,” came the hissed reply.
“Thisss one is ssstrong.”
Zenaria gasped for
breath. The stink of the Urtts
tainted her nostrils and for a second she thought she might be
sick. And then she felt another
weight on her. Reptilian hands
reached through the net and gripping her hair held her head
steady. She knew that they were
going to do, and ignoring the pain tore her head
loose.
“Struggle all you like,
bitch. It won’t do you any
good.”
“Uggh!”
Garrod’s remark was followed by a blow delivered by the palm
of his hand that caught her right between the
eyes. It slammed her head into
the ground, temporarily stunning her.
Dazed, she lay quietly for a second until she felt something being
forced between her lips. She
knew what it was, but reptilian hands held her head and the mouth of the
leather wineskin was shoved between her
teeth. But it wasn’t wine
that came out.
She almost gagged as the
burning, acrid liquid was forced into her
throat. She tried to spit it
out, but couldn’t. Finally
she swallowed and felt her strength begin to drain from her
body. “Ibanak,” she
thought. It was a drug used by
slavers to quiet their victims. It
robbed healthy men and women of their strength and left them compliant.
“That should hold the
bitch,” Garrod said, his voice sneeringly
triumphant. Now we’ll bind
her.”
Hands pulled aside the
netting. Suddenly finding
herself free, Zenaria flailed at the lizard-like
creatures around her, but the ibanak had done its
work. Her blows were feeble and
uncoordinated.
“Coward,” she gasped.
“The gods will punish you for this.”
“Save your breath for
screaming, princess. I suspect
you’ll be doing a lot of it,” Garrod sneered.
Reptilian fingers closed
over her wrists, pulling them forward.
Another gripped her hair, jerking her head
back. Struggling helplessly she
almost screamed in frustration as her wrists were bound in front of her and
then she was jerked to her feet. An
Urtt flanked her on either side while a third held a length of rope tied
to the ropes about her wrists. She
was dragged forward toward a large rock.
She almost knew what they were going to do before they even did it,
but the thought that it would happen to her was so monstrous she could not
believe it.
And then she was stretched
face up across the rock like some sacrificial victim, her arms drawn tightly
over her head and her legs pinioned by two of the
Urtts. Garrod stood at her feet,
smiling mockingly. The Urrts
grinned down at her, their sharp reptilian teeth bared; saliva dripping from
their vile jaws. Enraged and
still defiant, she cursed Garrod in the choicest manner she could think
off.
“My my, princess,”
Garrod said. “Whatever would
Queen Cirilia say if she could hear such language?’
Garrod was accoutered similarly
to the way Zenaria had been before she had been stripped of her weapons and
draped across the rock. Slowly
and deliberately he began to remove his equipment, beginning with his
sword.
“You will be cursed
if you do this, Garrod,” Zenaria gasped, straining against the beasts
that held her in spite of the ibanak induced
weakness. “The gods never
forget. You will never balance
your
cha
for such an act.”
“I am doing nothing
wrong, princess,” Garrod said as he removed his brief
loincloth. “I am merely
collecting what was promised.”
Zenaria stared helplessly
at Garrod. Like all men of her
tribe, he was powerfully muscled.
At six feet four inches tall, his appearance was marred only by the
nose Zenaria had broken. There
was certainly nothing small or delicate abut the center of his
anatomy.
Garrod had kept only his
knife. He curled his lip in anger,
as if remembering how Zenaria had humiliated
him. “Spread her,”
he said.
The Urtts hissed in
pleasure. Zenaria who had been
lying quietly suddenly jerked her arms down and twisted her
body. For an instant she was
almost free, but then the rope tightened, painfully jerking her arms back
over her head and the Urtts holding her legs readjusted their
grip. Slowly, and despite her
now frantic struggles they spread-eagled
her.
“Never give up do you
princess?” Garrod sneered.
Openly scornful he climbed between her legs and with a deft flick
of his knife sliced through her loincloth and breast
covering.
“I’ve done this
before, haven’t I princess?” Garrod
leered. “Only this time
I am going to finish what I
started.” Leaning back on
his heels he looked down at her. He
was semi-erect, but it was nothing that Zenaria had not seen
before.
“Do you know what I
am going to do, princess?” Garrod continued, obviously enjoying
himself. I’m going to take
your virginity and then pound your cunt until you are so sore you’ll
walk bowlegged for a week. But
by the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be as loose as a Kivalian
whore. But
more than that. You
won’t have any access to this.”
As he finished speaking
he held up a small leather pouch.
While Zenaria watched he opened it and poured the contents onto her
belly. The pouch was hers, the
white substance that pooled in her navel was
zarat,
the powdered root of a plant known to be a powerful contraceptive,
and carried by every nubile female member of the Snow Leopard
tribe.
