Barbarian Tales

Episode 3

Curse of the Silver Queen

by L'Espion

Chapter 7: Shailaja’s Bane

 

Morcar’s cup hit the wall, darkening the stone with the red stain of wine.  The gold cup dropped to the floor, several of the gems decorating its rim scattering onto the thick carpet.  “Dead?  All of them?”

 

“Yes, Highness,” Sahin, his Chancellor answered.  “And the tax money taken once again.”

 

“But there were one hundred and fifty men guarding that shipment,” Morcar protested.  “One hundred and fifty.  How can a band of rebel scum defeat so many?  Who was the Captain?  I want him brought before me.”

 

“Captain Cheldan’s body was found nailed to a tree.  Only two men survived and they lived only because they hid in a ditch while the rest were slaughtered.”

 

“They ran you mean,” Morcar raged.  “I want them nailed to the gates of the city and disembowelled.”

 

“It will be done, Highness,” Sahin answered.  He relaxed a little as Morcar’s anger was diverted.  The King had a worrying habit of killing the messenger and the news of late had been nothing short of disastrous.

 

The page entered bearing a tray.  Knowing his master’s habits he had brought a full pitcher of wine as well as a new flagon.  Morcar drank the first cup in two gulps.

 

“The redheaded bitch again, no doubt,” he commented, holding out his flagon to be filled. 

 

“She grows bolder with every attack, Highness, and her forces seem to be increasing in size.” 

 

“Who is this whore?” Morcar growled.  “Where does she come from?”

 

The two questions had been asked by the king many times in the last moon or so.  But no one had an answer for him.  The story that she had been sent by the gods was circulating among the conquered population, but no one knew much about her expect that she was remarkably successful when it came to ambushing and destroying units of the King’s army and the tax collectors they were guarding.

 

“Highness…,” Sahin began, stammering out an answer.  But Morcar silenced him before he could finish. 

 

“Enough.  Leave us,” Morcar growled waving his arm toward Sahin.  He swept his arm taking in everyone else in the room including the guards.  “Out, all of you.”

 

They left, leaving the king to fume in silence.  He drained his cup again; refilled it and then moved a bit unsteadily toward the window.  I shouldn’t be drinking this much, he thought.  How could so much have gone wrong so quickly?

 

He had entered Sillon, Dendera’s capital, in triumph three moons ago, dragging Lexia’s pathetic figure behind him at the end of a rope.  He had everything he wanted, the kingdom; its queen; and its wealth.  No one dared defy him and the country was his to loot.  He had moved quickly to replace Denderan officials with those loyal to him and had stationed troops about the country to forestall any uprising.  The country’s people were at his feet, beaten except for a small remnant of its army which had fled to the mountains.

 

That broken army seemed so insignificant he had not even bothered to pursue it or find out where it had gone.  Now it had returned with some red-haired whore as its leader.  She had ambushed and defeated his men again and again at the same time stealing the taxes he needed to raise more troops to deal with her.  Unrest in the country had increased, requiring ever larger garrisons to prevent a major uprising.  He had been forced to hire mercenaries to replace his losses and mercenaries demanded pay.  He had been required to deplete his treasury; something that could not continue for long, but he had no choice. 

 

Almost as bad were his plans for Lexia.  He had forced a child upon her just as he had intended, but she had miscarried within a moon of being impregnated, and his mistreatment of her had left her so weak that she had contracted a serious fever that left her near death for a score of days.  The royal healer had warned him that if he forced her again the incident might kill her.  It was not something he had wanted to hear and he had ordered the healer placed in the dungeons, but he had heeded the advice had left Lexia alone… at least for now. 

 

The bitch is faking her weakness.  I’ll see to her as soon as I’ve settled with the redhead. 

 

The redhead is the key.  The raids started with her and if I can kill or capture her it will end with her.  But so far none of his patrols had been even remotely successful in catching up with her - except to get themselves ambushed and butchered.  The situation called for a different sort of solution.  One that would be expensive, but worth if it was successful.     

 

“Page,” he shouted.  “Page!”

 

The boy entered the room bowing low.  “Get Sahin.” 

 

A few hundred heartbeats later the panting Chancellor entered the room.  The old bastard must have run all of the way.  Well, so much the better.  “Find Torgan.  And do it fast.  I have work for him.”

