The Black Pearl of Pharizion

By Cobalt Jade

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Chapter 1: Encounter on the Road

N'kai avouzhad Jozhande Tanimury.
Ibi n'kai kikoura nabri, nabri b'tai dejwana.

*I am Lady Jozhande Tanimury. This is a tale of my travels, one of many.

It is very easy to weave legends out of straw.

My favorite uncle told me that long ago, on the verandah of our clannal longhome in Pharazion. I did not know what he meant at the time, imagining perhaps toy figures made of dried rushes, or the patterned mats we sat on while eating or resting. It was only years later, when I left my home and went out into the world, that I realized what he meant: the stories we love to hear, the ballads we sing to, are based on events and personalities as dead and dry as stalks and reeds, and as colorless; it is only in the weaving that they gain life and texture.

All but one. That legend is my own.

I look around at your faces, all of you bright and curious as we gather in this quiet inn tonight, and wonder how many would know the hero who stands before you now as the callow mercenary I once was, the young swordswoman who, long ago, traveled the lands north of the rift in search of adventure. Legend speaks of me now as the Black Pearl of Pharazion, for Pharazion is the land of my birth, with the pearl, I have heard, referring both to the color of my skin and its dark, gleaming texture, but I have not always had that name. This is the story of how I received it.

I remember the day well when my adventure began. It was hot, the drought season of the scabrous uplands I rode through. The terrain was drab and featureless, consisting of fields of yellow-gray wheatgrass which had parched in the heat. The sky was a pale blue, a few wisps of clouds stitching its emptiness. I had no particular destination in mind as I rode, merely exploration of a part of the world I had not seen. My forest homeland, and my people, lay many hundreds of miles behind me.

In the late morning I saw a cloud of dust in the distance. It did not advance, which meant it was going away from me and not coming towards me. I had seen nothing so far in this land that would indicate either traders' caravans or a sizable militia. Curiosity urged me forward. As I rode the cloud grew larger; slow as my pace was in the heat, the marching legs or turning wheels were slower.

When I had caught up to the cloud I rode to the side of the road to have a clearer view of what was within. What I saw was something very different than the caravaneers I had imagined.

It was a line of slaves. They were all naked, an equal number of young men and women coffled together in four parallel lines of fifty individuals each. The chains of the slaves at the front of the column were fastened to a bar yoked across the backs of two oxen that plodded with inexorable slowness, setting the pace for the stumbling captives. They were so cowed they looked up only rarely, their hair hiding their faces. Whip-wielding guards patrolled the columns, but they needn't have bothered; the slaves were so well secured escape was impossible. They were chained neck to neck, their arms cuffed behind them. Not only that, taut chains connected their neck collars crosswise across the columns so they were forced to march in a grid formation. Their right and left ankles were each strapped to two bamboo poles that ran the length of the each column so they were forced to march in step with their fellows. One might faint from fear or exhaustion, yet still be carried along with the others.

Though the presence of the guards ensured they would make no trouble during their trek, there was a bit of sobbing, snuffling and cursing that came from the assemblage that not even the snapping whips could dispel.

I rode my horse to the side of this parade, bypassing it, my jaw threatening to fall open in disbelief. I had never seen human beings treated so badly, like animals being driven to market. We do not keep slaves in my homeland. Looking at them as they marched--dusty and weeping, unable to shield their breasts or genitals from the sting of the whips--a strange feeling grew within me. It was at once a desire for justice and a sheer fascination with their plight. Their buttocks switched in unison as they marched, the breasts of girls bobbing with each step. I estimated they were all between the ages of 16 and 25. They also exemplified the racial type of these lands: skin of a medium tone with a hint of bronzed gold in it, jet black hair, a voluptuous roundness to the limbs.

I shook my head, realizing how pointedly I had been staring. The guards only gave me a cursory glance; they must be used to foreign travelers. I dug my heel into the sides of my horse and rode on without looking back.

Towards midday I came upon an inn. It was a lonely place at the side of the road, a few farmhouses and fields scattered behind it. I decided to stop for a meal. I tethered my horse and entered the building.

The few inhabitants regarded me with astonishment, then quickly went back to their food or ale. I smiled to myself. These people were not used to dark-skinned Pharazii. I stand well over 6 feet and am slim as a rail, with the taut, coiled muscles of a python. As dark as my skin is, my hair is darker, and I wear it in a series of finger-thick, woolly plaits. If I untied them, they would reach my waist, but I usually keep them bound in a queue between my shoulders. I wore boots and dusty traveling leathers. The laced vest I wore hugged my breasts tightly, leaving my arms, with their ropes of hard muscle, bare.

I flipped a coin to the innkeeper. "What can you recommend to soothe a traveler's parched throat?"

He caught the coin and nervously pocketed it. Like the slaves on the road, he had dusky gold skin and black hair. He was more dressed more than they, however, wearing a linen shirt and trousers, along with a stained apron.

"The mare's milk is the best, my Lady," he said, using the only term of respect he knew for a woman of my sort. This was understandable. From what I had seen of this land, women did not become sell-swords, although the presence of other females in the inn attested they were traders and merchants of note. This cheered me. In some countries, females are treated like chattel and not permitted to have business in the public sphere at all.

"I'll have a mug of that. And what sort of food do you offer?"

He rattled off a brief list of native delicacies. I ordered something vegetable. I had long learned to stay away from meat dishes in lands I was unfamiliar with.

My mug arrived, and I took a seat by the window. Though my dress and sword intimidated the more staid users of the inn, for another class of individual they were a magnet. Fellow mercenaries can always recognize one another, and soon I had a companion to drink with.

"Sebri Daxyr," my new friend said. He was a large man, a bit like a bear, with a very bushy black beard.

"Lady Jozhande Tanimury," I replied, choosing to use the honorific the innkeeper had chosen for me. "I come from the employ of the Mischievous Empress, in her campaign against the Groldar tribes."

"Ah, the Empress," he said, and I deduced he was familiar with her. "Though I can hardly call a bog-swamp an empire. What brings you to these lands?"

"Money," I said dryly. "Like you, I am a sell-sword, and I need coin to continue my existence as a sell-sword. Do you know of any worthy employers?"

"You might apply to Her Majesty," Sebri said lightly, then noted my confusion. "You know nothing of what has happened here, do you?" he said, somewhat more seriously.

"Should I?" I said, feeling defensive all of a sudden.

My pronouncement had a deep effect on Sebri. He leaned closer to me and kept his voice low. The sounds of the inn seemed to muffle themselves around us. "Not ten days ago this inn, and these lands, were part of the city-state of Bontatris. They now belong to the Witch-Queen of Obn-Dhregni."

I had heard that name before. Obn Dhregni: the City of Carnality. In my land it was spoken of in whispers, referred to with blushes and giggles by the younger folk, longing by their elders. It was a place of total sensual abandon, a place where any erotic fantasy might be slaked. But in all my travels, I had never heard of the witch-queen. "Who is she?" I said.

"Her name is Shezrine Caramaithzes, and she is building an empire," Sebri explained. "She has many prime positions for skilled mercenaries such as yourself. I've heard she pays most generously. And there are certain... advantages to living in her city, and being one of her favorites, if you get what I mean."

I was about to ask what they were when sudden noises from outside distracted me. I turned to look. The slave traders had come to the inn, bidding the weeping slaves to halt. The guards undid their leg bars and the chains that bound them crosswise. I was disgusted to see them roughly fondle their charges as they did so. Then they led them, in long columns, to the fountain in the inn's courtyard where they might drink. The other guests moved their horses and livestock aside in some annoyance. The chained slaves leaned precariously over the rim of the basin and drank, dusty buttocks high. When they had their fill, they were jerked away and the next column led over.

Sebri noticed me staring. "They belong to Queen Shezrine," he said. "She demands tribute from those she has conquered. They are probably the sons and daughters of the ex-rulers of Bontatris. They will be her slaves, and be auctioned off in her marketplaces like any other fine piece of flesh."

I watched as the column was led to a large, open shed where they might have shelter from the sun. The guards made them sit and tossed them pieces of bread and fruit. They had to pick up their meal from the dirt with their teeth, as their arms were still chained behind them.

"Clever," Sebri said. He sounded like he approved. "A good way to keep them from stealing each other's food."

My own food came, but I could not eat it, even though my appetite had been strong. "They keep slaves in Obn Dhregni?"

"They do. The city wouldn't thrive without their labor, and the slaves provide pleasure and entertainment as well. In all of Shezrine's kingdom it is so."

I was not inclined to find this practice appealing, but I did need to find a new employer soon. If the Queen was hiring mercenaries for her wars, it was likely I would serve her well. "She must have mighty generals, to be able to conquer a city-state in less than 10 days," I said.

"She is a sorceress. Undoubtedly she had spells and devices to abet her. I did not serve in her armies; I come from Karam-Karam, and am on my way home to my village to take up a settled life. But I have heard from others of the destruction she dealt. Her warriors were mounted on giant brass scorpions, with spears that shot shafts of red light that melted stone and metal. She had inhuman troops that had the bodies of armadillos but the heads of lizards, and other fell beasts she summoned by sorcery. It only took them one day to bring Bontatris down.."

I had a few experiences with sorcerers before, all of them bad. It was much better to be allied with them than against them. "You've told me much," I said. "I believe I will go to the Queen of this city, and offer my services to her. Can you give me directions?"

He pulled out a map of rough paper he kept folded in his pack. "The city lies to the north on the edge of the Rift. There is rich trade between the Riftlands, Canyonlands, and Shadowlands there."

I nodded. The Rift is the foremost geologic feature of my world, a twisting, jagged scar in the earth that stretches for hundreds of miles. It is as deep as the highest mountains are high, and so wide in places you cannot see the other side. The cities that cling to its walls are called the Canyonlands. As the interior of the Rift is moister and more fertile than the lands above these cities are many and populous. Commerce between them is maintained by animal-operated funiculars, traders on flying beasts, bridges of wood and of stone, and dangling walkways that run for miles. Deeper still are the Shadowlands, those cities that are placed so far down in the Rift they rarely, if ever, receive the rays of the sun.

"How far is it?"

"A journey of three days, I'd guess." He let me study the map a few minutes more, then folded it up again. "There are signs posted along the way. The Queen wants it known that 'All roads lead to Obn Dhregni.' "

"My road will, too," I said. "I thank you for you information."

"A pleasure," he said, with a hint of a leer in it. He wouldn't dare proposition me, I knew. I gave him a hard stare. He noticed my reaction and hurriedly aimed his gaze outside, pretending he'd been ogling the naked slaves.

By this time it was past midday and I thought it wise to be off. I saw no more strange processions, no marching slaves. Low mountains took shape to the north as I rode steadily eastward. The yellow-brown land looked as if it had never known either peace or war; it existed free from human concerns, the same way the twisted juniper trees did. As the day grew hotter I put on my eyeguards, which were carved of dark horn, to eliminate glare from the sun, and bound my long braidlocks on top of my skull to keep my back cool.

In midafternoon I came to a lightly forested area and stopped by a spring to water my horse. A sign proclaimed the pool was under Queen Shezrine's protection. It was marked with a sigil I had never seen before... her royal glyph, I guessed... the curving figure of a lizard, tail coiled loosely, limbs akimbo. A forked tongue emerged wickedly from its mouth. I dismounted and let my horse drink from the shallow pool. The westering sun stained the dust the color of honeyed yams, while the rocks themselves turned many shades of cinnabar rose.

I heard voices coming down the road and peered carefully through the pines: a group of five soldiers, marching on foot. By their sturdy mail, plumed helmets and rough, casual laughter I knew them as the Queen's men, victors of the recent battle Sebri had spoken of. If any looked up the rise they would see me, but they would have to take their attention from the road to do so, and that they seem disinclined to do.

They dragged a bound captive behind them.

The soldiers had not been gentle with him. His clothes were ripped and stained with the yellow dirt that marked this region, and his hands and elbows were firmly bound behind his back, secured even further by tight loops of rough hemp rope that wound around his midsection. They jerked him along by another crude rope tied to his neck, like an animal being taken to market.

I swallowed. Plainly this was no ordinary prisoner of war. As I watched he stumbled in exhaustion and the soldiers cursed, pulling him on again with a vicious yank that made him retch briefly before he caught himself. He raised his head, shaggy tangles of dark hair sliding over his shoulders, and looked right at me through the trees.

I froze. He paused, staring at me; he knew I was there. Then his warden jerked him on again, lifting his sword with a curse.

I waited until they had passed before moving, and many more minutes before I resaddled my horse. They were Queen Shezrine's men; that I knew by the lizard-glyph that decorated their armor. Where were they taking their captive? What was to become of him? Why had they treated him with such uncommon cruelty? I knew no one would buy a slave with dried blood and purple contusions on his face, and that told me the prisoner had already been condemned, and they were taking him to his death.

I shook my head. Whatever drama this was, it was not my place to interfere. Yet still I was haunted. The prisoner had been an uncommonly handsome one, in spite of the dirt and dried blood that caked his face; well-formed, lean yet graceful of limb. But though I did not like the treatment the Witch-Queen afforded her captives, I also knew it was no better and no worse than any of the other acts of war I had seen. Being a mercenary means never making judgments; your loyalty belongs to the one who pays you.

I rode down the rise. If I met the five soldiers and their prisoner again, I would ride far to the side of them, across the flat plains, to avoid another encounter. However, they must have ridden off the road soon after, for though I rode several more hours at a brisk pace, I did not seen them again.

The sun grew low, painting the flat plains and low, stony hills in terra cotta shades. As sunset approached I saw a farmhouse in the distance and I rode towards it. Peasants are often very receptive to a foreigner with tales to tell of distant places, and I knew that for folk in this arid land it must be the only bright spot in their lives. For a few stories I knew could easily secure a night's lodging.

I approached the main buildings through the trees and dismounted, leading my horse by the reins. I did this in order to not spook the family by a direct approach, as I looked very much a warrior with my battle-mount and sword; they might think me a brute out to demand food or livestock. It was a good thing I had done so, as it kept my profile smaller.

As I came closer I saw something was wrong. I heard the frightened cries of animals, men's shouts and curses, a woman's screams that dissolved into sobs of fright. I peered through the screen of trees, bidding my horse to be quiet.

The soldiers had gotten to the farm before me. One of the officers pinioned the farmer's wife as she struggled uselessly, her face reddened, the grain-masher she had wielded in defense lying on the ground. Her man was desperately swinging a pruning hook against another soldier. The soldier toyed with him as he fought for his life, holding back on his swordplay to prolong the farmer's fear or tease him into thinking he could win. But the farmer was not fooled, and neither was his wife. Yet they fought desperately before the two overcame them and bound them to the dusty corncrib that lay in the side of the dirt courtyard.

Anger boiled up from the pit of my stomach, raging through my limbs. How dare they! I had been looking forward to serving the Queen, but now my mind started to turn. What kind of discipline did she maintain in her men that they should stoop so low to claim the brutal rights of conquest from a demoralized and obviously terrified peasant family? I had always served with honorable legions who would never do such a thing. Now I can tell you I have seen worse behavior, but then, I had not.

A ruckus came from inside the house and a flock of chickens suddenly tumbled out the front door, feathers flying. Two soldiers burst through the squawking mass, dragging a youth of maybe 16 behind them whom I surmised was the couple's son. He had put up a fight, for fresh blood and bruises marred his face. They dragged him by the hair into the yard and threw him into the dirt, kicking his ribs.

"Don't touch him!" the woman screamed.

"Be quiet, bitch," the soldier guarding the couple said, and turned to slap her. "It's your turn next."

I saw what he had meant when the grinning soldiers ripped off the boy's trousers, keeping his face pressed into the dirt, and pulled his ankles apart. One roughly stroked his buttocks while the other thrust his knee between the boy's shoulders, pulling his arms back at painful angle. They meant to rape him, while the parents watched.

The prisoner watched too, his expression just as glazed and helpless as I imagined mine to be. They had tied him by the neck to a low tree branch so he was in danger of garroting himself should his posture slacken. The last soldier, the fifth one, pressed the sharp blade of a dagger against his throat. His other hand wound into the prisoner's hair and gripped tightly, holding his head so he could not look away.

I could take no more. I drew my sword without thinking (Pharazii steel, much finer... and sharper... than the crude blades the soldiers bore) and jumped on my horse. He knew what I wanted of him. I heeled him into a gallop, a full charge, and drove him into the heart of the sickening tableaux. In the language of my homeland I shouted, flashing my sword. "N'yuenje! N'gyen!" It was the battle call of the warrior maidens, the Akkidri, the order I had once been slated to join and would be in today were it not for the carnal attentions of my half-brother. It was a dramatic cry, and it served me well.

I jumped off the horse as he reared, slashing with his hooves. The soldiers scattered, the two in the act of rape the most vulnerable. My sword found the gut of the one as he struggled to his feet, weaponless save for the one that wagged between his legs, which was useless to him now. He gurgled, and died.

I spun to catch the other man a glancing blow, and a fuller one on the side, but he was too quick, and lunged for his shield and weapons before I could wound him further. The boy had the sense to scrabble away, taking up the dead man's sword. "See to your parents!" I hissed, not wanting an innocent to get caught up in my battle. The boy could hardly even carry the sword, much less wield it, but it got him out of the way.

The other man, though wounded, gave me hard fight, and I could see I had underestimated the skill of these louts. Fortunately, the confusion in the yard worked to my favor. We matched steel for several seconds before I stabbed him in the thigh, sending him down.

I spun as a blade whirled over my head. I had taken on too many. I could have flung myself back on my horse and bade a retreat, but that was the coward's way out, and I had never been a coward. Even if this battle should be my last I would engage in it fully, to the best of my ability and honor. I somersaulted through the air, cutting the captain hard upon his forearm, then whirled to dodge another blow. One man I had killed and another wounded, but three were yet ready to fight.

But I was not alone.

They had left the prisoner unguarded. The way his eyes moved, following the battle, convinced me he was a skilled fighter himself. A hope dawned in me. If I freed him, he might fight by my side as a man of honor. After all, if he was merely an outlaw, the soldiers would not have forced him to watch their rough sport; why torture a criminal who committed similar acts?

I cut the captain another slash, dodged another sword thrust, then vaulted ahead to the tree where the prisoner had been tied.

He saw me coming with my sword out and winced, perhaps thinking I meant to kill him, but I merely slashed through his tether. He was so surprised he nearly fell, caught off balance. I quickly cut through the rope binding his arms so he was free. He shook out his hands and wrists, which must have been cramped horribly, and looked at me with amazement.

"Do you see that pruning hook on the ground, the one the farmer was holding?" I said quickly, not waiting for him to answer. "Take it, and use it, or else we are both dead!"

I hadn't been sure he would understand the common tongue--he could have been a foreigner like myself--but apparently he did, for he dodged the oncoming soldier with a quick, athletic grace and took up the hook, slashing it in a way that confirmed my belief he'd had experience with polearms before. The wicked curved blade whistled in a semicircle before slicing through the soldier's armor, and with another flick of the long pole, the soldier's throat had been opened, a fountain of red spraying dark carnelian against the dusky sky.

"Guard my side!" I ordered, but I didn't have to, really, as he was spelling me already. It was as if he'd been trained to combat all his life. The two remaining soldiers came forward, with a fresher respect, and our weapons danced with eagerness and joy. The odds had been leveled.

Chapter 2: Shadow

We fought as one creature, the strange man and I, in that slice of non-being where you lose all sense of self and no stray scrap of emotion intrudes upon your soul. I have never found an experience as strong as battle, save for that which I experienced in Shezrine's palace much later. But I am getting ahead of myself.

It may be anticlimactic of me to say that we dispatched the last two soldiers with little difficulty, but that is the truth. In the end five corpses lay sprawled around us. The farmer's son had since freed his parents and now retrieved his trousers from the dirt. He blushed at my glance, at once profoundly grateful and profoundly embarrassed. A baby began to keen inside the house and the woman dashed inside. Luckily the family was none the worse for wear; a little bruised and shaken up but without serious injury.

The farmer poked the nearest corpse with his boot. "They were the Queen's men," he said in a voice both fearful and relieved.

"And they meant to torture and kill you," I added, recognizing that as newly conquered peasants they had no recourse open to them. They could be in serious trouble with the Queen for being accomplices in the massacre.

"We will help you dispose of the bodies," my new companion said. It was the first time he had spoken. I turned to get a good look at him.

Beautiful. Not like a man of my own race, whose proud nose and muscular grace resemble those of black-complected panther, the king of our forest realm. No, this stranger was different. Lean, almost delicately so, but with a sinewy strength. He was lighter-skinned than the natives of this country, almost ivory, and his long, curly hair looked to be a dark brown. His clothes were stained with the yellow clay of the road and dark patches of blood which could have been either his own or another's. He wore a leather jerkin and I was surprised to see a fine growth of hair covered his arms and the little of his chest that was exposed. What strange race was he? The hair was unusual compared to the smooth skins of Riftlands men, but it fascinated me.

"No one knew they came here," the stranger continued. He had a compelling voice, soft and clear, yet resonant. "This was an unscheduled treat for them, and when they had finished, they had planned to be on their way again. No one will come to ask questions about their disappearance."

By now I had my own questions to ask of the stranger, but realized this was not the most opportune time. In silence we stripped the corpses of useful items and piled the bodies into a cart, which was harnessed to two oxen to carry them far into fields. There we dumped them into a deep chasm in the earth, with dirt and stones piled after them. The labor was unpleasant and strenuous and it was dusk by the time we were back.

The family offered to shelter us for the night and feed us, but their ambivalence was very evident. After all, they had abetted a major crime against the new state and they could be punished for it. The less they knew about us, too, the better. We said we had to be on our way and accepted some food to eat on the road instead.

I called my horse back to me. He had performed well, and I rubbed his nose for it. The stranger began to stuff the useful things he had appropriated from the corpses into my saddlebags... dried food, coins and the like.

"Thank you," he said, with that direct yet opaque look he had fixed me with on the road.

"I should be thanking you," I said. His lean profile looked like an elegant carving in the half-light. "How did you come to be a prisoner of the Queen's men?"

"You're afraid I'm an outlaw, and may now slit your throat?" he said, with some grim humor.

"Not at all. An outlaw would have run to save his skin after being freed. They have no sense of honor, only self-preservation."

He smiled tightly, ironically. "I have that too." I had expected a verbal sparring and was not disappointed. Well, he had his business, and I had mine. He dropped the last flask of lantern-oil in the saddlebag, buckled it tight, and said, "You have a horse, and I do not. Would you give me a ride to the next town?"

I very much wanted to do so, to get to know this intriguing man better, but there might danger in it. "Are you a fugitive and likely to be apprehended, and get myself apprehended as well, for helping you?"

"Yes," he said in that direct way, with a childish innocence.

I stared at him.

"But they will not find us if we keep off the roads. I am an experienced scout of this land, and I know places to hide, trails that not even the natives know. If you let me guide you, no one will find us. I will make it worth your while. I have friends in the next town who will reward you for it."

He had saved my life, after all. It was the most I could do. "I accept the arrangement. But first, tell me your name, so I know who I deal with."

"Shadow," he said.

"That's it just? Just Shadow?"

"Shadowstalk," he amended. "And yours?"

"Jozhande Tanimury, of Pharazion. I am a mercenary and swordswoman." I swung my body into the saddle and scooted forward so he could mount behind me. "Shadowstalk is hardly your real name," I said.

"It is not," he admitted. I commanded my horse to a canter and we rode quickly off the farm, down the dirt road the family probably used to drive their goats and cattle to market. His arms went around my waist to steady himself. Despite my suspicions of him I thrilled to the touch. We might ride all night locked in such a position. "There is only person in this land who knows my true name."

"And who is that?"

"Deneir Mejdabian," he said. "The rightful king of Obn Dhregni, and my brother."

The news was surprising to me, as Sebri Daxyr hadn't said anything about Queen Shezrine being a usurper. But the fast pace of my horse made it impossible for us to talk. We galloped across the stony fields, watched only by impassive scythe-horned cattle, and within a few minutes we were out of cultivated land and far from the main road. Shadow told me to ride towards a group of low, rocky hills that lay to the southeast.

"Will we reach them by nightfall?" I asked. "Even with the moons, it will be very hard to find a safe path."

"Don't worry." Shadow was still gripping my hips, his intriguing scent a mixture of musk, maleness, and sweat overlaid with the summery tang of the herbal pomanders he probably kept in his clothes-chest. I felt him smile. I could not tell you how I knew, but I did. A second later he gave an ear-piercing howl.

My horse whinnied in fear, his front legs leaving the ground. I swiftly brought him back under control. "You should have warned me before you did that!" I scolded.

"A battle-mount is afraid of wolves?"

"All horses fear wolves. It's in their blood." From far across the darkening plain came another howl, fainter and more distant. A wolf's howl.

My horse grew twice as nervous and I had to discipline him yet again. That Shadow had mental contact with animals, and was perhaps a supernatural creature himself, made me nervous also. What had I gotten myself into? I jumped again as Shadow lit a torch and threw it out into the darkness. It burned a graceful arc through the air, then stopped, suspended, hanging at the height of three feet above the ground, and began to bob back towards us. A wolf held the torch between his jaws, his white fangs visible in a toothy grin.

"A friend of yours?" I whispered. My horse whickered loudly, his ears held back.

"More than a friend. A brother." The wolf sat before us, eyes glittering like topaz, and he and Shadow shared a silent communication. Then the wolf turned and loped off across the plains, the banner of his tail bidding us to follow. "He will be our guide," Shadow said.

I swallowed. Events were taking a very strange turn. We rode toward the hills, which were now featureless humps against the cobalt sky. The wolf jogged ahead of us, the torch lighting our way. He was a leggy maned wolf of the plains, an entirely different creature from the sociable gray wolves of my homeland... as slim and rangy as the man who sat behind me, in whom I detected a distinct likeness. They both had the same bearing, the same dark mane... and, I sensed, the same ruthlessness should something cross them.

We went into the hills, riding across boulder fields, through narrow crevices, and past tall stone columns like petrified giants. Our trail would have been blind to me even in full daylight. We could not see far because the light of the torch was limited, but several times I knew we traveled narrow ledges over substantial drops. Come day, I might have to blindfold my horse to lead him back. Up and up we went, and when finally we seemed to reach a crest, our guide vanished.

"We will be safe here," Shadow said. We were in a small hanging valley high up the side of a cliff. Around us grew wild sage, scrubby junipers, and bunches of dry, tough grass that would serve as fodder for the horse. Not rich food, but at least he would eat. We dismounted and I tied and tethered him. Shadow assured me our guardian was still near and would protect us from predators. "Weyhant roam these hills," he said. "They can be very dangerous."

I shuddered. I did not want to encounter a weyhant.

"There are hot springs further up," he pointed at a series of steep stone steps that led between the boulders, twisting to ledges high above that I could barely see. "It's a good place to camp. This is desert land and it can get cold here at night. And I don't know about you, but my body would appreciate a soak, and probably your nose would appreciate it, as well."

I grinned. Shadow hadn't smelled *that* bad, and truth to be told, I was very interested in seeing him naked. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

We each took up a torch and piled ourselves with supplies, then ascended into the darkness. I heard water trickling between the rocks and smelled the sharp tang of minerals. We soon came out onto a ledge. A series of steaming pools lay in broad, steplike terraces below us, each fed by the pool above. The pools grew progressively cooler as they descended, with the overflow from the lowest pool forming the stream we had heard on the way up. We quickly made a fire by the highest pool, the source of the spring, and sat on the rocks to eat the food the farmer had given us. "So you are a brother to wolves, as well as to kings," I said conversationally. "Care to explain?"

Shadow glanced briefly up at me, his dark, shaggy hair making him look as feral as the wolf. I saw the glint of his teeth as he bit into a piece of dried meat. "Both require a long story, gracious amazon, and I am very hungry."

"And I am very curious."

He chewed and swallowed, then took a long sip of the pewteroot tea I had brewed. "As long as Wolfmoon is in the sky, I can talk to the wolves. I can see what they see, and know what they know. It's a... gift that was given to me, long ago, by Lykaon, the wolf-god, and the god of justice. A useful gift, sometimes."

"Hmm," I grunted. I flicked an eye towards Wolfmoon, which rode nearly overhead now. When full, the orange-red markings on its surface resembled a wolf leaping to attack, but it was in its crescent phase now. Sometimes, in the dry season usually, they took on the color on the blood, an omen of strife. The other moon, Poritrin, was halfway up the sky. "Would it have saved you from the Queen's men?"

"Probably not. The gift works only at night, and by then, I would have been in a cell somewhere." He grew quiet, then attacked his meat again. I realized how exhausted he was. He had a narrow escape, and knew it.

"Tell me about your other brother, then. The rightful king."

His eyes snapped up again. They were not amber like the wolf's but a hazel color, brown and green and gray all at once, with flecks of gold. "Can I trust you?"

*Could he?* I had been going to join the Queen's mercenary troops, but I had discarded that idea back at the farm. "Yes. I'm only passing through these lands; I have no intention of going to Obn Dhregni. From the little I know of it, I'll make a wide pass."

Shadow smiled without humor. A lopsided smile, as the left half of his jaw was colored a plummy shade of purple. "A wise choice. Queen Shezrine is a monster, and she rules a city of monsters. You may have been stripped naked and thrown into chains to be auctioned off as a novel bed-slave."

"Oh, I doubt that." I flicked my sword with my finger, making the hard Pharazii steel ring true.

"Maybe not. But it has happened to countless others before you." He threw down his unfinished meal with a sigh. "What can I say about the Queen? She is a despot, a sorceress-tyrant who uses her powers to conquer and enslave. But not for the better. She spends all her time in depraved fantasies while her people starve and suffer hardship after hardship, and if they complain, well, they wind up on the auction block. Ten years she has ruled, and before her, her father Subbobor. He was the one who took the city from Gabrin Mejdabian, the rightful king, and killed all his kin... all but one boy, who managed to escape. He had friends among the Leopard Dukes who smuggled him into exile. Deneir is his grandson."

"Does Shezrine know you and he exist?"

"She does, but we are weak, and she is strong. Over the years, we've learned to be stealthy. We have many spies in the city, even in her palace, and allies among the city's nobles as well. Shezrine is powerful, but she is not popular. One day, when the moment is right, we will all move to oust her."

"Is that why you were captured?"

"Partly. I travel these lands, sometimes in disguise, sometimes not, to report the Queen's business back to my brother. Sometimes my men and I raid her caravans for goods we need, harassing her trade routes and freeing any slaves she transports. On this last trip, however, I was alone. I went into Bontatris as it burned to report on the battle. I was careless. And I got caught. The soldiers knew who I was. They intended to make of me a present to the Queen, and... I don't need to tell you the rest. She would have been very eager to hold me as a hostage against Deneir."

How forthright he was in telling me this. I'd done him more of a turn than I'd thought. I threw another stick on the fire, drawing my cloak around my shoulders. "You do not resemble a native of this land. How is it you call Denier brother? Which side of your parentage differs?"

Shadow stiffened, as if it was an obvious question he'd had to answer before. "We share no parentage. But we *are* brothers in blood. We shared an oath, many years ago." He stood and began to pull off his clothes. "If you'll excuse me, I would like to soak a while. Will you be joining me?"

No coyness, this. In most lands I had been in men and women do not bathe together or even see each naked outside of the marriage bed. But we were fellow travelers, and now fellow outlaws, and as with mercenaries in general, proprietary does not matter where practicality is assumed. I nodded. "You'll be wanting a poultice for those ribs," I added, glancing at the portions of his body he uncovered. It was a carryover from my healer's training, begun and abandoned after I left the Akkidri and the clannal longhome of my family.

"You are a healer as well as a swordswoman?" he said disbelievingly, throwing his leather jerkin on a boulder.

"Yes, and a very knowledgeable one." Shadow wriggled out of his breeches, and I found my assumptions true on two counts--one, that his wounds had not been treated; and two, that his cock and tautly muscled backside were magnificent.

"Your poultices can wait. I can walk, and talk, and breathe; a few bruises won't kill me." He turned, the sketchy light of the fire defining his lean, graceful body even further, and settled into the pool with a series of little grunts, half pain, half pleasure.

I handed him a bag of soapwort shavings so he could wash himself. "I paid ten darans for this in Leponoriaz."

He wet the bag and squeezed it, letting the fine suds run out through the mesh. "They cheated you. But it was worth it."

I took off my clothes, laying them on the boulder beside his own. I wore as much as he did, for the same reasons--leather for its toughness, heavy cotton cloth for its durability. Shadow ignored me, trying to get as much of himself as clean as possible before I took the soap-bag away. His sure, swift gestures, reminiscent of sword thrusts and parries, intrigued me, tempered by the little winces he gave when he hit a bruise or scrape. He was a handsome man now that the dirt was gone, the firelight giving his light skin a burnished glow. Fine, dark hairs pelted his arms and chest, dwindling to a line that led down his belly to his navel, and thence to his cock... which was classically proportioned, neither too large nor too small. I felt my nipples grow hard and a tiny bead of moisture grew between my legs; but he remained ignorant of my scrutiny. It was just as well. I piled my braidlocks on top of my head, using two hairpins to keep them there, and slipped in to join him.

I stretched out, luxuriating in the warmth. The springs were not the muddy, smelly ponds of my homeland, having instead floors of soft, clean sand and basins of stone edged with crystallized minerals. The olivine greens and ambers sparkled in the firelight like icy jewels. Shadow raised his eyes, and I thought I detected the same pleasure and surprise as he took in my flesh. He must have noticed my nipples; but then, we were traveling companions. One did not remark on the obvious as if we were empty-headed courtiers flirting at a party. I could guess his cock was getting hard, too. I could always tell, from the little shiftings of discomfort, the sighs of agitation.

Shadow handed me the soap. I caught sight of an oddly-shaped white scar on his side. "What fell monster gave you that?"

"Human monsters," he said shortly.

"Oh?" I said, but he said nothing further. I sensed it was not something he wished to talk about. His defensiveness made me feel oddly shy, and I soaped myself rather more brusquely than I had planned. What was it about this mysterious, handsome man that so unnerved me?

"It happened long ago," he said in some repentance for snapping. "It made who I am."

"I thought the Wolf-God made you who you are."

"He too. Look." He lifted his dark, damp hair to show me his shoulder, which had emblazoned on it a marvelous tattoo, a leaping wolf seen in profile, the same form that graced the moon. "Lykaon gave me this, after I agreed to serve him."

I had seen stranger things on my journeys than divine gifts that gave kinship to animals, yet the tattoo disturbed me. It spoke of great pain, and great loss, in spite of the artistry and ferocity in it; the expression on the wolf's face was just a little mournful, a little despairing, imprisoned by the crescent moon that circled it from behind.

Shadow let his hair fall and scrutinized me in turn. "You have a fine set of scars as well, lady amazon."

I lifted my leg to show him a pale line halfway between thigh and knee. "This I received in my first campaign, in Aradune during the Feud of the Perfume Merchants."

"Interesting." His fingers stroked it lightly.

"And this I got from an unctuous visp when I crossed the Shansadian Desert. Look close, and you can still see the imprints of the fangs."

"A horrible wound. But it healed cleanly."

I rose partway out of the pool so the water came only to my waist. "And this graze on my ribs came from a Garandarolli spear. Fortunately, my mail deflected most of it."

He was grinning by now, alert to the game that was being played. He grinned even more when he realized he would have to lift my breast to see its whole length. Which he did, almost decorously, and that was part of the game too, a mockery of courtliness.

"A close call, dear lady; had the angle been different, you might have a boy's torso now."

"A close call indeed," I said lightly, enjoyed the feel of his hand. Though my body is lean my breasts are heavy, jutting out from my body like a pair of ebon gourds. "I had to wear my bambmorae in a sling until it healed."

"What are bambmorae?"

It was a Pharazii word that had no direct translation. "Breasts" was too neutral, "udders" too earthy. "Tits," I said at last, though perhaps that was too shrill.

"And they were none the worse, for that abuse?" he said, looking me in the eyes with a crooked smiled on his face, his fingers stroking the stiff stem of my nipple.

"As you see for yourself," I said, my own voice betraying my desire, "they stand yet at attention."

"Honorable to the last," he murmured, and engulfed the brave nipple, wounded yet still strong, in the warm suction of his mouth.

Gods, that felt sweet. He gave a long, soft suck, one hand caressing my other breast, plying the nipple between his fingers in long, silky strokes. Wolfmoon smiled down on us. It had been a while since I had a lover. When I was flush with fresh gold I would find a like-minded partner and enjoy myself for a while, but in the heat of battle, or the tedium of camp life, there was no space for a lover or any sexual thoughts at all. As a mercenary, I had learned to take my lovers where I could.

And I was determined to take my pleasures now. I reached under the water as Shadow continued his bambmorae massage, finding the cleft of his strongly muscled thighs. His cock was ready for action, hard and slippery. I felt its length, its particular shape, and it stiffened even further in my hand, resting snugly in my palm like the hilt of my favorite sword.

The stars burned above us, sparks set in ebon velvet. I stroked his shaft, purring in contentment. The soft, mineral-laden waters gave an extra lubrication. "Are you sure you feel up to this?"

"Demoness," he hissed. He kissed me, and the scent of man-musk mingled with cool wetness and warm rock, along with wild sage and resinous spice from the stunted pines. "Would I be biting... like *so*... and pinching... like *so*... if I did not?"

I laughed and gasped, very surprised at the final place his finger chose to rest. "That's as may be, but what of the splendid bruises on your ribs?"

"Damn the ribs," he said, and I vibrated on the tip of his finger, my breathing growing rapid so I forgot to attend to his cock. He slipped his finger in further, to the second joint, and the sudden, unbidden gyration of my hips sent a shaft of exquisite lust through my flesh and turned my brains to jelly.

"You're a delicious man," I managed to get out. "But tonight, I must ride."

He found a comfortable position on the smooth rocks inside the pool and I mounted him. His cock slid easily into my sex. I gripped him hard but not cruelly, straddling his hips. He felt so good inside me, so warm and full of life and power, for all his mystery and evasive talk. He wound his fingers in my braids, discarding the hairpins, and pulled me close so our mouths could meet. I pumped my hips up and down, enjoying the smooth friction of his cock against my clit. My buttocks rose and fell in the steaming water, dark moons to the two pale ones that rode above. The contrasts of heat and cold stimulated me further, along the sensuous ripple of the waves across my skin.

I threw my head and torso back. Shadow pinioned my wrists, keeping me upright. I couldn't escape, yet didn't want to. His face was full of anguished desire, but for what I could not tell. His dark eyes held more than a hint of madness. Rather than alarming me, it made me ride harder, my buttocks churning the water into foam. His back arched as he met my thrusts, and his groans took on the timbre of snarls. It made me even more aroused, so I rotated my hips, snapped them like a dancer. My nipples swung like heavy beads with my motions, now submerged, now puckering in the frigid air, and I had to touch them, or I would go mad.

I tried to free my arms, but Shadow thought of it first. He grasped my nipples in his hands, pulling me forward to his mouth. I felt the hard pinch of teeth. The shock would have been painful at any other time, but now I moaned in excitement at the hard teasing he gave them with his lips and tongue... an eager captive, sealed to him by the voracious thrusting of my sex. I reached between my legs to rub my clit as I jogged up and down. The tingling increased, and I knew within seconds I would come.

My ecstasy approached pain, surpassed it, and I came last in a long groan, my thoughts spinning off like fireworks, the lovely spasms creating a veritable squall in the tiny pool. With a shout, Shadow came as well. I felt his semen spilling into me, each thrust a separate annihilation. The warm, milky liquid dispersed in the water, then disappeared, to be carried out in the outflow.

I sighed deeply, resisting the urge to collapse against his ribcage. I treasured the feel of him inside me for a few seconds longer, then carefully slid my pelvis off his tired cock. "You fuck as well as you fight. I would hate to be your enemy," he said.

I splashed him in mock anger, but I was secretly pleased. If his mind was as available to me as his cock, I might do nothing but. But I had no idea how he felt about the situation, whether it was a casual tumble or something that could lead to more, and I checked the rumblings of possessiveness I felt. "I'll treat your wounds now."

He aimed a wet slap at my buttock as I climbed out of the pool. "What? No cuddling and small talk?"

I grinned wickedly as I prepared my herbs. Contrary to what other females have told me, I've found men cherish it as much if not more than women. "That is for naive village girls. I have a job to do."

"Help me out, at least?"

I put down my mortar and pestle to lend him my arm. His injuries, or perhaps the hot water and exertion, had sapped him. None were severe enough for sutures or splints, but the many minor bruises, scrapes, and cuts had added up. I helped him over to the soft, tanned sheepskins I kept for sleeping on and wrapped a clean blanket around him. "You'd be wise not to exert yourself too much tomorrow. How far is this village of yours?"

"At the other end of the valley. We should reach it by nightfall, even if we get a late start." I added some hot water to magewort to make a paste, which I applied to the cuts that looked in danger of infection. I wrapped linen bandages around his limbs to keep it there. The pewteroot tea, which had been slowly brewing while we had a romp, was now strong enough to drink as an antibiotic. Shadow made a face as he tasted it, but downed the whole cup. As a scout and spy, he knew the dangers of sickening or even dying because of a minor injury.

"You have friends there who will take care of you? They will smuggle you back to your brother's lands to make your report?"

"Yes," he said, with an odd expression on his face, as if he wanted to ask me something. "You'll see for yourself, tomorrow, when we go."

I dried myself off with my discarded clothes and lay next to him, drawing the clean blanket, and the heavy wool horse blankets, over us both. Shadow was right. It got very cold here at night.

But, there were other ways to keep warm.

Chapter 3: The Rebels

We rose later than usual the next morning, well past dawn. Our cave and the hot springs were still in shadow, but sunlight had spread across the valley below. I sat up to admire it, pulling the blanket around my shoulders. These dry, cracked hills hid a lush paradise from the world outside. The pastel colors in the cliffs--pale reds and ochres, lemon golds, pallid grays--contrasted sharply with the emerald greens of the forest.

I built up the fire again as Shadow went to the edge of the cliff to piss. He moved slowly, and stiffly, but it was nothing that would deter a soft day of riding. Still naked, he took up the sword he had appropriated from his captors and strolled to the edge of the terrace.

"Planning to challenge the sun, to move her rays here to warm us?" I said.

"Nothing of the sort, lady amazon," he said. He raised the sword in both hands and held it over his head, standing on one leg so he looked like a crane. "It is my body I challenge." Slowly he lowered the sword, bringing his leg back, looking for all the world like a slow-motion pantomime, then lifted it again to thrust swift as lightning. "You've never seen battle-dance postures before?"

I shook my head no as he thrust, danced and parried, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. The play of muscles in his shoulders and back was magnificent, as was his rump... which was well shaped, neither overly rounded nor overly flat, and that softly bouncing ballsack. I well neigh forgot about the water I was heating. Naked myself, I took up my Pharazii sword and skirted the steaming spring to join him. Among mercenaries, two swords and a casual challenge were all it took to pass the time or warm our muscles for the day.

Our swords rang together, a silvery clash of metal. We circled, straining, then parried and thrust again. Clang. Clang. Shadow grinned in fierce delight, tendrils of dark, curly hair sticking to his face. The corded muscles of his arms stood out as he strained towards me, and contracted as he parried. I danced back as he hit hard, then drove him almost to the edge of the terrace with a series of short blows. We did not fight in earnest, but it was part of the game to pretend we were, with showier and more exacting techniques than we would ever use if we were actually fighting for our lives.

I tried to give him a tap with the flat of my sword--the signal of the victor--but he thrust me away, and I stepped on a sharp-edged pebble and nearly fell. Only by luck did I catch my balance, and it gave him time to dance back to the pool. No getting distracted! Sweat began to slide down my brow as he went on the attack, moving so quickly I was caught by surprise. My breasts bounced against my chest as I blocked him again and again. I could only hope I was distracting him as much as he was distracting me.

At that moment the sun slipped over the rocks, filling our terrace with clear morning light. I could only imagine the picture we made to those below, if any were around to look. It was not only the thrill of battle that energized us, it was sexual heat as well. Male warriors have long known how linked battle lust and bedroom lust are, and we amazons know it too... and to bring two warriors together, a man and woman, is to give that energy its highest potential and expression.

My nipples strained forward in excitement. My braidlocks bounced on my shoulders like woolly snakes. Shadow looked almost elemental, his unshaven chin a savage reminder of how close a cousin a man was to an animal. I longed to feel that scrape of beard against my neck and jaw, to rub it against my lips.

My distraction was my downfall. "Hai!" Shadow shouted, and knocked my sword from my grasp. It rang on the hard stone, tumbling end over the end. Before I could do anything else he planted his foot in my midsection and pushed me backwards into the spring.

It was a shock, but a delicious one. I came up spluttering.

"You have lost," Shadow observed, kneeling on one knee by the side of the pool. He folded his arms over his other knee and grinned wickedly down on me. The pose gave me a wonderful view of his cock, which was semirigid with excitement... no doubt my nudity had contributed too.

"And what does the victor want?" I asked, though I had a feeling I knew.

"What any man wants, after a victory." He sat on the edge of the spring, trailing his legs in the water, and spread his thighs a little. The fine hair furred even their insides, growing up to a tightly curled tangle at the base of his cock. Of course I had to service him, as I had lost. While not the usual arrangement among mercenaries, I was quick to note its advantages.

"You will not find camp wenches half as skilled as I," I said with a saucy grin. "Now get those hairy thighs apart so I do not strain my back."

He obliged me, pulling a face at my order. I rubbed my face on the insides of his thighs, pausing to kiss the pale, unprotected flesh there, which was flushed in rosy patterns from his exertions. His cock rose just a little higher, stiffening and extending. It was a pink color with a blue tone beneath, almost mauve, unusual compared to the dark skinned men I was used to. The light color showed more variation as well, especially from the shaft to the head, which was slightly darker than the rest. I cupped his balls, massaging them within the loose skin. Even here I felt fine hairs prickling my fingers. Like the pink-toned flesh, I found it intriguing.

Still squeezing him softly, I licked his shaft up and down, lubricating it with my saliva. I slowly took him in my mouth. Oral gratification is not my preferred way of having sex, yet I enjoy it at times. The act is more fulfilling the closer one is to one's partner, for the main part of the pleasure comes from the man's pleasure, holding him in your mouth, teasing him, drawing out his climax. I suspect the stories male braggarts tell of suck-loving women who climax from the sperm they swallow are merely stories designed to flatter male hubris. No tavern wench or body-seller ever told me such a tale. Not true, either, is the common belief that women must be taught to suck cocks. Most catch on with little difficulty, it being common sense to know not to scrape too hard with one's teeth. As for technique, all it takes is a bit of imagination to project how a tongue would feel on our genitals.

That said, I swirled my tongue around his shaft, pressing it firmly into the flesh. I moved my own head in a circular motion, keeping my lips tightly wrapped. Shadow was content with the treatment, not demanding that I take him in my throat, which can get tedious for a long period of time. I thought I would tease him for a while, but whether from the fight, or the early morning hour, he showed every indication of coming, and coming soon. I sucked him more rapidly, my tongue plucking arpeggios across his tumescent flesh. His impending orgasm fed a growing excitement of my own. I looked up at his face. His eyes were half shut; he looked almost like a girl with his pretty cheekbones and mouth. The inarticulate groans he gave excited me further.

Behind us came a scrape as if bone on stone.

Shadow leapt to his feet, tearing his cock from my mouth, and grabbed his sword. He spun around to face the intruder before I could snap my jaws shut. He raised his sword, but it was only a wild goat, who bleated mournfully at us, then stuck his head back in the porridge pot.

"There goes our breakfast," I murmured.

Shadow set his blade down. "You can never be too careful," he said. "This area is safe because Shezrine thinks it worthless. She doesn't know what the hills shelter inside. But other outlaws may be hiding here, or bounty hunters... "

The disturbance came as a rude slap in the face. How vulnerable we had been. We could have been overpowered very easily, bound, and taken away to who knows where.

I climbed out of the pool and saved what was left of our breakfast. The mood had been broken by the very real danger we were still in. Still, it hadn't been a wasted experience, even if neither of us received satisfaction. There would be another time.

The goat had destroyed the porridge so we ate the remainder of the bread and dried meat, then dressed and broke camp. We carried our equipment back down to the horse, who was at the far edge of his tether munching on the grass. Now that the sun was out, I could see a trail that led down into the valley, and it was very steep. I would have to lead him on a rein with Shadow and I walking. "We usually make the trip with mules," Shadow said. "Still, I think he'll be all right. He doesn't seem like a skittish sort."

We headed down the trail in single file, Shadow in front, I and the horse behind. As we descended the tepid runoff from the springs joined other rivulets that became a clear, slow-moving river that looped across the valley floor. Strange birds called from the trees and jumbled honeyvine blossoms fell in loops above our heads, their pale green cups full of sweet perfume. It was hard to see where we headed because of the forest, but Shadow seemed to know. I privately hoped we would not reach the village too soon.

We stopped briefly for lunch, then pushed on again. The valley narrowed into a gorge, sending the waters gushing between twin cliffs. After this the land fell again and flattened, and as evening fell we came into cultivated fields. In the distance lay a small group of buildings: the village.

Shadow must have been familiar there, for the returning farmers gave him only cursory looks. "Shadow!" one said, raising bushy black eyebrows peppered with white. "What are you doing here? And look at your face! What happened?"

"I have news for Choven and the others," Shadow said. "Gather them together, and quickly."

The farmer nodded and hurried off to inform the village. I saw lanterns and candles being lit in the largest building, which must have served as an informal hall for large meetings. The population began to gather, talking excitedly, and dogs barked.

Shadow turned to me and said stiffly, "I have private business here. Choven will find you a room to spend the night and I'm sure some of the goodwives will feed you. In the morning he will give you your fee, and you can be on your way."

