Tales of Erogenia: Episode 1

by L'Espion

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 Epilogue
Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Episode 1: The Snow Princess

Chapter 1: The Vow

Zenaria crouched low beneath the snow-laden spruce boughs. She was cold and stiff after more than an hour of waiting, but a single careless movement would send a cascade of snow down her neck and almost certainly reveal her position to the hunters. She was well hidden, her raven wing hair and drab winter clothing blending in well with the shadows of the spruce.

They were very close now, close enough that she could hear their breathing and the crunch of the snow beneath their feet. Just a few steps more and then she would ...

"Ahhh!" The compacted ball of snow struck the base of her skull, sending shards of ice and snow down the back of her neck. It didn't hurt much, but the sudden shock caused her to cry out in surprise and dismay.

"Gotcha! Knew you'd be there. You always hide in the most obvious places. Stupid girl!"

Zenaria leaped furiously from her hiding place, her twelve-year-old face twisted in anger. Facing her was her cousin, Vander, her senior by six moons and someone for whom she had developed an intense dislike.

Vander laughed at her and then made a face, mocking her angry frown. "What's the matter, princess, angry because one of your loyal subjects dared to dump snow down your royal back?

Zenaria's already red face turned a darker shade of crimson as she realized that her reaction was not at all appropriate for one possessed of royal blood. Turning away she picked up the wooden practice spear she had intended to use on her pretend enemies. The incident was over and it might have stayed that way had not Vander's two older brothers chosen that moment to show up.

What's the matter, brother?" Garrod, the older of the two asked. He was nineteen and the eldest. Zenaria knew him as an arrogant lout who lorded it over those he considered his social inferior, which included anyone who could not match his skills as a warrior. Regrettably Garrod was good. Very very good. In fact there had not been a young warrior like him within recent memory. Even the battle-scarred veterans were careful not to challenge him. Fortunately respect for one's elders was something that was deeply ingrained in all members of the Snow Leopard tribe and it was a convention that even Garrod observed.

"The princess just threw a hissy fit because I dared to dump snow down her scrawny neck," Vander sneered. "Now I expect she's going home to her mother."

Zenaria looked around for Preed, the veteran warrior who was in charge of the younger warriors in the training exercise. She desperately wanted a reason to get away from Zander and his brothers. Nothing good could come of being anywhere near them. But Preed was nowhere to be seen.

"Is that so, princess?" Garrod asked. He was careful to use her title, but made the word sound as if he was referring to one of the scavenging dogs that followed the tribe.

"No, it is not so," Zenaria answered. She kept her voice level, conscious of maintaining his dignity this time. "I am looking for Preed, waiting to continue my training."

"You mean looking to hide behind a real warrior?" Garrod sneered, losing little time in joining his brother in mocking Zenaria. Like any bully he was in his element when surrounded by an admiring audience and ridiculing someone he perceived as a soft target. And Zenaria was just that. Bound by her duty to uphold her honour as a Princess of the Snow Leopard tribe, she could not respond without lowering herself to the level of her tormentors. Instead she stepped forward, intending to move away from Garrod and the others.

"Uuhh!" She almost slammed into Garrod's chest as he stepped in front of her. Stepping back she drew herself up to her full five-foot-ten inches, raised her head and fixed her brilliant amber-green eyes on Garrod. "Get out of my way," she commanded.

"Ah, her royal highness speaks," Garrod laughed. "What is the matter, princess are you frightened of my manhood?"

"You have about as much manhood as a gelding," Zenaria retorted, "and about as much courage as a weasel."

It was a mistake and she knew it the moment the words burst from her mouth, especially when he remark was greeted by a gale of laughter by the men and boys who had gathered to watch the confrontation.

"She got you there, Garrod," Vander chortled, pleased to see his older brother discomfited for a change.

"Shut up," Garrod snarled. Then he whirled on Zenaria, his features twisted with rage. "You will soon see my manhood, princess. As soon as you are old enough you will be begging me to put it inside you."

"Neither you nor any man will have me," Zenaria returned. Her comment was foolish in light of the sexually liberal attitudes of her tribe. She might just as well have stated that she was about to cut off her nose to mar her considerable beauty.

Her remark elicited loud guffaws from the surrounding male warriors. "What, princess, are you about to offer yourself as a Moon virgin?" Garrod asked incredulously.

Well might he ask. No member of the Snow Leopard tribe had seen fit to take that drastic step within living memory and Zenaria was not about to do it either. But her next statement only made matters worse. "Only one who can best me in combat may have me," she blurted out.

At that moment a deep voice interrupted. "What is going on here? Why have you abandoned your training?" A tall warrior strode into view. In his mid-forties, the warrior was still an impressive figure, his dark hair tinged with grey, and his face marked with the ritual scars of manhood. All of the young warriors, even Garrod stepped back and eyed him respectfully.

Vander, however, could not resist just one last jibe as he moved behind his older brother. "Princess Zenaria just pledged herself to the Path of the Snow Leopard."

Preed looked at her sharply. "Princess is this true?"

Zenaria shook her head, the action freeing the single braid that bound her hair, sending the midnight tresses whirling about her head. "No," she stammered, "I mean. It was not a pledge I just said..."

"Tell me," Preed interrupted, pointing to one of the younger warriors. He listened and a minute later waved his hand dismissing the now dozen or so warriors that had gathered around Zenaria. "The lesson is over."

"Princess," he said, turning to Zenaria. "You had better come with me."

Zenaria jogged through the knee-deep snow behind Preed. Still farther back she could hear the sniggering of Vander and the occasional forced laugh from Garrod. They were clearly enjoying her discomfiture.

They entered the winding stockade. It was constructed of massive tree trunks set into the earth in a spiral pattern so that anyone entering had to wind his way into the settlement between two parallel wooden walls set about five feet apart. It was just wide enough for the passage of one of the two-wheeled carts the Snow Leopard tribe used as its primary form of transport.

Inside the stockade was an open compound about three hundred feet across. Lining the inner wall were the dwellings of the tribe's inhabitants. Immediately to Zenaria's right was the longhouse where the unmarried male warriors lived. To her right was a similar building where dwelt the female warriors. Father back were houses for those couples who considered themselves lovebonded along with separate shelters for young boys and girls who had left their parents for warrior training, but who were as yet too young to engage in sexual activity. It was in the one housing the maidens that Zenaria dwelt, but for the moment she was not going there. Instead she followed Preed toward one of the few buildings not set against the stockade.

It was the largest building in the compound, and the only one that was more than a single story. Smoke from dozens of hearth fires rose into the air. There were a number of people about, going about their daily routine. Some went to the well for water, while over in one corner a two score warriors went through the repetitive drills that prepared them for war. A cart laden with butchered meat was pushed toward the cookhouse by two young boys and an older girl, and in another corner the hammer of the blacksmith rang cloud and clear in the chill air as he pounded metal.

Zenaria hardly noticed these activities as she followed Preed. He mind was awhirl. Why had she blurted out such a stupid oath? Self-imposed celibacy was the last thing she wanted. She had been quite looking forward to her first sexual experience and had already chosen the lucky young warrior who would do the deed. The very thought made her still immature breasts tingle and created an ache in her loins.

But they were there now, standing in front of the palace, although "palace" might have been too grand a term to describe a wooden structure only three stories high and with a frontage barely thirty yards across. Inside it was a bit more impressive. The grand entry hall was dug ten feet into the ground and large enough to house all of the adult warriors in the settlement. The walls arched into a high vault forty feet about a floor that was planked with carefully sawn and polished boards.

Rising from the floor was a dais where stood two ornately carved wooden thrones. They were both empty now, one permanently so. It had once been occupied by Zenaria's father, Zennar, but he had been killed in an ambush during an expedition into the Urtt lands. The other throne was that of Zenaria's mother, Cirilia, but she sat in it only during a tribal council. Zenaria and Preed walked though the large chamber, crossing to the other side and climbing a stair behind the throne to the second floor. It was on the second floor that the queen of the Snow Leopard tribe had her quarters.

Without hesitation Preed led the way up the stairs to the second floor and entered a short hallway. Just outside the door were two young women. Neither had yet experienced her moon and neither would have been a match for either Preed or Zenaria, but they were all the guard the queen had. Was she not safe in the midst of all her warriors?

The girls looked up. Both had been working skins into lined winter boots and their faces lit up when they saw the two warriors. "Preed, Zenaria," they smiled.

"Good morning, maidens. Is the queen within?"

"Yes, Preed," the girls giggled. Without further comment they stepped aside and pushed on the door. Preed leading and Zenaria following, they stepped into the queen's quarters.

It was a large room, and one that Zenaria knew well. Against one wall was a large wardrobe containing the various items of clothing befitting a queen of the Snow Leopard tribe. Various weapons and animal skins decorated the walls and one wall was given over to a massive stone fireplace, the only one of its kind Zenaria had ever seen. A roaring fire sent waves of heat into the room and the queen and her ladies wore only light articles of clothing.

Queen Cirilia was seated with three other woman of about her age before the fire. Like the two girls in the hall all of the women were occupied with some sort of craft work, although Queen Cirilia's particular effort was fashioning a leather grip for a knife as long as her forearm. She looked up with a brilliant smile as she spotted Zenaria, but it quickly faded when she saw the look on Preed's face.

"What is it, Preed?" she asked getting to her feet. Queen Cirilia was a magnificent woman. She stood six-foot-three and gave some indication of the tremendous beauty Zenaria would one day become. Her gleaming obsidian hair hung to her waist and was unbound, swirling around her hips as she moved. Dressed only in summer attire her taut belly was bare, her narrow waist accentuating large, perfect breasts that swayed gently as she moved. Covered by the softest doeskin, her nipples were clearly visible beneath the brief coving that contained her breasts.

Just twenty seven years of age, her bonding with Zenaria's father had been a love match and neither partner had ever known another. Zenaria was conceived when Cirilia was barely fourteen and then Zennar had been killed. Cirilia had never chosen another lovebond although she had not shunned what had seemed to Zenaria to be an almost endless procession of lovers. The look she had given Preed spoke of more than just a casual acquaintance with the warrior, but just now her gaze was turned toward Zenaria.

"My queen," Preed began, "it appears that your daughter has made a most rash comment." He proceeded to explain what he had learned.

Queen Cirilia turned to Zenaria after Preed had finished. "Is it true, my daughter? Did you indeed promise to take the Path of the Snow Leopard?"

Zenaria stood head bowed. "It was not what I intended," she answered softly. Then she raised her head and looked into her mother's deep blue eyes. "But yes I did."

"Then you have chosen your path," Cirilia replied, "and you must live with it."

Zenaria nodded. Slowly, head still held high, she turned and left her mother's apartments. Inside her mind and body churned with emotion. With one careless outburst she had changed her life forever.

Preed and Cirilia watched her go, then Preed turned to Cirilia. "My queen," he said, saluting with his hand over his heart. He turned to go.

"No Preed," Cirilia said softly. "You stay. Share the warmth."

Preed nodded, a wide smile spreading across his features. "Yes, my queen," he answered.

Chapter 2: The Duel

Zenaria's chest heaved, her breathing ragged, as she fought against the fatigue that threatened to defeat her. Her body was slick with sweat, her palms so damp she could barely grip the hilt of her sword. Her brief costume was soaked through; the doeskin halter that contained her breasts so wet that her nipples clearly showed. Across from her Garrod grinned; his mouth twisting derisively.

"Is this the best the queen's daughter can do?" he sneered. "It is as I have always said; women are not fit for anything other than the warming of a real warrior's bed or the preparing of his meals." He came at her hard as he finished speaking, knocking down her guard and forcing her to fall back across the practice arena. Just a few more steps and she would be pushed outside the bounds of the combat circle and shamed before the entire tribe.

Desperately, she twisted to one side, and turned herself back into the ring. She retreated two more steps, giving herself room to manoeuvre, and she hoped, time to recover. Garrod followed slowly, his contempt for her ability evident in the leisurely manner in which he stalked her.

"Tired, princess?" Garrod taunted. "You look as if you have spent a night in the men's quarters."

Zenaria flicked back a lock of her waist-length hair that had broken free of her fighting braid. Her raven mane was plastered to her head and in spite of the headband she wore, sweat trickled into her eyes. The duel with Garrod had deteriorated into a lesson in swordsmanship with Garrod as the tutor and she as the reluctant pupil. He had driven her around the ring with practiced ease, clearly toying with her, and slowly wearing her down. Her magnificent body was nicked in a dozen places, blood flowing freely from at least one wound.

"Pathetic. To think that you are Queen Cirilia's daughter. You can barely stand. Perhaps you should retreat to the kitchen where you belong."

Zenaria did not respond to the insults. She couldn't; she needed all of her breath to defend against Garrod's superior skills. She cursed the foolish pride that had drawn her into an exhibition of her skills against a proven warrior. She had only just passed her fifteenth birthday. Although she was immensely strong and incredibly fit, Garrod was a full seven years older and weapons master to the queen's guard. He should have been infinitely her superior and he was in the process of proving he was exactly that.

Zenaria attempted to still the trembling in her well-muscled thighs and calves and control the heaving of her chest and belly. She was aware of Garrod's eyes drinking in her tall, athletic body. He had made no secret of his desire to take her to his bed; bragging before all that she secretly desired it as much as he, and that once she was his he would have her with child before a fortnight had passed.

It was this insult that had finally driven her to challenge him in the ring. She could, of course, gone to her mother for the insult to her royal personage. As the queen's eldest daughter she was entitled to a certain respect, but Garrod had reckoned correctly that her pride would not allow her to do that. She was after all, considered the most impressive female warrior the Moon Tribe had produced since her mother the queen.

Enraged by his insults to her honour, she had boldly challenged him to settle their differences in the practice ring. And then she had stupidly gone one step farther. As she struggled to control her breathing she remembered her rash words. "If you wish to bed me then take me in battle." The words once spoken could not be taken back, and now she risked far more than just the humiliation of defeat.

Once again her mouth had placed her in an untenable position. After foolishly choosing to take the Path of the Snow Leopard she had kept her mouth shut. It had not been easy. Garrod and his fellow bullies had taunted her constantly about her forced virginity, but she had managed to ignore them and as she had grown older, do something about many of them. As she had matured, Zenaria had developed into a formidable young warrior. Those that sought to torment her found their actions reworded with painful lessons in the practice ring.

In the two years since the taking of her vow, she had grown into full womanhood. She now stood six-feet-two inches tall and was still growing. Weighing in at an athletic 155 pounds she was well-muscled and perfectly proportioned. She had also filled out remarkably in another area, her once small, pointed breasts now round and full. They swayed within the confines of her brief halter in a never-ending quest to escape.

Her body was the one real advantage she had in the duel. Several times Garrod's eyes were drawn to places where they should not have been and she had come close to ending the fight, but always his experience with the blade saved him. Now he had her where he wanted her; on the run and panting for air. Few impartial observers would have credited her with any chance of winning. In just a few minutes Garrod would break through her guard and then he would have her at his mercy.

Garrod seemed to read her mind. He stepped forward lazily, revelling in his clear superiority, his naked blade held at the ready. "Soon princess you will be mine. Is that why your legs tremble? Do they long to part in order to accommodate my manhood?"

Ordinarily such words would not have been tolerated in the royal presence. But this was a true contest, fought with naked blades. An opponent was allowed to use words to throw an adversary off his or her game and Garrod's steady taunts had decidedly had that effect, drawing her into mad rushes that served to open her to his ripostes and sap her endurance.

The sun beat down on her almost nude body. Her brief halter barely concealed her ripe, young breasts, and a minimalist doeskin breechclout left a good deal of cheek and thigh exposed. It left most of her well-tanned body open to the elements, a situation she had previously never noticed. Now, however, the sun's once benevolent rays leached away her remaining strength. She was at the mercy of her opponent if only he chose to finish her.

Garrod, however, was not inclined to take an easy victory. He wanted to completely humiliate her first; to strip way her youthful pride and reveal her as little more than a feeble woman playing at being a warrior. He circled her, his blade held disdainfully low, daring her to attack, while all the while looking for another opening; another chance to inflict one more painful cut.

The wounds were not serious. They were intended to display Garrod's supremacy and humble his youthful opponent. In addition, they also served to goad Zenaria into rash and uncoordinated attacks that he evaded with ease while at the same time opening her to another painful riposte.

All the while he derided her attempts to do him harm, gibing at her constantly as he evaded her every attack, and belittling her when she stood on the defensive.

"What is the matter, princess; finally met your match?" Garrod jeered, as he slowly circled his panting opponent. "It is one thing to duel with untrained boys, but against a real man you are nothing but a helpless woman." Even without his comments it was painfully clear to all those who watched the contest that he could finish her at any time. Breathlessly the onlookers waited for him to do just that.

Garrod's attempt at ridicule, however, had not entirely served him. It had allowed her time to recover. Her breathing steadied, and she crouched slightly, readying herself for an attack.

Garrod grinned disconcertingly. "I know what you are thinking, my princess. You are thinking that I have let my arrogance get the better of me. Well try me and let's see."

Zenaria had just one trick left. She tried one last attack, using a risky but deadly maneuver; a devastating overhand slash that she twisted in mid arc, bringing it under the opponent's guard with the intention of opening his abdomen. It took tremendous strength and coordination, but it had won her several bouts. She used it against Garrod for the first time.

With a laugh, Garrod tied up her blade, locked it against his guard and sent the sword spinning from her hand. Zenaria watched in horror and mortification as her blade described a lazy arc and then dropped to the sand of the practice ring.

"Well, princess," Garrod said laconically. "Have I proved my point or are you in need of further instruction?"

It was a tone and manner that set Zenaria's teeth on edge, but she was completely at Garrod's mercy. Unarmed, she stood no chance against him, and if she stepped out of the ring she forfeited the challenge. She backed slowly away, glaring defiance but fully cognizant of how hopeless her situation was.

"Stupid bitch." Garrod's blade flicked out more quickly than Zenaria's eye could follow it. She felt a twinge of pain between her breasts and then gasped in shame as Garrod neatly flicked aside the halter binding her breasts. It followed her sword to the sand of the arena, exposing perfect breasts crowned by upturned nipples the colour of burnished copper.

Zenaria made no effort to cover herself. There was little or no prohibition of nudity among members of the Moon Tribe, and tribal members covered themselves only as protection against the elements, or in Zenaria's present case to confine her breasts during strenuous physical activity. Her only shame was in the fact that Garrod's removal of her breast band had humiliated her before her peers.

Garrod stared at her breasts, or more precisely at her perfect upturned nipples. "Like ripe berries," he commented. "It will be most enjoyable to taste them."

Zenaria chanced a quick glance toward her mother. Queen Cirilia's face was carefully blank, but her rigid posture revealed her feelings to Zenaria as clearly as if she had shouted them out. The defeat and complete humiliation of her daughter by a man who wished to exclude women from the warrior class was a blow to one of the great traditions of the Snow Leopard tribe. Garrod's position was a minority one, how could it be otherwise with the great warrior Cirilia as the leader of the tribe? Nevertheless, Zenaria's shame was increased many-fold as she realized that she had strengthened the position of Garrod and others like him.

Her attention returned to Garrod. "I will never surrender to you. I will die first." If there was one man in the tribe to whom she would not submit, it was Garrod. For the past two years he had gone out of his way to humiliate her; ever since it became obvious that the warrior who would eventually supplant him as weapons master was Cirilia's teenaged daughter.

"Your death is not what I desire, princess. The movement of your body beneath mine is. You are mine now, and I do not intend to destroy what will shortly be giving me so much pleasure." As he finished speaking his blade flicked out, neatly slicing through the leather belt that held up the briefest of loincloths.

Zenaria now stood in all her nude glory, open to the admiring glances of all members of the tribe. She did not flinch from their stares, well used by now to the perusal of her strikingly beautiful body. However, the removal of her loincloth was more than just one more insult to her honour. Garrod's blade had revealed what no male had yet been given the pleasure of seeing. Chastity was not something treasured by members of the tribe, but it was the woman's decision to show her readiness to mate. Garrod's removal of her brief garments marked her as a prize of war, to be used any way he chose.

Garrod stepped closer. "You are honour-bound to submit to me. You have been defeated fairly in the arena and are bound by your own words to honour the agreement." The tip of his blade hovered just an inch from her elegant throat.

"Take her right here, Garrod," some lout in the crowd shouted. "Show us all how the royal slut should be treated."

"An interesting idea," Garrod commented. "Would that please your royal highness to be taken in front of the entire tribe? I doubt there is any prohibition of such an act."

As Garrod spoke he looked directly at Queen Cirilia. It was a clear and insulting challenge to her authority, but she was helpless to act. She could not afford to show favouritism to any member of her tribe, even her eldest daughter. Zenaria had gotten herself into the situation and she now had to pay the price for her rash behaviour.

Humiliated before her mother and the others of her tribe, Zenaria stood trembling with rage. Garrod had used her like a pawn in a clever game to not only humble her, but to also undermine the authority of the queen. And she had walked into the trap like a stupid child. "You are filth," she said, her eyes filled with impotent rage as she glared at her sneering victor.

"And you are mine, princess," Garrod gloated. "Your mouth, your tits, your cunt, your ass. All of it. And I intend to use every part of your body. You won't be able to close your legs for days when I am through with you."

Zenaria's vision clouded. Something inside her snapped and she responded in a way no trained warrior is supposed to react. For a brief instant all she saw was Garrod's sneering visage. A red haze blurred her vision and the world around her disappeared. The fact that Garrod held a razor-edged blade just inches from her throat was completely lost on her. And then she was suddenly on top of him, driving her fists again and again into his once smug countenance.

Hands gripped her arms and wrists, dragging her from the semi-conscious form of the arms master. She fought wildly for a few seconds, hurling people from her, and then as suddenly as it had started her rage subsided. Exhausted from her ordeal she fell to her knees and then let her companions lift her up and move her away from her defeated foe.

Later, as the tribal shaman bound the slash in her hand, and attended to her battle wounds, her friends recounted how she had suddenly seized the blade of Garrod's sword, disregarding the blood that spurted from her cut fingers. Ignoring the frantic efforts of the two hundred pound man to break free, she had raised him over her head, and slammed him to the ground.

You have made a deadly enemy, Zenaria," her half-sister, Shalandra said. Not yet in her teens, the young girl had already shown some talent for precognition. Dressed in the robes of a novice priestess of the Snow Leopard, she stood in the doorway of the shaman's hut, the light silhouetting her slender frame. "Garrod is certain to want his revenge. You will have to be careful."

"Why then was I stopped from killing him?" Zenaria asked, raising her amber-green eyes to her sister.

Shalandra did not answer. A slight chill ran down Zenaria's spine. Although Shalandra's gift of second sight was not yet fully developed, and thus prone to error, the prediction seemed ominous. She sighed. Her impetuous nature had only made things worse, and she still had to meet with her mother.

Chapter 3: Cirilia

Seated on her carved oak throne, Cirilia, Queen of the Snow Leopard tribe surveyed her tall, raven-haired warrior daughter. Even allowing for the partiality of a mother she had to admit that she and Zennar had wrought well. There was no denying that her sometimes headstrong daughter was the very epitome of Erogenian womanhood. Over six feet tall, and perfect of limb and feature, she was a vision of the perfect Erogenian female warrior.

She deeply regretted that Zennar had never seen his daughter. She had no doubt he would have been exceedingly proud of her and his absence was certainly one of the defining factors in the development of her daughter's personality. She could not help thinking that if Zennar had been present during Zenaria 's formative years she might have turned out differently. Not that she was entirely disappointed in Zenaria; far from it. Few women could boast of such a daughter. Possessed of a grace and beauty that rivalled that of the gods and stronger than any man, Zenaria did not lack for physical attributes.

Not was she disappointed in her daughter's personality - for the most part. Zenaria was kind, caring, fearless, passionate in all things, and extraordinarily dutiful. She had just one serious character flaw; Zenaria was possessed of a stubborn pride that constantly seemed to get her into trouble.

"Proud like her mother," Cirilia thought. "And like her father." Her loins stirred as her mind flicked back briefly to the night Zenaria had been conceived. It had been during the wild celebration following their victory over the Kavalians. Ah that had been a night! She hadn't had one like it since then, although sometimes her current lover came close. She flicked a glance in the direction of Ergond, her chief male advisor. He smiled slightly and gave her a nod so imperceptible that only she could see it. Tonight then. She took a slow deep breath. In the meantime there was the matter of her daughter.

Zenaria stood straight and tall in front of her. It was not the custom of Erogenians to bow before their queen and Zenaria was least likely of all to bow to anyone. She let her eyes settle on her daughter for a few seconds before speaking. She had found that her steely gaze had the effect of making those who appeared before her listen more carefully.

The situation was a little awkward. This was a formal audience, not a mother-daughter chat. To her left stood Ergond, his golden chain of office, golden armbands, and ceremonial sword of office, making clear that he was there in an official capacity. To her right stood Argonna, Priestess of Snow Leopard; slender in robes of deepest burgundy and radiating an almost unearthly beauty. Cirilia herself was dressed (just barely) in a golden halter-top and a length of golden fabric that depended from her hips and flowed down in front and back, leaving her exquisite thighs and legs open to the waist. Both garments were of the finest Sandakar silk, and by Erogenian standards, the height of modesty.

"Zenaria ," Cirilia began and then stopped. "Daughter," she resumed. "This is as difficult for me as it is for you. You are aware of what you have done."

Zenaria nodded. "I let my pride get the better of me and disgraced myself before the tribe." Although Zenaria's words were repentant, nothing about her demeanour suggested she was in the least bit sorry.

"You did more than that," Cirilia continued. "You broke the nose and knocked out four teeth of my arms master. "Garrod, for all his arrogance will not be easily replaced."

"Replaced?" asked Zenaria , seemingly surprised. "A broken nose and a few missing teeth should not keep him from his duties."

"No, but his spirit quest will," Cirilia replied. "Shaming him in front of the tribe has seriously disturbed the balance in his cha, and he has gone to restore it. How long he will be absent cannot be determined. A spirit quest takes as long as it takes."

"The tribe is better off without him," Zenaria responded. "He constantly spoke against you and the place of women in our society. He was a fool who deserved what he got."

"He was the leader of a misguided, but dangerous faction," Cirilia said, calmly. "And a man I preferred to keep where I could watch him. There is an ancient Erogenian saying: Keep close those who are you friends; keep closer those you fear most. Now that Garrod has absented himself from the tribe there is no way that I am able to keep track of him. No one may accompany a warrior on a spirit quest."

"Then what are we to do?" For the first time Zenaria sounded the faintest bit contrite.

"We?" Cirilia asked. "We do nothing. There is something, however, that you must do."

Cirilia signalled to Argonna with her eyes. The beautiful dark-haired high priestess stepped forward and spoke. "My child. You have upset the balance of your cha. It is for you and you alone to correct that imbalance."

Argonna's melodious voice flowed over Zenaria like water. For the first time in her life she went to her knees in front of the priestess, her head bowed. "And how will I do that? What shall I seek that will restore the balance?"

"That is for you to determine. No one but you can walk your spirit quest. However, I have seen something of your future.; something I think might help."

Zenaria waited expectantly and Argonna continued. "For moons beyond counting the people of the Snow Leopard have had no contact with the ten tribes of Erogenia. I would have you go into the southern lands beyond the Ice Gate and find these lost tribes."

"I will do it," Zenaria replied. "I shall let my spirit quest take me to the lost southern lands. I will restore the cha."

Argonna smiled, her almost beatific features lighting up the audience chamber. "I knew you would, my child. Go with the blessing of the Snow Leopard."

Cirilia got to her feet, signalling that the audience was over. She watched, a wistful expression on her face, as Zenaria, her back straight and proud, strode from the audience chamber. "May the Snow Leopard walk beside you, my daughter," she whispered.

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 noon time she was moving down a trail that wound through more thickly forested lands. The vegetation had changed. Now instead of forests that were almost exclusively evergreen, there were oaks, beeches, and other hardwoods. Zenaria still knew most of them, but here and there were a few species that she did not recognize. Still, she felt quite at home and continued to work her way south for the next two weeks.

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.

Chapter 5: Slave

Zenaria staggered after the female troll. The creature seemed tireless and dragged her forward down forest paths; across roiling mountain streams and stinking swamps; and through thorn-infested thickets. Flies and biting insects swarmed around her attracted by the cuts and abrasions inflicted during her capture by the Urtts. Her bare feet were cut and bruised by sharp stones and every forced step became agony. Finally, just when she thought she would collapse the troll turned off the trail and entered a rocky canyon.

The troll jogged down the canyon for about a hundred yards and then stopped before a large cave opening. She turned her shaggy head and gave Zenaria a fang-toothed grin. "Home," she grunted. An exhausted Zenaria could not reply, only follow meekly as the troll pulled her into the cave.

Inside Zenaria was surprised to see that it was not the dark and gloomy cavern she had expected. Instead light entered the interior, not just from the cave entrance, but from a large hole in the cave ceiling that appeared to have been artificially created. In spite of her confusion and exhaustion Zenaria realized that there might be more to trolls than she had thought.

"You stay there," the female troll ordered, pointing to what appeared to be a pile of leaves and branches against one wall. On closer inspection it resolved itself into a bed and Zenaria was only too glad to sink down upon it. A few seconds later the male troll entered the cavern carrying Zenaria's clothing and weapons. "Why you bring those, Rorrg?" the female troll asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Sell to trader. Buy more goods," Rorrg answered.

The female troll grunted and moved over to another part of the cave. Zenaria saw to her further surprise that the cave was full of modern improvements including a large iron cooking pot, metal traps, and tools for working stone. The latter probably explained the stone shaft that let in light from above.

"When supper?" Rorrg asked. Zenaria shuddered, wondering if she might be part of the menu, but Rorrg did not even look at her. And then she remembered something the female troll had said. Maybe she would be traded. Surely that meant she would not be eaten.

"Soon," the female troll answered. She went to a large chest and pulled out a large sack. To Zenaria's relief it turned out that it contained what looked like dried peas. However, that did not answer the question of what sort of meat might be used and she remained apprehensive until Rorrg moved into an alcove and returned carrying a large haunch of meat. To her further relief she noted that the meat seemed to be venison.

Zenaria knew only a little bit about trolls. The huge beasts were almost unknown in the cold, mountainous regions inhabited by the snow leopard. But it was said that they were creatures of almost unbelievable strength and ferocity and from the way that Garrod and the Urtts had run she could well believe that. It was also said that they preferred human flesh to any other and that they delighted to torturing anyone unlucky enough to fall into their grips. So far Zenaria had not seen any indication of the latter characteristics, but that did not mean it wasn't true. And the female troll had mentioned something about trading or eating her.

"Get water," the female troll ordered, tossing a leather bucket toward Rorrg. The male troll caught it and moved toward another section of the cave where he scooped water from a shallow basin. Zenaria noted that a small spring trickled down the wall of the cave constantly refilling the basin until it overflowed and made its way toward the cave entrance in a tiny stream.

Rorrg returned with the water and kindled a fire beneath the iron pot using flint and steel. He proved quite adept at this and soon had a roaring fire. This was further evidence of Zenaria's ignorance. Up until now she had supposed that trolls ate all of their food raw.

What you look at?" the female troll growled, noting Zenaria's fascination with their activities. "You think we eat you? Might - you look tasty."

"Leave her 'lone, Grettcha," Rorrg said. "She just be frightened."

Grettcha grinned and Zenaria turned deep crimson. Rorrg's comment was all too true. She was frightened, a condition no Erogenian warrior would admit to. However it was part of Zenaria's destiny to discover that there was more to courage than simply not being afraid, although she had no inkling of it at the time. Instead Rorrg's comment ignited a defiant response.

"I fear no one," she shouted. With surprising energy she managed to bound across the cavern to where Rorrg had dumped her gear. Her fingers closed around the hilt of her sword and she drew it forth and turned to face the two trolls. However, with her wrists still bound and her nude body swaying with exhaustion, she hardly presented much of a threat to either troll.

"She even more pretty than before," Rorrg commented. "I like her like that."

"You put eyes back in head," Grettcha warned, "or I put her in soup."

Rorrg laughed, a sound somewhere between that of a lion's roar and the screech of an eagle. He seemed completely unconcerned by Grettcha's threat or Zenaria's defiant stance. He moved toward the Snow Leopard warrior while Grettcha looked on unconcernedly. "Put down poker," he ordered, "or Rorrg punish."

Zenaria remembered that Rorrg's use of the word punish meant rape and she prepared herself for battle. However, her act of rebellion was humiliatingly and quickly crushed. She had not had time to remove the tough rope from her wrists and Rorrg simply reached down, picked up the trailing end of the rope and jerked her halfway across the cavern.

With a cry of surprise and despair Zenaria was pulled right off her feet. Even given the troll's huge size she had not expected such strength, but she had no time to reflect on her mistake as she slammed heavily into the rock floor of the cavern, her sword flying from her hands and clattering loudly against the stone. She lay helpless as her enormous adversary loomed over her.

Fortunately Rorrg was more amused than angry, an attitude that Zenaria found even more mortifying. It was as if the troll was treating her like a naughty child. "You be good," he ordered.

Zenaria did not have much choice but to obey. Without her sword she would have little chance against the troll and being slammed to the rock floor had taken the last of her defiance out of her. She waited, beaten and exhausted for the trolls to decide her fate.

