Tales of
Erogenia
Episode 1: The Snow
Princess
Chapter 15:
Ulua
Blindfolded once again,
the guards herded her back through the dark
corridors. In spite
of her chains and exhaustion, she was at the same
time strangely exhilarated.
This time the guards did
not take her back to the small dark cell.
Instead they escorted her up several staircases until she was once
again felt the sun on her skin. For
an instant she supposed that she was being taken back to the tower, but instead
she found herself ushered into an area that was strong with the scent and
sound of water. There was the
sound of a door closing and then the blindfold was
removed.
Squinting into the glare,
Zenaria found herself in a small garden, in the centre of which was a fountain
sprinkling its water into a deep circular
pool. The walls of the compound
were decorated in the complex geometric patterns common to the architecture
of the Sandakar as was the fountain itself and the tiled expanse around
it.
As her vision cleared, Zenaria
found that the guards were no longer present and instead she was attended
by several young women.
“Hmm,” she thought, “must have run out of
eunuchs.” She wondered at
the status of the girls attending her.
They were dressed in robes that covered them from ankle to shoulder,
but left one shoulder bare. They
were uniformly brown-skinned, almond-eyed, dark-haired, and of a race different
from the Sandakar.
She was beginning to see
some sort of pattern to Sandak society.
Men were allowed to take more than one wife while others were castrated
to even things out. She wondered
where the young women attending her fitted in, but they ushered her toward
the pool before she could utter a sound, chattering amiably to
her.
“Come,
mistress. You must be bathed
and then prepared for tomorrow.”
One of them produced a key and unlocked her chains while the others
took her arms and ushered her toward the
pool. She did not resist as they
helped her into the cool water and she felt the sweat and heat
dissipate.
The water was another mystery
of Sandak life. Where did it
all come from? She and Tren had
crossed a desert wasteland to reach Uhra Don, but here water flowed more
freely than back in her tribal compound, where every bucketful had to be
laboriously carried up from the stream that flowed through the
village. She had vivid memories
of water duty during the winter months when the icy surface of the stream
had to be first broken, and then the buckets dipped into the freezing pool
and then carried on a shoulder pole; one bucket on each end to balance the
load. No young man or woman was
exempt from that duty and not even the assertions of the tribal elders that
such duty strengthened body and mind made it any less
arduous.
But in Uhra Don the water
flowed from hidden pipes, reaching all parts of the city and somehow forcing
its way into fountains. It was
a mystery she wondered about, but had no understanding
of. Her thoughts were diverted
by the appearance of food and drink.
While she stood in the water and the female attendants rubbed her
body with soft cloths, one of the girls had appeared with a plate of assorted
fruit and a glass of wine.
She drank and then studied
the way the light refracted as it passed through the translucent
wineglass. She had seen glass
before, but it was an exotic and expensive substance rarely traded in her
homeland due to its fragile nature.
”Jingua
glass,
mistress. From across the sea,” one of
the girls said.
“Jingua?” echoed
Zenaria.
“A far away empire,”
the girl explained.
“Across the great sea that lies to the
west.”
Zenaria had heard of the
sea. It was said to be a great
river that went on forever.
Suddenly she realized how little of the world she really
knew. If there was a great and
mysterious umpire across the sea what then lay beyond
that? Did the world go on forever,
or was there a limit. And how
did it end? What happened when
one reached the horizon and the home of the sun and the
moon?
She picked up some of the
fruit and chewed it thoughtfully.
This talk of a great empire far away had her wanting to see more of
the world, but first she had to find some way to
escape. She knew the names of
the various fruits now. The plate
before her was a selection of melon, papaya, figs, dates, plums, and
grapes. She reflected that until
she had come to Uhra Don only the grapes were
familiar. And she still did not
know the name of the hard-shelled fruit she had eaten in the
market.
Her attendants guided her
from the water and led her to a stone bench across which a towel had been
laid. They helped her onto it;
manoeuvring her body by gentle touch into the position they desired and then
rubbed her dry. Then warm, slippery
hands began to play over her body, kneading her shoulders, calves, thighs,
and buttocks. At first, Zenaria
stiffened under the touch but she soon relaxed as the gentle massage soothed
every part of her body.
She had experienced massage
before. Snow Leopard society
used it during warrior rituals, but never before had she been
so perfectly relaxed as perfumed oils were rubbed
into her skin. “You are,
his Excellency’s First Warrior now, mistress,” one of the girls
said. “Krang has been demoted
until he is healed.”
“First
warrior? What does that mean?” asked
Zenaria.
“It is a great
honour,” the girl answered.
“You are first among his Excellency’s gladiators and will
fight to uphold his honour among the Thuski of Uhra
Don.”