How cold, this. I was hardly expecting a passionate leavetaking, but I was looking forward to a more meaningful goodbye, and perhaps some explanation of the mysteries that eluded me. "These people are outlaws, aren't they," I said. "They shelter you, and in return you report the Queen's business to them so they can formulate new ways to harass her."

He did not deny it, nor did he look sheepish. "How did you know?"

I pointed to the nearest house. "See the dog standing guard by the door? It's a Bosian mastiff, known as the outlaw's companion. They have no other use than to protect their masters and kill those who threaten their livelihood. You will never find them among law-abiding folk, for criminals keep their breeding a secret."

"We are rebels, not criminals, " he said with a sigh. "You are too clever, amazon."

"Do you truly seek to overthrow the Queen?"

He gave me warning look. "If news of this enclave should reach her ears... "

"I will carry no tales, for I want to help you," I said seriously. "I am a skilled mercenary. Perhaps I can advise you in whatever you are planning."

"It is very dangerous--"

"I have suffered worse dangers than a sex-absorbed Queen," I said. A figure waved to us from the entrance to the hall. "Well?"

He shook his head slightly as if questioning my wisdom, but the look on his face was pleased. I realized he had wanted to ask my cooperation directly, but he was not the sort of man who pressed his desires on others. "You've just sealed your fate, lady amazon. Now, to the meeting."

A boy ran up to take of the horse, and we entered the hall.

The building was packed, all of the participants engaged in nervous, heated discussion. Some looked like the outlaws they were, but most were plain folk... farmers, herdsmen, wives and daughters. Shadow quickly introduced me to a tall man with a jagged scar on his cheek. "Choven, this is Lady Jozhande Tanimury, the amazon mercenary who saved me from the Queen's men."

Choven looked at me intently. He must have never seen a dark-skinned Pharazii before. "Saved, eh? That must have been an interesting story."

It was twenty times more interesting than he probably believed. "Are you the leader here?"

"Well... " he drawled, looked not so sure suddenly. "If any can be said to lead this motley bunch, I do."

"I would like to join you," I said.

He and Shadow exchanged a look: She can be trusted. "I sense you do not fully understand the implications, warrior woman. But, I accept, Now, Shadow, what news have you from outside?"

With this exclamation the room went quiet. Shadow nervously cleared his throat. "Bontatris has fallen," he said.

There was a second of even more deathly silence before the shock abated and room began to buzz like an angry beehive. "Bontatris? No!" a woman cried, her voice rising over the others.

"Shezrine used her sorcery," Shadow said. "There was little the elders of the city, or their armies, could do. Half of it lies in ashes, while the Queen's armies despoil the half that is left. As we speak they are marching off the captured youth of the city to be her slaves."

There were shocked cries of outrage throughout the room and not a few of fear. "Will we be next?" said a heavy man in a leather apron, probably a blacksmith. Worry creased his sooty brow.

"It's not likely tomorrow, or the day after," Shadow said. "But it could happen soon, once Shezrine recoups her losses and starts thinking of other targets. That's why we must move now, and quickly." A large piece of slate had been mounted on the wall, and on this he sketched a crude map with a piece of chalk. "She has the bulk of her armies stationed yet in Bontatris, with outposts here and here on the east-west road. The magical creatures she used to take the city have since been dispersed. The Tarkusian mercenaries are still there, but they won't lift a claw to help her unless they are paid, and that could be a while as she is still sorting through her booty. Of her other cities, Dantavom is too distant to offer immediate aide, and the troops of Lansong are poorly trained, with weak leaders. So you see, her forces are spread very thin, and should we attack here--" he slapped the chalk against the star that was Obn Dhregni--"we may just depose her before help arrives."

"She is a sorceress!" someone called out.

"That is true. And it also true that she can extend her diseased reign ever further across the Riftlands if she is not stopped. If we act, we must act now."

A tall, broad-shouldered woman stood up in the back. "I don't know about you, but I want to act," she said in a gruff tone. "Being cooped up in the valley is driving me crazy. Stymphads were made to fly, not shuttle loads back and forth like pack mules!"

"Stymphads?" I whispered to Choven, but he only gave me a distracted nod, telling me he would answer my question later.

"Trust the Captain of the Wing to know what she's talking about," Choven whispered. "She is right!"

"We must all attack together," Shadow reiterated. "Deneir's army, the Hellwings, our allies inside. If we strike jointly, when Shezrine is least expecting it, we may have a chance."

A confused babble broke out. "We must send messages to the teamsters and land-pirates... " "Weapons are needed, food, supplies... " "... block the roads from Lansong and Bontatris, so those armies cannot move."

I could not make sense of any of it , or tell where I was to fit in, so I turned to Choven for an explanation. "What is happening here?"

"Rebellion, my lady. One that should have happened a long time ago." He explained. His people, the Hharang, had long lived a quiet life within the hills, trading only rarely with the outside world. They kept a close alliance with Obn Dhregni under Mejdabian rule, giving the city aerial protection with its stymphads and their riders. In return they received what Obn Dhregni was famous for. But when Subbobor Caramaithzes conquered the city the Hharangi suffered a numbing loss of pride. Everyone assumed they had flown off on what remained of their fierce mounts to find more congenial territory. But they did not.

"Since then," Choven said, "We have stayed hidden in these hills. In time we discovered that the true line of kings yet survived in the north, and we established contact with Sandarul and later Deneir. Slowly we have watched them gain allies and support. There are powerful noble families inside Obn Dhregni, too, who wish to see Shezrine deposed for reasons of their own, and in the past ten years the noose about her neck has tightened."

I nodded, a little overwhelmed at the magnitude of what I found myself involved in, but there was no turning back... whether I was acting for Shadow, the excitement of a fresh conflict, or my own need to earn a living.

Shadow continued to field questions. He seemed uncomfortable in a leadership role; he was more of the type to delegate the work that had to be done, a mobilizer and organizer. Still, he had a subtle charisma about him that drew others. I noticed the young women of the village eyeing him like dogs over a juicy bone, though he hadn't changed his clothes or shaved since we got here. They tried, consciously and unconsciously, to attract his attention in little ways... a pout of a lip, an intelligent-sounding question. He gave them respect and a momentary acknowledgment, no more, but I found myself getting jealous. Like a she-panther, I thought my territory had been clearly marked. Then it occurred to me that the color of my skin, and my sword, had marked me to them as an outsider, and therefore no threat as a rival. I resolved to claim what was mine later that night, perhaps to finish what we had started by the hot spring that morning.

Shadow excused himself from the group of rebels he was consulting with and gestured me to the door. "I have a mission for you," he said gravely.

"Why so grim?"

"Because it is dangerous. Come outside, and we will talk about it."

I made excuses to Choven and we walked away from the hall, to a quiet pasture under some tamarind trees. Insects called from the undergrowth and I heard the sweet song of a nightingale. "We need someone to go into Obn Dhregni to deliver our message to the rebels there. Three contacts must be made: the Duke of Ushroez, the temple of Tontaxir, and Shezrine's palace staff, and you must also act as courier between the three. I would go, but I can't; the Queen's men are still looking for me. You, on the other hand, are a stranger, a novelty. Shezrine is fond of hosting foreigners for the amusement of her court, and doors may be open to you that are shut for her citizens. You have a key role to play, a very important one, should you accept it."

He clasped my hands in his own, not a lover's gesture but the entreaty of one comrade to another. A dog howled in the distance. If I had known then what was later to befall me, I might have refused. But I was young, and thought I was invincible... and Shadow's manner, intense yet vulnerable, brought out that pride. I would not fail him. "You must give me specifics," I said. "Tell me where these people are, and how I may contact them. And I must carry parchments, of course... "

"Written messages are too dangerous. They can fall into the wrong hands. You will have to rely on your memory. As to how to contact our allies... well, none of us know that. Our web is tenuous at best. This may help, however." He fastened a single earring in my left earlobe, a dangling feather fashioned of silver. "This will show our allies that you are one of us. They may find you, not the other way around. You must make these contacts within the month, before Wolfmoon is full again."

He wanted me to go so much that I could almost taste it. But he would not say so. I sensed another factor at work, too... he had other reasons than the ones he stated. "How do I know if I succeed?"

"When the city is under siege."

An awful thrill rolled down my spine. I had been in danger before... in my last campaign, and in Aradune and the desert. But never had it been like this, where so much was at stake, and the fate of a kingdom rested in my hands. "We'd best start memorizing," I said, giving my assent.

Choven gave us a small cottage to share, with a shy servant girl who had a hot meal ready for us. Shadow drilled me mercilessly, making me repeat the information again and again. He even gave me a bitter-tasting tonic to drink that he said would help with the memorization. When I could repeat the words twelve times without a mistake, he pronounced our work done.

The girl cleaned up our table leavings and drew us a bath. Before she left for the night she asked, "Will you both be wanting to be up early tomorrow to prepare for your trip?"

"Yes," Shadow said shortly, dismissing her. I glanced at him, for I thought I was the only one making the trip, but he gave no explanation. She must have been mistaken, and he had gone along with it rather than correct her. I shrugged and went back to scrubbing my back.

I felt the soft sponge slide from my grasp. "Move over," Shadow said, with a light kiss on my shoulderblade.

The wooden tub was barely big enough for one, but we made do, drawing our knees up so they poked out of the hot water. "Shall I wash you?"

"Mm, that would be nice."

I had wanted to get my hands on his body again, and this was the perfect way to do it. Slowly I soaped his torso, limbs, chest, the sponge traveling in firm, sensuous circles. His skin had the silkiness and resilience of youth, but there was hard muscle beneath. My concerns slowly dissipated and soon the only tension I felt was sexual tension, and it was a false tension at that, for we both knew exactly how it was going to be resolved.

We rinsed off in the second tub, which held tepid water, and dried ourselves with towels of soft linen. I pushed open the door to the bedroom and assumed an inviting position on the bed. The rush mattress responded with a sweet exhalation, a fresh, herblike scent like cut grass in the rain. "I believe we have unfinished business. This morning, by the spring."

He slid in beside me, the towel slipping from his waist. He let his fingers trail across my head and cheek as if giving me approval. "Put like that, how can I refuse?"

What wickedness we were going to perform upon this innocent painted wooden bed, its linen sheets painstakingly embroidered by peasant fingers. I knelt between his legs and swiftly took him swiftly in my mouth. To keep myself focused I tucked my hands beneath me and drew my knees in, becoming a nude, compact package whose only function was to give him pleasure. I cannot tell you why this particular position aroused me, but it did. I wanted him inside me, this wonderful, elusive man, and although I do not usually swallow mens' sperm, I wanted to this time, just to see how he tasted.

Tighter and tighter I drew myself; the moist warmth between my thighs increased with the pressure. I tasted the first droplets of pre-ejaculate and increased the vigor of my tonguing. I raised my rear so he could see my buttocks bob and sway in swift, jerky motions and squeezed my nipples in time with his thrusts. The little bed shuddered with the motions and even the curtain over the window shook.

He came with a groan and pulled himself out of my mouth to spray against my chest. I felt the warm, slippery semen coat my breasts. Not to be denied, I scooped some of it up on the tip of my finger and tasted it. My nipples felt ready to burst. Without my consent my fingers began to squeeze them again, the sperm a marvelous lubricant, and I gave an inviting moan.

It had the right effect. Shadow pushed me down on the sheets, one hand spreading my legs so his cock could thrust inside. His other hand mauled my breast, then his mouth went down upon it, feasting upon both it and his own emissions. His cock filled me like a wax seal in the neck of a bottle. I arched my back with each thrust, my hands entwined in his hair. The slippery products of our passion all around us now, coating us, making us inhuman.

My legs jerked out straight and trembled helplessly as I came, crying out like a banshee.

We lay against each other, sodden and satisfied, in the warmth and lightness that follows. The wild passion had alarmed me a little. I reflected it might be the last time I would make love with him, but in the euphoria of the moment all is optimism, and such thoughts are easily brushed aside.

Shadow rested his head against my breast, half-asleep, but in the mood for talk. "I have a question for you, amazon."

"Speak."

"How is that you wound up here, in the Uplands, hundreds of miles from your people?"

"It's a long story," I said. "It began with a child's vow... "

I told him, the same way I will tell you.

Chapter 4: Wolfmoon

I was born in Moambe, a small village deep in the Silver Forest. My family and I lived in a longhome, a large, sturdy house built on stilts off the ground. The roof dipped in the middle and flared out at either end, as if wanting to sprout wings. Tall trees stood all around us: parong, monkeypod, sweetgum. Some gave fruit in the summer, others flowers in the spring. The most precious gave us medicine and bark paper to write on.

Our home was very crowded. On the bottom, among the stilts, was where we kept our pigs, chickens, and goats, while meals, meetings, and ceremonies took place on the main floor. Colorful reed mats covered the floor, for my mother was the village's senior reed-weaver. Living with us were my mother's sisters and their children, whom I called brother and sister even though we were cousins. My father, a trader, lived apart from us in a small hut as was customary for married men. As I was a bright child, curious and quick, my favorites among my extended family were those who had a healthy sense of imagination. We had many adventures in the friendly trees.

Did I mention most of us went about naked? Although the Silver Forest is not a proper jungle like the Panjarl, it could get quite hot. When we passed puberty, or had to travel out of the village, boys wore a loincloth, girls a decorated apron. Adults dressed more modestly, but not by much.

Things were uneventful up until the time I neared puberty myself. Soon after my birthday my father visited the longhome to see how I was getting on. "How old are you now, Jozhande?" he asked.

He had a soft deep voice, and I thrilled to hear it. "Twelve, Papa." I said.

"You're old enough to go to the city. Tomorrow I am taking some of your mother's mats to the marketplace in the city. You will come with me."

My mother cast him a sharp glance, looking up from her mats. Her fingers were as rough as the bark strips she wove. But that was my father's way of introducing his children to the world. He had taken my two older brothers to see the city when they came of age, and so he would do the same with me.

The next day at dawn we loaded up the oxcart with reed mats, bright batiked cloth, coconuts, and several cages of fat pullets. I was so excited I could hardly eat my breakfast. I had never been more than an hour's walk from the village before, and Karistanapool was large enough to hold ten, twenty, fifty Moambes within its high stone walls. The God-King of Pharazion lived there in a pyramid-palace built of somber basalt. My father told me he would sometimes come onto his balcony to throw copper coins to the people. I was impressed. We did not use currency in our village, only barter, and even a copper coin seemed the height of luxury.

We set out, my father guiding the ox, I sitting in the wagon atop the bed of our merchandise. At first the forest looked no different. The vegetation grew lusher as we crossed a river, than more parklike and open. By midafternoon the trees were so scattered so I could see many miles in front of me. The openness made me feel strange and small. I had never been out of the trees before.

In late afternoon I saw a dark hump lying far ahead... Karistanapool. I was so excited I could barely sit still. The gate-guards waved us through into the city, and my eyes went wide, taking in the wonders. Over here, a magician performing tricks with bowls of colored fire; there, a weaver selling bolts of fluttering cloth; in front of us a shaggy, long-legged beast with two humps on its back that I later learned was called a camel. Crowds to the left and crowds to the right, the smell of roasting meat, animal dung, expensive perfume. Ahead of us walked foreigners with skin like cinnamon and eyes like emeralds; and behind us a tame elephant with a miniature hut on its back!

My father noticed me staring and laughed good-naturedly. "Don't gawk so much. After a few days here, you will be well used to such sights."

I continued to stare as we entered the bazaar where my father had his contacts. Suddenly I heard a deep, brassy, melodious sound. It was the first time I had ever heard a royal trumpet, for the only musical instruments we had in our village were flutes and drums. "Make way! Make way for the Akkidri, the chosen of Ylangaz, the warrior-wives of the God-King!"

The crowd stood back, lining each side of the road, and my father pulled his wagon aside. From my perch on top I had an excellent view.

A dozen fierce haxtos marched solemnly up the street with mincing steps that might have looked ridiculous if they were not the mounts of the Akkidri. The warrior-wives rode these fierce, flightless birds into battle, for horses were unknown in our part of the world. They had massive hooked beaks and were more than capable of disemboweling a man with the sharp, curved claws on their inner toes. They were also notoriously hard to control, their riders needing to bond with them as chicks to have any hope of taming them, so they were used only by the God-King's finest warriors.

But fierce as the haxtos were, the Akkidri were fiercer. They were not the actual wives of the God-King, for he had a sister-wife and a passel of concubines, but were blessed by Ylangaz the sun goddess to protect him as his personal guard. They were dark and polished as ebony, each naked but for plates of gold metal over their breasts and loins; feathers plumed from their helms like puffs of colored smoke. Each Akkidri carried a round polished shield and wore a longsword strapped to her waist. The crowd grew respectfully silent as they passed, though little gasps and exclamations could be heard.

When the parade passed the crowd broke up, leaving awed whispers in its wake. "What did you think of that, Pumpkinseed?" my father said, using my nickname. "There go the personal guard of the God-King. Surely you will not see such a sight again!"

I felt feverish, dazed, excited all at once. I blurted the first thing that came into my mind. "Papa, I want to be one."

What happened next is very important in the history of my life. Among my people it was a serious thing for a child--who is thought to be incapable of deceit or presentiment--to express a wish to serve the sun goddess. Thusly, my father did not scold me, or dissuade me, or laugh at my outburst. Instead, he took me to the temple of Ylangaz where we might find out if my desire was a true calling.

The temple dazzled me as much as the Akkidri had, for inside it was paved with white marble. The gilded symbol of the goddess hung in midair, where a beam of light struck it from the ceiling. Beneath this burned a sacred fire fueled by fragrant wood. My father explained what had happened to the acolytes, and they went to fetch the high priestess.

She was a tall women in a long white robe. A dot of gold paint winked light from her forehead like a tiny sun. "What is your name child?"

"Jozhande," I answered. "Your Grace," I amended.

"Do you know the true nature of what you desire?" she said seriously.

I was confused. Her eyes bored into me like those of a forest asp. "I don't know," I said truthfully. "I only know what I want. Please, can I be a warrior-woman like the God-King's guard?"

She laughed and rubbed my short, woolly hair. "We shall see." Then, to my father, "We have to keep your daughter here overnight and give her the dream-drink, so we may know for sure. The goddess will tell her if the portent in true."

So my father left me there, with admonitions to be good and not vex the priestesses too strongly. They took me below the main floor into a luxurious catacomb which smelled of myrrh and sandalwood. It was early evening by then, so they gave me the dream-drink and left me alone in a stone chamber on a bed of soft animal skins. I soon dropped off to sleep.

What do you think I dreamed? Ylangaz herself came down from the sky in her robes of gold to welcome me as a warrior, and in a fabulous montage I had many adventures fighting alongside my sister warriors mounted on a fierce crested haxto. Dazzled by my journey, the Akkidri, the city itself, it is no coincidence that I dreamed as I did.

Now I wonder if my dream wasn't so far off the mark, save for the fact I ride a horse, not a temperamental haxto. But I am getting ahead of myself again.

The next day I spoke my dream and the priestesses told my father the news. After I had my first menses, the priestesses would come for me and take me back to the city, where I would be initiated within their ranks. It was one of the highest honors of our land to be chosen for the Akkidri, and that it happened to a child in our family, who were from a backwater village no one had ever heard of, was a cause for celebration. When my father and I returned home my parents started planning my induction feast, an affair for the whole village that would include roasted goat, sweet tubers and rice, and gifts of feather cloaks, ivory beads, livestock, and decorated pots and baskets. Every wish of mine was granted, no comfort denied; I got to wear a spot of gold paint on my forehead and received garlands of fresh flowers every day.

It was inevitable that all the attention focused on me made some of my brothers and sisters jealous.

It was also inevitable that some acted on it.

My half-brother Lgoti approached me a tenday before my going-away party as I was gathering some sweet tubers from the garden. We were both well away from the village and hidden in the trees. "Going away soon, aren't you," he said.

I did not like his tone and stayed alert for tricks. He was the son of my father's first wife and a sly bully a year older than myself. He liked to throw stones at the chickens and club the slow-moving rock lizards for no other reason than to watch their brains splatter. I tried to affect a superior look. "It is as the goddess wills." That was the standard reply the priestesses in the temple had for everything, and I thought to imitate it as I would soon be joining their ranks.

"Do you know what the priestesses will do to you in their rites?" he asked.

I had total faith in the priestesses. They had treated me graciously the night I had spent in the temple. "You are trying to scare me," I said. "You are jealous!"

He spat. "I am not. I have no reason to be. Boys can't join the Akkidri."

I still suspected he was. "You are wrong. The priestesses would not hurt me."

"Oh yes they would. They will cut off your *kili* and throw it into the flames to burn!"

I stared at him in confusion. I did not know what a *kili* was.

"Don't you know what a *kili* is?" he said. I shook my head no, ashamed to admit it. "There," he said in exasperation, pointing. "Between your legs, Jozhande. In your secret place. Your *kili* is there."

I was angry by now, thinking he made a fool of me. I probed myself between the thighs, feeling my sparse, downy hair and pubic lips, the concavity of my vagina. This was all I knew of my sex. I knew adult men and women used these organs to make children, but I had never been interested enough to examine my own. "You lie. There's nothing here."

"Look." He wore a shard of mirror on a thong around his neck as a pendant, and unlooped it and handed it to me. "Look carefully, and you will see it."

I had indulged in sex-play with my brothers and sisters before, of course, but it had been only play. Now it seemed there was something risky about it, a new dimension I did not fully understand. But still, I was determined to prove him wrong, to stop him from making fun of me. I squatted in a patch of sunlight, spreading my knees, and held the mirror to my crotch in one hand while I opened myself with the other.

I had never done this before and the sight shocked me. My pubic lips were long and puffy, rimmed with fine, curly hairs. They formed the shape of an arrowhead and were a dark pinkish-plum in color, wrinkled like a dried fruit, yet felt soft and slick. I poked my finger around, but nothing was lurking in the damp folds. I even opened up my vagina and poked a finger in, but felt nothing but walls of thick muscle. Lgoti must be lying, I decided.

However, the probing began to stimulate me strangely. It felt very pleasurable, far more stimulating than my previous rubs and pats. The sensations seemed to be localized towards the front, near my urethra. I pinched the sensitive area and felt a jolt of pleasure so intense it felt more like pain. I peeled the folds of skin back and saw a swollen little nub like a pearl, glistening as if oiled. It was loosely attached enough to roll in my fingers like a stone, but I dared not, for I thought the sensations just might kill me!

"That," said Lgoti, "is your *kili.* Every girl has one, as every boy has a *pottu.* That's why men and women lie together, to give one another pleasure with their bodies."

"It feels... strange," I whispered. I was amazed that such a part of myself existed and that it had a name. I had always known pleasure when I touched or rubbed myself, but never in this direct, deliberate way. And the priestesses wanted to cut it off?

"You aren't doing it right," he said in his familiar insufferable tone. "Here, let me help you."

There was something improper about this, but I was so fascinated I dared not correct him. He wet his fingers in his mouth and placed them on my *kili.* They started to do a little dance, half-drumming, half rubbing. My clumsy probing had been nothing like this! I gasped, my heart thundering in my chest. "What are you doing?"

"I'm only showing you the proper way," he said with a smirk. My hips started to jerk. Without warning, he grabbed the shallow cup of my breast and sucked hard on the wide, flat nipple.

"Lgoti!" I squealed.

"Mmm-mm," he said, and the vibration of his lips sent a new delight through me. With amazement I saw his boyish *pottu* stick out straight, stiff as a finger. Was he going to pee on me?

But we were on the soft grass by then, and I was too transfixed to protest. I felt like I was on fire. He squeezed my nipples hard then, without warning, thrust his stiff *pottu* deep inside me. I was too astonished to cry out. Then he began moving it back and forth. I felt something tear within me, not a big pain but a pain nonetheless, then came the heavenly scrape of the tip of his *pottu* against me deep inside, and just as suddenly, he was outside of me, a long arc of white liquid shooting from his organ to dampen the soil.

I still felt on fire, nerves jangling. "What was that?" I yelped.

"It was seed," he said solemnly. "Men use it to make children." He wiped himself nonchalantly.

It took me a few seconds to realize what had happened. Lgoti had taken my virginity! I could never join the Akkidri now. The warrior-wives had to be virgin, untouched by any man. If they found out about Lgoti, I would bring shame on my family and on my whole village!

Had Lgoti known of this, and acted out of jealous spite? Perhaps. Later I found out he did not lie; all warrior-wives received a clitorectomy at their initiation into the order, forsaking sexual pleasure in order to better serve their King. Now I am very glad I did not become an Akkidri. But back then, I felt devastated.

A little bit of blood trickled out of my vagina. I dried it with a tuft of grass. I was almost in tears. "Go away, Lgoti."

He shrugged and left me.

The next few days passed in a storm of remorse for me. I kept to myself and tried to avoid my family and friends. What was I going to do? If I told my family what happened, shame would fall on me because of what I had let happen; if I went through with it, the priestesses would find me out, and there would be censure and disgrace for my family. I thought of running away but knew no one outside the village. I loved life too much to kill myself.

In the end I decided that if a dream had gotten me into this mess, a dream would get me out of it.

That night I lay awake, concocting a likely story as my brothers and sisters slept around me.

In the morning, I rubbed salt in my eyes to make tears and went to see my mother. Pretending I was bawling, I said, "Mama, I had a terrible dream! The goddess came to me and told me I wasn't strong enough to be an Akkidri. She said she didn't want me!"

Nothing of the sort happened, of course. I lied, and when I lied, I betrayed the childish faith I had kept since birth... for if it was so easy to convince my parents, how much easier it must have been for the priests and priestesses to convince the populace to serve their ends.

The only faith I hold these days is in myself, not in any god or goddess.

But at the time, the news was received with regret and a certain kind of forbearance. The goddess knew what was best. Instead of shame I was given its obverse, the noble emotion of pity, and in some ways that was worse. I thought I could go back to my carefree childish life, but I was mistaken. The deception weighed on me. I grew listless, lost weight. My parents attributed it to disappointment. With the onset of my menses I was a true woman, and if I was not to be an Akkidri, then I would have to learn another occupation. My father had distant relatives in another village which had a fine school for healers. They decided to send me there, in part because they thought the change would do me good.

For five years I studied herbs and healing. I caught on quickly and was very good. Dharzain--the village--was much larger than Moambe, practically a small city. I had to leave off my apron and wear foreign garments, shirts and trousers for their freedom of movement. Many foreigners came to the school as pupils and patients, and one of them was a crippled soldier who first taught me the art of swordplay. My desire to be a warrior had not left me. I learned other tricks from other mercenaries who passed through. At the age of eighteen, I cut short my healer's training to go off with them, and soon after that I fought in my first campaign. I often think, from time to time, of what my life would have been like as an Akkidri. But not too hard.

Shadow shifted in my arms, his hair a springy pillow on my chest. "I've heard those virgin warrior-women have secret ways of satisfying themselves," he said. "Double-headed phalluses, special tongue techniques, and all that."

"No doubt they do," I said, growing sleepy. My eyelids drooped. "When will you tell me the story of your life, Shadow?"

"Can a Shadow be said to have a life?" he said, and kissed me lightly on the lips.

I fell asleep not long after.

I woke with a start. Shadow's side of the bed was rumpled, but he was not there. Moonlight poured in through the window, creating a stripe through the crack in the curtain. I sat up. My nose told me Shadow had not gone long, for I still smelled his scent. Every man has a different smell, depending on his health and age, and his was slightly sweet yet musty, like cut hay in the rain. I thought he might have gotten up to relieve himself, but his clothes still hung on the hook.

I heard the creak of the gate as it opened and shut. What was he up to? While he might slip off naked to the outhouse, in the chill of night there was no way he would go without his cloak.

I had given Shadow my trust, but he kept a dangerous profession, and I thought it was better to follow him than be nastily surprised in the morning. My instincts had saved my life on many occasions. So I dressed quickly, took up a long knife--a sword being too obvious--and left the cottage intending to track him.

Wolfmoon was waxing, giving ample illumination. My breath made chill, ghostly clouds as I used my nose and my ears. Though Shadow was a scout and used to moving silently we were still in a village, and sure enough, the stray bark of a dog alerted me to his direction. The scent of crushed sage led me further. It wasn't long before I began to hear him. A few times I even glimpsed him in the moonlight, a shapeless form that took care to stay hidden in the junipers.

We were climbing up the hillside by then, past clumps of coarse grass and crumbling stone ledges. The village was far below me while the constellations burned above... the phoenix, the battle-ax, the wheel... violet-white Chazrhani, the traveler's friend, at the hub of its thirteen spokes. The stars looked like distant celebrants with their lanterns, lighting the way for some god's feast. With a pang of nostalgia, I thought of my own forgotten feast. What was Lgoti doing now? Had he found a wife to tease and torment?

Suddenly I heard the shrill bleat of a goat, then chaotic rustling noises as the rest of the herd scattered. I drew my knife and crept silently towards the disturbance. No twigs broke, no grass rustled beneath my soft-booted feet. Then came sounds of an animal feeding: wet slaps and sucks, then pops as the limbs were disjointed.

Had the wolf come back, and Shadow was talking with him? If so, why meet him cold and naked?

I circled the noise, approaching the creature from uphill where it would be at a disadvantage. Or, if it was the timid sort, flee, for even powerful predators may run rather than confront an unknown enemy.

I crept around a tree and hid behind a large boulder. Slowly I raised my head. Steam rose from the gutting carcass, burnished to a frosty silver in the moonlight. Crouched there, feeding, was a shaggy black predator unlike any creature I had ever seen. It had the stance and mien of a wolf, but no wolf had long legs that bent like a man's, or paws that rooted purposefully in its prey's guts for choice bits. It was so manlike that, despite my shock, a chord was struck in me, for something in its posture was very familiar...

Dear gods, no, not that.

I must have made some noise, for the thing left off its feasting and whirled to look at me, hackles raged in agitation. Sharp, white teeth parted in a snarl, but all I saw was the distorted beauty of Shadow's face.

I raised my knife.

"Don't." It was Shadow's voice, hoarse but recognizable. "It is I. Lower your knife. I will not hurt you."

"What manner of curse is this?" I gasped.

"You are the curse, that you have seen me in this form!" His voice was bestial, full of agony. His eyes kept flicking back to his meal, which lay in bloody disarray on the ground, as if the pull of it was too strong for him to resist.

"I... I didn't know," I stammered. "I heard you leave, and wondered where you went." I shook my head, mind reeling at the true nature of what I had slept with. Did he change that night we had spent at the hot springs, too? *When Wolfmoon is in the sky, I can talk to wolves.* He told me that himself. How was I to know that it was because he *was* a wolf by nature?

"And now you know," he said. As if no longer able to restrain himself, he snatched up a piece of bloody liver and gulped it with an expression of mingled shame and fierce ecstasy. The eyes of a wolf burned lambent amber from the sharp, altered planes of his face. "Tell no one about this," he growled. "In this land, form-shifters are burned alive." He turned his attention back to the horrid feast. "We will talk in the morning."

I fled down the hillside, leaving my knife and cloak behind.

I entertained thoughts of leaving during the night, but I could not do that to a friend, especially one I had given my word to. I shivered, alone, in the flower-painted bed, as the moonlight slanted through the window, then disappeared. A false dawn bloomed outside the window and the first bird began to sing.

I heard the cottage door creak. I had slept fitfully during the night, awaiting this moment. Shadow sat huddled before the fire in his cloak, shivering, rinsing his arms and face with warm water from the copper kettle. The beast had gone. He looked no different from the playful lover I had known. But from the door to the fire lay a trail of dark hair, and the water Shadow had washed in had a faint rusty hue.

He looked up when he saw me come, then down again very quickly.

I sat next to him on the braided hearthrug, I was determined not to feel afraid or repulsed. He smelled like the outdoors, crushed grass and musky animal scent and the lingering odor of blood. "I thought you would have left," he said quietly.

"I never break my word," I said. I broke a piece of leftover bread in half to share with him, but he declined. "What is this affliction, Shadow? Can it not be cured?"

He went so quiet I thought I had said something wrong. When I turned to ask, meeting his eyes, I saw the flames glimmer briefly in the wetness there.

"It is a curse, and it is not a curse," he said evenly. "When Wolfmoon is young, I speak to the wolves, nothing more. As it grows fuller, I grow more bestial, more wild. At its fullest, I am indistinguishable from a natural wolf. The transformation fades as it wanes, until I am a normal man again. I am a man always in my mind. But I am not always in control of my impulses. " He took up the washrag again and began scrubbing his arms. "Sometimes, I must kill."

"Do you kill humans?" I said in a low voice, terrified of what I might hear.

"Sometimes. But only my enemies. Friends have nothing to fear." He drew his cloak tighter about his shoulders, staring again into the fire. "When I was younger---very young, only a few years older than you, my lady, when your dreams of glory were spoiled--a horrible act was committed against me by the lord of our land. Your origins were humble, but mine were even lower: I was a peasant, the lowest of the low, with the least recourse to justice. Lykaon saved me from death and gave me a vengeance, as wolves avenge a packmate who has been killed. But there was a price, and it is the animal in my nature.

"I am a wanderer by nature, so it is easy to hide this affliction from others. Even with the rebels I am never more than ten days in the same place. And taking on a wolf's form has its advantages on scouting and spying. No one has ever questioned it. No one has ever found out, until now," he said, with a significant look. "You see why I asked you to go into Obn Dhregni. I am the one who should logically go, but I couldn't take the risk of running wild in the city. So I tricked you, like a thief, to take my place while fooling the others I went instead--"

"It's all right," I said quickly, laying a hand on his arm.

"No! I am ashamed. I used deceit. You don't have to do this. I release you from your promise. I--"

"No!" I said fiercely. "I go because I want to go, because I want to help you. A god's curse changes nothing. I am a mercenary, a warrior. I make my own path and you are not answerable for it. And I will say nothing. Your secret is safe with me."

I kissed him then, on the mouth that torn the goat apart the night before, because it was the only thing I could do. After I had failed in my promises to Ylangaz, I had sworn never to break another promise again.

Chapter 5: The City of Carnality

We set out in the gray light of dawn, laden with provisions for our journey.

We spoke little on the way out of the valley. I think we were both gauging the new degree of trust between us, silently testing its boundaries. The horizon turned pink, then apricot. In the distance I saw dark shapes circle, coming home to roost in a cliffside aerie. "Stymphads?" I whispered.

"Hello." The booming voice startled me so I nearly fell off my horse. Not thirty away from us up the cliff was the blonde wing-captain who had spoken so frankly the night before. She appeared to be perched on a boulder.

"You startle us, Aylinn," Shadow said with reprehension.

"We were just feeding," Aylinn said apologetically. The boulder turned around, revealing the forequarters of one of the ugliest creatures I had ever seen. It was equal parts bird and reptile, with an eagle's wings, a long snaky neck, and the naked head of a vulture surmounted by long quills. Dangling from its wicked beak were the remains of a wild sheep. It reached up with its foot, birdlike, to tug them out of its mouth.

Our horses skittered nervously, but the stymphad had no interest in us. It merely fixed us with a red-rimmed eye, then went back to its meal.

"Swift flyers," Shadow whispered, "but their main weapon is in their voice. They can focus their screeches to take on invisible forms that are capable of knocking their prey out of the air. At certain pitches, they can even topple buildings or turn a man's mind to jelly."

Aylinn patted the stymphad as it fed, an absent smile on her face. She sat at the base of its neck in a wood and leather saddle. A series of harnesses kept her from her falling out in midair. With war-mounts like that the rebels had a very good chance of defeating the Queen, whatever sorceries she wielded. I gained a new respect for them.

The stymphad finished the rest of the lamb in a gulp. Crisp black bars patterned its feathers, while the exposed skin of its head was bright blue with scarlet wattles... a combination either ugly and weirdly beautiful, depending on your point of view. After eating the creature wanted to linger, perhaps picking up the scraps, but Aylinn gave it a kick and turned its neck with her reins. With a cheery wave she left us, the stymphad winging roughly off the ledge to join its fellows in the aerie.

I wanted to ask more questions, but Shadow seemed preoccupied, and I thought it was better to let him have his silence. After the night before, I did not blame him.

We used a well-hidden pass through the hills to reach the plains, following the river the hot springs had spawned. By noon we had found the main road again, passing wagons piled with trader's goods and peasants pulling carts to market. All were going to Obn Dhregni, but none, I noted, were too happy to be going there. The peasants looked wary and strained. The merchants tried to be nonchalant, but seemed nervous. Even the nobles in their gilded carriages kept their expressions closed. Only the foot travelers seemed to show any interest. I gathered that they were blissfully unaware of the city's recent cruelties, much as I had been before my meeting with the Queen's men.

The towns we passed did not look downtrodden, but they did not look prosperous either. There was a fear in them, a wariness. "They do well to be afraid," Shadow said quietly. "Anyone in this kingdom, at any time, may be enslaved... sometimes for as slight an infraction as letting their shadows cross those of local nobility."

I glanced across the fields. Long lines of slaves toiled in the wheat, all chained neck to neck with enough slack so they might work, yet be unable to escape. To my surprise, none seemed to be wearing clothes.

"They are only fieldhands," Shadow said angrily. "Why give them the dignity of a shift or loincloth?" He roughly turned the neck of his horse, an agile and nervous bay, and trotted on ahead.

I sighed and rode briskly to catch up. He had said he hated the Queen, and now I saw why. But I also saw how that anger could impede common sense and calm rationality. I resolved not to let my emotions get the better of me in the city, no matter what happened. A level head was a better defense than the sharpest sword.

In midafternoon I sighted a rose-colored hillock in the distance: Obn Dhregni, the City of Carnality. She was enormous, dwarfing my child's memory of Karistanapool as a lion dwarfs a house-cat. Her skyline had the contours of a torso rising from the plains, garbed in shades of flesh: ruddy sandstone, rose-mauve pumice, pallid marbles flushed with salmon. The shadowed portcullis was her sex, which swallowed the line of distant travelers with total indifference.

Shadow pulled his horse to a stop. "I will wait outside while the wolf is upon me," he said. "When the moon begins to wane I'll meet you inside, at the Forlorn Delight. I recommend you lodge there, for it is cheap and close to the palace. I recommend too that you go to Syonhoddaz, the royal palace, to see if you can gain evening audience with the Queen. Her guards always keep an eye out for interesting foreigners to amuse her. Shezrine is lazy, but cunning. She is not always alert, but if she gets wind of a spy, you will be in great danger. Try not to call attention to yourself."

"I will give her no cause for suspicion," I said. I grinned, spreading my arms. "Look at me! Do I look like anything other than a seasoned mercenary?"

He leaned over on his horse and gave me a swift but passionate kiss. "I have seen you as the most lewd of harlots. But hopefully no one else will." He sat back on his horse and wheeled it around, aiming for the forest behind us. "Be careful, Jozhande. May the gods go with you."

"May the gods go with you," I whispered as he rode away, knowing the risk he took of maintaining his wolf-form so close to civilization. But I knew he could handle himself, as I was prepared to handle myself; and so I rode ahead into the churning crowds, through the portcullis, and the city ate me the same way she had eaten countless others before me.

And then I was inside, riding down a wide boulevard edged with mansions and temples, each one magnificent in its color and splendor. Massive stone beasts stood guard at each intersection, daunting in their alieness: a winged scorpion with the head of a maiden, a feathered wolf, a poisonous snake crowned by the antlers of a deer. Fountains plumed mist and wetness; towers soared like celestial voices; silk pennants snapped in the breeze.

But as I rode further, I began to notice a neglect. The newer structures looked ramshackle, like they might collapse at any moment, while the older ones sported fallen stonework and decades of accumulated grime. Elegance was still present but it was fading fast, like an aging concubine, once beautiful, who covers who ravaged face with a veil.

I also noticed that the City of Carnality was also the City of Slavery, for everywhere unfortunate men and women were sweeping the streets and bearing palanquins, often beaten and whipped in the process. Even more disturbing, many of the slaves were kept for sexual display. One litter I saw was borne by no less than eight male slaves, and tethered to the back, chained neck to neck, were two rows of five slavegirls each, the beauties all forced to trot at the same speed, none of them wearing any clothes save for belled anklets. To make things more bizarre, no one batted an eye at any of this. Vendors hawked their wares, women gossiped, children played with hoops and balls; and I suppose the slaves were merely another sort of livestock to them.

I took a right at the statue of an antelope with eagle claws which brought me in line with the palace. It stood on a little mount, surrounded by a high fence of twisted rails covered with sharp thorns. They seemed to be writhing like serpents. At first I thought it was the heat-haze, but as I came closer I saw they were animated by sorcery. I shuddered. Shezrine was a greater witch than I had thought.

I made haste to the inn he had recommended. As Shadow said, it was somewhat decrepit, though that wasn't surprising considering the state of neglect in the city. I marched in with my head high. "A room," I said, tossing an Obn Dhregnian coin--a gold--onto the counter. "And send for a servant to take care of my horse."

The innkeep regarded the coin as if it might bight him, then swiftly pocketed it. "What kind of room do you wish, Lady Amazon?"

"Your best," I said expansively. I looked past him into the room where meals were served. Slaves--for in their nudity they could be nothing else--were setting down plates for an early dinner. Their skin bore the pink marks of many paddlings and lashes.

The innkeep noticed me staring, and leered. "Any one of them can be yours for a fee of five vanarii."

I felt blood rush to my face, though I knew my dark skin would not betray me. I felt like shouting "How dare you!" but I remembered Shadow's warning. I must not call undue attention to myself, and that meant I had to keep my head. "I don't think so," I said coolly. "They are not to my taste."

The keeper shrugged, insulted but trying to hide it. I was a well-heeled customer and it was counterproductive of him to take offense. "There's a concupiscerium across the street, if you want prettier bodies."

"I just might," I said businesslike, though I did not know what a concupiscerium was. "And now, my room. I wish to settle in before the Queen holds her afternoon court. I intend to seek employment with her as a mercenary."

The keeper looked impressed, as I suspected he would. "Number forty-two!" he shouted.

A slave dressed in rags came up to take my bags, so bent and cowed I could not even make out his or her sex. So they did not even name them here? How awful! I followed the poor creature upstairs, wondering how I was going to get used to this. My room overlooked the dung-pile of the stableyard. So much for luxury! When Number Forty-Two had left I stripped, then quickly retrieved my ceremonial amazon dress. I wanted to look my most exotic for the Queen.

What I unrolled from my pack weighed no more than the scabbard of my sword, and covered me only slightly more than one of my childhood aprons. First came the nippleguards. These were pointed conical caps of gold-plated bronze (I could not afford real gold) that fit over the tips of my breasts, acting both as a shield for and an enhancement of the nipple. I had commissioned this particular pair from a jeweler in Turufanx. They had to be glued to fit firmly so I used sweetgum sap, which was dissolvable only in alcohol. In addition to giving a firm hold, lovers found the remains most delicious.

On my wrists went bracers of gold-plated bronze, and another wide metal band went around my upper left thigh. Two more bracelets, one of bone, one of feathers, went around my upper arms. After that I unfolded a scrap of fur from a vourhain I had killed and skinned myself. The rest of the pelt was a memory, but I had kept this part because of the striped tail. I drew the skin between my legs, keeping it around my loins with the chain around my waist which suspended my sword. I pulled the fur tightly between my buttocks, the better to display the rounded muscles of my rump, and laced a pair of gilded leather sandals up my shins. I have never failed to draw attention in this costume.

Why, do you ask, do female warriors dress so? The answer is simple. What better way is there to distract and befuddle a male opponent? And as many of us were trained under the tutelage of this or that goddess, the undress serves also to remind others of our womanhood and the goddess we serve. In other words, we do not need armor because the goddess herself protects us. And should an amazon be slain in battle, it is not because she met a superior foe; it is merely because the goddess wished her to take her home. Such beliefs can be powerful boosts to morale, making the warrioress believe she is invincible.

I have also suspected, from my own physical reactions in battle, that the tight pull of our loinwraps--not to mention the tantalizing pinch of our nippleguards--serves to arouse us, and like male warriors, we channel that arousal into battle-lust.

But the true reason is probably a combination of all of them, plus the undeniable fact that we create a better spectacle than a male warrior who is similarly unclothed.

I made last adjustments to my hair and clothes, then went back downstairs. The innkeeper aimed a lewd glance at my rear as I passed. I grinned. That only proved his stupidity, as there were more than enough naked slaves to ogle around here without insulting a well-muscled amazon!

I went quickly to the palace. It was an intimidating sight this close. The iron rails gave off horrible screams when they scraped together, drawing blue sparks which spat onto the cobblestones. In spite of the noise a large crowd had gathered to seek an audience for the evening court, the cream of the city's merchants, artisans, and officials. At least Shezrine tried to be democratic, though I had the feeling it was just for show.

I announced myself to the guards, who were waiting stiffly in maroon and black uniforms. "My name is Lady Jozhande Tanimury," I said, letting my voice ring out. "I heard the Queen has need of experienced officers for her armies. I come here to see if the position is suitable for me."

The guards goggled, then quickly tried to hide it. I guessed I had made an impression. They conferred. Finally the left-hand one gestured with his spear, as I had hoped. "Stand over there. The Queen will see you today." Smugly, I joined the chosen ones on his right. The other supplicants glared at me resentfully but respectfully. "Our queue is full. The rest of you come back tomorrow. Move along, now. The gate will be opening."

Grumbling, the rejected moved back from the wall. I wondered what he had meant, for I saw no gate in the clashing rails, only a pair of guard-towers.

But the other guard had taken a silver whistle from of his pocket and blew a shrill note. I was amazed to see the rails recoil from the noise, making a gap large enough to run through. "Quickly!" the other guard ordered. "Don't dally. The wall is held at bay only while the note is heard." He pointed, practically herding us through. We did not need encouragement to run. If anyone dawdled too long, he would emerge with his body sliced in several pieces from the razor-sharp thorns.

The guard with the whistle was the last one through. Red in the face by now, he ended the note, and the iron rails clashed together and renewed their deadly dance.

"Come this way," the guard said, and led us to the palace.

Syonhoddaz was a marvel, impossible to describe save indirectly. Baroque crenellations covered very inch of its skin, carvings of creatures and flowers, luscious nudes, ripe fruit. To either side of us stretched the parade grounds, with gardens in the distance. Above us, dangling from poles lining the path, were those criminals deemed too irredeemable for even the basest slavery. They were locked into tiny iron cages so their heads were bowed and their knees drawn up, and were left there until their bones fell through the grates. Some were still alive, their faces blackened with thirst. At other cages, flocks of dark birds fed in a solid, squawking mass.

"Shezrine's justice," Shadow had said. "Be careful, very careful, in what you say and do within the palace grounds."

I looked away, concentrating on the palace spires.

Through another gate we went, this one of wood so magnificently adorned with gilded nudes it seemed to be alive, and through this we came out into a wide courtyard which faced the west side of the palace. We stood in an informal group to the side, chattering nervously to ourselves, for none of us knew what to expect. We were the chosen, though whether we had been picked for our looks or degree of wit none could say. Most of the chatter concerned our rivals for the Queen's attention, that very same group of slaves I had passed on the road to the inn. The captives from Bontatris.

Again, I was fascinated by their plight. They must have known by now the fate that awaited them in this city; the question was of what degree. What must it feel like, to be so naked and helpless? They shuddered silently as they waited, still chained, not making a sound except for the same muffled sobbing. Their keepers, armed with long whips, made sure they did not fidget.

A gong sounded, jarring me from my reverie, its deep voice rebounding from the walls of the inner court. The Witch-Queen of Obn Dhregni came out onto the balcony where she might have a splendid view of the shuddering slaves, and they, incidentally, of her.

I gasped in spite of himself. She was very pale, as the lotus is pale, with a pearly, iridescent glow beneath her skin, and her hair was a river of palest cream, too. I had never seen anyone so light-skinned. I wondered what race she was. As pale as her hair was, however, her eyebrows were dark, and her slanted eyes were darker yet, with more than a hint of cruelty in them. Her silvery paleness was repellent, but fascinating at the same time. She held court nearly nude, wearing little other than a pair of thigh-high boots and a collection of crystalline shards draped around her hips on a chain, and against my will I felt my sex grow moist.

Above the waist she wore slightly more, and I was shocked to see the nature of her garment. The Queen's bare nipples had been pierced with silver rings, with a third ring decorating the fold of skin above her navel. Silver chains connected these rings, forming a triangle across her belly and bosom that dangled a variety of pendants--pearls, gems, trinkets of silver and gold--so that from a distance, she might have looked like she was wearing a jeweled bodice. I immediately thought of the lascivious connotations of such an arrangement. It was no surprise that such ornaments be standard in Obn Dhregni.

Her body jewelry swayed as she walked to her throne. I imagined it making a tinkling, silvery sound. I felt clumsy and barbaric in comparison, my own dress, or undress, feeling primitive and dirty. She paused before the throne and looked at us. That was the signal for us all to kneel, and the gong rang again. "Hail to Queen Shezrine." The scabbard of my sword scraped my thigh as I knelt. I counted to ten before the speaker bid us rise again.

When I looked up again Shezrine was seated. She slouched lasciviously on the velvet cushion, her thighs spread, and propped one elbow on the cushioned armrest. I had seen many rulers in my career, and most occupy their thrones with dignity and a show of attention, no matter how dull the ceremonies; but Shezrine postured like a spoiled child, leaning her head against her hand as the speaker began to detail the many treasures sent to her from Bontatris. Some were mundane, such as urns of lamp oil or baskets of dates. Other loot was unique. There were fine horses, with costly trappings and gilded chariots; and bolts of silk and rolls of brocades, then casks of gems and ingots of precious metal. The Queen barely batted an eyelash at all this. As it was announced, each treasure was laid before in a long line. Then they came to the slaves.

"Fine slaves to enhance your city, your majesty, culled from the captives we captured in the fighting."