At first that fate did not seem too frightening. For an hour she waited while Grettcha prepared supper, sitting quietly near the crude bed. She noted that Rorrg carefully placed her weapons in another part of the cave out of her immediate line of sight. Then Grettcha lifted a spoon the size of a canoe paddle to her lips and gave a satisfied smack. "MMM," she grunted. Picking up a bowl the size of a washtub she spooned it half full and then placed it in front of Zenaria.

For a few seconds Zenaria looked stupidly at the pea soup then she picked up the oversized spoon Grettcha had stuck into it. In spite of her exhaustion she found she was quite hungry. Tentatively she raised a spoonful to her lips. To her considerable surprise it was quite good, and she took another and then another. Before she knew it the bowl was half empty and she could eat no more.

Grettcha looked at her half-empty bowl disapprovingly. "Skinny human," she chided. She picked up the bowl and set it aside. "Save for breakfast," she added.

Her belly full and with nothing else to do, Zenaria suddenly found she was very tired. Curling up on the crude bed she closed her eyes and was almost instantly asleep. She stayed that way until the next morning.

When she awoke Rorrg was gone, but Grettcha was more than enough to prevent her from escaping. Besides, her every movement was so agonizing that she could barely make her way to the section of the cave that Grettcha indicated was for relieving herself. It was a small trench through which flowed a stream of water. There was also another of the basins carved into the side of the cavern wall. Into it trickled a thin stream of water that kept it filled to the brim. Zenaria supposed that this was some sort of wash basin and took advantage of the opportunity to wipe the sweat, grime, and blood from her body. Then she returned to bed. Waiting for her was the cold bowl of pea soup she had not finished the night before. She stared at it for a second and then spooned half of it down, setting the rest aside for later. So far the trolls had treated her well or at least well compared to what she had expected. But she was still a captive and entirely at their mercy. She could not expect that such benign treatment would continue.

The day passed in total boredom, but it was a day that Zenaria needed to help her recover from her ordeal. Her body was covered in scratches, bruises and abrasions and she hurt all over. For the most part she simply lay on the crude bed and rested. Sometime after noon she ate the rest of the pea soup and then rested some more. All the time, Grettcha sat a few feet away keeping her eyes on her. The troll was not one for conversation and Zenaria could think of nothing to discuss with a troll in any case, so she waited and watched and tried to think of some way to escape.

As it turned out she could not think of anything that first day or the next or the next. Grettcha was never more than a few feet away and other than preparing meals she seemed quite content to sit and watch Zenaria. For the Snow Leopard maiden, however, the hours seemed to pass as slowly as the flow of maple sap during a cold spring. Finally in the afternoon of the second day she got to her feet and began to move through the ritual exercises of a Snow Leopard warrior.

These consisted of a series of moves simulating both unarmed and armed combat and there were literally hundreds of patterns and variations on the exercises. Although Grettcha's eyes widened, she made no effort to stop Zenaria, but instead looked on interestedly while Zenaria refreshed her training.

The athletic activity helped to pass the time and left Zenaria tired enough at the end of each day that she slept well. However, during the three days Rorrg was absent she found no opportunity to escape. Grettcha might be lacking in imagination and perhaps intelligence, but she was an excellent guard. At no time did she move farther than twenty feet from Zenaria and always she remained watchful. Zenaria might have chanced making a run for it, but she had seen how quickly Grettcha could move when she had been dragged behind the troll when she was first captured. She had no doubt that Grettcha could run her down without difficulty. As a result, she remained a captive until the day that Rorrg returned.

When the male troll returned he had someone with him. Or rather, several someones. Zenaria had never seen anything like them, which is not too surprising, considering that prior to her spirit quest she had never been more that a half day's walk from her stockade.

There were five human males, but they were quite different from the men she was used to. Not only were their skins very dark, but had they been members of the Snow Leopard tribe they would have been regarded as runts. Not one of them came up to Zenaria's chin even though from their facial hair they were obviously adults. The beards were another difference. In spite of their reputation as barbarians Snow Leopard males were clean shaven. It was partly a matter of vanity and partly practical. In melee combat beards could be grabbed by an opponent.

The strangers were also dressed most peculiarly, wearing long robes that reached from their shoulders to their feet. It seemed to Zenaria that they were heavily overdressed, especially considering the warm summer weather.

For an instant hope surged through her. Surely the presence of other humans meant that she would be saved from the trolls, but that hope died almost instantly when she noted the way that they looked at her. It was as if she was being examined like some item at a market and for the first time in her life Zenaria was conscious of her nudity.

"Uhh," grunted Rorrg. "Here be pretty female. She good for trade, yes?"

One of the men stepped forward, stroking his beard. Zenaria assumed he was the leader. The way he looked at her would have invited a beheading had he done it when Zenaria had a sword in her hand. Either that or she would have considered asking him to bed her provided she had not taken her vow. But she was given neither option. Rorrg's comment struck home. She was going to be traded.

"Well," the man replied, "she might be of some value. How much do you want?"

At that point Grettcha took over. She might not have been much of a conversationalist, but she was very good at bartering. "We want salt, much salt. Ten barrels. And new iron pot. And copper wire. And more peas. And..."

Grettcha's list of demands went on for quite some time, but the dark-skinned trader appeared to have done this before. He made a return offer less than a quarter of what Grettcha had asked and seemed quite unperturbed at Grettcha's outraged threats to put him in her next stew.

"Why, Grettcha," he responded. "If you did then wherever would you get your next cooking pot when that one wears out?"

Throughout all the demands and offers Zenaria watched, her sense of outrage growing within her until finally she exploded. "What is this?" she screamed. "How dare you discuss me as if I were no more than a piece of meat or chunk of iron to be bartered away? I am a princess of the Snow Leopard tribe. I will not be treated this way."

Her outburst did not have the desired effect. Instead it completely backfired on her.

"Princess?" Grettcha asked. "Then she be worth even more."

The dark-skinned trader flashed Zenaria a look of pure hatred. And his face got even darker when Grettcha listed her demands all over again, but this time doubling each previous item.

Appalled and annoyed that her outburst had resulted in the opposite of what she desired; Zenaria turned her back and sat down. She stayed that was until the bargaining was over.

"Get up, princess." It was the trader. He stood just a few feet away, holding the rope that bound her wrists in his hand. Behind him were his four henchmen and the two trolls. It was apparent that she had little choice but to comply with his demand.

As she stood he motioned two of his henchmen forward. They took her arms and attempted to move her forward. Angrily, Zenaria shook them off, her powerful arms pushing them easily away from her.

"Yes," the trader commented. "It is apparent that she has spirit. I would expect no less from a barbarian princess. She will have to be tamed." He nodded to the two trolls and the huge creatures stepped forward.

The trolls were something that Zenaria could not resist, at least not without some sort of weapon. They took her arms and lifter her from the floor of the cavern and carried her to where the trader indicated.

At first Zenaria was confused. She had expected the trolls to escort her from the cavern. Instead they moved her closer to the fire. Then suddenly she understood what they were going to do.

"No!" she cried. She strained with every muscle to break away, but she was like a babe in arms in the hands of the trolls. They carried her kicking and struggling to a large stone next to the fire. Once there they held her face down over the stone while one of the dark-skinned men bent an iron band around her neck. All of her strength was not enough to prevent him from doing it, nor was she able to break away while an iron rivet was heated red hot in the fire and pounded through each end of the iron band, creating an iron collar around her neck.

The touch of the iron on her neck was like a death sentence. Hope left her, temporarily robbing her of her strength to resist. She lay still as two more bands of iron were secured about each of her wrists. Only then was she allowed to stand.

She stood dazed, her arms slightly raised. She had little choice. Heavy iron chains connected her wrists to the collar around her neck, preventing freedom of movement. Even if she had held a sword in her hand she would not have been able to swing it. She was completely at the mercy of the dark-skinned men who had bought her. The iron around her neck and wrists weighed her down. It was an oppressive weight that seemed far heavier than it really was. It completely robbed her of her will to resist. She stood fighting to control her trembling waiting to see what was going to happen next.

Her bondage complete Rorrg appeared with her clothing. With her arms so positioned she was unable to dress herself and had to suffer the further humiliation of letting one of the men dress her. He took full advantage of the opportunity, allowing his hands to linger on her belly and breasts as he arranged her minimalist costume.

"That will be enough, Adul," the trader said. "She is not yours to touch. That will be reserved for the man who buys her." He picked up a length of chain that was connected to the iron collar and with a tug directed Zenaria toward the cavern entrance.

Outside were a number of pack mules. Zenaria was familiar with them even though the tribe of the Snow Leopard made little use of beasts of burden. The cold climate was not conducive to keeping donkeys, mules, or horses through the long cold winter when fodder was not available. But she had seen southern traders using them during the summer months when they came to exchange their goods for the fine furs and high quality amber the Snow Leopard tribe harvested from its northern wilderness.

The two trolls followed and Zenaria watched as they unloaded the goods that the trader had promised them. As they carried them into the cave the trader approached her.

"A barbarian princess," he said. "I have long sought such a find, and now I have one."

Zenaria opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She stood gaping while the trader walked around her in a circle, inspecting her as he would a prize horse. Finally he stopped in front of her.

"And I am Gazari ven Raban, Thuski in the empire of Sandak" the dark-skinned trader said. "I am now your master. Your foolish outbursts have already cost me far more than I bargained for. From now on you will speak only when spoken to. Were you not so valuable to me I would have you whipped for your insolence. But do not try my patience. I will get you to Sandak one way or the other. If it means that I have to remove some of your skin from your body I will. Now shut up and do as you are told."

If ven Raban's speech had been intended to finish her complete subjugation it worked. She bowed her head and tried to hold back the tears that threatened to destroy her warrior image. She had no idea what the title "thuski" meant, but something in the way ven Raban spoke sent chills down her spine; that and the way he looked at her. Suddenly Zenaria wished she were more fully clothed. It was a strange feeling for a member of a society in which the human body was something to be displayed rather than hidden.

The name Sandak also sobered her. Never before had she encountered any of the people of that far away empire. But she knew its reputation. It was a place where human life was held so cheaply that the vice of slavery was practiced as a part of everyday life. It was said that anyone who was unfortunate enough to fall into the hands or a Sandakar slaver was never seen again. It was a thought that filled her with quiet desperation. Surely her spirit quest could not end with a life of slavery. Somehow she had to escape

Escape, however, was not possible, and bad as things were they were nothing compared to what awaited her. Ven Raban and his men mounted their horses and set out. Zenaria was placed at the end of the column, behind the last mule, the chain around her neck attached to the harness of the mule. It was a deliberate attempt to further break her spirit and it almost worked. Staggering forward behind the mule, Zenaria was forced to walk in the dust at the end of the column, her feet frequently encountering manure dropped by the animals in front of her.

By the end of the day she was once again reduced to a state of utter exhaustion. Covered with dust and sweat and desperate for water she staggered in the woodland glade Ven Raban had chosen to set up camp. But even here she was afforded little respite. Falling to her knees in exhaustion she was immediately ordered to stand by her Sandakar master.

"I gave you no leave to rest, slave," Ven Raban shouted. "You will stand until I permit you to sit."

Zenaria lurched to her feet, swaying from fatigue. But whatever Ven Raban's intention, it had the opposite effect. "I will not let him break me," she thought. "I swear to the gods that I will die before I surrender my will to such scum."

Ven Raban let her stand until the camp was set up. Only then did he let her go to the small stream that flowed beside the campsite to slake her thirst and wash some of the day's grime from her body.

She did not expect Ven Raban to feed her, but to her surprise one of his henchmen brought her a steaming bowl of food. It was not what she was used to, as a matter of fact Zenaria did not recognize what was in the bowl, but it was the same as what was served to everyone else. In any case she was too hungry to care. Ignoring the burning spices that flavoured the food, she wolfed it down using her fingers as fast as the chains confining her wrists would allow.

Sleep came quickly. In spite of the horror of her situation she was too tired to stay awake and think about escape. Nevertheless, she noted as she nodded off that one of the slavers was assigned to watch her.

She awoke before dawn. She had to. Ven Raban kicked her awake and ordered her to her feet. "Get up, princess. You will get no royal treatment here."

Zenaria wanted to tell him that royal treatment among the Snow Leopard tribe meant training twice as hard as anyone else, but bit back her reply. As hard as it was she had to hold her temper. Ven Raban was now the master of the situation. Encouraging him to punish her would not do her the least bit of good.

They got away from camp quickly. For the first time Zenaria noted the direction they were moving and it puzzled her. They should have been moving south toward Sandak, but instead were moving east and deeper into Erogenia. Ven Raban was either lost or he had some other motive. A few hours later Zenaria learned what it was.

It was near mid-morning when the small column crested a hill. Before them was an opening in the trees and she saw that there seemed to be some sort of fort in the middle of the clearing. It seemed strange that anyone would build a fort in the middle of a thick forest, but the reason soon became clear as they approached.

"It's not a fort," Zenaria thought. "It's a prison."

It wasn't much of a prison either, but it was strong enough to house the twenty or thirty wretched prisoners behind its crude bars. Sudden realization swept over Zenaria. It should have been obvious. Ven Raban was a slave trader. He wouldn't be in Erogenia just for a single captive. Zenaria was simply one more of many.

Ven Raban used the occasion to call a short halt. It was a welcome rest for Zenaria, but it was not the reason he had stopped. Zenaria's life as a slave was about to get much worse.

One by one the prisoners in the slave compound were brought out and attached to one another by chains identical to the one she wore about her neck. All of the slaves were young men and women, warriors all, although Zenaria had no idea what tribe they were from. Most were in the same condition she was, dirty, thirsty, and in a state of semi-exhaustion. One after the other they were added to the line of chained slaves until they stretched out in a long row, twenty seven in all. And then Ven Raban gave the order to march.

The column moved much more slowly now, many of the slaves stumbling as they were directed down the path. Ven Raban's band of slavers now numbered ten and they patrolled either side of the line. Zenaria found out the hard way that they were not just there to prevent escape.

Zenaria was chained in the middle of the column, no doubt to make it even more difficult for her to escape. While climbing a hill she stumbled, almost taking down the girl in front of her and the man behind. There was an immediate pain between her shoulder blades. "Get up you Erogenian bitch," yelled the slaver who had struck her. "Get up or I'll take all the skin off your back."

Zenaria struggled to her feet and forged ahead. Both ahead and behind her she could hear the crack of whips as the slavers drove on those who lagged or stumbled. Deliberately deprived of water and half starved, none of the other slaves were in nearly as good condition as Zenaria. The whips cracked more and more often as the nightmarish procession continued; and then it began to rain.

At first Zenaria and the other prisoners welcomed the rain. It allowed them to slake their thirst while they moved and cooled their sweating bodies, but it also turned the crude trail into a bog. Footing, especially on slopes, became treacherous, and the marchers slipped and fell more frequently. But there was no stopping or slowing down. If anything it seemed that Ven Raban urged the slaves on faster. And after awhile the rain no longer soothed the slaves' overheated bodies. Instead it chilled to the bone. Wet and exhausted the slaves were driven on, the whips falling more and more frequently as they stumbled from fatigue. Only when early evening approached did they finally halt.

Almost too weary to think, Zenaria huddled on the ground. She was covered in mud and colder and more miserable than she could have imagined. That place where Ben Raban had chosen to stop offered little shelter and in any case the slavers had only enough tents for themselves. Without fire there was no hot meal. The slavers dolled out handfuls of some sort of grain which the wretched slaves chewed on. They also ordered the slaves to crowd together for warmth. Zenaria pressed her body as close to those around her as she could and tried to ignore the rain. Huddled together in misery with the other prisoners Zenaria reflected that she had carried out part of her quest. She had made contact with other Erogenians, but not in the way that she had imagined. In spite of her exhaustion she got very little sleep that night.

The rain ended sometime before morning, but it was a wretched bunch of slaves that were forced to their feet. Ven Raban seemed to think that the best cure for their shivering bodies was to force them into a quick march and he might have been right, but forcing half-starved and exhausted captives to move at all proved almost impossible. Right from the start the slavers had to use the whip and before long blood streamed from the back of every captive. It soon became obvious that without proper rest none of the slaves would survive the day. Reluctantly Ven Raban called a halt. Cursing with frustration he ordered that the slaves be properly fed and rested. As a result the column did not get underway until early noon.

Zenaria could understand Ven Raban's desire for speed. They were deep within Erogenia and almost certainly the slaver's depredations would have been noted by now. The slavers had to escape before Erogenian pursuers caught up with them.

They marched until dusk in an attempt to make up for the late start, but in spite of ruthless application of the whip, the column made poor time. It became obvious even to Ven Rabin that if any of the slaves were to survive they needed at least one day of rest and he gave it too them.

The extra day seemed to work. Rested, the captives made much better time, and Ven Raban seemed to relax. He seemed to think that he had outdistanced any pursuit, a belief made obvious by the fact that he ordered his men not to drive the slaves as hard. As a result, the column slowed down, but it probably saved the lives of most of the captives.

For two weeks they marched before finally reaching a river. It was two weeks of humiliation and torment. Each day the slaves were marched until Zenaria's feet bled. Her deerskin boots had long since worn through and she had been forced to wrap pieces of her brief costume around her feet. When these also were worn away she went barefoot. She was not alone; the other prisoners were treated no better and most of them were limping at the end of each day.

Kept short of water, most were close to collapse by the time Ven Raban decided it was time to set up camp. At first Zenaria wondered at the brutal treatment, but it didn't take her long to understand. Although chained and unarmed, the twenty-seven young men and women were all Erogenian warriors. Each was capable of killing an opponent with his or her bare hands. With less than a dozen slavers to control them, keeping the captives half crippled and in a perpetual state of exhaustion was a simple method of making sure that they gave as little trouble as possible. It was an effective method. Coupled with the chain connecting each slave to the other there was not a single escape attempt during the long march.

As the demoralized captives stopped at the edge of the river Ven Raban rode his horse along the column and pointed to the other side. "Sandak," he shouted. "Sandak, and in a few days the slave market."

If Ven Raban had intended his remark to further dishearten his prisoners it had the opposite effect on Zenaria. Refusing to look in the direct Ven Raban pointed, she fixed her burning gaze on him. "You will die," she muttered. "You will die if it is the last thing I do."

Chapter 6: Tren

It took almost an entire day to get the twenty-seven slaves, the horses, and pack mules across the river. The small raft that served as a ferry could hold no more than two horses at a time and for reasons of security Ven Rabon would allow no more than two prisoners to be transported together. The process of removing them from the others and then rechaining them on the other side was most time consuming. Fortunately, the local ferryman was most obliging. It appeared that this was not the first time he had transported slaves and he was careful to get his fee each time.

Once across the river the march resumed. For the first day the column followed the course of the river, but then Ven Raban turned inland and the course of the march changed once again. The farther the column got from the river the drier the landscape became. At first it was almost imperceptible, but by the middle of the fourth day Zenaria realized that there were no longer any trees along the line of march. Stretching ahead of them was a vast grassland that went on for as far as the eye could see.

Zenaria had never imagined a land without trees, and for the first time she began to fear that Ven Raban might actually succeed in getting her to the slave market. The flatter landscape made the going easier and even in their weakened condition the slaves made better time, covering as many as fifteen miles in a day. At that pace it seemed almost certain that in just a week or so they would reach their destination. But then fate intervened in a most unexpected fashion.

It happened during the early evening of the ninth day since the river crossing. The prisoners were huddled in the centre of the camp, flanked by Ven Raban's men. Most of the slaves were asleep or nearly so, but it just so happened that Zenaria was wide awake. There was no specific reason why she should have been so alert. Normally she would have been just as tired as the other captives, but on this particular night her eyes refused to close. Her senses tingled, reminding her of the time she had brought down her first deer. As a result she was in a perfect position to see the slaver nearest her go down with an arrow in his throat.

It was a perfect shot. The slaver collapsed without making a sound. It was for that reason that no one noticed him until his body actually hit the ground. It was then that a second arrow came out of the darkness, taking down a second man. This one made considerably more fuss, but it didn't save still a third slaver from taking an arrow. Then pandemonium exploded through the camp. The remaining slavers ran wildly in all directions. Some headed to the far side of the camp, away from the place where the arrows came from. Others drew their swords and ran toward the mystery attackers. A few dropped to the ground and one even hid among the tethered slaves.

Ven Raban stood in the middle of the camp shouting orders. He was only five feet away from Zenaria. Without thinking she rose to her feet and dragging several other captives with her charged toward the thuski. She now knew that the word meant chief, but she wasn't thinking of that, as a matter of fact she wasn't really thinking at all or she would have realized that attempting to attack someone while dragging four or five people with her was almost impossible. Almost impossible. Somehow in the confusion she managed to get to within two feet of the slaver chieftain. It was close enough. The chains that connected her wrists to the iron collar around her neck were just long enough. She encircled Ven Raban's neck with a length of chain and dragged him toward her. The Sandakar made a gurgling sound as his breath was cut off. He kicked wildly as Zenaria's muscles tensed and there was an ugly crunch as the slaver's windpipe was crushed.

"I said I'd get you," Zenaria growled. Releasing the dead man she got to her feet and looked around for someone else to kill, but she needn't have bothered. Two more slavers with down, transfixed by arrows. Another had been savaged by the slaves, emulating Zenaria, and the others were nowhere to be seen. They had fled the camp into the night.

There was considerable tumult and some rejoicing among the slaves, until they realized that they were still chained together and had no way of breaking the chains. That quieted them down a little and they got even quieter when a dark-clad figure stepped out of the darkness.

Zenaria had little problem identifying him as the mystery attacker. He was carrying a short curved bow and slung over his shoulder was a quiver of arrows. Belted around his waist were two swords in lacquered black scabbards. What was just as interesting was his stature. He was even shorter than the Sandakar and would barely have come up to Zenaria's shoulder.

He was dressed in a loose-fitting garment of black cloth that covered him from head to toe allowing only his eyes to be seen. However, after coming to a halt in front of them he pushed back his hood and revealed his face. He was certainly not an Erogenian. His features were far too dark for that, although not as dark as the Sandakar, but it was his dark eyes that caught everyone's attention. They were slanted, resembling the nuts called almonds that a trader had brought to the Snow Leopard stockade. Zenaria was reminded of the Juree's eyes although the big leopard's eyes were yellow rather than brown. The overall effect was not displeasing. Zenaria would not have called him handsome; he was too different for that, but he certainly was interesting and in spite of his short stature he had a commanding presence. This was further emphasized when he spoke.

He voice was deep and well modulated, and his message went right to the point. "You're free. Now let's see if I can get you out of those chains."

It took a few seconds for the information to sink in. One minute the twenty-seven Erogenian warriors had been prisoners. Now they were about to receive their freedom. But Erogenians were nothing if not resilient. One of the older warriors, a woman called Toloria got to her feet. "Who are you and why did you save us?" In spite of the strange warrior's promise to free them, her voice held a trace of suspicion. It was obvious that Erogenia's long history of being threatened by its purportedly more civilized neighbours had left her suspicious of any stranger, even her supposed rescuer.

"I am Tren Ja Nyen, and you have nothing to fear from me. My motives are my own, but rest assured I have no love for the Sandakar." Without waiting for a reaction he turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. He returned a few seconds later carrying a small anvil and a hammer and chisel.

Zenaria's brilliant eyes narrowed. What was her mysterious rescuer doing with the tools needed to break her shackles and those of her fellow Erogenians? It seemed there was much more to Tren Ja Nyen than he was revealing.

Toloria was the first of the Erogenian warriors released. After that it was a matter of each warrior waiting his or her turn. Once freed the warriors explored the goods Ven Raban's band had been transporting. It took them only a few minutes to find something worthwhile.

"I thought so," Toloria said, brandishing a sword. "The Sandakar scum kept all of our weapons."

Her observation proved true. As the warriors were freed they retrieved their weapons and other possessions. It appeared that the slavers had kept the warriors' gear with the intention of selling it.

Zenaria's turn came at last. The almond-eyed warrior looked at her curiously when he noted that she was chained not just by the neck but by the wrists as well. However, other than a slight narrowing of his eyes he said nothing but simply motioned for her to place her head on the anvil. A practiced blow cut through the rivet of her collar and two more removed the iron bands from her wrists. Zenaria felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her and she swayed unsteadily.

Her rescuer reached out a hand to steady her. "Are you alright?" he asked as he caught her arm.

"I'm fine," Zenaria replied, pulling her arm away from Tren's grasp. She was ashamed to have shown such weakness in front of a total stranger and especially one much smaller than her.

Tren nodded and then turned away. He seemed completely unperturbed by Zenaria's ungracious response. He moved toward the other Erogenians, who having found their weapons were milling about in some disorder. "There is food enough to last you until you reach the river. I suggest you rest for a day or so and then start back."

"Who elected you captain?" Toloria asked. Her tone of voice indicated that she was somewhat irked at Tren's assumption of authority.

"No one," Tren replied without rancour. "You seem to be the leader. Perhaps you should give the orders." Without further comment he turned and walked away. A slight smile flickered across his face.

"What was that about?" Zenaria asked. "Toloria is no more our leader than you are."

"I know," Tren answered. "Eventually they will sort that out and do what I suggested. Like most Erogenians they like to think that they are in charge."

Events proved him right. Within a remarkably short time the warriors had elected Toloria as their temporary leader. Since most of the ex-captives were from the same tribe as she was that was acceptable to most of them. The reminder decided to tolerate her until they were across the river and left the main party to return to their own tribes.

As it turned out, the Erogenian warriors followed Tren's advice almost exactly, resting for two days and fashioning suitable footwear for the return trek. There were not enough horses for all of them and there was some arguing about that until Tren suggested they share out the horses by taking it in turns riding them. After some discussion his suggestion was followed and the group of warriors set out in the direction they had come, taking most of the slavers' goods with them.

All except Zenaria. As Tren watched the Erogenians move off she made no move to join them an action that caused Tren to raise one eyebrow. He said nothing, but she explained anyway.

"They are not of my tribe. I am not yet finished my quest. I will stay with you."

Tren regarded her impassively, but his words were not at all inviting. "I hunt alone. I desire no company."

Zenaria drew herself up to her full height. "I am a princess of the Snow Leopard tribe. I go where I wish. If my course takes me in the same direction as you then you cannot stop me."

"Suit yourself, princess," Tren replied. "But I go on horseback. If you can keep up with a horse then you may come with me."

With that the mysterious, dark-robed warrior, leaped into his saddle and without waiting for a reply spurred his mount into a gallop. Within a minute he was little more than a dot in the sea of grass.

Zenaria watched him go, her face calm. Then with a slight smile on her face she broke into a jog, her long legs carrying her swiftly after the departing warrior. She knew little about horses, but doubted that they could be galloped all day. She on the other hand, was quite capable of maintaining her ground-devouring pace for hours.

Tren's trail was easy to follow. Even when a slight rise in the ground obscured her view of him she had no trouble following his track. The two day rest had restored her strength and stamina and the flat ground made running easy. An hour after Tren had ridden off she caught sight on him again. She smiled again. Let him see if he could escape her.

She was no longer dressed in the traditional deerskin of a Snow Leopard warrior. That costume was long gone. But she had salvaged Ven Raban's boots and modified them enough to fit her and had also taken his robe and weapons' harness.

She felt no guilt about robbing a dead man. After all she had killed him and in her mind the victor had a right to the spoils. From his robe and other garments she had fashioned a cloak to protect her against rain and cold and had also cut a short skirt and halter. In typical Erogenian fashion she saw no need to cover her tanned body unnecessarily. In her mind clothing simply hampered her movements and she was somewhat bemused at the amount of clothing Tren wore. To her it seemed that he would be most hot and uncomfortable and she had difficulty understanding why he would hide so much of his body. Nevertheless, she was determined to follow him. Something in her told him that he was now part of her spirit quest and she was not about to let him get away.

She caught up with him just after noon. He was squatting on the ground beside his horse and chewing on a piece of dried meat. Without comment he tore off a chunk and tossed it in her direction as she came jogging up.

Zenaria caught the offering and sitting cross-legged on the ground proceeded to rip apart the tough meat with her strong white teeth.

"So," Tren commented as he offered her another chunk of meat, "it seems that you can keep up with me. Alright, you may come with me, but if you falter I will not wait for you. And you should be warned; where I go there is great danger."

"And where do you go?" Zenaria asked.

"There," Tren answered, gesturing toward a point on the distant horizon.

Zenaria squinted, but could make out nothing. "And what is there?"

"The Sandakar have something I want. I intend to get it back."

That was all the explanation Zenaria got and she did not ask for more. Completing his simple meal, and taking a swig of water from his waterskin, Tren counted his horse and set off at a walk, Zenaria following.

They journeyed until dusk, when Tren finally stopped and set up his simple camp. During the entire afternoon neither he nor Zenaria had spoken a word, and although she was burning to know more about him she kept her silence.

Surprisingly, it was Tren who was the first to speak. Upon completing a meal of the same spicy food she had been served by the slavers he turned toward her. "You spoke of a quest. What is it?"

Zenaria explained, recounting some of her adventures, but not all. She could see no reason why she should tell Tren of the humiliation she had suffered at the hands of Garrod and the trolls, instead simply stating that she had been captured by the slavers and leaving it at that. She could tell that Tren knew she was holding something back, but he made no comment, and now it was her turn to ask a question.

"And what did the Sandakar take from you that you pursue them?"

Tren hesitated and then with look that spoke of intense hatred answered. "My sister."

Tren's answer ended the conversation. Without another word he rolled himself into his sleeping blanket and turned away. Zenaria sat for a few seconds digesting his words and then followed suit.

The next day they breakfasted and continued in the direction they had been traveling. As Zenaria trotted alongside Tren spoke to her. "I know that Erogenians think nothing of baring their bodies beyond the point of decency, but you might find it wiser if you covered yourself. The place where I am going is not kind to those who are not properly attired."

Zenaria bristled at Tren's comment. "It is you who are strangely dressed. Like the Sandakar you smother yourself in unnecessary coverings. It allows for no freedom of movement and is a disadvantage in battle."

"Suit yourself, princess. But before long you will see that I am right and you are wrong." With a light flick of the rein he urged his horse ahead, indicating that the conversation was at an end. Zenaria did not attempt to catch up but maintained her pace several yards behind. She was somewhat annoyed at his criticism. She would see who was right. Sooner or later the summer heat would force Tren to remove his unsuitable clothing.

For the next hour or so they journeyed in silence. The sea of grass seemed endless, but as Zenaria discovered, it was not empty.

Tren spotted them first. His position on horseback gave him a height advantage and he could see farther. "Ready yourself," he said, taking his short curved bow from his saddle and stringing it.

Zenaria readied her own bow and then caught sight of what Tren had already seen.

At first she could not quite make them out and then the images outlined against the sky resolved themselves into a flock of birds. But they were like no birds Zenaria had ever seen.

First of all, they stood almost twice her height and were clearly flightless. That was just as well. They would have been formidable indeed if they had been able to get their bulk off the ground. Powerful legs propelled them across the ground at a speed greater than that of any horse. Above a large golden-feathered body a long sinuous neck supported a head filled with razor teeth.

"What are they?" Zenaria murmured, her eyes taking in every deadly detail of the approaching predators. She now saw that in addition to the strange toothed beak a wicked hooked claw protruded from the back of each of their ankles.

"They are called moaan," Tren answered and they will come at us from two directions. Although birds, they are not without intelligence and are deadly hunters."

That last point did not have to be explained to Zenaria. Even the trolls seemed tame compared to the huge avians. There were six of them and as Tren had foretold they spread out into a long thin line as they approached and then split into two groups.

"Take the right," Tren ordered, "and be prepared to use that sword."

Zenaria growled under her breath at Tren's tone of voice. How dare he order her around? However, this seemed like a poor time to argue the point. She nocked an arrow to her bowstring and drew it slowly back.

The three moaan on the right had now swung around them in a wide arc as had the three on Tren's side. The birds emitted high-pitched shrieks as they moved, perhaps intended to frighten their prey or perhaps some sort of communication. Whatever it was the attack seemed coordinated, indicating a disturbing level of intelligence.

Zenaria waited patiently for the moaan to move within range. Her powerful bow could launch an arrow a good three hundreds yards, but the moaan were moving too quickly for her to be sure of hitting one at such a distance. Years of hunting in the forests of the snow leopard had ingrained in her the ability to wait until the precise moment her target presented itself before releasing her arrow. That moment came when the moaan stopped their flanking movement and came directly at her.

Zenaria released her arrow. With a twang and a thunk the yard long shaft left the bowstring and buried itself to the flights in chest of the charging moaan. The charging predator staggered, letting out a horrendous shriek as the arrow found its mark. Its forward momentum kept it moving for another two strides and then it somersaulted forward, flipping head over heels. But Zenaria was already releasing her second arrow. This one also hit its target, but not where she had hoped. The charging moaan ducked forward, its neck outstretched as it bounded across the space separating it from its intended prey. Instead of striking the predator's chest the arrow entered its gaping mouth, piercing its skull and jutting a foot out the other side of its head.

