Tales of Erogenia

 

Episode 1: The Snow Princess

 

Chapter 7:  The Zuni

 

The water was cool against her breasts, a welcome relief from the searing desert heat of the past few days.  In a languid motion she kicked out, propelling herself into the middle of the deep pool.  Around her loomed cliffs of brilliant red rock streaked with jets of green, orange, yellow, and purple.  It was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen.  She swam slowly, rolling over onto her back and then back again.  Overhead the white orb of the sun blazed with all of its intensity, but now it felt good as she passed from the shade of the multihued cliffs into the warmth of the sunlight. 

 

Sweeping her arms she pulled herself effortlessly through the water, moving steadily toward a small rocky beach as the base of the cliff.  She sensed that someone was waiting for her there, someone whose identity was lost to her, but someone she suspected that she knew, if she could just remember who it was. 

 

Reaching the shore, she stepped from the pool, water dripping from her bronzed limbs, her large, perfect breasts quivering slightly as she strode onto the warm stone.  She could not stay long.  Soon the relentless desert sun would turn the stone into an oven, but there was a cool overhang just ahead and that was where he waited.

 

She stepped into the shade and a lithe, powerfully built figure rose before her.   He was shorter than he was, but his taut midriff, muscular arms and shoulders, long dark hair, and finely chiselled features made him seem almost godlike.  His golden-brown body was smooth, almost hairless, except for the tight triangle of fur just above his impressive manhood.  But the most striking features of the man who moved toward her were the brilliant blue-green tattoos that adorned his body.  Each tattoo started as a serpent’s tail that began just above the wrist and then wound up the arm, circling it was it went until it swept out over each shoulder and ended in the fanged head of a dragon.  It was so life-like that Zenaria almost expected it to breathe fire.  She stepped toward the man, her pulse racing and a feeling over overwhelming warmth and desire flooding through her loins.  “Tren,” she said.  And then she woke up.

 

Tren was sitting across from her, his face shrouded as usual, but his dark eyes fixed on her.  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Zenaria asked, brushing her raven hair from her eyes.

 

“You were talking in your sleep.  Were you having a bad dream?”

 

Zenaria felt herself blushing and quickly got to her feet.  “No.  At least I don’t think so I can’t remember it.  What’s for breakfast?”

 

“The same thing we have had for the last two weeks, rice and rabbit.  Enjoy your meal.  From now on it will be lizard.  If we can find even that.  Today we reach the desert.”

 

Zenaria looked at the bleak landscape around her.  As it had been ever since she reached the grassland there was not a tree in sight.  Stubbly brown grasses interspersed with patches of thorny bush stretched as far as she could see.  “I thought this was desert,” she commented, eager to direct the topic away from her strange and disturbing dream. 

 

“Not yet,” Tren replied.  “This landscape will seem like a paradise compared to what we are heading into.”

 

Zenaria stuffed a spoonful of rice and rabbit into her mouth.  By now the diet was a bit more than monotonous, but from what Tran had said, she suspected she would soon be looking back on it longingly.

 

Breakfast finished, they packed their gear and set off.  Zenaria’s pack was considerably lighter now as was Tren’s.  She wondered how they were to cross the desert with such slender supplies, but she said nothing.  So far Tren seemed to know what he was doing and if he thought they could cross the deserts of Sandakar with what they had, then she would not question him.

 

About mid morning she realized that today’s march was a little different.  “What are you looking for?” she asked.

 

“The Zuni.  This close to the desert is where they are likely to be found, especially at this time of year.  And they have what we need to traverse the desert.”

 

“And what is that?” 

 

“You will see when we find the Zuni.  Provided they are where I think they are.”

 

Zenaria studied the ground, looking for some sign that someone might have passed that way, but Tren laughed and shook his head.  “You won’t find them.  They’ll find you.”

 

“So we just keep walking until the Zuni find us and hope that they are friendly?”

 

Tren nodded.  “I have never been able to find them any other way.” 

 

“And if they are not friendly?” Zenaria asked. 

 

“They will be friendly to me.  They hate the Sandakar almost as much as I do.  Although, what they will make of you I don’t know.  I expect they will have seen very few half-naked giant women.”

 

Zenaria controlled the automatic retort that rose to her lips.  “By the standards of my people I am modestly dressed.”  In fact she was.  In deference to the relentless sun and the total absence of shade she had partially followed Tren’s advice.  She wore her cloak slung over her torso to protect her fair skin.  Although well tanned, she had never experienced a sun as fierce as that of the arid grasslands and had finally given in to necessity. 

 

Tren did not comment further.  Instead he pointed to the horizon. 

 

Zenaria followed his pointing finger.  A number of dots appeared against the sky.  “Zuni?” she asked. 

 

Tren nodded again.  “We will soon know what they think of you.” 

 

Zenaria watched as the dots grew larger.  There were about forty of fifty of them and there was something strange about the way they moved.  It took her a few minutes to figure it out, but then she realized that she was watching mounted warriors, but they were riding an animal that to her resembled a very badly made horse.