"I would examine them," the Queen said. I was close enough to hear her voice, and it was deep, exotic, lazy, with a strange accent that was different from that of the other denizens of the city. She came down from her platform. She walked right by me, and I couldn't keep my eyes off of her. Her long, lush body was taut and athletic, her limbs firm and well-toned. She walked with slinking motions because of her high heels, and every step she took made her flesh come to life, bobbing and bouncing like the waxy petals of a flower when touched by a finger. Her breasts were magnificent, very full and proud, the hard, pink nipples angled to the sky.

As she passed I caught her scent; it was sweet but slightly unwholesome, like decaying orchids. I stole a quick glance at her rear. Her buttocks switched saucily from to side, only barely hidden by her skimpy belt of crystals. The high leather boots she wore emphasized their paleness and roundness. I saw a flash of color wink from her left cheek, a strange tattoo of sorts, but it was quickly hidden by her long white hair, and I did not see it again.

She walked down the rows, silently inspecting each youth and girl, sometimes pausing to pinch a shy nipple, cup a limp cock. With a snap of her wrist she made her selections. Five slaves were culled from the herd and chained together, then driven through a utility door under the stairs.

"They are hers now. They will serve in the palace, and be branded with her crest," said a voice behind me.

I turned to see the puffy, clever face of a eunuch with sharp black eyes. He seemed amused, stating an obvious fact for my digestion. Perhaps the contrast between my undress and the slave's undress amused him. "And what of the rest?" I said.

"They will be auctioned off on the morrow. The crowds will be thick, as everyone knows a new shipment of slaves has come from Bontatris." He froze as he noted the feather in my ear. His eyes flickered. "Do we have mutual friends, Lady Amazon?"

*The rebels.* I had found one of their contacts in the palace, or he had found me. "Only a friend who travels behind me when the sun is low, and beneath me when the sun is high," I said carefully.

"Ah." He laughed, rich and full. "I should have known. The one you speak of is *quite* well known to me, though we have never met. I am honored to make your acquaintance. My name is J'Wabra, and I am a second-level slave groom in the Queen's palace. And a friend of the rebels, as you know."

"Lady Jozhande Tanimury," I said, and we quickly shook hands. "I have a message from Deneir and the Hharang concerning the recent war in Bontatris... "

"The Queen," J'Wabra said mildly, directing me with a subtle glance to where Shezrine sat on her throne, which had been brought to the level of the courtyard so she could sit. The other guests were lining up for their presentation. "Attend to court now. We will talk later."

I hurried to join the others, as it would be most unseemly to ignore a royal presentation. The slaves were marched out of the courtyard for their auction, of no further consequence now that the ceremony was over. I couldn't help giving them a last glance.

One by one the others were presented to the Queen, then it was my turn. I bowed low, with as much control as I could. I was very aware that this woman, if she knew of my connections, might lock me in one of those tiny cages, or worse... and absolutely no one would come to my rescue, for the rebel cause was too important to jeopardize for the sake of one member.

I rose, looking at her directly. Up close she was even more of an enigma. Her dark eyes slanted up while her lips curved down like those of a jaguar, giving her mouth a decadent set. "Lady Jozhande Tanimury, your Highness," I said. "I am an experienced mercenary, healer, and military officer. I seek employment in your army. I have eight years of experience to bring to the position, as well as health, stamina, and the ability to command."

Shezrine steepled her fingers before her, elbows resting on the padded arms of her throne. "A female mercenary. How unusual. What land are you from?"

"Pharazion."

"I have never heard of it." Her anthracite eyes bored into mine, studying me with intense and calculating interest. "Are all the folk there colored as you?"

Her interest was not birthed of curiosity or boredom, or even the lascivious speculation any might give me in my near-nudity; it sprang from a dark well of hunger that sought to plunder the secrets of my soul. And quite suddenly I felt as completely in her power as the poor slaves had been, though she was just as unclothed and vulnerable as I. I trembled as if a strange, cool breeze had wafted across my path, and with my shudder the garnet teardrops suspended from the ends of my nippleguards shuddered too. The Queen's body jewelry trembled as well, as if in return of the emotion.

But in a second, it was over. Had I imagined it? Or was Shezrine's attraction only to the contrast my dark flesh made with the moon-paleness of hers?

I said, "All of us Pharazii are dark, your Highness. We believe it is the only proper color for people."

I took a risk in making the joke, but Shezrine only laughed. The spell was broken. "You must tell us more of this land when we sit down to feast inside. And are all the people warriors like you? If so, that is most impressive. Perhaps I should hire a whole army of your countrywomen." With a languid gesture she dismissed me, and the next guest came up to be interviewed.

I let out a long breath. I had not been aware I was breathing so tightly. I did not like Shezrine. I had been prepared to dislike her ever since I had surprised her soldiers in their rape, and now I found my preconceptions bearing fruit. I wondered what sort of life her slaves looked forward to.

I did not have time to wonder long, for Shezrine suddenly stood. Four well-muscled male slaves took up her throne, preparing to carry it back inside. "Come, a feast has been prepared for us," she said. "The night is young, and I have planned many entertainments for the foreigners among you. You will experience firsthand the wealth and hospitality of the Caramaithzes, and of Obn Dhregni herself."

The gong gave a last ring, a dismissal, and I followed the others inside.

Chapter 6: Syonhoddaz

Syonhoddaz was vast, but it was hardly impersonal.

A sensual odor immediately rolled out to greet us, equal parts musk and spice: the scent of clean, richly oiled human bodies in sexual excitement. The polished marble walls of the palace were lined with niches in which human statues had been placed, men and women in alternation, all of them naked and gilded with silver or gold. Women stood with their legs apart, feet chained to the floor with their arms bound behind them, while the men stood with legs fastened together, arms chained to the niche above their heads. None looked up. They looked like sculptures, but were alive, breathing.

"Are they always bound so?" I whispered to J'Wabra.

"No. After all, the functions of the body must be attended to. They serve shifts of six hours each, after which they go back to their grooms or the slave halls. Some think of it as a penance, others a pleasure."

I stole another look. Not only were the slave-statues gilded, they had been ornamented as well with flowers and jewels... and various weights that had been clipped to their nipples and genitals. "How do they stand it? How come they do not go mad?"

"They are well-trained," he said with a smile.

I still did not see the sense of the display. "Why use slaves as decorations, when they might be bedded?"

"Who says they are not worked? We servants take many liberties as we make our rounds." I was shocked. It was horrifying, and tantalizing, to imagine these captives stroked and teased in their utter immobility.

"You don't!"

"I don't. However, there are some who do. They must be very careful, however. If they are caught, they must serve themselves a night and a day in the slave's place. As servants are generally not so attractive or... *well-endowed*... as the slaves, such impersonations cause great hilarity, and much mockery of the one so caught."

I looked again at the captives, seeing what he meant by well-endowed. Every male slave was primed to a one, the erect cocks gleaming under their gilding. A eunuch could hardly compare.

"Why don't they fight it?" I asked. "They are constrained, yet so still. Almost as if they sleep."

"They are lost in erotic dreams no doubt. Besides, there are worse treatments than that for incorrigible slaves. Look to the ceiling."

I did. High above us, hanging from the carved and painted beams, were a line of human chandeliers that stretched far ahead of us, and far behind. They had been hung with their wrists and ankles fastened equidistantly to a metal hoop so they dangled helplessly beneath it. A dish of burning oil was suspended over the naked back or belly of each slave.

"The slightest move," J'Wabra said, "and the burning oil spills. Understand?"

I understood, and stopped my gawking. We soon entered a long hall lined with glossy pillars, a banquet table and chairs set between them, Shezrine's court came to join us. My nippleguards and furry thong paled beside their costumes. Like Shezrine, they were no strangers to provocative dress.

"They are her hostages," J'Wabra whispered as I seated myself. He would not be eating with me, for as a slave groom his job was to make sure his charges did their work. "Shezrine claims the young of noble families to act against insurrection attempts by the elders. As long as they serve her at court, the parents will do nothing against her."

Clever, I thought. I studied my table setting, which had enough eating utensils to serve each inhabitant of my longhome back in Moambe. The bone-china plate had an erotic scene on painted on it, which was soon covered by sauce when nude slaves commenced to dish out the delicacies. From the ceiling beams on either side of us hung more slaves who dangled like luscious fruits, their manicured genitals well displayed for our perusal. My eyes kept returning to these poor creatures as I ate. They were tethered on a single chain by their wrists and ankles and from time to time they squirmed a little, giving low moans in an enervated, supplicating way. But there would be no work for them until the guests had finished their sup, and until then they would twist and foment helplessly.

The courtiers, meanwhile, conversed casually in complete disregard of the flesh that was so artfully displayed for them. Could I ever move myself to punish or degrade such helpless, creamy flesh? It was an interesting proposition, but I knew I would never let myself find out.

"Would you like white wine or red, mistress?" A stunningly beautiful slave girl stood at my side with her eyes downcast, but I could see no bottle. Her skin was pale creamy gold, her breasts lucent pears seemingly ripe enough to burst. Like all the other slaves here, no free will or intelligence seemed to live inside that lovely face.

"White," I said, and held out my glass.

With one hand she squeezed her right breast gently but firmly. A jet of pale liquid arced from the pert little nipple. It landed in my glass with a pleasant tinkle, and I was too surprised to do anything but stare.

"Marvelous, isn't it," Shezrine commented, and laughed. It was not a nice laugh. "The things that can be done to the human body through magic."

I had to sip the wine then to avoid comment. It was real wine, full and rich, with a tarty sweetness. It was exactly the right temperature too. But I made a mental note to avoid asking a male slave for a refill.

"Do you keep slaves in your land?" Shezrine asked, spearing a bit of fish on her fork.

I felt like stating that in civilized lands, people respect human dignity and do not force others to serve against their will, but I held my tongue. "No. We do not follow that custom."

"A pity," Shezrine said. "We have an excess of slaves in Obn Dhregni. We shall have to start exporting them soon."

I wondered if she was baiting me, hoping I would implicate myself as a rebel. "Your halls would be very empty then, your Highness."

Shezrine laughed again in what she thought was an artful way, an unpleasant, tinkling noise. "True. I shall have to import some artworks to take their place."

The other foreigners entered the conversation. "How do you force them to serve, your Highness?" one of them asked, a diplomat-warrior from Altaragona. He had come as an envoy from the Eagle clan, a warlike though prudish people, and had been struggling to contain his normal male reactions ever since we had entered the palace.

Shezrine set down her wine. True amusement glinted in her eyes. She hooked a finger through the gold collar of the wine girl as she passed and bent her over, displaying her shapely rump to us. On the girl's right buttock was branded the Queen's sigil, the Caramaithzes basilisk. It stood out in slight relief to the skin and was about three inches long. "Observe this mark. I brand my lovelies myself when they come to the palace, so that all should know them as mine, and it imparts a powerful compulsion upon them to serve. They literally know of no other life, as they forget the one they had before. Who were you before you came to the palace, my dear?"

The wine girl looked confused. She kept her eyes lowered, nearly trembling at being in such close contact with the Queen. "I... I don't know, your Highness."

"She was the eldest daughter of a Ponapa chieftain from the Panjarl jungles," Shezrine explained, keeping her finger hooked through the girl's collar. "A princess, but a clan dispute made her an outcast, and she encountered slavers thereafter... and she eventually made her way across the Great Rift to me. A little too stout and dark for my tastes, so I changed her, and gave her a specific duty as well." She squeezed the girl's left breast as if it was a wineskin, catching the dark ruby jet in her glass. "What grape can give both white and red vintage from the same vine?"

The Queen continued to chat as if such things were commonplace, but I had a hard time finishing the rest of my food. Luckily, she seemed to forget about me, but over the honeycakes and nut tarts a message came to me from Gartian Dragoncord, a general of the Queen's army. He wished to speak to me tomorrow at noon. A second invitation to the palace, which could be most useful. I folded it into fifths and stashed it in my pouch.

Servants began to clear the table, signaling the end of the banquet. The young lords and ladies of the court began to grow restless. They aimed longing looks at the dangling slaves, but I gathered that protocol dictated such indulgences be embarked upon only with the Queen's permission. That she seemed uninclined to give, as she was still discussing trade possibilities with the foreign merchants. Finally she stood.

"Entertainment has been arranged for you in the palace amphitheater," she said. "Follow my men and they will see you seated."

With a sigh of relief I rose and followed the guards down the slave-bedecked halls. I noted it was evening already, the sky a shade of cobalt jade. The Queen's men bid us to enter a round chamber hung with thick velvet drapes where five tiers of cushioned seats faced a pillared stage below. It was the sort of setting where one might hear poetry read. I took my seat. J'Wabra sat beside me, permitted by custom to take in the show. The other nobles and foreigners chatted and laughed in anticipation.

When all of us were in, the doors closed. I noted a pair of guards stood at each.

The chandeliers were extinguished, and now the only light came from the tall braziers on the stage and torches that flickered in sconces along the walls. The Queen walked out in front of the velvet-draped pillars, the heels of her boots clicking loudly in the sudden silence. Her body jewelry swayed, catching the light and breaking it into sequins. The crystals she wore refracted bright highlights too... in fact, they practically seemed to glow. I immediately wondered why she chose to address us. I had been expecting to see some wild dancing or a musical performance.

"I have prepared a special demonstration for you tonight," the Queen said. "At dinner some foreigners asked what it is that compels a slave to serve. I do not mean the common utility sort you find on the streets of our city or toiling on the lord's estates, but the particular type of pleasure-slave I keep about the palace whose function is to bring such pleasure and delight to us. To assuage that curiosity, I will create such a slave for you tonight... from the ranks of my own court."

The crowd of nobles went suddenly silent. Everyone had heard of these little games of the Queen; not even her favorites were immune from them.

Shezrine pointed out into the seats. Her guards quickly dragged a young woman to the front. The girl screeched in protest, knowing full well what was about to happen, but her struggles did not lessen the inevitability of it one bit. No one dared speak for her as she was half-pushed, half-carried, to the center of the tiled floor.

"No!" J'Wabra hissed, a tight exclamation of fear. "She is one of us! How did Shezrine know?"

Danger buzzed around us. I glanced toward the exits, but guards had been stationed at the doors, their pikes crossed. No one was to be allowed in or out. Had Shezrine planned this along? Were J'Wabra and I about to be revealed as spies? I breathed deeply to calm myself.

The guards held the girl firmly, pulling her arms behind her back so her head was forced up. The Queen caressed the girl's face, cupping her soft chin in her fingers. "What is your name, my dear?"

"Marnessa rezbet Amicon," the girl whispered. She dared not say anything louder.

"A pretty name, very pretty. But yours no longer. Do you understand this?"

The girl only clenched her jaw.

"She was commanded to court as a hostage against her parents," J'Wabra whispered. "The Queen suspects they are rebels, but Marnessa knows too little to implicate us. It's her parents the Queen wants to hurt. This is bad, my Lady, very bad. If only I could have protected her somehow!"

I felt my stomach twist. There was no hope of saving her. Now Shezrine intended to teach Marnessa's parents, and by extension the rebels, a lesson.

Shezrine nodded to the guards. "Begin."

The men quickly tied the girl's wrists and ankles to the columns so she was spread-eagled between them. Marnessa gave more futile yelps as they used their knives to cut off her clothes, which fell in a pool of bright silk between her legs. Her body was of average height, the limbs long, with small, upturned breasts which heaved rhythmically with her frightened pants. Once nude, she tried to hide her face against her arm, but this the Queen did not permit.

"Look at your Queen, my dear," Shezrine chided, tapping her chin with a leather-covered rod.

Marnessa brought her head up. Her face was lightly streaked with tears, but the look in her eyes was defiant. Her hands flexed repeatedly under the silky ropes, but she could not get free.

Shezrine kept the rod positioned under her chin, forcing her head to remain up, and walked around to her rear. She suddenly gripped the girl's hair, jerking her head back. "Look at your peers, Marnessa," she hissed. "All the young lords and ladies you sported with yesterday. How does it feel to be so bound and exposed before them? You have not yet participated in the shared games of passion we favor at Court. I shall now remedy that and give you a most *exquisite* introduction."

"Observe!" Shezrine's voice rang out, traveling even to the last tier of seats. "A new piece of flesh has come to Syonhoddaz for your amusement. Study this face, these breasts, these buttocks." She roughly stroked each area with the rod as she spoke. "All of which will be brought to their fullest potential as a palace pleasure slave. Potential not even their owner may know. Isn't that right, my dear?" She wriggled the rod deeply between Marnessa's legs.

Marnessa had enough of obedience. She tried to jerk her body away and close her thighs, which made her hips jog back and forth in an obscene wriggle. The watching nobles laughed. "Look at how she fights! But she will not fight for long. By the time I am through with her, she will beg to be my slave... of her own free will."

Marnessa froze. Shezrine wound her hand even more tightly in her hair, forcing her to stare back at the jeering nobles as if she was, indeed, a slave already on the auctioning block.

"Fear can taste delicious, can it not?" Shezrine whispered, so low only we in the first row could catch it. "For the victim as well as the perpetrator. It is one of the strongest sensations there is, along with pain and the spasms of lust."

Through the darkened arches two slaves carried in a strange-looking table with high, sturdy legs. It was made of wood and had obscene designs carved on it, with a leather pad on top and many thick leather straps. "Place her there," Shezrine said.

Marnessa fought in renewed panic as the guards untied her and placed her on the table, strapping her at the waist, ankles, knees, and thighs. Her arms were likewise strapped tight to her sides so she could not move them, and two more straps crossed her chest above and below her breasts. Her head thrashed from to side as she realized the total immobility and helplessness of her position. The table was tilted with a crank so her head was higher than her feet, giving all in the audience a splendid view of her struggles. Her face flushed crimson, but there was little she could do.

Shezrine ran her curved silver fingernails lightly down her captive's body. Marnessa shivered, sensing some new humiliation. But Shezrine only shook her head. "No, I do not participate at this stage in the game. That is for my lesser lovelies to take care of, as the finest lessons in slavehood are taught by slaves themselves." She gestured with a click of her nails, and seven naked slave girls ran swiftly out of the arches.

They were not the elite of Shezrine's private whores--she had far too many to have favorites--but from their demeanor they were accomplished pleasure slaves and had been chosen carefully by someone, if not Shezrine, to perform this task now. All were unearthily beautiful. Some were dark, some light, and some had the unnatural skin and hair combinations created by magic, all ripe and glossy as lush berries at their height of flavor. Yet for all their differences in coloring there was a sameness to them, a symmetry of feature and blandness of expression. Their features too were universal and had the same stamp of a vase mass-produced from a mold: buttocks round and firm, breasts large and upturned. Their nipples were tight, pointed buds carved from cinnabar and sard, each pierced with a gold ring and the two connected by a chain. Wide golden cuffs encircled their wrists and ankles, upper arms and thighs, and slim, shapely necks; all were hung with jingling ornaments.

They knelt on the tile like well-trained animals, genuflecting themselves before the Queen. On every perfect buttock was her brand, showing they belonged to the palace and by extension to the Caramaithzes line. They bowed, then gazed up at the Queen with total obedience.

Marnessa had heard them coming by their bells and started writhing in a new panic. "There she is," Shezrine commanded. "Do as you have been taught."

The bottom half of the table split and moved back. Marnessa's knees were forced up and her thighs spread wide apart. But a slave girl immediately moved into the gap, hiding the exposed sex from view, and the others took their positions around the table. The two slaves stationed by Marnessa's breasts began to squeeze them with warm, skilled fingers, bunched them, slowly sucked the rosy nipples. They worked neither reluctantly nor lovingly; they simply worked, without showing any of the pleasure they might have received from it themselves. It was a stimulating show and designed to arouse whoever saw it; I later found out that was why it was so popular in the public concupisceriums of this city, and I flushed with shame at the thought I was as unwillingly aroused as poor Marnessa was.

Marnessa whimpered softly in pleasure as the slaves stationed at her hips stroked the flesh of her belly and thighs, then reached underneath her to caress her buttocks and anus. Her head bumped frantically on the thin leather pad as she tried to resist the rising tide of sexual pleasure. The last slave, the one crouching between her legs, applied her mouth and tongue to the exposed organs before her. The audience could not see her face, though her poppy-red curls bobbed languidly as she sucked. Her buttocks quivered with the motions, displaying the dark-purple mark with which she had been branded.

Marnessa began to moan, her body undulating against the tight leather straps that held her. The slaves' nipple chains stroked her skin as their fingers kneaded, gathered the flesh, dimpling it softly. Not a word was heard from the audience, which made her cries all the louder. Her hips rose and fell on the cushion, which was quite damp from her exertions. The muscles of her thighs trembled with strain. The pink soles of her feet flexed with shameful pleasure as the slave between her legs continued her tonguing, her poppy-red curls bouncing on her shoulders.

My own breathing was quite short before Marnessa reached her climax. She cried out and her body spasmed, toes pointed. Then she went limp, breathing deeply and hoarsely as her head rolled to the side.

The Queen came over for her inspection. The slave girls stepped back as she looked intently between Marnessa's legs, then suddenly pushed the leather rod deep inside her. She pulled it out, examining the moisture. "*Very* good." She laughed wickedly, running her hand through the red curls of the slave girl who knelt at her feet, the one most responsible for the girl's orgasm. The slave wriggled and kissed her boots. "You've done well, little pet. Tonight I shall see you in my chambers. Rise now, and let one of your sisters take your place."

Marnessa sobbed out loud in frustration. Once had not been enough. She would be stroked and suckled to orgasm again as her peers witnessed her inevitable responses.

"There, there," Shezrine said with mock pity. "It is not so bad as that, is it? Can you truly let those tears spill down your face and say it was without pleasure? Don't you want to have more? My slaves have many toys designed to heighten the sensations. Here, they will show you some."

The slaves opened one of the chests and took out straps of leather and small paddles; flesh clamps; a whip. Marnessa gasped. "No!"

Her protests had even less of an effect this time, as she was swiftly gagged. Again, the slaves took up their positions. This time, slaps and thrashes came between the kisses. The stinging slaps left no welts but they must have smarted, for Marnessa began to struggle in a lively way, pleading behind her gag. But nothing stopped the rain of short, stinging blows. Side to side she tried to turn, but there was no escape. Much sooner than before, it seemed, she spasmed, arms and legs quivering like strongly plucked bowstrings.

I could not look away. I was disgusted, yet fascinated at the sight of her surrender. Whether it came from pain or pleasure did not matter. Both were the two strongest sensations the human body could experience, the only ones to overwhelm the mind so fully.

Marnessa began to weep, even more abashed as she realized she had been brought to orgasm by the thrashing. It was not a realization that lays easy on the human soul.

"You've yielded well," Shezrine said, sending her slaves to the sidelines with a gesture. "But you will yield still further."

And then the Queen alone went to work on the girl with her tongue and fingers. She needed no help from the other slaves now. She twisted and stretched Marnessa's nipples between her fingers, then lapped like a hungry lioness at her belly and navel. The girl's moans nearly became screams at the ministrations, and her hips galloped. But the Queen did not let her reach orgasm again. By her own skill, she turned a tumble towards ecstasy into the most-drawn out of tortures.

I felt my own parts grow wet as the Queen applied her mouth to Marnessa's sex. Her long silver hair veiled the sight of it, though the movements of her head--and the girl's twitching thighs--betrayed her ministrations. Marnessa writhed like a mongoose as she undulated against the tight straps, her face a reddened grimace. Her toes clenched tightly as the soles of her feet arched upward. Her head snapped from side to side. "Ah... ah..."

Then came the moment of shattering. Her entire body strained upward, froze, then sank down in weariness. She sobbed against the lewdly carved table, surrounded by leering carved faces and erect genitals, looking like a crumbled blossom after a storm.

"It brings a sort of peace, doesn't it?" Shezrine whispered seductively, stroking the girl's damp hair. "You will eventually take a deep happiness in it, this utter loss of self, hard as its teaching will be. I envy you. It is something I can never enjoy, alas, for I am the Queen and must remain in command. But there is pleasure in teaching it to others... and an equal amount of pleasure in seeing they stay trained."

The Queen moved aside. Everyone in the audience could now see the slick, protruding lips of Marnessa's sex... and everyone knew how they had gotten that way.

"This belongs to me now," the Queen said, giving the swollen organs a switch of her rod, "to punish or pleasure, whatever I wish... for as my slave, you will be nothing but what lies between your legs. You will absorb this and live this every day of your new life. You will live only to please me and please me to live... all mine, forever."

The next stage of the game had commenced.

Chapter 7: The Making of a Slave

The pageant had reached another level. Whether it was the wine we had ingested at dinner, the drugged smoke smoldering from the braziers, or the subtle uses of magic, we all felt drunk and benumbed. The air in the room felt close and narcotic. I shifted restlessly in my seat, wondering how much more of this I had to endure. The guards still watched the doors. I wondered how alert they were after watching Shezrine's performance.

Meanwhile, the slave girls loosened Marnessa's straps, all but for her ankles and wrists. They began to wash her with soft sponges. She moaned as her welts were scrubbed and pushed her hips at them every time the sponge passed between her legs, but they were careful not to touch her sex. The Queen noted her lewd gestures with a smile, lounging on a high stool her servants had brought. From time to time she made a comment that brought forced, nervous laughter from her court. It was clear she was building up to something.

That moment came when the slaves fetched a jeweled casket from the sidelines. They opened it to reveal razors and shears, jars of ointment, flasks of oil.

Marnessa's eyes pleaded and her head bounced, but she was to be barbered by the slaves, and there was nothing she could do about it. With scissors they cut off all her long, thick hair, then trimmed it close to the scalp. I watched in horrified silence as her body hair was removed in the same manner, even her pubic and anal regions being shaved clean. Then she was slathered with a depilatory the fashionable used, so that when they sponged her off again the last bits of hair came away as well, even her eyebrows and eyelashes. She looked even more lost and helpless, as if that was possible. To add to her mortification, the slave girls rubbed her with oil, making her shine. Their oversized breasts jounced like custard as they kneaded, their chained, beringed nipples dancing back and forth. Marnessa's skin would gleam in the torchlight like a burnished idol when they were through.

Slaves drew back the drapes from between the pillars, exposing a multitude of mirrors. Marnessa sobbed, noting the alien creature she had become. It was clear to me was losing the tenets of her former identity.

"Give her the purge," the Queen commanded.

A slave came up with a skin bag and a length of tubing. It was a device familiar to me from my healer's training, but I had never seen it used to incite sexual pleasure before. She propped Marnessa's hips up with a cushion and inserted the metal nozzle into her anus. Marnessa fought against the invasion, her flesh swelling tightly against the thick straps, but her wild contortions were to no avail. The slave began to pump the water in, and Marnessa's eyes went wide.

Shezrine regarded her as if she was a recalcitrant child. "Take in the water, my sweet; it is full of healthful herbs. It will clean you and give us some amusement. What's the use of feeling ashamed? My purge is going to happen to you no matter how much you flail about, so you had better resign yourself to it. That's what slaves do. They feel no shame at the things that are done to them, because they have no choice in the matter."

The process went on longer than I thought possible. Marnessa looked very distressed, her face betraying her strain. The slave girl attending her seemed to be counting, and when a certain number was reached, she quickly pulled the nozzle out.

"Empty your bowels, slave! I command you!" The Queen struck Marnessa sharply with her crop.

Marnessa emptied herself, looking at once relieved and mortified. The slave girl caught the waste in a basin, which she quickly covered with a towel and took away. I saw the glint of tears on Marnessa's face as the Queen wiped her with a damp cloth. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it? It is always easier to obey. Now I command you to release your bladder. Let it loose into the bowl."

Shezrine pressed down on the girl's bladder, holding a silver bowl between her legs. Scarlet-faced, Marnessa urinated into the bowl. The splash of the urine was very loud, which further added to the her humiliation. All could see the pale stream as it emerged from between her legs and fountained into the bowl. This too was covered and carried away.

"You think you have lost as much as you can, don't you?" Shezrine asked rhetorically. "First you your freedom and dignity, then your self-control. Now you no longer have say over what you look like. But you will lose still more. For the next stage you must surrender yourself further. Not just your body, but your will as well."

The guards unstrapped Marnessa and placed her on her hands and knees. She tried to stand.

"No!" Shezrine commanded, hitting her sharply in the back with her rod. It left a red mark. "You will crawl on your hands and knees. Later you may walk upright again but only if I permit it. Follow me now to the back of the room. Don't try to run. I have hundreds of guards in the palace, and I have *this.*" Shezrine gave her another smack with the rod, on the buttocks this time. "So crawl, and be quick about it."

Marnessa crawled, breaking into fresh sobs as Shezrine prodded her along with the rod. She even inserted it into her sex at one point, laughing wickedly when this brought a loud muffled cry.

At the back of the stage was a large chest with leather straps tumbled together on top of it. "The slave harness," Shezrine said to her audience, poking the straps with the rod. "Slightly different versions are used to train male and female pleasure-slaves. Harness her." Marnessa mewled as the guards grabbed her, but it didn't take much effort to overpower her.

First, a wide leather belt was buckled firmly around her hips and a strap fastened under her breasts to lift them in a pair of shallow cups. A high, thick leather collar then went around her neck, and her wrists were cuffed and fastened to the belt at the small of her back. All of the clasps and buckles were fastened very tight.

There were several phalluses on the chest. Shezrine looked them over with deliberation, then chose one. "This," she said, holding the tool up so the audience could see, "is the best teacher there is. Inserted in the *proper* place it causes either great pleasure or great pain. Pain at defiance and willfulness, pleasure at submission."

Marnessa whimpered as the Queen thrust the phallus inside her. It was much thicker than any of the others and had a round eyelet on the end of it. Shezrine ran two thin leather straps through the eyelet and drew them up through the crack of Marnessa's buttocks, then secured the straps to the belt below her strapped wrists. She then drew the straps to the front of Marnessa's crotch, holding them taut in her teeth as she fastened two tight clamps to the girl's nipples. Marnessa cried out, the gag having been abandoned at the table.

"Quiet," Shezrine said. "Or would you like one on your tongue?"

Marnessa broke off her cry. The Queen continued her work, running each strap through an eyelet on the front of the belt over Marnessa's hipbones, then ran the straps through an eyelet on each of the nipple clamps before buckling them to the collar.

Swiftly, the rest of the harnessing proceeded: Marnessa's ankles were buckled together, and two more straps above and below her knees held her legs tightly bound. Her face was covered with tears again by the time the Queen was done.

Shezrine bent to apply her final touch. She moved the two tight, thin straps at the Marnessa's crotch so they held back her labia, exposing the raised pink button of her clit. To this she applied a tiny gold clamp. From it hung a teardrop-shaped weight. No pubic hair remained to hide the humiliating decoration; the flash of gold would show all exactly where the tiny jaws had been clamped.

On the stiff leather collar was a metal ring, and to this Shezrine snapped a leash. Fresh tears of indignity poured down Marnessa's face. "Come along," she said. "You're mine now."

Marnessa could stand, but that was all she could do. She couldn't move, except in a series of little hops.

"When I say move, you move," Shezrine said angrily. Discarding her rod, she grabbed a short whip. She snapped it at Marnessa's legs. We in the audience gasped. Marnessa sagged, her legs going out from under her, but Shezrine held her yet by the leash, berating her as she dangling from the collar. "What lack of form! What laziness! When I say move, you will crawl, as befits a slave, the lowliest pleasure slave the palace has to offer. So low you do not even have a proper name or your head of pretty curls. Now crawl!"

She let Marnessa drop; she hit the tiles with a wet smack. Shezrine tugged sharply on the leash. Marnessa was forced to squirm after her like a caterpillar, moving at the slowest of paces because of how she had been bound. Shezrine continued to whip her as she struggled. Not raw, for one did not risk scarring one's pleasure slaves, but the welts were large and very red.

I squirmed in my seat. Yes, I was very wet, the demonstration stimulating me against my better judgment. I prayed J'Wabra would not sense my agitation, but he was in a world of his own. What did a eunuch think of such things?

Marnessa's pace picked up under the whip. Her expression slackened, the fearful tears giving way to a frantic desire to obey, the phallus no doubt contributing a degrading pleasure as she crawled.

Shezrine let her rest in the middle of the floor. Her strapped buttocks bulged, now red and smartly welted. They were so deeply cleft by the leather straps they looked like a pair of ripe, rosy apricots. She moaned, in relief, I thought.

"That's it. Moan louder." Shezrine snapped her whip. It hit the floor only inches beyond Marnessa's shaved head. She moaned louder. "Good. Let me know with the sound how much you suffer, how much you deserve it, how much you enjoy it. You do enjoy it, don't you?" Another crack. "Look at you, crawling on the floor like an animal, every inch of you exposed."

I felt beyond stimulation now. I felt nauseated. "When is it over?" I whispered to J'Wabra.

"Pay attention," he said urgently. "You must see the rest. You must."

A new game developed. The Queen rolled a golden ball across the floor. "Be an animal and fetch that, and push it back to me. Now!" The whip snapped.

Marnessa went humping after the ball, pushing it back with her nose. Shezrine laughed and threw it again. The whip continued to snap, striking her back, her thighs, her buttocks. On the fifth or sixth round she nudged it back to Shezrine' s ankle with her chin, crying unashamedly. She rested her cheek against the smooth leather instep of the Queen's boot. She seemed to be begging for mercy. Again and again her face helplessly bumped the leather.

"Good girl," Shezrine said with pleasure. "You've developed a sense of your station. To your knees." She jerked Marnessa's head up with the leash. Marnessa made an even more abject picture this way, buttocks spread over her heels, hands curled helplessly over them, her head and shoulders bowed. Her shoulders shook with sobs, setting the cruelly clamped and outhrust breasts jiggling, which pulled at all other parts of the harness. Torchlight danced across her hairless skull, her oiled, denuded flesh. Her pink welts glowed like a sunrise.

"I see you wish to please me. Do you truly? Look up at me." Marnessa raised her eyes, her mottled face streaked with tears, and vigorously shook her head up and down. "Will you tell me that with your own voice? Will you say, 'My Queen, I wish to please you?' " Marnessa gave another shake. Shezrine lowered her whip, her left hand still holding the leash.

"My Queen, I wish to please you," Marnessa said in a low, shaking voice.

"Louder." Shezrine gave a taut pull on the leash."

"My Queen, I wish to please you."

"Show it."

Marnessa covered the Queen's boots with kisses.

She had bent low so her buttocks were high, and Shezrine touched the whip to them lightly. They lifted to accept the caress as if it was silk. "What are you?"

"I'm a slave," Marnessa said clearly.

"What am I to you?"

"You are my world. I want to serve you, make you happy." Conscious of the whip still resting against her, she kissed Shezrine's ankles, rubbing the sides of her face against her legs as if she was an affectionate cat.

Shezrine suddenly raised the whip. Marnessa flinched, and Shezrine jerked the leash sharply. "You must never flinch from the whip or strap or phallus. You please me by bearing my punishment and my whims. Is that understood?:

"Yes, my Queen." And the whip whalloped hard across her buttocks, raising a welt that bled along the edges.

It must have hurt a great deal, but Marnessa had only gasped. "Now turn," Shezrine said. "Face away from me, with your head down and buttocks up. Show me how much you liked that by showing me how much you want another."

An agony of emotion passed across Marnessa's face. Then something resolved itself, for she turned slowly on her knees and raised her backside to the Queen. She laid her cheek against the cool tiles and closed her eyes. Her hands twitched a little.

Shezrine smiled. Did she smile at every slave she subjugated so, the many thousands she must have lovingly trained and discarded as if they were fruit rinds or candy-papers? She touched the whip to the bleeding welt, then withdrew it.

"Excellent. What form." She reached between Marnessa's buttocks, playing with the straps and the eyelet on the end of the phallus, and brought her hand up. She smearing the moisture between her fingers in a captivated way. "Quite wet... *quite* appropriate for a pleasure slave." She took up the leash again. "And now you will pleasure *me.* Follow me on your knees and knees."

I watched as the Queen led her trembling captive to the high stool where she sat, facing her audience. "Straighten up," she commanded, tapping Marnessa with the whip. Marnessa raised her head. Shezrine spread her legs like a whore, the black leather of her high boots highlighting the pale pink organs between her legs, the silvery triangle of pubic hair. "Now pleasure me, with your tongue and your mouth."

Marnessa whimpered, and Shezrine hit her again with the whip. "Didn't you hear? Pleasure me." She pulled the leash so the girl's head was brought up between her thighs. Another lash, and Marnessa began to lick.

It was the most vile--and stimulating--thing I had ever witnessed, the helpless struggling of the girl as she suckled, the whip that struck her back, the obvious pleasure of the Queen.

Shezrine threw her head back, her silver-blonde hair rippling behind her. Nearly naked as a slave, she began to moan a slave's pleasure. Her hand tightened on the leash, sealing her prisoner's shaven skull to her crotch. Her whip rose and fell as Marnessa tongued her sex, her well-strapped buttocks rising and falling in a parody of the sex she was not permitted to have.

Shezrine groaned, her eyes slitted in pleasure. Her heavy breasts jutted forward, blunt nipples pointing toward the ceiling like stiff fingers. She lifted her legs from the rungs of the stool and crossed them on Marnessa's back, drawing her closer. The spiked heel of one boot dug cruelly into her buttocks.

Smack. Smack. Sweat appeared on Marnessa's naked scalp. We could not see her face, of course, but her head bobbed rapidly. The Queen's body heaved. Her mouth opened, gasping wordless cries in an arcane language.

I closed my eyes as she shuddered in orgasm. I seemed to feel it myself, a vile sensation I was loathe to acknowledge.

The leash went slack as Shezrine regained her balance on the stool. Marnessa dropped her head submissively. The Queen's fluids shone wetly on her mouth and cheeks.

"That was good, very good," Shezrine said. "Kiss me now." She held out her hands. Marnessa kissed them, front and back, with enthusiasm, then kissed the handle of the whip that had marked her.

At last, we will be able to go, I thought.

Without provocation, Shezrine suddenly pushed Marnessa over backward with her boot. She fell on her back, betrayed and astonished, as Shezrine straddled her. "My Queen, what have I done?" she sobbed.

"Nothing," Shezrine said. "I merely wished to do that. You must not become vain or think too much of yourself because you have momentarily pleased me." She squatted, positioning her sex so it was now over the girl's face. "Clean me with your tongue, then pleasure me some more."

All could see the helpless shock on Marnessa's face as she strained upward with her tongue. But she let out a cry of surprise as the Queen suddenly urinated in her face.

"I did that because I wish to," Shezrine hissed. She stood and jerked Marnessa around by the leash so that she now lay on her stomach. "And I do this now because I wish to." She commenced to lash her, and Marnessa quivered helplessly under the blows. She screamed.

"Quiet! As a pleasure slave you make noise only when I permit you to." Marnessa cut off her cries. She rolled and bounced miserably, wincing from the blows. They weren't deep enough to cut, but they left pink stripes. Shezrine stalked from side to side, whipping her from all angles. Her buttocks switched with the deep, masculine, strides, her firmly toned flesh jiggling only slightly. It was then, while she was in motion, that I saw clearly the tattoo on her own buttock. It was twin to her slaves', the Caramaithzes basilisk, for she too was a slave--a slave to power and her own depraved appetites.

Just when we thought the girl would lose consciousness the Queen let off her whipping. The girl immediately knelt before her, head bowed, forehead touching her knees.

The silence in the room was total.

"Look at yourself." The Queen's laughter broke the silence. "Turn and look at yourself in the mirror. See how you kneel here trussed up like a piece of game for the spit, your asscheeks raw, your sex plugged and widened, as you beg me for more." She gripped Marnessa's chin, forcing her head up. "Look at yourself, rebel!"

Marnessa regarded herself in the mirrors. Her breasts shivered in the leather cups that held them erect. "A rebel no more, my Queen," she said breathlessly.

"That remains to be seen." Shezrine unharnessed her, leaving only the collar and leash, and wiped her face. "Now you shall be presented to your peers. Excuse me, your former peers. You are a slave to them now as much as any other slave in this palace is, and you will please them the same way you have pleased me. You will obey their commands with the finest form and enthusiasm, showing them exactly what you are and exactly what you wish to be."

The girl shivered as the Queen said these words, but she gave no reaction other than to kiss her boot again. Shezrine gave a tug on the leash, showing her she was to follow her to the edge of the stage. "Now come meet your new masters and mistresses."

The young nobles were made to line up by the guards. None could escape this, but they kept their true feelings hidden. All of them knew the same thing could happen to them. Marnessa knelt beside the Queen with her arms folded behind her back, her naked head bowed. Shezrine made conversation with each young lord or lady as they came up, making them give some command or ask some request of her new slave.

"She has no name," she said lightly to the first. "What would you suggest I call her? Shameless? Insatiable? How about Perky Buttocks? Turn around, dear, show them to the young man." Marnessa quickly turned around and pressed her forehead to the floor as the nobles laughed thinly at the display. One or two looked absolutely horrified.

To the next, a girl, Shezrine handed a large phallus, exhorting her to dip it deep into a container of cream and then into her new slave's backside.

The third girl wanted to smack her with a strap, which the Queen allowed, not too hard, then came a youth who pinched her nipples, then another who suckled her as Marnessa cupped her breasts and gave exagerrated moans. On and on it went. All the nobles, even the most hardened and decadent, soon had a glazed look, a numbness. *Could this have happened to me?* they might have been thinking. *Praise be to the gods that it did not!*

It was a lesson to them, too. *Do not cross me,* the Queen's black, slightly slanted eyes seemed to say. *I have the same power over all of you.*

When the last of the line had cleared, and the nobles stood watching, the Queen led her pet to the center of the floor. She fed her pieces of fruit from her hand, a reward for a job well done. The girl's tongue lapped roughly at the juice left on her fingers. The Queen smiled, then looked sharply over at the nobles.

"Do you see those young men and women over there?" she said, her voice steely. Marnessa glanced over, obedient. There was no recognition on her face. She acted like she had never seen them before. Then her eyes went back to the Queen. Nothing but devotion was in them now.

"Do you want to go back to them, wear clothing, talk with them? I've made you a slave, and an accomplished one, in the course of these hours. But my demonstration is over now. You can go back to your friends and become what you were. I shall even make your hair grow again. Or you can remain with me and be my slave. What do you want?"

A horrible indecision crept over Marnessa's face. She might resume her place in the world, but she would never forget what happened here. Neither would her peers.

With great decorum she bent and kissed the Queen's boots.

How could she? How could she surrender to the endless humiliation, the endless ill-use? A pall settled over the nobles as they realized what they had just witnessed, that the Queen could make one of their own choose this degradation of her own free will.

But the choice had been made, whether Shezrine had forced it through magic or the strength of her will, and from a door between the pillars the guards rolled up a brazier. Thin curls of smoke rose from the coals, the smell of burning metal strong. Marnessa quaked at the sight of it, but did not move from her abject position on the floor.

"You will be branded, of course," Shezrine said. "All my slaves are. You receive the special seal of the Caramaithzes basilisk showing you serve in the palace. The slaves I train are very much in demand in the outside world. They bring prices four and five times the norm on the auction block. Are you sure you want to be my slave?"

Marnessa hesitated.

"Understand that by this act you will be completely, irrecoverably, a slave. You will live the rest of your life as a slave, and die as a slave. No slave is manumitted in Obn-Dhregni. No slave escapes. You are mine and I shall do whatever I want with you. I may never look at you again. You may go to my concupiscerium. Or you may go the kitchens. I may sell you if I wish, or make of you a present to a new master or mistress. I may even kill you if I choose, for my own whims or the whims of a guest. It could be very painful. Perhaps I should feed you to the carnivorous plants in my garden. Or I may do none of those things. You will serve in my chambers as my plaything and I will take my pleasure of you, and perhaps give you to others so that they will take their pleasure also.

"What is your reply?"

The girl's heart must have been knocking in her chest after hearing those horrible things, but her reply was clear though pitched low. "I hear, and I accept. Brand me."

She knelt with her forehead to the floor, her buttocks high and slightly spread. She clasped her hands behind her neck. Shezrine donned a gilded leather glove and grasped the hot iron. She pressed the smoking brand into Marnessa's flesh.

Marnessa flinched but did not scream. There must have been magic in it to take away the pain. The magic too must have caused a rapid recovery, for when the Queen lifted the iron the design was revealed in sinuous splendor on the pearly canvas of her buttock, with no scabbing or reddening of the skin.

"You may stand," the Queen said. The girl struggled to her feet. Though she had not screamed, her legs were unsteady. "Show my court what you are."

Marnessa turned her back to the audience and thrust her buttocks out, displaying her brand.

"Show them more, slave."

Marnessa bent lower. She reached behind her with her hands and spread her labia, making sure everyone had a good view of the wet, shiny mouth of her sex, then she spread her buttocks and exposed her anus.

The Queen laughed. Her laughter seemed to go on forever... as her new slave would serve her... forever.

"A new pleasure slave has come to the palace," she announced. "She shall be changed to conform to our tastes, of course, to be as fair and lovely as the other pleasure slaves who serve us." Shezrine glanced out at her court. "Let me hear some suggestions."

The watching nobles called. "Red hair!" "No, straight and blonde." "Smaller waist." "Bigger tits."

The last brought a loud, collective laugh, as Marnessa's breasts were on the small side. The Queen pondered the suggestions, then began an incantation in sibilant words, weaving the air between her hands. It was the first time I had seen her use magic. I blinked as Marnessa seemed to ripple and blur. Was it painful? Pleasurable? Only one who has had the transformation can speak of it, and slaves are not permitted to tell. As I watched her eyes tilted in their sockets and her lips reformed into a pout; a mass of curly black hair covered her scalp and cascaded over her shoulders, and her breasts ballooned into oversized globes with enlarged, protuberant nipples. Her light skin darkened to a rosy bronze. Her welts and scratches vanished. Her skin was whole now, without flaw, and hairless as a babe's.

The transformation was complete. Marnessa staggered forward, holding a hand to her head. She seemed surprised to find hair there. She caught a look at herself in the mirror, and gasped. Her fingers covered her mouth. She was now as sexualized as, and as blandly indistinguishable from, the hundreds of other female pleasure slaves in the palace.

Shezrine turned her around to face the nobles. "Isn't she lovely?" Murmurs of assent answered her, only slightly forced.

"You *are* lovely, my dear," Shezrine said, playing with a lock of the girl's freshly grown hair. She gently tweaked her nipples. "My precious slave, I could keep you here always as a reminder of my generosity and cruelty."

Her eyes glinted. "But I will not."

She roughly pushed Marnessa away from her. "Guards! Take this slave immediately to Ajaskafari Market and see that she is prepared for auction."

Marnessa's eyes went wide. She had been duped. She was leaving the palace to be sold at auction the same way as any other slave, to a fate her former life knew quite well, and one that the Queen was quite unconcerned with. She flung herself at Shezrine's heels. "No, my Queen, please, I beg you--"

"Slaves do not beg," Shezrine said.

And the guards grabbed her and bound her again into the harness. Her wild struggles now caused the phallus inside her to rock her with pain. Gagged, clamped, and struggling, she was lifted and thrown over the shoulder of the tallest guard. They took her swiftly from the room, her bound legs and ankles thumping impotently against his back.

"Take note," Shezrine said quietly to the audience. "She was mine to deal with, and mine to dispose of... exactly as I please. The same goes for all other subjects in my kingdom."

She walked off the stage between the pillars. The show was over.

Chapter 8: Secret Pastimes of the Queen

When it was over, it was all I could do to walk out of the amphitheater like a rational being. The foreigners who had come with me had the same mien. The nobles, however, looked used to it. No doubt the performance had stimulated them to enact some rituals of their own, for they walked up and down the halls examining the chained slaves as if shopping.

I was filled with disgust that they could so quickly turn on one of their station and then forget about it. J'Wabra felt obliged to give an explanation. "They are all Shezrine's prisoners," he said. "They must be heartless in order to survive the rigors of courtlife. Marnessa is not the first noble who has met that fate. The Queen does it regularly to those who cross her, and they are all very careful to stay in her favor."

"Like baby crocodiles who devour their nestmates," I said sarcastically. "They will eat even a cherished sibling to gain an advantage of size and weight, no matter how slight."

"It is self-defense, nothing more." He led me away from the amphitheater, back to the entrance hall of the palace. "We are lucky Shezrine did not suspect us. You said you had a message from Shadow, is that right?"

"Yes," I said, my mind turning back to the reason I had come here. "He said that the Queen's forces are stretched thin, and that his--"

J'Wabra stopped me with a gesture."You must tell us tomorrow when we are all together. There are quite a few of us working within the palace, and we all have contacts outside. I suggest you leave General Dragoncord's interview earlier than planned. I will fetch you and we will meet in secret then."

It seemed a logical course of action, as to talk out here in the halls would only arouse suspicion. I assured him I would, and left the palace.

It was nearly midnight, the moons striping the grounds through the tall poles and their prisoners. Now I caught the whiff of decomposing flesh from them. How ironic that a place of sensual pleasure existed within a ring of death. The guards let me through the wall of thorns without incident and I quickly returned to the inn, anxious to leave Syonhoddaz and its obscene rituals behind me.

I undressed and climbed into bed, but could not compose myself for sleep. Raucous laughter came from the concupisceriums that lined the streets. From time to time I heard pleas of mercy, snaps of whips. It was only now that I understood what they were... houses of pleasure where any might indulge, for a fee, in the erotic games of the Queen and her court. I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. I finally fingered myself a bit, but the shallow orgasm did not satisfy. Moonlight poured across my bed: gibbous Wolfmoon, crescent Poritrin. Skusje, the smallest moon, was a white moth against the stars, moving so quickly I could track her progress with my eyes. I wondered how Shadow was faring. Was he even less human now than when I had surprised him in the hills?

I finally managed to fall asleep, but a series of erotic dreams kept me tossing and turning all night. Again I stood in the royal courtyard, not as a visitor but as a slave, a steel collar weighing on my neck as I stood amidst dozens of others, all of us displayed as potential purchases to the Queen. I waited fearfully in my fetters, not sure if I looked forward to being chosen, or dreaded it. Row by row she walked, gradually coming closer, until she stopped in front of me. I kept my eyes down in submission, noting the lushness of my own body, my full breasts with their hard brown nipples. She lifted my chin in her fingers, and gazed into my eyes...