Unfortunately, the arrow failed to find the moaan's tiny brain and it hardly faltered in its stride. The beast and the third moaan were now too close to trust the bow and Zenaria let it drop, pulling her sword from its sheath. The moaan bounded toward her, covering the remaining distance in huge twenty foot leaps and then just before reaching Zenaria it jumped high in the air its murderous hooked claw extended.

If it had struck her Zenaria would have been ripped open from crotch to breast, but Zenaria was not there. She leaped to one side at the same time swinging her blade in a wide arc that lopped the moaan's head off. The bird was dead, but its momentum carried it into Tren's horse. The animal, which had remained steadfast until now, bolted just as Tren prepared to release his last arrow.

Busy with her own encounter Zenaria had not noticed how Tren was faring. In a flash she saw that he had dispatched two of the three moaan attacking him, but the third now slammed into him at full speed. The impact knocked him from the saddle, but fortunately he was not the predator's target. Instead the moaan's wicked claw disembowelled his terrified horse.

All of this Zenaria saw in the split second her attention allowed. However, there was the third moaan to deal with. It came in right behind the one she had beheaded, however, it was forced to swerve around the body of the bird Zenaria had just killed. The momentary delay allowed her to duck under the deadly claws. She whirled as the moaan passed over her, every once of her strength in the swing, and lopped off the bird's right foot.

The moaan shrieked, its cry almost deafening at such close quarters. It attempted to turn, but put its weight on its bloody stump and toppled sideways. Neck outstretched, it tried to sink its teeth into Zenaria, presenting her with an inviting target. A second later its head joined that of the other moaan.

Zenaria turned her attention to Tren. Somehow he had managed to leap clear of his horse as it fell, and retaining his hold on his compact bow loosed two more arrows into the last moaan. The creature slumped to the ground and lay still. Pumped full of adrenaline, Zenaria remained in a fighting stance, her legs spread wide and her chest heaving in excitement. As the last moaan fell she shouted her tribe's battle cry.

Tren whirled on her in amazement. No doubt to him her shout had sounded like the death cry of some animal. He shook his head in an expression of irritation and lowered his bow.

"I celebrate my victory," Zenaria explained. "It is our custom."

Tren frowned. "It is a rather noisy custom." He turned to his horse his face expressionless, but a look of sorrow in his eyes.

"Now we both walk," he muttered. "It will slow us down."

"It will slow you down," Zenaria replied.

"Since you have chosen to accompany me, my speed is your speed," Tren said, flatly. He pulled his saddlebags off the dead horse and began to sort through them, creating two piles. "Without the horse we will have to travel lighter until I can find another."

Zenaria watched and then without asking stuffed a few of the food items into her pack. Tren nodded his approval and then packed away those items he had chosen and tossed one of the saddlebags over his shoulder.

Zenaria wandered over to one of the dead moaan. Deftly she plucked several of the two - foot long golden feathers from its crest and tucked them into her belt. Then she went to the next bird and repeated the action.

Tren stared at her, his face expressionless. Zenaria had never anyone who showed less emotion, but she sensed his disapproval. "What is it now?" she asked. "These may be of some value. Perhaps if we collect enough we could purchase a horse."

"But your idea may have some merit." Tren answered. "We may encounter the Zuni."

"The Zuni?" Zenaria asked. "Who are the Zuni?"

Tren looked at her before replying. It was almost as if he could not believe the limits of Zenaria's knowledge, but as usual his face gave nothing away. "Nomads of the grasslands. They bear no love for the Sandakar, but they are few in number. Chancing upon them will be a rare occurrence. However, bring your feathers. They may yet prove useful."

Zenaria moved around the other dead moaan gathering their head feathers. She paused by each one to ask the snow leopard to bless the passage into the spirit world of the beast she had helped kill. As she did so she felt Tren's eyes on her watching as she performed what was to him was probably a strange ritual. However, she ignored him and continued to gather feathers until she had so many stuffed into her belt that she resembled a bird herself, but if Tren thought her appearance odd he made no comment. "What about the meat?" she asked. There is enough here to feed us for weeks."

"No one eats moaan," Tren replied. The meat is tainted by a foul secretion."

It seemed a colossal waste, but Zenaria took Tren at his word and gathered only the feathers. Finally, her plundering of the dead moaan complete, Zenaria joined Tren. "There is a village some three days walk from here," he said. "It may have a donkey we can obtain. I doubt that it will have any horses."

"Are horses so rare in Sandak?" Zenaria asked, setting out beside Tren.

"No, but the thuski tax their people so heavily they have little left over for anything as costly as a horse."

"These Sandakar sound like fools to treat their people so, and the people equally foolish to accept such oppression."

"Perhaps," Tren agreed, "but such is the nature of a people who worship Aroo."

"Aroo is their chief god?" Zenaria asked.

"Aroo is their only god. To worship any other is punishable by death."

Zenaria frowned. "Surely that is foolishness. How can one god attend to everything? He would have no time for anything else."

"I am sure Aroo agrees with you, however, that would not prevent the Sandakar from stoning you to death for airing such a point of view, although in your case I expect they might keep you for something else."

Zenaria flushed in anger. Tren's words reminded her all too sharply of her humiliation at the hands of the slavers. "I would have preferred the stoning to that. I permit no man to touch me."

Tren turned his eyes toward her. He had covered his face again and only his eyes showed. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. "Perhaps I have been misinformed, but I have been told that Erogenians were somewhat unrestrained in their relationships with one another."

Zenaria did not like the way the conversation was developing. "I choose who I go with," she said hotly. "No man has the right to decide that for me."

Tren shifted his pack and nodded toward the horizon, neatly changing the subject. "We will camp in another hour there is water there."

Zenaria was glad to change the subject. "It is not yet midafternoon. Why do we stop so early?"

"There is water there. Probably the only source for miles."

"How do you know that?"

"Do you see the birds? They are found only near water. We are only four days march from the desert. Water is a scarce commodity on these plains."

Zenaria saw what Tren spoke of. She could see the shapes of birds wheeling over the grassland, but she could not discern what type of bird they were. As she and Tren neared the place he had indicated she saw that he was right. A marshland came into view, nestled in a slight depression in the grasslands. It was surrounded by willows and a few aspen.

Selecting a suitable spot near the edge they unpacked their gear. Tren set about putting together a simple shelter using willow withes while Zenaria busied herself looking for firewood. Within a short time they had both a shelter and a small fire. Later while Tren tended to preparing a meal from their limited food supply Zenaria scouted the area around the marsh looking for game. She managed to bring down two rabbits and gutted and skinned them while Tren prepared the fiery dish that he and the Sandakar seemed to prefer.

"You did well today," Tren commented as he and Zenaria finished off the spicy mixture of rabbit and rice.

Zenaria stifled a smile of pleasure. For some reason she found Tren's words pleasing, but she was not about to let him know that. "Of course I did well," she snapped. "I am a warrior of the Snow Leopard."

Tren's face flickered in annoyance. "You would do well to learn to take a compliment or is that forbidden for a Snow Leopard warrior?"

"Warriors of the Snow Leopard need no praise. We let our actions speak for us."

"Hmmpph!" Tren snorted. "Your actions were somewhat muted until I freed you from the iron collar about your pretty neck."

Zenaria's face burned both in anger and shame. It was bad enough that she had suffered the humiliation of being enslaved without being reminded that she owed Tren a debt of gratitude for freeing her. And the reference to her "pretty neck" had her fuming.

She leaped to her feet. "I seek advice from no man. Especially one who would be no taller more than a child." Without waiting for Tren's reaction to her insult she stalked off into the darkness.

Tren's voice followed her. "Be careful not to stray too far from the fire. There are more dangerous things than moaan out there."

"He treats me like an infant," Zenaria muttered. "I slew three moaan. Have I not proved myself a warrior? And who is he anyway? He tells me nothing about himself." She turned suddenly and headed back toward the fire. "Who are you she demanded? And how did you come to be near when the slavers passed by?"

Tren regarded her calmly from his seat by the fire, his face still hidden by a fold of his hood. "And why do you hide your face?" Zenaria continued. "Are you afraid of what others might see?"

"You lack manners," Tren replied quietly. "You are a spoiled child who seeks to change the world to her satisfaction. Remember I did not seek your company. You forced yourself on me."

Tren's words did nothing to cool Zenaria's hair-trigger temper. "Perhaps you would like to teach me some manners," she snarled. She towered over him, her bearing threatening."

"You might try," Tren answered. "But what would that prove? If you defeat me, then you have beaten a man who by your own description is no taller than a child of your tribe. And if I defeat you, then you will have suffered a greater humiliation than your enslavement."

"If you defeat me, then you can have me," Zenaria blurted out.

"I am not Sandakar," Tren replied, his voice rising. "I take no woman by force."

"It would not be force. Defeat me and I would give myself willingly."

With an obvious effort Tren calmed himself. "Come back to the fire," he said quietly. "We will speak no more of this."

As quickly as it had risen Zenaria's anger died. "I have disturbed your cha. I should not have spoken in anger."

"You will have to tell me more about the cha, but for now enough has been said. We have a long walk tomorrow and will have to carry our water. I suggest you get some rest." With that Tren rolled himself into his sleeping blanket and turned away from the fire.

Zenaria recognized a truce and realizing that she had forced herself on Tren decieded to let it go. "Until tomorrow," she said.

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.

Chapter 8: The Desert

It was as if she was standing in front of the weaponsmith's forge. The heat washed over her with an intensity Zenaria had never imagined possible. Her throat was already dry with thirst and she looked longingly at the waterskin that hung from the bow of her elaborate saddle. She dared not touch it; Tren had told her to drink only when he did and it was only midmorning.

She glanced at the sun; hardly believing that it was still fairly low in the sky. Just a few camel strides ahead of her Tren rocked in the saddle in time to his mount's bizarre gait. It was a motion that she found most unsettling, but Tren seemed almost a part of his bad-tempered steed. Since his back was to her she considered stealing a swallow of water, but her pride would not let her do it. If he could endure the awful thirst then so could she.

They were two days into the desert proper and with every step the heat seemed to increase. Gone was the relative coolness of the grasslands and gone also was the covering of vegetation. The desert surface supported only scattered patches of grasses and thorn bushes and even Zenaria's keen senses had yet to spot any animal life. More to the point, however, was her ability to cope with the heat.

She wore her cloak as a head-covering, but it helped only a little. The desert air seemed to suck the moisture from her body, leaving her parched and desperate for water. Even her perspiration vanished before it had a chance to bead on her skin. How Tren managed to survive the ordeal was something she simply did not comprehend.

The landscape about her consisted of a gravely surface interspersed with gigantic boulders. They wound their way though them following what appeared to be a well-worn path although why anyone would want to come to such an inhospitable inferno she had no idea. For that matter she had no idea why Tren had chosen to enter the desert. He could be maddeningly uncommunicative when he wasn't infuriating her with his opinionated comments.

They moved between two massive boulders, the momentary shade giving Zenaria an almost overwhelming urge to scramble off her camel and spend the rest of the day there. Suddenly Tren stopped and with practiced ease swung out of the saddle. "We will stop here for a water break and a bite to eat."

Zenaria gave a sigh of relief. Any time off the back of the camel was time well spent as far as she was concerned. Her thighs felt as if she had entertained all of the warriors in her village or so she supposed, and the other areas of her nether regions were so badly bruised she doubted that she would ever be able to sit properly again.

Tren squatted near the base of one of the rock monoliths and took out a small bundle of made of woven grasses. "These are common in the desert. They are called dates. And these," he continued, taking out another package, "are figs."

Zenaria regarded the brownish offerings dubiously. She grown used to the continual diet of rice, which Tren consumed at almost every meal, along with the mouth burning spices he stirred into it. The Sandakar slavers had served similar fare, but this was something new. Tentatively she took a bite of the dried fruit.

"Mmm," she said. "I like these. How can such sweet fruit grow in such inhospitable surroundings?"

"You will soon see," Tren replied. "We will reach the oasis of Uhra Don in five days."

"And what is there?" she asked. She had learned that an oasis was a place in the desert with water. After just two days in the arid wastes it was something she found hard to believe.

"Perhaps what I seek," he answered.

"Your sister?" Zenaria asked.

"My sister." Tren confirmed.

"I know nothing about you," Zenaria commented. "You use a bow with the skill of a warrior of the Snow Leopard. You travel alone and hate the Sandakar. You are a friend the Zuni, who are friends to no other. Why do you travel the wasteland in search of your sister? What happened to her?"

"That is something I usually discuss with no one. I tolerate your presence only because you have shown me you can fight. Remember it was you who forced herself on me."

Zenaria felt an angry retort rising to her lips, but she clamped her jaw and kept her anger in check. Instead she spoke calmly. "And how would you have fared against the moaan had I not been there to help you? Could you have killed all six alone?"

Tren did not reply and Zenaria waited. Finally he turned his dark, almond eyes on her. "Perhaps I could have, but you have a point. You have endured much better than I thought possible, and in spite of your stubborn refusal to dress properly you are still alive."

"I am not ashamed of my body. No warrior of the Snow Leopard would hide what she is in folds of cloth as you do."

"I don't suppose," Tren replied, calmly "that it ever occurred to you that I dress like this for a reason more practical than the hiding of my body. Feel free to dress like a barbarian princess if you wish, but I doubt that you will last much more than another day in the desert."

Tren's last point struck home. Even in the shade of the enormous boulders the heat drained the energy and moisture from her body. The dried fruit had dealt with her hunger, but the small swallow of water had done little to assuage her thirst. "I will wear your confining garments," she said slowly, "if that is what it takes to please you."

"Pleasing me is not the point," Tren said as he loosened the straps on one of the packs attached to his saddle. "Keeping you alive is." He pulled out a dark robe and tossed it toward her. "I think it will fit. I took it off the body of the tallest of the slavers."

"So now I am to wear the clothes of a dead man," Zenaria thought, but she kept it to herself and removing her weapons, grudgingly pulled the robe over her head.

To her surprise, the heavy woollen garment was not suffocatingly hot. Instead its thick material seemed to insulate her from the heat. Emulating Tren, she belted her sword and knife on the outside of the robe. "This just might work," she muttered. "I feel much better."

"We have dallied long enough," Tren said. "It is time to be on our way. The less time we spend in this infernal wasteland the better." Without waiting for a reply he commanded his camel to kneel and with practiced eased vaulted into the saddle. Zenaria, less skilled in camel-handling had to make do with scrabbling up the side of her mount. She made it, in spite of being impeded by the long robe she now wore.

"Wonderful," she thought. "Now that I am weighed down by these cumbersome garments I am rendered helpless in battle." However, she had no intention of removing the robes in the short term. As she rode into the sunlight she no longer felt the life being drained from her. She would tolerate the clothing for now, but she resolved to get rid of it as soon as the ordeal of the desert was over.

Tren said nothing, but nodded approvingly as she moved alongside him. Zenaria was still hot and thirsty, but she no longer feared that she would not last out the day. Perhaps Tren did know something after all.

They rode in silence for an hour and then Tren spoke. "I know that you are not inclined to listen, but there are things you should be aware of if you are to survive the desert. The first is that in this land things are not always what they appear. What may look like water may simply be the heat shimmering in the distance. Such an apparition is called a mirage. Second, although the land may appear devoid of life there are some very dangerous creatures in it, both plant and animal. Avoid anything you do not understand. Finally, follow me exactly. There are areas of the desert where the sands suck down anything that crosses them. If I signal to follow me in single file please do it."

Unaccustomed as she was to following orders, especially those given by someone who was not a member of her tribe, Zenaria did not argue. Something told her that her spirit quest was bound to Tren and she was determined to accompany him until it was fulfilled. She kept her eyes open, searching for the mysterious dangers he had spoken of, but for the most part all she saw was an unbroken wasteland of broken stone and boulders.

Four days into the desert the terrain changed and Zenaria saw the true value of the camels. They entered a sea of sand. As far as the eye could see stretched wind-blown dunes of enormous size. Zenaria had traveled through great mountains, but she had never seen anything like this. The entire world had turned to sand. It was awe inspiring, beautiful, and a little frightening. How could they possible cross such an inhospitable landscape? It seemed almost certain that the camels would sink out of sight as they attempted to cross the sand barrier. However, to her pleasant surprise the camels did not even break stride as they entered the dunes. Instead they seemed to float on top of the sand, climbing to the top of the first dune without apparent effort. It was an eye-opening revelation and one that filed Zenaria with more than a little admiration for Tren and the stubborn animal she rode. She had to admit her mysterious rescuer seemed prepared for every eventuality.

They moved for two days through the dunes without incident. But on the third day Tren halted his camel on top of a gigantic dune and peered into the distance. "Do you see it?" he asked.

"I see a cloud," Zenaria replied. "Nothing more."

"It is indeed a cloud," Tren said. "But it is a cloud that brings death. We must find shelter and quickly if we are not to be buried alive."

Unfortunately, the only shelter to be found in the vast ocean of sand was the very dune they were on. Tren guided his camel to the base, and then dismounting, pulled the camel to its knees. He ordered Zenaria to do the same, and then the two of them stretched their tent over the camels, weighting the corners with sand. By this time a strong wind was blowing, sending stinging granules of sand flying through the air. Zenaria followed Tren into the tent and closed the flap behind her. "Now what?" Zenaria asked as she eased herself into the tiny space next to Tren.

"Now we wait," Tren answered. "And you might consider praying to some of your gods."

There was a low thrumming in the distance while at the same time the sound of the wind outside the tent increased until the fabric that sheltered them began to vibrate like a lute string. And then, with a sound like the roaring of a thousand snow leopards, the storm swept over them. For a few seconds Zenaria thought she might go deaf. She huddled in the tent, feeling its thin fabric sag as the weight of sand piling against it pushed it down on them. "We're going to be crushed," she gasped, clawing at the opening to the tent.

With surprising strength Tren pulled her back down. "Sit still," he growled. "Better to take your chances in here than be flayed alive out there. The sand will strip the flesh from your body before you go twenty steps."

Shamed, Zenaria crouched next to Tren. She was glad that in the darkness of the tent, Tren could not see her chagrin. A Snow Leopard warrior did not panic, but that was exactly what she had done. She calmed herself, bringing her breathing and emotions under control, but she seethed with anger directed at herself for once again acting like a fool in front of Tren. So far he had saved her life at least three times. Once when rescuing her from the slavers; again when showing how protect her northern skin from the fierce desert sun; and now again when he had stopped her from fleeing in panic into certain death.

She sat back, mortified, her body pressed close to Tren's. Her spirit quest was not going the way it should be. Instead of achieving self-fulfilment she seemed to be going even further into Tren's debt. It was enough to make her consider returning to her tribe, but the stubborn streak that was ever her most dominant trait came to the fore. "I'll see this through," she muttered, "if it is the last thing I do."

"Get some sleep," Tren suggested. "The storm is likely to last for hours. I'll make sure we don't get buried alive."

Zenaria did not argue. There was nothing better to do and she was certainly not going anywhere. Snuggling down as best she could she closed her eyes and let the accumulated exhaustion of the last few days wash over her.

In her dreams she watched as the Zuni dancer whirled in front of Tren, her translucent veils revealing every nuance of her sensuous body. Slowly she drifted closer until she hovered just before the fire; so close that she could see the beads of sweat on the dancer's dusky body. A pang of jealousy stabbed through her and then she was moving and merging with the dancer. Suddenly The Zuni dancer was gone and she was pirouetting in front of Tren, dressed as the dancer had been in garments that were so diaphanous that they hid nothing of her supple beauty. Faster and faster she spun before Tren, her hair streaming out from her body and droplets of sweat sprinkling the fire as she passed so close to the flames she threatened to ignite her costume. Her breathing came fast, her large and perfect breasts quivering to the rhythm of the dance and then Tren was reaching for her, taking her arm and ...

"Wake up, the storm is over."

"Wha...," Zenaria muttered. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes.

"I said the storm is over," Tren repeated. "It is time to dig ourselves out and tend to the camels."

"I... I was having a dream," stammered Zenaria, her sleep-confused brain attempting to sort things out.

"I thought as much," Tren answered as he yanked at the tent flap. "You were talking in your sleep."

"What...Did I say anything?" she gasped.

"It was more like moaning," Tren answered as he poked his head through the opening he had made. "Nothing I could really understand." He got to his feet and pushed through the opening, allowing a cascade of sand to enter the shelter.

"Moaning," Zenaria muttered. "What in the name of the gods is happening to me?"

She followed Tren out of the tent. To her amazement the camels stood just a few paces away, apparently no worse the wear for having endured the ordeal of the sandstorm. They brayed a greeting as Zenaria moved toward them. She patted her camel on the neck. "Good girl, Alshee," she murmured. Like all Erogenians she had a close connection with all animals; some more than others and she was becoming quite fond of the stalwart beast that conveyed her so effortlessly across the desert landscape in spite of the fact that it made her so sore between the legs she could hardly move. She had named it after a favourite hunting dog she once had.

Tren looked at her. With most of his face shielded as usual it was hard to determine what he was thinking, but she thought she noted a look of approval in his eyes.

It took a few minutes to dig out their possessions and reload the camels. Then once again they were on their way. It was near evening and Zenaria looked questioning at Tren. He seemed to guess her thoughts. "We will travel through part of the evening. Our water supply will not allow us to miss a day's travel and it will be cooler in any case."

Zenaria nodded. It made more sense to travel at night than during the day provided that there was no need of landmarks. However, she suspected that like her, Tren could find his way by using the stars as beacons.

They stopped sometime after midnight. By this time the air temperature had dropped considerably, although heat still radiated from the sand. There was something else as well. As far as she could see the sand seemed covered with tiny twinkling lights. Zenaria was not alarmed. She was familiar with the lights of fireflies in her mountain home, but she wondered a little about what they were.

"Scorpions," Tren answered, without being asked. "They hide during the day and hunt at night. I do not know what makes them glow."

Before Tren could stop her Zenaria stooped and came up with a glowing arachnid.

"Wait, such creatures are deadly poisonous," Tren exclaimed.

"I sense no danger," Zenaria replied, allowing the iridescent scorpion to run up her hand and then turning it to keep the animal from falling. I am not its prey; I am far too large."

Tren looked on impassively. "Do you normally play with such venomous creatures?"

Zenaria smiled. "Erogenians are highly tuned to nature. I felt there was no danger in such a beautiful creature provided I did not provoke it." She lowered her hand, allowing the scorpion to resume its way across the sand.

"I am not sure whether I should be impressed or frightened," Tren observed.

"Surly nothing frightens you," Zenaria replied.

"You are beginning to. It might be wise if you were a little less trusting. Where we go tomorrow is a place fraught with danger."

Zenaria frowned, but turned her head away so Tren would not see her expression. It seemed that her mysterious rescuer was always able to find fault with something she did. She wondered what she had to do to gain his approval. Perhaps she needed to find another three moaan to kill. However, she hid her annoyance and helped set up camp.

They ate a quick meal. Tren planned to start early the next day to avoid as much of the desert heat as possible. All the same he hinted that where they were going would be a severe test of their endurance. Zenaria wondered what could be much worse than the desert inferno they had already been through.

As Tren had promised they awoke early and started out before dawn. They reached the end of the dunes just at sunrise and Zenaria got a good look at what awaited them. They stood at the edge of a plateau. Spread out below them was a desert wasteland that surpassed in its arid intensity anything she had yet seen. There was not the slightest sign of life or water and the heat waves rippled as they rose from the barren landscape.

"What is down there?" Zenaria asked, wondering why Tren had not chosen a less hostile route.

"The backdoor to Uhra Don. It is one of the most heavily populated oases in the desert. If we were to enter by the main trade route we would almost certainly be seen, however few know of this entrance and fewer still would dare it."

"And it is at Uhra Don that you hope to find your sister?" Zenaria asked.

"If she is still alive," replied Tren.

"Why will you not tell me of her?" Zenaria asked.

"It is not that I cannot," Tren replied. "It is simply that I may not." With that enigmatic reply he urged his camel forward onto a narrow trail that wound down from the plateau. Sighing in frustration Zenaria followed. Sooner or later she would find out Tren's secret and perhaps when she did she would fulfill her spirit quest.

If Zenaria had thought it was hot before the descent into the valley proved her wrong. The temperature rose steadily as they zigzagged their way down a mountain path so narrow she was surprised the camels could navigate it, but Tren had chosen well and the sure-footed beasts made not a single misstep. Halfway down the trail widened enough for Tren to rein in his camel and allow Zenaria to move alongside. "Here, you will need these," he said, holding out an odd-looking piece of equipment. It consisted of two pieces of carved wood shaped like large eyes and connected by a leather thong.

"What am I to do with this," Zenaria asked.

"Cover your eyes," Tren answered demonstrating with an identical device. He slipped it over his head so that the two pieces of carved wood covered his eyes. It was then that Zenaria noticed each piece of wood was pierced with a tiny hole enabling the wearer limited vision.

"Ahh!" exclaimed Zenaria. "We have such things as this for protection against the glare of the snow."

Tren nodded. "The floor of the valley is covered with salt crystals. Anyone not wearing protective goggles will go blind."

Zenaria saw that it was so. The floor of the valley reflected the sunlight with a glaring intensity that was beyond the ability of the charcoal she and Tren applied under their eyes each day before setting out. Quickly she copied Tren and with a nod of satisfaction he kicked his camel into motion once more.

For some reason the slight sign of approval pleased Zenaria more than she would have liked to admit. Smiling to herself she followed Tren into the burning inferno of the valley floor.

If she had thought the desert heat extreme before Zenaria realized that she had been sadly mistaken. Crossing the salt-strewn wasteland was like being inside a gigantic oven. Even the protective robes could not prevent the moisture from being sucked from her body. To compound her discomfort an alkaline wind blew constantly, stirring up clouds of sand and filling her nostrils with acrid dust.

She drew her hood tight about her face and hunched down in the saddle. Her mind turned to thoughts of the snow-capped peaks of her mountain homeland. Although she had left the cool of the snow leopard's forest only a few weeks ago the memory seemed almost like a dream. It seemed impossible that there could be two places on the surface of Panjiia that were so different. There seemed only one consoling element to crossing the furnace-like landscape and that was that there could not possibly be any living creature brave enough to live in such a hideous environment. Or at least none that were large enough to threaten her and Tren.

Ahead of her one of the salt deposits rippled in the heat. Instinctively she reached for her sword, although the bow might have been a better choice. However, it was sitting unstrung in its quiver on the side of the camel and the sword came readily to her hand. Next to her, Tren shouted something incoherent and swerved his camel to the side. It would have been better if Zenaria had done the same. If she had Alshee might have lived.

The thing that surged up from the salt deposit resembled a huge spider except that it had ten legs instead of eight and sported a head armed with sabre-like pincers on the end of a stalk-like neck. It was followed by at least a dozen more surging toward her at an astonishing speed.

Alshee made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a scream as the first of the yard- wide creatures launched itself onto her, the huge sword-like pincers sinking into the camel's neck. Zenaria's sword ripped through the air taking off the creature's head and two of its legs, but it was too late to save her trusted steed. The camel lurched spasmodically and with a final bellow its legs buckled, pitching Zenaria head first toward the desert surface.

Zenaria's warrior reflexes took over. As she fell she curled her body, executing a perfect somersault and landing on her feet. She was just in time to engage three more of the huge spiders. Her sword described an arc, decapitating two of the attacking monsters. A foul greenish ichor spurted forth which emitted a stench that caused Zenaria to gag. It was all she could do to step back and evade the intended bite of the third monster. The thing lunged at her, intent on getting its huge pincers into her and Zenaria, her sword out of play, drew her knife as she stepped back and thrust the foot-long blade into the creature's eye. The monster let out a hiss of pain and lurched back, but there were half a dozen more to take its place. She swung her sword again, cutting off both pincers of the spider-monster closest too her and then there was the rapid twang of Tren's bow from behind her. He shot so quickly that three more of the monsters went down in just seconds, giving Zenaria the time and space to recover. There were five of the spider-beasts left and Zenaria stepped toward them before they had time to leap at her. The tactic seemed to confuse the monsters; no doubt they expected their prey to retreat, not attack. Zenaria cut down two more and Tren's bow accounted for the rest. She stood panting in exhilaration and triumph, too exhausted in the stifling heat to utter her battle cry.

Tren was suddenly beside her. "Are you alright?" he asked. "The bite of a lion-spider is deadly poison."

"I'm alright," Zenaria replied. "Why did you not warn me of such danger? I might have been able to save Alshee."

"I did not anticipate the presence of the lion-spiders. There were none here the last time I passed through." Tren sounded almost apologetic.

Zenaria stared sadly at her dead camel. Alshee had not been the most congenial of companions, but a bond of sorts had developed between her and the desert steed. "Why did we come this way? It has little to recommend it."

Tren sighed. "I suppose now that you have followed me this far I owe you something of an explanation." While he spoke he pulled Zenaria's gear from the dead camel. "We cannot take all of this. Sort though it and while you do I will tell you a bit about myself."

Zenaria began to pull items from her pack while Tren spoke. She tried to hide her excitement. But the eager expression on her face must have given her away.

"I see you have been waiting for this," Tren said. "I can't say that I blame you. I have not been at all helpful in supplying details of my life, but you see mystery is part of what I am. I am a member of a desert people related to the Sandakar, but one who have managed to maintain their independence. We are called the Beni Sidra and we have survived by taking only the most extreme of measures, that of becoming a society of assassins. Only by making ourselves feared and resorting to complete secrecy could we hope to prevent the Sandakar from enslaving us. In that sense we have succeeded, but it is a precarious existence and one fraught with danger."

"But where do you live?" Zenaria interrupted. "Where is your homeland?"

"The Sandakar destroyed our homeland two centuries ago. Since that time we have lived among them, hiring ourselves out to those who defeated us, but waiting for the time when we may once again drive the conquerors from our homeland. We are sworn to secrecy. Few outside the order know of our existence."

Zenaria could not help feeling somewhat flattered at being taken into Tren's confidence. It was now clear to her why he had been so secretive, but there was one thing that still nagged at her. "And what of your sister? Why do you seek her?"

"The Beni Sidra are pledged to a partner at birth. My partner was special in that we were born just minutes apart. My sister and I were trained from infancy to work with one another and honour bound to uphold the code of assassins. I failed in that pledge in that I allowed my sister to be taken by the Sandakar and did not fulfill the most sacred of my vows."

Tren finished speaking and took the items Zenaria had selected from her saddlebags. Zenaria looked at him waiting for him to finish, but he said nothing and instead climbed into the saddle.

"You cannot leave it there," Zenaria protested, planting her hands on her hips. "What was this most sacred vow?"

"To ensure that I take her life rather than let her be taken prisoner." He held out his hand, motioning that Zenaria was to join him on his mount.

She stared at him. "You would kill your own sister?"

"As she would kill me," Tren replied. "Now stop talking and get up behind me. We must get out of the salt flats before night."

Zenaria scrambled into the saddle. Tren shifted his position, making way for her in front of him. It felt strange with his body pressed against hers even through the thick robes that both of them wore. She had vowed never to let a man get this close to her without being defeated in battle and here she was riding a camel across the most forsaken piece of landscape she had ever seen with his arms holding her just below her breasts. It gave her a warm feeling in a place where she did not want a warm feeling. After all, Tren was a man who had just told her he was sworn to kill his sister. That went against everything an Erogenian warrior stood for. On the other hand it was obvious that Tren's concept of honour was quite different from hers or else he would never have entered into such an agreement. Still, having his arms about her was not altogether unpleasant.

"Wake up, barbarian." Tren's voice interrupted her thoughts. "I need you alert."

"I wasn't asleep," Zenaria replied.

"No, but you were becoming a bit too comfortable. I thought after the spider incident you would realize that the desert is not the safest of places."

"Tell me again why we are going this way. Surely there must be safer and less desolate routes to Uhra Don."

"I never told you in the first place, but since you ask I think it should be obvious. The Sandakar are not likely to welcome one who has killed so many of them. This way is much more dangerous, but it is one that is unknown to the Sandakar."

The salt flats seemed to stretch out endlessly before them, its far side lost in the waves of heat rising from the desert floor. With two riders on a single camel they went much more slowly now and Zenaria began to wonder if they would make it. Tren was his usual imperturbable self and if Zenaria had not felt her body pressed against his she would not even have known he was there. After awhile, however, it became obvious that the camel was having trouble. It began to breathe heavily and weave from side to side. Finally Tren brought it to a halt and dismounted. "We go on foot from here," he stated. "Take what possessions you can carry. We'll eat now and leave the rest of the food."

Zenaria didn't need to ask after the water. She knew that there was barely enough for two swallows each. They ate what they could of the remaining food, and as Tren suggested left the rest. She trusted that there was probably food where they were going and she hoped, water as well. She took her bow and quiver of arrows as well as a few of the items they would need for camping. Tren took the rest.

"Take one swallow of water. No more. Then we walk." Zenaria did as Tren instructed, leaving a single swallow in her waterskin. She resisted the temptation to drink it all and throw the empty skin away, knowing full well she would regret it in the future.

Tren walked and Zenaria followed. Every now and then she stopped and checked their tracks, which were quite visible stretching out behind them. Somehow Tren was walking in a straight line, though how he did it she had no idea. He seemed to be heading into a featureless desert landscape and when Zenaria looked ahead all she saw were the distorted waves of heat rising from the desert floor.