“Uphold his honour?”
Zenaria said as she was helped to her
feet. “You mean kill other
warriors in the arena for the amusement of the wealthy and
stupid?”
The girls hushed at her
words and exchanged frightened glances.
Apparently referring to their masters as fools was something that
was just not done. With no wish
to trouble her attendants further, Zenaria closed her mouth and let the girls
dress her.
It was a relief to feel
clothing on her body once again.
She was tired of the lascivious stares of the Sandak men and the soft
ankle-length silk robes that were wound around her brought a comfortable
sense of security. Perhaps there
was more to clothing than mere protection from the
elements.
She was escorted into the
shade and sat down on a cool marble
bench. Spread out on a table
was another selection of food and drink, including meat, soft cheese, and
bread. In spite of her consumption
of the fruit she found that she still had an appetite, but she did not eat
immediately. Instead she invited
the girls to sit with her. She
gestured to the food. “I
will eat provided you share the meal with me.”
“Mistress, we
cannot. We are not permitted,”
the girl who seemed most vocal said.
“What is your name?”
Zenaria asked.
The girl bowed her
head.
“Setia,
mistress.”
“And
the others,
Setia?”
“They are called Memta,
Nori, Atua, and Palla,” Setia answered, introducing each of the girls
in turn.
“Well, Setia, warriors
of the Snow Leopard do not eat while others go
hungry. I will not eat until
you and the others join me. I
suspect that might please your master even less.”
The girls looked at one
anther and then conversed briefly in a language Zenaria did not
understand. Finally, Setia
spoke. “We will eat if it
is your pleasure, mistress. We
were told to please you in any way.”
Zenaria did not miss the
added meaning behind Setia’s answer, but she chose to ignore
it. Setia and the other girls
seemed to have been chosen for their physical attractiveness, but she faced
a formidable challenge. On the
morrow she faced the High Thuski’s
champion. It might be a good
idea if she was not enervated from several hours of sexual
activity. She had to admit she
was tempted. She had never entered
into a same sex relationship before, but her vow did not prohibit such activity
and Snow Leopard society had no taboo regarding such
interaction. And she had to admit
the young women now sharing her meal with her were very comely even if their
sultry beauty was different from what he was used
to.
“Perhaps tomorrow,”
she thought. She smiled her
appreciation of their company, but that night she slept alone; if she could
be considered alone with the five girls sleeping within arm’s length
of her. Their soft breathing
was so enticing she almost changed her mind, but then she thought of
Krang. Tomorrow she would face
someone else like him. She had
to be strong. Closing her eyes
she relaxed and then slept.
Morning came soon
enough. The girls were up before
she was and had her breakfast waiting for
her. A little embarrassed that
she had slept through their rising, Zenaria joined
them. As before she insisted
that they eat with her, and then breakfast over, they prepared her for the
coming combat.
They stripped her of her
fine robe, and bathed her using soft
cloths. Although it was early
morning it was already quite warm and they used cool water from the pool
for the job. Next they oiled
her body with scented oils until she gleamed like the surface of a
mirror.
Zenaria was embarrassed
by such attention. Snow Leopard
warriors attended to their own preparations for battle, and certainly none
were as elaborate as what she was being put through, but she said nothing
as they began to put on her armour.
The black leather harness
that was strapped onto her body seemed intended to display her female charms
rather than offer any real protection.
Studded leather straps crisscrossed between her breasts, offering
her support but little protection other than a horizontal band of leather
that crossed her nipples. A heavy
brass-studded leather belt encircled her waist and provided a little protection
and privacy to her nether region by means of a padded leather strap that
ran from the belt between her legs and buttock cheeks to the back of the
belt.
Her costume was rounded
out with knee-high light leather boots and leather gloves with extended cuffs
that covered her forearms. However,
it was the final item in her gear that gave her the greatest surprise and
pleasure.
“My father’s
sword,” she exclaimed. It
was presented to her by Setia and was sheathed in a black leather scabbard
that matched her armour. She
unsheathed the blade and saw that it gleamed with
oil. The edge of the blade had
clearly been honed to restore its razor
sharpness. She gave it a practice
swing, the blade humming as it cut through the
air.
The five young women regarded
her with something approaching awe.
“You will prevail, mistress, even Ulua will tremble before your
might.”
Zenaria sheathed her
sword.
“Ulua?”
“Lord Tanar’s
champion,” Setia explained.
“Undefeated in over fifty
combats. But you, mistress,
have nothing to fear.”
Zenaria smiled and then
sobered. The thought of combat
against so mighty as foe as Ulua exhilarated her,
but there was also the fact that she would be forced to fight an opponent
purely for the purpose of providing entertainment to the Sandak
nobility. However, she had little
choice. If possible she would
not kill her adversary. However,
she would not hold back. In combat
it was all or nothing and she could not afford to show her opponent mercy
if it meant she might suffer injury.