... and I was pleasuring her of my own will, on a canopied bed hung with silver-brocaded drapes, the two of us sealed face to crotch, her white thighs wrapped around my neck as I hungrily devoured her dripping sex...

... and Shadow crouched in front of me, a thick coat of fur covering his taut chest and powerful, athletic thighs. His face was his own, but a wolf's ears pointed from the top of his head. He knelt with an animal grace, drawing my hand towards him so that I might feel his pelt. "I look like an animal, but I have the needs of a man," he growled. I felt his nipples through the thick fur, and as he said there were more than one pair of them, and all of them were hard. His claws scraped against my skin as he drew me closer...

... and then I was awake, squinting at the bright sunlight that gilded my window. I groaned; feeling like I had hardly any sleep at all. I had a bath, then dressed in more modest attire for my return trip to the palace. I would have preferred to buy fresher garb in the marketplace, but I had already slept far past the time I should have awakened. After a quick meal I returned to the palace.

I had no intention of joining the army, of course. But even so I had to make a show of enthusiasm as General Dragoncord showed me his forces. It was only slightly forced, for they were impressive: one of the best fighting legions I had seen, and their weapons and armor were superb also. I privately noted the locations of the arsenals, barracks, and stables. The information would later prove invaluable to the rebels.

As J'Wabra suggested, I left early and made my way back into the palace. Sure enough, he was waiting. "You had your talk with the general?"

"I did, and begged my leave without giving my decision. I said I would inform him later."

He quickly covered me with a hooded cloak. "My people are waiting in the concupiscerium. Keep your head down, my lady, so no one should recognize you."

"I know," I grumbled. "I am well aware of how recognizable I am in this land."

He chose to ignore that remark and quickly led me through the main halls of the palace. Then, through a series of secret passages only trusted palace servants knew, we entered Shezrine's concupiscerium. My head was down so I could not see, but I received the impression of dozens, hundreds of naked slaves, some displayed in pillars or cages, some kneeling on velvet cushions. The smell was indescribable: costly perfume, flowers, incense, human musk. It was warm to the point of discomfort. We seemed to pass through a huge room, then a garden where cool fountains played, then a shadowed hall where muted moans came from either side. I began to grow severely disoriented. "J'Wabra, where are your friends?"

"In here," he whispered, and opened a door. I blinked, pushing the hood away from my face. We were in a small, undecorated room with nine others. They were a mixture of nobles, palace servants, even a few slaves. They jumped as if surprised. As rebel sympathizers in the heart of Shezrine's palace, they were understandably cautious. J'Wabra quickly introduced me. "This is Lady Tanimury, an amazon from Pharazion. She is one of our sympathizers, and carries a message from Shadow and the King."

There were no introductions, as time was of the essence; we might not have this room for long. I cleared my throat and told them the news... how Bontatris had fallen, and how the rebels intended to take advantage of that to oust Shezrine for good. I told them when they could expect it to happen, and how they might abet it.

"I must repeat this message to two other sources," I said. "The high priestess of the Temple of Tontaxir, and Duke Ushroez, a noble who is the ringleader of the other dissatisfied nobles of the city. For when the city falls, it must fall from the inside as well as out."

"I do not know about the temple," J'Wabra said. "They are very circumspect these days, not wanting to challange the Queen's authority with their own. The high priestess is rarely seen and not even her name is known. I'm afraid no one knows how to contact her. But the Duke, ah, that is more troubling, for he has been under arrest for the last twenty days. He and all his kin are confined to their estate by the Queen's guards, and no one is permitted to enter or leave."

Our plan had hit a snag. "What?" I said. "How can she do that? Does she know he is a rebel?"

"It had nothing to do with that," one of the other nobles volunteered. "The Queen wanted his borzium mines for herself, offering him several lucrative fiefs outside the city in return, but he chose not to acquiesce. He is too powerful for Shezrine to kill or enslave, for the other nobles would be up in arms against her. But she can force his decision by keeping him confined. "

"I will sneak past her guards," I decided.

"Not a good idea," J'Wabra said. "It's too risky. For if you are captured or wounded, how would the other rebels hear your advice?"

He had a point. "But he must hear me out! He is the linchpin. If he does not hear and cannot act, we are all doomed!"

"There is a way around that." With surprise I saw it was the red-haired pleasure slave who had abetted Shezrine the night before. "Shezrine knows how idle he is. I heard she is sending him a gift of slaves from her concupiscerium to try to force his hand. They are to leave from the west gate later this afternoon. I could be secreted among them and give them your message."

"I don't think so," I said coldly.

She stared back at me coolly, her sweet sensual face composed. "I am a rebel, the same as you," she said. "What you saw of me last night was merely my duty. I could not help but obey, for when you are a slave disobedience is death, or something worse. I did not like doing that to poor Marnessa, but thankfully she did not know me as a rebel. She knew very few of us, actually. Shezrine was right in her suspicions, but had overestimated the value of her catch."

"And where is poor Marnessa now?" I asked acidly. I couldn't help feeling the slave was partly to blame, even if she did have to unwillingly carry out her role.

"We have no time to argue," J'Wabra insisted. "We must find a way to contact the Duke. If the slave is unsuitable, I suggest that Lady Tanimury herself go."

I did not like the plan at all. I, an amazon and mercenary, sent to the House of Ushroez as a common pleasure-slave? But it was the only way I could get inside without incident and speak with him, as the message from the rebels must be delivered promptly.

"I will prepare her," the red-haired slave said. "Come with me. It will not take long."

"See that it doesn't," J'Wabra said nervously. "We have more to discuss when you are done."

The slave led me into a small, private chamber that opened off the main room. I followed her with trepidation. I couldn't help feeling I had become a pawn. The slave began to rummage through chests of baubles, pulling out jeweled collars, ankle bracelets, and pots of glitter. "You will have to strip, you know. Slaves travel naked."

"I know," I said, my heart thumping fast. She was nude too, of course, a state unremarked on by the other rebels. "I have no objections to being naked. The people of my homeland have gone that way for centuries. "

"You will have to perform, also."

I laughed. "I realize what I am doing and for what cause. I am no blushing virgin, slave. "

"My name is Aradra," she said with annoyance. She slipped a gold chain around my waist, noting its size.

Her businesslike manner impressed me against my will. "How is it that you are not like the other slaves here? They cringe and cower, yet you posess a mind of your own."

"Who says they do not?" she said. "If we act as we do, it is to avoid worse punishments."

"But the Queen's brand... "

"... is magic, and very powerful. But sometimes she is tired or distracted when she sets the spell, and the magic runs out before its time. That is what happened to me. Her spell wore off years ago. I am still a slave with no means of escape. But I am also in an excellent position to know everything that goes on in the palace. Do you know that the Queen is not the dominatrix she proclaims herself to be? She is not only a monster, but a liar as well."

"What do you mean?"

"I will tell you," Aradra said, composing herself for a story. "Last night, after the show, the Queen called me to her chambers to attend her. She already had a man with her, a young prince from a neighboring city-state her beauty had ensnared. He was besotted with her. Eyes shining, he did whatever she said. And she did not even have to use her magic! My job was to aid them in their lovemaking, not necessarily to participate, but to handle and clean the instruments of their passion, dress and undress them, and fetch wine or other things to drink for them. She thought no more of me being there than she would of an animal. That's how she sees her slaves. You heard it last night.

"The prince was very young, no more than eighteen I think. The Queen toyed with him the same she would with a slave, and he gasped and cried like a slave. They did things his young mind had never even dreamed about. I brought them chilled wine and trays of exotic foodstuffs when their passion had cooled. They ate and rested, waiting til the hunger grew strong again, talking of inconsequential things.

"'Massage me,' Shezrine purred. That was the signal for me to open the hamper and present the prince with a selection of oils and ungeants to excite and enhance lovemaking. I kept my head down, my knees on the floor, my posture abject. I was still garnished with my bands and chains, but the prince did not notice me, as Shezrine outshone me like a great blaze outshines the flicker of a candle.

"He massaged her. The Queen rolled over on her breasts and belly, presenting her backside. 'What is this?' he said in alarm. He was staring at her basilisk brand.

"What an innocent he was. Pale, dewy skin, strong shoulders, yet a delicate, vulnerable face under his golden prince's beard. The Queen made an amused noise. 'A slave's brand, same as with all the other slaves of Obn Dhregni, the City of Carnality. For I, too, am a slave--a slave to my state, a slave to the throne and the ultimate power it represents. For how can I enslave others if I know nothing of slavery and the price it exacts?' "

The young prince was fascinated. He stroked her strong, lean buttocks. Her skin shone like silk under the oil he rubbed there. It smelled of spice and rain. The Queen half-closed her eyes like a contented cat. She liked him doing that to her. She enjoyed his wonder, the faint undertone of revulsion, and the fact he would not dare mention either to her.

"She gave forth a dusky laugh. 'Slaves are the lucky ones, not I,' she said.

"The prince was alarmed. 'Why is that?' he said. He of course had already spent some time in the palace and city, seen the way they were treated.

"'Because their lives are so simple. They wish only to please the one in command of them. That is all. Look at this one.' She pulled me closer. 'See how she diligently attends us. That is all she thinks of. No thoughts of tomorrow, or of the day before. It is a beautiful thing.' She gently pinched my cheek. 'What is your name, little pet?' "

"'I have none, my Queen,' I said. It was the conditioned response we are all taught to make. 'I do not not need one to serve you.'

"Shezrine laughed. 'You see? No thoughts even of herself.'

"Now I will tell you we do have names among ourselves to which our keepers refer, otherwise they could not keep track of us, but to the Queen we are all interchangeable. I wonder if she knew how much I hated her that night, how wrong she was about us. I would like to rip the flesh from her face, the witch!

"But I had to keep up my act of abjectness, and only bowed my head meekly. And as she always does, she must stroke me then, bringing to flower the passions that brew in us always to prove her mastery over our flesh. My nipple chains fairly danced with it, and of course I was aroused. But I felt no devotion or desire to serve her, make sure of that!

"I was sent then to a corner of the room where I would wait as they conversed. Shezrine was in a talkative mood. She was not half so talkative with the other bed partners I had seen her have. The wine had loosened her. And too, I suppose she wanted to shock and scandalize and titillate this young princeling. 'Every so often,' she said, 'three or four times a year, I disguise my appearance and have my courtiers bind me as a common slave, and they take me down to Ajaskafari Market and sell me on the auction block. No one knows who I am; they see but an anonymous piece of flesh. For the next few days, I am then subject to the same cruelties, humiliations, and debasements that the common slaves are. From this, I learn how things fare in my city. I learn, too, of plots that are being hatched against me, for who would stay their tongue in the precense of a slave? I have picked dates in the hills north of the city; been whipped for insolence in a tavern south of the palace mount; moaned under the weight of a common trash-hauler in a public concupiscerium. Naked, hairless, and gleaming with oil, I marched with hundreds of others, all property of the Merchant House of Zantongo, to an unknown fate far in the west. On a small farm in Chuven I was shackled to a turn-wheel to churn my own breast milk into butter. Gilded with gold paint, hung with jewels, I took my place as a slave statue, amidst hundreds of other slave statues, to ornament the halls of my own palace. There are many paths for a slave, love, some of them quite delicious in their subjugation, their utter loss of selfhood. I find it a refreshing change from the throne.'

"I was shocked at her escapades and by the fact she actually found pleasure in them. But I was a slave, and who cared what I thought? 'But what if there is a mistake?' the young prince said. 'Suppose no one believes you are the Witch-Queen of Obn Dhregni, and you stay a slave forever?'

"'Don't be foolish, when I wish to return to the throne I simply throw off my shackles and disappear. Who can hold the Witch-Queen against her will? And as for remaining a slave forever--is that so bad?' A deceptively innocent smile, full of feral knowledge, appeared on Shezrine's face. 'And how would you like being a slave, my young prince?'

"The prince looked at once insulted and very confused. I could clearly see her confession had aroused him again. He did not keep slaves in his city. He didn't understand. 'I would rather remain free, your majesty,' he said carefully.

"The Queen roared with laughter, throwing back her head. 'I could make you give a different answer. But I will not.' "

He kissed her passionately, crushing her pendulous breasts against his strong, well-muscled chest. He already was her slave, in a way. With his other hand he spread her legs, stroking the silky hair between them.

"'No,' the Queen said urgently. 'This time we shall do things differently.'

"He looked puzzled, but she had already given me orders to open the casket that lay at the foot of the bed and bring her what was in there. I did. A wooden pole about three feet long, a whip, a long length of rope, a leather case which I knew held a selection of phalluses. I immediately thought I was to be the victim of the tools, but the Queen had other ideas. In a low, coaxing voice she told the prince of her plans. His confusion returned. She continued, tempting him, turning round his mind. She lulled him with her voice alone. She did not need her witch's magic to do this. It was her native power, her long years of experience.

"If I was not to be the victim, neither was the prince. The Queen lay face down on the bed as the prince bound her as she had instructed him to. Needless to say I was very surprised. I had never heard of Shezrine behaving so. She had always taken pains to act the opposite. Now her pose was revealed as a lie. Bondage and abuse were what she really hungered for. Hungered for so badly she did not dare enact it with a citizen of her own city but with a foreigner.

"Shezrine looked like a fowl fit for roasting when he had done. Her legs had been stretched wide apart and her ankles bound tightly to the ends of the pole, which was then brought up over her back. Then her wrists were tied behind her and secured to the middle of the pole. I could not imagine a more helpless position. Her sex couldn't have been any more exposed. It looked like a pink silk purse stretched wide, its edges trimmed with mink. I saw the lips of it move. 'Look at it, prince,' the Queen said, already becoming very aroused in this ignomious position. I could tell from the strain in her voice. And he hadn't even done anything to her yet! 'This wet and hungry mouth, see how it is starving. Don't you want it? Wouldn't you like to take it, possess it?'

"Of course he did, he was so erect it must have been painful, the cock colored almost magenta. But the Queen's knees and the wooden pole were in the way. The Queen squirmed on her belly, making the satin bedcover bunch up around her. She raised her head as much as she could and looked behind her. 'Don't you want to take it? You can do it, with your mouth.' Her words were a lewd hiss. 'You can pleasure yourself with your hands as you do so.'

"And the prince did, quite vigorously, moaning as he did so. And the Queen moaned too, pressing her face against the satin, making sounds that sounded like she was suffering the worst of tortures.

"'Enough,' she hissed. 'Leave off! Enough!' The prince withdrew, obeying the tone in her voice, even though he had not come to orgasm, was as unsatisfied as he had been in the beginning. 'You see that leather case? Open it.'

"With eager, trembling hands he did so, and stared in apprehension at the phalluses. The Queen hurriedly gave him instructions in their use.

"'Oh, I cannot,' the prince begged. 'Your majesty, wouldn't you rather--'

"'I know the magnitude of what I want,' Shezrine said in that urgent, pained voice. If she had the organ of a man concealed deep within her body, which sometimes I believe she does, it would now be colored so red as to be almost black! 'Take them, put them in. Do it now, love.'

"The prince flushed scarlet, but he took the largest of the phalluses and pushed it deep into her minj. One phallus was not enough for her. Another was chosen and inserted, with lubrication, into her anus. Both were fixed to her with leather straps. The Queen panted at the prince's touch, mouthing the bedcovers, her contortions wilder than any slave I had ever seen. It was obvious she was highly excited.

"'The whip,' she panted.

"The prince commenced to lash her. Her eyes shut and she gasped at each stroke. The whip was not a large instrument; it was short and of the type that has many tails that covered a large area of flesh in one stroke. I knew it stung, having been hit with it myself, but no mark appeared on her skin. A magical safeguard, no doubt. The prince was reluctant with it at first, but eventually even he became excited. His strokes grew harder, more powerful. With his other hand he pleasured himself. He had adapted swiftly to this game. The Queen moaned, sweat breaking out on her silky, muscular body. She flexed her back up and down.

"'The gag, the gag,' she moaned.

"The prince did not know what this was so I had to dig it out for him and show him how it was used. He shoved the leather in the Queen's mouth and she bit down on it lovingly, her expression one of ecstasy as he buckled it behind her head. Now that she was gagged she became freer with her cries. Her body writhed and bounced, marvelously elastic. Her cries became hoarser, at once triumphant and abandoned. The long soles of her feet drew up as the prince swung his arm, then curled as the blow hit. Her sex was red and shining. The phalluses and the straps that held them looked marvelously degrading, black plugs that protruded from the creamy mounds of her buttocks. I would have been happy she was so tortured, but she got so much pleasure from it! And it was clear to me that even in this she was in command, as she forced the young prince to be the instrument of this forbidden passion.

"Again and again the blows hit. She ground her face in the covers, moaning. Her buttocks tightened, loosened, then tightened again around the rim of the phallus she was helpless to expel. Her body quivered under the whip. It even licked her sex and the inner skin of her thighs, and this brought louder cries from her.

"Finally her passion reached its climax. Babbling incoherently behind her gag, her flesh convulsed. Her back arched, her head lifted. Her whole body went rigid as if she had been turned to stone. I have no doubts that she would have liked to preserve herself at the pinnacle of this debilitating, deliciously shameful orgasm and take her place, petrified, on a marble pedestal for all to see.

"But she sank down again, damp, satiated. She flicked her hair away from her face. She breathed deeply.

"The prince took off her gag. 'Well done, prince,' she said gently. She kissed him on the mouth. He had reached orgasm too and from his limp pliability I knew it had been just as powerful and draining for him. 'A lesson well learned, I think, and one that will give you much pleasure in your native city. Now, take the rest of the rope, and secure me to that hook on the ceiling above the bed. From there I would watch you take your pleasure with the slave. Replace my gag, and secure it to the pole so my head is raised.'

"It was just as shocking an order as the one to first bind her had been, but he obeyed her without question. I helped him hoist her up. The white bitch! She had done that to us so many times, teased us to pleasure, then bound us and set us to watch as she took another. I never dreamed she was envious of the torment she inflicted.

"So the prince had me in the most conventional of ways as the bound Queen swung above us on the hook, her wide eyes staring down on us, her hair a pale scarf that moved gently with her movements. And we slept that way, with the hook creaking above us with its burden.

"In the morning I was quickly whisked back to the slave halls. The Queen, of course, had freed herself during the night and was now in her audience chamber with her ministers. There was never any doubt she could not have freed herself, given her powers. None at all."

I folded my clothes in silence. Aradra's story explained a lot about Shezrine's behavior. Perhaps there was some way the rebels could use it against her.

Aradra looked me up and down as I stood before naked before her. "You are very beautiful in a savage, foreign way, but you do not have the cow-tits and moon-buttocks we have here in the palace. Still, we can pass you off as an exotic." She told me the the slaves had grooms who kept them beautified, but naturally the slaves had picked up the basics of preening themselves, and the grooms permitted this, as it saved them time. So she quickly bathed me in a small tub of lukewarm water, then rubbed me with gold-tinted oil. "It will help hide the color of your skin," she said. I jumped as she combed it into my pubic hair but she told me to be still. All slaves had to put up with that kind of grooming.

She then applied cosmetics to my face, gilding my eyelids with silver and painting my lips crimson. Then the ornaments came, silver cuffs for my wrists and ankles, snake bracelets for my upper arms, and a chain for my waist that dangled heavy glass teardrops of many different colors. It drooped over my hips, the cold weights resting heavily against my pubis. Then she told me to bend over and painted a facsimile of the basilisk brand on my buttock. It was indelible in water, but would come off with an application of alcohol.

A stone for my navel, and the project was done.

"Lovely," she said as I stood naked before her. "You are easily one of us." Then her eyes became more critical. "Now listen closely. As a pleasure slave, you are never to look up or raise your eyes unless commanded. You speak only when spoken to. You keep your replies restrained and precise. You say as little as possible. You do not show will or initiative or anything but the simplest comprehension of things. You give your entire attention to whoever claims you, and respond with the greatest enthusiasm even if you feel otherwise.

"Can you remember that?"

I nodded with my eyes lowered submissively, preparing myself for the ordeal ahead. What had I gotten myself into?

Chapter 9: The Procession

Nude, I emerged from the chamber into the collective gaze of the rebels. Surprisingly, there was nothing lascivious in their glances. I answered the rest of their questions the best I could, taking messages from them to convey to the Duke. I would have wanted to record them on paper, but as Shadow had said, paper was incriminating. There was no place to hide it, either, for as a slave I was naked... and my orifices would offer no hiding places either, for it was likely all of them would be used before the night was through.

Finally it was time to go. "Comion will take you to the gate," J'Wabra said, indicating a younger groom who waited quietly with a leash. "When you return to us, we will find a way to smuggle you out of the palace. Good luck, my Lady."

I winced as Comion snapped the leash to my collar. Then the door opened, and I quickly assumed my new role.

I kept my eyes down, concentrating on the stone tiles of the floor in front of me... malachite and lapis in diamond patterns, edged with pale aqua jade like the ground milk of glaciers. Comion walked in back of me, plying me along with urgent whispers. He had a small whip with him, almost like a thong, and with this he would tap--lightly--my legs to hurry me along.

Slave statues reposed in their niches, looking like fabulous pieces of art. Not a one stirred or looked up at our passing. The lazy sensuality brought out new yearnings in me, yearnings for games of erotic dominance and submission. The sights and sounds I had experienced last night were no less vivid today. It was an interesting feeling. I was a warrior; I had never given any thought to these feelings before. Perhaps it was because I was merely playing a role I could escape if I wished; I could have broken Comion's neck and the necks of those who pursued me, and if I had a sword I could have slain a dozen of Shezrine's palace guards. But I knew it would be the ruin of the rebels and probably of myself.

"Hurry now, keep your form. That's it, look good," Comion said, and gave me a tiny sting from the thong. Not more than that, for he did not want to hurt me.

I was not alone in being handled this way. I saw other leashed slaves being hurried through the halls. Some had servants or grooms with them, others were in the custody of noble lords and ladies. Some were naked, others wore mere ribbons of cloth so that they might as well have been naked. In fact, they looked even more naked, as the clothes only called attention to the parts they covered.

Aradra hadn't spoken about my conveyance to the Duke's estate, but I assumed I would go in a covered palanquin such as the secretive curtained litters I had seen on the city streets. I was grateful I would not be paraded naked through the streets like this. Although we have no taboos on nudity in my homeland, we did not go into public among strangers so unclothed, particularly not in this sexual way.

But as it turned out my deductions, alas, were far off the mark.

Through a huge set of iron gates we went. They held two slaves, a man and a woman caged within a curling design of serpents and vines. Both were imprisoned with their limbs outstretched in the form of an X, iron bands around their wrists and ankles and holding them upright. As was the custom here, the man was gilded with silver, the woman gold. They cast their eyes down when we passed through. The room inside was light and airy, with long windows split into many panes that overlooked the gardens.

Comion made me stop. I was looking down, yet could see the activity that went on in the room with little sideways glances of my eyes. Around its edges more slaves were stationed, bent over with their faces to the wall and their arms clapsed around their knees. Their buttocks held great arrangements of flowers. Mirrors all around reflected these images, multiplied them. I breathed deeply to calm myself. Would I wind up as a human urn?

But Comion led me to a place where eight palanquins, each covered with a scarlet cushion, had been set in a row on the pale marble floor. My transport, I guessed, to the Duke's manse. But they were open!

Comion made a little comment to the one in charge and patted me encourgaingly. I was on my own now. At least he had preserved my dignity, neither slapping or pinching me as so many of the other grooms did with their charges. Neither had he made me crawl on the floor. "It roughens the knees, and the skin of the elbows," he had said.

I had the chance to study the litter briefly as my new master retrieved some things from a chest. The cushion covered the surface completely, but in the middle were three thick wooden rods with rounded ends arranged in a circle. They were part of the litter and the cushion was seamed to accomodate them. The litter master turned me around forcefully yet gently so I faced away from the nearest one. I gasped as he bent me over and his thick fingers lubricated my anus with a cream. The ungeant felt very thick and cool. I should have fought it, been revulsed, but I remembered my role. It seemed part and parcel of this place. Despite my alarm I was fascinated, that I could so passively accept the touch of a stranger's fingers down there.

He murmured pet names to me, sensing my shock. "There, there, it's all right, my dark one, my dusky rose." Again he firmly but forcefully made me walk backwards, at a squat, until I was positioned over the middle of the litter. He make me kneel on it, my knees forced wide apart by two of the strange wooden rods, and swiftly tied my ankles together behind me to the third. Not cruelly, but tight enough that it might take me long minutes of wriggling to get free.

He pressed down on my shoulders, showing me I was to sit back on my ankles. With a shock, I felt the wooden rod enter me.

I cannot convey the sensation. Being stretched, paralyzed, impaled, yet it wasn't exactly painful. I felt fixed to the litter as surely as it was a natural part of my body. I don't think I could have moved off of it even if I felt the will to. My whole body seemed to go limp. Was this the secret of Shezrine's magic? It must be powerful indeed, to claim even a warrior this way.

But I knew I was yet a warrior still. That made bearing it easier. Intellect after all is with us always.

My knees were spread as wide as they could go and my sex was gaping. I felt it grow moist, and I was shocked I had become aroused so quickly.

I was further secured to my luxurious conveyance. My hands were bound behind me with more of the silken cord, the rope then secured to the rear of the litter so my arms were stretched. I gasped as my nipples were quickly imprisoned in two tight clasps that were likewise leashed to the front of the litter. Caught in front and caught behind, I was held taut and helpess. I could not move in any direction. I could not even bow or turn my head, as the high, gilded color held it quite upright. I could only lower my eyes. For the first time I felt a real fear, as escape from this situation now seemed most difficult if not impossible.

I flushed furiously at the thought of what I must look like. For a brief second, it was all I could do not to go into wild struggles to free myself. And in the next, I might have begged the Queen to make this mortification a permanent one, so extreme and delicious was it.

Other slaves to my right and left were being mounted the same way. Some cooperated, some struggled, some bore it with tears. And one or two took an obvious pleasure in it. The men's cocks were stretched and leashed to the front of the litter, but they were otherwise bound as I was. Four men, four women, all of us in row, as if we were tents pegged up for a festival.

As a final touch the litter master applied a tiny gold clamp to my clit. The small nipping sensation was extraordinary. It was like I had come to life below the waist. My limbs tingled. The mouth of my sex seemed to strain, open wider.

Then teams of four muscular male slaves then took hold of our litters, one for each corner. The procession was about to begin. My bearers worked in unison to lift the litter smoothly, yet even that motion made the phallus move inside me. My nipples were stretched on their leashes, then the tension slackened as we moved down a ramp to the garden and proceeded at a brisk trot down the path. From the garden we would pass through the wall of thorns and then enter the city.

All on the streets would see us, know we had been sent as slave gifts from the Queen.

I closed my eyes as the iron thorns drew back. Every footfall of the muscular slaves who bore me jolted the phallus up and down, moving it in a rhythm. It would have been more enjoyable had it been inserted in my sex. It seemed horribly piquant suddenly, this ceremonious degradation. How correct the Queen was in her jealousy of us. She had real grounds for her envy!

In a heartbeat we were in the middle of the busy city. The common people stared up at us as we passed, wonder in their eyes, perhaps scorn or pity. We moved at a quick pace through the crowds. A horseman proceeded us, beating on a drum to call attention to us and show the crowds they were to part. Our litters were covered on the bottom with dozens of silver bells which contributed a lively music.

Some of my fellow slaves swooned as I had. Others kept their eyes down in shame or fear. Some looked inward, expressions serene and impenetrable. Would any in the crowds note our swooning, and guess at why we did so? I realized we could have just as easily been transported in curtained wagons, but Shezrine was not selfish. She enjoyed sharing her creatures with the public. We were ornaments as expensive and rich as the litters we were sealed to; and such a display of wealth was only proper.

My hips rode the rhythm back and forth. The bells rang, the litter master shouted.

The normal activities of the city continued around us... frybread cooking, the scent of horses and the clop of their hooves. Clay pots for sale in the marketplace, a cascade of honeysuckle, the sight of a woman's bright red dress and the flash of a bangle at her ankle. Curtains blew out the open windows of the townhomes we passed. It was almost evening, the air soft and warm. As the sky grew darker torches were lit and fastened to the fore and aft of our litters. The resinous smoke added yet another element of sensuality. How our oiled bodies would gleam under it, our ornaments shine and sparkle.

Our route, I realized, had led us from Syonhoddaz to the marketplace, then to the commercial districts of the city and the homes of the artisans and craftspeople. We passed over a bridge that spanned the river and came to the cliffside district where the estates of the rich and powerful were. The city perched like a sentinel on the edge of the Great Rift and poured partly over, and only they had access to its vistas. Had it been daylight, the jagged scar would have stretched forever into the distance, so vast one could not even hope to see the opposite side. It was a view that never failed to spark wanderlust in me, both for what lay inside the Rift and what lay across it.

We made our way down the cliff face in deeply cut switchbacks that wove between the mansions. Water seeped constantly from the rocks in swift waterfalls that we crossed on arched wooden bridges. The air here was cool and damp, redolent with the scents of green growing things, the tall trees and ferns and berry thickets that grew in places like this.

It had become darker since we went over the edge of the cliff, and torchlight flickered on the muscular naked back of the male slave in front of me. The cord securing the my nipple clamps shivered with my bearer's strides, making my breasts sing with bittersweet pain. The jingling of the litters seemed very loud, almost sacrosanct, as if we were all participants in some ritual.

Which, in a way, we were.

Finally, a wooden gateway loomed ahead of us, tall torches to either side. Sounds of disportation came from within. Lantana spilled over the walls and I saw the outlines of figs and palms. J'Wabra had not been exagerrated when he said the Duke was under arrest, for the estate was ringed tightly by Shezrine's men. Our horseman dismounted to announce himself. "Queen Shezrine sends the Duke some gifts. Eight pleasure slaves to entertain him this night."

The gateman looked at the long row of us. There was no surprise or lust or even curiosity in his gaze. Here we were, exposed and bound in the most humiliating of ways, and he had seen it all before.

"I hope Shezrine does not expect the Duke's favor from this," he said disapprovingly. "Because she won't get it!"

"Do I care?" the littermaster rhetorically. "I am simply following her orders. It is not my concern what the Duke does with them. Shall I take them back?"

He did not care. *It is not my concern what the Duke does with them.* A tingling came over my body, then a trembling which jarred every clamped and impaled part of me. Was he a man of sadistic tastes, this Duke? I felt fluid drip from my sex. Perhaps it formed a damp spot on the velvet cushion, though I could not lower my head to see.

The two had been arguing and now called a truce. "--can't see it would make any difference," the gateman said. "You've made your point, then. Take them in."

The wooden gate opened like a dark mouth, and I was carried inside.

Chapter 10: The Duke's Pleasure

Damp leaves brushed my skin as our procession entered the garden. We were lowered to pass through an arbor of little pink roses, each bloom a tiny mouth. Jasmine and iris, heliotrope, lilies... each exuded an overpowering scent. The petals were reminiscent of waxy flesh, velvet organs; strong in their sculpted presence, yet shy, feminine, created solely for pleasure. As I had been.

I tensed as sounds of Duke's gathering came to us. I noted, too, that like a flower I might be plucked at any time, taken.

A delicious feeling, this.

Our bearers jogged us across a paved yard and through a set of doors that stood open to the night. Inside was bright laughter and the music of hand drums and pipes. We went into this place. A long table was set with exotic foods, lit by candles in crystal holders which broke the light into shards. The men and women who had been filling their plates turned to look at us. *Please,* I begged silently. I could not move my head but cast my eyes down.

We were put to one side of this table in a row. Our bearers left us.

"What is this?" A deep mellifluous voice, full of command and power. Ah, the Duke no doubt.

"Gifts from the Queen, Duke Ushroez, to entertain you this night." Our litter master was as bland as ever.

"I asked for no gifts," the Duke said. I saw him move towards us, a tall, powerfully built man, his skin a dark gold that was almost bronze. He wore nubbly silk trousers tucked into his boots and a wide brocaded sash. His chest was bare but for a finely worked leather vest. I dared a glance up. He had a wide, intelligent face, the cheekbones broad and high, and a short, close beard. His mouth was wide and generous, marked by lines of humor, but he was not amused now. He was frowning.

"Let them stay." A woman as dark as he put a hand on his arm. She wore a bright orange tiger lily in her hair. "What harm can it do? No obligation will come of this act. Look how they suffer, the poor creatures." She came over to us and crouched down by the nearest slave. She tousled his hair. Tears rolled down his face, his eyes full of silent pleas. His organ was quite hard and it did not need its collar and leash to make it point. She cooed at him, taken, and gave it a tender tweak. "Let us enjoy them, Ajmid."

The Duke made an indifferent gesture. "As you wish, Nadysha." He turned his back and did not look at us again. It was clear he did not want to accept bribery from the Queen. That told me a lot.

But he must look at us, or how could I tell him of the rebel's message?

Nadysha's attention was the signal for the other men and women to come over. To my horror they gave the rest of us the same treatment. Faces were stroked, organs teased. The slaves responded with helpless moans and sighs, leaning into the caresses like excited pets. The guests murmured and laughed as they commented on our behavior. I thought I could never do that, but when a smiling young lord slid his warm, smooth hands along my belly and into my sex I reacted the same way, my hips pushing forward without my consent. Tears on my face, and my lips parted in a gasp.

We had met with approval. What now? Would we be overpowered, made to satisfy them?

But they only turned back to their food, their conversation. Not fair, not fair, I moaned under each breath. I rocked myself as unobtrusively as I could, trying to find relief. None came. How this whole treatment had worked on me. I had never felt so softened and ready for sex before. How clever they were in this city of slaves, setting up stituations to slowly rouse their passion and draw it out, then keep it frustrated until it became a blazing conflagration.

From time to time a man or woman would come to refill their plate and stop to play with us, plucking a shivering nipple leash here, flicking a tumescent cock there. It was done gently, with humor and obvious enjoyment. There was to be no brutality such as I had seen from Shezrine.

The party went on. Though the Ushroez lived in virtual exile in their own city they had their own pleasure slaves to attend them, and it was agony watching them being fondled. Their attention too was claimed by carafes of wine and pipes filled with opium. Had the Duke changed his mind, forbidden his kinsmen to touch us?

But there came a change in the rhythm of the gathering. The laughter became looser and I heard furniture being moved in the other room. Then the Ushroez came for us, removing us from the litters where we had steamed for so long. My nipple clamps were unsnapped, my arms untied. I was free, but I had no chance to stretch my cramped muscles, for I was lifted and thrown over a broad masculine shoulder and quickly borne into the next room. I saw a large space had been cleared in its center and laid with furs. An orgy, then. But I felt no fear or trepidation. You could say I was detached from the experience, or that I was resigned to it. But in truth I was just as excited as the guests were.

I saw Lady Nadysha lying sprawled in a chair, one leg slung over the arm as the slave she had tweaked pumped his cock into her. Next to her two slave girls were held suspended by their arms and legs, one facing the ceiling, the other the carpet, and positioned so they could lick each other's sex, which they were only too eager to do. And behind me a dignified older lord was kissing a slave boy, a note of restraint in this sea of carnality.

But I could not look around for long, as my captor threw me on the cushions at the edge of carpet and drove into me. His fingers kneaded my nipples and the soreness passed beyond pain, into the shrillest of pleasures. It was the young lord who had been so taken with me. I gave him a good ride, and when the orgasm came my own cries sounded foreign to me.

For a few seconds I was alone. I looked for the Duke. But two laughing young girls took their pleasure with me next. I was speared on the thin neck of a wine bottle as their hands pumped it back and forth, covered by their kisses. And I saw through slitted eyes that the slave pleasuring Lady Nadysha had been cored from behind by a tall young lord, the two of them now moving in unison.

Suddenly, to my surpise, I was thrown over the lap of one of the girls and spanked with a slipper as the bottle continued its work, and a second orgasm washed over me shamelessly.

Then I was lifted again and carried up a flight of stairs. Breathless, I opened my eyes against a leather vest trimmed with bold beadwork, beneath it a smooth masculine chest. The Duke! It could be no other, and here I dangled with my head at his waist. He took me down a dark hall and into a bedchamber. The bed had a canopy carved of four eagles with their wings outstretched, sheer white draperies depending from the claws. The satin tassels that tied them were sensuous too, in the way they dangled plumply from their posts.

But the Duke tore these aside and threw me on the bed, then removed his clothes with quick, powerful gestures. He was a well-built man, his dark organ a splendid sculpture as he came back to the bed. There was silent resentment in his eyes. He had been aroused by the night's orgy but I could tell he did not like using the slaves of the Queen for his pleasure. Perhaps he would take out his resentment on me. Well, I could change his mind about that. After all, I was no put-upon slave. I put my arms up, but he caught my wrists in one hand and held them pinioned above my head, and raped my mouth with a kiss.

He was so different than Shadow. With him there had been a communion of intellect, an equal spirit; with the Duke, I felt overwhelmed. He was elemental, a great storm I was tossed by. All thoughts of the rebel's message left my head. He removed the little clamp on my clit that had maddened me for so long, and I gave myself over. His thrusts were deep, gliding yet forceful. My hips rose and fell, adapting well to the rhythms of the storm. Annihilated at last, I cried out.

He rolled off me; there was to be no further commiseration. He reached for his clothes. As if I had been a filthy thing, a whore!

"Duke Ushroez," I commanded, "listen to me. I bear you a message, from Deneir Mejbadian, the rightful king of Obn Dhregni, and his brother Shadow."

He froze, his trousers halfway up his muscular, magnificent backside. So I had managed to discomport him. "Oh?" He turned. Candlelight played in his beard and his dark curly hair.

"Yes! I am no toy of the Queen. I am Lady Jozhande Tanimury, a swordmistress and a mercenary. I met up with the rebels in Hharang."

He was amused now. He was a humorous man, for all the brooding he evinced earlier. "Ah, I should have guessed at once you were a warrior. Your obvious muscularity, your reflexes. How easily you could have slain me in my passion!" He shook his head, rueful. I had had no intention of slaying him, be sure of that! "A barbarian warrior-woman in disguise as a slave. It boggles the mind!"

"It was the only way I could see you, being as you are notoriously unsociable of late."

"Ah." He was still amused. There was a sparkle in his irony. "That is hardly my fault. And please, call me Ajmid, as we are on closer terms than titles of state allow. What is this message you have for me?"

I told him, and finished by expressing the doubts that had been brewing within me. "I realize I am a mercenary and not supposed to display an opinion about politics and the affairs of the mighty, but I confess I do not like this place. Slavery is not to my taste, and if Deneir intends to drive out Shezrine and her allies out, I intend to aid them any way I can. On the other hand, if this Deneir, who I have not met though I find his brother most trustworthy, is cut from the same cloth as the current Queen, I would leave them both to scrap over this city like dogs over a bone, and be on my way."

"Hmm." He was thoughtful now. "You find our city repulsive?"

"Not exactly. In other lands I have heard much talk of this city, and most of it was positive. Now that I am here, however, it seems a very vile place." I told him what I had seen of Shezrine's behavior.

The Duke seemed thoughtful when I had done. He sat on the bed next to me, his skin a golden blaze against the whiteness. "Lady Tanimury, when the Mejdabians ruled this city was very different. We were a peaceful people then. Our main export was our culture and its unique pleasures of the body and spirit. People came from all over the Great Rift to taste of it. We were rich and lazy. We did not work much, for who can call our pleasures work? We had the finest inns and eating houses, gardens, palaces, concupisceriums. No sexual act was forbidden or looked down upon. Our temples sang praises to Tontaxir, pleasure-slave of the gods, with bells and tamborines struck to celebrate the copulations.

"Before the Caramaithzes we had pleasure slaves, true, but they always volunteered to serve. In some families it was almost a tradition. The city rewarded them with gold when their time of service was up from the revenues that had been generated from their auction. A great spectacle, my grandfather said. The proud youth vying with each other, trying to outshine the other young men and women to fetch the greatest price. Shezrine has taken that custom and perverted it, the same way she has perverted the nature of our love-play. What you saw her do to that poor girl was an obscenity. Our rites are designed to open the heart, reveal its secrets, not destroy it. After such an experience a slave may ruined for anything else. Some would enjoy it, no doubt, but there are many it would scar for life.

"Shezrine is a monster. I would do anything I could to destroy her and her allies. But she is a sorceress, and a clever and powerful one. Her reign may continue for years, or it may end tomorrow by an assassin's arrow. She is unpopular, but all fear her. They have reason to. You saw what she did to that girl. She can do the same to any noble or any citizen."

"Can Marnessa be rescued from that fate?" I asked sincerely.

He pursed his lips. "It is difficult, but not impossible. If she was sold last night you can ask the staff at the auction block. There are many slaves who suffer that fate, however, and they may not remember. "

"I must do something!" I protested.

"Well, being as she bore the mark of the palace, it is likely she sold for a high price. A concupscerium may have bought her to add to its staff. My dear, if you intend to save her you may have a difficult time. She may not want to be rescued."

"How could she wish to remain like that?" I thought of her as she was, jelly-tits trembling to please, without the uniqueness of character even the most bland of us have.

"She has been conditioned for slavery through the strength of Shezrine's will. She hungers for exploitation now and will pine if removed from that way of life. In time, when her youth fades, she will be set to other tasks. But pleasure slaves, I must tell you, are notoriously unsuited for other kinds of work. They are capricious; they are unindustrious and emotional and make trouble. For many the shock of not being used sexually is greater than the one of constant use. I'm afraid most are sent out to the fields to be the lowliest of laborers, under the worst of conditions. Or they are sacrificed to Shezrine's dark gods."

It sounded like a horrible fate. "I assume the old Dhregnians did not take up that practice?"

"They did not. As I said, a slave's term of service was limited, no more than five years at the most. And pleasure was all they were used for. We certainly did not have them sweeping the dung from the streets! Except as a disciplinary measure of course--if they seemed to want it. I myself keep slaves because it would cause talk if I didn't, but I do not like to receive the Queen's creatures because I know how warped they are. And then--" he lowered his voice, "some say Shezrine herself disguises herself as a slave at times, and from it gains much knowledge of the doings in her city. I find this hard to believe, but safeguard myself nonetheless."

"It is no hearsay," I said, and told him what Aradra had witnessed.

"So our Queen is not only a pervert, but a perverted pervert!" He laughed with irony. "I should have thought it. Her father, who was a sorceror himself, had none of those ambiguities. Some say under his rule the city was better run. But Shezrine seems to be lax in her domestic upkeep. Nevertheless, she is more ambitious, as by how you have witnessed her naked tributes marched through the gates. Soon I fear she will form alliances with the cities that lie deeper in the Rift. We have an excess of slaves, and she may soon be exporting them the same way we once did our erotic books and statues."

"What were the pleasures of the city like, Ajmid, before the Caramaithzes came?'

"Ah, they were sublime." He looked like he was tasting a delicious fruit. "You have had only the merest glimpse of the games we play."

I was envous suddenly, horribly envious, and hungry again. "Would you show me one of those games?" I said.

"If you wish." How splendid he was, the dark beard, the silky skin that was almost an ashy rose on his nipples and cock. "Understand, as you were on the litter, you may be bound and helpless. But no harm will come to you. It will enhance the act of love, rather than be substitute for it."

Why did I feel so afraid now, with his gentle reassurnaces, then I did facing the procession of the litter and the dark confusion of the orgy? But I did, even though he meant me no harm. He spoke to me like a child, quelling my fear, and gave some light spicy wine that had been left in a cool bucket of water by the door.

"Lie still." he whispered. He moved off the bed, went into one of the other rooms I couldn't see. He came back with an armful of cloth, long strips of sheer white silk.

"What is that? What are you--"

He stopped my words with a tender kiss. "Only silk, my black diamond; feel it with your hands. What a lovely contrast it will make against your skin. You will be a little silkworm my dear, and dance most fetchingly for me."

"Ajmid--" I protested, but I did nothing. My arm lifted, fell. What kind of power did he have over me?

"Sit on the edge of the bed. Press your legs close tightly together." Feeling drugged, drunk, I did. The pressure increased the heat in my sex, and I felt the moisture grow. He begin at my feet. He wrapped them separately in the silk, then bound them together tightly. He worked his way up my legs. It was tight, but not uncomfortable. He had me stand and told me to press my arms against my sides. He continued his work up my thighs to my waist, sealing my arms to my torso and leaving my sex bare. Each pull of the silk made the wrappings tighter. He crossed the strip over my breasts to leave them naked.

When he finished I was cocooned toes to chin, totally rigid and totally helpless, with the sexual parts of me were mercilessly exposed. The sensation was astonishing. There was no pain, no pinching, just the soft pressure of the silk casing.

Ajmid lifted me and placed me on the bed. His eyes were shining. "What a picture you are. Like a chocolate candy in its wrapper. A most delectable confection."

"And am I to be unwrapped now?" I said, alert for tricks.

"No, that is not the point. The point is to surrender to what you feel, the immobility and helplessness of your position. You are little silkworm in its cocoon, trying to burst free so it can become a butterfly. Struggle, if you would. Feel the luxury of it. Move your back, your neck and legs."

I could no longer resist testing the bonds. They were only silk after all, not rope or chain or thongs of leather, all of which I had been bound with before in more life-threatening and less salubrious circumstances, and all of which I had learned to escape from. To my surprise I was held quite firmly. I twisted my spine on the satin cover of the bed, discovering I could hardly bend my knees or lift my legs. My body thrashed from side to side, my hips thrust up, I tossed my head. No change. My flesh only seemed to swell, the wrappings contract. I thought of nothing but freedom, but freedom was the last thing I wanted. A delightful panic washed over me.

But there was no real danger here. Only Ajmid. He playfully blocked me as I writhed, teasing me between the legs with a long peacock feather. "That's it. Dance, my little silkworm. You can't escape from me."

"Ajmid!" I demanded between clenched teeth, "I insist you let me go. Ajmid! Are you listening!" The tickling was maddening. Looking down, I saw I had made a wet stain on the silk at the juncture of my thighs.

He made a tching noise with his lips. "Ah-ah-ah. This is part of the game, my dear. And now I will make it even better." And he quickly stuffed the leftover silk in my mouth, gagging me quickly with the last strip. He tied it behind my head. "No more of those distracting cries. You may yet screech and scream, but it will be nicely muffled, and all the more poignant for it. Now let loose with your lungs, give a loud full cry."

I did, and it came out as a muffled squeal scarcely above a whisper. "I am abandoned," I thought, and it gave me the incentive to lose myself in a paroxysm of movement as he batted me with the feather, then commenced to tease me with his strong golden brown fingers. Oh, the skill he had. I was too tightly bound for his cock to enter but his fingers could, and I could not get away no matter how vigorously I tossed. The pleasure built until I thought I would explode. The bedframe creaked and the straw mattress shuddered with the dull thuds of my kicks and thrashes. I thought I couldn't stand any more of this, I couldn't... I was flying with the gods now, or suffering with the damned, it didn't matter which. Nothing mattered except that it should build to its inevitable climax, and I would find relief, relief, relief...

The orgasm came in bright wheels of light, the shocks rippling through my body, making my bound limbs tingle. I went rigid, then limp. The bonds caressed me as I shuddered through the aftershocks. I sighed. The world was at peace for the moment.

"You see?" Ajmid said quietly.

I see, I thought. One would not have to be a slave here to take the pleasures of a slave in private. He kissed my forehead tenderly and drew me against his broad, muscular chest. "You shall stay with me for the night. Do you wish to sleep like that?"

Oh, what an obvious question. I shook my head yes.

"All right, my butterfly." He laughed and extinguished the lamp.

Chapter 11: A Narrow Escape

The next morning the silk had grown loose enough for me to crawl free of it on my own. I snuggled against Ajmid's warm chest. "What will you do now, Ajmid? Will you rally your allies in the city?"

"Mmmm," he murmured sleepily, as if he hadn't thought of it. "Yes, of course. I will have to surrender the borzium mines to leave my own house, though."

"If the rebels oust Shezrine--and I am certain they will--the loss will not matter. You can easily reclaim them."

"True." He stretched and yawned. "And there are many families who will back us once they know of the true king's return: the Anjuneen, the Zantongo, the Dhroon. The Dhroon in particular are powerful. They have been building their forces for many years, keeping them hidden in their cliffside keep."

I jumped as a brisk knock came from the door. "Uncle Ajmid? Will you be eating dawnmeal with us?"

"No, my dear. I will take it in my room." In answer to my look he said, "That was Gerza, my niece. She was the little sprite who spanked you so soundly with her slipper last night."

I tried not to show my shock. In Obn Dhregni even the families take their sensual pleasures together, sharing the household slaves between them. "Have any of the noble families tried to launch a coup themselves?"

"Shezrine has always been too powerful, and no one wants to suffer as her slave. If we had a sorcerous weapon to use against her, we might have had a chance."

"Is there such an object to be found around here?"

"Alas, no. Sorcery is not common in this part of the world. That is the reason why Subbobor Caramaithzes, Shezrine's sire, found us so easy to conquer. He came from a place deep in the Rift, they say, where sunlight never falls, and magical devices take the place of light."

I had spent a year in the city of Turufanx, which lay at least a mile below us, and so I knew what he meant. Small wonder Shezrine was so pale.

Our dawnmeal came, and we dug into it with relish: pickled eggs, barley cakes, and flatbread fresh from the ovens. "In my land," I said, "there is a serpent known as the Jacomo. A mere prick from its fangs can kill a man in seconds. But it can be captured easily with a heel mashed against its neck. I swear I will find where Shezrine is vulnerable, and when I do, you will be the first to know. Can I beg you for some clothing, so I can make my way back to the inn with some modesty?"

He shook his head. "You are a slave, my dear. Shezrine would ask questions if you were not returned with the others."

"You are right," I sighed. I glanced out the window. The palace guards had come back for us and were assembling before the gate. The thought of being impaled on the litter again made me queasy.