They trudged on, Tren leading and Zenaria following. In this at least she was confident she could keep up. She was used to walking. It was riding camels and horses that caused her problems.

If the stifling heat had been bad before, now it was horrendous, rising from the shimmering surface of the salt flats with such intensity that she could feel it burning through her boots. She was glad of their quality. Anything less and she would not have been able to continue. However, the heat slowly began to wear her down. She longed to finish the last of the water, but Tren marched ahead of her, seemingly inexhaustible. She would not drink until he did and would not ask for rest until he suggested it.

She had no idea how long they went on this way. Only that the longer they walked the hotter it seemed to get. She knew that this did not make sense, as the desert heat peaked sometime in the late afternoon and she could see that the sun was now low on the horizon. In an hour or so it would be dark and they could walk in the relative coolness of the evening, provided them was such as thing as coolness in this desert inferno.

Tren suddenly stopped. "We will drink the last of the water. We are almost there, but must be careful. There are things that are active at night that are not there during the day."

Zenaria nodded and took her last swallow. It did not come close to quenching her thirst, instead it seemed to create a desire for more. But there was no more and Zenaria slung her empty waterskin over her shoulder and followed Tren as he began to walk again.

She took one look behind her and gave a little start. "The camel follows," she said."

"Yes," Tren answered. "If need be we can kill it and take what water it still has within it. But I hope to have it alive when we reach Uhra Don."

Zenaria was about to nod when something touched her ankle. Her sword was in her hand before she even finished turning, but what she saw surprised her. The touch had felt like that of a snake, but instead she saw only a thick plant-like tendril stretching out toward her. "How did I miss that?" she wondered. She began to turn to Tren to call his attention to the presence of something green in the desert, when the tendril suddenly rose and struck at her like an adder.

"Aaah! She cried. The touch stung like fire as the tendril, with incredible strength, wound itself about her ankle and began to drag her from the path. And then another tendril snaked toward her and another, and she saw that she was being pulled toward an entire nest of them.

Her sword flashed out, slicing through the tendril with an audible thunk that indicated that it was not animal, but plant. However, even as the tendril fell away a dozen others reached for her. She cut again with her sword, cleaving half a dozen of the tendrils, but several got through catching her ankles and wrapping around her legs just above the knees. Excruciating pain shot through her. It was so intense that it took her breath away, leaving her unable to even scream. Her legs buckled even as she fought to keep her footing. Somehow she managed one more cut with her sword, severing several more tendrils and then she was on her knees and being dragged ever closer to the nest of writhing tendrils. Her waist was encircled and then her wrists and arms. Each touch of the tendrils sent burning waves of pain through her and her sword fell from paralyzed fingers and another tendril, this one as thick as her arm encircled her torso, pinning both arms to her sides and wrapping itself around her chest. Pain of an unbelievable intensity surged thorough her, but still she could not scream and then she was being dragged directly into the nest.

Tendrils rose around her and she saw before her a gaping maw about the width of her shoulders. She was being drawn directly into it and then suddenly Tren was there, cutting with both swords. Focused on her, the bizarre plant-creature fell before his attack severed tendrils falling everywhere to writhe like snakes upon the desert sand. Zenaria fell forward, but she felt something catch her hair and jerk her sharply back. Then she was being dragged away from the plant by her hair and then her arms.

Tren had saved her, but she was wracked with pain so intense that she almost fainted. Everywhere the tendrils had touched she felt as if she had been set on fire. Like a good Erogenian she gritted her teeth against the pain and fought to remain conscious. "Got to stay awake," she gasped. "Stay awake."

Through the haze of pain she sensed Tren looking at her; felt him loosening the ties on her outer robe, but she felt no alarm. Her injuries needed tending and to do that he would need to look at her body.

Breathing was becoming more and more difficult. Zenaria sensed that she was blowing like a horse that has been run too hard, but she could not seem to get enough air.

"That's it, Zenaria," Tren said. "Breathe. You've got to fight against the poison." He opened her inner robe exposing her body to the waning desert sun. It was difficult to gage his reaction, but somehow his next comment seemed hollow. "Don't worry, princess, you're going to be alright."

As if to refute Tren's comment, Zenaria began to shiver uncontrollably while at the same time she began to perspire so profusely the sweat pooled between her breasts before evaporating into the desert air. As her vision dimmed she felt a peculiar calm came over her. "I'm dying," she thought. Strangely enough the thought didn't alarm her, there was only a feeling of regret that her foolish oath meant she was going to die a virgin, then her pain faded and she slipped into oblivion.

Chapter 9: Oasis

She opened her eyes to a delicious coolness and the unmistakable tinkle of running water. She was on her back lying under a blanket, her bow, sword, and clothing lying within easy reach. "I must be dreaming," she thought. "Where am I?"

"Welcome back, princess."

She jerked her head in the direction of Tren's voice and instantly regretted the action as a wave of nausea swept over her.

"Go easy, princess. There is still a trace of the poison in you, and you've been asleep for two days. You need food and water before you try anything vigorous."

Zenaria let herself fall back. She did feel weak, and for once she was more than happy to follow Tren's advice without arguing. "Where are we?" From her prone position she could see that she was in some sort of cave, but where the cave was she had no idea.

"Uhra Don," Tren replied. "Or rather the hidden entrance to Uhra Don. We are safe here. It will give you time to finish healing." He handed her a small cup of steaming brew. "Careful," he warned, "it might be a little hot."

Zenaria was parched and starving, but she sniffed at the cup suspiciously. It smelled delectable, but she had no idea what it was. "What is it?" she asked.

"Just a bit of fish broth. It was the best I could do without leaving you and heading in to the oasis proper."

Zenaria sipped the brew, to her surprise it was delicious, flavoured with just the right combination of salt and spices. "Where did you get fish?" she asked, emptying the bowl and holding it out for more. Then she realized what Tren had said earlier. "You watched me for two days?" She glanced down at the light blanket covering her.

"Watched over you, barbarian," Tren corrected. "Most of the time you were completely delirious and babbling nonsense."

"Nonsense?" Zenaria asked, accepting another small bowl of fish broth. She wondered exactly how much of her private thoughts she had given away.

"Something about Trolls. And you kept calling for someone called 'Jaree.'"

"Ahh," Zenaria said. "Well Jaree's a friend. And as for the trolls I'd rather not talk about it."

"As you wish," Tren replied. "From the way you were raving it doesn't sound like I would like to meet them in any case. And this Jaree, he was your lover?"

Zenaria blushed. She was glad of her dimly lit surroundings. "I have no lover. Did I not make that clear?"

"Enlighten me," Tren answered. "I thought it natural that any adult Erogenian would...

"I am sworn to let no man touch me," Zenaria interrupted.

"Ahh," Tren replied slowly. "To dedicate oneself to the gods is noble indeed. Perhaps that is the reason..." Tren left the sentence unfinished and changed the subject. "Finish the rest of the broth; then I will leave you to attend to any personal duties you may wish to perform."

"Wait," Zenaria protested, partly rising from her bed, but Tren was gone, slipping out of the cave.

Muttering to herself, Zenaria fell back. Now Tren thought she had taken some sort of vow of celibacy. And what did he mean by his unfinished comment? What would that possible explain?

She noted that the blanket covering her had slipped to her waist. Annoyed she caste it aside. Tren had had two days to gaze on her nude body while she slept. What did she care if he saw it now? She finished the broth and then took his suggestion. There were personal things she had to take care of.

She found the part of the cave where Tren had prepared a slit trench, and then finished with her bodily functions she headed back to the campsite. She felt indescribably grimy. Erogenians bathed frequently, but her desert journey had so far made this impossible. However, from outside the cave entrance her keen sense of smell detected the scent of water. Without bothering to cover herself she headed for the light.

She entered into a wonderland. Before her was a small rocky beach that led down to a deep pool confined by canyon walls that soared so high above her that they seemed to come together at the top, leaving just a thin sliver of sky. She stopped dead, a shiver running down her spine. It couldn't be, but it was. The multihued iridescent walls were unmistakable. It was her dream become reality. But if that was so then Tren...

He emerged from the pool, water dripping from his dark-skinned well-muscled body. In the subdued light of the canyon his skin gleamed like that of some Erogenian god, highlighting the twin dragon tattoos that encircled his arms and ended on either of his shoulders.

"This can't be," Zenaria muttered. And then Tren's lower half emerged from the pool. "Oh..."

Zenaria was strangely distracted during her swim. She kept thinking of Tren and more importantly that portion of his anatomy he had hitherto kept hidden. In spite of the luxurious feel of the cool water on her skin, however, she kept her swim short. The effects of the poison still lingered and she found she tired easily. She emerged from the water and entered the cave, the sudden change from the desert heat of the pool causing her nipples to harden and raising goose bumps on her skin. She shivered and without waiting for her body to dry hastily pulled on her desert robes.

Tren was farther back in the cave, sorting through the last of their food. He too had dressed. He looked up as she approached. "Enough for two days," he said. It is a good thing we are made it to the oasis. We can go into the city tomorrow."

"I do not understand," Zenaria said as she twisted her hair into a thick braid. "Are you not afraid of discovery?"

"There is always that danger," Tren replied, "but I speak the language and am dressed like the average Sandakar. I doubt anyone will notice me."

Zenaria was puzzled. It was hard for her to conceive of an enemy walking into a Snow Leopard camp and not being seen. "What about me?" she asked.

"I leave that to you. You are safe here, but if you wish to accompany me you may, provided you follow orders."

"I..."

"I know," Tren interrupted. "You take orders from no man. It is amazing you have survived so long with such an attitude. Hasn't it gotten you into enough trouble?"

Zenaria growled an unintelligible reply and Tren continued. "You speak Sandak with an atrocious accent and know nothing of the local customs, however, if you keep yourself covered and take a few simple precautions you should pass casual inspection."

This time Zenaria made no objection. "What precautions?" she asked.

"You will have to hide that meat cleaver. No Sandakar carries a blade like that. And you will have to learn to walk without swinging your hips."

"The sword was my father's," Zenaria replied hotly. "And it is no meat cleaver. As for swinging my hips..."

Tren sighed and demonstrated. "You walk like this," he said swinging his hips in an exaggerated manner.

Zenaria glowered at him. "I was not aware that you watched me so closely."

There was a moment of silence and then Tren replied. "I am an assassin. It is important that I observe all things."

Zenaria sighed. "Is there anything else?"

"Your height is a problem, but nothing can be done about that. Try to remain as inconspicuous as possible and do not speak unless absolutely necessary."

Zenaria sighed and nodded her agreement. She watched as Tren moved off ahead of her and tried to copy the way he moved. It had not occurred to her that men and women moved differently, but she could now clearly see that there was something different about the way Tren moved his body. To her surprise he was not walking toward the entrance to the cave, but instead was moving deeper into its recesses.

"We'll take the camel," Tren said. "You ride. It will make your height a little less obvious." Zenaria suddenly found herself standing in what appeared to be a stable built out of rock.

"What is this?" she asked.

"My way into the city," Tren replied as he began to saddle the camel. "It is much more convenient than attempting to pass through the main gate."

"Come," he said, taking the reins and pulling the camel forward.

Zenaria followed as Tren led the camel down a long dark tunnel. As they moved farther along she began to hear the sound of voices and a faint glimmer of light appeared ahead. Tren suddenly stopped and Zenaria had to dig in her heels to keep from slamming into the rear end of the camel.

"Wait," Tren said, without any other explanation. Zenaria saw that they had come to a halt before what appeared to be a solid wall constructed of well-sawn boards. Tren moved up to the wall and appeared to be listening. After a few seconds he nodded and gripping a lever tugged open the wall. What was revealed was the inside of a conventional stable. One that was conveniently empty at the moment. After carefully closing the 'wall' behind him Tren led the camel through the stable and out into the street.

What seemed like a wall of sound hit Zenaria before she was even out of the stables. Raised in a village less than than five hundred souls she had never seen more than a few hundred people in one place before. They emerged into a street that was crowded with dark-robed people for as far as she could see. The street was lined with shops and the noise of animated bartering could be heard on every side. Tren led her out into the thick of the crowd and waited while she clambered into the camel's saddle. "Remember, say nothing," Tren cautioned. He took the reins and led the camel down the street.

Disconcerted by the noise and commotion, Zenaria could only stare, but she had enough presence of mind to keep the cowl of her hood well forward, shielding her light skin from the crowd. The street they were in seemed to be an area of the city devoted to the sale of camels and horses as well as their stabling, as a result no one so much as gave Zenaria and her mount a second glance.

Slowly Tren wove his way through the crowd, moving steadily toward what Zenaria supposed was the centre of Uhra Don. She stared in astonishment as they moved from the livestock area into what she supposed was the central market. It was like nothing she had ever seen or imagined. The market square was an area larger than her entire village and bordered on all four sides with whitewashed buildings several stories in height. Hundreds of stalls filled the open area and the sights, sounds, and smells almost overwhelmed her. Her senses were assailed with the scent of spices and perfumes, and her eyes feasted on a riot of colours and clothing styles. For the first time the monotonous black of Sandakar robes was broken by the exotic dress of dozens of different tribes and nations.

She wanted to call out to Tren to ask the names of some of the peoples and goods that were all around her, but he had forbidden her to speak and from her perch on top of the camel she doubted that he would have heard her anyway and so she just stared until eventually curiosity got the better of her. She slid from the saddle almost snagging her sword, which she now wore tucked into a dark sash around her waist. As a result she landed awkwardly and stumbled into a stand selling some sort of yellow fruit.

"Imbecile! Clumsy bullock!" the vendor cried as the fruit spilled into the street, much to the delight of passers by who stopped to take in the drama. "You will pay for that fruit. It is ruined."

"Peace friend," Tren interjected before Zenaria could reply. She was halfway between taking out her knife to remove the impertinent vendor's tongue and picking up the globular yellow fruits and shoving them somewhere interesting.

The vendor glanced at Tren's twin swords and took a step backward. "I doubt that your lemons are much harmed," Tren said, "but I will buy a few to make you happy."

"Ah, perhaps I could also interest you in a few limes and oranges as well," the vendor replied, suddenly all smiles. He was a stout man and Zenaria took an unreasonable and immediate dislike to him. However, mindful of the fact that she was surrounded by the members of the race that had sought to enslave her, she willingly let Tren handle the situation. Fortunately, the fruit vendor seemed pleased by Tren's modest purchase; either that or he was intimidated by the weapons she and Tren carried.

As they walked away from the scene of her latest blunder Tren tossed Zenaria one of the yellow fruits he had bought to appease the vendor. "You made me buy this. You may as well try it."

Zenaria regarded the fruit dubiously. Although it looked appetizing enough, it seemed to have a very thick skin. "What is it called?" she asked.

"It is called a lemon. It is very good for preventing your gums from rotting on long trips away from sources of fresh fruit and vegetables"

"Now you sound like my mother," Zenaria said. Actually she was stretching the truth somewhat. Queen Cirilia was hardly the sort of mother who tucked her children in at night or dispensed maternal advice. Although she had been known to correct Zenaria's handling of her sword,

"Here, Tren," said, taking out his knife and neatly removing the thick yellow skin. Inside was a yellow segmented fruit with a most enticing ordour. She broke off a segment and bit it in half.

"Haa!" Tren laughed. It was the first time Zenaria had ever seen him break his controlled composure, however, she was too busy trying to stop her mouth from puckering to fully appreciate the moment.

"Wolverine!" she spat. "You tricked me!" However, her face spit in a grin as large as Tren's. She couldn't help thinking that he was immensely handsome when he smiled.

"I apologize," Ten said, although he sounded anything but. He took out one of the other fruits he had purchased, this one bright orange in colour. "Try this instead." In a show of good faith he peeled this fruit as well and breaking off a segment popped it into his mouth.

Zenaria took a cautious bite. "Mmmm," she murmured. "What is this called?"

"An orange," Tren answered, taking another segment.

Zenaria took another segment from Tren and raised it to her lips and then stopped with her mouth open. She was looking at the most amazing thing she had ever seen. "What is that," she asked, unable to keep the awe out of her voice.

They had rounded a corner of the market and entered a wide street lined with permanent shops as opposed to the temporary market stalls. But it was not the shops that took Zenaria's breath away. The street ran straight and true with the obvious intent of impressing anyone who entered it with the grandeur of the building at the far end. Gleaming white in the desert sun was a magnificent domed structure large enough to have contained a score of villages the size of the one she called home. Massive pillars lined the street for several hundred feet before the building, each pillar rising in height until the first step of the building was reached. Then there was a rise of a hundred steps to the base of the building and a further rise of arched windows and doorways and finally the gigantic onion-shaped dome. It was too much for anyone to encompass all at once, much less a barbarian warrior who had never imagined such architectural splendour.

"Behold the palace of the High Thuski, ruler of Uhra Don, a city built on the enslavement and suffering of thousands." Tren spoke quietly, as well he might. His words were tinged with bitterness.

Zenaria gazed open-mouthed. She did not even try to pretend that she was not awe-struck. "What do the Sandakar need with Erogenian slaves when they have such magnificence?"

As Tren opened his mouth to reply a hideous shriek split the air. At once Zenaria saw the people around them falling to their knees. Her hand moved toward her sword and her eyes searched for the source of the sound. "Down," Tren said quietly. His hand touched her shoulder pushing her toward the ground. Zenaria suddenly realized that none of those falling to their knees seemed the least bit concerned. It even seemed rehearsed as a number of them had spread small rugs on the ground before they knelt.

"What was that scream?" Zenaria asked and then got her answer as the sound was repeated. This time she recognized it for what it was, some sort of call to prayer.

"The Sandakar pray to their god five times a day and expect all among them to do the same whether they believe or not. Just keep your head down and say nothing and you will not be noticed."

Out of the corner of her eye, Zenaria spotted something she had not noticed before, although no doubt Tren had. Walking down the wide street were a dozen black-robed men with gold embroidery decorating their costume. Each carried in his right hand an elegant gold staff fitted with a spear point at the top. In their left was a seven-tailed whip. Zenaria's keen eyes noted that each of the flails was fitted with fitted with gold studs.

"Servants of Aroo," Tren whispered. "They punish any who do not appear to be praying fervently enough."

"They must be mad," Zenaria thought, bowing her head low. "What kind of god needs to force its worshipers to pray?"

All around her she could hear the sounds of praying; it rose in volume as the Servants of Aroo approached. "By the Moon goddess," she muttered. "I don't know the words." She had no interest in conforming to the Sandak religion, but she felt she owed it to Tren to not give him away. Besides they were surrounded by enemies and she had no desire to fight the entire Sandakar Empire.

Around her the strange chanting of the Sandakar faithful became increasingly fervent as the Servants of Aroo moved ever closer. "You there! I can't hear you!" The voice came from directly behind her.

Zenaria held her breath and remained absolutely still. Maybe the remark was not directed at her. "Damn," she thought. "I don't even dare put my hand on my sword."

"I am speaking to you, camel dung!" There was a whistling sound and a terrible stinging pain across her back.

She reacted instantly, rolling away from the whip. Her motion brought her up against a praying man next to her, but she managed to scramble to her feet, drawing her sword as she did so.

"What is this?" exclaimed the man who had whipped her. "Have we a heretic?" His voice and Zenaria's motion alerted the others. Almost as one they moved toward her, their spear-like staffs directed toward her.

Zenaria did not wait for them to surround her; her nature was hardly defensive in any case. Gripping her blade with both hands she charged into the Servants of Aroo, her blade describing a wicked arc that cut off the hand of the man who had dared to flog her, cut through the staff of a second Servant, and ripped open the belly of a third. Instantly the street dissolved into pandemonium, filled with the shrieks of wounded men, cries of fear, and the shouts of alarm of the Servants of Aroo and the innocent citizens of Uhra Don who fled her wrath.

Her attack, so unexpected and devastating, caught the Servants of Aroo completely off guard. Used only to brutalizing defenceless members of the public who dared not fight back, they reacted in terror, almost falling over themselves to get away from her. They fled shouting in terror - all except the man Zenaria had disembowelled. He writhed on the ground, shrieking in agony, his hands making futile efforts to stuff his guts back into her abdominal cavity. Zenaria gave him a mercy stroke, taking his head of cleanly and ending his suffering.

For the moment, the once crowded street was almost deserted, except for the backs of fleeing citizenry. Tren stood beside her, carefully returning his swords to their sheaths. His expression was unreadable and for a second he said nothing; then he spoke. "I think we had better leave."

Zenaria looked back the way they had come, but Tren stopped her. "Not that way; the market will soon be swarming with guards." He turned to look toward the palace. "And we can't go that way either. No doubt the Servants of Aroo will return with reinforcements."

Zenaria didn't see that there were many choices left to them. There were no side streets that she could see, but Tren surprised her. "Quickly," he said, moving to the side of one of the shops. "Before anyone thinks to look in our direction again."

Zenaria joined him, glad that he had not scolded her for so carelessly exposing them. "Boost me up," Tren ordered, looking toward the roof of the building."

Like most of the ordinary buildings in Uhra Don it stood about ten feet high and was built of whitewashed mud brick with a flat roof. Zenaria linked her fingers together and offered them to Tren. Then she boosted him over her head. He easily caught the edge of the roof. "Quickly," he ordered, his body hanging straight down. "Use me as a ladder and then pull me up."

Zenaria obeyed immediately, clambering up Tren's body and then standing on his shoulders to gain the roof. She turned, and offering her hand, helped him to the rooftop. "This way," Tren said as soon as he stood beside her. "There is no time to lose. It will not take them long to figure out where we have gone." He ran toward the back of the building, Zenaria following. Reaching the edge of the roof he launched himself across the small space separating the building from the next and continued at top speed toward the next building.

Space was at a premium in Uhra Don and the alleyways separating the buildings were never more than a body's length wide. The only difficulty they ran into was when the building they were jumping to was somewhat higher than the one they were on. Interestingly, Tren seemed to know exactly where he was going and from the convoluted route he took across the rooftops she guessed that he had probably travelled this way before.

They finally came to a building that was too high for them to reach by jumping, however, Tren did not hesitate for even a second. Swinging over the edge he dropped nimbly into the alley and waited for Zenaria to join him. Although caught off guard by this sudden change in routine, Zenaria quickly swung over the edge and dropped beside him. "The next part of the trip will not be quite as pleasant. We have probably thrown off pursuit for now, but we still need to do a little shopping before there is a city-wide alert for us. The Sandakar do not take kindly to having the Servants of Aroo hacked down in the street."

Tren ducked down a staircase that was set against the base of the taller building and Zenaria followed. At the bottom there was an iron grill secured by a heavy iron padlock. It took Tren less than ten seconds to have the lock off and with a great creaking of rusty iron hinges he threw the door back.

Beyond the door was complete darkness, but Tren ushered her in and then coming in behind her slammed the iron grill shut and reattached the padlock. Zenaria stood in the darkness, her nostrils assailed by an unmistakable stench. "What is this place?" she asked, hardly daring to breathe.

"The sewers," Tren answered. "It will not be pleasant, but few come this way other than criminals. Be on your guard for them. From now on there will be no more talking. Touch me on the shoulder if you wish to communicate, and stay close. We will use no lights."

"What are sewers?" Zenaria wondered. But Tren had told her not to talk, so she couldn't ask. But it took her only a very short time to figure it out for herself. "By the Moon," she muttered, "this place is full of s...mmpphh!"

Tren clamped his hand over her mouth. Zenaria had a wild urge to bite him, but stopped dead when she heard the sound of voices speaking in Sandak.

"You sure you heard the grill open?"

"As sure as Aroo provides virgins to the righteous."

"Don't blaspheme. You will anger the one true god."

"Since when did you become so devout? We're rapists and murderers."

"That doesn't mean Aroo doesn't love us. Well... actually maybe it does. Now shut up. I want to catch the little gutter rat that came in through the grill."

It was pitch black, but Zenaria could hear the sound of footsteps coming toward her. She tensed her muscles getting ready for the kill, when Tren suddenly took his hand away.

"Come on," said the voice. "I know you're there. You can't hide from me. Come out and I won't skin you alive."

Zenaria eased her sword out. The man speaking was no more than ten or fifteen feet away and how he could see her she had no idea, but she suspected he was bluffing. She also knew from the movement of feet that there were more than just the two men who had spoken. Several others were out there and they were edging their way around to her left.

Tren was gone. She could no longer sense his presence anywhere near her and guessed that he was on his own little hunting expedition. That thought was confirmed a moment later when there was a muffled scream about ten feet directly in front of her.

"What in the name of the Prophet?" The exclamation came from the same direction as the footsteps had come from. Zenaria stepped toward them, swinging her sword through the darkness. There was a gruesome "thunk" as her blade made contact, not once but twice, followed by a horrible scream.

The scream was followed by a considerable number of appeals to Aroo and then the sound of feet dashing off into the darkness. It seemed to Zenaria that in spite of the numerous appeals of the Sandaks to their god he didn't pay them much attention. Zenaria listened, but the only sound she could hear was that of her own muted breathing. Tren's voice floated down to her from barely six feet away. "That was well done, barbarian. But try not to let anyone know we're down here next time."

"It wasn't me," Zenaria hissed back, "it was you opening the grill."

There was a long sigh. "Were you this much trouble to your father?"

"In the Leopard Tribe women rule. I never knew my father."

"That explains things," Tren whispered. "Now come on and try to move without speaking this time."

Chapter 10: Lost

They encountered no more denizens of the underground and Tren led her at a steady pace through the sewers, until finally he led her up a flight of stairs. How Tren found his way in the stygian darkness she had no idea. "Must be part rat," she murmured. Then a glimmer of light appeared in front of them. It manifested itself as another grill, this one directly over their head. The stairs finished about six feet below it, but Tren had a simple solution to that problem. "Get on your hands and knees, Princess, I need to reach the lock."

Zenaria hesitated only briefly; after all, she couldn't remove the lock and so letting Tren use her as a stepping stool was the only logical choice. She was heartily sick of the stench of the sewers and desperate to get back into someplace where she could see the sun. It took Tren only a few seconds to once again remove the padlock and a little longer than that to push the heavy grate aside. Nimbly he bounced off Zenaria's back and through the opening then lying on his back extended his hand to her. A few seconds later she was standing beside him while he replaced the grate.

She looked round her. On two sides of her were high mud brick walls. Directly in front of her was a wall of shrubbery. "Where is this?"

"The garden of a wealthy merchant's villa. The sewers and drains go almost everywhere in the city. If you know how to use them you can go almost anywhere."

"How is it that you know of them?"

"Criminals make good use of them as hiding places and ways of getting about unseen. I persuaded one of them to show me around."

Zenaria could well imagine the methods of persuasion Tren had used, but she didn't ask for details. "Where do we go from here?"

"We still need food. And it might be useful to get something else to carry whatever we take with us. A trip to the market is still required, however, I think we will avoid the main market and use one in the local neighbourhood."

"We have lost our camel," Zenaria pointed out.

"Better off without it," Tren said. "We can always buy another one when we need it. For now we can just carry what we need back to the grotto."

As Tren had been speaking he had been pushing his way through the shrubbery. As they got to the edge of the foliage he held up his hand signalling a halt and put his finger to his lips for silence. Peering from behind him, Zenaria saw that they were in a large enclosed space. About fifty feet away across a large ornamental pond and several beds of exotic flowers was an area with a fountain and several stone benches. It was occupied by a number of young women in various stages of undress. Standing behind them were a couple of very muscular guards.

"The merchant's wives," Tren whispered. "He must be doing well to afford eight of them."

"I thought Sandak women were not allowed to show their bodies," Zenaria replied, keeping her voice low. "And how is it that he has eight wives? Is the merchant lovebonded with all of those women? Some look young enough to be his children."

"Ah yes, lovebonding. The Sandakar do not practice lovebonding. A man is allowed to take as many wives as he can afford. As for their state of dress, it is allowed provided only their master looks upon them"

"Let me guess," Zenaria opined, "Sandak women are not allowed the same privilege."

"That would be against Aroo's will," Tren replied as he moved back into thicker foliage and began to circle the pond in an effort to circle around the merchant's harem.

"But does that not leave many men without a woman? Surely if some take so many there must be many who have no mate."

"That is so," Tren said, "but Aroo dictates all things."

"Hmm," Zenaria thought. "And I am the one who is supposed to be a barbarian."

"What of the guards?" she said aloud. "I thought no man was permitted to look upon the wife of another."

Tren stopped and looked at her as if exasperated by her constant questioning, but he finally answered. "Those are not men exactly. At least not the way you and I think of men. Now could you try to keep silent? We will have to pass close to the guards to gain access to the outer wall."

Zenaria followed in silence, emulating Tren's every move. He was amazingly adept at moving silently through the shrubs and trees of the garden, however, Zenaria was no less skilled. As she crept quietly along she contemplated the values of a society that deprived some men of female companionship while removing the gonads of others. Tren's comment had shocked her. To deprive someone of his manhood seemed the height of barbarism.

They gained the outer wall without incident. Once there Tren unwound a length of cord from around his waist. Concealed by his robe, Zenaria had not even realized it was there. Tren attached a small hook to it and with a quick flick of his wrists tossed it to the top of the wall. He gave it a tug to make sure that it was secure and then bracing his feet against the wall and pulling with his arms, climbed to the top of the wall. Once there he lay flat and signalled for Zenaria to follow. A few seconds later Zenaria joined him. They were overlooking still more garden, this one even larger. There were, however, no semi-nude young women in this garden although there were even more eunuch guards. "How big is this place?" she wondered. "Surely it cannot all belong to just one man. It's larger than my village."

Tren did not move, instead he watched the movement of the eunuch guards below. The top of the wall was about a foot wide, so it was not particularly comfortable, but it was large enough that she and Tren could lie quietly until there was an opportune moment. Zenaria watched too, trying to pick up a pattern to the movement of the guards. There were four guards in sight and they walked from one end of the garden to the other, two of them watching in opposite directions each time. Each time the pairs passed one another they stopped and chatted for a few seconds. It was this brief interval that Tren exploited.

Dropping lightly from the wall he landed behind a screen of shrubbery, Zenaria following. They waited until once again the guards had passed and crossed to the other side of the garden. Here there was a small door, almost hidden in the wall and shielded by a flowering shrub. Tren moved through the door, a fairly easy matter since it was locked by a bolt on their side. Zenaria found that the door exited into what appeared to be a servants' area. The smell of cooking food wafted to Zenaria's nostrils and she guessed that they were probably in the part of the merchant's house where the food was prepared and the servants lived. Cautiously they moved forward, pausing each time they heard voices, until they finally reached one more door which led to a narrow alley.

Zenaria wondered at Tren's knowledge. He seemed to know every hiding place in the city. "From here," he said, "we can walk back to the market. I suspect the Thuski's guards will have stopped looking for us by now. We can purchase some food and make our way back to our refuge."

Zenaria nodded. In truth, in spite of her impulsive and adventurous nature she would welcome the cool quiet of the cave. She was completely put of her element in Uhra Don, with its neat whitewashed houses, strange religion, crowds of people, and bizarre places like the sewers. She longed for the cool northern forest and the familiar dangers of cave bears and giant hairy rhinoceri. However, she had decided that Tren was somehow linked to her vision quest and she would see it through.

The way back to the market was uneventful and as Tren had foretold, there did not appear to be anyone looking for them. How anyone would have picked them out she did not know, as everyone except the foreign merchants wore the uniform black covering.

They came into the market at a different point, not surprising in that the market encompassed an area large enough to hold hundreds of merchants and their wares. This time Zenaria found herself passing by booths of spices. Their odour filled the air and she couldn't help staring in amazement at the enormous variety. In her homeland the only imported spice had been pepper but there were so many she lost track counting them after she reached thirty. It was not hard to understand why the Sandakar spiced their food so heavily when they had so much of it. So intent was she on looking at everything around her, that she did not notice the return stares of a number of merchants and shoppers as she strolled through the market. But Tren did.

"I think you may have been noticed," he whispered. "Remember what I told you about those fluid hips?"

Zenaria did remember, but in her wonder at the marketplace, she had completely forgotten to work at walking like a man. She slowly reached for her sword, but Tren placed his hand on her arm. "Just relax and keep walking."

Tren might have been right, but at that moment Zenaria caught her hood on one of the supports holding up an awning over one of the stalls, flipping it back and exposing her decidedly un-Sandak features. "A woman!" someone shouted. "A foreigner!" cried another.

The shouting attracted more attention that either she or Tren expected. Suddenly the market in front and behind them began to fill with armed men who resembled very much the Servants of Aroo. "Come on," Tren shouted. Drawing his swords he darted between two booths, spilling a number of reddish bean-like pods into the street. As the spice merchant cursed Zenaria followed, her own sword in her hand.

She could see Tren just a few paces ahead of her, dashing between merchants, but moving slowly enough she did not lose him. Behind her she could hear the sounds of running feet and the occasional crash as one of the pursuers knocked over some hapless merchant's goods.