The process of outfitting
her had taken until mid-morning and already the heat was building
up. However, she needed to get
used to moving in her armour and footwear and spent the next hour moving
through her sword drills. In
spite of the fact she did not exert herself she was dripping with sweat by
the time she finished. However,
Setia and the other girls were there with cups of chilled fruit juice and
a bucket of cold water to sluice her
down.
As Zenaria sipped the juice
she wondered how the Sandaks got it so
cold. Surely in the midst of
the hottest place she had ever been there could be no snow or
ice. It was another enigma presented
by her cruel but sophisticated captors.
“One day,” she thought, “I will see how they do
this.”
However, she was not to
find out that day. A short time
later the door to the compound opened and another young woman
entered. She bowed before
Zenaria. “You are to follow
me mistress. It is time to go
to the arena.”
It was a change from the
blindfold and chains and Zenaria wondered about
it. Apparently as Kund’s
champion she was no longer to be treated like a runaway
slave. However, she wondered
what was to stop her from simply running
away.
She got her answer when
she stepped through the door that the child held open for
her. She found herself in a narrow
alleyway enclosed by high walls. To
one side was a blank wall, allowing only one way for her to go, and so with
a quick wave to Setia and the other girls she set off as the girl led her
between the whitewashed walls.
The walls provided shade
for most of the long walk, something that Zenaria
appreciated. It was now about
The child stopped by a heavy
wooden door. It was obvious that
the arena lay on the other side, both from the noise of the crowd and the
fact that the door could be opened vertically by means of
pulleys. Looking up Zenaria saw
two half-naked men holding the ropes that operated the
door. They looked down on her
with what might have been interest, but said
nothing.
Zenaria
waited. On the other side she
heard the crowd quiet and then the voice of the High
Thuski. She could not make out
any individual words, but guess that he was probably introducing the contestants,
one of which was her. She felt
the familiar feeling of anticipation rising within
her. It was something she could
not help. A warrior of the Snow
Leopard lived for battle, even if that battle was a contrived contest fought
against an opponent who had no freedom to do
otherwise.
Kund finished speaking and
an expectant hush fell over the crowd.
Then the ropes holding the door tightened and the door opened leaving
her facing the expanse of the arena.
She stepped forward exposing herself to the spectators and a shout
went up. Her eyes widened in
surprise. She had not expected
anyone to cheer for her, and then she remembered that an important part of
the spectacle of the arena was betting on the
contestants. That was confirmed
a second later by a shout from the
audience. “Fight well,
barbarian. I have
a hundred gold riding on your
head.”
The comment was followed
by numerous similar comments indicating widespread betting
support. And then the door on
the other side of the arena opened and an even more deafening shout went
up as her adversary stepped into the arena.
“Ulua!
Ulua!
Ulua!”
The thunder of the chant had Zenaria wanting to cover her eras, but
instead she stared at the figure that stepped into the ring in stunned
surprise.
She had expected a hulking
monster like Krang, but the warrior that stood across from her was nothing
like she would ever have imagined.
She was tiny, standing about
a foot shorter than Zenaria and dressed in shining black leather armour very
similar to that which Zenaria wore.
Like Zenaria, her body glistened with oil and the studded leather
straps that made up her only armour were arranged almost
identically. The only difference
was the fact that she wore a leather helmet that hid half her face, and two
strange weapons that looked more like short versions of the three-pronged
metal spears that Zenaria’s people used to catch
fish.
However, it was not the
armour or weapons that drew Zenaria’s
eye. It was the fact that her
opponent had the same dark eyes and golden skin that Tren
had. She stood
quietly. There was none of the
loud posturing that had characterized Zenaria’s early
opponents.
The crowd quieted and Kund
spoke. “Three cuts or the
first disabling or fatal wound determines the
winner. The loser becomes the
property of the winner’s
master.” He raised his
hand.
“Begin!”
Zenaria had never seen anyone
move so quickly. Only her lightning
reflexes prevented her from losing the battle in the first
second. Ulua was across the arena
and striking with her strange weapons before Zenaria had time to draw a
breath. She soon discovered just
how well those weapons worked. The
tines of one tied up the blade of her sword and the other came straight at
Zenaria’s throat. Only by
twisting her entire body and striking out with her knee did she avoid being
speared.
But Ulua was far from finished;
she jumped over Zenaria’s kick and thrust at her with both
weapons. This time Zenaria could
not avoid the attack. The longer
centre tine of one of the weapons entered her right shoulder and would have
penetrated through to her back had not the shorter time struck one of the
brass studs of the strap crossing Zenaria’s
shoulder.