A broad grin crept across Ajmid's face. "It was not as bad as all that, was it? I remember your face as they carried you in last night. Caught between heaven and hell it was, as if you would die from the phallus playing double-time in your lovely little bottom."

"Ajmid!" I scolded.

"Those rituals would not be followed if they did not create pleasure," he said logically.

We finished our meal, then he took me downstairs. The row of litters waited in the courtyard. Ajmid did not speak to me in front of the others, keeping our relationship a secret, but he did plant a little kiss on my neck as he fixed me to the litter. Then the palace slaves bore me up and carried me away with the others.

It was almost midmorning when we left the Ushroez estate. A cool, refreshing breeze blew in from the Rift. My bearers jogged me in a steady trot, switchbacking down the cliffside. I couldn't move my head because of the slave collar but knew we had missed a turn. Why weren't we going back to the palace?

I strained to hear the guards' conversation over the jingle of the litter bells. "... Duke Ushroez be damned," one was saying. "If the slaves couldn't change his mind, she said take em' and sell 'em to the emissaries from Khardi. And make sure you get a good price for 'em."

"Soiled goods," the other cracked, and they both laughed.

Panic crackled in my ears. We weren't returning to the Queen. Instead, we were merchandise... destined for the lightless slave markets in the bowels of the Rift. I had heard that in Khardi human flesh often substituted for fowl and pork, as domestic animals did not thrive in continual darkness.

I had to get free!

Slowly I worked my wrists back and forth, trying to free them from the cords. I dared not be too obvious, lest the guards investigate. My nipples stretched on their leashes as I lifted my rear off the dowel. My arsecheeks struggled vainy as the dowel slid in and out of my rectum like a finger in a glove. If I wasn't so panicked, the sensations would have been pleasurable.

But it was all for naught. Ajmid had tied me too tight, damn him!

We continued to descend. Merchants lugged goods to market, housewives hung laundry. No one paid the slightest attention to my plight. If I couldn't get free, I would become a slave for real. Despite the fear, there was a part of me that was excited at the danger I was in, and the thoughts of what would happen should I not escape...

Luckily we passed through a tunnel so were temporarily sealed in darkness. That gave me the chance I needed to jerk the ropes swiftly and hard, and I felt the fibers part. I quickly untied my ankles and freed my bottom from the dowel, then unlocked the damnable nipple clamps that had tormented me. My nipples burned like two coals. I wouldn't be surprised if bruises showed up later.

The white square at the end of the tunnel loomed larger. As soon as sunlight hit my naked back, I made my move.

My litterbearers were caught by surprise as I quickly rose to my feet and jumped down hard on the wooden litter. Their sudden slackness, then recovery, acted like a giant spring to launch me gracefully into the air. I landed on a high wall at the side of the street, clutching a post to keep my balance.

The abandoned litter ground to a halt. One of the guards happened to glance back, and cursed. "By the Ten Thousand Tits of Tontaxir... "

I scrambled over the wall, my rear end wagging him an appropriate farewell. "There she goes! After her!"

I quickly assessed my surroundings. I was in a rooftop garden, soft grass and flowers beneath my naked feet. Before me, similar gardens and rooftops descended like giant steps down to the true edge of the city, where the cliff grew too sheer for building. I might escape by running from rooftop to rooftop as the guards milled in confusion below.

A turbanned man with a mustache came out of a curtained door to my left. He dropped a flowerpot in surprise.

"I mean you no harm," I said quickly, holding out my arms in reassurance. "I'm a foreigner in the city and was attacked by some thieves, who drugged me and stole all my clothing. If you could find me some garb, even a simple cloak, I would be most... "

"Escaped slave!" the servant shouted. "She's up here!"

I would get no sympathy from the inhabitants of the city, it seemed. Neither did I stand much chance of fooling them. I ran, shoving the servant aside as the first of the litter guards struggled over the wall.

I had counted on eluding my pursuers in the dash from roof to roof, but I hadn't counted on the vigilance of the Obn Dhregnians. They called from the windows, pointed from the streets, yelled from laying bricks or mending sandals: "Escaped slave! Escaped slave!" I found out later they were well rewarded by the Queen for turning in escapees. Even the city's guardsmen took up the pursuit. They had no interest in curbing ordinary crime in the city, but took a special delight in capturing runaways, for they got to punish them personally.

I leapt frantically from garden to garden, naked as a lima bean, my pursuers hard behind me. A dull warmth suffused my breasts as they bounced up and down, giving the citizens of the city quite a show. Not only that, but I'd forgotten to remove the clamp on my clit and the little organ was now dangerously irritated.

"Stay right where you are, slave," a guardsman shouted, a sturdy net held out before him.

I would not be captured like a common animal! "May demons gnaw your testicles," I spat, and flung the weighted clamp at him. It hit him hard in the bridge of the nose, and he gave an unmanly shriek and dropped the net. I knocked him aside and leapt to the rooftop below. I was doomed if I didn't find some clothing soon. Not only did my nudity attract attention, but also my pigmentation; I stood out like charcoal smear against the pale pink brick of the city. But the close pursuit gave me no chances to hide or disguise myself.

Finally the merry chase led me to a dead end. Where I expected another rooftop there was only air, and a city square four stories below where a restive crowd gathered, no doubt attracted by the alarms sounding throughout the lower city. I couldn't help but shudder, for in my few days in the city I had noted how disobedient slaves were punished. Every square in the city had a high platform equipped with a variety of wooden frames and crosses, and recovered miscreants were bound there by their owners for the crowds to punish. For many citizens the high point of their day was lashing a helpless back or pair of struggling buttocks, often until the blood came.

Of course, I was no more a slave than they were. But there was the question of why I was pretending to be one, and I might have to pay with my freedom. And from what I had seen of Shezrine, she wouldn't mind having a dark-skinned Pharazii slave at all!

The litter guards were climbing up onto the rooftop behind me. I could have dispatched the four of them in seconds with my sword. But there was little I could naked and weaponless.

I climbed out onto the ledge, keeping my back flat against the brick. The crowd roared beneath me. I couldn't tell if they were cheering for my escape or my capture. Probably both. My pursuers didn't dare follow. But they had me trapped here, and they knew it. There was nowhere I could go.

A long silk banner spanned the street in front of me, a leftover from a recent festival. One end was tied to a gargoyle a few yards away, the other to a tower across the street. I judged the distance with my eyes. I might be able to make it. Might.

I crept closer to the gargoyle, sidling along the edge of the building. I had only enough room for my heels. The crowd chattered excitedly at my bravery. I was putting on a good show for them. But they knew I would make a better show tied to the frame in the square, jerking under the thunder of their paddles.

I reached the edge of the banner. I paused, scanning the crowd. It was now or never.

I gave an ear-piercing shriek and leapt, grabbing the corner of the silk banner as I fell. As I hoped, the silk tore horizontally, carrying me, by my own body weight, swiftly across the street. Cries of mingled awe and dismay rose up to greet me as I zipped over their heads, my legs tucked up like an acrobat's. The momentum was enough to ease me over a high wall on the far side of the street where I tumbled onto soft grass, the long strip of silk I had torn fluttering down gently on top of me.

I looked up to see a beautiful chestnut-haired woman, a priestess by her robes. Her eyes opened wide and her mouth started to say something. But I couldn't risk being apprehended. I knocked her down with my fist, the silk ribbon tangling in my legs. A slave net couldn't have done a better job. I couldn't afford the time to free myself, so I grabbed the trailing loops and fled, cursing, across the open grounds.

I kicked open a utility gate and ran into a deserted alley. Not five seconds passed before the cry was taken up again: "Escaped slave!"

My situation seemed hopeless. I was alone in the city, friendless and hunted. To make things worse, I had reached the edge of the city. Before me lay the vastness of the Rift, a sea of blue-gray emptiness that melted into the far horizon; to my right the river creamed over the city's lip. Countless tons of water would be little more than spray by the time they reached the bottom of the Rift some three miles down.

Below me a series of rickety staircases descended into the booming mist, leading to platforms or caves further down. I took them without thinking twice. The cool vapors soon enclosed me, sealing me off from the outside world, and hopefully, my enemies.

The maze of stairs and walkways was baffling, but I continued to descend, the worn wood shuddering under my tread. I spared a quick thought for the slave mates I had left behind. I sincerely hoped the tales I heard of Khardi were wrong. I would not want to be roasted alive on a spit, an apple in my mouth, as Khardinese banquet chefs basted me with oil. Much later in my career I was to have an encounter with them, but that is another tale.

Before I knew it the walkway came to an end. Before me roared a sheer wall of water. Through gaps in the mist I saw flashes of a wide platform far below, perhaps a long-deserted cable car terminus. If I could rappel down, I would be safe. But I did not have the time, for the mob's heels were already thudding down the narrow platform.

Unless... .

I quickly tied one end of the silk around my body in a sort of harness, crisscrossing my breasts and drawing the end through my legs. I tied the other end beneath the walkway where it wouldn't be noticed. A desperate plan drummed through my head. I was thinking of a childhood toy I had, a spindle on a string I could manipulate to perform tricks. I would throw it from me and watch it unravel; then, with a jerk of my wrist, I would reclaim it, the thread neatly rewinding around its core. That was what I intended to be. A spindle.

I wrapped the silk ribbon tightly around my torso using the same technique the Duke had used last night. My nipples went hard as a pair of cherry pits at the memory. Practical knowledge had come of the experience after all.

They were nearly upon me. I said a swift prayer to the gods--more out of habit than actual piety--and jumped, toes pointed, arms swept out from my sides. If they should look down all they would see were the white soles of my feet and the curve of my rump as I flew like a tern into the mist.

The waterfall was powerful, but I was its companion, not its victim. Rainbows fled before my eyes; I was invincible. The feeling was incredible. I have often been tempted to try this stunt again, but common sense always talks me out of it.

My destination flashed past me in a blur of gray and brown. I had overshot my mark... and reached the end of the ribbon.

I gasped as the ribbon rebounded and jerked me back up for nearly its full length. I caught a quick glimpse of my pursuer's astonished faces; then, helpless, I fell again. This time a strong gust of wind carried me right into the waterfall.

The water battered me like a thousand icy clubs and dashed me down again with it, faster than gravity it seemed. Water filled my eyes, my nose, my nostrils. This was a side cascade, not the main flow, but it was still very dangerous. If the silk stretched beyond the breaking point I would be swept away like a piece of flotsam. Like the river above, only pieces of me would survive the fall into the canyon three miles below.

Though blinded and deaf, my heels found an outcropping of rock. I pushed back with all my strength and swung crazily out of the stream. I had time for only a brief gulp of air before I swung back.

Again I pushed. I felt the silk shudder and slacken. Had the guards found my tether, were they pulling me up like a fish on a line?

On my third rebound I slipped not into the cascade but *through* it, to the cliff face beyond. Which was not a cliff but a cave, caught in the eternal twilight between water and stone, as was the sturdily built blonde woman who stood there, staring back in me in shocked surprise.

I grabbed a handful of ferns and pulled myself up to the ledge. "Aylinn?" I sputtered.

"Jozhande?" she ventured cautiously. And no wonder, to see a familiar face suddenly pop out of a waterfall.

"The one and only," I said, only a little forced, for I had been as surprised as she was. My lifeline trailed behind me. The end was frayed. If I had delayed only a few more seconds I would have been swept away and dashed to pieces against the rocks. "This may sound like an extremely stupid question, but what the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, and narrowed her long green eyes at me. Though we were both rebels I had not been a member for long, so she was less generous with her trust.

I climbed unsteadily to my feet, yards of silk ribbon plastered tightly against my flesh. "I was disguised as a slave to fulfill a mission of the palace rebels. It was the only way I could meet with Duke Ushroez, as the Queen's guards were holding him prisoner on his own estate. Danger threatened, and I was forced to escape... as you see me now."

The wet silk was sheer as tissue, revealing my nipples and the dark bush between my legs. Aylinn gave me a speculative glance. "Indeed," she said dryly.

It was enough to tell me she was a *rezaba,* a woman-lover. I felt no alarm about it. Many amazons were full or part rezaba, though I myself far prefer that delicious and dangerous creature known as man. However, since I entered the city I was not so sure. How else could I explain my strange attraction to the Queen?

"Have you a cloak?" I asked nonchalantly. "I do not want to catch cold."

"You can borrow one of our uniforms, I guess." She took up a lantern from behind a rock and lit it with a piece of flint. "Don't worry, these caverns are owned by the Dhroon. They sent the rebels a message after you left with Shadow and offered us their help."

The Duke had mentioned that name to me. "A noble family?"

"Uh-huh. And the most powerful, next to the Ushroez, because of their stymphads."

"Stymphads? Here in the city?"

"It's a long story. As yours is, I'm sure. Let's get out of this goddamned spray and go inside where it's warm." She lifted her lantern and waved me into the tunnel.

Chapter 12: The Temple of Tontaxir

Aylinn warmed to me as we made our way through the passage. "These caves connect to the Dhroon fortress on the edge of the city," she explained. "The stymphs crawl along the cliff and under the falls to reach the main entrance, which is directly below us. They echo-locate like bats, so they can enter and leave in the safety of darkness. No one in the city knows they're here."

I shook my head. "The Queen does not pay as much attention to her city as she should. What are you doing here, Aylinn?"

"I'm acting as their Captain. The Dhroon have been flying stymphs for years, but they're not well trained in aerial combat. They need a good leader--me."

The passage dried out the further we went, although the roar of the falls still boomed faintly. Small creatures skittered out of our path, disappearing into the darkness. Once we passed a grinning skeleton impaled on a spike. "Duke Dhroon is fond of such traps," Aylinn said casually. "He wants no one to discover his secret."

I shook my head. "I'm amazed that anyone finds their way back here."

"You did," Aylinn said. "It happens, especially in the dry season when the water volume lessens. That's why I was watching at the cave. Everyone here spends time doing guard duty."

Finally we came out onto a platform that overlooked a wide cavern lit by torches. The floor was divided into dozens of pens by high iron bars. Each housed an ill-tempered stymphad, some preening, some sleeping. They were smaller than the ones the Hharangi kept and were colored differently, a dull green with splotches of gold and yellow. I counted thirty of the beasts, but there were pens for dozens more.

"This whole cavern used to belong to the Hharangi, back in the days before the Caramaithzes came," Aylinn said. "The Dhroon took it over when they fled the city. The Hharangi stymphs left a few fertile eggs behind so the Dhroon had breeding stock to experiment with."

"These do look like a different breed," I conceded.

"They are. More of a scout and raider, while the Hharangi stymphs are bred for combat. I'd tell you more, but you look like you need to get warmed up."

I was shaking by now, as the cavern interior was much cooler than outside. "You must have read my mind."

Aylinn borrowed a uniform from one of the other riders, introducing me with a few quick words. The man looked at me strangely, but she merely turned away and led me through a side tunnel into a smaller cavern. Heated water spumed softly in shallow wooden tubs fed by pipes in the ground. That, and the benches and clothing pegs, told me this was a bathing area. I noted a tightly-caulked wooden hut. "That's our sauna," Aylinn said.

I used a knife to slice away what was left of the silk. I was shivering by now, my skin clammy as a corpse's. "I'd like to use it, if you don't mind."

"Good idea. I think I'll join you."

I wasn't exactly happy at her company, as her manner indicated she wanted to do more than sit and chat, but I was a guest here and had to censor my feelings. The inside of the hut was dim and steamy, smelling strongly of warm cedar wood and spicy herbs. I stretched out on one of the benches and tucked my head in my arms. A cheerful, naked Aylinn joined me a few seconds later. She was slightly shorter than I but powerfully built, almost stocky, and the tanned skin of her arms was covered with dozens of triangular scars. "Love bites," she grinned. "My favorite stymph has a sharp beak."

If I had commented on her remark she would have forced me into a conversation and perhaps forced her attraction. I knew she'd been ogling me. But I was in no mood for casual sex after the narrow escape I'd had, and besides, Aylinn wasn't my type. I feigned sleep to ignore the issue, but it wasn't long before I was really napping.

I began to dream.

It began the way most dreams do, dim and vague. I was standing in an opulent chamber surrounded by silent naked figures, some plated with silver, others gold. Some were male and some were female. I looked down on my own body and saw I too was nude and gilded, a shade of deep, rich gold that was almost bronze. This should have been alarming but I felt only a sleepy acceptance... but not too sleepy to leave the coagulating dreamscape for a deeper layer of dream.

Then the air began to hum with a silent sexual tension. I raised my bronzed eyelids to see a white, lithe figure pick its way among the statues... appearing, then disappearing. It was the Queen. A flush of fear infused my flesh, sending sensual ripples skating across my skin. I would not stand here passively on display for her! But my limbs refused to work, my mouth to open. I could only wait mutely as she approached.

Finally she stood in front of me, naked but for her crystal belt. She ran her cool fingers down my body. Although this was only a dream, I felt my flesh shiver. My nipples contracted at her touch.

"Give yourself over," she whispered, the sibilants in the words soft and seductive. "You belong to me. You know you do."

She squeezed my nipples with her fingers. I felt blood engorge my breasts, my lower organs. I knew she was evil but I could not hide my arousal, for I was as naked as all the other figures here... and as paralyzed.

"Yes," she laughed wickedly. "Your body obeys me, even if your mind does not. You *will* be mine, Jozhande Tanimury, and become part of my gilded herd, whether you like it or not."

She lowered her carmine lips to my breast and suckled me gently. The pleasure was indescribable, the sensations only increasing as she lapped. She took as much pleasure in it as I did. Her eyes closed as her mouth palpated slowly, seductively, her tongue flicking like a snake's. I gave a low moan, a note of pure passion.

"Forever," she whispered. "All mine, forever... "

I woke with a start. I was on my back, arms flung above me, legs spread... the damp patch between them still throbbing. Warm steam curled in the air. The sauna was empty.

That left out Aylinn as the molester. Her innocence was further proven when I looked outside: she was sitting in one of the wooden tubs, singing to herself and running suds through her hair. There was no one else in the cavern.

I shook my head. It was only dream, caused by the sexual overload I had suffered. I thought about asking Aylinn if anyone else came into the sauna while I was sleeping, but knew it was a silly notion. Instead I bathed, then dressed in the plain brown tunic and trousers the stymphad riders wore.

I then had a brief meeting with Aylinn and the general of the Dhroon land militia. "Duke Ushroez has given the rebels his support," I said. "He plans to concede his mines to the Queen to give himself a plausible cover. There wasn't much he could do under house arrest. I haven't made contact with the priestess yet, I'm afraid."

"She keeps a low profile," the general said. "Shezrine has long wanted to unify church and state, and the only way to do that is have herself proclaimed high priestess of Tontaxir. But the current priestess stands in her way, and has proved remarkably resilient to assassination attempts. The old religion dies hard in the city."

So Shezrine wished to style herself as a goddess. It seemed almost appropriate. I promised to keep Aylinn and the Dhroon informed of developments.

It was early evening by the time I was back in the upper city. As I turned onto the street my inn was on a small boy slipped me a piece of paper and quickly ran away. Puzzled, I unfolded it and began to read.

Jozhande--

As I write this I fervently hope you have made it back to the city and have not been drowned in the falls as reported by the litter bearers that came back this morning. Wherever you are, do not return to your inn. *Shezrine suspects.* Turn your back and walk quickly away without looking behind you, for the Queen's spies are everywhere. Go to the Black Dog in the Temple District, for it is run by a man we can trust. I have already taken the precaution of moving your belongings. Meet me tomorrow at fourth ring in the eating room there, so we can talk.

Your friend in the palace.

A cold chill rolled up my spine. J'Wabra; it could be no other. Of course the Queen suspected. How many dark-skinned Pharazii were there in the city, after all? I had been foolish to think my escapade would have no repercussions. I breathed deeply to calm myself, then crumpled the note in my fist and walked swiftly away.

After a few blocks I had the feeling I was being followed. Several times I caught a glimpse of a nondescript figure when I glanced behind me, but he or she always melted into the crowd.

*Shezrine suspects.* I quickened my pace. But why was the Queen tracking me? Surely she had the resources to capture me immediately if she wanted. Whoever my pursuer was, I knew had to lose them, and fast.

I plunged grimly into the heart of the entertainment district, which boasted the thickest crowds in the city. The common folk sang and laughed as they strolled arm in arm, fueled by cheap ale and sticks of pungent dream-weed. Wealthier citizens traveled in litters, their favorite slaves trotting behind them on leads of gold chain. The pets were nude save for glitter or brief straps of leather... objects of display that announced the status of their master or mistress to the world. Apparently novelty of appearance served as one of the yardsticks, for I had never seen such freakish hair and skin colorations or exaggerated sexual endowments. Not a one looked up at me as I passed; their eyes were solely on their masters.

But still I sensed those unnerving eyes on my back.

I pushed through the crowd to a nearby gambling hall, where I bought a quart of cheap wine; the smashed bottle would do as a weapon in a pinch. The hall was dim and smoky. I could hide here for a while, but it was better that I find a disguise.

The patrons were too intent on their games to notice my thievery. With a few items of purloined clothing I became a struggling trader (a camel merchant, by the smell of the jacket) with my braidlocks tucked into a peaked leather cap. Crouching to conceal my height, I skirted the edges of the hall and slipped out through the kitchens, pausing in the narrow alley to get my bearings.

A black-garbed figure leapt out at me, its face hidden in a veil. Before I could react I heard the sharp foot-thuds of two more attackers as they landed behind me... the low rooftop above providing an excellent perch to catch me unawares.

And I thought I had lost my pursuers. I raised the bottle in my fist to smash it against the alley wall.

A dart stung me between the shoulderblades before it could connect. Whirling around, I saw a fourth attacker lowering a bamboo blow-tube as a sensation of warm pins and needles caterpillared down my spine. I had been drugged with e'phrem, a strong sedative and anticonvulsant. I had used it myself to sedate delirious patients.

The bottle slipped out of my grasp and smashed itself on the hard stone cobbles of the alley. My legs gave out from under me and I fell, too, next to a puddle of fresh urine and a head of rotted lettuce.

A line of drool slowly bled from the corner of my mouth. I couldn't raise my hand to wipe it away. I was paralyzed.

The spies quickly bound my limbs close to my body and rolled their heavy black capes around me. The last thing I remembered was being slung over their shoulders, to be carried off like a length of old carpet.

* * * * *

When awareness came back to me I was lying on my back. I was thirsty, and my head was cradled on a soft pillow which supported it completely. I couldn't move my limbs as yet, nor open my eyes. In the distance I heard faint chanting in pure, high voices. Women's voices. Even fainter than that came the cheerful underhum of the nocturnal streetlife I had been recently abducted from. I heard no other noise. Yet another sense told me that wherever I was, I was not alone.

Then came the unmistakable sound of flint on steel and the smell of freshly rolled dream-weed, which told me for sure.

I must have flicked my eyelids or gave some other sign of awareness, for this unseen person said, "Can you hear me? I know the drug's effects are leaving you. Move your little finger if you can."

It was torture being unable to speak or move. At least I was still clothed. That was a good sign. If the Queen had taken me I might be naked and in chains by now. Moreover, she was too crass to be entertained by the sweet chanting I heard. It sounded almost... holy.

I opened my eyes. I was in a narrow hall lined with curtained alcoves. It took great effort to focus, but across from me, sitting casually in a carved wooden chair, was a slender woman of medium height. She was smiling, holding a slim black stick of dream-weed between her fingers. I knew her. I had punched her that morning.

"Welcome to the Temple of Tontaxir," she said.

I tried to speak, but it came out as the moan of an imbecile. My head thumped against the pillow in uncoordinated jerks.

"Here, let me help you sit," she said, bending over to give me a hoist. She was much stronger than her frail build suggested. The fine embroidery of her robe rippled with her movements, and what I thought were abstract designs quickly resolved themselves into interlocking nudes. The tiny figures were engaged in a variety of carnal acts, including a few that raised even my eyebrows. "It will be a few more minutes before you recover. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lassimla."

"Laaa... sh'la?"

"The High Priestess of Tontaxir."

I was surprised. I had expected a priestess of Tontaxir--the Love Slave of the Gods, as they called him, her, or it in this city--to be of a more sensual mien... a full-figured harlot with scarlet lips and a breathy lisp, her breasts squashed into a pair of giant hollowed rubies. Lassimla was more androgynous than voluptuous, almost girlish, and though young for the role she gave off a feeling of quiet strength. Her hands were large but smooth and feminine, her lips firm and well-shaped; her face was long, with a strong chin that had the suggestion of a cleft in it. Her eyelashes had been lengthened and darkened by cosmetics, soot mixed with mineral oil most probably.

"We in the Temple heard about your arrival in the city," she continued in a cultured, genderless voice that would have been low for a woman and high for a man. "I knew I would have to contact you sooner or later. And if I'm not mistaken, we already met earlier this day, did we not?"

I laughed mirthlessly at the pale violet-blue bruise decorating her cheekbone. "How d' I know I can trus' you?" I said in an uncoordinated mumble that sounded like a mouthful of marbles was impeding my speech.

"There is the door; you can leave at any time if you wish." She gestured toward an arch half-concealed by a velvet curtain. I saw stars beyond and the stone rails of a balcony.

"I can't leave if I can't walk," I grumbled, pushing away the cup of water she proffered. "Why did you kidnap me?"

"The Queen's men were all around you," she explained matter-of-factly. "Twenty of them, and closing in fast. You would never have escaped their net. I know this because I and my Templewards were tracking you at the same time from the city rooftops. To reveal ourselves in our night-garb and explain the situation to you would have taken too long and attracted too much attention. So we chose to abduct you and spirit you to safety."

Her explanation make sense. I rubbed the sore spot between my shoulderblades. Knowing myself, I would have protested at the unwanted rescue anyway, insisting on facing my pursuers rather than fleeing. "How did you know I was in the city?"

"It was common knowledge by the time you sat at the Queen's banquet table," Lassimla said. "People gossip. The jealous throng at the Wall of Thorns, for example. Besides, I had two dream-sendings from Tontaxir. The first was that you would come."

I ignored the bit of mystic mumbo-jumbo. "You know my mission then."

Anger pinched the priestess's face. "Yes. The Queen must be stopped. What she does is blasphemy!"

Her vehemence surprised me. "How so?"

"Look at the niches lining this hall. Do they seem familiar? The Queen keeps a similar arrangement for her slaves, using them as decorations for her palace. She stole the custom from us and perverted it. Our Temple is not a place where men and women go to torture and abuse others. It is a place for them to experience their godhood. For centuries they have come to this hall, some to choose their passions, and others to experience the sweet danger of serving those passions. There were no slaves and no masters then--only desire."

"I don't understand," I said. "Isn't Tontaxir the pleasure slave of the Gods? Surely he approves of slavery?"

"You misunderstand. Not a pleasure slave as you think of it, an object owned and used, but a *slave to pleasure.* Pleasure is all that Tontaxir is or cares about. Carnal pleasure. It is because of this that Tontaxir has supremacy over the other gods. And over mortal men and women too, by the all-encompassing immediacy of their urges.

"He is the god of sex?" I said bluntly.

"Yes. And no he, either. Or she." She rose from her chair and gestured for me to join her. "Come to the main floor of the temple, and I'll explain it to you."

I got to my feet, grateful I could walk once again. We padded down midnight-cool halls lit by dim lamps. As I understood it the true form of Tontaxir was not human at all but a sort of pink, octopus-like creature covered with human orifices, organs, and genitalia of many different sizes and shapes... rather unattractive, but well suited for its role. But for more intimate situations the god took on the form of a man or woman... and sometimes both. Or neither.

We reached the floor of the congregation, which was covered by a vast shallow dome. Thousands of beeswax candles burned like stars in the darkness. In the center stood a white marble statue almost thirty feet high depicting a nude man and woman. They stood shoulder to shoulder but at an angle, so the man looked over the northwest half of the congregation, the woman the northeast. Where their hips and shoulders touched a third, androgynous figure emerged, to stare sternly at due north.

"That is Tontaxir," Lassimla said. "Neither male nor female, but a little of both."

Against my will, I was awed. I walked around the wide altar-plinth, stepping over pilgrims' offerings. The faces seemed to change expression in the flickering candles, from wise to cruel to dispassionate, with a hundred variations in between... while the triple body of god was at once sexed and sexless, grotesque and beautiful.

I finished my inspection, coming back to where Lassimla stood. A startling certainty flashed upon me. "As you are," I said.

She nodded. "Yes. I am what you call *jaggaidrin*, double-sexed. All of us in the Temple are."

She undid the loose tie of her robe and pulled it down towards her waist, baring her torso. If it wasn't for her small, virginal breasts, with their flat and childish nipples, she could have been a young man. Her shoulders were broad and strong enough, and the chiseled musculature of her neck and torso definitely belonged to the male sex. Yet her skin was as fine as a girl's. The bone structure of her face and her long auburn hair could have been at home on either. She slipped the robe back over her shoulders. "You have seen enough," she said quietly.

I noted a nasty scar along her ribs before the satin fabric hid it. "The Queen?" I said, remembering what the Dhroon general had said about assassins.

"Yes." she said, tying her robe. "But she did not succeed. We have skilled healers here, and Tontaxir takes care to protect me."

"Why doesn't she simply arrest you and... kill you?"

"That would cause riots not even she could quell," Lassimla said. "The Temple is too powerful, both as an institution and a religion. Not even Shezrine wants a jihad in her own city. That is why she covets my title, for if she is High Priestess as well as Queen, there will be few who will oppose her."

"She is not *jaggaidrin,* though," I pointed out.

"That doesn't matter. She will simply rape our doctrine once again, and declare herself the perfect being."

"Shall we talk about the rebellion, then?" I said, a grim determination on my face.

We sat on the altar steps to formulate our plans. When the rebel forces entered the city, the Temple would declare a holy war and rise in arms against the Queen; hints spread at worship services would galvanize them weeks in advance. The Temple had plenty of gold in its coffers to furnish them with weapons. These, too, would be bought weeks in advance from dealers outside the city and stored in the Temple catacombs.

When we finished Lassimla said, "You must not forget the most powerful weapon of the rebels, the one greater than all the rest combined. The Stone Beasts of Qu'Az."

I frowned. Shadow had made no mention of them. "What are they?"

"Centuries ago, when this city was founded, Tontaxir gave it a means of defense: eight celestial guardians from the Outer Planes, rendered to stone to remain immortal. You may have seen them as you entered the city." I nodded, remembering the feathered wolf, the antlered snake. "If the city was threatened they would resume life and motion to defend it. Tontaxir gave their wardship to the Qu'Az, a family of noted warriors, so it could be passed down from generation to generation. For centuries the Qu'Az served the city, always vigilant. But in all that time enemies never came. Obn Dhregni grew fat and lazy. The beasts faded into legend. They were simply eight statues, nothing more. Children played on them and lovers trysted in their shadows.

"But if the city had forgotten the legend, Subbobor had not. He invaded one balmy autumn night, striking as swiftly as an adder to fell the Qu'Az before they could rally their charges. Without them, the beasts were silent, and the city fell.

"Only one of the Qu'Az survived that night, a woman who was living with her merchant-husband in a distant land. That woman's children were raised as natives of that land and never knew the power they carried. But Subbobor did. It took many years for him to track all of them down, but when he did, this remaining branch was eradicated. But again, a young woman escaped.

"She was pregnant at the time and ran for eight months, eventually birthing the babe in a town north of here, where the assassins finally tracked her down. They killed her, never realizing she'd been pregnant because she had immediately given the child away for safekeeping. Subbobor congratulated himself, thinking the Qu'Az had been finally obliterated. The child, meanwhile, had vanished.

"Tontaxir told me in the second dream-sending I had that the child is still alive and has been raised among the remaining Mejdabians. She does not know what she is. If she could be brought here and trained, she could activate the beasts and cause them to rise. Shezrine may be a sorceress, but she cannot withstand the avatars of a god."

"I'll have to send a message to the rebels about that," I said. "Did you see the girl's face in your dream?"

"No. It was no vision; only thoughts."

"Hmm. Is she recognizable as a Qu'Az, then? Do the family share certain features?"

"They did, but the girl would have too much foreign blood in her to be a clear match. According to legend, though, all the Qu'Az bore a star between their brows... a paleness underneath the skin that was almost unnoticeable, yet easily observed when you know what to look for."

Again I wondered why Shadow had never told me about this, but perhaps he hadn't known. If the girl was adopted as an orphan, as seemed likely, no one would known anyway. "I'll make sure the rebels find her," I said. "And now, as long as we talking about dream-sendings, I was wondering if I could trouble you with a few I experienced myself... "

Lassimla leaned forward eagerly. "From the god?"

I shook my head. "No. I don't know where they are coming from." Haltingly, I told her about my dream experiences with the Queen. "They disturb me," I said. "Something about them is not... natural." But even as I spoke a small gem of moisture formed inside me when I recalled how the Queen had made me feel.

Lassimla was silent a moment. "The Queen is a powerful sorceress," she said. "Her mental emanations are far stronger than a normal human's, letting her affect the minds and judgement of others against their will. Some call it magic; I call it determination. I believe she is trying to entrap you somehow."

"What can I do about it?" I said in a panic. The Queen had hundreds of guards at her disposal, and her magic. But how much more effective my capture would be if I was lured into going to her, as if pulled by leash on my genitals.

"You can sleep here tonight," Lassimla decided. "I will bring bedding to this altar so Tontaxir can guard you as you dream. The Queen will trouble you no more."

* * * * *

I slept that night on the skin of a white bear, close enough to touch the stone toes of Tontaxir's three pairs of feet. Lassimla knelt beside me and rested my head on her thighs, crooning a prayer of rest. She stroked my forehead as she sang. I soon grew drowsy and my eyelids drooped. I did not dream that night, yet slept long and well. Tontaxir, the giver of erotic pleasure, could also take it away.

Chapter 13: Two Sides of a Coin

I woke on the altar steps late the next morning. The other priestesses had made their offerings as I slept, leaving behind bouquets of pale creamy lilies spotted with carmine and heaps of fresh fruit. I stretched and yawned. I felt completely refreshed and full of energy, quite unlike the erotic languor that had affected me since I'd entered the city. I glanced at the other food offerings with an envious eye--warm bread, cheeses, roasted meat. All intended for the god's consumption.

"You may eat what you want," Lassimla said, appearing with a tray holding a teapot and two jade cups. She grinned at me, disarmingly boyish. "The god will not mind."

I broke my fast with some of the fruit and cheese. The high chanting I had heard last night resumed from a wide balcony above our heads. Morning prayers, probably. I recalled my adventure of last night. "Is it possible the Queen's men are watching the Temple?"

"If they were, my Templewards would sight them and use their blowdarts. They can be tipped with worse poisons than e'phrem. They are sworn to protect the Temple, having been raised here since infancy. They have no match in the arts of stealth and silence... as you can vouch, I'm sure. Shezrine will not be taking you away in chains if they have any say about it!"

I had forgotten about Marnessa in the events of the past day and night, but now her plight reentered my mind. I still considered myself the reason for her enslavement. After all, if I hadn't been at court that day, the Queen might not have given her demonstration. "Lassimla, is it possible to unmake one of Shezrine's slaves?"

Lassimla put her cup down, a contemplative look on her face. "I don't know. We in the Temple have certain erotic rites we use to intensify pleasure and identify more fully with the roles we play, but whether they would work against sorcery is an open question. No one has ever tried, as far as I know. Shezrine forbids it."

"Would you try it?"

She narrowed her eyes, cupping her chin in her hands. "Perhaps. I would like to see if it's possible. If it is, the Queen will find herself suddenly short of playthings." She dunked a piece of bread in her tea with a savage gesture. "The white bitch is a crime against nature."

The sharp language startled me, but then Lassimla had suffered personally under her orders. I finished my meal with a series of gulps. "I must meet with J'Wabra today, for he'll be worried about me, but I'll be back. We can talk more then."

"I'll send some Templewards with you to see you off safely. And you don't have to stay at an inn again, either. The Temple owns a townhouse at the edge of the merchants' district which is far more secure. You can stay there if you want."

"Thank you, " I said. On impulse, I embraced her.

She was surprised, this strange creature who was both sexes and neither, but returned the clasp warmly. "May Tontaxir go with you," she whispered. "Now go!"

The Templewards were as good as their word, though I neither saw them nor heard them as they escorted me, if it can be called that, to the Inn of Black Dog. J'Wabra brightened when he saw me, a full-toothed grin that made his bland, round face glow like a moon at its fullest. Several empty mugs attested he'd been waiting quite a while. "By Tontaxir's testicles, we all thought you were dead... "

I slid into the worn wooden chair across from him with a tankard of bitter ale in my hand. "Nearly. I was saved, in fact, by one of the many love-games this city holds dear."

"Which was?" His painted eyebrows raised in speculation. Being a eunuch, he had lost most of his facial hair.

"I'd rather keep it private, but it featured a strip of torn silk. Now listen." I kept my voice low, not wanting to attract attention. "The Duke pledged us his support, and named three other families who would willingly take up arms if they thought there was a chance Shezrine could be defeated. One of them, the Dhroon, has a sizable military force... which includes three wings of stymphads hidden in the cliff at the edge of the city. Aylinn, a Hharangi rebel from the hills, is their captain." I then explained about Lassimla and the Temple.

He looked thoughtful. "If this was purely a contest of military might, the snake-birds and jihad might tip the scales in the rebels' favor. But it is not. Remember Shezrine's magic."

"I intend to find her weak spot," I said, with more confidence than I felt. "Other sorcerers have great powers, but their magic usually hinges on a small and insignificant object. A ring, for example. Lose the ring and you lose your magic."

J'Wabra frowned, finding it hard to believe; the people of this city knew little of the workings of magic. "If Shezrine does have a magical object such as that, she keeps it hidden."

"She need not wear it. It may be stored in a place of safety--towers, dungeons, secret chambers. Do you know of any?"

"Lady Amazon, how would I know of a secret chamber? Shezrine hardly confides in me. I am but a second-level slave groom."

He knew nothing. And the courtiers who knew would hardly declare their knowledge to a foreigner. "Let me ask you another question, then. If such a place existed, would others know of it?"

"I don't think so," he said after a brief silence. "Shezrine confides in no one."

"Typical despot," I sneered.

"No, it is not because she is trustless. She is far too confidant of herself to nurture suspicions. I think she sees herself as a singular being who has nothing in common with the rest of humanity, and hence no reason to discuss her plans with them. Not even her court knows of her doings."

"Can you give me any information on her habits or routines, then?"

He shook his head. "No one keeps tabs of her comings and goings. She is notoriously unpredictable. She may disappear for days, then turn up as if she had not gone missing at all. If you insist on searching Syonhoddaz, though, begin at the towers. And I implore you to be careful. She keeps many safeguards."

I did not want to return to the palace--not least because of the depraved ritual I had witnessed, which served as a hearty warning--but I knew it was the only way to discover the Queen's secret weakness, whatever it was. "How did Shezrine become a sorceress, anyway?" I asked.

"She was raised in the art," J'Wabra said. "Her father Subbobor, a sorcerer himself, trained her to be his successor. Her mother was a slave, as he wanted to avoid the intrigues of marriage."

So the evil Witch-Queen of the city of slaves was herself born of a slave! Interesting. "Does she have any siblings?"

"Sixty or seventy perhaps, though what happened to them, I don't know. Subbobor knew he needed an heir, so he was very methodical about his breeding. He devoted himself to the task for one year, choosing two hundred of the most beautiful slave girls for his private harem. He would bed up to ten a night. When they got with child they were isolated from the rest and given the finest food and medical care. They were but prize brood mares to him. When the child was born he tested it for magical talent. How I do not know. If it passed the test, it and its mother remained in the palace. If not, both were sold in the markets.

"Each year the tests were given. The weak were culled and the strong cultivated. The little families were confined in a special wing of the palace. Nothing was spared for the children's comfort or education. But each year there were less and less.

"Nine years from the start of the program he gave the remaining children their final test. Shezrine was the strongest and he chose her to be his heir, discarding the remaining slaves and their young. Can you imagine what she felt as he took her tiny hand and led outside the breeder's quarters, into a world she had never seen? Never had she known the touch of a free and loving mother, nor the guidance of a trusted father. She was merely a vessel to Subbobor, a means to carry on his line. I loathe Shezrine with every atom of my soul, but I sometimes think of how her upbringing has warped her. I do not forgive her atrocities for that, but it does give me some understanding of her."

"Uh-huh," I grunted. Privately, I thought Shezrine's deeds were unforgivable by any measure of justice. I flipped the barkeep a coin and swung my rear off the stool.

"Where are you off to know?" J'Wabra complained. "You've only just gotten here, and we have other things to discuss."

"To my room to freshen up. I've got a long day in front of me."

* * * * *

The first step in rescuing Marnessa was finding her.

My first stop was Ajaskafari Market, where new slaves were dispersed. Dressed in the baggy silk trousers and cleavage-bearing vest the women of this city favored, I hoped to pass as the exotic foreign wife of a merchant. I did not take my sword, but was well-armed with knives. One of them held a cache of poison.

My walk took me through one of the more disreputable parts of the city. I knew the surest way to attract trouble was to act like a victim, so I walked with my head high, my eyes and ears alert. Nevertheless a thief did try to snatch the beaded drawstring bag I wore at my waist. He tasted my knife, and quickly staggered away with his hands to his ear--the half that I left him, that is.

I came at last to the market, a large bazaar of sheds and tents that housed the merchants and their goods. I noted the quality of the merchandise had declined along with the rest of the city. The jewelry was cheap brass poorly set with glass jewels, while the vegetables wilted in dusty piles. In contrast, the manacles, slave collars, and leather crops were all finely crafted and gleaming with polish. The slaves themselves waited chained to posts or to iron rings in the ground, heads down in the dusty sunlight. Some wore rags; some wore nothing. They were a far cry from the beauties Shezrine kept in her castle.

I turned away from these unfortunates and went to the auction block, a high platform set in the middle of the square. Ajmid had told me that auctions were held every five days. A wide area around the block stood empty to accommodate the crowds, as auctions were a cheap form of entertainment. The block was empty now, however, so I went to the offices below the platform.

Again I received the impression of laxity. There were none of the papers or calculation frames I expected to see in a place of business. The men on duty lounged insolently and regarded me only slightly less than they would a gob of spittle on the earth. The only woman there looked like a slattern; her bosom rolled over the top of her bodice and her stomach protruded like the round gut of a barrel. Nevertheless she seemed more approachable than the men.

"Excuse me, "I said. "I'm looking for a slave."

"Next auction is in three days," she said in a bored voice, a reply that was given all the time to people like me to get rid of them.

"I'm not looking to buy one," I said firmly. One of the men leered at me. I turned my back. "I'm trying to find out where a particular one was sold."

Now she looked suspicious, unsure of my motives. Slaves were considered dispensable here. One did not form attachments to them. "Do you have a description?"

"She was a female pleasure slave from the royal palace," I said. Though she'd been auctioned off only two days ago I knew she could be anywhere in the city by now. "A head shorter than I, with wavy dark hair, pale green eyes, and dark tan skin. Pretty--"

"Aren't they all," the slattern said sarcastically.

"Around seventeen years of age, I'd say." I couldn't think of any other distinguishing features. Beauty is much harder to describe or remember than mediocrity or ugliness. That was the horror, perhaps, of Shezrine's transformation spell. "Do you remember?"

A thoughtful frown crossed the slattern's brow. "I do! The quiet one, with the frizzy hair."

One of the other men laughed, showing a mouth filled with chipped, discolored teeth. "Yeah, a piece of ass, that. Sold to one of the conk-houses." He meant a concupiscerium, but conk, a colloquialism of this city, also meant the basest form of sexual intercourse. It was an obscenity seldom invoked in polite society.

I flipped him a coin. "Do you remember which one?"

He seemed to think. It was likely he might lie to me in the hopes I'd give him another coin. I decided to make sure he would not. "If you lie to me," and my dagger went to my hand, "you will never enjoy the company of a slave girl again, although there might be men who would still think you attractive, though I cannot imagine why. Now, do you remember?"

An impression, that. "No," he said finally, letting out a breath. He would not take the risk of duping me. "It was one of the expensive ones, though, from the buyer's clothes."

I gave him another coin, a smaller one, showing him I could be generous. He did not have to volunteer that. "Buy yourself some tooth-powder," I said coolly.

In the market again I struck up a conversation with a merchant who told me the most expensive concupisceriums were located in the north of the city. There were four that fit that title: The Star, The House of the Seven Sisters, The Virgin's Wise Darkness, and The Golden Plums. Four stops I had to make that day.

If I may divert from story at this point, I'd like to talk about the concupisceriums, as they were a social institution unique to Obn Dhregni. In other lands they would be called brothels or whorehouses. However, there were differences, the chief of them being that in Obn Dhregni the house served both genders, unusual considering that in most societies prostitution is a male vice... and a threat, for women claimed it lured their menfolk away from the hearth. But the concupiscerium offered more than just sex; it provided a place for friends and business associates to meet that was more intimate and luxurious than a tavern, and this had made them the backbone of the city's entertainment industry. Though like all the other longstanding traditions of the city they were showing their shabbiness, victims of the decay that had come with Caramaithzes rule.

My first stop, The Golden Plums, could have been any eating house or inn from the outside. A wooden sign wobbled in the breeze, painted with the three gilded plums that gave it its name. Decorative woodwork topped the facade's arches and lintels, but the carmine-rose paint was faded and peeling. Bells tinkled softly as I pushed the door open.

Inside, all was cool and dark, with scented candles flickering. A woman sat in a booth to take admissions. She was beautiful yet sexless, the perfect host for a place such as this. "Welcome to the House of the Golden Plums," she said. Her voice was warm and cultured, and, absurdly, I did feel welcome. "Our prices are twenty calroons to watch, fifty to participate."

It was very high, but then these were places that catered to nobles and the wealthy merchants of the city. I sighed and handed over my money. "No, you pay over there." She pointed to her left, tactfully ignoring my ignorance.

I turned to look. Beyond a curtain of beads were two young slaves in niches in the wall. A girl to my left, a young man to my right, both on their knees with their backsides in the air, chins pressed to the floor of their niches. Their hands were bound behind their knees so they couldn't move. The tightly bound girl held two hollow phalluses between her buttocks, each with a slot for coins.

"The top slot to watch, the bottom to participate," the hostess repeated.

I had only enough money to watch, so the coins would go in her rectum. Flushing with embarrassment, I departed with my precious cash. Each coin made a silvery chink as it entered. As misfortunate would have it I had lots of small change, and the uncomfortable ordeal seemed to go on forever.

When I had finished the girl wagged her buttocks, making the coins inside rattle loudly. She said, with a catch in her voice, "Thank you for your patronage, Mistress. You may go in now."

"Number forty-five," the woman at the booth said threateningly.

The girl burst into tears. "I'm sorry, Mistress Valada, I f-f-f-forgot, I forgot--" A panel opened at the rear of the niche and the pearl-covered arm of Mistress Valada began smacking the girl's rear with a stiff black strap. The coins inside her jingled loudly under the onslaught. I even heard a few fall on the floor.

"All food and drink is half price for single women before the sixth hour," the young man said hollowly, his eyes glued to the punishment his co-worker received.

I passed through the curtain. It seemed impossible the people of this city took such things in stride, but they did.

As I expected, the concupiscerium was nearly empty at this early hour. Only a few well-heeled patrons were sprawled on the divans, taking their pleasure of the naked slaves. Other slaves carried ewers of wine or arranged flowers in vases, and yet more waited on their knees at the room's edges, ready to jump up and serve the newcomers. Which one did, gliding up immediately and scurrying to my side. "How can I serve you, mistress?"

He was a big boy, a head taller than I was, with the golden skin of the people of this city. His dark hair fell in his face, He would not look at me, though his attention was totally fixed on me. There was something appealing and vulnerable in that. Shyness always brings out one's protective instincts. But, like a coin, those instincts can quickly flip over to show us their sadistic side. It is what makes us human. And the fact we have control of it makes us human. "Bring me some wine," I said. "Something red and mellow."

He bowed and hurried off. What was I to do now? I knew I should speak to whoever was in charge of this place, but perhaps I could get my information from the slaves. On the far side of the hall two female slaves performed in an alcove decorated as a rich woman's bedchamber. One had her hands tied above her to a clotheshorse with satin ribbons while the other pleasured her with the handle of a hairbrush. No one watched.

My slave came back with the wine and knelt at my feet. I had seated myself by then and took it from his hand. I tipped his chin so that he looked up at me. "What is your name?"

He did not look away from me. His eyes held the darkness of one who is drowning. "Number One Hundred Fourteen."

Terrible, to have a number instead of a name. His chin was smooth as a girl's. So was the rest of him, save for the bushy fleece around his cock. I didn't think I would like it in bed, not after experiencing the fine texture of Shadow's skin. On the other hand, Ajmid had been quite smooth. Oh, what was I thinking!

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a nondescript, uniformed bravo looking at me. I had paid to watch, and watch was all I would be permitted to do. If I touched the tender young genitals in front of me he would surely come and discreetly request a price for it.

I let the man's chin drop. Not a boy, for all the softness and vulnerability. It had been easy to make the mistake, for these slaves were very coddled, without the hard labor or coarse food of the common folk. Well treated... but also well used. "Tell me, have any new slaves come into this house in the past two days?"

"No Mistress."

Well, it was hard to say if he knew the truth of it. I had him fetch the highest ranking slavekeeper he could find and put to him the same question. "No Lady Tanimury. No new slaves have come to this house."

I sighed in frustration. There was little else I could do here without spending more money. I went in search of the next.

The Star was the second stop. It was a larger, livelier place, with none of the overdecorated frowsiness that had marked The Golden Plums. It was also cheaper, a mere ten calroons, and I did not have to deposit the coins in anyone's orifice to enter. My questions of the slaves yielded nothing, however, so the floor supervisor generously offered to conduct me to the Procuress.