 

“It is called a camel,” Tren said without waiting for her to ask.  “I thought you would understand it better if you saw one for yourself rather than having me attempt to describe it.”

 

The Zuni were close enough now that Zenaria could see that they were dressed very much like Tren.  As a result she could tell very little about them except for the fact that they rode their ugly steeds with surprising grace and that most of the riders in the front were armed.  “Do not touch your weapons,” Tren cautioned.  “They would fill us full of arrows before we got off more than one shot.”

 

Zenaria kept her hands at her sides as the Zuni approached.  When they were about a bowshot away about half the riders stopped moving while the others approached in a semicircle.  Tren stepped forward and said something in a language Zenaria did not understand. 

 

It was difficult to tell from their reaction what impact Tren’s words had.  The Zuni reined in their camels about thirty yards away and from faces shrouded in the folds of their dark robes and silently regarded the two figures who stood before them.  Tren spoke again and pulled back his hood, revealing his face.  This time there was a more animated reaction.  One of the riders urged his camel forward, then with a smooth motion dropped to the ground.  When he was about six feet from Tren he swept his hood back to reveal a dark-eyed face that immediately reminded Zenaria of the Sandakar.  He spoke rapidly and Zenaria caught the sound of Tren’s name, but the man’s smile was more important than anything he said.  Zenaria let out her breath and relaxed her muscles.  There would be no need of her sword today – or so she hoped.

 

Tren and the Zuni warrior clasped hands and then the Zuni’s eyes turned to her.  A number of emotions played across the warrior’s face as he studied her – curiosity, suspicion, and disapproval.  Zenaria suspected the amount of thigh she was exposing did not altogether meet with the Zuni’s approval, but then Tren said something and the man’s face changed again.  This time she caught three words; “Sandakar, thuski, and moaan.” 

 

The Zuni warrior looked at her and nodded.  This time she saw a look of approval on his dark features.  Tren confirmed that a second later.  “I told him that you were a great warrior from the land of snow and that you had killed a Sadankar thuski and three moaan.  He has decided to accept you for now.”

 

“Well, that’s a relief,” Zenaria commented.  “And if I had killed nothing, what then?”

 

“Then I would expect he would offer to buy you.  He has only two wives and is allowed one more.”

 

“So the Zuni are slavers, like the Sandakar,” Zenaria said, her voice rising slightly.

 

“Oh no,” Tren replied.  “The Zuni take no women against their will, but a bride price is required and I told him that I am your protector.  Any offer would be made to me, but you would have to consent.”

 

Zenaria bristled, but held her voice steady.  “You?  My Protector?  I need no one to …”

 

“Yes,” Tren interrupted.  “We’ve been through that before.  I’ll explain it to Targah as soon as I am able.”

 

“Targah,” Zenaria assumed was the name of the Zuni warrior who had spoken with Tren.  She was less than happy at being regarded as some sort of chattel, but held her tongue.  The Zuni could not understand her and arguing with Tren would serve no purpose.  All that mattered was that the Zuni appeared friendly enough and that Tren had indicated that they were the key to crossing the desert safely.

 

Tren continued to converse with Targah, looking her way every now and then.  Targah’s eyes continually strayed to her and Zenaria became uncomfortable.  She was used to men looking at her, but not with the speculative interest that shone in Targah’s eyes.

 

“We have reached an agreement,” Tren said finally.  “Targah will give us what we need in exchange for the moaan feathers you collected.”

 

 “Ahhh,” Zenaria gasped.  She had forgotten that the golden feathers jutted from her pack.  She had removed them from her belt to keep from crushing them when she had put on her cloak.  Targah had been looking at them, not at her.  It was both a relief and a bit of a disappointment.  Targah was not as interested in her as she had thought.  Mentally kicking herself she removed her pack and handed over the feathers. 

 

Targah inspected each one carefully and then nodded his approval.  Apparently the bargain had been struck.  She noticed that while Tren and Targah had been talking the other Zuni had dismounted from their camels and had a camp half set up.  She noted that there were a number of smaller figures moving around.  In spite of the robes that covered them from head to foot it was apparent that they were women.  There were also several children.  For some reason the smaller children were not disguised by any of the hoods that covered the heads of the other Zuni.  Most of them were engaged in tending to a large mixed flock of sheep and goats.  There were also several large birds that resembled the moaan, but only about half the size and minus the vicious toothed beak.  Zenaria regarded these warily, but relaxed when a child barely up to her knees chased several of them armed with nothing but a stick.

 

With very little to do except be stared at by the Zuni, Zenaria wandered through the camp watching the women and men set up the tents.  With amazing efficiency tents were erected, fires lit, and meals prepared.  Soon the camp was filled with the enticing aroma of roasting meat.

 

“It is a special occasion,” Tern said.  “To honour their guests the Zuni have slaughtered two sheep and one goat. 