 

 

Morcar glowered at the massive figure in front of him, but the stare which he had intended to be intimidating had not the slightest effect other than a slight twitching at the corners of the man’s mouth which further infuriated the king.

 

Such utter contempt for his authority much less the total lack of respect merited a most painful death, but Torgon had never shown much respect for anyone from the first day Morcar had known him.

 

The man stood at least two yards and a foot tall and was massively built.  Weighing at least three hundred pounds he was dress in black leather and seemed to fill the room with his presence.  It was a situation Morcar detested; especially the fact that he felt somewhat intimidated in the giant’s presence.

 

“Well,” Torgon rumbled, in a voice that sounded like the grinding of wagon wheels over stone.  “What did you get me here for?  I was quite enjoying myself when your lackeys came for me.”

 

Enjoying himself was hardly the word.  According to Sahin, Turgon had been enjoying to the full three whores who he was taking turns in fucking, and had been doing so for the better part of a day when Morcar’s messenger had arrived.  He had taken the time to use one woman to the point of complete exhaustion – hers, not his – before deigning to obey the king’s summons.  Now he stood impatiently, crunching noisily on an apple he had taken without asking from the fruit bowl on the table in front of him.

 

Stifling his anger Morcar replied.  “You know why you are here.  Only a fool would not know what is going on in the kingdom, and you are no fool.”

 

“No, I’m not,” Torgon grinned.  “And I was wondering how long it would take you to get around to contacting me.  The redheaded warrior has you by the balls and you want me to deal with her.”

 

How dare that lowborn bastard speak so to me?  It took all of his strength of will to force back his anger and not call for his guards to have Torgon flogged until all of the skin was removed from his back.  Perhaps that would teach him a little respect. 

 

But Torgon had it right.  Morcar did need him.  Killing him would serve no purpose.  Besides, he and the giant were alone in the room.  He wasn’t sure the guards would arrive in time to prevent Torgon from breaking his neck, assuming that his guards would be successful in dealing with him before he killed all of them.

 

Torgon had surrendered his weapons before entering the presence of the king, but his huge hands were quite capable of snapping a man’s neck in heartbeats.  Morcar had seen him do it and had no wish to see if the same thing could be done to him.

 

“You know who she is then?” he asked mildly ignoring the man’s insolence for the moment.

 

“I’ve got no idea,” Torgan answered.  “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have anything to drink around here would you?  I’m a bit parched after the ride here.”

 

Insolent bastard, Morcar thought.  But he called for his page and had a pitcher of wine and two cups brought into the room.

 

“That’s more like it,” Torgon said, snatching the pitcher off the tray.  He raised it to his lips and drank deeply while the horrified page watched.  He burped loudly and grinned at Morcar.  “Good stuff.”  He motioned with the pitcher toward Morcar.  “You want some?”

 

“Leave us,” Morcar said to the page.  As the door closed behind the boy he turned to Torgon.  “Let’s stop this ill-mannered nonsense.  You get paid well for what I ask you to do.  You should at least attempt to show a little respect.  You have guessed rightly.  I want the redheaded whore apprehended.  If you can take her alive so much the better.  I would love to put her to the torture before I have her executed.  But if not, her head will do.” 

 

“She won’t he easy to catch, your Highness,” Torgon says.  “You haven’t been able to catch her with your entire army.  I’m just one man.”

 

“Spare me the nonsense,” Morcar snarled.  “I know full well how good you are at what you do.  Bring her back alive and it’s a thousand gold pieces.  Five hundred if she’s dead.”

 

“A thousand dead and two thousand alive,” Torgon countered.  “And five hundred to seal the bargain.”

 

Somehow Morcar managed not to scream for his guards.  A king did not bargain with scum like this.  “Alright.  You will have what you ask for.  You start today.”

 

Torgon shrugged.  “I’ll get ready then.  I assume I can take from the castle what I need?”

 

“Take whatever you want.  I’ll have the gold in half a turn of the glass and then I want you on your way.  I want that Red Warrior and I want her screaming.”

 

Torgon laughed.  “Well, the redhead really is causing you problems isn’t she?  But don’t worry I’ll bring her back here and save your kingdom for you.”  He turned and left the room without a backward look, leaving Morcar shaking with rage.