The Procuress bade me to sit while she cleaned and cased a set of ink-pens on her desk. A tiny woman she was, with thick black hair held up with combs. She did not look like she should be doing this kind of job. She looked like she should be teaching schoolchildren. "We bought five slaves at the last auction," she said. She consulted a ledger. "Describe her to me."

I gave her a description, mentioning she carried the basilisk brand of the Queen.

"That would be Wild Nipples." the Procuress said crisply. "We name our slaves for their distinguishing characteristics. Why do you want to know?"

"I saw her at auction," I said. "I fancied her and wanted to make a bid, but was called away when she came up for sale. When I returned she had already been sold. I would pay you twice what you paid for her."

"That would be quite expensive, even if we were inclined to sell her." The Procuress named the price. I did not have that much money on me. Ajmid would, but I did not think he would lend me it for such a thing as this. He had seemed to disapprove of it.

I shrugged as if it didn't matter, then thanked her and left. It looked like I was going to have to resort to kidnapping. It would be difficult, but not impossible. At least she wasn't going anywhere.

On my way home I passed a noisy gambling hall. Five naked slave girls knelt in the dust of the yard as their masters caroused inside. Each was tethered to a single ring in the earth by fine chains running from their labia, which were pierced with gold rings... at once objects of veneration and objects of abuse. Men walked in and out, indifferent; mules clopped by on the street, children cried at the tug of their mother's hands. No one looked at the tethered slaves. No one had reason to, as it was a routine sight here.

But someone did, a ruffian who crouched down to feel them as they squirmed and struggled. He knew full well they couldn't get away. Again, no one on the street bothered to look. But finally, one of the gamblers did. He leapt from his stool and strode outside, shouting angrily at the ruffian for the encroachment on his property.

The molester fled. The gambler glared after him for a second, then went back to his ale and his cards. He did not even glance at his whimpering slave.

The indignity of it washed over me. Such a humiliation, to be tethered with others in that demeaning way while any could feel of them... but another part of me secretly wondered what it was like. Did all in this city fight such battles within themselves?

The slave girls were whispering now, trying to comfort the one who had been most manhandled. They could be punished for speaking, I heard. The people of this city liked their human toys dumb, dumber than even the beasts they used to draw them to market.

* * * * *

Later that evening I met with Aylinn and told her about Marnessa. "I've a mind to rescue her," I said. "Will you help me?"

Her ice-green eyes went wide. "Are you mad? No one kidnaps pleasure slaves."

"Why not? It seems to me it would be very easy. They do whatever you tell them to."

She had no rebuttal for that. In truth, no one kidnapped pleasure slaves because they were so cheap and common.

"Trust me," I said. "I have the perfect plan."

Chapter 14: A Pyrotechnic Performance

It took Aylinn, Lassimla and myself a day and a night to prepare for the rescue. But at last we were ready.

I was to go in disguise as dancer, as it wasn't unusual for the concupisceriums to hire outside entertainment. After all, The Star offered more to its clients than naked slaves; music, jugglers, and other performers rounded out the bill. So I assembled my costume and, accompanied by five of Lassimla's Templewards, announced myself at The Star's employee door as "L'raisha, the Princess of Fire."

The entertainment manager looked us over suspiciously. I had taken care to alter my looks with stripes of facial paint and a feathered headdress, and the Templewards had stained their faces and hands with sweetpalm juice to appear as dark as I, concealing the rest of their bodies in long black robes that could be jerked off at a second's notice to grant them freedom of movement. Each carried a drum. They were not musicians, but had easily picked up the simple rhythms I taught them.

"You're a dancer?" the manager said. He snorted. "Hnnh. I warn you, our clientele is sophisticated. They desire novelty, excitement... "

I tossed off the cape. The manager swallowed. I wore little but a wide pectoral collar of brass and a dozen brightly colored silk scarves which I had knotted together to serve as a skirt. And my nippleguards, of course, the tips of the gold-plated cones trembling slightly as my breasts swung free. I saw the manager's eyes widen as he measured their trajectory. Magic could make female breasts larger and firmer, but it could not recreate the mahogany sheen and fine texture of my own.

"Uh, yes. Quite... exotic," he stammered. "You dance, too?"

I chuckled and flicked a dangling feather away from my eyes. "Some music."

Jofar grinned behind the black scarf that covered his nose and mouth. He was my co-leader for this mission and also the most musically talented of the Templewards. His lean fingers began to tap out a rhythm. I swung my hips, bending my knees slightly to wriggle my torso. It was a movement long known to me from the Golden Snake, which I had performed in the Women's Rites in my native village. My hips snapped left to right, back and forth; then I lifted my leg and spun, flaring out the silky skirt. The scarves fluttered to the height of my waist, baring my hips and buttocks. I wore a thong underneath, but the movement was so swift the dark patch of cloth flashed unnoticed. I might as well have been naked.

When I faced the manager again he had the typical male reaction: slightly glazed, very attentive, with eyes agog. Interesting, considering how much naked flesh he saw every day. But it was also proof positive that, when it comes to eroticism, what is concealed, and the hints of its revealment, are far more effective than total nudity.

"You'll do," he said, turning away to pencil us in on the schedule. "It's only because our regular musicians have not shown up tonight." Jofar rolled his eyes in amusement. They had not shown up because they were lying, bound and gagged, in a dusty warehouse in the Temple District. "You'll begin performing immediately, for one hour sets with twenty-minute breaks in between. Food and drinks are on the house, but if you want company, you will have to pay for it yourself. You'll receive fifty calroons plus any tips. Any questions?" We had none, as the first hurdle had been passed. "Fine. Come this way."

Our job here, the manager said, was not so much to claim the patron's attention as provide alternative amusement, such as when conversations reached a lull. That was fine with me. Our job here was not to amuse them either, but to afford a cover for our mission. But I intended to dance well anyway, for I enjoyed it.

The Templewards set up their drumstands as I scanned the walls, where the pleasure slaves stood waiting to be chosen. The concupisceriums must have had an unspoken code as to what the proper physical configuration for a female slave should be, for despite differences in height and pigmentation they looked like a row of dolls carved from the same hand. They all gave the same responses, too, when the patrons inspected them: a little gasp, a parting of the lips, raised eyes pleading through cinnabar or topaz or raven-black hair: *Take me, use me. I will do anything you say.*

Across the hall, a similar process occurred with the male slaves. Both sexes were nude, of course, and shaved from their necks down so their genitals were more noticeable. They kept their heads lowered slightly as if contemplating them, eyes aimed at the floor. It was an eerie display, yet compelling somehow.

But no Marnessa. Well, it was still early; her shift might not have begun yet. Or perhaps she was with a patron already. I sincerely hoped she had not been transformed again, for then I might never find her. I turned to the Templewards and gave them the signal to begin.

For one hour I danced. I paced myself, knowing my limits from my long years as a mercenary. The scarves snapped and spun, the feathers on my headdress bobbed like an eagle's crest. My face-paint began to smear with my sweat. I thrust my breasts to the left and right, feeling the loose flesh swing. My nippleguards flashed golden fire with motions, firmly glued to the dark flesh beneath... a pleasing contrast of darkness and light, hard and soft.

I began to feel aroused, the same way I sometimes felt aroused in battle. I had never felt this way before. Some in the crowd ignored me in favor of their fellows, others to fondle the slaves. But many more, men and women both, watched me with clear and unblinking concentration, evaluating my flesh as if I was one of the slaves. Were they imagining a collar around my neck, the same gold-plated bronze that graced the throats of the others? What new name would be inscribed upon the dangling tag?

One coin, then another, plinked onto the stage.

The thought made me dance harder. I felt the muscles of my legs bunch, relax, then bunch again as I strutted and spun. Though they might think me a slave, no slave on the floor had my endowments. They were pliant, pampered darlings, soft from lack of exercise, while I was radiant and *alive,*, alive as I had not been in ages. I began to chant nonsense words in my own language: "Ah weh, weh. Ah-weh, weh." My breasts flew back and forth, the nippleguards clinging like a pair of pinching fingers, their warm weight stimulating me further. More coins flew upon the stage.

Then, through half-closed eyelids, I saw her: the former Lady Marnessa rezbet Amicon, now a concupiscerium slave named Wild Nipples. The patron--a plump older man, a merchant--was leading her back to the wall on a leash so she could take her place with the others. As he turned her I saw the dark purple basilisk brand on her buttock. Her eyes were alert, but unfocused... responsive to orders, yet without thoughts of her own. In fact, it was very easy to overlook what little mind she had in favor of her body, which conformed to slave girl norm save her breasts were much bigger. Her curly black hair was as lush as vines, her rosy-bronze skin smooth and flawless.

I signaled behind my back. The Templewards slowed their drumming, drawing the set to a close. I was rewarded with a hard rain of coins. Bowing gracefully, I gathered them up in a scarf I pulled from my waist. They were mainly small tender and useless to us, for the weight would only slow down our escape. I was still pleased to see them though.

The Templewards and I regrouped on the main floor to partake of the refreshments. "There she is," I pointed, whispering. "The one we came for."

Jofar squinted through the crowd. The other patrons, though fascinated with us, gave us a wide berth. "She looks docile enough," he said. "I don't think she'll give us a fight. Pleasure slaves are notorious for their lack of initiative. They will stand trembling in the middle of a house while it burns down around them."

I noted the interest the other patrons took in Marnessa. A young woman her own age was examining her now, brushing Marnessa's dark, curly hair back over her shoulders. She read the name tag on her collar and giggled, staring pointedly at her breasts, then made a comment to her male companion and moved on.

"Be sure to watch her once we're back on stage," I said. "Tell me immediately when she's chosen again." I saw the entertainment manager signal to us, peeved. "We'd better go back on stage."

Again I began my dance, keeping my pace slow. It would allow me to pay better attention to what went on in the hall. The Star would grow only more crowded as the night went on. I frowned; it would make things difficult. Though we could move more freely as performers than patrons our dress made us more noticeable. At least mine did; the Templewards wore nondescript native clothing beneath their robes to blend in. They also carried bottles of alcohol to clean the stain from their faces and hands, something I could not do.

Sure enough, Marnessa soon vanished again, her perky buttocks winking into the crowd. This time a house employee led her away, not a patron. I saw them go up a staircase guarded by a pair of well-muscled bravos. House security, I guessed. I signaled to Jofar.

"Did you see... ?" I whispered.

"Yes." He surreptitiously felt under his robe for the tools of his trade--blowgun, knives, rope. "Edim and I will track him, see where he takes her. See you in a bit."

I hoped their disappearance would be taken for a much-needed break. To makes things less suspicious I took up a tambourine, the noisy clatter disguising the pitiful rhythms the remaining Templewards made. "You are awful!" I said in a stage whisper.

They stiffened, offended. "I beg your pardon, Lady Tanimury, but we are not trained musicians."

"That was a joke," I muttered. "Keep an eye on the security men as you play. Note where they're stationed and where the exits are. We may have to leave quickly."

Sooner than I expected the two returned, tugging on their robes as if they had recently re-donned them. Again I called another break. "Where is she?" I whispered.

"On the fourth floor," Jofar said. "The place where female pleasure slaves are rested. The slavekeeper took her into a room there and came out alone. He locked it behind him so we could not see what became of her. The entrance points to the floor are thickly guarded, but the floor itself is less protected. We should have no problem once we get up there."

All the Templewards had leaned in close so they could hear. "All right," I said, and breathed deeply. "Now we make our move!"

They turned over their drums as if to tighten the heads. But it was only to access the items stored inside: pyropigeons, explosive missiles from Turufanx that Lassimla had smuggled into the Temple. Some emitted thick smoke, others showers of colored sparks; the most distressing did both, accompanied by a loud bang. Also in the drums were a selection of slings, which the Templewards quickly distributed among themselves. No one in the hall took note of what we did. Their carnal urges took priority, it seemed.

On my signal the Templewards crouched behind their drums. They loaded the first of the pyropigeons into their slings, aiming them at the marble columns and ceiling in the center of the hall. "One, two... " I counted, waiting until a cartful of liquor was passing, "... Three!"

The elastic thongs of the slings snapped in unison. The pyropigeons shot high into the air, smashing their thin clay casings against the marble. I had steeled myself, but even I was not wholly prepared for the results. Pandemonium broke out as sparks rained on the crowd, followed by clouds of thick black smoke. Hell indeed had come to life! The patrons made a panicked flight for the doors; furniture overturned, bottles crashed. I saw Jofar was right about the slaves. Most of them stood dumbly where they'd been abandoned, waiting for someone to tell them what to do.

The Templewards continued to shoot one pyropigeon after another, oblivious to the mayhem, as Jofar and I made our exits through a stair on the side of the stage. Shouts for order echoed behind us as we slammed the door shut, thumping up the stairs.

We emerged in the stately paneled halls of the second floor. The noise, and the stench, had already alerted the denizens. Sweaty, half-undressed patrons began popping out of the private rooms, some trailing clamps or other unusual items. A few burst out naked, the sad shape of their bodies distinguishing them immediately from the panicked slaves. As Jofar and I ran to the next staircase I caught glimpses of what they fled from: slaves bound so artfully they looked snared in spider's webs, while others were strapped on frames wood or benches of stone. I knew they were in no real danger, yet I couldn't help feeling guilty. A few continued the last orders of their masters, mindlessly pleasuring each other like automata that needed a turn of the key to stop. But not all the slaves were mindless. Some were running themselves, with determined looks on their faces as if they intended to escape that very night.

The security guards tried vainly to impose order. They had their hands full calming the patrons and did not notice us, taking us for yet more refugees.

We found another staircase and ran up to the third floor, then the fourth. The sound of the chaos was dimmer up here but the smell worsened; the Templewards below had finished off the barrage with a quintet of noxious stinkpigeons. Unlike the rooms below there were no scarlet carpets, no erotic frescoes; worn wood and cracked plaster took their places. Apparently, slaves were undeserving of such luxuries on their private turf. By the number of doors many slaves could be quartered here, though the space between them told me the rooms were quite small.

"There's the door, my Lady," Jofar said.

We stopped. The door had a wooden rack that held six plaques, each inscribed with the names of the slaves who slept there:

Insatiable
Saucy Buttocks
Honey Tongue
Wild Nipples
Cream Pitcher
Shameless

I lifted Marnessa's plaque and turned it over:

Approx. Age: 17
Measurements: 42-23-32
Hair: Black, curly
Skin: Drk Beige
Build: Gracile

How depressing, the whole of one's being condensed to a brief and rather mundane sexual description. But we had another problem. The door was locked.

Fortunately, it was a flimsy door. Jofar's knee and shoulder were enough to smash it in, and the jarred-awake slave girls stared up at us with terrified eyes.

I rushed inside. The room was tiny, with two wooden bunks on either side separated by a center aisle about four feet wide. It had a single window. The bunks had soft pads on them, but that was the only concession to comfort. Other than that, the room was a cell. Each girl lay flat on her back, her wrists chained apart to the top posts of the bunk and her ankles chained apart to the bottom ones. I later heard it was so they would not touch themselves sexually, or touch each other sexually, while unsupervised. Such freedom could severely undercut a slave girl's training. There was no satisfaction for them, no release, unless it came from serving a patron.

Marnessa's bunk was in the middle. The ones above and below her were empty; no doubt Saucy Buttocks and Shameless were still entertaining patrons below. Marnessa just stared at me, trembling. I expected her to blurt "Please don't hurt me," or some such thing, but apparently slaves hadn't the pluck to do even that.

Nevertheless, it was wise to be careful. "Not a word out of any of you!" I said severely, showing them my knife. They whimpered and squirmed, but kept their lips sealed.

"Watch the door," I said to Jofar. I leaned over Marnessa's bunk. "Quiet," I whispered. "I'm a friend. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to rescue you."

"But Mistress... " Marnessa gasped. "You cannot steal me!"

I knew pleasure slaves had been conditioned to captivity, but I was unaware to what degree. "I said quiet." I shoved one of my silk scarves in her mouth and tied another around her head, keeping the improvised gag in place. I rolled out the felt package of locksmith's tools Lassimla had given me and began to pick the locks on her wrist cuffs. The subtle, spicy scent of female arousal told me the remaining slaves had become quite excited by their roommate's abduction. I turned around and sure enough they were watching, the three pairs of nipples stiff as corks. I gagged them as well, partly for safety, partly to oblige them.

The cuffs were easy going; I doubted the staff had ever considered the possibility of theft. The locks were purely a psychological restraint. When Marnessa was free I ordered her to stand and bound her wrists and ankles with the last two of my scarves. I was now nearly naked myself. She stood passively as I bound her, still not believing this was all happening to her. "Jofar!"

He ducked back inside. We couldn't stay here long, as the smashed door was a dead giveaway to our presence. "I need your cloak."

He ripped off the heavy black garment and we wrapped Marnessa within it, tying it closed so she was a vaguely human-shaped bundle. Her frightened eyes peeped out one end, her little pink toes the other. I wished I could reassure her, but we had to make time.

I flung open the shutters and looked out. This side of building faced a warehouse, which was good. We had no witnesses other than a few escaping pleasure slaves who were ripping off their collars as they ran. I wished them well, but knew it was likely they'd be recaptured before dawn. When they had passed I climbed out onto the window ledge and made my way to the roof, a lead drainage pipe providing convenient access. Thick clouds hid Wolfmoon and Poritrin, another reason why we chose to make the raid tonight.

I checked the roof, then let down a length of rope to help Jofar hoist Marnessa up. She was surprisingly heavy for her build. It must have been all that mammary tissue. Jofar climbed up after her, jerking up the rope behind him. It was too dark to make out Marnessa's face, but I could tell she was trembling. She hadn't liked the acrobatic maneuvers we'd forced on her. But she would soon have to endure another one.

Jofar untangled the last item he had bound to his waist: a finely woven purse net. He spread it on the roof and I took my place in its center with Marnessa, who was beginning to squirm like a excited grub. I held her firmly around the shoulders, keeping her in place. Jofar drew the edges of the net up and over us, gathering them above our heads. He knotted the string. Both Marnessa and I were now easy prey if our enemies suddenly burst onto the rooftop. In all likelihood they would not, but it was still a risk.

Jofar shot his last pyropigeon high into the air. It exploded in dozens of brilliant orange sparks. He then drew out a short stick which he extended by a series of snaps into a six foot pole. He poked it through the drawstrings of our net and held them up high.

Marnessa started to whimper from within her wool cocoon.

"Shush," I said. "It won't be long now." I drew the edges of the cloak up over her face to keep her quiet. "Pray to your god that this works, Jofar!"

"It will, my Lady. Lassimla has dreamed its success!"

I wasn't so sure about that. A series of high-pitched pings confirmed Aylinn's stymphad had targeted our location. "It comes, my Lady!" Jofar said, both elated and terrified. "It... "

Then the stymphad rushed upon us like a vengeance from the gods, a creature blacker than the night, blacker than a storm, for Aylinn had dusted it with ashes to conceal its bright scales. It snatched us up in one cruel claw, the net jerking us up and away. The Star and its outbuildings disappeared in a kaleidoscope of images: panicked crowds spilling onto the street, scattered patches of light where torches were lit; Jofar vaulting away to the warehouse next door, trailing a rope so he could rappel himself down. Each grew smaller and smaller as the stymphad carried us higher. An icy wind tore through the openings of the net, raising goosebumps on my flesh. I envied Marnessa her cloak. She had grown quiet now. I wondered if she was all right.

At our height the city was silent, though we ourselves dared not say anything, for sound carried from above. There was the west flank of palace, there the pale tongue of the falls. Aylinn took care to keep our journey smooth. She had charge of this leg of the rescue mission, and it was a matter of pride with her.

Finally we began to descend. Marnessa began to whimper again. She had made not a peep during the flight, though the rigidity of her body betrayed her terror. I wondered how she felt at being snatched away by a bunch of strangers. Had it been more or less traumatic than being made a slave in the first place? The stymphad flew lower and lower until I recognized the white dome of the Temple. The townhouse, my temporary quarters, lay only eight blocks beyond.

Lower, lower. The townhouse came into view. As Lassimla had said it was well-protected, a high wall being its most conspicuous defense. The garden rushed up to greet us. Between two of the trees was slung a large net. How well had Aylinn trained her mount?

In another second the hooked claws released us. We fell like a stone between the palms. The net stretched severely, but broke our fall. The stymphad flapped swiftly away, disappeared into the night as if it had never existed at all. Several torn branches spiraled down after us.

For one second, two, I collected myself, breathing deeply, then used my knife to free us from the nets. The wild ride had unnerved me more than I'd thought. I stood, willing the minute trembling from my limbs, then turned to attend to my victim.

Marnessa was so quiet that I thought she had fainted, but I heard a moan emerge from the muffled cloak. I quickly unwrapped her. She still lay in a rigid position, wrists tied before her, mouth working on the gag.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" I said.

As before, she just stared, each anxious lungful of air jouncing her breasts up and down. The knot tying her wrists had loosened ridiculously by now, but she would not free her hands. For some reason that annoyed me, that she would passively accept such a flimsy means of restraint. I untied her ankles and helped her to stand. "Come," I said, taking her by the upper arm. "Into the house."

She was weak and unsteady on her feet, but obeyed me unquestioningly.

Chapter 15: Reluctant Mistress

I led Marnessa inside the empty, silent house, lighting lamps and candles as I went. I didn't quite trust her, as her reaction to the rescue had been peculiar. Normally a freed slave would be jubilant and grateful, but she was only withdrawn. I discarded the gag and the rest of her bonds, then led her to my bedchamber where we might take some refreshment. I sat Marnessa down on the bed and poured both her and myself a glass of white wine. She stared at her glass as if had grown fangs and would bite her.

"You're free now, " I explained. "You're safe in this house, and we won't allow anyone to take you back." Then, because she seemed so vacuous, "Do you understand?"

She looked slightly puzzled. "But Mistress, I am a slave. Slaves cannot be free."

"Nevertheless you are," I said crisply. "And I am not your Mistress. There's no need to call me that."

"Yes, Mistress."

I sighed in frustration, then snapped off her brass collar and threw it on the floor. "There. Does that convince you?"

She felt her neck with delicate pampered hands. A normal person would have given their throat a quick touch, nothing more. But her fingers lingered sensuously on her skin as if she enjoyed the feel of her body, or felt compelled somehow to show others that she did. "Do you... do you want me to serve you, Mistress?"

"You are free!" I shouted. "You no longer have to serve anyone!"

Tears appeared in her eyes. "But... Mistress, please, I *have* to serve!"

The way she spoke it betrayed a deep compulsion. Chills rolled through my flesh at the thought of it. Here she was, free as I was, yet she was still a slave! She wasn't even the least bit selfconscious about her nudity, either. "Don't you know what it's like to be free, Marnessa?"

"My name is not Marnessa," she stammered, her eyes glistening. "My name is Wild Nipples. I beg you, Mistress, let Wild Nipples serve you now."

"Your name is Marnessa," I commanded. "Repeat it. 'My name is Marnessa.' "

"My name is Marnessa," she repeated dully.

Was it possible Shezrine had warped her so much she no longer remembered her past life? "How far back do you remember, Marnessa? Do remember your life as a child? A teenager? Do you remember feasting in the palace or going horseback riding, or perhaps wandering through markets, buying a bangle that caught your eye?"

Her eyes went distant. "I... I don't remember, Mistress. Once I served Queen Shezrine, that I know. She made me what I am. But I displeased her, and she sent me away."

"You remember nothing before that?"

"No Mistress."

I wracked my mind, wondering what I should do.

"You serve me now," I said firmly. There was no other way to get around her mindset. "I'm your new owner, and you will obey my orders."

"Yes, Mistress," Marnessa said eagerly.

"First of all, you will not leave this house without my permission. And you will not try to escape. I have my knife and sword, and I assure you I am very vigilant. Not only that, but Temple warriors roam the outside walls, preventing any from leaving or entering without the rebels' permission."

"Yes Mistress. I will not leave, Mistress."

"Outside of that, you are free to roam this house. Eat, if you feel hungry; bathe if you wish. You may speak freely to me about your other wants. If any of the rebels should ask you questions, as we will later, you will answer to the best of your abilities, giving a full and detailed reply. You will not hold any information back, and you will not lie. Do you understand?"

"Oh, yes Mistress. Slaves cannot lie!"

I smiled to myself. That would certainly make things convenient. Unlike the freemen who had been enslaved, Shezrine's slaves had no loyalty. They would gladly serve whomever claimed them, spilling their previous owner's secrets in the process. That could prove very useful. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other. Now I want you to drink your wine and get some sleep on the cot I've prepared for you. Tomorrow we will see about turning you back into a normal human being."

Obediently, she finished her wine in one draft, then slid off the bed. She knelt before me on the floor, back bowed, head down, the top of her curly head touching the toes of my boots. Then she rose and glided unobtrusively but gracefully to the corner of the room, where she lay upon the cot and was still.

I poured myself a second glass of wine and stripped off what remained of my clothing. It looked like she wasn't going to be a problem. I was glad, for I was sorely troubled by how to handle her. I had staunchly refused to own slaves even before I came to Obn Dhregni; I had never wanted to have total power of life and death over another human being. Total power always turns into total cruelty. Yet, I could see that I had to take some authority with her, as she was incapable of taking direction on her own.

Naked, I went to the bath where I rinsed off the last of the face-paint and gave myself a cool shower with water from the roof cistern. I used some of the oils to scent myself, then toweled myself dry. I felt clean and composed for sleep by then so I returned to the bedroom. The lamps had gone low so I extinguished most of them save for one I kept by the bed. Marnessa was sleeping on her side, the luscious twin moons of her buttocks facing toward me. She had not availed herself of a blanket. I peeled back the thin sheets of the bed and settled myself inside, then opened one of books Lassimla had left for me to read. It was a history of the city and told me more about those puzzling beasts of stone.

A rustle came from the corner. "Mistress, are you yet awake?"

"Yes," I said automatically. "I am reading, though."

She didn't get the hint. "You said I could speak freely, Mistress."

"That I did." I sighed and laid the book aside.

Marnessa rose from her cot and stepped lightly across the floor to my bed, facing me across the lower railings. Her firm breasts pressed against the bars, nipples peeking through. The expression on her face was guileless as a daisy. "May I serve you now, Mistress?" she asked, with the ingenuous way of a child who has a new idea and thinks it the most original in the world. Her eyes traveled over my body. The thin covers had done little to conceal it, showing the outline of my breasts, the parted vee of my legs. When she came to my face she submissively cast her eyes down, not meeting my own. "This slave so wishes to please you, Mistress."

I knew what she meant. And I would not accept that, walk in the path of Shezrine and all the other cruel sybarites of this city. "No," I said firmly. "Go back to your cot."

"But Mistress... " her lower lip trembling, destroying the perfect pout that Shezrine had sculpted on her face. "I want to please you. I *need* to. I... cannot sleep, unless I satisfy you completely."

"I am already satisfied." But my body betrayed that I was not. The sexual nature of the dance and concupiscerium, then the excitement of the kidnapping, had affected me. Two subtle peaks had risen from beneath the thin white sheet, a reflection of my secret thoughts.

"I beg you, Mistress!" Marnessa cried. "My body... wants to please you. I cannot control it." She suddenly climbed onto the bed and knelt beside me, begging. "Let me pleasure you, and I will find relief!"

I should have known. Shezrine's slaves were not only conditioned mentally, but physically as well; to ensure they would not tire of the sex act their drives had been increased to near intolerable levels. I was later to find out exactly how intolerable, and the many humiliating acts a slave would commit to slake them. But even so, I would not follow in Shezrine's footsteps.

I had a solution, though. "I order you to pleasure yourself, Marnessa," I commanded. "Pleasure your body as you would pleasure a lover."

She looked slightly puzzled at the order but obeyed me unquestioningly, beginning with circular strokes of her soft, manicured fingertips. It looked innocuous enough, but to me it was clear she was becoming aroused by it. She lingered particularly on her breasts.

"That's it, Marnessa. Play with your nipples, make them hard. Now take your breasts in your hands and squeeze them softly."

She did so, cupping them in her palms. Though abnormally large her breasts were lush and well balanced, a median between soft and hard; whatever filled them, though, was definitely not normal tissue. Her nipples, too, had an obvious artificiality about them, for I had never seen nipples so engorged except on nursing mothers. They were a darker shade than the rest of her flesh and were missing the little bumps and puckers of normal organs. Instead they were as smooth as stylized sculptures, sitting on the proud peaks of her breasts as if unrelated to the flesh below. I had the eerie feeling I could pry them off somehow and put them in my pocket. Yet the falseness of them made her even more alluring.

She twirled her stiff nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, moaning softly. Her eyes closed and her mouth stretched in a dreamy smile, as if her mind had ceased to exist. There was a showy, practiced element in her autoerotic pleasure, as if she might have been specially tutored in it to give onlookers their full money's worth. I was insulted at its crassness, yet I found myself growing aroused. My hand moved towards my own nipples. Her performance was affecting me as strongly as my dreams of the Queen had, though the attraction was of a different timbre. I wanted to taste her, control her, feel her squirm beneath me and on top of me. Dominate her.

She started to undulate, her pelvis rising and falling against her legs. Her thighs were spread wide so I saw right between them, all the way up to her depilitated sex with its discrete pink folds. One hand went to stroke her clit, the other fondled her breast. Her head was thrown back, her curly black hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her eyes were shut and her mouth opened in a ring of pure passion, letting loose with her cries... a slave to her own sexual heat, so needy and helpless I couldn't decide if I should protect her or ravish her.

Against my better judgment, I chose to ravish her.

She made only a slight noise of protest as I drew her down, rolling on top of her. "Keep still," I hissed. "Your Mistress commands it!"

"Oh..." she moaned as I attacked her oversized nipples.

"You wanted this, slave girl." I drew the erect knob between my teeth, sucking hard, stabbing it with my tongue. The other I twisted between my knuckles.

"Oh, Mistress..." Her head flew helplessly back and forth under the barrage.

Yes, slave girl, I thought. Squirm for me, show me how much of a slave you are. Her breasts were so large, so smooth! It was impossible for either my mouth or my fingers to claim all of them, yet I tried, the soft tissue pressing into my face and chin. Though I did not consider myself a *rezaba,* a woman-lover, I had on a few occasions partaken of that fruit; it had always been between trusted friends, an outgrowth of the friendship rather than the reason for it. Always, it been limited to a single encounter. But with Marnessa, that fruit had been crushed, and I devoured that sweet, fresh pulp like one starving.

My new slave whimpered like a whore, flinging her wrists over her head as if begging to be chained. Her mouth went slack.

Tiring of her breasts--marvelous though they were--I formed my fingers into an arrow of flesh to penetrate her completely. The pink folds of her sex parted eagerly to admit me. Her stiff clit nudged my palm, and I obliged it with a rapid flicking from my thumb.

She cried out in a throaty vibrato. She drew her knees up, completely helpless under my hands... helpless, and perfect.

A sense of imminent mastery filled me, though in truth the word was inadequate to convey the mixture of excitement, control, and skill that I felt. Did every man and woman in the city feel this, I wondered, when they made their choice of victims in the concupiscerium halls?

"Oh Mistress, oh... oh... ooohhhhhh... " Marnessa shook prettily, arching her back, her neck arching gracefully too. Her nipples vibrated rapidly as the tissue beneath them quaked in orgasm.

I withdrew my hand. I had not yet climaxed, but seeing her come had almost been climax enough. She began to deflate, her eyes still closed, mouth emitting soft sighs of breath... just as alluring in rest as she was while writhing and helpless. I now knew why slave girls were so desirable. They were victims of themselves, and victims of their owners, who could be either savage or merciful, as they desired.

I sat back on my heels, ashamed that I had taken advantage of her this way. Yet she had wanted it so much!

She opened her eyes and looked up at me. There was no resentment there, only supplication. *Have I pleased you enough?* she seemed to be saying. Her own body had been satisfied, so I should have sent her back to the cot. But I did not.

"I am not finished with you yet, slave girl," I said sternly. "I order you to pleasure *me* now, and be quick about it."

"Yes Mistress," she said obediently, then squawked as I smacked her hard on her unbranded buttock. Like her breasts, whatever filled it was obviously artificial, for no flesh could feel that firm and resilient.

"I said be quick about it!"

"Yes Mistress," Marnessa said, awkwardly maneuvering herself to her knees. "Forgive me, Mistress, for my sloth and inattention." The slap had excited her and her eyes were bright. "Do you wish to punish this lowly pleasure slave?" She looked like she was looking forward to it!

"I just may, if you continue to dawdle," I said, warming to the idea. After all, she had suggested it.

"Then I will make haste, Mistress," Marnessa said breathlessly, and lowered her pretty head to my crotch.

I had little to do then but surrender myself. She worked as if her own pleasure did not matter, unlike normal lovemaking where mutual release is the goal. Her only job now was to please me, and for that she was naught but a well-crafted machine. Other lovers I've had were more skillful with their touch, more practiced in their technique, but for sheer desperate intensity you couldn't beat an Obn Dhregni pleasure slave. Visually too she was a delight, with her beautifully blank face and long thick lashes, her tangles of hair, her nodding breasts. I saw now why she had gotten the name Wild Nipples, for they were so engorged and excited they seemed to point in two different directions.

She then went to suck my own nipples, her mouth warm and fevered. She moved from one the other, building up to such a climax of pleasure I wanted to scream... the perfect bedroom tool, instantly responsive to whatever command or gesture I made.

I motioned her head lower. She slowly sucked the hard smooth muscles of my belly, her curly hair tickling my skin. I guided her still lower, so she could apply her mouth to my sex.

She showed no hesitation. Her rhythm did not falter; it was totally different from receiving a man's oral pleasure. Her tongue was smaller, more skilled, more dainty. And then there was the undeniably alluring picture she made, crouched between my legs so her head was low, looking up every once in while with her wild green eyes like an obedient pet to see the nod or gesture that told her to go on. She kept her rear up so I could appreciate those lovely buttocks.

I was truly in heaven, but I did not want to come too soon. I wanted to enjoy this. My own hands manipulated my nipples, which were fair well as stiff as hers, but I soon forgot to do anything at all as my breath became short and my heartrate rose. I was going to come, served by the very embodiment of slavehood I had come to destroy.

A movement at the window caught my eye. Someone was watching us!

I should have stopped the act and grabbed the sword I always kept near the bed. But I was too caught up in the pleasure that claimed me. Before I could think of anything else the orgasm came, tearing up from the center of my body, and I shook and cried out, my legs twitching.

Covered with sweat, the delicious aftershocks a memory, I opened my eyes. Shadow stood by the bed in his traveling clothes, his own sword and pack resting on the floor. His expression was one of surprise, outrage, and an almost painful arousal.

Marnessa still crouched between my thighs, cleaning up the juices of my climax with her tongue. Shadow flicked his gaze to her rear, her right cheek clearly bearing the brand-sigil of the Queen. With a calm sarcasm, he said, "Sorry for the intrusion, but what is going on here?"

"I can explain... " I said weakly.

"Do," he said curtly, pulling off the fingerless leather gloves he wore.

I lifted Marnessa's head from her work. "Go stand in the hall outside the door. We have private matters to discuss."

"Yes Mistress," Marnessa said, and did as she was told.

Shadow watched her go. The bulge in his pants told me he was still very aroused, and his anger told me he didn't want to be. "I thought you considered slavery abhorrent," he said in a voice heavy with reproach. "Yet you seem to have lost no time in purchasing your own private playmate."

"She is not my slave," I said.

"You could have fooled me! I suppose she was born looking that way, with that brand on her arse? I know what that means."

"Will you listen to me!" I said hotly. "Marnessa--for that is her name--was a rebel captured by the Queen. She turned her into one of her pleasure slaves as punishment, then sold her to a concupiscerium as a whore. I rescued her, and this was her way of showing gratitude."

Shadow seemed not to have heard anything beyond *Marnessa.* "Lady Marnessa rezbet Amicon?" he asked quietly.

"The one. Did you know her?"

"Yes," Shadow said, swallowing. "I visited her family when I was in the city last year. She was just a girl." He glanced toward the door. "She looked nothing like that."

"The Queen knows spells to transform the flesh, to make her slaves over into her ideals, and with the physical transformation comes a transformation of the mind. I rescued her from The Star, but she still believes she is a slave, even though I've told her repeatedly she is free. I had to let her have her way tonight to prevent her from becoming completely unmanageable."

"I see," he said. He still looked a little shaken. "All pleasure slaves are treated thus?"

"Just Shezrine's. But there are a lot of them, as she runs through them like candy. And she is just as capable of transforming any man, by the way." He looked even more uncomfortable. "Lassimla--the High Priestess of Tontaxir--thinks there might be a way to undo the spell. It's worth a try. I was going to look into it tomorrow."

"So you've met the mysterious priestess," he said.

"Yes. I've met J'Wabra too, and the Duke of Ushroez," I said. "So my time in the city has not been idle." I glanced back at the crotch of his pants, and a small grin crept on to my face. Though I'd no lack of sexual adventures in the city, I was very happy to see him again. "Why don't you... join me, and we can talk." I lifted a corner of the sheets.

As I hoped he decided to forgive me. "You read my mind, Lady Amazon." He stripped and slipped in beside me, the lamplight playing over his taut, muscular body. It made me realize how much I had missed him, only though we'd been acquainted a mere three days. "Who were those black-garbed vigilantes surrounding your house?"

"Templewards," I said, returning his kiss. Our legs tangled under the blankets, and I rubbed against the hairy pelt I remembered. "Tontaxir's spies and assassins. Lassimla lent them to me. I'm surprised you got past them."

"They were good," he said, bringing up his arms to enfold me. "Very good. But I am better." His cock poked along my thigh, stiff as a writing stylus, and I grabbed it to guide him inside me.

I heard the door creak. Marnessa stood looking down on us with wide innocent eyes. "I heard you moan, Mistress... is there anything I can do to please you and your partner?"

"I don't want an audience," Shadow hissed. His cock slipped out of my hand, softening, as he tried to sit up. "Get rid of her!"

I hooked my legs around his hips to keep him on top of me. "I can't. She won't leave us alone until she feels she's serviced us somehow. In fact," I added, "you'd do her a kindness if you let her participate!"

"Are you serious?" he said in an indignant whisper.

"Her libido is so high, it's actually painful for her *not* to have sex," I said, snaking my tongue back into his mouth for a passionate kiss. Wicked possibilities exploded before me. "You would not be hurting or exploiting her, as she offers her services of her own volition. Don't you, Marnessa?"

"Oh yes, Mistress!" Marnessa said, and began to masturbate again in that showy way of hers.

Shadow turned his head away, continuing to soften. "No. I can't. Shezrine made her that way... "

I didn't blame him for his guilt, knowing what he did of the Queen and her sack of Bontatris. But I also knew we were all free and willing individuals in this house, even if Marnessa was suffering from an unnatural compulsion. "This is Obn Dhregni, love," I said, kissing him again. "Why not enjoy it, just for one night?"

"She may be angry at us after she recovers her wits."

"She may also be angry at us for not providing her relief," I said logically.

"I could never be angry at you, Master," Marnessa purred, both hands plucking her nipples. He had the typical man's reaction, even if his mind was occupied with the moral implications of it. Marnessa studied his rising erection as if it was a precious jewel.

"Relax. It won't kill you," I whispered, encircling his cock with my hand. I felt him shiver, a mixture of excitement and revulsion. "I think you will wind up enjoying it more than you think." I cupped his balls, letting them fall through my fingers, one, then the other, to show Marnessa that they, and him, belonged to me as much as she did. "Take him in your mouth, Marnessa. Suckle him until he comes."

"Yes Mistress." Shadow leaned back on his elbows like a virgin on the altar as she knelt gracefully between his legs. He still looked dubious about this, but she took him in her mouth without batting an eyelid.

I couldn't help grinning as the expression on Shadow's face slowly changed. So agonized, yet so delighted! It was so interesting I wished I had a light-box as the magicians of Turufanx did, to capture it and preserve it for eternity. Marnessa too, was a sight, her nude body wriggling as she sucked, her wide eyes glued on his face, though his eyes were closed by now, his lips parted like a cherub's. Ordinarily I would never have stood by while another fellated any man I had claimed; yet the fact she was under my control erased any feelings of jealousy on my part. His pleasure, and her subserviently giving him that pleasure, made it remote as a bawdy-house fresco. I was as aroused as if I did the act myself. Even more so, as I could truly study his face, the tremors of his body, without distraction. I could even give her directions.

"Slowly," I ordered. "Don't make him come too soon. Slide your tongue up and down his shaft, curl it around. That's it." Shadow started to tense, breathing quickly, yet deeply. I could see his orgasm building, and felt an even greater sense of mastery at how well I had orchestrated the event!

She took him deep when I told her, her head bobbing rapidly. His hands wound in her curly black hair. I was too electrified to move a muscle, not even to stimulate myself.

He came with a cry, shooting his seed into her mouth. She continued to take him even through the spasms, steadying him. I felt as thrilled as if I had come myself. She withdrew after cleaning him thoroughly. Shadow looked at me sidelong, as if embarrassed, but flashed me a cocky grin.

"Have I pleased you master?" Marnessa asked once the last of the sperm had been swallowed.

"You've pleased me," Shadow echoed, satisfied in spite of himself. He was still slightly hard, and I knew it wouldn't be long before he would need to spill himself again. His expression grew sly. "Now please your Mistress."

I would rather have spiked myself on his cock, which had been tempting me for a while now; but he had other plans. The watched now would become the watcher, and I couldn't exactly say I wasn't looking forward to it. So again Marnessa crouched between my legs to suckle and slurp, and the pleasure was made even more intense by the thought of how thoroughly she'd just serviced Shadow. She might have taken on a whole room of rebels, if we let her. Not that we really would have, of course...

Shadow watched us in silence. Like most men he was content to be a voyeur, and also like most men, he clearly enjoyed the sight of two women making love, which was probably why he had suggested it. I've never understood that particular attraction. Did the softness and delicacy draw them, or was it the temptation to join in?

My head was lolling by then, and my eyes closed. I felt his hands touch my breasts, straying over my skin. The touch bespoke fascination, restraint; he meant to assist, not intrude, on the act. Like Marnessa I had become the prey of two loving captors. But unlike Marnessa, my new Master and Mistress were far more powerful. One was Lust, I realized, and the other Love.

I came then, my whole body stiff save for the cataracts of passion at my loins. Shadow wiped my forehead when was done as if I had suffered some sickness. Had I truly fallen in love with this cursed, fascinating wanderer? Was it possible?

He was still hard and I knew what I wanted then was that cock, that hard and elegant organ that stood at attention just for me. I straddled him before he could protest, facing the foot of the bed so Marnessa could join in. Love. Lust. The two were one. My thighs plunged up and down as I sheathed and unsheathed him, our organs sticky with our fluids. Marnessa crouched below our junction, her mouth and tongue striving to keep my pace with my clit. When she could not, Shadow received its benefits.

The pleasure only grew as my breasts jiggled up and down, nipples swaying. I cupped them in my hands, offering them, and Marnessa instinctively knew what to do... she sucked the nipples as I held them, using her teeth to get the proper combination of piquancy and sweetness. I gasped in ecstasy, but kept my rhythm strong. I threw my head back for a visit by heaven yet again. That was what the elders in Moambe called an orgasm, by the way. A visit by heaven. And there was no more perfect road than this.

Yes, I thought as the first spasms shook me, a slave girl was definitely a handy tool to keep around the house...

Chapter 16: The Crystal Shards

When we woke I truly wondered if it had all been a dream. Soft blue light, a precursor to dawn, glowed in the window, and there were the distant sounds of the city rising for work, birdsong, the clink of metal in the forge. Shadow still slept, the soft hairs on his chest looking dusted with mica in the lamplight. We'd been so passionate the night before I'd forgotten to ask him how he had fared in the days we'd been apart. It had been rough, for I saw some bruises and scrapes I hadn't noticed the night before.

Marnessa lay in deep slumber on her cot, one lovely arm flung over her eyes as if surfeited with passion. She'd had a good workout. Hopefully, she would sleep until noon. Not that I hadn't enjoyed her, but I really wanted to spend time alone with Shadow, to bring my soul a degree closer to his.

I slipped out of bed. Clad in a silk robe, I picked up the food basket the Templewards had left on the villa doorstep. They would feed us as long as we stayed here. I set the meatrolls and pastries on the table, on a colorful plaid cloth, as if I was village wife preparing for the day. Silly, I told myself. Yet the events of last night had affected me.

I heard a noise in the bathroom and went to check. Shadow was showering in a slow trickle from the cistern, rinsing a thin film of soap off his body. The wolf tattoo was a blazing cinnamon against his pale skin. I couldn't help shedding my robe and sneaking behind him--making noise to announce myself, as not to spook his skittish reflexes--and folding my arms around that hard, hard flesh. Did I mention I was half a head taller than him? "Move over, wolf-man."

"You are well-rested," he observed, letting my arms close around him. "Do you know that you snore at night?"

"It was Marnessa," I said.

"A little iced-cake like that? No, it was you." He handed me some soap with a cheerful flourish. "At least she sleeps now. I thought she never would."

"Don't say you didn't enjoy it," I said.

"It brought back pleasant memories," he said, with a half-smile.

I was still unsure about him, so framed my invitation as a tease rather than a request. "Would you like to create some more? Marnessa still sleeps."

"Please, I am wet," he mock-protested.

"So am I," I said, straddling his hip, so he could feel the warm juices coming from inside me.

We lay on a marble bench, both of us wet and glistening. The seat was scooped in the middle so it cupped me with comfort. I spread my legs wide, folding them up, so he could see the purplish gash of my sex. "Come here wolf-man," I purred, stroking my now-moist lips with one finger. "All night I've wanted you alone, come and play with this sleek black panther." Panther--I might add--is slang for a women's organs in Pharazion and Zaar.

He lay on top of me then, and the hard friction of his body between my thighs, and the stiff cocked that poked and pried, and finally entered, were enough to render me almost senseless, as he covered my neck and mouth with rough, urgent kisses. I imagined him as wolf covered with shaggy black fur, soft and yielding in mass but scratchy singly. When he thrust I only grunted, wanting to keep things quiet in case Marnessa should hear and badger us to join in again.

As far as sex goes, it was short, violent, and utterly delicious. I opened my eyes to see him withdraw, a glistening strand of semen still attached to me, which broke with a delicate snap. I felt a little reckless then, and I said, "We should make a habit of this. Perhaps after this adventure we can embark on another."

He looked down, cleaning himself, but I could tell he was agitated. Were there other obligations for him? A wife, a lover, a cause he was not free to leave? Or was just taking what he would, as many men do, without thinking of tomorrow?

I was immediately sorry I'd said it. Several nights of sex, even wild sex, between adventurers was no different than shared time in a bawdy-house. It meant little, next to the obligations of normal life.

"Perhaps," he said. "Who knows what the gods have in store in for us?"

A note of sadness, of wistfulness, in his voice told me he did not know what lay in his future, and couldn't make any plans because of it. I didn't want to push and cause him to withdraw, so I spoke no more of it. "Come," I said. "Breakfast is on the table."

We dressed, then ate. Shadow told me that over the past few days he had been rallying the commoners outside the city, preparing them for when Deneir's--the rightful king's--forces would come. He didn't say what he did during the nights. I filled him in on my activities, leaving out, of course, the orgy with the Duke. By then the other rebels had begun to arrive, and the rest of our day was given over to strategizing.

The temple representatives spoke of Lassimla's vision and the eight beasts of stone that guarded the city.

"Ridiculous," Aylinn scoffed. "How can stone become living flesh? I've seen those statues, they are deader than the pebble currently vexing my sandal."

"You question the words of the High Priestess?" one of the temple advisors said severely.

"Ah, no," Aylinn stammered under that steely gaze. "I just find it hard to believe, that's all. In Hharang we got along just fine without gods, and they got along fine without us."

"The legend is true," a member of the Yasch, one of the rebel noble families, said. "So we've been taught, anyway. I remember walking by the statue of Zu many times as a boy, and shuddering when I thought of it coming to life. Imagine a fire-breathing bull twenty feet high with a man's face in its chest. My father said the face would babble incessantly in battle and spit curses, and when it shouted soldiers would deafen and buildings collapse."

"They all have names?" I said.

"Yes. Zu, Quorveh, Vengla, Rhonde," he said, ticking them off on his fingers. "Keeya the peacock. Amangarauta, Hachu'kai. The scorpion goddess Artelus. Each has a different power. Rhonde, the deer-headed snake, strangles its enemies in its coils and swallows them whole, while Keeya creates a whirlwind with its wings."

"A tremendous advantage for our side, *if* the legend is true," Shadow said. "So this girl is living with my brother's followers now? We should send for her. Are they any ancient texts that can tell us more?"

We talked for a while about that, then came round again to the Queen. "J'Wabra and were discussing the Queen's weaknesses," I said. "We came to the conclusion she may have an amulet or another object as the magical source of her power. Does anyone know about this?"

"She is secretive," Lady Marakassa said, shaking her head. "She is notoriously unpredictable and moody. She may disappear for days, then turn up as if she had not gone missing at all."

"She plans her rituals carefully," said another noble.

"She has many magic items," said a third. "Who's to know where the font of her power lies?"

But then a very ancient, bent-backed old Duchess spoke up. "When I go to court, I hear many things," she explained. "While the others give themselves over to carnal pleasures I pretend to drool and nap, and no one stays their tongue, for no one thinks an old lady such as I has a mind. This morning I heard the Queen speaking to her lover of the moment and I heard something very interesting. She asked him to join her at Psalmrune Tower at midnight, for what she called 'The Milking.' I gathered it was a ritual of some sort. He nodded eagerly. 'Shall I bring the shard?' he said.

"'Yes,' replied the Queen. 'But tell no one where you going. This is our secret.' Then she kissed her lover, fully but secretively, on the lips, and they hurried off."

"Hmm," I said.