It should have been a disabling
blow, but Zenaria was now caught up in her battle
rage. She hardly noticed the
pain and deflecting the blow of the right-handed weapon, she struck back
with her sword, delivering a blow that would have cut the golden-skinned
woman in half had she not darted quickly
backward. Nevertheless, the
unexpected counterattack left a long bloody scratch where the tip of
Zenaria’s blade had traced a path across Ulua’s
belly.
Zenaria continued her attack,
using her great strength and longer reach to drive her opponent back across
the arena under a hail of blows.
But Ulua was skilful. She
caught each blow on one or the other of her fork-like weapons and managed
the occasional riposte that came close to catching Zenaria once
more. Finally, reaching the wall
of the arena, Ulua darted away from Zenaria’s attack and out into open
where she crouched, waiting for Zenaria’s next
move.
Both fighters eyed one another
for the briefest of moments and then went at it
again. Zenaria held her sword
two-handed, the better able to twist her blade to meet Ulua’s attempts
to tie it up and also to strike quickly at her
opponent. It became a game of
cat and cat, with each of the warriors trying to find an opening in the
other’s defence that she could exploit, and they circled one another
constantly, their sleek oiled bodies gleaming in the desert sun and their
weapons flashing in the light.
Zenaria tried every trick
she knew, from brute force to the cleverest parry and riposte, but she could
find no opening in Ulua’s defence that came close to inflicting another
wound. Nor could Ulua use her
weapons to once again tie up Zenaria’s blade and drive home a bloodletting
attack. It became obvious that
the battle was going to be decided on the basis of
stamina. Whoever weakened first
would lose and it soon became apparent that both warriors were struggling
in the intense desert heat.
Zenaria tied to pace herself,
but could not afford to relax even for the smallest
instance. She was forced to remain
on her guard even though her arms and shoulders ached and her legs began
to tremble from exertion. Memories
of her battle against Garrod and the way he had humiliated her came back
to haunt her, but those same memories seemed to liberate a reservoir of strength
that she did not know she had possessed.
She suddenly attacked, once again driving the smaller women across
the arena, and then the unexpected happened.
Ulua, exhausted from the
intense combat, slipped on the sawdust and fell, her heels in the air and
offering Zenaria a perfect opportunity to end the
duel. Zenaria pounced, her finely
honed battle skills delivering a death-strike toward her helpless
opponent. But somehow, Ulua managed
to cross her weapons, stopping Zenaria’s downward strike just inches
from her helmet. At the same
her feet came up and catching Zenaria squarely in her stomach propelled her
forward, lifting her high in the air and slamming her hard to the arena
floor.
The impact almost knocked
the wind out of her. Her sword
spun out of her hand; flying across the arena to land ten feet
away. Zenaria rolled, and caught
hold of both of Ulua’s wrists just as she tried to
rise. She rolled again, using
her greater strength and the leverage created by the movement of her body
to twist herself over the smaller woman.
Exerting all of her strength, she slammed Ulua’s wrists into
the sawdust of the arena, breaking her grip on her weapons and sending them
spinning through the air. Then
she snapped her left hand down, her fist slamming into Ulua’s helmet
and knocking it from her head while at the same time raising her right hand
to smash it into the golden-skinned woman’s face.
Zenaria stared in
disbelief.
“Tren!”
she gasped, her fist poised for the strike, but held back as she gaped at
her adversary. The resemblance
was uncanny. It was Tren’s
face in almost every detail, although much more finely featured and with
the full seductive lips of a woman.
Ulua
froze. “What did you say?”
she gasped.
Zenaria lowered her
fist. “You are Tren’s
sister,” she panted. “I
cannot fight you.” Slowly,
she got to her feet, the adrenaline draining from her body and leaving her
barely able to stand. Around
her the crowd screamed, but neither she nor Ulua paid it the least
notice.
Ulua rolled to her knees,
so exhausted that she could not get to her
feet. “How do you know that
name?” she wheezed.
Zenaria was suddenly overcome
with a strange emotion, that completely tied up
her tongue. She could only shake
her head as she fell to her knees and gazed at her equally exhausted
adversary.
Ulua was not quite
so incapacitated as she
appeared. With a remarkable effort
she managed to stagger to her feet, and picking up her two weapons returned
to Zenaria. “Do you
surrender?” Ulua asked, placing the sharp points against the soft skin
of Zenaria’s throat.
Zenaria looked into Ulua’s
bewildered face. “I do,”
she answered.
PREVIOUS
CHAPTER
WIZARD'S LAIR
MAIN PAGE
L'ESPION'S
STORY PAGE
NEXT
CHAPTER