Tren suddenly darted to the left, cutting between two stalls loaded with cabbages. Zenaria followed, and then suddenly she was flying through the air. She landed on her backside, and slid right under one of the cabbage stalls, scattering cabbages everywhere. She realized as she scrambled to her feet, that she had probably stepped on a couple of rotting cabbage leaves and lost her footing. Scrambling wildly, she staggered to her feet and took off through the market, running with renewed energy due to the knowledge that her pursuers had probably gained on her. A loud crash and lots of cursing and shouting just a few feet behind her told her that she had been right. Confronted by a stall full of ripe red fruit she ran right at it, getting her foot on the edge of the stall and jumping on top of it. Her weight tipped the stall into the street sending hundreds of the fruits into the path of her pursuers. The fruit turned out to be particularly soft and squishy as she found out on coming down. She landed right on several of them, lost her footing again and landed flat on her back. She rolled to her feet, her robe splattered with red juice and pulp and kept on running, dashing down one row of stalls and ducking under others, until breathless, she found herself hiding behind a stall loaded with large round brown fruits that reminded her of hairy rocks more than anything else.

As luck would have it, she seemed to have lost her pursuers, although she could still hear them crashing around in the market a hundred or so feet away. She was also lucky in that no one had seen her duck behind the stall and among its wares. Trying to control her rapid breathing she crouched where she was and waited for the hubbub to die down. It was only when she had regained her breath that she realized she had no idea where Tren was.

She fought back a moment of panic. All she had to do was wait until dark and then retrace her steps. Surely Tren would be looking out for her. She settled back and made herself as comfortable as she could. Night wasn't that far off. It was only a matter of waiting.

She awoke to darkness punctuated by flickering torchlight. "By the Moon," she muttered. "How could I have been so stupid?" There could hardly be a greater sin than falling asleep in the camp of the enemy. She sat up and peered out of her hiding place. Her stomach growled, remind her that she had not had anything to eat since the orange Tren had given her. She was also very thirsty.

She fingered one of the hard hairy fruits around her. She had no idea what it was, but it certainly seemed inedible. She could feel three small indentations in the hard surface of the fruit, but her fingers could make no impression in its surface. As she held it up she heard a distinct sloshing noise from inside it as if the fruit might be filled with fluid. Then it came to her that the fruit might be more like a nut, in spite of its huge size. That made sense, a nut that large would almost certainly have a very thick skin.

Taking out her dagger, she pushed it into one of the three small indentations. With a little bit of grunting she was able to force the blade into the nut, splitting it open. She managed to prevent most of the milky fluid from escaping. Tentatively she raised it to her lips and tasted the fluid. It was cool and sweet, and she quickly gulped it down. And then using her knife she pried away the thick white meat inside the husk. "Mmm," she murmured. "Not bad." She broke open another and consumed that one as well. By the time she had eaten a third she was full enough to think about moving on. She had to find Tren and she suspected that he was out there somewhere looking for her.

The problem was where to start. She got to her feet and looked around her. Here and there torches flickered in the market. Surprisingly, at least to her, the market was still very busy in spite of the fact that very few customers were around. The weekly market in her tribal compound always shut down after it was finished. The idea that the various merchants might have to work during the night to restock their stalls had never occurred to her. But then, she had never seen a market that operated every day.

Practicing her "man walk," and crouching slightly to hide her height, she moved between the stalls, trying to remember what direction she had come. She could remember dashing through stalls laden with spices, and crashing into others loaded with fruits and vegetables. She soon realized that in her headlong flight she had completely lost all sense of the direction in which she had fled. She also realized that she had no idea how to find her way back to the place where she had last seen Tren, which was unfortunately the logical place to begin looking for him.

"By the tiger's teats" she muttered, giving in to one of the few moderately vulgar expressions warriors of the Snow Leopard used. Warriors of her tribe rarely swore when angry, they preferred to cut off people's heads instead. She was truly frustrated and completely out of her element. Had she been in Erogenia she could have backtracked to find out where she had been, but any tracks she might have left on the packed ground of the market had long been eradicated by countless feet.

This was not good. She couldn't simply wander around Uhra Don searching stupidly for some sign of Tren. She had to have some sort of plan or she was simply going to attract attention to herself. Then she remembered the place where she and Tren had entered the city. They had come through the back of a stable near the area where livestock was bought and sold. Surely if she searched long enough she should be able to find that section of the market.

It was a good plan, but one she did not get to put into motion. She suddenly realized that she was being watched. She tried not to look at them, ducking behind a stall selling bolts of brightly coloured cloth. She used the opportunity to take a quick peek at the men watching her. They were all armed, and although their costume was different from the Servants of Aroo, they were clearly not merchants, their clothing trimmed with red and with conical metal helmets under their hoods. Zenaria recognized warriors when she saw them and guessed that they were probably part of the city guard or something similar.

In spite of her discovery, however, she did not panic. Instead she moved at a sedate but steady pace away from them, hoping to once again lose herself in the maze of stalls. This time, however, she was out of luck. Directly in front of her was another group of guards, their eyes fixed on her as she strolled toward them. She realized that the time for pretending was over. She took a quick assessment of her situation. There were about ten men behind her and a similar number in front. Perhaps not too many to fight, depending on their fighting skills, but the commotion of a battle would surely attract more. The best plan was to run.

Quickly she seized a torch that was attached to a nearby booth, and running at right angles between a row of booths selling textiles, she touched the torch to their canvas roofs. The dry canvas immediately caught fire. She delayed her flight a few seconds more as she trotted down the row, setting fire to awning after awning, and then dropping the torch she made a run for it. Behind her rose cries of alarm and shrieks of outrage, along with orders shouted by the pursuing guards.

As before, she tried to use the dozens of booths to her advantage, zigzagging among them to throw off the pursuit. But this time her pursuers were not so easy to eliminate. She had hoped that the confusion created by setting fire to the market would help, but instead it simply seemed to have attracted more soldiers. Not only were they hard on her heels behind her, but a number were running parallel, preventing her from breaking to either side. Desperately, Zenaria began to look for someplace - anyplace that she could use for a hiding place, but none presented itself. She was like a hunted animal, with the hunters all around her, and their dogs nipping at her heels. With an oath she stopped, hard up against a booth stacked with large earthenware jars. There was nowhere else to go. She undid the ties of her robe and stood revealed in all of her barbarian glory. Sword in hand she waited. "Come on you neutered Sandak bastards," she muttered. "Let's see how well you fight."

Chapter 11: Chained

"Barbarian!" The cry rang out from a dozen throats as Zenaria revealed herself, along with other less complementary terms. Zenaria ignored them, focusing on the hedge of swords and spears surrounding her. With her back to the wall of pottery jars there was no where for her to go, but at least her foe could not come at her from behind. They came at her in a semi-circle, most exercising caution - most but not all.

"She's just a woman," exclaimed one man moving to the front. He stood out from the others, his black robes trimmed with gold, and like Tren carrying two swords which he wielded with authority. He stepped forward, licking his lips. "Surrender, barbarian whore. Surrender and I will keep you for myself. Force me to defeat you and I will let the Guard have you first."

"The Guard." Zenaria supposed that he was referring to the men ranged behind him. However, she had no intention of repeating the humiliation of being taken prisoner. She would either escape or she would die. She spat at the Sandak warrior's feet. It was her only reply. She did not argue with fools.

"Whore. You will pay for that." Without further comment the warrior attacked, whirling his twin blades with blinding speed.

The two swords gave him a decided advantage against Zenaria's single blade, but she remedied the situation within seconds. As the Sandak came in, she swung her sword in a vicious arc and then in an impressive demonstration of her strength and control, turned the blade in mid-swing and changed its direction ninety degrees. There was a dull thunk as the blade made contact and then the clang of the Sandak's sword falling to the ground along with his right hand. For a moment the warrior simply stood there, blood pulsing from his stump, and then he let out a scream, and gripping his arm, fled shrieking into the ranks of his men.

The remaining guards took a full two steps back from her, but that was as far as they went. They still outnumbered her thirty to one and they were not about to let her escape. "Get an archer," shouted one of them. "We'll fill the bitch full of arrows."

Zenaria attacked. If she was going to die, she might as well die fighting rather than waiting to be cut down by an arrow. Surprisingly her attack caught the surrounding Sandak guards unprepared. She went through them like a scythe through grain, each cut of her sword bringing screams of pain and cries of rage and alarm. Only when she had cut into the ranks of the guards so deeply that they were beginning to close in behind her did she retreat, leaving three men writhing on the ground and two lying very still. Several more nursed bloody wounds where her sword had made contact, but not cut deeply enough to inflict a mortal would. Zenaria sported several nasty cuts that would probably heal into honourable scars provided she lived long enough.

She was now backed up against the storage jars once more, her body gleaming in the torchlight as once again her foe pressed forward. She was breathing hard from exertion, but far from finished. However, it was obvious that her situation was hopeless. She had killed and disabled a dozen or more men, but their ranks had swelled by several score more. They hemmed her in, those at the back pushing forward to get a look at the wild barbarian trapped by their fellows.

"Kill her!"

"Cut the barbarian bitch down!"

"Gut her!"

The shouts from those at the back had no affect on those at the front. They had seen what the cornered barbarian could do. Now they waited for a safer way of bringing her down.

Zenaria caught the movement at the last second. She stepped to one side just as an arrow rattled against the pots behind her. It passed so close that its flights caressed her shoulder. She had dodged one arrow, but others would come. She relaxed, waiting for the right moment and when it came twisted her body and raised her blade.

"She's a witch!" shouted one of the Sandak guards as Zenaria actually caught the arrow a foot from her body, deflecting it harmlessly aside.

"Another bowman," Someone else yelled. "She can't dodge two arrows at once."

Zenaria detected movement on the edge of the crowd. Her position was lit by the torches carried by the guards although she could see only shadows, but she knew that there were at least two archers drawing a bead on her.

It turned out that there were three. The twanging of the bowstrings reached her just before the arrows did. She twirled her blade in an intricate pattern, while once again stepping to the side. She was rewarded by the sound of an arrow whistling by her head, and the sharp "ping" as one deflected off her blade. But there was an agonizing rush of pain from the arrow that pierced her thigh.

She staggered and almost fell. Although she made no sound other than a grunt, the pain in her thigh almost made her faint, but she fought for control, forcing the pain away from her mind, and looked down. A yard long feathered shaft had struck the fleshy part of her thigh, missing the bone, but penetrating until the iron arrowhead emerged from the other side. It was a crippling injury, taking away her mobility, but still her foes hesitated to attack. Instead they stood back to let the archers finish her. And this time, Zenaria knew, she would not be able to avoid them. She raised her blade and prepared to die, whispering a quick prayer to the Moon. "Take me Silver Queen; your warrior dies with honour."

"Hold! I want her alive! I'll flay the man who kills her."

Zenaria peered into the darkness beyond the circle of men, but she could see nothing of the speaker. However, it was a voice heavy with authority and no arrows came. And then the crowd parted to allow a red-robed figure to stride into view. He wore no hood, instead a circlet of gold proclaimed him to be someone of rank. In his right hand he held a staff bound with gold and with an ornate crystal at the top. He was the tallest Sandak she had yet seen, standing several inches taller than her and he was strikingly handsome. He appeared to be in his early thirties with dark hair and even darker eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. A hooked nose added an eagle-like element to his striking features, but it was spoiled by a down-curving mouth that was cruelly expressive.

"Fifty men," he sneered. "Fifty men and just one barbarian woman. I want her taken and I want her taken alive. I will personally carve off the flesh of any man who holds back. Take her now!"

Zenaria swung her blade, hacking down the attacking Sandakar like a farmer cutting down nettles, but they came at her in a great swarm, fearing the wrath of the Sandak thuski more than they feared death. And this time she was hampered by the burning wound in her thigh. Forced to balance on one leg, she took down the first few men who came at her, but by sheer weight of numbers they forced her back and once she took one step, she stumbled and went down under a wave of attackers.

Although they had orders not to kill her, it was impossible for them not to strike at the barbarian who had killed and wounded so many of them. She avoid a spear thrust to the face, but the same warrior who had tried to impale her swept the haft of his spear around and struck her over her left ear. Stunned, she dropped her sword and then a dozen fists struck at her, slamming into her head and torso and driving her to the ground.

"Hold I said," the thuski roared. He forced his way into the melee, laying about him with his staff, until the men pummelling the barely conscious barbarian fell back from her. "This one I want alive. It will be most gratifying when I bind her to my will. Bring up chains. I want no chance of her escaping."

Zenaria managed to get to her knees. The arrow that had pierced her thigh had snapped off when she had fallen, leaving just a stub of the shaft protruding from her leg on one side and the barbed arrowhead on the other. As the gods would have it, the arrow had missed the femoral artery and there was only a small amount of bleeding, but now the pain pulsed through her thigh as if someone was twisting a red hot knife in the wound. It was so intense that for a few seconds her senses reeled and she thought she was going to faint, but she fought her way back to consciousness and faced her captor.

It might have been better if she had passed out. The she would have been spared the pain and humiliation of what came next. She was kept on her knees; two men twisting her arms behind her, while a third stripped her of the rest of her clothing and weapons. They held her there while the thuski stood over her gloating at her capture.

"Who would have thought that I would capture a pale-skinned barbarian?" he asked as he stepped up to her. Seizing her long braid he pulled her head back so that she was forced to look up at him. "What are you doing in the city? Are you a spy?" When Zenaria did not answer he laughed. "No matter. I will have it out of you. I have broken many an Erogenian bitch to my will."

Zenaria clenched her teeth, fearful of appearing weak in front of her arrogant captor. Breathing heavily as she fought the pain and degradation of being stripped and pinioned before her enemies. She met his gaze without blinking, but it took all of her willpower not to look away from that sardonic gaze. The men holding her arms held her tightly, twisting them painfully behind her and forcing her wrists high on her back. It made it very difficult to breathe and she gasped for air, the shock of her injury adding to her shortness of breath.

The clank of chains alerted her to the next stage of her degradation. The horror of her enslavement by the Sandakar slavers came back to her like a blow to the stomach. For a few seconds she thought she might further dishonour herself by being sick, but she managed to fight down the nausea, as the chains were shackled to her body.

Zenaria in Chains. Illustration courtesy of J.E. Draft http://barbarianprincess.com/

A chain ran from a metal collar around her neck to her manacled wrists. From there another chain linked her wrists and ankles. Each length of chain was kept so short that she could not straighten her body. The thuski attached the final chain himself, a ten foot leash that allowed him to lead her from horseback. Jerking her forward he forced her to stagger behind him, barely able to walk due to the arrow in her thigh.

Every step was agony as he paraded her through the market under an escort of over fifty guards. Zenaria's flight through the market and the climactic battle that had led to her capture had attracted the attention of hundreds, and they crowded the street on either side of her as she limped forward.

"Barbarian bitch. Take her to the punishment square. Forty lashes should reach her proper behaviour."

"Brand her. Put the mark of Aroo upon the heathen whore."

"Throw her into the punishment pits. Let the scum there have their way with her."

Most of the more savage suggestions came from the merchants whose goods Zenaria had inadvertently destroyed in her wild flight from the city guards. Others came from those who simply wanted a good show. Bent double, Zenaria was forced to stagger through the streets like a penitent, her every step sheer agony. The thuski rode without paying her the least attention as if confident she would follow in spite of the fact that she could hardly walk. To add to her humiliation some among the crowd decided that it would be good fun to pelt her with ripe fruit and rotting vegetables. Only then did the thuski turn in his saddle. "Guards, clear a path through this rabble."

The guards obeyed, forcing back the crowd and forming a cordon around their captive, an action that probably enabled Zenaria to complete her agonizing journey. In too much pain to do more than concentrate on each step she took, Zenaria paid no attention to the route they took. She only knew that she eventually found herself in a courtyard. Most of her escort remained outside, no longer needed. As she was herded through a doorway she stumbled and fell, her injured leg finally giving out. The guards on either side of her picked her up under the elbows and without bothering to help her to her feet, dragged her down a dim hallway to a door at the end. The door was thrown back and she was dumped unceremoniously onto a dirt floor. The thuski looked in on her. "Your new home, barbarian. Enjoy your life as a slave." Zenaria did not answer. Her strength had failed her at last and she lay like one dead. She did not even hear the door slam or the sound of the heavy bolt being shot home.

Chapter 12: Prisoner

"Fool, to bring her here like this. What was he thinking? Does he think I have the power to restore life to the dead?"

The voice seemed to come from very far away and it took awhile for it to percolate through to Zenaria's brain. Bizarre dreams had dominated her sleep, none of them pleasant, and there was a strange buzzing sound between her ears as she forced open her eyes.

"Ah," said the voice that had spoken before, "she awakes. I thought never to see those eyes open. She must have a constitution like a racing camel."

Zenaria's eyes blinked against the light. It was so bright that she could barely see, and then gradually her vision adjusted. The first thing she saw was the whitewashed ceiling above her and then her eyes focused on the man next to her. He was sitting on a stool beside the bed she was lying on and had skin darker she could ever have imagined. His eyes were dark too, with a slight yellowish tint to them. She could not determine his hair colour as he was completely bald and either clean shaven or not capable of growing a beard. He appeared of average height, which meant that he was at least six inches shorter than she was, and he was dressed in a simple white robe, belted at the waist with a golden rope. Standing beside him was a younger man, also clean shaven with dark hair and the tan complexion common to most Sandakar. He was dressed almost identically to the older man, but his robe was belted at the waist with a simple brown rope. He was holding a wet cloth in his hand and was looking at Zenaria in what appeared to be complete surprise.

Zenaria assessed herself next. She was lying nude on a low bed, her upper body raised slightly by soft pillows. The droplets of water on her skin and the flow of air over her damp body told her what the younger man had been doing with the damp cloth. However, her biggest surprise was that the chains were gone. Looking down to her injured thigh she saw that it was wrapped in a clean white bandage, and although it throbbed slightly she could hardly call it painful.

Shifting her elbows slightly she tried to sit up but the dark skinned man placed a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back. "Not just yet," he said quietly. "Perhaps we will try walking later, but for now I wish to assess your condition."

The man's voice, although calm and quiet, had the same air of authority to it that Tren's had, although without the hint of sarcasm that never seemed very far from Tren's lips. Obeying, Zenaria lay back down. "Where am I and who are you?" she asked. "Where are the chains?"

"Three questions in two sentences," the black-skinned man smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "I will answer them, however."

"First, you are in the palace of his Highness Ravar Kund, Lord of the Market and younger brother of the High Thuski. It was he who brought you here though his treatment nearly killed you. Second, I am Sorvat, personal physician to his high brightness. This is my assistant, Pandar. It is thanks to him that you are still alive. He has watched over you day and night. As for the chains, I had them removed within minutes of being brought to your cell with orders to heal you."

"I'm thirsty," Zenaria rasped. Her throat felt like sandpaper and she had almost exhausted her voice with the few questions she had asked. Pandar filled a metal bowl from a pitcher that was on a small table behind him and handed it to her. She drank. It was just water, but it soothed her throat. "I don't understand," she said. "Why am I in this room? I was thrown into a barren cell when I was brought here."

"Sometimes his loftiness allows cruelty to cloud his judgement," Sorvat answered. As he spoke he touched various parts of Zenaria's body, lifting her arms and bending her legs. It was done in such a clinical fashion that she felt no sense of outrage, and made no attempt to stop him.

"It appealed to his sadistic nature to parade you through the streets without thought to the consequences," Sorvat continued. "When he suddenly realized he needed you healthy in order to satisfy his base desired he called on me to attend you."

"You are a man of influence then?" Zenaria commented.

"I am a slave like yourself, as is Pandar. I exist to do the thuski's bidding and as he ordered me to heal you so I did my best. However, until you opened your eyes just minutes ago I had doubts about my success. You have been asleep for more than a week."

"A week!" That revelation sobered her more than her weakness. If she had been gone a week then Tren might think her dead - or worse. And worse might still happen. She suppressed a shudder. Better not to let the men attending her see her fear. Then another thought struck her. She made no attempt to cover herself, but she wondered at being left alone in the presence of two men, especially in Sandak society. Unless...

Some hint in her face must have given away her fears. Sorvat smiled. "You need not fear for your virtue, fair maid, neither I nor Pandar are in any position to threaten you, and his supreme magnificence prefers his women willing and conscious."

In spite of herself, Zenaria coloured, and then the meaning of Sorvat's words hit home. "You mean..." she began.

Sorvat nodded. "Sadly, it is a requirement for any member of his mightiness' inner household."

Zenaria looked around the room. It certainly did not resemble a prison. It was clean and well lit, light filtering through an elaborate latticework that encompassed one wall. A washbasin and pitcher sat on top of a wooden sideboard constructed from sort of exotic wood. The bed itself was comfortable enough, with a sturdy wooden frame and a rope net supporting a mattress stuffed with some material softer than anything she had ever slept on. Then her eyes went to the door. It was solid wood, bound with iron and appeared impenetrable.

Sorvat noticed her appraising look. "The door can be opened only from the outside and I assure you that it is not just locked, but also guarded. As for the latticework, in spite of its airy appearance, it is solid stone and beyond even your strength to break. I tell you this only to save you the time of finding out for yourself. Escape is impossible from this place. His exalted radiance guards his playthings well."

Zenaria did not miss the undercurrent of hatred and resentment in Sorvat's voice. "How is it that you dare to speak so openly about your master?"

"Ravar Kund is a cruel master, as I have reason to know, but he does not destroy those things which he values. My skills as a physician are unrivalled. It would not do if he fell ill and I was not available to save his illustriousness. Perhaps when I have trained Pandar to the same level he may do away with me. Until then I am allowed a certain amount of freedom so far as my tongue is concerned."

"And I am I considered one of the valued things," Zenaria said almost to herself.

"If you were not, he would not have had me attend you for the last week. Even so, I was doubtful of your chances of recovery. His supreme brilliance treated you so harshly that I feared you would never awaken. Now that you have, however, I am sure he will want you brought before him."

Sorvat's last comment caused Zenaria's stomach to turn over. Something of her fear much have shown, because Sorvat reached out to touch her hand reassuringly. "Fear not for the moment, my pretty barbarian. You are not yet well enough to grace his bed, and it is possible that he may have other plans for you.."

"I am called Zenaria, daughter of Cirilia and Zennar," Zenaria responded. "I am no man's chattel."

"I will do what I can to help you, Zenaria," Sorvat replied, "but I can only delay his randiness for so long. Ultimately he will decide your fate." He moved toward the door and rapped sharply on it. "Sorvat," he called. As the door was opened he spoke one more time. "I will return in a few hours and see about getting you out of the bed. Food and drink will be brought to you shortly. Eat well and get your strength back."

He did not add that she would probably need all of her strength to face the coming ordeal. The door closed as Pandar followed him out and Zenaria took the opportunity to inspect her body. The minor wounds she had received had healed well, most leaving only hairline scars. She felt only a slight soreness in her thigh and guessed that she would probably be able to put her weight on it without much difficulty. The most dramatic change was her loss of weight. She could count every one of her ribs, and her stomach had shrunk so greatly that she could imagine it touching her backbone. Even her breasts seemed much smaller although they seemed to have lost none of their firmness.

A small table next to the bed held a small mirror. She had never seen one quite like it. Instead of the polished bronze or copper she was used to this one seemed to be made of glass. It reflected her perfectly. Except for a few fading bruises her face appeared unmarked, and she noted that while she was unconscious her hair had been combed and braided. It gave her a strange feeling to think that for the space of a week she had been at the complete mercy of strangers even though neither Sorvat nor Pandar would have been able to take advantage of her. She wondered if Ravar Kund had looked in on her.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of the bolt on the door being thrown back. A middle-aged woman entered, carrying a tray laden with food, and behind her was another carrying what appeared to be clothing. Without a word to her the woman carrying the food set down her burden and turned and left the chamber. It all happened so quickly that there was no chance for her to attempt to escape, even if she had been strong enough. The woman with the clothing remained, standing quietly while she ate.

Her mouth watered as she looked at the food. She had no idea how she had been fed while she was unconscious, but she was suddenly ravenously hungry. To extreme her disappointment the food appeared to be no more than a crust of dry bread and a bowl of thin broth, and the drink nothing but heavily watered wine. Nevertheless, she ate what was there and drank the wine. Then she turned her attention to the clothing.

She would not have been known what to do with it if the female attendant had not been there. With some effort she managed to move to the edge of the bed. She was very weak, a condition she found a little demoralizing. Sorvat had been wise to insist she remain in bed, but she just had to try on the attire that had been brought to her. First, however, the woman who had remained behind insisted that her hair be unbraided and then combed and brushed, although the ebon tresses were left to flow around her shoulders and down her back rather than being neatly bound up in her customary braid. Then the woman helped her stand and then proceeded to help dress her.

Even by Erogenian standards the clothing was brief, consisting of an emerald belt worked with gold that supported a miniscule piece of fabric that barely covered the area between her legs and did not conceal either of her buttocks. To add a small element of mystery a length of emerald and gold cloth hung from either side of the belt offering minimal concealment for her long legs. For all the privacy it offered she might just as well have been nude, the garment tending to accentuate rather than hide her feminine charms. It hung from her hips and rippled like water when she moved.

There was a similar covering for her breasts. It began as a green and gold necklace from which depended two semi-transparent strips of cloth that covered the upper portions of her breasts, but left most of her impressive bosom uncovered. The pink tint of her nipples could be clearly seen beneath the fabric and for a few seconds Zenaria considered taking it off. "I might as well be naked as wear this," she muttered. However, womanly pride and curiosity, and the presence of the servant got the better of her and she put on the remainder of the clothing.

There wasn't much left, but it was beautiful. There was a finely crafted gold chain with links so tiny it seemed impossible that any mortal could have made them. It was wound it around her waist three times and then fastened with a tiny clasp before the final three items were added to her body. One was a tiny gold chain that circled her brow. Centred on the chain, right in the middle of her forehead, hung a brilliant green stone that burned like fire when the sunlight filtering through the latticework struck it. There was also a matching gold and emerald ankle bracelet and matching slippers perfectly sized for her feet. Zenaria had never seen so perfectly coordinated an outfit, brief though it was. The only thing she did not wear was the matching set of gold and emerald earrings. They were made for pierced ears, but Zenaria had never worn such jewellery for fear that in battle an enemy might take advantage of it by tearing them from her earlobes.

Once she was finished the silent maid held up the small mirror, allowing Zenaria to view herself from various angles.

Zenaria gasped. She had never before thought of herself as truly beautiful, but the dazzling young woman revealed by the mirror almost took her breath away. Small wonder that she had been singled out by the slavers who had bought her from the trolls. That thought reminded her of why she was where she was. She could well imagine what her cruel captor might think when he caught sight of her, and she had no doubt that was the main reason she had been dressed this way.

The slight effort of being dressed exhausted her, and she had to sit down on the bed. The maid waited quietly while she rested and Zenaria realized that in her present condition escape was impossible. She would have to make every effort to regain her strength.

A short while later there was the sound of the door being unlocked and Pandar came in. He stared at her with a peculiar look on his face, and Zenaria wondered if he still felt desire for women. However, the look quickly vanished as he stepped toward her. "I am here to take you for a short walk," he said. "It is important that you regain your ability to move as soon as possible."

Zenaria did not object. The goal fit in with her plans as well, but she could not help wondering what would happen once Sorvat or Pandar judged her fit enough to be considered recovered. Sorvat had hinted that her thuski master was waiting impatiently for her to be judged healthy, and she had little doubt about why he was interested in her.

Pandar took her arm. Zenaria felt incredibly foolish dressed the way she was and leaning on the arm of a man nearly a foot shorter than she was, but just three steps told her she had little choice. Her head swam and she would have fallen if Pandar had not held her up. He helped her to the door and Zenaria got another glimpse of how impossible escape was going to be. Her comfortable cell was not barred by a single door. Instead there was a twenty foot passage and another door beyond that. On this occasion both doors were open, as it was obvious that Zenaria was not capable of escape.

Passing through the second door she found herself in a long narrow corridor overlooking a precipitous drop. As she looked around she determined that she was high up on the outside of a large square tower. The corridor appeared to run completely around the outside of the tower, an impression that was confirmed when Pandar escorted her to the corner and down the next length of the corridor, Between her and a drop of about sixty feet was a wooden railing about three feet high. Stationed along the corridor at intervals of about twenty feet were dark-robed guards armed with pikes, wicked spears with a hooked tip. The corridor was just wide enough for her and Pandar to pass each guard without having to press too close to the rail.

They went all the way around; passing doors identical to the one that sealed her cell. Zenaria wondered how many other prisoners were being held, but there was no way of telling and she hesitated to ask Pandar. In any case, she was having enough trouble just completing a single circuit. She felt woozy whenever she passed close to the rail. Normally she was not afraid of heights, but in her weakened condition she worried that she might stumble and fall over the edge. It was with some relief when they finally returned to her cell and Pandar helped her to the bed.

"A good start," Pandar said. "Tomorrow we will increase the walks to four a day. You should be walking normally within a short time."

Zenaria smiled her thanks, but inside she was astounded at how weak she felt. She determined that she was going to work her way back to full strength as soon as possible.

"I will leave you now," Pandar said. "More food and drink will be brought to you. In a day or so we will be able to feed you something more than watered wine and broth. Your stomach should have adjusted by then." He left the room and a short time later the same woman entered with another tray of food and drink. Zenaria ate and drank and then lay back on the bed. She was more tired than she would have thought possible after so little exertion, but her weakness had not diminished her determination to somehow escape. Once she was strong enough she would find a way. She was a warrior of the Snow Leopard. She would not surrender.

Chapter 13: The Thuski

Zenaria's skin gleamed with sweat and she was breathing heavily as she calmed herself and began to wipe the shining droplets from her body. Pandar would arrive shortly to escort her on another round of exercise and she wanted to appear rested and composed before he saw her. By her reckoning it had been ten days since she had awoken in her tower prison. Pandar had come as he had promised to walk her around the tower in order to restore her fitness, but she was long past the quiet strolls that her captors supposed were adequate exercise. For the last five days she had been subjecting herself to strenuous workouts, setting aside her filmy costume so that she would not dirty it while she trained. Although she had no weapons she moved through the familiar drills she had been taught, practicing her combat movements over and over again and regaining some of the quickness and stamina that had always marked her as the most prominent of the Snow Leopard warriors.

She had started slowly at first, not wanting to push herself too harshly until she was sure that her recuperating body could handle it, but she had soon progressed to full fledged workouts, going through her martial movements as many times a day as she could fit into the hours of her imprisonment. It was no hardship to do so; trapped in her comfortable prison, she had nothing better to do, but she was careful not to let the guards or anyone else know what she was doing. Her captors had made the mistake of not stationing anyone in the room with her, and she took full advantage of it.

She guessed that if her captors thought of her as too weak to pose any danger, she might be able to take advantage of it. She splashed water over her body to help her cool down. The air in Uhra Don was so dry that it soon evaporated, but it helped. When Pandar entered the room, she was clad in her translucent costume and sucking on a lemon. After her introduction to the sour fruit she had developed a taste for them and her servants brought as many as she could eat.

Pandar gave her an appraising look as he entered the room. "It is as I thought," he said. "You are ready to be taken before his Excellency."

Zenaria experienced a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was not fear exactly, but anticipation of what was coming. Once again she would get to meet the man who had humbled her. However, she became a little more apprehensive after what happened next.

Pandar stepped back and was immediately replaced by another man dressed in the gold- trimmed robes she remembered from her battle in the market. Three more guards crowded into the room, their pikes levelled toward her. "You will come with us, barbarian." the first man said. "And you will come chained. Remove your clothing."

Zenaria stared at the spear points that were directed toward her. In the confines of the room, she might have some difficulty avoiding them, but she was a Snow Leopard princess, and she was not about to go without a fight in spite of the odds against her. However, a few seconds later something happened to change her mind. Two more men crowded into the room behind the pikemen and they were carrying some sort of mechanical device Zenaria had never seen before but had no trouble figuring out what it was supposed to do.

It appeared to be a bow bolted to a wooden frame, but there seemed to be no doubt that it was capable of delivering the wicked looking arrow that was pointed at her. In such a confined space there was no way she could possibly avoid an arrow at such close range. Her choice was to refuse to surrender and face certain death or to humble herself once again and live to fight and perhaps escape on another day.

She swallowed, remembering the humiliation of being placed in chains and paraded through the streets of Uhra Don. Gritting her teeth in rage, she tore off her brief costume, heedless of the damage she did to the fine gold jewellery and diaphanous clothing.

The man in the gold trimmed robe glowered in anger. Gesturing to still another guard he summoned him into the room. "Chain the barbarian bitch."

Zenaria submitted to the shame of once again being chained, this time without even offering any resistance. Mortified at her helplessness she bowed her head as she was shackled and then led from the room.

The chains prevented any attempt at resistance. She was shackled almost identically to the way she had been when she had been led through the streets of the market, with her wrists linked in front of her, and a chain connecting her wrists to her shackled ankles. The only exception was that the chain linking her wrists and ankles was somewhat longer so that she was able to walk upright, however, to compensate her elbows were linked across her back, making any resistance useless.

She was escorted along the outside of the tower and around the corner to one of the doors set in the side of the tower. It was thrown open by her escort, revealing a landing that led to a staircase allowing progress both up and down. Two guards went ahead of her heading down the staircase with the others following. With little choice in the matter, Zenaria descended, the clanking of her chains reminding her of her shame and disgrace. Only the presence of Pandar at her elbow helped to alleviate her deep sense of self- loathing.