 

 

Shailaja stared into the fire.  Teloch or “the Runner” as the Denderans called the smaller moon had risen in the night sky and sped past Selene.  Most of her company had turned in leaving only the sentries awake.  It was a day of rest and planning and she had spent a couple of turns of the glass discussing the next attack on Morcar with her squad leaders. 

 

Things were going well; even better than she had hoped.  She had received word from Guered that many of the men showing up for training in the mountain stronghold already had some martial training and that he would soon be ready to join her with a force of five hundred men.  That would give her close to eight hundred total; enough to do some real damage to Morcar’s forces.  Also her scouts had come back with reports of spontaneous revolts in several towns around the country.  Morcar’s hold on Dendera was failing and it was time to ramp up the pressure.

 

However, it would take Guered a ten of days before he joined her and she had one more raid in mind before he arrived.  It was nothing too ambitious, just an attack on a small garrison covering one of the fords on the main road between Dendera and Bondar.  She would have to be careful as it was close enough to Sillon for reinforcements to arrive if her attack did not go off as planned, and she mulled over the details of the raid trying to find any flaws or ways to improve her plan. 

 

A slight sound behind her alerted her to the attack a split heartbeat before it came.  She moved with lynx-like speed, but even as she shifted her weight something encircled her neck like a band of steel.

 

Never before had she encountered such strength as one arm clamped about her neck, cutting off the blood flow to her head and shutting off her breathing at the same time, while her assailant’s other arm tied up her left arm, preventing her from breaking free of her opponent. 

 

Skilled in unarmed combat, Shailaja automatically twisted her body, trying to throw the man who held her off balance, but to her surprise she failed to shift his weight even slightly.  Instead his arm tightened even further, and she was lifted completely off the ground. 

 

She kicked with her feet, trying to break loose and struck backward with her right elbow, driving it into the ribs of her adversary.  Her elbow struck like a hammer blow and against almost any other opponent would have broken at least one rib, but this time the only reaction was a slight grunt and a further tightening of the arms that held her.

 

All of this occurred in less time than it takes to tell it, but already Shailaja’s vision was beginning to blur as her brain became starved for oxygen.  She had only a few heartbeats before darkness overwhelmed her and she was completely at the mercy of the man who held her.  She also knew that that she was caught in a death grip and that if her attacker was not just content with her passing out all he had to do was hold her for a few heartbeats longer and she would never wake up. 

 

She knew this well, having killed enemy sentries herself with the same hold.  It was not as quick as a knife, but was considerably less bloody.  She also knew that there were ways to break the hold, but she had never encountered anyone who held her with such incredible strength and with her feet pulled clear of the ground most of the tactics she would have employed were rendered useless. 

 

Encountering an enemy, who was taller than her was something so novel that she hardly knew how to react; especially as she had been caught completely off guard.  The tiny warning she had been given had not been enough to prevent her bigger and stronger opponent from completely immobilizing her.  As she suddenly realized that she was probably not going to escape her gut clenched in fear; and then she went wild, heaving her body with such strength that for the briefest of moments the hold on her left arm loosened enough that she was able to wrench it free.

 

But it was not enough.  The arm about her throat had not relaxed even slightly.  As she slammed both elbows back into his ribs he grunted once more, but it was like hitting a wall.  Nothing she did could shake that grip, and in spite of her struggles the entire encounter had resulted in so little noise that none of the sleeping soldiers in the camp so much as stirred.

 

As her senses faded Shailaja wondered how her attacker had managed to bypass the sentries and then she swam into darkness.

 

 

Shailaja moaned.  Her skull felt like it was about to split open and the bruises on her throat throbbed unmercifully.  She realized vaguely as she awoke that her attacker had come close to crushing her windpipe.  The question was why had he not simply killed her?  She didn’t like the answer.  And she liked even less what happened next.

 

There was a sudden cessation of movement and she recognized the fact that she was being carried.  Being carried by someone of such strength and size that it was as if she weighed almost nothing.  That understanding lasted only a heartbeat or so and then she was being swung through the air to land heavily on her backside. 

 

“You’re awake,” a deep voice growled.  “And I’m through carrying you.  Get up and walk.”

 

The sudden violence snapped her wide awake.  She found herself lying on a forest trail, the thin glimmerings of dawn just a half turn of the glass away.  How long was I out? 

 

“I said get up.  I’ve carried you half the night.  Damned if I’m going to carry you half the day as well.”  The command was followed by a quick kick to her ribs that knocked the breath from her.