“You have dishonoured
yourself and your house,” Zenaria
said. “Be certain that nothing
you do for the rest of your life will right your
cha.
You will be forever damned and when you die you will not be accepted
by the gods.”
“You are my
cha,” Garrod
replied. And this is how I achieve
balance.”
Still holding the knife
he leaned forward slightly and touched its razor tip to her left nipple.
“So
beautiful. Shall I let
you keep them, princess? What
is it worth to save your tits?”
Zenaria took a deep
breath. She had expected rape,
but not mutilation. But she would
not give in. “Do what you
will. The gods will curse you
for it.”
“Brave as well as
beautiful.” Garrod set down
the knife. He was fully erect,
his manhood almost straining to be buried within
her. He slid his hands over her
pelvic bones and then over her hard, flat
belly. For an instant, Zenaria
felt a wash of revulsion roll over her.
She swallowed, realizing that the reaction was exactly what Garrod
wanted. She lay absolutely still,
not moving even as his hands closed over her
breasts.
They were large, powerful
hands; the hands of a master swordsman and he used all the strength in them
as he crushed he breasts beneath his
fingers. Zenaria stiffened slightly,
but gave no indication that she felt anything out of the
normal. If this was the way it
was going to be she would give him no satisfaction
whatsoever.
“And now, princess,
I am going to make you into a
woman.” Garrod gripped her
hips and positioned himself between her
thighs. He smiled cruelly and
then thrust forward. Zenaria
prepared herself for the unthinkable and then Garrod froze as a frightening
roar filled the air.
“Who invade my
forest?” It was the voice
of a beast, deep and rasping to anyone or anything who had ever heard it
before. Apparently the Urtts
had. They released their grip on Zenaria and ran without even waiting to
see what was there. Garrod stood
a second longer and then grabbing up his sword dashed off into the
trees. Exhausted and overcome
with relief Zenaria slid off the rock, her hands still
tied.
“What this?” the
rumbling voice asked. Zenaria
looked up to see the most terrifying monster she had ever
encountered.
It was humanoid to the extent
that it had two arms and two legs connected to a
torso. But it was no more human
than the Urtts had been. It stood
at least eight feet tall and Zenaria saw at once that it was hugely
male. It was entirely nude although
most of its body was covered with reddish orange hair except in the region
of its chest and belly. Two curving
horns jutted from its forehead, just above its dark, expressive
eyes. A long prehensile tale
extended from its backside and curved about in front of it, where it slowly
caressed its massive phallus as it stood looking at Zenaria with undisguised
lust.
“Woman,” it
said. “Very pretty
woman.”
Had she been able, Zenaria
would have fled, but she was temporarily paralysed with fear and
exhaustion. She could do no more
than gaze in horror at the thing as it advanced upon
her. It was only as it picked
her up and slammed her down on the rock once again that she realized that
she should have made every effort to emulate Garrod and the
Urtts.
The impact with the boulder
drove the breath from her. Barely
conscious, she made no effort to resist as the monster spread her legs and
made ready to mate with her.
“By the gods,” she
thought. “Have I escaped
violation by Garrod only to be raped by a
beast?” And why was everything
she encountered so interested in ravishing her anyway?
That last thought was driven
from her mind by the imminent threat of the rape and then at the last instant
another sound interrupted.
“What you
do? Get off human
female.”
The monster lying between
her parted thighs hesitated, its immense phallus just inches from her trembling
vulva. Then it moved back, but
not without protest.
“Me punish
female. She
invade my forest.”
“It
not your
forest. It our forest and you no
punish.” The creature that
spoke now hove into view.
Through a haze of pain,
fear, and exhaustion Zenaria saw that it was a member of the same species
as the male. It was almost the
same height as the male and as monstrously female as the as the first creature
had been monstrously male. The
thing sported a pair of breasts that made Zenaria’s impressive globes
look petite by comparison. Like
the male it also had two curving horns on its brow and the same prehensile
tail.
“Trolls,” Zenaria
thought in sudden revelation and
revulsion. “They’re
trolls.”
The female troll picked
up the end of the rope that bound Zenaria’s
wrists. “Take with us,”
she said. “Maybe eat or
trade, but no punish.”
Zenaria grunted in pain as the female troll pulled her to her feet. She had escaped brutal rape twice inside of five minutes, but she was not sure that what she faced was much better. With a painful jerk on the rope the female troll set off through the forest, dragging Zenaria after her. Almost running to keep up, the Snow Leopard warrior fought back a cry of pain. It appeared that she had exchanged one cruel fate for another.
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