"Psalmrune Tower lies at the northeast corner of the palace," Lady Marakassa said. "It's the tallest of the palace towers, and very steep--impossible to climb. And you have to get past the palace guards."

"I will find a way," I said. "Whatever she's doing, I will catch her at it."

"I will go with you," Shadow said.

I was surprised to hear him put himself in danger when he was the king's blood-brother. "It's dangerous to sneak into the palace," I said. "There are those walls of thorns--"

"I know," he said. "I have abilities of my own, as you know," he added obliquely.

Our meeting broke up in time for dinner. It had taken all day and evening now lay in a purple shroud over the city. J'Wabra took us aside. "It may not be the wisest thing for you to break into the palace," he said. "The Queen and her nobles all know you by sight."

"That's why we're doing it at night," I said.

He lowered his voice. "There will be much danger for you. Wait a few days, and we can help you get in by other means."

"But then this ritual, whatever it is, will be over."

Shadow clapped him on the shoulder. "I know you mean well," he said cheerfully. "But I can handle any dyspeptic Queen. As can the Amazon."

"Still, you should be careful," J'Wabra warned. "Shezrine has many tricks up her sleeve."

I looked at Shadow. "The sooner we prepare for her, the better," I said.

* * * * *

We set out at midnight dressed in dark clothes, carrying ropes, hooks, and a few other items I had brought with me. We were well armed with knives, which would be easier to use in close quarters. Shadow darkened his skin to blend in with the night, but I needed no enhancement. Silently we slipped through the streets of the city, avoiding the raucous nightlife that Obn Dhregni was famed for. Soon we came to clashing wall of thorns.

I expected Shadow to be surprised, but he'd seen it before. There were no guards here or any other sign of human life, which only made the metallic scrapes and clangs more eerie. No guards were needed, really. The wall was protection enough.

Shadow studied it silently. We were in a dark section of the city, surrounded by warehouses, and no one came to investigate us.

"You said you knew of a way through this," I whispered.

"I do," Shadow said, and continued to study the thorns. "Observe that they move in a particular pattern, almost like singing. Da dee, da dum, da, da, da," he sang, with motions of his hand. "Then a space opens up large enough for one to jump through. Ah--see it? *There.*"

And as he had said a space did open up, wide enough to admit a human body--albeit a swiftly moving human body--then closed with the cold clash of a pair of shears. "It'll come round again, in twenty beats," he said. "Then we jump through."

I tried to see the pattern he said was obvious, but could not. The movement looked as random as ever to me. But Shadow saw it; he was even grinning a little, as if he couldn't wait for the challenge. His confidence made me feel all the more foolish.

"Here it comes, again" Shadow said, and crouched. In another heartbeat he dove through the sudden hole, did a graceful tumble in the dirt, and came up on his feet. He brushed the dirt from himself as the opening closed. "There. Easy enough, for one who knows the rhythm. When the next opening comes around again, it's your turn."

My heart raced as I looked at the thorns. The slave-statues and hanging criminals hadn't phased me, but the thought of being sliced to death by sharpened razors spooked me badly. "Shadow--I can't," I stammered. "The thorns--there's no pattern there. If there is, I can't see it. I'll--"

"Walk five steps to the right," he said patiently. "That's it. Stay there, and in another eight seconds the hole will appear three feet above the ground."

The thorns continued to claw and clash, like butcher's cleavers, like scythes. I tried to set my body in a crouch but by my limbs felt frozen. I am not afraid of many things in this world, but dismemberment was one of them. "I can't," I said miserably.

"Close your eyes, then," Shadow said. "Shut them tight, and jump when I tell you."

"I can't--" I moaned.

"You must trust me!" he ordered. "Or you will never get in."

I closed my eyes, ashamed at my weakness. Each hammer of my heart seemed to take forever. As if through a fog, I heard Shadow shout, "Now!" and I jumped, pulling my body into the shape of a springing panther, to pass through the void that my trust told me was there. No metal thorns tore my flash, though I felt the air move as they twined around me, and I opened my eyes to see the ground rise to kiss me. I hit it with an awkward thump.

"Well done," Shadow whispered, helping me up. "Graceless, but brave."

I looked back at the wall. The hole was gone and the thorns clashed on, unperturbed. "How are you able to gauge the pattern, and I cannot?" I said. "Is it your wolf-senses?"

"Partly," he said. He must have been using them doubletime, for he turned his head this way and that as if listening, and a few times I actually heard him sniff the air. When I turned to look at him his eyes glittered faintly. "Let's go through the gardens. There's group of palace guards headed this way."

The palace loomed before us as we crept through the trees. Fountains tinkled, night-blooming flowers released their perfume. Nude statues stood on plinths here and there, their marble perfection more arousing than those of the flesh-and-blood slaves who serviced the nobles beneath them. We skirted this banquet, coming to a deserted side of the palace near a tool shed, where we paused to strap the cat's claws to our hands and feet. These were curved, metal crampons Turufanxian thieves used to scale buildings, and we looked like two beasts when they were done.

"I've never heard of these before," Shadow said in wonder, flexing his fingers. The metal claws at the tips curved like an eagle's. "They grip stone, you say?"

"As surely as flesh. Not many know of them in the Uplands."

"A good thing too, or many rare and beautiful things would go missing from their owners." he said.

We began to climb, I in the lead, Shadow following; he had no trouble keeping my pace. We soon reached the roof and a ledge that ran by a series of small windows. I looked down, and whistled softly. By chance, we were above the concupiscerium. Below us the slave statues stood in silent attention, indifferent to our progress. Perhaps some might have noticed the dark, shadowy figures at the upper tier of windows, but they were forbidden to speak, and who would note them if they did?

"By the gods," Shadow muttered, looking down with me. "Are those statues? Or people?"

"People," I said, and motioning him down the ledge. From above I saw how thoroughly each hall had been decorated with these captives, even the small ones no more than five paces long. How many were there altogether? The sheer number of them boggled the mind. They might have been mere arabesques in the cornices which were there to add to the overall richness but whose individual presence was never picked out.

When we reached a convenient corner we went over the glass-vaulted roof, making for the turrets and gables that marked the Queen's private apartments at the wing's further end, and the dark shaft of Psalmrune Tower. I heard Shadow swear again. We were on a level to look right down on the slave chandeliers, and they, if they were suspended on their backs, could look up at us.

"They can't see us," I said. "They can't see anything beyond the light of the lamp."

"The oil will burn them," Shadow said with amazement.

I shook my head. "As long as they remain still, they are safe. Come on, Shadow. We can't free them all, much less get them out safely."

Reluctantly he turned away to follow me. "Shezrine is a monster," he muttered.

We came to the tower. It was even taller when seen from its base, a smooth, featureless cylinder of stone. That height and smoothness was its defense. But the Queen hadn't counted on Turufanxian cat's claws.

We began to climb, a pair of determined insects in the night. The stone we gripped was dark, and the moon was thin; we were not seen. Higher and higher we went. If we looked down, we might have been petrified, if of a different bent than we were, but luckily neither of us was prone to fear of heights. We passed ten dark, empty windows, winding our way around the tower, before we saw the glow of lamplight in the topmost chamber. With it came a series of faint cries, staccato, measured, and feminine. They were the cries of a woman in sexual ecstasy, and they belonged to the Queen.

We picked up our pace, reaching the stone ledge of the window at the same time. Balanced on the steel claws at my feet, I looked in.

What I saw was so surprising I had to look away, then quickly look back to make sure I saw what I thought I did. A very naked Shezrine sat tied to a high-backed chair with cords of black silk, her thighs spread wide. She was gasping and writhing as a bearded man hungrily mouthed her breasts. I had seen him before; he was Euarez, one of the courtiers I had been introduced to on my visit to court. He bit and tweaked her nipples as if nursing, and the Queen's shrill cries echoed off the stone walls of the chamber.

I simply stared in shock, or a state that seemed like it, even though I'd been well aware of Shezrine's proclivities. Shadow swore again, but that was all he did.

Euarez directed his attentions lower, to the fork of the Queen's white-furred sex. He buried his face between her legs and she shrieked in pleasure, her hips thumping rhythmically on the velvet cushion. I saw her white thighs strain against the cords. It was clear she was highly excited. Her breasts bounced back and forth, nipple-rings dancing, as the cords in her neck grew taut. Suddenly her eyes closed, her mouth opened wide, and all further cries were silenced as she shook in the throes of a powerful orgasm.

Then she sank back into the chair, skin shining from her exertions. "Quickly," she gasped. "The shard."

Euarez reached into a wooden box inlaid with strange symbols. He withdraw a crystal shard and a long instrument almost like a siphon, which he inserted where his tongue had just been. Shezrine gave a little groan of protest or pain as it collected whatever fluids had accumulated inside her, then sighed in relief as Euarez withdrew it and emptied the contents into the shard.

"Perfect," he said, holding it before her, and they both laughed.

As I watched the clear crystal turned a pale blue in color, glowing of its own accord, and he capped it with a metal plug. With great care, he then fastened it to Shezrine's girdle, to join the dozens of other crystal shards which already hung there.

Shezrine cocked her head at him. "Aren't you going to untie me?" she said pettishly.

"I think not, your Majesty," Euarez said, and buried his face again in the sticky mass of curls between her thighs. The Queen laughed.

"Sex magic," Shadow whispered. "Notice that he didn't come inside her, for that would dilute the pure sexual secretions of a powerful witch. So that's the source of her magic."

The dozens of shards Shezrine wore were testaments to the power she had already collected, as well as her active sex life. "If we could unstop them somehow, smash them... " I mused.

A hoarse cry from the chamber distracted us; the courtier was reaching his own climax, both hands engaged now at his organ. I saw Shezrine slip her hands free of the cords. Almost tenderly she stroked her lover's hair and the smooth arch of his neck. I saw her take up the cord, her eyes slits of darkness. She passed the length under her lover's neck, crossed her wrists, and pulled.

The poor dupe never had a chance. His head jerked up as he was garroted. Shezrine looked down on him with her cold black eyes as his hands clawed for life. His face reddened and his eyes protruded. But his panic brought no freedom to him, no mercy.

Shezrine smiled, and her dark laughter chased us down the tower. The secret of the shards would stay a secret.

Chapter 17: Eight Beasts of Stone

We said little on the way back; even the wall of thorns seemed an anticlimax, after what we had seen in the tower. But when we reached the Market District we began to talk. "The rebels need to get that belt," Shadow said.

"Are you proposing we steal it?" I said.

"Who else?" he said with a disarmingly boyish smile.

I knew that if the belt was magical it would be protected by safeguards; I'd already had a taste of magical defenses in the Minnisk Desert. But if it meant being near Shadow again, I'd gladly take the risk. My mind began to paint pleasant pictures.

We came back to the townhouse at first light. Some of the rebels had stayed the night, waiting for our return, and as we walked in I noticed they were talking intently with a newcomer in their midst. The stranger was female, perhaps a few years younger than Shadow, with light olive skin and short, cropped hair of a dark bronze color. Her mouth was generous, with curves that suggested she liked to smile, and her arms were slim and well-muscled; overall she presented an almost boyish vitality that was belied by her well-shaped breasts and full lips. When we entered the room she looked up, flashing green eyes that sparked with recognition.

"Shadow?" she said. With two switches of her leather-clad legs she made it across the floor and caught him up in an embrace, along with a kiss considerably more probing and personal. "Oh, I've missed you... "

Sourly I waited, my illusions shattered. To make things worse, she bore the star of the Qu'Az between her brows. She, as it turned out, was the long-lost mistress of the stone beasts.

* * * * *

We had to explain it to her, of course. I looked daggers at Shadow, who now sat with his fiancee, her hand resting over his. My blood was boiling for the chance to talk to him alone, out of this room of yammering priestesses and scheming nobles. But he could have been on another planet for all the notice he took of me.

"You must be mistaken," she--Karina--said, with the naivete of youth. Her voice was high and innocent. "I can't be this person you're talking about. I have parents back in the village."

"They are not your real parents," Shadow explained patiently. "Didn't I tell that to you? They took you in as a baby and raised you as their own."

"The Star tells all," a priestess intoned.

Karina put her fingers to her forehead as if she wanted to rub it off. "Just because I have this... this... mark, it doesn't mean I'm the champion of this city! I've never even been here before, I hate it. The Queen is disgusting. I think it's awful the way she treats people."

"But you have the power to change it," the priestess said.

"You're going to have to accept it, Love," Shadow said, taking her hands in his own. "Fantastic as it seems, there can be no denying it. We can have no rebellion if you don't accept your destiny."

"She must go to the temple," the priestess said in a basso voice.

"Yes. Yes," the advisors agreed. "For the Opening-of-the-Eyes Ceremony."

"What, a ritual?" Karina said in alarm. "Oh no, not that. I detest organized religion, it exploits people. No one is going to play hocus-pocus with me."

I slunk away as they tried to convince her. She was obviously a ninny. And ugly. Her face was too square, her nose was too hooked. And she was Shadow's fiancee. How could I have been so foolish!

I could have taken solace with Marnessa just then, but Aylinn had gotten to her first. The Wing-captain of the stymphads and the slave girl had crept off to a spare bedroom and were locked face to crotch, Marnessa moaning her head off as usual. I closed the door. What else could go wrong?

I considered leaving Obn Dhregni just then, but I swore I would never back off from a promise I had made; and I had sworn, too, that Shezrine would be made to account for her atrocities, whether Shadow was involved in it or not. I took up my sword instead and went to the garden to practice, anger being the best fuel for the furnace I was in.

I went many rounds with an imaginary opponent, and the sun was well up when I decided to rest. As I wiped the sweat from my eyes I noticed Karina standing in the door looking at me. Her arms were folded and there was a serious expression on her face. I stiffened, expecting a denouement, but she merely walked over and handed me a clay mug of soign-berry juice.

"I'd like to thank you," she said, her clear eyes fixed on mine. There was no malice in them, no hidden motives. "For saving the life of my fiancee."

I shrugged, downing the contents of the mug. *Do you know your fiancee is also a wolf?* I wanted to say. *One who haunts the hills, ripping up livestock with his teeth?* But I had given my word, and that secret would pass to no one. "He saved my life too," I said trying to sound nonchalant. "One turn deserves another." I took up my sword again.

"You are a mercenary?" she said with curiosity.

"That's right," I said, briefly envisioning the blade eviscerating her pretty little belly. Instead, I chipped the bud off a lily.

"My father was a mercenary," she said. "Well, my adopted father, I should call him now. He didn't want me to follow in his footsteps, but I ran away to join Deneir. Foolish, I guess," she said, scuffing the sand near her foot. "Deneir taught me how to fight. Shadow is his brother, you know."

"I know," I said, beginning, absurdly, to warm to her. She wasn't vain, that was for sure. Her plain leather pants and jerkin were as utilitarian as mine, and she kept her hair short for practicality, eschewing the long tresses of court life. I wondered what she would say if I told her Shadow and I had been lovers. Probably she never dreamed of a thing, thinking my race enough to mark me as unattractive to him. The thought soured me again. "Do you use a sword?" I asked.

"A little. Quarterstaff, mainly. And I have knives. I serve with the rebels, but I'm really more of a thief. Or a thieving scout, I guess you'd call me." She touched her forehead again. "All this is so hard to understand. A few days ago, I was nobody, and now... this."

I parried a few more times, showing off my skill. The birds twittered in approval. "Future sister-in-law to a king is hardly being a nobody."

"Oh, Shadow," she said dimissingly, making a sharp motion with her hand. "He's hardly ever there! When he's gone I'm just another soldier. Things will be different when Deneir is back in power, though." She plucked a waxy plumeera bloom off a bush and twirled it in her fingers. "In the hills, we have nothing. Deneir holds court under a broken roof, with an audience of bats and squirrels. Even our neighbors, the Leopard Dukes, have to patch their robes."

I laughed. "Then Deneir would make a better ruler than Shezrine after all, if he maintains so ascetic a lifestyle." I suddenly realized I didn't feel hate for her anymore.

"They say I must go to the temple this afternoon," Karina said with a frown. "Some crazy ritual. Will you come with us? They tell me this High Priestess is a friend of yours."

"I would be happy to," I said.

But before we left for the Temple, I had to square things off with Shadow.

I still desired him, that was the problem. What he thought about it, I had no idea, but I would not push my claim over another woman's. Neither would I let him stand on sidelines to watch us both fight it out, like two cats over a juicy mouse. He had some explaining to do, it seemed.

I ran into him as he was discreetly packing his things from the room we had shared a day ago. He jumped when he saw me. Guilty, I fancied. His eye rolled up to meet mine.

"You could have told me you had a fiancee, you know," I said casually.

He stuffed a shirt into his pack, the muscles of his back working smoothly. A tendril of dark hair fell into his face. "Would you have told me if you had another?"

That stung; I hadn't told him about the Duke, after all. But the Duke was hardly a significant other. Neither was Shadow, yet I couldn't rid myself of the feeling that he was *mine,* illogical and delusional as it was. "Does Karina know about your curse?" I said.

"No," he said facing me, too proud to act the blackmail victim. "Will you tell her?"

"No." I lowered my eyes, ashamed that I had even brought it up.

"I've known her five years," he said. "She was always with the rebels, always with my brother. She wanted battles and adventure. I... responded to that, I guess. Deneir was very fond of her. He couldn't marry her--she wasn't of noble blood--but he thought she and I would make a good match, and he encouraged us. After a while, it seemed natural... a forgone conclusion, if you will." He stuffed another item of clothing inside the bag.

"Do you love her?" I said. "If so, then why not remain faithful? Does she not expect it of you?"

"This is really none of your business, you know," he said icily, standing, and slung the pack over his shoulder. A dagger glinted at his belt, looking very long and sharp, like a wolf's fang. "Do I love her? Yes, in my way I do. Will we marry? By the gods, I don't know. Would you wed a wolf, an animal? Would you bear the children of one, who might turn out like their father?"

"Shadow, I--" I blurted; but he had already gone, slamming the door to the chamber.

I sat down on the bed, feeling awful for the things I had said. Of course he could not marry her, and of course he felt obligated to. And of course he loved her; any fool could see that, from his consideration and smiles. I felt like I'd walked into a pit of scorpions. What had I been in this drama? An interloper, or a chance of escape? I pinched my eyes, feeling the need to sleep. The trip to Shezrine's tower had taken most of last night, and with the events of this morning, there hadn't been the time.

But that, too, was out of the question, as the priestesses announced they would be escorting us to the Temple for the ritual. Marnessa was to come too, for Lassimla was going to try to break Shezrine's enslavement spell. The rebels had tried to question her, but her replies had only been on the order of "Yes Mistress" or "No Master," ample evidence her intellect had been simplified along with her memory. I wondered how they had taken her repeated offers to "serve" them. Going by Aylinn's reaction, they had felt quite guiltless about accepting the offer.

Marnessa stood eagerly when I entered the room, expecting me to use her in turn, but I only shook my head. "No," I said, tossing a bundle of clothes at her. "Put these on. We're going to the temple."

She wrinkled her nose at the tunic and trousers, looking as disgusted at the thought of dressing as others more prudish would be at her nudity. Shezrine's slaves were made to be naked; seeing one with clothes on was like seeing a finely made sculpture swathed with rags. I draped a cloak around her and fastened it at her neck, drawing up the hood. "Keep your head down when you walk and the edges of the cloak pulled together."

"But Mistress, I will be hot."

"No hotter than you usually are," I said. The straining outline of her nipples was still clearly visible through her tunic. I availed myself of a cape, realizing I would be more recognizable in the streets now than I had been, and led her outside.

It was a quick walk to the Temple through the morning crowds. Shadow and Karina walked in the lead, she with her arm around his waist. He paused every now and then to pick up an item from the marketplace stalls, make some comment on it, and walk on, as if Shadow was indulging his lover by buying her a bauble. I knew it was part of their disguise, but the syrupy display still grated on my nerves. I thought about all the lovers I had known, who'd cheerfully come into my life and gone out of it without leaving much of a mark. Thunzer; Marrong; Ke-Aynan, Riethert--all of us adventurers, all of us pursuing our separate paths.

We came to the Temple. I hadn't seen it in daylight before and was impressed. It was shaped like a handbell, with a bottom floor that flared into a shallow dome and a tall decorated spire on top of that, which was gilded and rang softly with thousands of tiny bells. Around it was a high wall decorated with blue and green tiles in geometric patterns. The priestesses left to join their sisters--or brothers, as it were, given their double-sexed nature--leaving Shadow, Karina, Marnessa and I the only ones on the floor. Our footsteps rang strangely in that vast echoing place.

An altar had been set up near the tri-bodied statue of Tontaxir and to either side of it two braziers burned with a thin but pungent smoke. Slight whispering from the balcony told me other priestesses were present, to watch or chant, perhaps.

Marnessa started to fidget. "Mistress, I do not like this place... "

"Hush," I said, giving her arm a squeeze.

Lassimla walked down from the altar dressed in ritual robes of pink, red, and black, with silver kohl around her eyes. Her step was a little unsteady, her eyes alert but slightly glazed. I gathered she had taken some sort of drug, perhaps one that amplified the senses. Her eyes fixed on Karina. "So this is the one," she said. She brushed Karina's short bangs back to reveal the star. Though light, the touch was clearly sexual in nature. "The Keeper of the Beasts."

I felt Shadow bristle. He didn't know about Lassimla's *jaggaidrin* nature but reacted exactly as if another man had encroached on his lover. "What is she doing?" he muttered.

Karina's eyes locked with Lassimla's in obvious fascination. The *jaggaidrin* had that effect on both genders. It didn't hurt that Lassimla was so lovely, either; her hair had been done in many long, thin braids, an exotic yet genderless hairstyle that emphasized the flawless bones of her face. "They think I am," she said.

"Do you?" Lassimla asked.

"I... I don't know," Karina said, dropping her eyes.

Lassimla caught her chin and lifted her face up again. Before Karina could react she ducked her face in close and kissed her full on the mouth.

Shadow's hand went to his sword. I put my arm out, stopping him; fortunately the rough scrape was hidden in the high, eerie chanting that came from the balcony. "No!" I whispered. "What are you doing, do you want to spoil the ritual?"

"That is no ritual!" he hissed back.

Lassimla disengaged and looked at us. Karina stumbled a little on her feet as if dazed, her eyes blinking rapidly. The kiss, whatever it was, clearly had a druglike effect on her. "She needs this to claim her power," Lassimla said. "Otherwise, she is no use to you at all."

"You do that by raping her?" Shadow said acidly.

I glared at him. It was clear Lassimla's behavior was striking against some deeper issue, and despite my feelings for him I couldn't help thinking he was being hypocritical about it. After all, he had no objection to bedding me when he was promised to another.

Karina shook her head, coming out of her trance. "Shadow," she warned.

"She will not be hurt," Lassimla said. Templewards appeared unobtrusively between the columns, swords drawn, warning us we were not to make any more trouble.

Shadow knew he was outnumbered, and furthermore that it was foolish to draw swords on so flimsy a pretext, yet he did not want to give it up. Like many men he chose to abdicate rather than admit he had been wrong. "Do as you will, then," he said, on the verge of civility, and stalked out of the temple.

I could see Karina's lips move helplessly, she had not expected this from him. But Lassimla drew her back. "Let us continue," she murmured.

They kissed, as the cold stone faces of the god looked down. Marnessa and I were the only witnesses. When Lassimla let her robes slip to the ground I was not surprised. Tontaxir was the god of sexual pleasure, after all.

Marnessa gasped. "Mistress, she's... she's... "

"The word is *jaggaidrin,*" I said. Naked, Lassimla was a perfect meld of girl and youth. Though slight her body had the V shape of a man, with the small breasts of a teenager; her naval was as low as a woman's and her pelvis had the concave shape designed for childbearing. Yet between her legs a sizable cock was rising in the temple's warmth, and beneath it hung a healthy wrinkled sack full of fresh seed.

Karina was too caught up in the spell to notice; her responses grew heavy and languorous as Lassimla explored her mouth. Her hands remained at her sides, passive; yet I could see them twitch with desire to touch the *jaggaidrin's* slim body. Marnessa was so fascinated she barely made a sound. Clearly such a thing was out of the range of her experience, even though she had served in a concupiscerium.

Karina began to swoon. She threw her head back as Lassimla kissed her neck, slithering her hands beneath her shirt to touch her breasts. The chanting built to a crescendo.

Suddenly Lassimla pushed her to the floor in a gesture of urgency. She thrust her cock into Karina's mouth and I was shocked to see Karina suck on it with an even greater urgency. "Do it, *sahrilla,*" Lassimla said. "Suck it hard, make me come, or else all is lost!"

Power rippled in the air. Karina applied herself to her task with single-minded determination, her eyes closed; I saw her cheeks dimple and hollow. The bizarreness of the scene impressed itself upon me: a woman who looked like a man fellated a man who looked like a woman. I would actually been glad, earlier that day, for Karina to humiliate herself in a ritual like this, but it all seemed petty now. If the ritual didn't work, there would be no avatars to come to the city's rescue, and without the avatars, the rebels would lose.

Karina sucked as if she couldn't get enough of whatever nectar the priestess contained. But Lassimla's face showed none of the pleasure, only a sort of rising, holy agony. She was obviously reining herself, controlling her reactions, to make the act last as long as possible.

The sound of bells erupted from the temple balconies, hundreds of them, of various rich, silvery tones. Lassimla's eyes closed and I could see the tension gather in her face. "Yes , yes, *sahru,*... yeeessss," and she thrust her hips back, tearing her cock out of Karina's mouth. As she came a blaze of bright light momentarily obliterated the two figures.

I blinked. What was this? But it was no trick of the eyes. The fiery star detached itself and swiftly spiraled through the air, circling the ring of mosaics that lay around the altar. And I saw those designs were in fact the images of the Qu'Az beasts inlaid in many colored stones, and as the smoke star them they came briefly to life, rearing in triumph from the positions on their floor.

"Hachu'kai!" Lassimla commanded. An antelope with eagle claws raked the air, uttering a shrill cry like a raptor's.

"Artelus, the Demon Queen of Scorpions!" An albino scorpion with the head of a maiden scuttled round to face her, presenting its deadly sting.

"Keeya of the Thousand Eyes!" A metal peacock spread its tail, the iridescent eyes stunning me like a blow.

"Zu, come forth!" A fire-breathing bull with a man's head embedded in its chest stamped and bellowed.

"Amangarauta, Hronde!" An eight-legged armadillo, a living siege engine, rose from the floor like a boulder; next to it reared a python with the antlered head of deer. It gave an impressive hiss, displaying fangs longer than my hand.

"Quorveh, Packleader and Hunter!" A feathered wolf gave an eerie howl.

"Vengla, the Invincible!" A dragon-headed turtle rose from the mosaics as from a pond and puffed a cloud of scalding steam.

They all faced the altar, these bizarre mixtures of human and bird, mammal and reptile, insect and automaton, and bowed. To Karina, who stood still as stone, looking over the congregation with eyes full of terrible wonder. The star on her forehead burned like a white-hot coal.

Then it was over. The beasts shimmered like dreams, disappeared. Lassimla sagged against the altar, spent. A priestess quickly rushed in with a fresh robe.

Karina blinked, coming back into herself. "Wha' happened?" She touched her forehead and quickly snatched back her finger. "Ouch!"

Lassimla gently pulled her hand away. "Be careful. Your power has been activated now; you must handle it carefully."

"I feel so tired... " Karina began, and suddenly sagged too. The light faded from the mark, leaving a narrow four-pointed star. A priestess rushed in to attend to her.

"Come with me," she said, supporting Karina around the waist. "I'll take you to a place where you can rest."

"All right," Karina muttered. She seemed to have no recollection of what she had done. Her eyes lit up when she passed over the mosaics. "I saw them!" she said, pointing excitedly. "I had a vision... they were all there, bowing to me, and I was commanding them... "

"Yes, yes," the priestess soothed, and led her away to the chambers in the back.

It turned my attention back to the altar. Lassimla was drinking from a carafe, something to refresh her after her exertions. She noticed me watching her. "It is done," she said simply.

I nodded in what I thought what was a nonchalant way, though I was still reeling from what I had witnessed. "Do all your rituals involve sex?" I said.

"Most," she said., "Not because they have to, but because it's the quickest and most convenient way of working magic. Shezrine's secret too, as you know,"

I nodded.

"You have another innocent victim for me, do you not?" she said.

I smiled at the joke. "Yes," I said, removing Marnessa's cloak. "Here she is."

Marnessa's eyes went round with fright, or surprise, or maybe excitement; it was hard to tell. But she gave no protest.

"Ah, Shezrine's captured rebel," Lassimla said. "Come on up here, my dear. I do not bite."

Chapter 18: Spiders and Silkworms

On her own Marnessa went to the altar, her eyes fixed on Lassimla's; first her tunic, then her trousers, fell to the temple floor. Her eyes were bright, her lips parted, she walked with the fresh energy of a six-year-old. Yet for all the childishness it was a very sensuous act, because of what she was and the enhanced sexuality that made her that way.

"You are eager for change, I see," Lassimla said with a smile. I noticed she still kept her robe on.

"Mistress?" Marnessa said. She looked a little confused as she found herself nude and wondered how she had gotten to that state.

Lassimla poured her a silver cup of dark amber liquid. "Drink this." Marnessa took a long swallow. "The rebels tell me you were once one of them, and had been made a slave by the Queen. Is this true?"

Marnessa blinked. "I don't know, Mistress. I don't remember. But I think... I think... it may be true. They treat me familiarly, yet differently from how they treat each other. It's as if a silk shroud covers me, one that is beautiful but blocks my soul."

"Indeed," Lassimla said. "Would you like to be cured of it?"

"If you wish, Mistress," Marnessa said.

"No, do you wish it?"

"Mistress?"

"You must give your consent. Tontaxir's magic does not work on one who is unwilling."

Marnessa stared long and hard at her. What Lassimla said was true; even Shezrine could not break an unwilling victim, though she used her sexual skills to bring them to the point of submission. Marnessa had been abruptly torn from that world, and I could tell she still longed to go back there. But in the few days since her rescue I had also seen how she had come to long for her personhood. I saw her features struggle with the internal contradiction. She glanced around at the statue of Tontaxir, the mosaics, the flower offerings that always fringed the dais. "Yes," she said finally. "Will it hurt, Mistress?"

"No," Lassimla said. "But you must enact it yourself." She pulled on the edge of the animal skin that covered the altar, denuding it in one swift sweep. The surface had been carved into a statue of the god, the curves of his/her body rising in soft undulations from the stone. At the center rose a hard marble cock at a perfect 90 degree to the floor.

Lassimla ran her fingers down Marnessa's naked spine. "The god waits for you, Marnessa." Her fingertips touched Marnessa's breasts. "Bring the god to life, if you desire to be free."

Lassimla could not sway her through magic, but the force of her personality, combined with the drugged wine and the atmosphere of the temple itself, conspired to make Marnessa mount the supine statue of the god. She looked down into the cold marble eyes. Unbelievingly, I watched as she began to treat the stone statue as one would a lover. She kissed the sculpted lips, the broad chest, the hard stone breasts. She kissed the thing's belly, rubbing her hands up and down its flanks as if she enjoyed the feel of the stone.

I had barely recovered from the shock of seeing Karina lose herself in oral pleasure, and seeing Marnessa lose herself--to a statue this time--was almost more than I could take. I watched, transfixed, as the slave girl lowered herself onto the stone cock, her juices providing enough lubrication for it to slide in smoothly and easily. She wriggled on it as if trying to draw it deeper, then, with her thighs gripping the statue's hips, she began to raise and lower herself in slow, languid motions.

She did nothing else, just applied herself to the one action. The sensation must have been a new one to her, for her face grew amazed, then ecstatic at the stimulation. Lassimla stood by, watching intently. She did not participate herself but seemed to be supervising to see things went as planned.

As I watched Marnessa's slave girl training slowly fell apart. At first her features remained composed, her curly black hair falling just so; she kept her posture at the correct angle to display herself well to onlookers. But the act soon had an element of wildness introduced to it. Her eyes flashed open, rolling in their sockets, and her movements became more frenzied. Her even up and down rhythm began to vary, now fast, now slow; the front of her body flopped down onto the stone torso, then arced back like a dancers'. Her breasts flopped from side to side and her pretty half-smile became a grimace, lips pulled back from her teeth like an animal.

Her pace increased. She was sex incarnate now, highly erotic in spite of, or perhaps because of, being cleansed of the animal elements like body hair and cellulite. Her rear pumped up and down like a paddleball as the white marble phallus repeatedly pierced her flesh. She was no longer pleasing a Master or Mistress but herself, and the act had become far more personal and messy for it, yet all the more arousing.

Finally she reached her orgasm, mouth open in silent ecstasy. Her skin began to glow. The light seemed to ooze out of every pore like liquid gold, coating her in an eyeblink, so hot and bright I could barely watch her. For a split second she remained so, a golden statue sealed to a marble one, then the shell burst apart with a loud crack, the shards flying off into nothingness.

I blinked. Instead of Wild Nipples the slave girl there was just Marnessa, the plain-featured noble's daughter from the palace. She shook her head, woozy, as Lassimla helped her off the altar. A long strand of listening gold connected her still to the phallus, a last remnant of magic. Lassimla broke it with her finger and it disappeared into the air.

Marnessa was breathing hard, her shoulders hunched, as if she had run an exhausting race. Lassimla helped her into a robe and had one of the priestesses take her back to the inner chambers. "Will she be all right?" I said.

"Yes. She just needs to rest now, like any newborn," Lassimla said. The spell hadn't drained her at all, it had been Marnessa who'd done all the work. We began to walk to the back. "Shezrine's slaves are conditioned by sex to submission and being acted upon, so I--and the God--broke the spell by forcing her to impose her will on another. She couldn't have done it with another human being, hence the statue."

"Hmm," I said. It made perfect sense, the statue as substitute. "So Shezrine's magic *can* be broken."

"It looks that way." Lassimla said. "Of course, given the large numbers of slaves she has, this method is a little impractical." I told her what Shadow and I had witnessed the night before. "It doesn't surprise me that the ritual was so similar," Lassimla said. "Shezrine stole many of the Temple's secrets. The question is, how do we destroy these crystals? Of late she wears them. But not always. She may have glass substitutes, as some rich woman do for their valuable jewels."

"We can always drop a boulder on her to find out," I muttered.

Lassimla laughed. "And she will magic herself out from beneath it. No, if there is a way to break them, we must be most circumspect about it. Trick her, perhaps."

We came to the back chambers, the place where I had been brought on my first visit to the palace. Marnessa was lying asleep on one of the couches, a velvet throw pulled around her. Karina had been sleeping too but stirred when I came up. One eye flicked open, and she yawned. "Oh, it's you ," she said. A low table before her held a tray of half-eaten meatpies and honeycakes. "I feel so peculiar! Like... like I've had a couple of hours of sex, so full and rich and satisfied. " I noticed the rays of the white star now stretched from her hairline to the top of her nose, much more noticeable than the previous mark had been. She would have to use face-paint if she wanted to keep it a secret.

Lassimla heard us and turned to me, giving me a private look. I saw her stick her tongue in her cheek.

I decided then I didn't have the courage to tell Karina what had really happened, not knowing how she would take it. "Lassimla says Marnessa should rest for a few hours more before we go."

Karina raised herself on her elbows and got a good look at the former slave girl. "Extraordinary!" she breathed. "You never would know... it's the difference between doll and a real person. I had no idea Shezrine's magic could do that." She shuddered. "Can you imagine what it would be like to be turned into something like that, with sex on your mind all the time, always begging for a lay?"

From what I had experienced with the Duke, it might not be such a bad idea, but as a lifestyle it had its limitations. I only nodded sagely.

Karina took another bite of honeycake. "The rebels will want to talk her now to see what she knows."

"J'Wabra told me she was only a pawn," I said. "She didn't really know anything important."

"You're wrong about that," Karina said. "She's been a member of court for the past year and a half. She knows all the secret ways in and out of the palace, according to Shadow. She's got intimate knowledge of the Queen besides. There's a lot she can tell us." She yawned again, showing her teeth. "Ugh. I think I'll go back to sleep."

Since they were still napping I decided to see what had happened to Shadow. His uncharacteristic behavior had unsettled me. I felt it was my duty, both as a friend and as a fellow freedom fighter, to see why he had run out, so I left the Temple and began to search.

I guessed that Shadow, like any man, would probably be drowning his anxieties in a tankard of ale, so I took my search to a livelier neighborhood. I furthermore guessed he would frequent an alehouse that catered to mercenaries, one without the frippery of dancing slave girls or the loud hallelujahs of gamblers, so I narrowed my search accordingly. In fact I found him in the first one I walked in.

He was sitting in a corner, the other patrons giving him a berth. He wasn't as tall or imposing or scarred as they were, but something in him warned them away. It might have been the wolf tattoo. I had never realized just how different he was compared to the other mercenaries and their petty, mortal vices, and now I did.

He raised an eyebrow when he saw me but he wasn't surprised. He kicked the chair beside him so it slid out from the table, inviting me to take a seat.

"It's over," I said.

He took a sip of his ale. "Good. How perverted was it?"

It was surprising coming from him and I was speechless for a moment, as he had shown no signs of being priggish on the road. Neither Karina nor Marnessa remembered what had transpired, and if he knew, he might tell them; who knows how they would react. So I hedged. "I didn't find it perverted at all. It was all part of the ritual, and the ritual was successful. Karina has become the Mistress of the Beasts and Marnessa is herself again."

He raised his eyebrow again.

"They are resting," I added, knowing he wanted to hear more about how Karina fared. The knowledge stabbed me inside like a tiny knife.

"Karina is an innocent," he said. "I'm only her second lover. I don't trust the *jaggaidrin.* That's what the High Priestess is, isn't she? *Jaggaidrin.* I could tell from her face."

I had no answer for that. He had a private history that existed independently of me, one I had only the barest grasp of, and it gave him a new complexity that I wanted to know about, Karina or not. I felt ashamed of myself for being so interested, but I couldn't stop myself from wanting to know more. "What do you have against *jaggaidrin?*"

"Ages ago," he said, "this world was ruled by them. They had a civilization of marvels; Xingu, in the east reach of the Rift, is the remnant of it. They were male and female in one, and they considered themselves perfect for it, gods, even. They were cruel and extremely decadent. Some members of their race were born deformed and made these outcasts into their slaves. To us, though, they wouldn't be deformed. They'd be normal men and women.

"But the Jaggaid civilization destroyed itself after excavating the Rift; it was where they'd gotten the precious metals for their wars. The earth eventually healed itself of them, but the Rift remains... and their former slaves, who we now call human beings. Every once in a while, though, a throwback is born who is as cruel and evil as their ancestors."

I had never heard of such a tale, nor did Lassimla's behavior support it. "That's ridiculous," I said. "Where did you hear of such a thing?"

He finished his ale. "I have traveled more than you, Amazon. I also have more scars."

I fumed. Among my people, though I do not believe it, the story is that Phtha, the first of the gods, carved the Rift to give His people more room to live in, as a flat area of land can only support so many. I couldn't counter the validity of his assumptions, but I could point out the unreasonableness of them. "Even if you do have suspicions of Lassimla, I'm afraid you have no choice other than to cooperate with her, as she is a major power in this city. Furthermore, if the rebels are successful, you and Deneir will have to continue cooperating with her, so you'd better get used to the idea."

He said nothing, but I could see rebellion flickering in his eyes that told me not only was his relationship to Karina conflicted, but also his friendship with Deneir. If Deneir re-conquered the city he would want Shadow by his side as an advisor, and both he and I knew a wolf had no business in civilization.

At that moment Karina and Marnessa came in. Karina drew a few bemused stares; female mercenaries were rare in Obn Dhregni. Marnessa, without her former body, drew none at all. "Shadow?" Karina said. She looked upset, more than he did, in fact.

Shadow threw some money on the table. "Let's go," he said. He didn't look too willing to me to discuss his behavior.

But Karina would try. The two walked together in front of Marnessa and I, at a distance where I couldn't hear what was being said, though I did note their gestures. Karina was trying to get him to explain, and he wasn't listening; things were complicated by the fact neither of them knew exactly what had occurred. It was a guilty revenge for me watching them spat; though it might split the rebels apart, it could draw Shadow closer to me. But even this wasn't so much sweetness as torture, for even as they argued I saw how well suited they were for each other: almost the same height, the same build, the same way of arguing, both fierce and discrete. They even had the same color of hair, though Shadow's was longer.

That left Marnessa as a conversation companion, which was awkward considering how thoroughly I had fucked her a night ago. She continued to wear her hooded cloak as if embarrassed of herself. "How do you feel?" I said tritely.

"Strange," she replied. Not very helpful in getting a conversation going.

"Do you... remember?" I said obliquely.

"Some," she said, just as obliquely. "As if it had been a dream. An erotic dream." She looked at me directly. It was hard to see the slave girl in her face now but her voice was the same.

"I'm sorry," I stammered. "But you wanted it, that is, you wanted to be used like that, when you were under Shezrine's spell... "

"Oh, I don't care about that," she said. "It's just desserts, after all. I used the slaves often enough when I was in the palace. It was turnabout, I suppose, to be turned into one myself."

"You're very philosophical about it."

"In my family we worshipped Gyzeur, the God of Karma, so it was just retribution that I became what I had once caused to suffer. Now that it is over with I can start the next part of my life with a clean slate."

I must have been open-mouthed, for she gave me a small smile and said, "We worship Tontaxir too, so it wasn't that unpleasant... though as time went on, it would have become less so."

"The lure of Tontaxir is very strong," I said. "Both in a positive and negative way."

"That is what we are taught here."

She was a sharp and insightful girl, something I couldn't have guessed from her incarnation as a slave. Meanwhile Shadow's and Karina's conversation had not gone well. When we got back to the townhouse they parted immediately.

Marnessa went to speak to the other rebels, telling them her knowledge of the palace, which could prove valuable should they want to invade it. Aylinn saw her and did a double-take. She had expected Marnessa to retain her old body, and by the light that faded in her eyes I could tell she was disappointed. She would not invite Marnessa to her room again.

Instead she cornered me. "Duke Ushroez had accepted the Queen's terms," she said. "He is released from his estate and will surrender his mines."

"Why did he do that?"

"To join us, of course," she said. "It's the only way he can. He'll get his property back anyway, of course, if we're successful. He's giving a party at his place tonight to celebrate. We're invited."

"Count me out. I don't have anything to wear." The events of the day had left me more than a little melancholy and I didn't really want to go.

"You must come!" A newcomer joined us. It was Lady Nadysha, who I had met that night at the Duke's. "My brother asked specifically for you. We have many things to discuss." She scribbled on a piece of paper. "Here's the name and address of my favorite dressmaker, in the market district. Buy yourself some suitable clothes, and charge them to me."

I stared at the paper, dumbfounded. I had no way out now. "Thank you," I said, the only thing I could say.

The other rebels there had heard of the party, but of course the priestesses could not go, and the men had other plans. Shadow turned his back on the event entirely, and Karina, chagrined, turned to me for solace. "It looks as if it's just us, then," she said.

I showed her the paper. "Well, we'd better make the most of it. Lady Nadysha offered to buy us some gowns. I think we should take her up on the offer."

"Sure," Karina said, with a look through her bangs at Shadow, who was occupied in a serious discussion. "Sounds like fun." Her tone didn't match her eyes, which were full of disappointment.

So we went out into the marketplace, to Seamstress Alley. We didn't have enough time to get custom-made gowns, but there were plenty of existing ones that could be altered to fit our figures. Both Karina and I were puzzled over the choices.

"I never had to wear clothes like this," she said, running her fingers over the silks. "In our village, it was always homespun, drab browns and yellows. We had festival garb, but we only wore it once or twice a year. The dresses had long, wide skirts covered with mirrors and embroidery, and I had to walk carefully in case they got dirty, for they could never be washed." She chose another gown, this one of emerald satin. "Did you ever wear garments like this?"

"Not regularly," I said. "When in foreign lands I adapt local dress if I have to look pretty, but I never take it with me when I leave. In Pharazion, where I was born, it is customary to go about naked, except in the cities. There we wear plain linen wrappings."

She goggled at me, then held up a red gown to her curves, a confection of at least a dozen straps sewn with black beads. "We don't wear clothes like this in Deneir's court either, because we are so poor. That, and we always have to be ready to fight, so we dress for it. Everyone, men, women, and children." She stroked the silk, entranced. "I think I'll get this one."

I continued to search, finally giving in to the dressmaker's advice and picking a revealing gown of sheer silver cloth that cupped my breasts but left my midriff bear, sewn all over with gold and purple sequins. The adjustments were quickly made, and when we began the walk back it was late afternoon.

"Why isn't Shadow going to the party?" I said.

"He doesn't want to," she said shortly. "The wormy bastard! It's like he doesn't want the Duke to think we're a couple."

"He probably has other things to do," I offered.

She snorted. We were walking down a wide alley now that ran in back of the gambling dens. "I love him, I really do, but he's so exasperating sometimes. I think there are two of him, one familiar to me, one a stranger. That wolf tattoo he has, sometimes I feel it's about to bite me." She picked up a long stick as she walked, twirling it in her fingers like a quarterstaff. "Maybe he'll settle down when Deneir becomes King. He won't have to go out scouting anymore, Deneir will want him at court. I worry about him when he goes away, but he just laughs. 'I can take myself of myself,' he says. 'I've been doing it for a long, long time.' "

Suddenly three figures blocked the front of the alley; members of the city guard. We were trapped. "There she is!" one called. "The foreigner!"

I should have known they wouldn't have forgotten about me. I drew my sword. Karina cursed and flung her package to the side, taking up a fighting stance with her makeshift weapon.

Though we weren't fighting for our lives, we were fighting against our capture, which carried worse repercussions. The guards were well-trained, but we were better. Soon they were groaning in the dust, disarmed and bleeding but not dead. "Come on!" I shouted. We picked up our gowns and ran to safer territory, near the street.

"What was that all about?" Karina said.

"It's me," I said. "They're still looking for me, after what happened in the lower city the other day. They think I'm an escaped slave."

"I heard about that, " Karina said. Her eyes narrowed in curiosity. "What was it like being buggered on the litter like that?"

But another pair of guards appeared, and we had to fight again. Fortunately we had surprised them this time. I disarmed the one and Karina bonked the other on the head with her pole, and we slipped through another alley back into territory familiar to us.

"Don't tell Shadow about this!" Karina panted.

"Why?"

"He'll get protective, that's why!"

I didn't. Our battles had cemented us; we were no longer enemies, but friends in arms.

* * * * *

When the first stars came out Karina, Aylinn and I went as emissaries of the rebels to the Ushroez estate. I had asked Marnessa along at the last minute, figuring she might provide insights into what the nobles hoped to gain by taking arms against the Queen. I'd learned not all of their motives were pure ones. Some of them considered a change of rulership no more than an opportunity to amass more power for themselves.

Karina seemed to be having second thoughts about Shadow and their relationship, and I too; we were both quiet islands in the noisy throng. We were the only rebels present. But if the Duke thought Shadow and the Hharangi were snubbing him he gave no evidence. He was the perfect host, plying us with food, with drink, with attention, with such close consideration I began to entertain thoughts of seducing him again. From the twinkle in his eyes I knew he was expecting it of me.

We'd been told the Ushroez wanted to discuss strategies with us, yet little serious discussion went on. There was music and dancing, and the delights offered by slaves; the other nobles asked me insipid questions about my skin color, my homeland. But in Obn Dhregni it had always been play before business. I drank more than I intended.

Near midnight the Duke offered me a glass of dark-red wine, a special vintage he said. He brought his lips close to my ear and purred, "I've been dying to get at you all night, Amazon. What do you say to a little game of... *silkworm?*"

I downed my drink; it was a perfect palliative to the emotional distress I'd suffered on Shadow's account. "You have a victim," I said.

I followed him upstairs to his bedroom. Marnessa and Karina had disappeared, lost in the greater crush of the party, and Aylinn did not notice me go: I would not be missed. I kissed the Duke's broad, bare chest, growling in my throat like a panther, and he laughed, proceeding to disrobe me of the carefully chosen gown until I stood before him naked.

From a chest he took out armfuls of the lengthy silk strips I remembered. "The silk, yesss... " I said, wriggling my hips in an enticing way.

"It's all for you, my dear," he said with another soft nip at my neck. "Hold still." I stood there, rigid, my arms stiff, my thighs pressed together so tightly it began to arouse me even without the silk.

"Quickly," I whispered, the wine making the room spin. A throbbing began between my legs.

He began at my ankles, wrapping the white strips around and around, much more tightly, it seemed, than the previous time. When he finished I could scarcely breath; my ribcage was so constricted only little pants were possible. He placed me on the bed, as I was now too stiffly bound for a sitting position, and wrapped my feet together. Layer after layer of silk now covered me completely, even my breasts and sex. I wondered why, through the haze of wine, why he had done this. I couldn't be stimulated in areas that weren't accessible to him.

"Bound, and perfect," he gloated playfully. He sat next to me, still clothed, and ran his large hands over my body. I felt them only faintly through the layers of silk, but the extra pressure was still arousing. "Can you move? Not even a little?"

I tried; it took all of my muscles just to turn myself even from side to side. I felt like a mummy from the Minnisk desert, stiff as a board and ready for burial. "No, I can't," I said. Moisture seeped from between my legs. "What are you going to do to me? Be quick about it, please, I'm so wet... "

"Shh," he said, wadding up the last strip of silk. I opened my mouth to receive the gag, and he tied it tightly behind my head. "Can you make a sound now? Let me hear you try to scream."

So I screamed, as much from the growing frustration as the pleasure I took in the bondage, and tried yet again to break free. I only bounced up and down a little on the mattress. When I was done I could only pant shallowly through my nose.

"You can't speak at all?" I shook my head, the slightest of movements because of how my neck had been bound. "Or move?" Another shake.

"Good," he said. He picked me up and slung me over his shoulder, then began to walk to the wall.