 

Gasping for breath Shailaja stared up at the huge shape looming over her.  She realized as she did so that her wrists were secured tightly behind her back and that some sort of a gag had been stuffed into her mouth.  It made breathing after what had been done to her all the more difficult and for an instant her vision clouded once again. 

 

“That’s a bit of payback for what you did to my ribs, you damned bitch,” the man said.  Rough hands seized her, and without the least apparent effort, wrenched her to her feet, where she stood swaying uncertainly.

 

“Come on.  Fight it off.  You’re supposed to be some sort of terrible warrior, not a weak little girl.”

 

She saw that the man was tall, towering over her even when she was on her feet.  And he was massively built with shoulders double the width of hers.  She had been captured by a giant; and a mighty bad-tempered one at that.

 

“That’s better,” her captor rumbled, as she regained her balance and recovered her breath.  “Now let’s get going.”

 

She was jerked forward and she found that she was tethered by a rope around her neck.  She stumbled forward in the direction she had been pulled and then followed as the rope tightened once again as her captor strode off, pulling her after him.

 

She widened her stride to keep up with him and managed to keep from falling.  It was fortunate that her legs were long as he did not slow down and she had to step quickly to keep up with him. 

 

As she walked she made several unpleasant discoveries.  The first was that her wrists were not tied with rope, but confined in some sort of leather cuffs.  The second was that she no longer wore her exquisite chain mail armour or even her underpadding.  She had been stripped to the waist although she still wore her trousers and boots.  The third was that her captor had taken the final precaution of tying a tether between her legs just above the knees.  It allowed her to take almost a full stride, but in any attempt to run she would be severely hampered. 

 

Her weapons were also gone, of course.  She would have been very surprised if they had not been taken. 

 

As she walked the pounding in her head gradually decreased.  But she certainly felt the effects of being choked unconscious.  Her throat was badly bruised and it hurt to swallow.  Moreover, she struggled to get enough air through the gag that had been placed in her mouth.  She determined that it was a wooden dowel that had been forced between her teeth and tied with leather thongs behind her head.  It was extremely unpleasant and quite unnecessary so far as she could see.  Her captor was making no effort to be quiet and she guessed that if the gag had ever been needed to prevent her from calling for help they were now a long way from her camp and any chance of someone hearing her if she screamed for help.

 

Not that screaming for help was likely.  Warriors did not do that and it would have been the worst sort of humiliation for Shailaja to have called for help.  Even worse than the humiliation of being captured, bound, stripped to the waist, and forced to march like a pack animal behind her captor.  It was clear that her captor actions were intended to exact the maximum in degradation.  It did not bode well for her unless she could find some way to escape. 

 

It was light now, and she could see her captor clearly.  As she had surmised he was a huge man, almost a head taller than she was and probably weighing more than twice what she did.  His dark hair was long and he wore it in a long queue that reached to his shoulder blades.  A thick beard extended to his chest.  He was dressed in black leather from head to toe and wore a sword and several daggers in his belt, including the two she kept hidden in her boots.  In his left hand he held the rope that was tethered to her neck and in his right was a bundle containing her armour and weapons. 

 

He turned his head suddenly and caught her looking at him.  “Don’t worry,” he grinned we’re almost home.  And then the fun begins.”

 

Shailaja had no idea what the man’s idea of fun might be, but it did not sound like anything she would enjoy.  She wondered where they were going.  Was he taking her to Morcar or somewhere else?  They were still walking through thick forest and had been moving steadily uphill, a fact that inclined her to believe her captor was not taking her to the Duke.  However, she did not find that particularly reassuring, especially not with the way her captor’s eyes had swept over her body when he glanced back at her.  She had seen that look far too often on other occasions and it never promised anything good. 

 

How far are we from my camp? she wondered.  If her captor had carried her for as long as he claimed they were probably leagues from where she had been taken prisoner. 

 

They walked for another turn of the glass.  By this time Shailaja was tiring badly.  She had incredible stamina but as she had found on several other occasions, walking with her hands bound behind her was both awkward and exhausting.  In addition, the gag in her mouth made her salivate continually until she had used up all of her saliva.  She was soon desperately thirsty and wondered why her captor thought it necessary to keep her gagged.  She could only surmise that he had done it, not to prevent her from calling out, but to make her captivity as unpleasant and degrading as possible.  Such treatment did not bode well for the future. 