"Do not despair, Zenaria," he whispered. "There is no shame in living to fight another day. His Excellency can be cruel, but he has a strange quirk. He takes no woman against her will."

That was all that the mild mannered eunuch was allowed to say, but it was enough. It gave Zenaria hope that she would be able to preserve her virtue and keep her vow. Strangely her thoughts turned to Tren. She was certain that he was aware of her plight. Was he taking any steps to help her? Locked in the fortress prison of the Thuski she didn't see how even he would be able to do anything about her predicament.

She and her escort descended six levels. The stairs continued to descend, but the escort opened a door and Zenaria found herself at the base of the tower. A wide courtyard separated her from the main building, one that she must have been marched past when she was brought to the Thuski's palace. She had seen it from the tower and it looked impressive, standing three stories and supported on a succession of colonnades placed one on top of the other and running the length of the building. Entering the colonnades she found that they provide a cool shaded area that ran around the perimeter of the building. She was walked along this and around the corner, a distance of several hundred paces until she reached the centre of the far side of the building, then her escort took her through another series of doors. Apparently security was paramount in the design of the building, as there were no windows on the lower level and she taken through three sets of doors each separated from the other by a distance of about thirty feet, making the building truly enormous. Zenaria wondered at the wealth required to construct such an edifice and then remembered that the palace of the High Thuski had been even more magnificent. Each of the three sets of doors was guarded by four men carrying the deadly Sandak pikes with their vicious hooked tops. The final door led through a wide corridor to what appeared to be an open area, but Zenaria was unprepared for what actually lay beyond.

She had thought the gardens of the wealthy merchant that Tren had shown her to be magnificent, but they paled into insignificance compared to those she now entered. She was inside a gigantic quadrangle formed by the Thuski's palace. In the centre was a rectangular pool of water large enough to contain of the buildings in the compound of the Snow Leopard. Spaced at intervals along the main pool were numerous other circular pools designed in a variety of ways. Every other one seemed to be a fountain spurting glistening jets of water into the air while the others were filled with a range of aquatic plants, many of the flowering variety. Trees and shrubs were everywhere and the perfume of thousands of flowers filled the air. Scattered around the gardens were dozens of young women in various stages of undress, as well as the ubiquitous black and gold robed guards.

In the midst of all of this splendour was Ravar Kund, reclining on a stone bench and surrounded by five of the most beautiful young women Zenaria had ever seen. They appeared to have been chosen not just for their beauty, but also for their ethnic diversity. One was a tall blonde, her impressive physical dimensions proclaiming her to be of the same background as Zenaria. Another had gleaming jet-black skin like Sorvat's and luminous golden eyes. The third was petite and dark-haired with skin that shone golden-brown in the sunlight, and dark, mysterious almond eyes. The fourth was white-skinned and reclined in the shade, her brilliant green eyes and flaming red hair, instantly drawing Zenaria''s attention. The final young woman was dark-haired and voluptuous, with dark nipples ornamenting her perfect breasts. Her skin was the colour of the spice Tren had called cinnamon.

With such a variety of beauties, Zenaria found herself what the Thuski could possible want with her. Surely such a huge selection of willing young females must have kept him more than satisfied sexually, however, Ravar Kund rose from his pile of cushions as she approached. Zenaria met his gaze with her own defiant stare. She might be completely at his mercy, but she would not be cowed.

"So," Ravar Kund murmured as his eyes swept over her, "the barbarian. This one will not be as easy to tame as was Brigidda." He glanced back toward the nude blonde who smiled invitingly toward him. Zenaria experienced a brief moment of fear. Would she be reduced such compete subservience? The thought frightened her, but she gave no outward sign of her apprehension.

"Hold her," Kund ordered as he stepped forward. Immediately her guards took hold of her arms, although what Zenaria could have done chained the way she was she had no idea. She could walk, but not kick and she could move her hands only a few inches in any direction. However, properly held, Kund proceeded to give her a humiliatingly thorough inspection.

He began with her mouth, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back. He used a short hard length of wood to pry her mouth open and then tied it in place so that she could not close her mouth or speak. Peeling back her lips he inspected her teeth. "Good," he commented. "Strong, straight and white."

He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. "Strong," he said. "A true warrior." Then he proceeded to her fondle her breasts, lifting each one and caressing the nipples. "Like ripe melons. She would make a perfect bedmate."

Had she not been tightly held, Zenaria would have attempted to attack him in spite of the chains that confined her, but she was helpless, unable to even voice her outrage. She strained against her shackles as he demeaned her, his hands next going to her flat, hard, belly and then lower to her hips and buttocks. And when he placed his fingers between her thighs, fondling her mons veneris did she gave an involuntary start. Kund grinned, obviously enjoying her discomfort and humiliation, but he took a step back and gave her a hard look. "Perhaps not as perfect a bedmate as I would like," he commented. "She would probably kill me in my sleep."

Zenaria made no sound, but she didn't have to. Her glare would have peeled paint from a wall. "However, she can entertain me in other ways." He turned to Pandar. "Is she fit?"

"She is recovering, master,"

Without warning Kund stepped forward. He had been standing slightly to one side when he had questioned Pandar and it gave him perfect access to her naked backside. The blow stung, but unable to avoid it, Zenaria gave not the slightest response other than her withering stare.

Kund held up his hand and winced. Apparently he had hit her hard enough that he had felt the blow. "I think she is strong enough. Bring her tomorrow. We will put her into the arena." He picked up a length of cloth lying on the cushioned bench where the five beauties reclined, and handed it to Pandar. The young physician nodded and moved to Zenaria. Carefully he tied the cloth so that it covered her eyes. "Now you must come with me," he said. "I will guide you."

The blindfold worked well. Zenaria could see nothing, but she could hear and count. She was taken two hundred and thirty paces past the musical splash of fountains and then through a door. She counted thirty more steps and then another door. This time she walked ten steps and then down first once staircase and then another, and then another, until she had descended five flights of stairs. There was another door, a twenty-five step echoing corridor and one last door. When the blindfold was removed she was in a tiny dark room, lit only by a flickering torch carried by one of the guards. The chains were removed from her elbows, but not her wrists or ankles and another chain was placed about her neck and locked to a heavy ring in one wall. Zenaria felt a sense of being buried alive as she stared around a cell that was barely long enough to lie down in. However, her hands were now free enough that she could yank the gag from her mouth.

"Food and drink will be brought," Pandar said. "You stay here until tomorrow. Try to rest. Tomorrow you fight." He turned and left the room. The door closed like the voice of doom, leaving Zenaria in complete darkness. For a few seconds Zenaria stood motionless. How was she going to escape from such a place? Then composing herself, she sat on the straw-filled pallet that occupied half the cell and waited.

Chapter 14: Arena

Food was brought to Zenaria shortly after she was placed in the cell, but she never saw who brought it. It was pushed through a small opening at the bottom of the door along with a cup of wine. Surprisingly, it was quite good wine and the food was a good as anything she had been brought in the tower room. Apparently being thrust into the dungeons did not mean that she was to be denied proper meals.

She ate and drank, and then with nothing else to do she tried to relax. Sleep however, did not come easily. She had been spared rape, but was what she faced much better? She would be forced to go up against an unknown opponent. But what then? What was at stake and how many would she have to fight? The thoughts kept her awake most of the night.

Toward morning, or what she supposed was morning, there was a rattling outside her door. Once again food and drink was pushed through the opening and Zenaria ate all of it. There was no telling when she would be fed again, and as warrior she needed to keep up her strength. With nothing better to do Zenaria composed herself, sitting cross-legged on the sleeping mat and waited for events to transpire.

She was less relaxed than her pose made her appear. But after her mostly sleepless night, she found it easier to relax than she had thought it would be. However, she was not given time to fully compose herself before footsteps sounded in the hall. The door was thrown back and two guards stood in front of the door.

One stood back and watched while the other entered the cell. Producing a key he unlocked the chain from the collar around her neck, but left the collar where it was. "Out, barbarian, and don't think about escaping; there is no way past the other guards."

Zenaria remembered the long blindfolded walk and the sounds of numerous doors being unlocked and then locked behind her. She was almost certainly deep underground, probably in the lower levels of the Thuski's private dungeons. There were no doubt numerous guards between her and freedom. She decided to cooperate and see where the guards took her.

"This way, barbarian." He motioned down the corridor and pushed her in that direction. Zenaria had to restrain the impulse to slam her fist into his smirking face, keeping in mind that she was nude and weaponless. She also kept in mind that if what Tren said was true, both guards were probably eunuchs and had little personal interest in her beyond escorting her to where she was supposed to go.

The corridor was unlit, the torches of the guard providing the illumination as she was marched steadily forward. The corridor ran on far beyond what she expected. She passed door after door, wondering just how many people the Thuski kept imprisoned until she finally found herself in front of another door.

The guards grinned at her. "Good luck barbarian," one of them said. He pulled back the heavy bolt on the door and threw it open, motioning that she should proceed.

With no other option, she moved through the door and found herself in a small chamber. It appeared that she had merely exchanged one cell for another. The door slammed behind her, leaving her in total darkness. There was just one strange difference. The floor beneath her had changed from stone to sawdust, however, alone in complete darkness once again she shrugged and lowered her body to the sawdust and waited once again.

With no way to keep track of time, and nothing to do the wait seemed to stretch on endlessly, so it was with some interest that Zenaria detected a noise that seemed to be coming straight through the wall. The noise was quickly identifiable as the sound of a number of people talking, and then the wall in front of her rose into the air, revealing a large well-lit open space. As the sound of voices increased, there was no doubt that there was a large gathering of people surrounding the open space.

Zenaria stepped forward and the wall closed behind her leaving her in a large sawdust-covered area. She squinted as the light stuck her eyes; she had been in darkness so long that she had a hard time adjusting, but gradually her vision cleared.

"What is this place?" she muttered. She was standing in a large circular enclosure about thirty yards across with walls about fifteen feet high above which were situated row upon row of stone seats, all of which were crowded with spectators. Then she noticed that one section of the seating area was considerably more elaborate than the others. Not surprisingly it was occupied by Ravar Kund. As Zenaria stared up at him he raised his hand for attention.

"Friends," he shouted, as the crowd quieted. "We have a bit of a treat today. In the arena is a wild Erogenian barbarian. She is reputed to be as fierce in combat as she is beautiful, something that will be proven today."

A coarse shout followed Kund's address. "Looks like she's more suited for the harem than the arena. I'll pay you a hundred gold for her."

Zenaria looked in the direction of the speaker and saw a man wearing robes so heavily embroidered with gold thread that he actually shone like the sun.

"I'll tell you what, Tanar," Kund replied. "I'll put five hundred gold on her to last out this day."

"Done," Tanar responded, "but it seems a waste of woman-flesh. I could spend an eternity between those thighs."

"I suspect even the High Thuski might find sleeping with someone who is likely to bite off his manhood a bit daunting." Kund returned. "It is small wonder that the barbarian is still a virgin."

"Is she now?" Tanar asked. His voice betrayed more than common interest. "And you haven't forced yourself on her? That seems unusual given your nature."

"My nature does not stoop to rape. I have never taken a woman against her will."

Tanar snorted. "That is because they have been so terrified of you that none have dared refuse. Is the barbarian the first?"

"You abuse your position and my hospitality with your coarse assertions," Kund replied angrily. "Even the High Thuski should display common courtesy."

"I apologize, Lord Kund," Tanar responded. "We should not argue over something as unimportant as a barbarian, and a women at that. After all she is merely one form of entertainment or another."

The comments of her supposed master and the High Thuski had Zenaria fuming, but she was in no position to do anything about it. She could only wait and see what was to come.

Kund returned to his seat and a hush fell over the crowd. Zenaria looked around expectantly wondering what was about to happen. There was a low rumbling sound and on the other side of the area a partition was raised. A large shape loomed out of the darkness and stepped into the light of the arena. He stood blinking in the sudden light just as Zenaria had. He was a powerfully built man wearing nothing but a brief loincloth. His swarthy body was marked with scars, indicating that he had been involved in numerous combats. As his eyes caught sight of her and he smiled and licked his lips.

"A woman," he grunted. "What did I do to deserve this? Aroo be praised." He looked expectantly toward Kund who grinned down at him.

"A special prize for you today, Gundar. Defeat her without killing her and she is yours."

Gundar bowed, his hand on his heart. "You are generous, Excellency. I will remember you while I enjoy her."

Kund rose to his feet once more. In his hand he held two swords. "To your places," he said.

Gundar moved back to the wall of the arena, his body bent in a sprinting position, the heel of one foot touching the wall. It was at that moment Zenaria suddenly realized what Kund was going to do. Her lips tightened in a grim smile and she touched her heel to the wall.

Kund arced the swords through the air. Kund had aimed for the approximate centre of the arena and Gundar was moving before they even landed.

Zenaria beat him by two full strides and in a single motion scooped up both blades. Gundar slid to a halt, a look of complete surprise and consternation on his face; a look that quickly turned to rage and then fear as he realized he was completely defenceless against a barbarian warrior four inches taller than he was. Laughing, Zenaria hefted the weapons, flipping them into the air and catching them as they came down. It had been all too easy. What sort of warrior did Kund think she was?

A quick look at the blades told her something else. Except for their points they were unsharpened hunks of low-grade iron, almost incapable of holding an edge. "What am I supposed to do with these, Lord Kund, bludgeon this fool to death?"

Laughter from the stands greeted this comment. "The barbarian bitch has a tongue on her," Kund," Tanar jibed. "Perhaps it should be put to use where it can do the most good. How much do you want for her?"

"I will have her win my bet first," Kund replied angrily. It was more than apparent that he reacted poorly to barbarian slaves with a sense of humour. He glared at Zenaria and then at Gundar. "Kill that fool."

Gundar fell to his knees, but he made no move to run away, not that the narrow confines of the arena would have given him any place to hide. In the tradition of the gladiator he knelt and waited for Zenaria to deliver the death blow.

Disgustedly Zenaria tossed the swords into the sawdust. "Kill him yourself."

"The barbarian bitch needs a flogging," Tanar shouted. "Sell her to me and I will attend to it personally. I will pay you double our bet."

"If anyone flogs her it will be me," Kund growled. "But first she will win my five hundred gold." He signalled and the sliding door that had admitted Gundar was raised again and a second man stepped into the arena. He was as tall as Zenaria and wore a studded leather harness that crisscrossed his torso, but like Gundar he was unarmed. "I suggest you pick up one of those swords, barbarian. You will need it." He tossed a third blunted sword into the arena which landed at the feet of the man who had just entered.

Gundar stepped forward, with a grin he picked up both blades. "Too late," he grinned. You should have killed me when you had the chance."

The second man had already picked up his sword. He looked first at Zenaria and then at Gundar. "If she lives, I take her first."

Gundar nodded. "Sure, Dehn. Just leave enough of her alive for me."

Zenaria now understood the blunted swords. Kund didn't want her killed, he wanted her beaten and captured and then subjected to brutal ordeal at the hands of his gladiators. At best the Thuski was little more than a voyeuristic thug.

The two gladiators came directly at her, completely lacking in subtlety. It was a normal reaction when confronting a single unarmed nude woman even if she was a barbarian.

Zenaria had never seen two warriors move more clumsily. A twelve-year-old warrior of the Snow Leopard could have beaten them. She took them out in seconds through the simple expedient of kicking Dehn between the legs, twisting the sword from his hand even as he clutched at his genitals, and slamming the blunted blade into the side of Gundar's head. The heavyset gladiator toppled sideways, blood streaming from a gaping wound.

The crowd reacted in stunned silence, and then there was the sound of a single audience member slowly clapping his hands. "Well, Kund," Tanar's sardonic voice sneered, "it appears you may yet win your five hundred gold. "What else do you have planned?"

Kund gestured and the doors opened again, however this time no armed men appeared, instead two unarmed men entered, and crossing the arena dragged the two gladiators, one still, gasping in pain, from the arena. They also took the other weapons, leaving Zenaria holding her crude sword. "Hmm," she muttered. "Perhaps I should have made that look a bit more difficult." It had suddenly occurred to her that there was nothing to stop Kund from sending fighter after fighter against her in increasing multiples until she was eventually either worn down through sheer exhaustion or overwhelmed by superior numbers.

She appeared to have guessed Kund's intentions correctly. The door opened again, admitting a man that by any definition was truly stupendous. His physical proportions dwarfed Zenaria, standing at least a foot taller than she was and probably weighing three times as much. He was not Sandakar, his features completely unlike any person Zenaria had ever seen. His face was dark, not black like, Sorvat, but closer to the colour of the spice called cinnamon that Tren had pointed out in the market. His body was covered with tattoos depicting serpents; they writhed down his body, encircling his arms and thighs, and even extending to his face. He was armed with a single weapon, a huge mace, studded with sharp iron spikes. A single blow would be all that was needed to crush her completely. Strips of leather studded with bronze were wound around his arms, and legs, as well as his torso. They offered some protection against a slashing weapon, although a straight thrust would find his flesh.

Unfortunately the crude sword that Zenaria held had no more chance of being used as a thrusting weapon than a garden hoe. It was a clear mismatch, and the hushed hush that fell over the crowd as the monstrous gladiator entered was clear proof of that. Only Tanar spoke up. "Kund, what kind of a contest is this? The girl can have no chance against a beast like Krang."

Kund laughed mirthlessly. "Are you going to withdraw your wager? I would expect no more from a man of so little honour."

"It is you who are sullied by this display," Tanar rejoined. "I thought you at least would match the barbarian girl against opponents who were at her level."

There was a murmur of agreement, but Kund did not relent. "Take her, Krang. She is yours to do with as you wish should you take her alive."

"Uhh!" Krang grunted. "She will live, but she will wish she had not. I'll split her tight cunt like a piece of kindling."

Zenaria stared calmly at her gigantic opponent. The first rule of battle was never to allow fear to rule. She faced death, or worse, but giving into panic would almost certainly guarantee defeat. She could not hope to match Krang's strength. If she was to survive she would have to use superior skill to bring him down.

"You mine, bitch," Krang said as he moved toward her.

"Not yet," Zenaria replied as she moved away from him. She studied him carefully, looking for any weakness that she might exploit. In spite of his huge size, Krang was light on his feet, as she suspected he would be. Even someone as big as he was could not depend entirely on steer strength and power to defeat all opponents. She would just have to hope that he had never come up against anyone as quick as she was and that his overconfidence would give her a chance to defeat him.

There was at least one factor in her favour. It became immediately obvious that Krang wanted her alive, and his first crude comment had left little doubt about why. Lust twisted his features as he lunged toward her, balancing lightly on his toes. He resembled some huge demonic dancer, terrifying in appearance, and intent on brutally tormenting her in front of the assembled audience.

Zenaria continued to move away. In this, she was helped by the size of the arena. A good thirty paces across, and circular in shape, it would be difficult for Krang to corner her and there was lots of room for her to avoid any mad rush he might make at her.

She soon found that simply backing up was not good enough. Krang suddenly lunged toward her, covering the intervening space in just three huge strides. His speed was astonishing, and had she not been expecting such a tactic he would certainly have gotten close enough for him to catch her.

He held his mace like a staff, intending to simply knock her down and then leap on top of her, using his superior size and strength to bend her to his will. Zenaria darted to one side, and then stepped past him, striking at the back of his knee with all of her strength as she did so.

Her aim was good, but the blunted sword did not cut through the leather strips that were wound around his leg. Her blow was deflected and instead of hamstringing him she mere made him angry.

"Aaawwrr!" Krang growled. He whirled and swung his huge mace where Zenaria had been. "You bitch. I hurt you." He came at her, his club arcing through the air.

The blow was too quick for her to avoid by stepping back. Instead she leapt as high as she could, striking at his wrist as the club passed under her.

Krang seemed to lose all control. The blow to his wrist seemed not to bother him at all, but now he attacked without the least hint of finesse, sweeping his mace from side to side. Zenaria dodged back. Each swing of Krang's weapon described an arc of about ten feet and her only chance was stay as far away from him as possible.

She danced nimbly back, using to her advantage the fact that each of Krang's swings left him slightly off-balance and cut into his forward momentum. It enabled her to retreat faster than he could advance, until with a howl of rage he charged right at her. She escaped only by ducking under his attack and once again darting behind him, but she still managed a cut with her sword as she skipped away from him. This time she changed her target, and her sword blade struck his Achilles tendon.

Krang howled with rage. Had Zenaria had a properly sharpened weapon, it would have severed the tendon, but even so it left him limping. "Bitch!" he screamed. "I not fuck you. I kill you."

He proceeded very hard to try to do just that. But his injury seemed to slow him just enough that Zenaria was able to keep up her deadly game of mouse fleeing the cat. But it was a close thing. Not since she had been humiliated by Garrod had she been so close to exhaustion. There was no shade in the arena except near one of the walls where there was a patch of shadow. However, there was no way that Zenaria could take advantage of that, and the sweat streamed from her body.

However, she was not the only one suffering. Krang was staggering with exhaustion, his enraged rushes having taken much more out of him than Zenaria's controlled responses to his attacks. "Get you bitch," he gasped, charging toward her once more. This time as Zenaria managed to once more avoid him, he went down, falling to his knees, his mace lowered.

It was the opportunity Zenaria had been waiting for and she leapt to the attack, her crude sword raised. Only at the last instant did she catch the gleam in Krang's eyes. She had just enough self-control left to shift her body away from the mace as it came up with incredible speed. Krang was down, but he was not yet out.

"Bitch," he gasped again. He lurched to his feet, his chest heaving. For a second sweat dripped into his eyes and he raised a forearm to wipe it away. It wasn't much of an opening, but it Zenaria took full advantage of it. She took two steps forward and swinging with both hands cracked her sword across the lower wrist of the hand that held the mace.

Again, the dullness of the blade prevented a cut that should have taken his hand off, but it achieved its purpose. Krang howled in agony, the mace dropping from numbed fingers, and clutched at his shattered wrist. His eyes wide in disbelief and fear, he backed away from Zenaria.

She followed. For all of his howling, the injury was slight. She needed to finish him off while she had the chance and not prolong the fight, but at that moment Kund's voice rang out. "Hold! I'll not have a barbarian bitch damage my best fighter."

"Not your best fighter anymore," Tanar laughed. "Looks like the barbarian is."

Zenaria halted. Staggering from the heat and exertion, she was not in condition to pursue the fight much farther, and she allowed Krang to lurch toward the now open door that had admitted him to the arena. "What now, Kund?" Tanar's mocking voice asked. "She looks like even the stable boy could take her now."

Kund motioned angrily. Several gates around the side of the arena opened, admitting a flood of guards. They surrounded her with a hedge of steel, pinning her in the centre of the arena. "Chain her, and take her out of here. But make sure she is well treated. I want her ready for next week." He turned to Tanar. "A challenge, Tanar. My champion, the barbarian against yours. First to draw blood three times wins and the loser is forfeit to the winner."

"Tempting," Tanar replied. "I will take your bet. Your barbarian is much better than I had imagined, but still no match for my fighter."

"Agreed then before witnesses," Kund finished.

Zenaria dropped her sword. She offered no resistance as she was chained. As she was led from the arena the last thing she saw was Kund's face glowering down at her.

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. Battle and triumph over one's enemies were, after all, was what a warrior of the Snow Leopard lived for. She only regretted that she had not been granted the time to chant her victory song.

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 midday and the desert heat was oppressive. However, she expected that the arena would probably be packed as it had been on the day of her debut, a supposition that was confirmed by the noise of the crowd as she approached the arena.

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.

Chapter 16: Escape

Zenaria knelt in the sawdust of the arena, gazing into the eyes of the woman she had surrendered to. She did not think of herself as defeated; she had voluntarily yielded when she could just as easily have killed her just moments before. But she could not bring herself to kill the sister of the man she... of Tren.

Slowly she got to her feet as Ulua dropped the points of her weapons. Both women could barely stand, and now that the exhilaration of battle had worn off, her injured shoulder throbbed in pain, a trickle of blood flowing from the wound and down over her chest and between her breasts. She saw Ulua wince painfully as she moved, the long gash in her belly weeping blood.

Then a scream from the stands made both women look toward the source of the noise. Kund was on his feet, shouting into the arena. "Barbarian bitch! Why did you capitulate so cravenly? I thought you a warrior. Go, and good riddance to you."

From the other side of the arena came Tanar's dry laugh. "Admit it, Kund. The barbarian is not the warrior you thought. She could not bring herself to kill a woman. And now she belongs to me."

As Zenaria and Ulua stood in the arena the sliding doors opened and several armed men entered the arena. One of them dragged heavy chains through the sawdust until he reached Zenaria. They were much more massive than anything she had worn before and it actually took two men to hold them while they shackled her, placing a heavy iron collar around her neck and thick manacles and leg irons on her wrists and ankles. Each link was as thick as her thumb and Zenaria staggered under their weight.

Was this was what it meant to be defeated in the arena; to be weighed down like a beast of burden? She could barely move. "Fear not," Ulua whispered as Zenaria staggered under the weight of iron. "It is Tanar's way to burden his latest acquisitions. He thinks to break their spirits and mould them to his will."

At that point the guards intervened, separating the two women. Zenaria was prodded forward. Already exhausted from her combat, she could barely place one foot in front of the other as she was marched from the arena. Ulua walked in the rear unfettered, although her weapons had been taken away from her and she was flanked by four guards.

This time she was marched in an entirely different direction, as of course, she was no longer Kund's slave. She forced herself to place one foot in front of the other, marching is silence between guards who also did not speak. The walk seemed to take forever, but Zenaria refused to break. Desperate for water, and bleeding badly from her shoulder wound, she would not give her captors the satisfaction of seeing her forced to her knees. Being dragged before Tanar would be a complete admission of defeat and she would not give her new master the pleasure of seeing her so completely degraded.

She finally entered a compound that led off the long walk and found herself in an open area similar to that where she had been confined before her defeat. She guessed that the arena must be surrounded by many such compounds, set aside for the gladiators and owned by the various wealthy members of Sandak society. This time instead of serving girls, Tanar was waiting for her.

The presence of the High Thuski of Uhra Don partly explained the chains. Up close she could see that in spite of his golden robes, he was a rather unimpressive individual, standing eight inches shorter than her and probably old enough to be her grandfather. But he remembered that this was the man who had publicly shouted his intention to force her to his bed. Would he indeed chain her down and rape her, or was that all some sort of bluster intended to impress other members of the Sandak nobility?

She remembered Ulua's whispered advice and tried to meet his gaze and hold herself erect in spite of the great weight of metal that tried to drag her down, and the heat and exhaustion that had her swaying. It was an act that Tanar apparently found disconcerting.

"Barbarian bitch," he growled. "Lower your eyes when you are in my presence."

"I am not one of your docile Sandak she-goats," Zenaria replied. "Were I not chained I would kill you where you stand."

"Another like that Beni Sidra bitch. It might be well if I stripped the flesh from your back in order to teach you some humility."

"That would hardly add to my value as your slave," Zenaria replied, her voice dripping scorn, "but I would expect no less from a Sandak."

"You will find that having your tongue removed will not impede your ability to fight," Tanar growled. "I suggest you shut your mouth while I decide your fate."

With some effort Zenaria bit back a retort. She had no doubt that if pushed far enough Tanar would carry out his threat. She waited while he inspected her, the heat added to her exhaustion, but she held herself erect and feigned indifference to what was happening to her.

"You are strong," Tanar said as he circled her. "And I know you can kill. Why then did you spare my fighter? You had her at your mercy and then meekly surrendered. I would not want to see that repeated if you fight for me."

"The warriors of the Snow Leopard do not fight women," Zenaria answered.

"And yet, barbarian, you allow women to become warriors in complete defiance of what Aroo has planned for them."

Zenaria knew she was treading on dangerous ground, but felt she had little to lose. She was Tanar's property and she gambled that he would want the right to claim ownership of the two greatest gladiators in Uhra Don. "Have you spoken to this god you call Aroo? If not how do you know what she has ordained?"

"A clever answer," Tanar replied, "but one that would see you stoned by the Servants of Aroo should they hear it. But it shows you are more than just an ignorant savage. There is a brain beneath that thick barbarian skull. I will have you instructed in the true faith. Perhaps you will see the light."

Tanar motioned to the guards. "Remove the chains and see that she receives the treatment deserving of one of my gladiators. Stable her with the Beni Sidra. It will be interesting to see if the assassin and the barbarian can refrain from killing one another."

Zenaria managed to keep her feet as her chains were removed and the guards escorted her across the compound, but she almost fell as she was ushered into still another compound and the door was closed behind her. Gentle hands on her arms kept her upright and she was helped to a stone bench. As before she saw that she was surrounded by several young women, two of them barely into their teens. However, there was someone else there as well.

Ulua mad no attempt to rise from the deep pool where she was being attended to by two nude serving girls, but her dark almond-shaped eyes fastened Zenaria like a hunting cat stalking its prey. Without the slightest preamble she spoke. "Who are you and how did you learn the name, Tren?" Her voice was not particularly friendly, but neither was it hostile.

Zenaria countered with a question of her own as the female attendants stripped off her armour. "I am called Zenaria and you are Tren's sister aren't you? The one he seeks. He did not tell me your name."

"That is not an answer," Ulua replied. It was apparent from her tone that she was used to having her way, at least so far as her fellow slaves were concerned.

He rescued me from Sandakar slavers," Zenaria answered, "and then I travelled with him to Uhra Don to look for you."

"And how came you to be in the arena?" Ulua asked as Zenaria was helped toward the same pool in which the golden-skinned girl was immersed.

"Tren took me into the city and I was discovered and taken prisoner. I was then sent to the arena."

"Hmm," Ulua commented. "You are very good. You surprised even me. I thought I was finished until you held back. Obviously you do not share Tren's mission."

"His mission?" Zenaria winced as one of the serving girls began to probe her shoulder wound, but she held still knowing that it was necessary.

"Does he not seek my death?"

"He did say that," Zenaria gasped as the girl attending her pushed a long slender needle into the wound, forcing it open, and then another girl used a hollow reed to drip some stinging liquid into the wound.

"Yes," Ulua mused. "He would think that I would tell all under torture. But I was spared that. Tanar decided to use me in the arena instead. However, I suspect that when I have served my usefulness he may decide that torture would be an appropriate ending to my career." She too winced as another girl began to stitch closed the nasty cut on her belly, using a needle so tiny that Zenaria could not even see the stitches.

"It is clean," mistress murmured her female attendant. "Your blood washed it clean. Now we will stitch it closed."

Zenaria ignored the jab of the tiny needle and continued her conversation with Ulua. "How did you come to be here?" Zenaria asked.

"A botched assassination attempt," Ulua said ruefully. "I was caught outside Tanar's bedchamber and brought down with a poisoned dart before I had time to kill myself."

"What stops you now?" Zenaria asked. "If you wish death would it not be a simple matter to die in the arena."

"It would," Ulua admitted, "but Tanar is clever and quite ruthless. He kept me in an iron cage for the first month of my activity and had me attended by the servants you see here plus a few others who have other duties. My personal retinue now numbers twenty young maidens, all taken as slaves by Sandakar raiders. On the final day of the month Tanar came to me and told me of his plan to use me in the arena. He then told me that if I died all of my servants would be put to death, but not before they had been turned over to the city guard for their entertainment. And so here I remain. I dare not escape even if given the chance."

Zenaria nodded her agreement. It appeared that there was no way for Ulua to escape or be rescued without dooming a score of innocent young maidens. She thought of the five girls who had served her when she had been Kund's property and felt a similar attachment in spite of the fact that the girls had served her for only a day.

Suddenly Zenaria felt remarkably tired. So much so that she could barely keep her eyes open. It was almost certainly a reaction to the ordeal she had been put through as it was still only mid-afternoon. The servants seemed to sense her exhaustion and helped her from the water. Draping a soft cotton robe around her the led her to a pile of cushions placed in the shade of an awning. As they settled her down she saw the other servants helping Ulua to an identical resting place. Then she closed her eyes and slept.

She awoke very hungry and thirsty, but she need not have worried. Although it was now dark, the female attendants were still there and they immediately brought her food and drink. A few feet away, Ulua still slept, but a short while later she awoke, and wincing as the movement stretched the wound in her belly, she sat up and helped herself to the food and drink set before her.

Both women ate in silence until they were satiated and then Zenaria rolled from her pile of cushions and moved over to Ulua. The girl looked up in surprise, but then nodded in understanding as Zenaria looked at the serving girls. With a motion of her fingers, Ulua shooed than away and then waited for Zenaria to speak.

"I think escape is possible," Zenaria said, "but we must be willing to do the unexpected."

"What do you have in mind?" Ulua asked.

"I know nothing of the layout of this place, but you are an assassin. My short association with Tren has taught me that you see and know things that others do not. You must have figured out a way to escape by now."

"That is true," Ulua said, "but I cannot leave my attendants to be raped and murdered."

"That is why we must attack instead of retreating," Zenaria said. "You came here to assassinate Tanar. What if we were to take him alive instead? Could he not be forced to grant you and your servants free passage in return for his life?"

"It is a plan," Ulua agreed. "But if it fails then many innocent lives will be forfeit"

"I realize that," Zenaria replied. "But we might now have a chance. There are now two of us instead of one. Acting together we might be able to succeed. However, I will leave it to you. You know the layout of our prison much better than do I."