 

“What do they normally eat?” Zenaria asked.  Since it was not unusual for an Erogenian warrior to devour an entire wild boar three small animals seemed little enough to share among almost a hundred people.

 

“Do you like goat’s milk?”

 

After what she had been fed by the slavers Zenaria supposed that goat’s milk could not be much worse. 

 

It turned out to be better than she had hoped.  The meal consisted of slices of mutton and goat mixed with the usual rice and a variety of greens Zenaria guessed had been obtained from the grasslands.  Always on the lookout for edible plants she studied them with interest and wished that she spoke enough of the Zuni language to ask the women what they were.

 

They ate sitting in a circle- at least the men did.  Zenaria noticed that the women and girls were conspicuously absent and she felt her hackles rising at what she considered an insult to her gender.  However, she held her tongue.  Tren was the only one who could understand her anyway and there was little she could do to reform Zuni society.  As an honoured guest and a warrior who had killed a Sandakar thuski, Zenaria was allowed her place in the circle, but the treatment of the women still rankled.  However, something was about to happen that she found even more disturbing. 

 

A small fire burned in the centre of the circle of warriors.  In the treeless grasslands the Zuni were very sparing of their fuel which consisted of dried sheep and goat dung.  Into the glow of the fire a lithe figure stepped.  Silhouetted against the fire there was little doubt that that the circle of warriors was looking at a young woman, and a very curvaceous one at that. 

 

It was a revelation for Zenaria.  Although the dancer’s face was hidden, the costume she wore was so sheer that it left very little doubt about her female charms.  Apparently the Zuni were not quite as prudish as she had thought.  She moved with the grace of a leopard, flowing around the fire with sensual grace.  Even Zenaria held her breath as the dancer passed near to her, but she was not the dancer’s primary target.  She saw to her chagrin that the dancer whirled and swayed longer in front of Tren than anyone else. 

 

Her annoyance quickly shifted to herself, however, when she realized what she was feeling.  What did it matter to her whether the dancer performed for Tren?  The bronze-skinned little man was nothing to her.  Impassively she watched the dancer whirl across to the other side of the fire.  As she did so Tren leaned toward her and whispered an explanation.  “That is Belsa, Targah’s daughter.  He tries to entice me with her every time I visit.”

 

“Why would he do that?” Zenaria asked, just as quietly. 

 

“The Zuni cannot marry within themselves.  They are already too closely interbred, so a young man or woman must seek marriage outside the tribe.  I am considered a more than suitable candidate.”

 

For some reason Zenaria found Tren’s explanation far from soothing; especially when a sudden thought occurred to her.

 

“And would I not be a suitable candidate?” she asked.

 

“Oh,” Tren said offhandedly.  “I told Targah that you and I were bedmates.  You are safe for now.”

 

“You what!” Zenaria’s answer hissed out through the darkness, drawing the eyes of every man in attendance and breaking the rhythm of the dancer.

 

“Quiet yourself.  It is not seemly to argue in front of our hosts.  You need not fear me.  I would sooner couple with a sheep than you.”

 

“I should cut off your head,” Zenaria growled through clenched teeth. 

 

“Well, that is a relief.  I feared you would threaten another part of my anatomy.”

 

Zenaria was about to deliver a stinging retort, but before she could Tren made another point.  “Now see, our arguing has stopped the dancing.  I shall have to apologize to our hosts.”

 

Zenaria clamped her mouth shut, annoyed that Tren had drawn her into another uncontrolled outburst.  She must seem completely barbaric to the Zuni and if for no other reason than the honour of her tribe she controlled herself, sitting back and turning her gaze to the fire.

 

The outburst, however, drew an inquiring glance from Targah and he spoke briefly to Tren.  The latter smiled and gave an explanation that seemed to satisfy the Zuni headman, but the damage had been done.  Belsa disappeared into the darkness and almost immediately the meeting began to break up.

 

“We will have to share a tent,” Tren said as he got to his feet.  “I managed to convince Targah that you were experiencing your moon and as a result were in some discomfort.  The Zuni will not expect us to do anything more than share the same space.”

 

“Perhaps I could fetch a sheep to see you through the night,” Zenaria spat.  “I would not want you to vary your routine.”

 

“I am sorry for that remark,” Tren answered.  “But sometime you try even my patience.  If you and I are going to continue to travel together we must make some effort to get along.”

 

Zenaria did not apologize for her outburst.  It was not her way, but she resolved to try to hold her tongue.  She still had not restored her cha and her spirit quest was far from over.  She had chosen to follow Tren in spite of his expressed desire to travel alone.  If they were to be companions it was best if relations were at least amiable.

 

The tent they were given was not large, but there was enough room that both she and Tren could lie down without touching, although just barely.  Zenaria could hear Tren’s slow, even breathing and sense his warmth as she drifted off to sleep.  Both were oddly comforting.

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