 

From up ahead came a low rumbling sound.  Shailaja quickly identified it as the sound of falling water and her assumption was verified a few hundred heartbeats later when they came within sight of an impressive falls.  The trail went right by it, so close in fact that the rocky path was completely soaked, with water standing in pools.  Her captor, however, made no effort to avoid it, but walked right through it.  And then to Shailaja’s surprise turned directly toward the falls and splashed into the plunge pool. 

 

She had no choice but to follow as he waded toward the falls and then right into the plunging water.  The water pounded upon her, but for Shailaja it offered welcome relief.  It cooled her body and she was able to gulp a few mouthfuls of water before she was dragged through the falling veil to the other side. 

 

She found herself in a large cave, one that was completely hidden by the falling water.  Her captor strode through it with the certainty of someone who was more that familiar with its geography and Shailaja stumbled along in his wake splashing through the slippery pools.  As they went deeper into the cave the ground rose slightly and the cave’s floor eventually became dry.  It also got darker, but her captor seemed quite comfortable walking along in the dim light.  And then Shailaja noticed that the cave was getting brighter. 

 

Five more strides and she saw that the cave was actually a tunnel; and six strides after that her captor led her into a glade set in the middle of thick forest.  To one side of the glade was a well-built leanto and a firepit over which hung an iron kettle was set in the middle.  But there was a bit more to the camp than that.

 

On a rock ledge to one side of the camp was a row of eleven skulls.  They were of various sizes, but all appeared to have been adults, and their positioning reminded Shailaja of the way some hunters display their trophies.  It was a gruesome thought and she wondered if her skull might wind up as part of the collection.

 

“Home,” her captor said, pay no attention to the direction of her gaze.  “I hope you like it.  I expect you will spend some time here.  At least until I get tired of you.”  He leered as he made the last comment, leaving no doubt what he meant.

 

On the far side of the glade were two large trees each more than two yards across at the roots.  But it was not the trees that caught her attention; it was the heavy ring bolts that had been driven into each tree.

 

It took little imagination to figure out what they were for and her suspicions were confirmed as she was marched across the clearing to the space between the trees.  Without a word her captor turned her around and secured a rope to her arms and threaded it through one of the bolts higher up the trunk of the tree.  He tightened the rope, pulling her arms up strapado and rendering her even more helpless than before. 

 

Shailaja tried not to grunt in pain as her captor continued to pull on the rope until she was raised onto the tips of her toes.  It felt as if her shoulders were being dislocated, and the fact that she had suffered such brutal treatment on another occasion did not make it any easier. 

 

“That should hold you for awhile,” her captor said, “at least until you are properly secured.”  The remark seemed a strange one.  She could hardly escape the way he had her now.  But she soon discovered what he meant by the remark. 

 

She knew even before she felt his hands on her feet what he was going to do, but there was not the slightest thing she could do about it as he pulled off first one boot and then the other. 

 

The next step was entirely predictable.  But Shailaja’s shame as her trousers were stripped off was profound, especially as the position of her body bent her forward in a most vulnerable position.  She was completely exposed to whatever he wanted to do to her and she expected the worst.    

 

To her surprise, however, her captor made no effort to molest her.  Instead he first slacked off the rope binding her wrists, allowing her to place her feet flat on the ground and then buckled a leather cuff to her right ankle and secured it to one of the lower ringbolts in the tree.  He then slacked off the rope holding her hands completely and secured her left ankle in the same way.  Tightening the rope he forced her to position herself exactly between the two trees. 

 

She stood helpless, her feet a yard apart and her wrists still fastened securely behind her.  “That should do,” her captor said.  “There is just one more thing.”  He moved his hand to the back of her neck, untied the leather thong holding the gag, and removed it from her mouth.  “Now it is time for us to have a little chat.”  He moved around so that he could see her face; and the more intimate portions of her anatomy. 

 

As his eyes dropped to the area between her legs they widened in surprise.  “By Calumel’s holy balls,” he exclaimed.  “Your cunt is as naked as a young girl’s.”