Ulua thought on Zenaria's proposal for the next few hours before finally making up her mind. "Death is preferable to a life in slavery," the golden skinned girl said. "It is a bold idea and it might just succeed, but not in the way that you think."

Zenaria listened while Ulua spoke. "You are a strong woman. Much stronger than I, as I have reason to know. I have a plan, but it will require the cooperation of the High Thuski in order for it to work. Here is what I am going to do...."

At the end Zenaria nodded. "Yes. I can do that. As you say it is a desperate plan, but will probably be most unexpected. It might just work."

It took a week before Zenaria's wound was healed enough that she could move her arm properly, but she resumed training long before that as did Ulua. Although they were not allowed weapons, both warriors went through their moves, strengthening their bodies and stretching their injuries carefully to work the stiffness out of them. As they regained their ease of movement each observed the other. Both warriors' moved quite differently and watched with interest as the other went through the drills she had been taught. Zenaria especially found Ulua's movements fascinating. It was a form of combat that resembled dance more than warfare, but she had no difficulty in understanding its deadly purpose and frequently asked Ulua to show her how to perform a certain move. Soon both women were practicing together, something that was apparently noted by someone who reported to Tanar, as he showed up one day to watch while they trained.

He did not exactly enter the compound where Zenaria and Ulua lived. Instead he had his guards escort him to a small walled compound where he could watch them from the safety of an observation deck some fifteen feet above the floor of the enclosure. As the two warriors entered the compound they looked at one another. They had not expected this. Their opportunity had come sooner than expected. "On my signal," Ulua, whispered. Zenaria acknowledged the command with a faint smile.

They warmed up for ten minutes, working up a good sweat and lulling Tanar into a state of complacency. Then Ulua gave a slight nod and broke into a full run toward Zenaria. It was an unrehearsed move, but one that they had discussed during their sparing routines, and they would have just one chance to pull it off.

Ulua launched herself toward Zenaria, leaping at the last second as if she intended to drive her foot into Zenaria's inviting bosom, but instead Zenaria went into a crouch, extending her cupped hands and catching Ulua's foot as she came down. Then Zenaria straightened her powerful body, extending her hands as she pushed upward with all of her strength. At the same time Ulua pushed off, her body uncoiling like a steel spring. The combined effort propelled the golden-skinned girl almost straight up and level with the balcony where an astonished Tanar toppled backward out of his chair as Ulua caught hold of the edge of the balcony and vaulted into the stands.

The four guards who were with the High Thuski were caught completely flat-footed and Ulua was on to Tanar before he could scramble to safety. Tangled in his gold robes he could only flail helplessly as the Beni Sidra assassin slammed into him. "Mercy!" he screamed. There was a strong ordour of urine as Ulua snapped his head into a death dealing armlock, her forearm over the great vein in his throat. "Call off your dogs'" she commanded as Tanar went white with fear. "Quickly or I break your neck!"

"Hold!" Tanar cried hoarsely. "Come no closer. You master commands it."

The four guards, who had been rushing to his aid, came to a complete halt barely a sword-length away. "Tell them to back off," Ulua ordered, tightening her grip slightly, "and give orders that no one be admitted to the viewing stand."

Tanar did as he was told, ordering his guards to stand back. Only then did Ulua release her hold, however, she plucked Tanar's jewelled knife from its sheath and held the blade to his throat. "Strip off your robes," she commanded.

"You cannot do this to me," Tanar protested. "I am the high Thuski. You will be flayed alive."

In answer Ulua grabbed his hair, jerking his head back and held the point of the knife to his eye. "I have no time for fools," she said. "Do as you are told without protest or you will live the rest of your days as a blind man."

Tanar's dusky features, which had regained some of their colour, whitened even further. He hastily shucked his elaborate gold-threaded robes and lay shaking with rage, fear, and embarrassment under the blade of Ulua's knife. "Now," Ulua said with obvious relish, "I shall bind you in a way that is sure to catch your attention. She took Tanar's robe and expertly cut off a strip of cloth that she used to bind his hands behind his back. Then she cut off another strip and with a malicious grin on her face she tightened it around his genitals, taking obvious pleasure from the panicked look that crossed the High Thuski's face. "Now," she said, "I expect you will obey me."

All this time Zenaria had been watching from the pit that was the bottom of the arena. Although Ulua had only been gone a matter of a few hundred heartbeats it seemed much longer and she breathed a sigh of relief when the assassin turned her attention to her. Ulua cut three more strips from Tanar's robe, and tying one end to a stone column that flanked the Thuski's seating place, she tossed the other end to Zenaria. It took her only seconds to scramble up the makeshift rope to stand beside her companion.

"Now," Ulua said, speaking to Tanar, "we are going to leave, the gladiator's compound and you are going to make sure that we leave alive, otherwise you will die. Any hesitation on your part and I pull this." She gave the length of cloth binding Tanar's genitals a sharp tug. The High Thuski's cry of pain indicated that he had received the message.

"First, however," Ulua continued, "there are a few things I want brought to me and you will order it so."

Visibly sweating, Tanar stammered out a reply. "What do you want?"

"I wish all of my servants brought to me. Remember that I know them all by sight so I will know if one is not present. They are to bring me all of my equipment and a hundred pieces of gold each."

A sly look came into Tanar's eyes, but he nodded his acceptance.

"I too want something," Zenaria said. "I wish the five serving girls who attended me when I was Kund's servant brought to me. And I want the return of my sword."

"Zenaria's serving girls are to be given one hundred gold as well," Ulua added.

Zenaria experienced a slight start of surprise. She had supposed that Ulua wanted the gold for herself, but that appeared to be not the case.

"It will be done," Tanar said grudgingly. "But could I not at least have my under-robe?"

"You had no problem in parading me nude before you and you companions. Now you will be presented in the same manner."

"If I agree to all of this," the High Thuski said, "then you must release me."

"Think yourself lucky that I have not gelded you and stuffed your balls into your mouth," Ulua replied. "There is no negotiation. You do as you are told or I end it here."

"I am your safe passage out of here," Tanar replied angrily. You dare not kill me."

From his comments it was obvious that Tanar had gotten over his shock, but Ulua was not about to concede an inch to the High Thuski. "So you are," she replied calmly. Then she gave a sharp tug on the rope.

Tanar screamed as the cord tightened around his family treasures. "Stop," he pleaded. "I'll do as you say."

Ulua nodded as if there had never been any doubt. Zenaria had to admit that the Assassin certainly seemed to know what she was about. The older woman almost frightened her with her cold intensity.

As it transpired things worked out very much the way Ulua had planned them although waiting in the seating area of the pit for the two hours it took for all of the serving girls to arrive was one of the hardest things Zenaria had ever had to do. At any moment she expected a surprise raid by Tanar's guards and the hair on the back of her head stirred at every little sound.

Eventually, however, two dozen young women filed into the observation deck of the practice pit, among them were the five who had served Zenaria. They were a highly confused bunch as might be expected. And were especially mystified by the one hundred gold pieces each of them had been given. When they discovered that the High Thuski was the helpless prisoner of the two Amazon warriors their reaction ranged from horror to malicious delight. The former were mostly too frightened to say anything except to wonder at what might happen to them for daring to defy the most powerful man in Uhra Don. The latter wanted to remove pieces of Tanar's anatomy with rather dull instruments. Neither attitude, however, was acceptable to Ulua.

"We are leaving Uhra Don," Ulua said, standing at the top of the viewing stand so that all could see her. Tanar knelt at her feet and Zenaria stood just inches away, her newly returned sword in her hand. "The High Thuski will ensure that we are not stopped."

"But we will never cross the desert," wailed one of the girls. "We will die of thirst and our bones picked clean by vultures."

Ulua simply smiled. "Trust me," she said. "There is a way."

Her calm demeanour seemed to calm most of the girls and if that didn't Zenaria's menacing presence cowed the rest into following her.

There were a few more arrangements to be made before Ulua was ready, such as obtaining proper desert robes of all of the semi-nude young women and enough food to see them on a journey of about a week. Once again, Zenaria fretted through the arrangements, while Ulua seemed oblivious to the passage of time. It was obvious that she thought her control of the High Thuski would be enough to ensure her escape, but Zenaria kept on thinking of ways that things could go wrong.

One thing that especially troubled her was finding a way out of Uhra Don and across the desert without being followed by a horde of armed men. For the moment threatening to kill Tanar might work, but eventually she was sure that the Sandakar would decide that he was expendable, especially as his political rivals might see his death as a most convenient outcome. But she held her peace and waited until Ulua was ready.

By this time Zenaria had not only had her sword returned to her, but had been dressed in a fine robe under which she had been fitted with some of Ulua's armour. Ulua's own attendants helped put it on; fitting the pieces to Zenaria's much larger frame. The armour that fit was highly polished black leather studded with bronze rivets for added protection. It consisted of a pair of greaves and thigh protectors and leather bands fitted to cover a portion of her breasts. On Ulua the bands would have offered complete protection, but Zenaria's had to be content with what was available. And she was quite pleased with the leather cuffs that protected most of her forearms and the leather coverings that fitted over her upper arms and shoulders.

It was a shame that such fine armour had to be hidden under her desert robes, especially the crested leather helmet that, like Ulua's, hid the upper portion of her face. Her vanity was piqued and she would have liked nothing better than to study herself in front of some reflecting surface to see exactly what she looked like. However, the only mirror the serving girls had brought was a small hand held piece of silvered glass that did not allow Zenaria to see more than a small part of her body. With a frown of resignation she handed the mirror back to the girl who had given it to her and pulled on her black desert robes. It was time to go.

It was an odd procession that marched out of the practice arena. Twenty six young women moved in a tight formation with Tanar in the middle. Zenaria stood right behind the High Thuski, sword in hand, leaving little doubt as to what would happen to Tanar should the Sandakar attempt any foolish rescue attempt. Ulua walked in front, her dark eyes alert for danger, and towing the High Thuski forward with not so gentle tugs on the leash around his genitals.

Their formation protected the two warriors from arrows, although it left the girls extremely vulnerable. It was a situation that Zenaria did not approve of, but she reflected that there was probably little choice if they were to escape. The only thing that could keep them alive was to keep the High Thuski under their control and they could only do that by not being filled with arrows. Their precautions seemed well founded when they finally exited the narrow corridors of the gladiators' compound. They found themselves in a large plaza lined with hundreds of Sandakar. Only Tanar's screams for them to keep their distance held them off. The question was, however, whether or not they would continue to obey their ruler or whether in their anger they would decide he was expendable.

As a result it was a tense few minutes as the young women paraded through the streets watched by the dozens of glowering soldiers. "You can't get away, you know," Tanar said. "There is nowhere you can hide that my soldiers can't follow. Even if you kill me, you will all die."

"As you once said to me," Zenaria replied. "You can still walk without your tongue."

"Or your balls," Ulua added, giving the rope another painful jerk.

Zenaria's composure hid the tension within her. The soldiers kept their distance, but they closed in on the procession as it passed. It would take only a single word to send a wave of soldiers against them and against such numbers the two warriors would have had no chance. At any moment she expected to hear a shouted order and the thunder of a thousand feet charging toward her.

But their desperate gamble held until Ulua directed them into a large and beautifully constructed building on the far side of the plaza.

"You can't go in here," Tanar protested. "This is sacred ground."

Ulua and the others paid him not the slightest bit of attention as they mounted the twenty steps leading up to a columned portico and entered the building. Zenaria had to force her mouth closed to keep from gaping. Inside the building was even more magnificent than it was on the outside. The dozen columns fronting the building continued inside running toward the back in seemingly endless rows.

"This is sacrilege," Tanar complained. "You profane Aroo's sacred precincts."

"Don't worry," Ulua replied. "We are not staying long." She hurried toward the back of the temple forcing the Thuski to break into a run to prevent a certain portion of his anatomy from being ripped from his body.

"You are a fool," Tanar gasped. "You have trapped yourself. There is no escape from here, and my presence will no longer protect you."

He appeared to be right about the last statement. As they penetrated the temple there were angry shouts from all sides. Fortunately, no one in the temple other than Zenaria and Ulua were armed, but from behind them they could hear the shouts of the guards as they poured across the threshold of the temple. Ulua, however, kept going, reaching the back of the temple where she led the two dozen women behind an alcove and into what appeared to be a dead end.

"You see," Tanar said, wheezing from exertion. "You are trapped. Surrender and I will grant you all quick deaths."

Ulua ignored him. She handed over her leash to another woman and moved to the middle of the floor. "Quickly," she said pointing. "Lift this up."

Zenaria saw that there were four large bronze rings set into the stone beneath their feet. Several of the women grabbed hold and heaved. There was a hollow grinding sound and a section of floor about four feet wide and six feet long moved. However, in spite of the efforts of the four women straining at the rings, the stone would not move. "Harder," Ulua ordered. "We do not have much time."

Sheathing her sword Zenaria strode forward. Pushing two of the women aside she seized the rings and pulled. The stone came up suddenly and Zenaria continued to pull until the slab was clear of its seating and then she dragged it aside, revealing a large black hole.

Ulua grabbed a torch from a nearby wall sconce and stepped into the hole, revealing that a flight of stone steps descended into the darkness. She handed the torch to the closest girl. "Go quickly. I will follow shortly."

Zenaria stepped forward, unsheathing her sword. "You go," she said. "You know the way. I will follow after I've given the Sandakar something to thing about."

Ulua hesitated and then nodded. "Come as quickly as you can," she said, and then hastening after the other woman she disappeared into the darkness.

Zenaria could hear the sound of feet rushing toward the alcove. She waited until the sound was almost upon her and then she charged from her hiding place. Her appearance so startled the soldiers that confronted her that two of them actually lost their footing as they slid to a halt on the stone floor. Several others fell over them, resulting in an untidy heap on the temple floor. Zenaria gave them no time to recover; swinging her sword two-handed she cut into them, scattering bodies and pieces of bodies in every direction. For a minute pandemonium reigned as those closest to her tried desperately to get away, colliding with those at the back who were still pushing forward. It was a bloody and chaotic mess, the screams of the wounded mingling with those who shouted in rage at the defilement of the temple.

Zenaria stepped back and retreated to the hole in the floor. Wiping her bloody sword on her robe, she sheathed it and grabbed the rings of the huge slab, pulling it up on its edge and then dragging it toward the hole. She moved as quickly as she could, the sounds of the enraged soldiers coming closer as they recovered from the turmoil she had created. She descended the stairs, still holding the rings of the slab and then dragged it after her, pulling the slab into place with the rings facing down so that they could not be reached.

Darkness closed around her, but far down the stairs she could make up the glow of a torch. Placing her right hand against the wall she hurried after it and a minute later found Ulua waiting for her. "They won't follow that quickly," Zenaria panted. "Where is Tanar?"

"The girls are looking after him. I suspect he wishes that he was safe with us." Ulua looked back up the passage, the flickering light of the torch glinting off her high cheekbones. "What did you do?"

"Reversed the stone. They'll have to get pry bars to lift it. That should give us a little time."

"Then let's take advantage of your strength," Ulua replied. She headed down the stairwell.

"What is this place?" Zenaria asked. There was no stench as in the sewers, but the walls were damp with water, and the air was definitely moist.

"You will see," Ulua asked. "Did you not wonder where the people of Uhra Don got all of their water?"

As a matter of fact Zenaria had wondered. And she soon got her answer. She and Ulua descended for another minute and then she saw the other women standing on a stone shelf next to what appeared to be a body of water. She and Ulua were soon standing beside them and then she saw Tanar on his knees surrounded by the women who had once been his slaves.

"What shall we do with him?" Zenaria asked.

"He has served his purpose," Ulua answered. "I see no reason why we should not cut his throat."

"No, you cannot," Tanar pleaded, raising his hands as if in prayer. "I kept my part of the bargain."

"We made no bargain," Ulua replied coldly. "We simply told you what to do."

"The warriors of the Snow Leopard do not kill prisoners," Zenaria said flatly.

"But I am a Beni Sidra assassin," Ulua said. "I have no such reservations." She stared at Zenaria and then back at the trembling High Thuski. "Alright, I will respect your sense of honour, but I would just as soon be bitten by a scorpion." She motioned to Tanar. "Go before I change my mind. And thank your unforgiving god that the barbarian shows greater mercy than he does."

Tanar needed no further urging. He scrambled up the stairway, stumbling and falling several times in his eagerness to put as much distance between himself and Ulua as possible.

"Come," Ulua commanded. "We have wasted enough time. She walked to the edge of the shelf, where it met the walls confining the underground lake. The flickering light of the torch revealed a narrow walkway about a foot wide that ran off into the darkness. Without a moment's hesitation she strode out along it as if it had been the widest highway.

Hardly a single one of the gaggle of young women followed. Instead they bunched up at the edge and looked despairingly at the narrow ledge. "I can't go on that," one of them wailed. "I'll fall off." Her protest was immediately followed by wails from most of the rest of the girls.

"Go!" Zenaria commanded. "She won't wait. I'll follow and make sure no one falls in."

"I can't swim," another girl cried.

"I can," Zenaria said firmly. "I won't let you drown. Now move or I'll push you in myself."

The threat and the promise, plus Ulua disappearing into the darkness, had the desired effect. The girls set off, the bolder going first and the most timid bringing up the rear. They went slowly at first, then more quickly as they gained confidence, but they were still painfully slow and Zenaria had to resist the urge to push the girls in front of her in order to get them moving more quickly. Her only consolation was that as slowly as they were going, any pursuer had to follow the same route. The narrow walkway would enable her to defend against any Sandakar that dared to follow them into the stygian blackness.

The underground lake was immense. It faded away into the darkness, its roof supported by row on row of pillars that loomed out of the water like the trunks of branchless trees. And the walkway that skirted it, and along which Ulua led them, seemed to go on forever. Most of the girls were snivelling in fear-induced exhaustion by the time they finally came to a second landing and another stairway. Ulua led them up the stairs, but not, as Zenaria had expected to the top. Instead she stopped halfway up and turned into a dark hole.

"Not so far, now," she whispered. "But we must be very quiet."

The blubbering stopped immediately, and then Ulua moved on. Zenaria was immensely relieved. Not only were most of the girls close to collapse, but the torch had burned down to a nub. However, it was not needed. Ulua stubbed it out on the stonework and it was revealed that a faint light trickled down the tunnel as well as a strange grinding noise.

Ulua crept along the tunnel. It was almost perfect circular and just high enough that Zenaria had only to crouch a little. The light got brighter as they progressed, and the grinding sound became steadily louder. Underfoot, Zenaria could detect a faint vibration which also increased with every footfall.

Ulua held up her hand, bringing the column to a halt. Zenaria pushed forward, elbowing the compliant serving girls aside as she moved to the front of the line. Ulua nodded as she came up, but said nothing. However, what was revealed to Zenaria needed no explanation. The tunnel opened over a large cavern that to Zenaria was the perfect Erogenian vision of hell.

At the bottom of the cavern was a deep pool of water that was probably a continuation of the underground lake they had seen earlier. Over against the far wall were several gigantic wheels position one above the other. The rim of the lowest wheel was immersed in water. Attached to the outer rim were buckets that scooped up the water as the wheel slowly rotated and delivered the water to a cistern at the very top of the wheel. From the cistern the water flowed to the buckets of the second wheel which carried the water to a still higher cistern. There were six wheels in all, each one with a diameter of about eight yards, raising the water almost 150 feet from the lower reservoir. It was an ingenious work of engineering, and like many things about Uhra Don, it was something that left Zenaria wide-eyed. However, it also left her burning with rage.

Powering the huge wheels were male slaves. Under the watchful eyes of Sandak overseers a half dozen poor souls trod the interior of each wheel, forcing them to turn and delivering the water to its destination. Scattered about the machinery were over twenty guards. There was no escaping this dreadful drudgery. All of the overseers were equipped with whips, which they used liberally to keep the naked men in the wheels moving. Without thinking Zenaria drew her sword.

Ulua placed her hand on Zenaria's arm. "Hold," she murmured. "What do you think you are going to do?"

"I can't just leave those men there," Zenaria hissed. "The goddess would curse me for it."

"They are heavily guarded and we are just two," Ulua said quietly. "There are thirty men down there."

"Then the odds are even," Zenaria said.

"We have a score of young women in our care already. Would you jeopardize their safety to save the others? And what are we going to do with them? I am going to have enough trouble trying to hide those we have without adding to the number. It would serve us poorly if we attempted to save those poor men and it resulted in those we have already saved being recaptured."

"Then why are we here?" Zenaria asked.

"It is the way out," Ulua replied. "Let us go, but keep down so that we will not be noticed." Moving into a crouch she moved off, traversing a walkway overlooking the rim of the cavern. It was just wide enough that by keeping close to the wall and crouching down those below could not seen them. In this fashion the procession of young women crossed the roof of the cavern and entered another tunnel. This one sloped toward the surface and then levelled out. It then ran straight for several hundred yards before ending it what appeared to be a dead end, but by this time Zenaria had enough faith in Ulua to know that there must be more to it than that.

Her faith was rewarded as Ulua found a hidden catch and a small hole appeared in the wall. It was just big enough for a man or woman to enter, and Ulua went first. A second later she poked her head back out. "Follow me," she invited.

Zenaria waited until the last woman passed through before following. Ulua was waiting and closed the opening as Zenaria passed through. She looked around. She was standing in a natural cave that was somehow vaguely familiar. "Come" Ulua commanded. The golden-skinned assassin once again took the lead and moved through the cave. From somewhere enough light entered the cave that although it was dim, Zenaria and the others could make their way without difficulty.

They turned a corner and entered a more open area; one that Zenaria knew well. She felt a strange sensation near her heart and stepped into the middle of the cave, looking out toward the deep pool at its mouth where she had once gone swimming. She looked around, but the one she hoped to see was nowhere in sight. Ulua, however, was not fooled. She turned as a dark figure suddenly materialized as if out of nowhere.

Zenaria's eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. "Tren!" she gasped.

Chapter 17: Balancing the Cha

As Zenaria stared at Tren, a whirl of emotions, spun through her mind; joy, surprise, trepidation, and a strange aching in her heart. For some reason she was short of breath and hot in places she should not have been hot. Tren's first words, however, swept her initial reaction away. "So you have returned," he said, his voice completely devoid of emotion and his comment was directed to Ulua.

Zenaria felt her heart twist. It was as if Tren had not even seen her. He was focused entirely on Ulua, his hands on the hilts of his twin blades, his eyes cold enough to frost his breath. "I am glad to see you too, brother," Ulua said calmly.

Zenaria's eyes widened. It was like watching two cats circle one another. What had come over the two assassins that they should show such animosity? Without thinking she drew her sword and stepped between them, her barbarian anger surging to the fore. "What is this? How can you give your sister so poor a welcome?"

Tren seemed to see her for the first time and his dark eyes widened in surprise. A strange emotion flickered across his face, one that was almost instantly replaced by his usual emotionless calm.

"He thinks I have betrayed the order," Ulua explained. "Such an act is punishable by death."

"I will not let that happen," Zenaria proclaimed. She looked at Tren, her blue eyes flashing fire. "You will have to go through me first."

"But she betrayed the assassin's creed," Tren protested. "She should be dead."

"I care not for your muddled creed," Zenaria growled. "Without Ulua I would not have escaped and without me she would still be a prisoner. We are bonded as warriors of the Snow Leopard."

"I thank you, my sister," Ulua said, touching Zenaria's arm, "but there is no need." She turned to Tren. "There was no betrayal, my brother." And then Ulua explained her captivity and the predicament that had kept her from killing herself.

Tren appeared relieved and tears glistened in his eyes. It was the first time Zenaria had ever seen him display much in the way of emotion. He held out his arms and enfolded Ulua within them. They hugged only briefly and then Tren stepped back looking into Ulua's eyes. "I thought I had lost you when you did not return and then when I heard that you had been taken prisoner and had not ended your life I thought you had betrayed the Beni Sidra and I would have to kill you. You must tell me of your adventures and how you managed to escape the High Thuski, but first we must decide how to deal with this harem you have brought me."

The caves were large enough that there was room for all of the women. What was lacking was the sort of furnishings they were used to and the quality and quantity of food and drink. However, despite some complaining the young women seemed content to put up with the hardships of their existence in return for the promise of freedom. They knew that with the amount of gold each of them carried they had the means to set themselves up in a life of luxury and control who they selected as husbands.

"We will have to get them out of here as soon as possible," Tren said. "It is only a matter of time before one or the other of them becomes discontent and decides to try and find her way back to the Sandakar."

Zenaria and Ulua nodded their agreement. They settled in the harem girls as well as they were able and then prepared a meal by combining the rations Ulua had ordered the Thuski to provide for them.

While eating, Ulua and Zenaria told Tren of their adventures. The telling took until late at night at which time Zenaria and Ulua were more than ready for sleep. They slept in their robes, Tren commenting that tomorrow he would try to acquire proper bedrolls.

Tren was gone when Zenaria awoke. Ulua was busy working up some sort of breakfast for the two dozen young women, most of whom were still asleep. "You might want to see if you can work out some latrine arrangements. We can't have them going just anywhere and the place Tren used is not large enough for so many."

Zenaria nodded and trotted off to see what she could find. She selected a dry tunnel that branched off from the main cave and was not too far away from where the harem beauties were sleeping. It sloped appropriately away from the main cave and was quite dry. She acquainted the girls which her choice and then returned to Ulua to help complete the breakfast preparations.

"We can't stay here long," she commented when she saw how much food Ulua was preparing. Every one of Tren's cooking utensils was in use and there still was not enough to feed everyone at once. In addition, the food was being used up at an alarming rate. They would have to find a way out of Uhra Don and quickly. The problem was, Zenaria was not sure that the pampered harem girls could make it across the desert wasteland she and Tren had crossed.

Tren returned near noon. By that time both Ulua and Zenaria had stripped off their desert robes. Tren eyed their black lacquered armour appraisingly. Was it Zenaria's imagination, or did his eyes linger on her just a split second longer than on his sister? He set down a bundle of gear he had brought with him. I've arranged to have more gear brought to the stables tomorrow. But then we will have to leave. I dare not take any more chances in having this hideaway discovered."

"What is our way our?" inquire Zenaria.

"The way we came in." He went on after noting Zenaria's look of concern. "I know it will be a tough trek, but here is really no choice. I can't bring in almost thirty camels. I would be sure to be noticed. We will have to travel at night to try and avoid most of the heat and hope that these harem girls can stand up to a five day trek across the desert."

The rest of the day passed with various preparations a good deal of which was explaining to the harem girls what the situation was. To Zenaria's surprise most of them reacted well to the prospect of a five day walk through a desert hell. Setia, one of the girls who had been Zenaria's servant summed up their attitudes best. "Better to die of thirst than serve our lives as the Thuski's whores. We will follow you anywhere, mistress."

Zenaria was not sure if most of the girls would agree with that sentiment, but no one contradicted her. Zenaria found herself flattered that Setia had pledged her loyalty to her rather than Tren, but she tried not to get too full of herself. It was Tren who knew that way across the desert, not her.

She busied herself during the rest of the day helping to sort through the equipment needed to cross the desert safely. Many of the girls helped, which was fortunate as it took awhile to fill and stockpile the numerous waterskins that would be needed for the journey. Tren had little faith in the ability of the young women to ration themselves on the desert march so he had acquired waterskins that would be carried by the three camels he had managed to acquire. That way he could ration the water use by having it where he could keep an eye on it. It took a good deal of the day to fill the large waterskins and make sure that they were not leaking. There was also the task of creating packs for each of the women of an appropriate size. Since the women ranged in size from petite tall it was necessary to create individual burdens rather than force all of the women to carry identical loads. It took most of the day to finish these various tasks, and after eating another meal prepared by Ulua with the help of some of the women, Zenaria felt in need of a final swim.

The noise of two dozen chattering young women was close to driving her to distraction. Zenaria found it difficult to believe the amount of mindless noise the girls could generate and she needed desperately to find some place away from them. It was dark when she entered the pool, but a quarter moon and the light of a billion stars provided enough light that she had little trouble as she slipped into the cool water. She sighed as the water caressed her skin. Even in the caves the desert heat was pervasive near the entrance and Zenaria had spent much of her time near the entrance where the light was better, but the temperature was higher.

As she stroked languidly across the pool she found herself longing for the cool isolation of her subarctic homeland. She thought back to the spirit quest that had started her on her long journey. Could it be that it had only been a few months ago that she had left the stockade of the Snow leopard? It seemed like years. After what she had accomplished she felt as if her quest should be over. Surely helping to free Ulua should count for something. However, she knew it was not so. There was still something lacking and she knew it with every fibre of her being.

She had reached a shallow area created by a rocky ledge that jutted out of the canyon wall on the far side of the pool. During the day it was the last part of the area surrounding the pool to be vacated by the sun and Zenaria could feel the heat radiating from the rock, warming the water. It was shallow enough for her to reach the bottom and she rested there, her mind buzzing with the question of her unfulfilled destiny. It was at that time she realized that someone else was there.

"Beautiful night for a swim," Tren commented from the base of the cliff. He was almost completely invisible, hidden in the shadows, but Zenaria knew that he was almost certainly as nude as she was. Her mind shot back to the time she had seen him emerge from the sun-drenched pool in all of his naked glory. In spite of being immersed in water up to her waist she was suddenly so warm that she almost plunged back into the pool.

Zenaria stammered some incomprehensible reply. For the first time in her life her tongue was not working. She was burning up, barely able to answer, but more particularly it was where the heat was concentrated. Her loins felt as if they were on fire and an unnatural heat suffused her breasts. Her mouth was dry and her nipples were so taut that they tingled in anticipation. She stood uncertainly on the edge of the pool, the slight evening breeze playing around her overheated body.

Tren moved slowly toward her. "Come," he said holding out his hand. "It is time to balance that cha you tried to explain to me."

Zenaria tried to speak, but no words would come out. As his hand touched her an electric shock surged through her body. The touch jolted her, causing her to jerk back. "I...I can't," she stammered. "M...my vow."

"Very well," Tren answered, "then we will deal with your vow now."

"Here?" Zenaria gasped, finding her full voice. "But we are standing in water and have no weapons."

"We have what the gods gave us," Tren replied. "What more do we need?"

Zenaria nodded slowly. "Very well, but I will not hold back."

"I would not respect you if you did," Tren answered and then he struck, but not in any way that Zenaria would have imagined.

He scooped water toward her, but with such force that for an instant Zenaria was blinded. She staggered back, blinking frantically to clear her vision only to find that when she could see again Tren was nowhere to be seen.

She turned in a circle, her senses tingling. Surely this was one of the stupidest battles she had ever been in. "Come up, you coward," she raged, searching the surface of the pond for some sign of her opponent. All that was revealed, however, was the widening circle of ripples from where Tren had dived beneath the surface. She turned again, expecting an attack from below at any second and backed slowly toward the rock wall. When Tren did surface she would give him more than a warm welcome.

"Uuggh! A Tren-sized weight slammed into her from above. Zenaria realized as her head was forced beneath the surface of the water that she should have looked up instead of down. She also realized that taking a deep breath would also have been an even better idea.

She struggled to find her footing, but discovered that the impact of Tren's body had driven her not only down, but out into the deeper water. She floundered, struggling to fight her way to the surface against Tren's weight. Her lungs burned, her struggles consuming the very oxygen she so desperately needed. She twisted her body, attempting to break free of the assassin's grip, but Tren had wrapped his arms and legs around her in such a way that he was impossible to dislodge.

Zenaria refused to panic, battling even as her mind began to fog. Her groping hands found one of Tren's arms. Closing her fingers over it she pulled even as her strength began to drain from her body. She felt the arm loosen. Just another second and she would have enough leverage to break free. A buzzing sounded between her ears. Her grip weakened. "Tricked," she thought. "Tricked." And then the buzzing drowned out everything else as she slipped into unconsciousness.

The first thing Zenaria became aware of as she regained consciousness was a dim glow. As her eyes adjusted she realized that she was looking at a small stub of candle burning in a dark cave. She moved in an attempt to sit up and was hit by a blinding headache. Her lungs also felt heavy and it was difficult to breathe. Nevertheless, she persisted in pushing herself into a sitting position. A few feet away Tren knelt on the floor of the cave, his eyes fixed on her. He held out a small cup. "Take this. It will make you feel better."

Zenaria was conscious that she was still unclothed, even though Tren had wrapped a loincloth around his middle, but she took the cup without comment and swallowed the liquid. It was bitter tasting and fiery with the taste of a mixture of hot spices. However, it had the effect Tren had promised. Heat spread though her mouth and sinus passages, clearing her head and loosening the thickness in her lungs. She coughed, bringing up some watery phlegm and immediately felt remarkably better.

"You tricked me," she gasped. "You would not have beaten me otherwise."

"You are probably right," Tren agreed. "But one the first rules of battle is to know your opponent. You knew that I was Beni Sidra, but did not take into account that I might act like one."

Zenaria managed to get to her feet, swaying slightly. She had been shamed as a warrior, but she would not go back on her word. "All right," she said, bowing her head. "You have beaten me. You are free to do what you want with me."