 

Shailaja coloured in shame.  In fact all of the hair on her body except that on her head had been removed as part of her preparation in the slave pits of Thar.  The process was permanent, or so she had been told, and it was one of the most mortifying of the indignities forced on her during her life as a slave.  There was nothing she could say about what had happened to her nor was she in a talking mood.  Her throat still hurt and she realized that in her struggle to escape her captor had come close to crushing her windpipe.  She stood staring at her captor, studying him as he studied her.  He was, as she had already observed, huge, and she upped her estimate of his weight, guessing that he was closer to four hundred than three hundred pounds. 

 

She judged him to be about forty springs in age, and what she saw in his face was hardly reassuring.  She had already noted the lascivious leer when he had spoken to her earlier, now she saw an unmistakable hint of cruelty coupled with arrogance.  This was a man who had no qualms about hurting those in his power and who probably enjoyed doing it.  However she did not flinch from his gaze, but met his eyes with the cold stare that had terrified so many enemies.

 

However, her gaze had not the slightest effect on the man who faced her other than to make him laugh.  “Do you like what you see?  It would go easier on you if you did, but I expect you are just studying me the way I am studying you.”   

 

Shailaja let him talk, she had guessed by now that her captor liked to hear his own voice and if she waited long enough he would get around to telling her what his game was.  Bound and helpless, she could only wait to see what he wanted of her and hope that like most men she had gone up against he would make some sort of fatal mistake. 

 

“You’re a quiet one aren’t you?” the man asked.  “But I expect you’ll make more than enough noise soon.  But before I start, perhaps we should start with names.  Yours first.”

 

There seemed little point in not telling him who she was, especially as she doubted that he had ever heard of her or the place she came from.  She drew herself up as straight as she could.  To her chagrin, her voice came out as a hoarse whisper, but she forced the words out.  “I am Shailaja of Kaltara, warrior of the Clan of the Ice Wolf.”

 

“An interesting name and title,” her captor answered.  “I called Torgon.  No doubt you have heard of me.”

 

“No,” Shailaja answered.  Her voice seemed to strengthen the more she used it and her answer came out strong and clear.  “I have never heard of you.  Should I have?”

 

Torgon grunted at her reply.  “You are a curious one.  You lead an outlaw band against the king and yet you have never heard of Torgon, Bringer of Death.  But never fear you are going to get to know me well.  Probably much better than you would like.  But enough of these pleasantries.  How is it that you bear the same mark upon your breast that marks the Silver Queen and the coat of arms of Dendera?”

 

Shailaja was not about to review one of the more painful and humiliating events of her life, especially not to a man who had ambushed and assaulted her, and was now subjecting her to a humiliating captivity.  “You want something,” she replied.  “If you wanted me dead you could have killed me in the camp.  And if Morcar sent you to capture me you would have taken me to him, and not this hideaway, so why don’t you just tell me what you want?”

 

“Perhaps you are not so stupid after all,” Torgon replied.  “Yes, I want something.  Two somethings actually.”  He picked up the bundle carrying Shailaja’s armour and weapons and loosening the strings binding it, shook out the contents on the ground.  He held up the chain mail shirt and the twin blades Shailaja had chosen.  “The first is where you got these from.  Only the mythical Telapha could have fashioned something like this.  And you will show me where they are hiding.”  He stared menacingly at her as he finished and then grinned.

 

“But first there is the second thing I want.”  He licked his lips as he looked toward her, emphasizing his words.  But just in case Shailaja did not understand his obvious meaning he spoke again.  “Yes, I am going to fuck you.  And more than once.  As many times as I wish in fact, until I get what I want from you.  Then I am going to march you to Sillon and turn you over to Morcar.  What he does to you afterwards I don’t care.  I will have what I want.”

 

“You can do what you want to me,” Shailaja answered.  “But I will never betray anyone who gives me their trust.”  It was not a hard decision to make.  She would never betray anyone to whom she had given her allegiance.  Her honour would not allow it.  And then there was the simple fact that finding her way to the hidden entrance that Yelana had revealed was probably impossible.

 

“I can see that you are a proud warrior,” Torgon answer.  “You would not have been able to give Morcar so much trouble if you were not.  But you have met your match in me.  But know this; no one has ever succeeded in withholding information from me.  And I will get what I want; even if it means putting hot iron to that beautiful body.”

 

“Bravely said,” Shailaja retorted.  “You have me bound and helpless.  Untie me and give me a sword and we will see just how bravely you speak.”

 

“Now why would I do that after going to so much trouble to get you that way?  Besides.  I have no desire to kill you.  You are worth two thousand gold to me alive.  And much more than that when you tell me where the Telapha are hiding.  A few more scars upon that exquisite body will not lessen your value.”

 

“Do your worst,” Shailaja replied.  “You will get nothing from me.”

 

“You are wrong about that.  I am going to take from you whatever I want, beginning now.”

 

Shailaja tensed, as Torgon tossed her armour and weapons onto the ground and moved toward her.  But there was nothing she could do except wait to see what he had planned for her. 

 

Once again he surprised her, but not in a manner that gave her any hope.  He expected him to force her to the ground and take her the way she was.  Instead he moved behind her and to her further surprise loosened the ropes holding her ankles.  It allowed her to move her feet almost normally, but that was of little use with her wrists still fastened behind her.  Nor did it help her when he forced her to her knees and began to rearrange her bindings. 

 

He first attached ropes to the cuffs on her wrists and then threaded the ropes through two of the lower ringbolts on the trunk of each of the trees.  He tightened them, but kept hold of the two ends of the ropes.  Then he released the ties binding her wrists. 

 

For the briefest of moments Shailaja could move her arms.  But it lasted less than a heartbeat.  Torgon stepped quickly back and as he did so the ropes threaded through the ringbolts and attached to the cuffs on her wrists tightened, pulling her arms out to the side.  Behind her Torgon spoke, partly to her and partly to himself.  “Let’s see.  I want you to have some freedom; enough for a good struggle, but not enough to escape.”

 

“I am not your plaything,” Shailaja raged, guessing exactly what his words mean.  “I will not perform for you like some trained pony.”

 

“I think you will,” Torgon replied.  “At least to my satisfaction.”

 

He moved around in front of her allowing her to test the limits of her new bondage.  She found that he had allowed her enough slack to move her arms until her hands could almost touch.  Almost, but not enough to reach the straps on the cuffs trapping her wrists. 

 

“Perfect,” Torgon commented.  He nodded his head approvingly.  “You can defend yourself to a certain extent, but escape will be impossible.”

 

“I won’t play your stupid game,” Shailaja declared.  She had to fight to control her temper.  “You can do to me what you will.  I will not fight you.”

 

“We will see,” Torgon grinned.  Almost lazily he began to remove his clothing, starting with his leather vest.  He opened it to reveal a massively muscled chest and then tossed it aside, exposing equally powerful arms and shoulders.  Shailaja had not seen so impressive a man since she had made love to Sturm, a man who had saved her life and then become her lover, only to disappear from her life as mysteriously as he had appeared.  In spite of herself she could not help wondering whether the rest of Torgon was as impressive as his torso.

 

He was.  And her eyes widened as he dropped his trousers.  He was fully erect and every bit as impressive as any man she had ever seen.

 

“You do like what you see,” Torgon rumbled.  “Perhaps you like it so much that you will keep your promise not to fight me.  But I would much rather you put up a bit of a struggle.  It makes the conquest that much more enjoyable.”

 

No, I can’t let this happen.  I can’t let him take me without a fight.  But if I do…

 

She was caught.  Tethered as she was, she could not win against a man with Torgon’s strength.  But she could not give in either.  Her honour as a warrior would not allow her to tamely submit.  Trogon would have what he wanted.  A struggle.  A struggle that he would win and she would lose.

 

But she was determined that she would make his victory as difficult for him as possible.  As he moved toward her she stepped back, retreating to the furthest extent that the ropes holding her would allow. 

 

“Not so brave now, are you?” Torgon sneered.  He lunged forward, arms outstretched to engulf her and ran straight into Shailaja’s bunched fists.  If it had been any normal man the blow would have knocked him off his feet.  As it was Torgon staggered backward, his hands flying to his face. 

 

Blood spurted from between his fingers.  “You bitch, you broge by dose,” he screamed.  “You’ll pay for this.”

 

He lowered his hands from his face, ignoring the blood spurting from his nose.  He came at her again, but this time in spite of his rage he moved more slowly, taking advantage of the fact that Shailaja’s mobility was limited.  This time there was no surprising him and as she struck at him he caught hold of her wrist and using his superior strength forced her to her knees and then heaved his bulk on top of her.