"You are forgetting what I said when we first met," Tren answered. "I take no woman against her will. I will not hold you to a promise that was so rashly made."

Zenaria coloured in anger. This was not how she had visualized her defeat. She had pictured herself being overcome by some valiant warrior only after a glorious and prolonged battle, after which the victor would pin her to the ground and ravish her until she was nearly insensible. Instead she had been tricked into fighting a battle at a place chosen by her opponent and held under water until she was reduced to a drowned rat.

"You are free to go," Tren continued. "I will tell no one of what has transpired."

Zenaria bristled like a wolf. Tren's seeming rejection had her ready to spit blood. Had the assassin no concept of honour? "What is wrong? Am I not good enough for you? You invite me to give myself to you and then will not take what is yours by right."

"I have no more right to you than the High Thuski did. No man should take a woman by force. You made a vow when you were only a child. You are now a woman of great beauty and intelligence and a promise made in such haste should not have the power to dominate your life."

Zenaria opened her mouth for an angry retort and then two of Tren's words sank in. "Beautiful?" "Intelligent?" She had never thought of herself as fitting either of those words. Worst of all, the comment completely disarmed her. Did Tren really think of her that way? For the first time she took a good look at where she was.

"Where is this place?" she asked, looking about her. She saw that it was a small cave, in which were a small sleeping pallet, two small cups, and a wineskin.

"It is where I hoped to take you had you agreed to my invitation," Tren said. "No one except me knows where it is, not even Ulua."

"You prepared this for me?" Crude as it was, she suddenly felt flattered. It was hardly the sort of place a woman dreamed about for a romantic tryst, but somehow that didn't matter. Her anger flowed out of her.

"I've been a fool," she thought. "I swore to submit only to a man who could defeat me in combat and then used my natural ability training to make myself invincible." Probably not even as skilled an opponent as Tren could have beaten her in a straight up fight. What he had done was to find a way to remove the burden she had placed on herself.

She took a deep breath and turned to face him. "I will stay," she said. Slowly she stepped toward him. Tren gently placed his hand behind her neck and pulled her head down to his level.

The kiss exploded through her. Her knees buckled and she swayed and would have fallen had not Tren held her. Slowly he eased her down to the pallet on the floor of the cave, but the kiss did not end. Their lips parted and their tongues entwined even as Zenaria lay back and Tren moved his body over her.

A soft moan of pleasure rose from deep in her throat and suddenly her body was on fire, heat suffusing her loins, her hands clutched at Tren, trying to pull him even closer. Her actions almost frantic.

"Gently, my barbarian," Tren whispered. He moved his lips to her throat, and then kissed her eyelids, before moving back to her lips. At the same time his hands moved over her body touching, caressing, and stroking her to an even higher level of passion.

She arched into him, pulling at his loincloth and hooking her legs behind his knees. Her breathing quickened, becoming fevered. It seemed she had waited for this moment all of her seventeen years even though by the standards of her tribe she was only two or three years late. Tren's loincloth slipped from his hips, helped by Zenaria's fingers, and she pulled him toward her, opening her legs in wanton invitation.

Tren, however, appeared to be in no hurry. "Slowly, my beauty," he murmured. "It will be all the more enjoyable for taking our time." He continued to tantalize her, moving his hands over her body, teasing her into a mounting state of sexual excitement. She quivered as his fingers stroked her back and his lips moved over her throat, and then moved between her breasts, gently brushing her nipples. The touch caused Zenaria to gasp. She arched into him, inviting him to take the taut rosebuds of her throbbing nipples into his mouth. Tren, however, ignored her, instead moving his mouth and hands lower, his hands caressing her outer thighs and buttocks and his lips and tongue tracing an erotic path below her breasts and over her belly.

Zenaria moaned both in passion and frustration. Her body was on fire and Tren seemed reluctant to quench her desire, yet his every touch raised her to another level of sexual excitement. Her hands clawed at his back ripping long welts across his dark skin, and she sank her teeth into his shoulder. Tren grunted, and exerting surprising strength gripped her wrists and pinned her arms to the pallet. "Alright, my lioness; it is time."

He entered her smoothly, Zenaria receiving him like a well oiled sheath as his sword parted her swollen lower lips. She cried out in carnal desire, her body rising to receive him. The brief moment of pain as she lost her innocence was submerged in a rising tide of passion that swept all other sensations before it. She struggled to escape his grip, her smooth muscles tensing, but Tren held her, riding her bucking body as she heaved against him in uncontrolled passion.

For several minutes Zenaria seemed inexhaustible, taking everything Tren could give her and then demanding more, but slowly her strength waned, even as her passion mounted. Something was building inside her, something indescribably powerful and wonderful beyond anything she had dreamed of. And then her body convulsed and she screamed, breaking free of Tren's grip and using her legs and arms to pull him deep within her.

Again and again her womb contracted, her body gripping Tren's shaft so tightly he gasped in disbelief. And then finally, she fell back temporarily exhausted, her chest heaving. She felt completely satiated. Never had she felt such complete fulfillment and she wanted to do nothing more than lie back and hold her lover.

Tren, however, was not about to let her off quite so easily. He pulled out of her, but now teased her nipples with his mouth and teeth, refusing to let her state of arousal slip away. And then his hands and mouth went lower, touching her in a way she had never dreamed of. Within minutes Zenaria was once again panting like a fish and then he entered her once more, moving in and out of her in a gentle rhythm that had her whimpering in desire. Slowly, like a pot coming to boil, Zenaria's passion mounted until once again her body shuddered in sexual release. It seemed less intense than the first time, but went on and on, slowly mounting in intensity, until Zenaria was crying out as her body convulsed in uncontrolled ardour. Only then did Tren release into her, his own cry of passion blending with hers.

They lay quietly, their arms and legs interlocked; their sweating bodies too exhausted to move. After awhile Zenaria spoke. "That was wonderful. I feel like such a fool."

"Yes?" said Tren expectantly as he softly stroked her belly.

Zenaria shifted her body invitingly. The touch of Tren's fingers had her body tingling in anticipation.

"I could have had this years ago if I had not been so headstrong."

"Sometimes," Tren said, as he slowly sat up, "the gods have a way of placing us on a certain path for a reason."

What do you mean?" Zenaria asked, sitting up and accepting a cup of wine as Tren poured another for himself.

"Did it never occur to you that your gods might have had some plan for you? If you had not taken your vow of celibacy you would probably not have undertaken your Spirit Quest, in which case you would never have met me and Ulua would still be a prisoner."

The thought hit Zenaria like a thunderbolt. Although her faith in her deities was profound she had never considered that her life might serve some higher purpose. Perhaps her actions had not been so headstrong after all. "You are more than just a lover," she said, nuzzling Tren's ear. "You are wise as well."

"I have been trying to convince you of that since I met you," Tren answered. He kissed her gently, and then a little harder; and after that the only sound was that of their heavy breathing punctuated by their grunts of passion.

They made love twice more before morning. In between Zenaria chatted, telling Tren more about her homeland and her place in it. She had no way of knowing if it was the sort of thing that passed between lovers, but Tren seemed interested enough in it, especially the relationship she had with Jaree.

"As I said once before," he said. There is more to you than meets the eye. Although what meets the eye is certainly worth looking at."

"Is it really true that you find me beautiful?" Zenaria asked, rolling on to one elbow so that she could look Tren full in the eye. "Or was that just a ploy to get me to make love to you?"

"You are the most spectacular beauty I have ever seen," Tren answered. "And I thought so from the moment I met you."

Zenaria was not given to weeping, but a wave of emotion welled up within her. She had to swallow hard several times to maintain her composure, finally solving the problem by wrapping her long legs around Tren's waist and pulling him toward her. After that time both she and Tren were too exhausted to talk. They slept until dawn, when a noise outside the cave awoke both of them.

Ulua's voice floated through the cave entrance. "Breakfast is ready."

Zenaria and Tren both sat up. "I thought you said no one knew of this place," Zenaria said.

"I didn't," Ulua answered, poking her head around the corner, "but you two made so much noise last night that we thought the camels had come into season."

"Did everyone hear?" Zenaria asked.

"Everyone who wasn't deaf or dead," Ulua replied stepping into the cave. She seemed completely unperturbed that both Tren and Zenaria were nude. "I expect even the High Thuski could hear you."

For some reason Zenaria found herself blushing, especially given the fact that she had left her clothing and armour near the side of the pool and would have to appear nude when she returned to the main cave. However, Ulua neatly solved that problem for her. "I have left your clothing and armour outside the cave, but I expect after your night's exertion you may wish to bathe first. However, do not take too long or your porridge will get cold."

As Ulua left, Zenaria got to her feet or rather she tried to. She gasped as she discovered that there was more to the small ache between her thighs than she had thought. "What is it?" Tren asked, noticing her discomfort.

"I... I'm a little bit sore," she answered, blushing even more furiously than she had before.

Tren smiled. "That is to be expected. I too am in a little bit of pain. The next time we make love I think I will have you declawed."

He turned as he spoke and Zenaria stared in shock at the deep lacerations on his back. "I did that?" she gasped.

"You become somewhat excited when you are in the throes of passion. I will get Ulua to put some ointment on these. They will heal."

Zenaria nodded dumbly, barely able to stop her mouth from forming a huge grin. Tren had said "next time." It was hard to concentrate on anything else as she walked to the mouth of the cave, gritting her teeth to hide her pain and trying to walk normally.

Outside, the tunnel was deserted. Zenaria sighed in relief. She had half expected all of the harem girls to be waiting for them. Picking up her clothes she followed Tren to the pool and took a quick swim.

The cool water leached some of the soreness out of her. She emerged dripping wet and dressed without bothering to dry herself. Even though it was early morning the heat was already impressive and she knew she would dry quickly. She entered the main cave and found to her chagrin that every one of the harem girls was assembled for her entrance. Her embarrassment was more than evident as she turned the colour of a beet. Her mortification was made even more complete by the knowing grins of most of the girls. She might have fled the cave had it not been for Setia. "Welcome, Zenaria," the girl said. "You have now become a woman."

Zenaria straightened. "Yes," she thought. "I suppose I have." She smiled and joined the girls for breakfast.

Chapter 18: Home

It took another two days to fully prepare for their desert journey and then they set out in the dark of night, having rested during the heat of the day. It was still oppressively hot, but bearable. All of the harem girls were equipped with proper walking shoes and they were dressed in their desert robes. They were as lightly burdened as possible, the camels carrying most of the heavy goods, especially the water. Tren had taken a chance and had acquired three more of the animals, bringing their little herd to six, and he had laden the animals with the waterskins. Although Tren did not say so, it was clear that he did not trust the young women to discipline themselves well enough to drink only when necessary. As a result all of the water was on the camels where he could keep an eye on it.

To give the girls credit, they did remarkably well. For a bunch of harem-pampered beauties there was an amazing lack of complaining in spite of the fact that the desert march left all of them footsore and exhausted at the end of each night. But luck was with them as well. They encountered none of the desert hazards that Zenaria and Tren had encountered on their crossing although they did come across the place where she and Tren had fought off the lion-spiders.

The heat and unceasing desert wind had sucked the lion-spiders dry, leaving them as nothing more than dried out husks. As they passed the once-fearsome creatures, Tren stopped and took out his knife. He walked over to one of the corpses and pried out several of the smaller needle-sharp fangs, and then handed them to Zenaria. "The poison is not longer potent," Tren said. "You might want these as a souvenir."

"Thank you," Zenaria replied. In spite of his expertise as a lover Tren was not given to emotional displays and she figured this was about as close to a gift as she would ever get. While she watched he went to a few more of the spiders and collected their fangs as well until she had quite a collection. They were impressive and unique and she already had ideas as to how she would arrange them. They would make a fine necklace.

There were no more stops after that except the daily periods of rest when they pitched camp and waited out the inferno that was the desert day. It was so hot that most of the girls could not sleep and even Tren and Ulua seemed bothered by the heat. Eventually sheer exhaustion eventually brought some sleep. However, it was a brutally fatigued group that finally reached the relative cool of the grasslands.

Remarkably the Zuni were waiting for them, lined up along the edge of the cliff as Tren reached the top of the arduous climb from the valley floor. If the grassland nomads were disappointed not to be ambushing a Sandakar expedition they did not show it, welcoming Tren and especially Ulua like long-lost cousins. Even Zenaria received a warm welcome in spite of the bad manners she had shown on her last visit. Targah regarded her with his usual appraising stare, but this time Zenaria was prepared. Before Tren had lied about her and Tren being bedmates; this time there was no need for the lie and it showed. Targah nodded once, a slight smile playing about his lips and then turned his attention to the two dozen harem beauties.

It turned out that three of the girls were Zuni, having been captured in Sandak raids. For them the journey was over as they immediately merged into the tribe. Zenaria could not tell if the reunion was joyful or not, but Tren reassured her that in spite of the fact that the Zuni were polygamous, women were well treated and the girls had not been forced. "As a matter of fact," he commented, "with the amount of gold each of them carries they will become women of some influence in the tribe."

Zenaria nodded. She was slowly beginning to understand that as much as she disapproved of the customs of other people they were something that she was in no position to change, especially when they were offering her protection and hospitality.

That night for the first time in a week Zenaria and Tren shared a tent. There had been no opportunity for lovemaking on their desert trek, but now they made up for lost time. In the morning Zenaria emerged from the tent, tired but more than content. She had gotten very little sleep, but the sacrifice was worth it. Tren had been more than inventive, showing her techniques she had never dreamed of. As they lay in one another's arms, her loins throbbing in pleasure, Zenaria had but one question. "Why did you not show me that before?"

"It is best to hold some things back," he said, kissing her nipples. "If I showed you everything at once our lovemaking would become stale. This way I can keep it fresh for a long time."

"How many things are you still hiding?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

"The Beni Sidra are highly trained in the ways of love," Tren answered. "Seduction is sometimes a useful art form."

Zenaria's brow furrowed. "What about Ulua?"

"Especially Ulua," Tren said. "She is much more skilled than I."

Zenaria's eyes widened slightly. She had never considered a relationship with another woman, but there was nothing in Snow Leopard mores that condemned such relationships. Far from it, there had been several female pairings in her village, and the thought of a tryst with Ulua was more than intriguing.

"That interests you, does it?" Tren asked, his eyes shining.

Zenaria blushed. She was still so transparent that Tren could read her every thought. She wondered if she would ever be able to hide what she was thinking from others. "Not as long as I have you," she answered. But even as she uttered her reply, Zenaria knew that she and Tren did not have much time left. Once their little expedition had crossed the grasslands she would leave her lover and return to the lands of the Snow Leopard. It was something that weighed on her, but it was a step she had to take. She was not an assassin and she could not hope to join Tren and Ulua in their world. All she had was the time left before they reached the end of the grasslands.

She made the most of it or rather she and Tren made the most of it. The Zuni did not travel quickly and they stayed with the grassland nomads until their slow circuit of the grazing lands led to a point near enough to a Kivalian trading outpost. It was there that Tren intended to cut loose the gaggle of ex-harem girls. Many of them were Kivalian and the few who were not had indicated that they though it as good a place as any. Tren, as usual, had contacts in the town who he could depend on to make sure that the young women would be well taken care of, especially considering that they were all women of wealth.

They made love every night, usually more than once, but the dawn of each day reminded Zenaria that her first love affair was coming to an end. She refused, however, to become despondent. Tren had known from the start the end would come eventually and she refused to become miserable as the end approached.

They reached the trading post at last. Zenaria was not quite sure what she was expecting, but the tiny settlement the Kivalians called Singleton was not at all impressive compared to what she had seen in Uhra Don. True, it was much larger than her tribal stockade, but it could have fitted very nicely inside Uhra Don's market square.

It was surrounded by a palisade inside of which was a deep ditch. Earth from the creation of the ditch had been heaped up to form an embankment on top of which a second and higher palisade had been built. The heads and spears of armed guards could be seen as they patrolled the top of the wall. On either side of the entrance to the town was a wooden gate tower that flanked a heavy ironbound gate that was currently open. Two guards wearing chain mail and holding eight foot spears stood in the gateway. They warily eyed the strange procession that moved toward them.

"Hold," one of the guards ordered as Tren rode through the outer palisade. Thanks to the Zuni all members of the party were on horseback and Zenaria expected that from a distance the score of riders probably seemed rather threatening.

"Identify yourself, and state your business," the guard ordered. Zenaria noted that the ramparts held several archers who had fitted arrows to their bows as a precaution.

"I am Tren of the Beni Sidra, and I am escorting the Princess Zenaria and her entourage. We wish accommodation for the night and wish to hire an escort to Normos. Take this token to the Guildmaster." Tren bent and handed something to the guard who had spoken. The man took one look at it and suddenly snapped to attention.

"Immediately your Excellency. Shall I call for an escort for the princess?"

"That will not be necessary, Tren replied. "We will wait here until the Guildmaster receives us."

"What did you give him?" Zenaria whispered.

"A silver piece and a token the Guildmaster gave me the last time I was here. I don't expect we will have to wait long. The amount I gave the guard is more than he makes in a month and the Guildmaster is acquainted with me."

Tren was proved right. Within the space of a few hundred heartbeats there was a commotion from inside the gate and a large man with a florid complexion rode up. He was so stout that Zenaria wondered at the ability of the horse to hold him, but he seemed friendly enough.

He was dressed in what Zenaria considered very uncomfortable looking clothes. Skin tight leggings sheathed flabby legs that ended in a pair of rather useless-looking shoes with bright brass buckles. A bright green tunic covered his torso over which was worn a loose-fitting yellow coat cinched at the waist with a wide brown leather belt. His head was crowned by a large red shapeless hat formed from some soft material. A dark brown beard covered most of his chubby face, which was split in a wide grin of welcome.

"Quaram, my friend. How good to see you. What have you brought me this time?"

Zenaria raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. It was obvious that Tren had more than one name at his disposal. Behind him Ulua sat, her face hidden by the hood of her robe.

Tren turned in the saddle. "May I present her highness, the Princess Zenaria of Leopardia. I have the honour to be her escort as she passes through your lands. Your highness, this is Master Truckle, Guildmaster of Singleton.

"Enchanted, Princess," Truckle said, making an effort to bow in the saddle. How may I be of service?"

"Her Highness seeks accommodation for the night for herself and her ladies. And then more dignified transport to Normos."

"Nothing could be easier, Your Highness," Truckle replied. "Please follow me." He turned his horse and rode farther into town, Zenaria and her companions following.

"Master Truckle seems very cooperative," Zenaria observed as she and Tren rode into the town.

"Truckle is realizes that every time I show up he gets a little richer. This time is no exception. He will be well paid for his services. However, if never hurts to play the royalty card."

Zenaria observed the town with interest as she rode toward its centre. Although completely insignificant by the standards of what she had seen in Sandak, it was still impressive compared to the compound where she had been raised. It was, also considerably smellier.

She saw why at once. There was a single main street which just happened to be dry at the moment, but Zenaria guessed that it would be a muddy mess when it rained. However, it was the large accumulation animal manure and what appeared to be human waste that explained the pong that hung over the town. Zenaria wrinkled her nose. While she did not expect so small as settlement to rival Uhra Don in its amenities she wondered that the Kivalians did not even know enough not to throw their kitchen waste and excrement into the streets. She looked at Ulua and saw that the assassin had wrapped her scarf over her mouth and nose and seemed to be trying very hard not to breathe.

The accompanying harem girls were not quite so discreet, several of them voicing their shock and dismay at the sickening stench. A look from Tren, however, quieted them. They might not like it, but there was not much they could do about it.

On either side of the street rose a variety of wooden buildings, each two or three stories high and built so that their upper stories overhung the street so that in some places it was almost like riding through a tunnel. Zenaria eyed the upper windows warily realizing full well that the heaps of excrement and pools of urine had to come from somewhere.

Truckle turned in the saddle, no mean feat for a man of his bulk, and offered an explanation. "Always a bit smelly this time of year, and the tanners haven't been using as much as most years so they haven't been collecting it. Should be better when the barbarians bring in their furs and hides this winter."

"Barbarians," Zenaria thought. That meant people like her, although dressed the way she was in her desert robes, Truckle had no way of knowing what she was. She returned her attention to the town.

Off the main street ran various smaller streets, some little better than dusty tracks between buildings. Where the street was wide enough merchants displayed their wares right out in the street, a pattern that continued until they reached the main square. Here there was a market similar to that she had seen in Urha Don, only much smaller. Canvas-covered booths displayed a variety of goods from fruits and vegetables to spices, bolts of cloth, iron and copper wares, and a variety of other products. The inhabitants of Singleton stopped and stared as their procession passed and Zenaria could hear a buzz ripple through them.

"Princess. Which on is she? Must be the tall one. Looks regal enough. No, it's the one with the scarf over her face. Bloody oath; the tall one looks like a barbarian. Look at the sword she's got slung over her shoulder. Can't be a real sword. Must be ceremonial. No you're wrong. She's riding at the front. Must be the princess."

The murmuring faded as they passed though the market and halted in an open space in front of a large four story building. Master Truckle dismounted and threw the reins of his horse to a waiting boy.

"You and your ladies will stay in the Guildhall, of course, Your Highness. "The stableboys will care for your mounts. Please come in."

Inside there was a large foyer off which ran twin staircases, one on either side of the room. It was obvious that modest as the building was, the room had been designed for effect, and it was still grander than anything in her village.

It took awhile to portion off the various rooms so that every one of the girls was taken care of. Zenaria, as a princess, got one to herself, an arrangement she found somewhat awkward until she realized that it would be her last chance with Tren. It was a sobering thought. Singleton was as far as Tren intended to go. From here he would return to Sandak and his never-ending battle against those who had enslaved his people, and she would head north into the wilderness of Erogenia and the track that led back to the land of the snow leopard. However, she put the thought from her mind, refusing to dwell on it. She was still a princess of the Snow Leopard. She would not weep or become melancholy over the loss of a lover. She turned her attention to helping Tren and Ulua settle in their female entourage.

It took three days to settle everything to Tren's satisfaction, partly because with so many lovely young women in the town and with a princess in attendance, Mayor Truckle decided to throw a massive feast and invited everyone of importance in the town to attend. It was held on the last night of their stay in Singleton in the main hall of the Guildhall and it was something that Tren simply could not get out of. "I am sorry," he said, "but we are the guests of honour. We will have to attend whether we like it or not. I am not given much to feasting, but I do not want to damage my relationship with Truckle. Over the years he has proved most useful. And he is one of those very unusual things; a semi-honest merchant."

"Semi-honest?" asked Zenaria.

"It means that he will only cheat you half the time," Tren smiled.

"Don't worry about the feast," Zenaria said. "Feasts I can handle. But don't expect me to wear those cumbersome heaps of clothes the Kivalian women wear."

"What are you going to wear?" Tren asked. "I hope it is a bit more than the first time I saw you."

"Perhaps I will surprise you," Zenaria grinned.

"You do that all the time," Tren commented. "But I will not interfere in your decision."

Zenaria grinned back. She had just the thing to set her off.

The feast was everything Zenaria hoped it was. An entire ox had been roasted and was carried into the hall by four men. There were also two roast pigs, several deer, and more chickens, geese, ducks, and partridges than she could be bothered to count. It seemed enough food to feed an army and along with all of the sauces, breads, and bowls of vegetables, seemed impossible to consume at one sitting. It reminded Zenaria of the feast held by her tribe to celebrate the turning of the winter sun. In that feast it was not unusual to consume several elk and deer as well as many smaller animals. The main difference was that in the Snow Leopard tribe every man, woman, and child attended whereas in Singleton only the wealthy were invited. Tren assured her, however, that any food that was left over would be distributed to the poor, provided any food was left over.

Zenaria's entrance to the hall was impressive. She had taken the armour Ulua had given to her and had gone to a leather worker. Although the man had protested the impossibility of the task on such short notice he had changed his mind quickly when offered the gold coin Zenaria displayed. The impossible suddenly became possible even though he had to work all night to achieve it. However, Zenaria was pleased by the result.

The brass-studded armour was expanded to link up with the wide leather belt that protected her waist, affording her full protection from her hips to her breasts. Along with the fitted leather that protected her upper arms and shoulders her torso was now completely protected although she deliberately left her throat bare and had unbuckled part of the leather to flaunt a generous portion of her rounded breasts. Other than that display she was almost completely clad in highly polished black armour from the long wrist guards that covered her forearms almost to the elbow; the well-designed leather gloves; and her greaves, and thigh guards. To set it all off she wore a blood-red woollen cloak she had picked up at a market stall and something else she had made herself.

She wore her hair unbraided, bound only by a gold diadem that circled her brow. Around her elegant neck she wore a necklace of lion-spider fangs. Zenaria had arranged them in a geometric pattern from largest to smallest, with the most impressive three inch fangs placed in the middle where they could not help but draw attention to the perfection of her breasts.

With her sword jutting out from behind her left shoulder and her cloak swirling around her, Zenaria made a spectacular entrance to the hall. Since, as the guest of honour, and the supposed reason for the feast in the first place, Zenaria entered last, and every eye was upon her when she entered the hall. The seneschal gulped when he saw her, but recovered quickly to announce her. "The Princess Zenaria of Leopardia," he boomed.

Heads turned in her direction. From the women there were a number of gasps of disbelief and then the muttering of the word "barbarian." The men, however, said nothing other than a general murmur of what sounded like approval. Six-feet-three inches of barbarian warrior strode into the hall, moving like a personification of the animal that symbolized her tribe. Head up, Zenaria looked neither right nor left, but fixed her eyes on Tren, who watched her with an expression she could not quite fathom.

Tren rose as she neared the table. As guest of honour she sat to the right of Truckle with Tren just to her right. As her seat was held out for her Tren leaned over. "Well done, princess; you are magnificent."

Zenaria felt a warm glow suffuse her. She wanted more than anything to have Tren make love to her right then and there, but she was forced to sit through five hours of eating and drinking before she was free to go. The time was not entirely wasted. Erogenian warriors were good at eating and drinking, and the flagons of wine and platters of food that were placed in front of her disappeared with great regularity. Only when she had managed to drink most of the other guests under the table did Tren signal that she was free to go.

She stood, a little unsteadily, but her head cleared in excitement and anticipation as she and Tren neared her room. It was their last night together and she and Tren made the most of it, making love at first with an urgency that signalled the depth of their passion and the knowledge that they would part on the morrow. It was a frenzied coupling that left Zenaria quivering as her loins convulsed in sexual delight. But it did not stop there. They made love twice more before morning; each time more slowly, drawing out the last moments of pleasure, before their parting.

Morning found them still wrapped in one another's arms, but there was no point in delaying the inevitable. They bathed and dressed, Tren in his assassin's robes, and Zenaria in her warrior's armour. There was time for one last embrace before they separated.

"Goodbye, my barbarian warrior," Tren whispered as he held her. "I will not forget you, and something tells me we will meet again."

Zenaria did not speak. There was something caught in her throat, and anyway she didn't have to. The fierceness of her grip told Tren everything he needed to know. He released her from his arms and stepped back and without another word left the room.

Zenaria waited a few minutes to compose herself, and then wiping away a very unwarrior-like tear she followed. She didn't look for Tren, instead she sought out Ulua. The girl was where she knew she would be, in her room with one of the girls who had decided to follow her and Tren.

Her farewell to Ulua was not nearly as long as her goodbye to Tren, but it was almost as emotional. Then Zenaria headed down to where her horse waited. She had given instructions to the servant to have it ready while she was taking her bath and everything was as she had asked. She had to admit that Guildmaster Truckle was good at making sure his servants did what they were told. She rode out immediately. The less time spent in the stink of Singleton the better. She had said her goodbyes and she suspected that prolonging them would not make them any easier. She galloped through the gates and turned her mount's head toward the north.

Her return home was uneventful, except for an encounter with several Urtts who were ravaging a forest homestead and a run-in with a pack of dire wolves. The first incident cost the Urtts their heads and a few other parts of their bodies. Zenaria staked out their reptilian skulls in a neat row alongside the trail as a warning to others. The second skirmish got her three fine new pelts and a string of teeth for a bracelet.

Other than that and a brief and very one-side battle with a band of outlaws Zenaria's trip home was without incident. Oh, there was the narrow escape from an aurochs stampede and the surprise encounter with a cave bear that was browsing the same patch of blackberry bushes Zenaria had chosen to snack on, but those were too minor to consider remembering.

She experienced a joyful reunion just before reaching the lower slopes of the mountains. A noise in the brush to the side of the trail startled her and she had her sword out in an instant, but quickly sheathed it as Jaree bounded out of the undergrowth. The old bond was instantly re-established, something that helped her to think a bit less about Tren and Ulua. After that she experienced not the slightest threat from anyone, she and the cat hunting and sleeping together until she reached the climb to the Ice Gates.

It was here that Zenaria let her horse go, hoping that it would find its own way. She knew that almost certainly no horse could make it through the pass at this time of year.

She was right. She encountered deep snow long before she reached the summit. However, it was nothing that Zenaria had not dealt with before. She strapped on the snowshoes she had previously fabricated and continued the climb. The huge snow leopard didn't even slow down, her huge paws moving her over the frosted surface almost as if she were floating.

It was as tough a journey as Zenaria had ever made, rivalling even her first trek across the desert wasteland where she and Tren had first bonded. Crossing the Ice Gates during the summer was tough enough. Making the same journey in early winter was almost suicidal. But Zenaria had no intention of waiting. An overwhelming urge to see her family and friends and the familiar confines of the stockade she had been raised in drove her forward.

It was Jaree that made the difference. Each night she hollowed out a shelter in the snow and bedded down with the huge cat, her warmth keeping Zenaria safe and secure through the coldest weather. They also hunted together, Jaree with fang and claw and Zenaria helping with her bow. Between the two of them they easily caught enough food to feed themselves and slowly but surely they made their way toward the top of the pass. It took a full month to finally reach the Ice Gates. Frequent stops were necessary due to the frequent white-outs and fierce storms that swept through the pass, but Zenaria was relentless. Step by step she mounted the pass until finally she began her equally slow descent.

And then, three months after leaving Singleton she looked down on the stockade of the Snow Leopard. Her throat closed as she looked at of the place where she had spent her childhood and where everyone she held dear lived. Well, almost everyone. One day she would see Tren and Ulua again. She made that promise as a silent vow as she slowly stripped off her clothing.

She had timed her last day's journey to reach the village in mid-afternoon, but she was not going to show up covered with the sweat and filth of more than a month without bathing. Completely nude, she took a quick snow bath, rubbing her skin until it glowed red and then she dressed again, packing away her furs and setting out for the last fifteen minutes of her trek in the armour and crimson cloak she had worn to the feast in Singleton.

As luck would have it, no one saw her until she was almost through the gates. It was not so much a lack of vigilance as the fact that no one had ever attacked the stockade in the middle of winter; as a result she strode through the gates unchallenged and found her mother and queen staring at her from the middle of the compound, where she had been drilling young warriors in the techniques of the sword.

It was a poignant moment, but Zenaria had learned a little in the time she had been away from her home. She went to her knees in the snow and bowed her head before her queen. "Mother," she said, "I'm home."

Epilogue

Zenaria swept the furs aside and ignoring the cold and her nudity stepped across to the rough planking and opened the shutters. It was still dark, but already she could hear the familiar sounds of the stockade stirring. She had been back only a week and sometimes it seemed as if she had never left. But some things had changed. One was the attitude toward her of the other warriors in the village. Where before she had been looked upon as a brash and foolish young woman, now she was accepted as one of them. Several of the men had already proposed sexual liaisons with them, at least until they learned her condition.

Tren had given her one final gift. She ran her hand across her belly sensing the gentle swell of early pregnancy. She wondered whether the child would be a boy or a girl. She really didn't care, but now she had one more reason to find Tren again. He had a right to know that he was the father of a barbarian warrior.

Her eyes sought out the place where she and Garrod had duelled. She had thought his betrayal unfinished business, but she had discovered that Garrod was no longer a factor in anyone's life. A hunting party had come across what was left of his body. Apparently he had been set upon by Urtts and dismembered and eaten. Out of respect for his family Zenaria had kept his treachery to herself. What was past was past and revealing Garrod's deceit would have gained her nothing.

She was home now and in a few months she would be a mother and would also celebrate her eighteenth summer. Already her mother was integrating her into the leadership of the tribe, saddling her with minor duties in preparation for the time she would become queen. Zenaria did as her mother asked, but she knew that it would be many years before she became queen if it ever happened at all. Cirilia was not yet out of her thirties and still more than energetic, if the number of lovers she currently had was any indication. And Zenaria had plans of her own. Her adventures had given her a small taste of the world, but it had only whetted her appetite. Her unborn child came first, but children in Snow Leopard society were looked upon as belonging to more than the mother or the father, if the father could be found. With some rather active young women it was difficult to tell.

Once the child was weaned he or she would became the responsibility of the tribe. There would be no lack of young girls and older women willing to take over the raising of the infant. The custom was so strongly followed that Zenaria had not even realized Cirilia was her mother until she was three years old, and she regarded several other women with the same affection normally reserved for a loving parent.

It left Zenaria free to choose. She could remain the dutiful mother or assume some other career. Whatever path she chose no one would fault her. She closed the shutters and climbed back under the furs. "Tren," she murmured, "you're not rid of me yet."