 

His huge weight crushed her to the ground, almost knocking the wind out of her, and he rose above her one hand on each of her wrists and his legs straddling her thighs.  She tried to bring up her knee to hit him where it would do the most good, but the tether on her ankle prevented full movement.  Instead he shifted his weight, placing his knee between her thighs and forcing her legs apart.  Then he brought his other knee next to the first and forced his way between her thighs.

 

Shailaja heaved with all her strength, but she might as well have been trying to move a mountain.  Torgon learned forward, pinning her wrists with his hands.  His bleeding nose splattered blood over her face and breasts, and she writhed beneath him trying to find some way of escape.  But he had where he wanted her and was quick to take his revenge. 

 

“Now you bitch,” he grunted.  It’s time to pay part of your debt.”  He bent his head, and finding her left breast caught her firm flesh in his teeth on either side of her areola and bit down hard.  Shailaja cried out as his teeth pierced her skin.  For several dozen heartbeats he bit and nipped at her breast before shifting his attention to the other one.  His teeth found her nipple and bit hard enough to draw blood and another cry of pain.  Then tired of that punishment he raised his body and using his full weight pressed against her petals and forced his way into her. 

 

He took her all at once with such strength and power that Shailaja screamed in spite of her attempt to hold back her cry of pain. 

 

With a quick hard thrust he pushed home, exacting full retribution for what she had done to him.  He made not the slightest effort to be gentle, driving deep within her and using his heavy manhood in as painful a manner as possible.

 

“You will tell me what I want,” he gasped.  “And I will take the greatest pleasure in forcing it from you.”  Shailaja’s only reply was another cry of pain as he penetrated her still further; and then further again.  He was deliberately ripping her apart, using his phallus as an instrument of torture while exacting maximum pleasure from his writhing victim.

 

Torgon looked down on the heaving figure of the woman beneath him.  Incredibly she was still trying to fight him even though she must have known that the effort was futile.  Splattered with blood; his blood, she fought to free her arms from his grip and attempted to twist from beneath him.  Her long warrior’s braid had come unravelled and her glorious fiery mane swirled around with each movement of her body.  And her body was moving a good deal as he continued to thrust into her. 

 

Magnificent, he thought.  Any other woman would have been screaming for mercy.  But this one looked upon him with eyes filled with hate and rage.  And there was coldness in that gaze as well; she might be filled with fury; but it was a cold fury; almost as if she would calculating what to do to him if she ever got loose.

 

But she would break and the breaking would be most pleasurable.  He thrust even deeper into her and watched the sweat fly from her body.  Watched as she arched in pain, her wondrous breasts trembling erotically. 

 

He had never seen so perfect a body.  Her breasts were large, but so firm they barely shuddered even as he continued to jam himself deep within her.  She had a warrior’s body; strong with powerful shoulders, muscular arms and legs and a flat hard belly.  But for all that she had a woman’s curves as well.  And as he ravished her his male member was harder than he had ever been before.  It meant a great deal of pleasure for himself and a good deal of suffering and shame for his victim. 

 

He could not have wished for anything better; especially after the way the treacherous bitch had caught him off guard.  He’d never been hit that hard before and the sensation of having his nose broken had shown him the error of taking her too lightly.  He would not make that mistake again, and he would repay her for the insult many times over before he was through with her.

 

Shailaja panted from exhaustion.  Her struggles had succeeded in doing nothing more than giving cruel pleasure to her brutal captor.  She had been used by men before, but this rivalled anything she had ever endured.  Her assailant seemed to have the stamina of a god and the phallus of a bull and she was suffering as badly as she had ever suffered. 

 

She continued to fight. Battling to force him from her loins, but she was fighting a man who weighed double what she did.  He had her arms pinned and he pinned her in another and most painful manner as he penetrated her to the full extent of his thick shaft.  It was an ordeal that seemed endless as he used her repeatedly until with a final grunt he released into her.

 

He left her sprawled on the ground; completely spent, her loins throbbing from their heavy use.  She had been thoroughly beaten and used so completely she did not even have the strength to raise her head.  And worse yet, she had nothing to look forward to except a repeat of what she had already suffered.

 

“I’ve got to escape, she thought.  But how she was to do that she had not the faintest idea.  Torgon had her completely in his power and unless something out of the ordinary occurred she was going to stay that way.  As she lay helpless she sent a silent prayer to Mirana for the strength and courage to survive.  Almost certainly she would need all that she had.

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