"Ajmid?" I tried to say, but no sound came out, only a faint *ahhhma?* no louder than a kitten's mew. Where was he taking me? The room continued to spin, and I realized it was not just wine I had drunk, nor was the silk the only reason my limbs felt so dead and immobile. A horrid realization began to dawn on me as Ajmid pulled on a sconce, opening a secret door concealed in the paneling. He took me into this passage and went down many steps in the darkness. I'd been drugged, and perhaps betrayed; in the name of pride I'd given into temptation, and it might cost me my life.

Another secret door opened, letting us out into the manse's service room, the place where supplies were unloaded and wagons made ready. A driver waited with a carriage and a team of horses. "Are you ready to go, my Lord?" he asked.

"No," the Duke said. "There's one more to come." He opened the pantry. Karina and Marnessa blinked back at us, gagged and cocooned in white silk. They hung from the ceiling like captives in a spider's web, and when they saw me they began to struggle, mouths working on their gags, dancing a little on their cords like plump flies fearful of the spider.

The Duke's victims, all of us. I would have laughed if we weren't in such danger.

The Duke pulled a piece of silk out of the cocoon at my shoulders and tied it into a loop, then hung me on a pantry hook in the same fashion. He pursed his lips and blew me a mocking kiss. "To keep you fresh, my little silkworm." He closed the door, sealing us in darkness.

Captured. What an idiot I had been! And all I could do was hang here with the others, unable to talk or even touch each other in the darkness, each of us alone with the intimate knowledge of our foolishness. A horrible way to spend several minutes. Or an hour. *How could we have let this happen?*

A short time later the door opened again, revealing another victim to join us... Aylinn. How the Duke had managed that, I didn't know. She was hung next to us like an extra cheese or sausage, dumb panic in her eyes, and then the door closed again, sealing us in darkness.

Chapter 19: Shezrine's Judgement

I had a vague memory of falling unconscious, then nothing. When I came back to my senses I was no longer in the pantry, though my head hurt like hell. I opened my eyes. Before me I saw a richly furnished audience chamber. Dozens of figurines and staues, many in unabashedly erotic poses, waited at the walls--marble and onyx, crystal, gold--even jade and iridescent glass. Near the ceiling more figures served as light sconces, crouching with their knees drawn up, hands holding bowls of burning oil. Even the furnishings were variations on the human form: interlocked bodies that formed tables and chairs, some having sex, some merely clinging to each other. The total effect was one of entrapment, as if the swooning nudes had been imprisoned against their will.

I looked down. I was now strapped in a leather slave harness, my arms bound behind me, my legs spread wide with a bar at my ankles. Silver clamps pinched my nipples and clit. A stout phallus had been wedged into my sex, and my anus was pursed around another. Both were buckled tightly to a belt at my hips.

Even worse, not a trace of hair remained on my body. My head was as smooth and bald as an egg; even my eyebrows and eyelashes were gone. That only spelled one thing. Shezrine.

I had been captured by the Queen.

The curtain before me suddenly whipped up. The back of a silver-gilt throne faced me, and over the top I saw the back of Shezrine's silver-gilt scalp. Her long, slim calves poked out from between the throne's legs. With a languid motion of her foot she spun the chair around to face me. She gave me a cold, inscrutable stare. She did not gloat, nor did she smile with satisfaction. Instead her dark eyes raked me as if to say, *I have you, and can do anything I like to you.*

And I knew it too... oh gods, I did. I was determined not to flinch or cower, but the power of that stare, and my own helpessness, instigated a trembling that started deep in my body, making my muscles contract against my will, sending involuntary waves of pleasure spasming through my sex. I was thankful in a way I was bound as I was; the sheer rigidity of my position guaranteed the imperceptible shuddering would not show, for all the chaos it created on my insides.

"The Duke betrayed you, you know," Shezrine said. "He wanted his borzium mines more than he wanted the regard of the rebels." She laughed, a rich sound of amusement like the low notes of a cello. "You are my captive now, and in my power. How does it feel, Amazon?"

I wondered if she really expected me to give an answer to that. I steeled myself for death, torture, or whatever bizarre transformation her magic afforded. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of my hair. Flesh may heal, verbal abuse be forgotten, but hair takes forever to grow back. "I would rather be free, your Majesty," I said, which was the truth. It was also utterly meaningless, as at any moment I could die.

Shezrine laughed softly. She was even more undressed than when I had seen her the first time, wearing nothing but her belt of crystals, a pair of high silver boots, and her nipple rings. "Ah, but you are not. You are mine and mine by right, as a conspirator against the Throne. As for your friends, I'll deal with them after your fate is decided. But first, you."

She rose from her throne, the crystals of her belt chinking softly together. The sway of her flesh released its musky scent as she came closer, and as before, I found her repulsive but fascinating. "Ordinarily, I would not have thought of you as an annoyance. To be frank, I thought you only an intriguing curiosity when you came to my kingdom, and I wondered how it would feel to have you in my bed."

She snapped her fingers. An unseen forced lifted me in the air and placed me on my feet. A latch in the floor locked onto the wide bar that spread my ankles apart, keeping me there.

"Indeed, I am very pleased you have fallen to me in this fashion. You are such a rare delicacy. Strong willed, but with one weakness: your attraction to bondage."

I gasped as she pulled on a nipple clamp, whimpered when her manicured fingers, each tipped with a long talon of platinum, found the tiny clamp on my clit. The three clamps were connected by taut chains, so motion from one traveled to the others. She pulled on my clit quite painfully and I stifled a sob, a ragged sound I kept behind my lips. I was damned now, no matter what I said next. "As you are, your Majesty."

My revelation made Shezrine stiffen like a doll. She grasped my nipples and pulled them away from my body, so I had to quickly muffle a scream of pain. "You are more dangerous than I thought," she said.

She let go and I felt my breasts bounce back against my ribcage, the rebound pinching my clit. I was sorry I had spoken. She might torture me now in any way she chose.

But she did not.

"The strong are always attracted to weakness," she said, sounding almost philosophical, if she wanted to absolve her own attraction. "Whether the attraction is to master the weak, or become one of the weak from a position of strength, is no matter. I do not know how you heard of my secret games, but you will never tell another."

She touched the toe of her silver boot to a tile in the mosaic at her feet, which depressed. I heard a clicking noise such as the one a portcullis makes. My arms were being pulled up behind me on a chain so I was forced to bend over. My legs were still spread by the bar at my ankles, so my torso leveled off parallel to the floor. I felt even more helpless, yet somehow more excited because of it, a rush of adrenaline that was part danger, part sexual.

Shezrine reached beneath me and plucked the long chains that connected my clamps. "As I said, I have a special way of handling rebels. Common criminals in this city become slaves of the coursest sort: mine workers, streetsweepers, and the like, though if they are comely they may wind up working in the public concupisceriums. Enemies of the throne are no different. They become slaves as well. The difference is I train them myself. It gives me even more pleasure when the guilty ones are members of my own court, so they may serve as a warning to others. I delight in their humiliation when they become what they detest. All nobles detest slaves, you know, even as they use them... they scorn their helplessness, their abjectiveness, their lack of self-control."

She continued to play me like a stringed instrument. Zings of mingled pain/pleasure shot through my engorged organs.

"However, I can only give personal attention to so many. Do you see the sculptures that line this chamber, the lamp sconces on the walls, my couches and divans and tables? They were all captives like you once, until I ensorceled them. My father taught me the spells to transform flesh and blood into other substances that are more useful and decorative. Once my enemies, they now serve me in other ways."

She laughed, running her talons over my belly. I felt my abdominal muscles jerk involuntary, but I could not escape. I knew the secret of her statues and bric-a-brac.

"And you intend to do that to me," I said evenly, having to know for sure what my fate was.

"Perhaps. I have other things in mind for you at this time, however, than for you to join my collection." She walked around to my rear. I gasped as she pulled my buttocks apart, exposing the anal plug which corked me. She toyed with the rim of it, making it move inside me. My body betrayed me with its trembling, and the rigidity of my bondage only made it worse... bringing to mind the shameful pleasure I had experienced too well in the Duke's bed.

"You like that, that don't?" Shezrine said amusedly as her finger probed and pressed. I was to find out later she took a special delight in anal play. "Ah, I think I will play with my lovely mahogany doll some more, being as you enjoy it so much."

The fingers of her other hand squirmed into my sex as the plug ground in and out. Blood rushed to my face as I realizing I could be toyed with in so degrading a manner. I wanted to sob at the utter humiliation, but the growing fires would not be banked: "Ah... .ah... ahhhh!"

But before I could come the sensations stopped, leaving my nerve endings smoldering damply. My whole body tingled madly with a tension which would find no release. I sobbed out loud, realizing what the Queen had made me experience in this utterly degrading manner.

"I was correct," Shezrine said with satisfaction. "You have the makings of a wonderful slave in you. I could tell even when you came to the palace the first time. Your fascinated horror at my captives, as if you wished to either free them or join them. There was disgust on your face, yet a yearning, too. I could see it even across the courtyard." Her hands caressed my face. "You have the potential to be a very special slave to me. Do you know what a Rurani Eschi is?"

I shook my head no.

"It's the highest position there is for a slave, and also the lowest: highest because you are exalted before all the others, lowly because all aspects of your individuality are obliterated. I will take great pleasure in training you." She stroked my cheek as one would a favorite pet. "You would be a most finely fashioned toy for my private pleasure."

"Am I to be this Rurani Eschi, your Masjesty?" I said. "This paragon of selfless servitude? If I am, I would rather have the transformation over with, so I can become used to the duties of my position."

Shezrine chuckled at my sarcasm. "I don't know yet. You have the potential, it is true. I shall ask you an honest question. Do you want to be, or would you rather I release you, to make your way out of the city in exile? What would you say if I gave you that choice?'

She was playing with me, the same way she played with the sexual parts of my body. I did not wish to be her mindless slave, of course, but I also knew that exile from the city would leave my friends to suffer the same fate I had escaped, and her own wicked reign to continue unabated. Yet I could only answer honestly. "I would rather leave the city, your Majesty. But I cannot promise I would not continue to act against you."

"Fair enough," Shezrine said, with a winsome tilt of her head. A smile crinkled her lips. "Exactly what I expected you to say. What if you could have your release with no exile, and I would leave you and your friends to rely on your own wits to avoid my wrath?"

"You are playing games, your Majesty," I said.

"I speak truthfully," she said. "I will set to you a certain test. If you pass, I will let you walk free from the palace, to warn your rebel friends or rally them, and what you do next is up to you. If you do not, you will become mine, and be branded my slave in a ceremony tonight. "

"I agree to the test." Whatever it was, I thought, surely the risk involved was worth escaping her idea of slavehood.

She unharnessed me and redid my configuration, locking my wrists to the center of my ankle bar so I was bent over double. She fastened something else to the bar, a chain that had suddenly dropped from the ceiling.

Before I could speculate on its purpose the new chain jerked me into the air so I hung about five feet off the floor, gently swinging on my back. My legs were spread shamefully wide by the bar, my wrists fastened to the middle of it. A more helpless and exposed position couldn't be imagined. Any could come up to me and bend slightly for a splendid view of my exposed sex.

Shezrine laughed at my humiliation and strolled back to her throne. "As I mentioned, your test." She sat on the velvet cushion and clapped her hands three times.

Chapter 20: The Test

I squirmed in my bonds as the Queen's order echoed. From outside I heard a jingle of metal. There was a rhythm to it; the practiced trot of well-trained slaves with chains between their ankles. Though ordinarily not a menacing noise, I felt my innards twist.

The door to the chamber opened. A guard came in leading a line of three naked slave girls who were coffled neck to neck, wrists strapped behind their backs. They jogged over to us in what was known as the slaves' trot--spine straight, head erect, legs lifted high--so their breasts and buttocks rebounded briskly. All three had been harnessed in well-polished black leather.

The first slave I recognized as a retransformed Marnessa, but it took me a few seconds to recognize the other two: Karina and Aylinn.

If I had not known them as well as I had I might have mistaken them for the anonymous pretties that served the palace, for Shezrine had sexualized them to the point of parody--waists tucked in, hair lengthened, breasts and buttocks enlarged--so swollen, in fact, they looked on the verge of bursting free from the harnesses that supported them. Their lips were now sculpted pouts, their liquid eyes wide and guileless... indeed, their faces were so blankly pretty that, like flowers, they seemed incapable of crinkling into human expressions at all.

All the hair below their necks had been removed, exposing the puffy, pink labia that pouted between their thighs. I had no doubts the tight harness had much to do with their moistness.

The guard halted them and removed their neck chains. As one the three bowed before the Queen, their foreheads pressed against the carpet. On each smooth, resilient buttock was the basilisk brand of the Caramaithzes in slight depression to the skin, filled in with black ink that had been injected under the surface. They were truly Shezrine's creatures now. She had seen fit to cork them, too, with two solid plugs in each nether orifice, the black thongs of the slave harness keeping them firmly inside. The pink soles of their feet nestled under their well-packaged cheeks as they settled, the soft flesh delicate and defenseless. They looked so vulnerable now, so lost, yet they had a presence, the same way a finely made object of art does.

Shezrine studied their shallow breathing, their splayed hair, as she lounged in her throne with her elbow on the armrest, a finger thoughtfully resting against her chin. "Rise," she said at last.

They rose as a unit, setting the strapped portions of them bobbing to attention. A lump caught in my throat when I remembered what Karina had said to me in the Temple: *Can you imagine what it would be like to be turned into something like that, with sex on your mind all the time, always begging for a lay?* Now she would find out.

"Face the prisoner," Shezrine commanded.

The slaves turned to look at me, their ankle chains whispering against the floor.

"Do you recognize them?" Shezrine said. The words glinted with pleasure. "Two were your friends once, and one your property, which I took the liberty of confiscating, as it once belonged to me. With the help of my magic, they are now accomplished pleasure slaves." The slaves stood as still as the sculptures that lined the chamber walls. "My dears," the Queen said, addressing them directly, "Do you remembered this woman?"

The three blinked long-lashed eyelids at me. No recognition showed in their bland, perfect faces. Their expressions were utterly devoid of the individual personalities they once held. It was if their only purpose in life was now to please her.

"She is not familiar to me," Marnessa said.

"I seem to remember her, but it was long ago," Karina answered.

"I might have seen her in a dream once," Aylinn replied.

Shezrine laughed at the vagueness of their replies. "You note how obedient and single-minded they are, the result of my magic. They've been serving as slaves since last night, and quite popular they were, too."

"My test," I said in a strangled voice.

"Oh yes," the Queen said lightly. "The test. Well, Lady Tanimury, since you have failed to evince any... self control... during my ordeals for you so for, I will give you a chance to try again." She snapped her fingers and a large hourglass appeared in her hands. "It's quite simple, really. There will be three rounds, and in each round your friends will demonstrate to you the new skills they have learned in my employ. If you can refrain from orgasm for any round out of the three, I will release you and your friends unharmed."

Shezrine then looked at the slaves. "Slaves, you will pleasure the prisoner using your mouths, your lips and teeth and tongues alone; you will not touch her with any other part of your body, and you will not touch each other. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my Queen," they said in unison.

"Good, then." Shezrine crossed her legs, silver over silver, and turned the hourglass over.

With a rustle of their ankle chains, the three slaves took up positions around me as I hung like a piece of dangling fruit. Goddess, please give me the strength to endure this!

They began with their lips, as their arms were bound behind them. They caressed me all over in little butterfly kisses, light and unthreatening--my shoulders, my arms and legs. The pecks were tiny, delicate, insubstantial as soap bubbles. They did not relax me. I jerked my head away when they tried to kiss my face, staunchly determined not give in to their stimulation; but the rising tension only added to my arousal. Through my spread thighs I saw the Shezrine settle back to watch us a wicked smile on her lips. With one hand she toyed with her whip.

Belly, breasts, the backs of my thighs, my buttocks. Their lips began to grow aggressive, nibbling and sucking at my flesh. Their soft, ripe bodies glistened with oil, and their scent overwhelmed me... a combination of fruitlike sweetness, spice from the oil, and their own sensual juices. Soft hair swept in rich waterfalls over my naked skin. I began to writhe. I knew motion would only intensify the sensations, but remaining still would only give them the opportunity to suckle me more.

The inside of my thighs, the soft skin under my breasts. I willed myself to be still, but my will did not obey. It made things worse to look at them. The black leather harnesses packaged them alluringly, allowing soft flesh to swell over the edges of the straps. Their nipples had been pierced and the little gold rings nodded energetically with their movements, the thin chain that connected them swaying. Each pair was erect by now: Marnessa's a dark, rosy brown; Aylinn's salmon, Karina's a tawny pink. The little nubs pointed mindlessly; I could practically see them extend like fingers that itched to touch me.

No, I shouldn't look! I closed my eyes, and that was worse; one of the slaves quickly kissed me, inserting her tongue into my mouth. Warm kisses covered my eyelids, my forehead, my hairless pate. I had never realized how sensitive my scalp would be without its shield of hair.

Another girl kissed the seeping folds of my sex.

She licked me up and down, prying, probing. Her silky hair bumped the top of my shaven mons, her cheeks a cool caress against my inner thighs. She extended her tongue, gathering my juices, lapping them slowly. My lips parted in little gasps I could no longer control, expelling themselves in short bursts of breath. My legs tensed, shuddered, tensed again. My skin tingled, and I knew what was happening. I couldn't stop it. I could not.

The last slave found my nipples. She teased them unmercifully, sucking hard, scraping them with her teeth. From one to the other she went, and I felt them harden even more. My breasts swelled as well, engorged as two wineskins. I whimpered deep in my throat, a pathetic, impotent plea that did nothing at all to free the swollen captives from the mouth of their tormenter.

I was going to come. I tried to hold myself back, thinking of all the atrocities Shezrine had committed... the lives she destroyed, the abuse and slavery she mandated. But I could not concentrate. The soft mouths of the slaves champed and suckled. I shuddered up and down like a plucked bowstring. I had been wrong to close my eyes. The girl mouthing my sex touched my sleeping clit with the tip of her tongue. Just a touch, and it came to life, swelling uncontrollably like a seed in the rain. She fastened her mouth on it and began to suck as the other slave played harder with my nipple. The third girl, the one kissing my scalp, left off to attend to its mate.

No, no, no... I begged my goddess, my ancestors. No, please stop, I can't... .but it happened anway. "No, no--oh, oh... AHHHH!" I shouted, trembling, shuddering as if I could break myself loose from my bondage, my mouth opened wide in rapture.

The vibrations slowed, abandoned me.

Shezrine laughed, holding the hourglass cradled in her lap. "Very good!" The sand was not even half run out!

I had to do better next time. I must. I must.

The slave girls panted in their harnesses, flushed with a mixture of lust and exertion, but a flick of the whip sent them back to their task. Shezrine reset the hourglass. "Round two."

They did not bother with kisses this time. I flinched as Aylinn shouldered aside the others and thrust her tongue deep inside me, wriggling it like a grub. I knew I had to do better this round, but the slaves had learned their new jobs well. I undulated helplessly, my thighs trying vainly to close themselves, as the other two attacked my nipples, torturing the helpless nubs between their teeth. My hips pumped without my permission, a galloping motion that made Shezrine laugh again. I tried to dampen my responses, but the hard sucking made my nipples feel like they were on fire, about to burst with pure pleasure. I twisted my body to escape the torment, but that only added to my arousal. I knew that if I kept moving, however, they would be hard pressed to keep up with me and would tire more quickly. I might beat the hourglass yet.

So we fought a slow battle in front of the Queen, the only sounds the moist sucks of well-lubricated passion. The slaves switched positions again and again, spelling each other. The rapid pace made them clumsy. They bumped each other as they scurried, their bland, pretty faces now taut with worry as they realized their time was running out. It might have been very amusing if I was watching from outside.

Then I saw they were running into other on purpose, using it as an excuse for physical contact. They were becoming just as aroused by each other as I was.

"No! Stop that!" Shezrine shouted with a snap of the whip. Aylinn and Karina jerked away from other, and a thin line of red appeared on Aylinn's left buttock. The message was clear. The slaves were to attend to my pleasure rather than their own.

But that did not prevent more mistakes, and the whip snapped again and again. The slaves began to use my body to satisfy themselves. Their erect nipples rubbed against my skin, the hard touch of the metal rings making it even more erotic.

As I struggled I saw Marnessa's eyes roll, her body stiffen. Her mouth went slack on my nipple. Trembling, she gasped hard, her eyes wide, and pressed her legs tightly together. I felt the impending thunder of orgasm roll through her body, carried to me faintly through the nipple she still held.

"You, slave! Show more energy! Faster, faster!" The whip cracked loudly, setting her to work once again.

Aylinn bit my other nipple like a tigress, and Karina ran her tongue around and around the moist portal of my vagina.

I was going to come. It was only a matter of seconds. I could hold it off, if I tried... just one moment longer...

I quaked just as the last sands ran out, a spasm so intense I blacked out briefly. When I opened my eyes Shezrine was laughing, clapping her hands appreciatively. The slave girls hurried to clean the folds of my sex, scooping up the juices of my climax with their tongues.

"Better, much better," Shezrine said. "For a few times I almost thought you would lose it, but you held out quite well. I am impressed. If you held out for another two seconds, you would be free right now."

I had almost succeeded... but not quite. One more round of this I had yet to endure. I groaned, keeping it sealed behind my lips.

The slaves, now covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, shuddered before her, eyes downcast. They knew they had almost failed her, and now expected a punishment. Shezrine looked at them sternly. "I am very disappointed in you. Your minds were not on your work. You sought to satisfy yourselves instead of attending to your duties. For that mistake, I'm going to up the stakes for you. Perform well, and you will continue to serve me with your beauty and charm. But if you fail me this last time, you will join the collection of statues adorning these chambers. "

A horrible panic exploded in the eyes of the three. "Yes, my Queen," they said.

"You have no right to do this!" I shouted. "You told me my friends would not be harmed!"

"Who is to say they are harmed by it?" Shezrine chuckled. "If any of my creations have suffered it isn't aparrant to me. Of course, I have never transformed one back to tell me what it felt like." She laughed again.

The bitch! My freedom would come with my friend's lives. That is, if they were even killed by such a transformation. They could remain alive, mute and motionless, as dust collected on them throughout the lonely years. More importantly, how could the stone beasts of Qu'Az defend the city if Karina, their mistress, was as still and silent as they? And what would happen to the stymphad wing without their leader?

"You did not keep your bargain!" I shouted.

"Silence!" Shezrine commanded. "Slave girls, begin!"

This was the most desperate round of the game yet. The slaves worked even harder this time, so active I could scarce keep track of them. Their mute eyes pleaded with me. Obviously, they did not want to be statues. I did not want them to be statues either, but what could I do? If I became a slave, the Queen would commence with her roundup of the rebels. Deneir and his followers would be crushed, and Shezrine would hold sway alone over this arm of the Rift... free to extend her aggressions to other unwitting city-states, and make their citizens her slaves.

I could not let that happen.

I was tired by now, my body harder to rouse. "Remember the statues!" Shezrine commanded, snapping her whip at the slaves' helpless legs. I heard them whimper, and their mouths grew moist and feverish. They were aroused in spite of their predicament, or perhaps because of it... their musk wafted into my nostrils, an alluring mixture of sweat, lust, leather, and their own desperate fear. Again my body betrayed me, emitting a warm bead of moisture slide that down my thigh, its trail clearly leading to the moist lips of my sex.

The slaves noted my arousal and regrouped between my thighs.

Marnessa mouthed my labia, tenderly grooming each shuddering fold, as Karina bent over her to flick my clit with her tongue, vibrating it rapidly with the little pink tip. Aylinn squatted below me, and I felt her warm, wet mouth travel over my buttocks. She nibbled at the skin, her tongue questing slowly. I felt her face press between my cheeks, her warm breath invading my crack, and gasped as she licked the tense pucker of my anus.

I was helpless before the collective asault. I could not move, and I couldn't close my thighs. My eyes were wide, staring like saucers. Whimpers froze in my throat as I felt the soft pressure of Aylinn's forehead and her silky hair against my buttocks. Her tongue scraped my anus with loving worship.

Please, gods, no... I lifted my eyes to to the mirrors of the ceiling. I saw myself, thighs shamefully splayed, with a trio of bowed heads--one of fiery gold, one of sable curls, one of umber silk--tenderly ministrating to my nether regions. I quickly dropped my eyes. No. I must hold back, I must...

I saw Shezrine's eyes flick to her hourglass. Very little time was left. Smiling wickedly at me, she drew up her heels on the velvet cushion of the throne and spread her legs like a whore.

The white bitch! But she had said nothing about not pleasuring herself. She rolled her clit like a marble, the engorged kernel peeping through her fingers. The fingers of her other hand pinched her nipple.

Witnessing her obscene pleasure was too much. I thrashed my head from side to side, my entire body bucking out of control.

I was lost.

I was damned.

I cried out, the tension released in a long silent gasp as my back arched. I went frozen as stone. Spasm after spasm emptied me, drained me, went on for eternity. I cared about nothing at that moment... not the rebels, not Shezrine, not my friends, not myself.

After many seconds of tension I went limp, sagging. The final spasms left me. I felt wet and used up.

The last grains of sand trickled out of the glass. Shezrine laughed in triumph.

Chapter 21: Rurani Eschai

I wept. I had lost the contest. I would become the Queen's slave now, and I deserved it... and all free choice would leave me forever.

"You have failed again, Lady Tanimury," Shezrine said in a clear voice. She closed her thighs. "I think even *I* have more self-control than you."

The three slaves immediately dropped to their knees before her. "You've done well," she praised softly. "Very well. Clean me." She held out her hands so they could lick the glaze from her fingers, which they did like the well-trained pets they were. "You've pleased me very much. Now to your knees again, heads down."

They knelt meekly on the carpet, foreheads low, buttocks high. Shezrine stepped back from the small circle they made. She studied them for a few seconds, then gestured strongly. A searing gout of silver-white energy shot out of her hand. I saw it envelope the kneeling slaves before I closed my eyes. What sorcery was this? I had thought Shezrine would reward them.

When I opened my eyes Aylinn, Karina and Marnessa were gone. One transformation had not been enough for them. In their place were three curved, compact statues of bronze, ivory and crystal. The details were extraordinary: every strap, crevice of flesh, and lock of hair had been rendered. A round glass tabletop rested on their dimpled buttocks, for, as their heads were still on the floor, their rumps were the highest parts of them now.

"There," Shezrine said with perverse cheer. "This throne has always needed a decent footrest."

"No, no... " I moaned, fresh tears squeezing out my eyes. I had been angry at Karina for stealing Shadow away, but she had been a true as steel and shown selfless bravery. Aylinn had been a devoted advisor and comrade. And poor Marnessa, doomed forever to be a pawn. She didn't deserve this fate. None of them did. Now they were little more than a piece of furniture.

I continued to sob as Shezrine grabbed the bar between my ankles and swung me around so I got a good look at them. "You knew I had the power to transform living flesh," she said. "Did you really think I would keep them free, after their treachery against me?"

"You lied," I said.

"I did not. I said if they succeeded, they would continue to serve me, and they are. As my footrest." She put a silver-booted foot up on the glass, leaning against her knee. "And now you are to serve me as my slave, too."

I wept harder at the thought of it, that I had failed myself, and the rebels, so completely. With Karina an ivory statue, the stone beasts would remain stone, and with Aylinn cast in bronze, the stymphads were leaderless.

"Why do you weep, my dusky foreign beauty? It is an honor." She stroked my naked scalp and kissed me gently on the lips. "How can you continue to cry, knowing the great adventure you are about to embark on? You are about to experince the most extreme degradations, the most lowly humilations, that life can offer, governed by the daily rule of a harsh, strict mistress. Your cause is lost, and you know it. Why not serve me now?"

"I am a warrior," I said in strangled voice."

"And you will remain a warrior. Your capacity for pleasure, and for punishment... your strength and your beauty... your iron-hard will, which I will transform into the will to serve *me*... all of these, Lady Tanimury, are the gifts of a warrior, and gifts you will give to me to use as I see fit. It was your flirtations with danger that betrayed you to me, your cravings for risk and challenge. I will give them back to you now. All your hidden desires will be brought to full flower. When you enter my service, you will shine like a precious jewel, a black pearl; you will be truly *complete.*"

I wept uncontrollably. I had once been the greatest mercenary of my homeland. Minstrels had sung of me, bards carried tales. There was nothing I could not do, no challenge I would back away from. Shezrine had spoken the the truth. For it was part of the Laws of Balance for the greatest warrior to eventually suffer the greatest fall... the glories of debasement equalling the glories of exaltation.

"You will not always weep," Shezrine said, tenderly wiping my tears away. "Soon you will come round to serve me, and find great fulfillment in it. Let me tell you the ceremony I have planned for you. After you have rested, I will march you to the pleasure gardens, where the rituals take place under the moonlight. The night flowers will be blooming, releasing their scent upon the dusky air. My court will be present, and they will be pleased I have chosen so well. I have not had a Rurani Eschai in quite a while, which makes your arrival all the more exciting for me.

"In the garden, my branding frame will have been already set up, the irons glowing over the coals. I always brand my own slaves; it is the first of many spells that will render you compliant. Every slave who serves here has one. When the brand heals fully I will inlay it with silver, to render it more visible against your dark skin. You will show it to any freeman who asks.

"After that, you will kiss my boots and hands, with great enthusiasm and decorum, to show your happiness and gratitude at being thus marked, and then you will kneel before me and I will pierce your nipples so they may carry gold rings, which I assure you will be very wide, thick and heavy. I will pierce your clit, which you will also display to me, and the inner and outer lips of your sex. This is so I can seal you off if I desire, as I am jealous of my toys, that they take no other pleasure but that which I permit them to have. The other rings will allow me to attach leads or one of my many playthings. They will call attention to the sexual parts of you, show everyone who looks at you who and what you are. We will weld them closed, of course, because they are never going to be removed.

"Then you will kneel before me with your head bowed, and I will place a slave collar around your neck, and slave cuffs on your ankles and wrists. They are of strong, thick steel, and they will be sealed shut so they can never be removed. Each cuff has a eyelet on the end of it, the better for me to chain you in any configuration I see fit.

"We will keep you naked, of course, and oiled always, to remind us of the precious black pearl you are. No jewels or clothing will distract from your display. Neither will your hair. After you are branded, I will set a spell on you so your hair will never grow again."

Fresh tears poured out as I realized how aroused I was by her talk. "What are my duties, my Queen? What will my new life be like?"

"Most of your time will be spent at my side, as a symbol of my power," she said matter-of-factly. "Not that I will pay attention. In fact, rarely will I deign to notice you. When I attend court functions you will accompany me on a leash, and when I eat you will squat at my side like a faithful hound, to await pieces of food from my plate. When I travel, you go with me. I have my own private carriage and you will be fastened to one of wheels, your body turning round and round as the trail kicks up its dust. When I ride to conquer you will go at the head of my armies, lashed to a high pole that penetrates you, so you cry out in glory when my armies lay seige.

"And if, at any time, you displease me, I will make short work of you. I will turn you into stone and crush you to gravel, so I can grind you beneath my heel." She laughed wickedly, continuing to tease me.

I twisted in my bonds, both horrified and stimulated by what she had said. My hips pumped shamelessly on her fingers, though tears still warmed my face.

If I was to be hers, I thought, then let her be thorough. Let her put me in bondage so hopeless, so inescapable, I should never be free, not want to be, nor remember who I once was!

The feeling was devasating, but there was an awful beauty in it, as when one hears a chord of powerful, stirring music, and I trembled with the realization it had finally happening to me... the very thing I had feared, yet somehow yearned for, ever since my arrival in Obn Dhregni. "Collar me now," I said in a clear voice. "Place the cuffs on my wrists, my ankles, my neck. I'll serve you as your slave, your statue, the pebbles on your garden path, if that is what you want of me. Just do it. Do it now, so I have no time for regrets."

The Queen gestured, and a box appeared by magic beside me. Inside were four cuffs and a collar cradled on crushed maroon velvet. My heart hammered when I saw them. It was as if I stood on the edge of a great precipice, deciding whether or not to make the leap. *Submit,* a faint voice whispered silkily. *Why struggle? Why deny what is fated to happen?*

The Queen unbound me from the bar. Free at last, I knelt before her, nipples and forehead pressed against the cool tiles. Her warm hands moved under my neck, holding the collar open. As she had promised, it was of solid steel, and very thick.

Why did I not resist? I was not chained, and she was occupied and defenseless. I could have snapped her neck with one blow before she could use her magic. But the shameful nature of Shezrine's test had proved I could not call myself a warrior any more. I had been a traitress to the rebels and the cause, and I deserved to be her slave.

Or was that part of her sorcerous hold over me?

Before I could decide the Queen snapped the collar shut. It fit snugly and weighed on my neck quite heavily, cradling my jaw so I could scarce turn my head. "Now raise your head," the Queen commanded, "and hold out your wrists to me."

Trembling, I did so. Slowly, with ceremony, she placed the twin cuffs on my wrists, then my ankles. Each was as thick and heavy as the first, and each had a ring attached. I was shuddering all over when she had finished, as a rabbit trembles in the net. With the collaring, I knew I had sealed my fate forever.

She whispered a spell. The cuffs and collar sealed themselves closed; they were now as whole as if they had been fabricated around me.

"In collaring you now, I have been merciful," Shezrine said. "It is the only time I will ever show mercy to you. After this, you will not be indulged."

I was hers. I was lost, and lost forever... but would gain the terrible, paradoxical freedom of a slave.

Fresh tears wet my face as I knelt before her, my back bowed in gratitude. With a gesture, she indicated I was to climb up on the glass surface of her new footrest, where she quickly clipped my ankles and wrists together behind my back. I was bound again, and helpless.

"This will be your usual position," she said softly, as if cognizant of the sudden discomfort I felt. "You will get used to it." She fastened a lead to my collar, a light chain of many fine links with a soft leather handle on the end of it. It was the same leash one might lead a pet animal by.

She shifted her belt of crystals, exposing her sex, and spread her legs wide.

The sight of her well-moistened genitals made me salivate. The shape was a slim, perfect V, like the head of a javelin, the folds pale and fine as rose quartz... the petals of an orchid shining with dew, rimmed with curly white down. Her hard belly formed a little mound above it, and below was the secret star of her anus. Her clit swelled as I watched, entrancing me, and my head moved toward her crotch without my consent. The Queen guided me by the chain, pulling me inexorably on, until my smooth, shaven head was sheltered between her thighs. She wrapped my collar chain several times about her fist to keep it there.

My lips touched the musky dampness of her sex.

"Pleasure me, slave," she commanded.

Reverently, I kissed it, her juices steaming on my tongue. She tasted delicious, sweetness and salt, meat, female essences. I licked her up and down, lapping her like a cat, then thrust my tongue into the dark slot of her vagina. The fact I was pleasuring the Queen of my own free will... indeed, I had begged to... over the transmuted bodies of my friends fired me with lust. Perhaps they were cognizant of what I was doing. Perhaps not. But the very thought of their frozen state of arousal was arousing, and I continued to pleasure the witch-queen who fulfilled my darkest hungers... my Mistress, my Goddess, my World. The Queen held my chain firmly, her other hand stroking my naked pate. I was now glad I had lost my hair. It was better that I remain without feature, an interchangeable flesh-toy amongst her many other flesh-toys, the better to serve her.

I looked up at her, meeting her eyes. How I wished I could suck on her nipples, which were pointing magnificently, the most erect rods of flesh I had ever seen. They looked stiff as thumbs of stone. I longed to engulf them in my mouth, bat them with my tongue.

She struck me with her whip, which she had doubled up to serve as a crop. My back stung. "I did not give you permission to look up, slave."

Chastised, I went back to my work. The fact I was totally hers, and totally at her mercy, made me work harder to please her. The Queen gifted me with her groans, switching her powerful thighs back and forth along my cheeks. As a reward the struck me again and again with her crop, stinging my buttocks, driving me on. I closed my eyes, the better to savor her, waggling my tongue deep within her innards.

I felt her hand push my head down. I could never have believed I would lick the arse-hole of the Queen, but that was what was happening, and I could not stop myself. My tongue entered her anus, her sweet-sour smell a bouquet. I nibbled at the silky pucker of flesh, teasing it as I knelt there, a ribbon of darkness between the white thighs of the white-haired queen.

She lifted my chin, returning my face to her sex. The crop hit me again and again; my buttocks smarted, burned, swelled. I jogged my hips up and down, but my own sex remained empty. There was to be no penetration save by the Queen's pleasure. I pressed my thighs tightly together, but the friction amplified the sensations rather than satisfied them, and my juices melted helplessly down my thighs.

The Queen writhed like a cat, cries erupting from the her throat. They weren't the helpless cries of a woman in pleasure but were like those of a man, hoarse and triumphant.

Finally she screamed, trembling. Her sex spasmed against my lips. A discharge of warm fluid hit me in the face. It was the final indignity, or the final reward. I was unable to leash in my own orgasm, and, screaming through my teeth, I came... for the last time as a free woman.

Chapter 22: Branded

Afterwards the Queen called in some of her slaves who took charge of me, leading me away to a washroom where I was bathed again, then oiled and chained to a cot so I could sleep. Though I was deeply tired by then, I dozed only fitfully, for in only a few hours my transformation would begin. The Queen would carry out her final campaign against the rebels, and there was nothing at all I could do about it. My friends were a trio of statues. All of this, because I had failed.

The light from the windows slanted, faded, died. A cool evening breeze ruffled the curtain and played across my torso, teasing my nipples into peaks. The Queen came for me at dusk. She wore the full splendor of a witch-queen for this night, the better to display her body--which was part and parcel of her power--to her court. A web of tiny fresh-water pearls traced her flesh, a parody of the harness she inflicted on her slaves; her breasts were nestled in half-cups of abalone, the pink cones of her nipples projecting over the rims. The silver rings that pierced them trailed yet more pearls that alternated with strands of opalescent beads, so that she was encased in silvery rainbows as she walked.

Above, her milk-white hair had been twisted into an elaborate sculpture, crowned by a diadem of diamonds and pearls. Below, the snow-white leather of her thigh-high boots creased sensuously over her knees and ankles. The boots had high heels of pure gold that were as sharp and narrow as daggers. Absurdly, I wondered how she could walk in them.

Then I remembered myself and cast my eyes down.

The Queen laughed softly. "You may look upon me. You may never see me in such raiment again." She knelt beside my cot, freeing me from the chains. At the moment I could have snapped her pearl-collared neck; constrained as she was by her heels and costume, she could hardly have stopped me. But I did not. I merely stood meekly as she fastened my wrist cuffs together behind me, then clipped a golden lead to my collar.

"Come," she said with a slight tug. "The ceremony is about to about to begin. It would not be seemly if you were late." Her light, silvery laughter mocked me as she led me to the garden... the ice-pale Queen cloaked in costly gems, her dark-skinned slave nude and hairless.

We emerged onto the terrace. As the Queen had said, the scent of night-blooming flowers filled the air. Torches burned, enticing moths to cremate themselves, and glints of light shot off the gemmed wrists and gold armbands of the gathered nobles. Slaves unrolled a carpet before us so the the Queen would not sully her golden heels on the grass. I kept my head bowed, my posture abject, but even so I noted how the members of the court looked at me. Never before had I felt so naked, so helpless. They were the elite of her kingdom and they could do anything they wanted to me, because I was now nothing. It was in their eyes as I passed, and I saw speculations forming... a narrowing of the eyelids, a quick, secret smile, a whispered comment to a comrade. Without a doubt they all knew who I was, how I had crossed the Queen, and what she was going to do to me for it.

We came to a roofless pavilion that had been built especially for this night. My heart skipped a beat. For there, as she had said, was the branding frame, the brazier and the irons. All of this, overlaid with night breezes and jasmine and the sheltering branches of spicy citrus trees.

The music stopped. The Queen stood and faced her court, and as if on signal they bowed. "Hail to Queen Shezrine."

The Queen bid them to rise. "I have here a slave," she announced. "A fresh slave, one made only today. In her former life she was known as Lady Jozhande Tanimury, a warrioress of note. Perhaps you know of her. She came to my court as a spy, for the benefit of the rebels who are hiding in the hills. For that, I could have killed her. But I have decided to spare her. She will be my Rurani Eschai, the living complement to my power, and you in my court will witness the passage tonight."

She turned towards two heavily muscled guards who flanked the branding frame. "Make her fast," she ordered.

They gagged me, then took charge of me with brute efficiency. The frame was shaped like steepled hands, designed to bend the victim over, legs spead, with his or her rump in the air. First they clipped my ankle cuffs to eyelets in the wood so my feet were flat on the floor, then the blood rushed to my head as they bent me over double and secured my neck cuff to an eyelet on the other side. Thick leather straps at my knees and upper thighs secured my legs and amother strap at my waist bound my arms and back against the frame. As a final touch they snapped two clamps onto my nipples and locked the chains around my ankles. It was a simple yet effective safeguard against my escape, though I could hardly move at this point except clench my buttocks a little.

The Queen had a way to rectify even this. Attached to the wood against my crotch was another strap which the guards ran through the crack of my buttocks, cleaving them into two rounded globes. This they buckled tightly to the strap at the small of my back. It was most uncomfortable. I could only imagine how my rear looked... a pair of glossy melons mercilessly exposed to the nobles' scrutiny. How perfect a canvas they were, should any wish to adorn them, mark them as theirs.

The thought sent new moisture seeping from my insides, dampening my clit where it pressed against the warm, rough wood. Oh, why had I done this, why!

But I knew, that had I refused or fought this fate, that the Queen might have killed me or transmuted me into furniture. As long as I remained alive, there was hope. Shadow or the other rebels might rescue me. I might rescue myself once the spells wore off. Shezrine might grow careless. There was always hope.

That was what I told myself.

Legs spread, buttocks high, I waited for the inevitable. My sable skin gleamed with oil. Sweat rolled down my belly, over my breasts, and continued down my neck and scalp.

The music began again, a complicated rhythm of drums and bells. Though my collar held me firmly I was able to turn my neck a little. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Queen gesture over the brazier, muttering words in an arcane tongue. She threw in a pinch of dust that made a scarf of red smoke shoot up, with a spicy scent; then she tossed in a handful of dried leaves which made a white smoke; then a vial of black tarry substance which made no smoke at all, though it smelled awful.

Raising her arms to the sky, she tossed her head back, crooning the rest of the spell. Her voice rose, becoming a scream. She threw in a final object, what it was I do not know. It exploded in the flames in a violet-white flash. I shut my eyes, and the nobles gasped.

When I opened them again she was snaking on a long glove of gold leather, to protect her hand from the heat of the iron.

Merciful gods, not this! I bucked against the heavy frame, pulling against the straps that bit into my flesh. Fresh sweat broke out over my body. I felt it drip drown my breasts, falling in my face. It slicked my back. I felt it bead along my buttocks, sliding down into my crack. But for all my efforts, I made not the slightest difference in my bondage.

My heart hammered as the Queen chose the largest of the irons, raising it so her audience could see. At its tip swam the white-hot curve of the Caramaithzes basilisk, plumes of pale smoke rising from its contours. I estimated the design was the width of my hand. She moved out of my sight, and though I couldn't follow her progress I knew, without a doubt, she was walking to the frame.

No, I couldn't be branded on the rump like an animal! I tried to cry out, but the gag bade me silent. I could only make a gargling noise in my throat, which was lost in the drumbeats.

She stopped. She was standing very near me; I felt the warmth of her body, though I could not see her. The drumming ceased. No sound came then but the snaps of the torches, the calls of night insects. Blood thundered in my ears.

"My loyal subjects," she announced, "This slave is the Chosen of Tontaxir, the vessel for divine fulfillment. Let us glory in her journey."

A pause as she raised her arm. Her hand took centuries to maneuver the hot brand around, to press it, squarely, lovingly, into the flesh that awaited her.

I felt the warmth of it as it approached, then an intense localized heat; then the white-metal bit me deep. I screamed behind my gag. The pain was bad, very bad, and it went on for eons. I smelled my own flesh burning, the stink of hot metal. To my humiliation, I lost control of my bladder, letting loose a stream of urine that splashed thickly against the frame. There could be no further humilation than this, for a warrior to soil herself in this ignominious position, yet if any laughed and commented on it, I could not hear it.

The pain drove me beyond madness, beyond selfhood or reason, a sensation so total and debilitating I suppose it was truer to orgasm, and I had no recourse but to surrender to it. It rendered me and remade me. It was not only my skin that was burned. My soul was melted down as well, and poured into a new mold.

I was no longer myself.

I was her slave.

Memories of my village, my mercenary career, Shadow and the rebels... they all receded, becoming formless and dim, like dark humps on the horizen that may be trees or hills or maybe clouds. I knew my former life was being obliterated, but that life, and the loss of that life, did not interest me much. Such things were not important anymore. What was important now was pleasing the Queen and being the best slave I could... more important than family, friends, loyalties, the concept of goodness itself.

When that realization was complete, the brand slowly lifted.

The pain quickly faded as magic healed the wound. "The seal has taken," the Queen announced. She unstrapped me from the frame and turned me round to face the court. Their faces glittered like mica through my tears, their mouths opened in jeers, as their fists shook, fingers pointed: "There is the traitor, the warrior! How do you think she likes being a slave?"

A warm wave of emotion washed over me. I *wanted* their contempt, their scorn for the lowly being I was. As long as they pointed and laughed I was happy to be an object of derision; it was my new role in life, and I would demonstrate to them, over and over, how correct they were in granting me abuse. I would be the best slave as I had once been the best warrior, though I no longer properly remembered my former career.

Of my own accord, I dropped before the Queen's ankles and kissed her boots, weeping with gratitude. I was hers, and hers completely. No longer did I find such surrender loathesome. No self-doubt lurked in my mind, and no guilt, confusion, or anger ate at my soul. The Queen smiled down on me, a goddess, and raised my head in her hands. I kissed her fingers, cupping them in my own, bringing my lips close.

"Show them, slave," she said. "Show my court your new brand, which shows you are mine."

Eagerly, yet without making a show of eagerness, I stood with my back to the audience and spread my legs wide, spine straight. I raised my arms and linked my hands behind my neck.

"Show them more," Shezrine said.

I bent at the waist so my buttocks were the highest part of me. I reached behind me and parted them to show the crowd my sex and anus.

A roar of laughter followed.

Shezrine suddenly struck my unbranded buttock sharply with a leather strap. "Make it dance, slave."

Instinctively, I knew what she wanted of me. I wagged my buttocks in a circle to make the basilisk wriggle. Every noble in the garden would see the brand now, no mistaking it, and no mistaking the pleasure they took in it, either. Jeers and catcalls followed. My eyes closed, my lips parted, as the Queen whispered, "That's it, slave. Faster! Faster!"

Up and down, back and forth. As my flesh bobbled I felt the Queen's finger, still in its leather glove, slowly extend up my vagina, the slick walls giving her little resistance. Impaled, I churned harder, the Queen's arm moving with the motions to keep her finger tightly inside me.

Pandemonium erupted from the crowd.

As I continued my exercise I felt the Queen's finger withdraw and enter my anus. I gasped, slackening my pace. "Keep it in you, slave. I command it!" the Queen hissed, with a smack of her paddle.

I had no choice but to continue. Another finger entered me, then one more. My rectum clenched tightly around the gold leather and I felt the Queen's fingers move inside me, adding their own dance to the one my buttocks made. My breath became shorter. I was going to come in front of this jeering crowd, and not a thing could I do to prevent it.

But the gold-clad fingers swiftly withdrew. "See that?" the Queen announced with a final smack on my rump. "Loyal as a prize bitch, and not ten minutes fresh from the brand!"

I fell to the floor to kiss her boots again, to the excruciating laughter of the crowd. Again and again I kissed the soft leather.

"Rise," she commanded, taking out her tools. "Hold out your breasts to me."

Trembling with devotion, I did so, cupping them in my hands. The magic from the brand had made them firmer, larger, the nipples lengthened by a good inch. They sat in my hands like two heavy fruits and I wouldn't have been surprised if sweet juice had even seeped out of them.

The needles were finely made, plated with bright gold, and looked very sharp. I inhaled sharply as she pierced me once, twice; the pain faded quickly. When I looked down, two gold rings dangled enchantingly from the dark thumbs of my nipples. Each was the diameter of a calroon, the highest coin of the realm; and though they were thick as whores' earrings, my nipples were wider and thicker yet. Each was seamless; unless removed by a goldsmith or such, they would dangle there forever.

"Lay on your back," the Queen said, indicating a table placed there by the guards... for she meant to pierce my sex, a shame so severe even experienced libertines spoke of it in whispers.

Still trembling, I climbed on the table. I spread my thighs wide, holding my ankles apart with my hands as the Queen bent over my sex. I could not see what she did, but I felt it... a short, sharp pain from my clit, then my inner and outer labia. Now I was beringed in my sex as well. Each addition served to carve away another piece of my personality, sensitizing me to nerve endings I never before knew existed.

"Stand," the Queen said. "Show my court what you are now."

I stood, feeling the heavy gold rings tug agaist me, and faced the nobles as a full slave: branded and pierced, cuffed and collared, oiled, naked, hairless... never in my wildest fantasies had I thought this would happen to me, that I could be rendered so lowly, so anonymous, so submissive. I moaned out loud, lost in a new, drunken helplessness that was as pleasurable as it was mortifying. The crowd responded with a roar of delight.

She leashed me then and led me back to the palace. "Come," she whispered. "This is your first night as Rurani Eschai, and we will spend it together, to celebrate your inception."

Such a strange walk it was: the palace halls dark and silent, our only light that from the human chandeliers hanging high above us, their splayed limbs casting eerie shadows on the floor as they twisted. The slave statues observed us too from their lonely niches; only their eyes moved, as their heads were rendered immobile by the high neck braces that kept them upright. But like the Queen, I gave the captives no more than a momentary glance.

She paused by a bas relief sculpture on the wall, the most realistic metalwork I had seen so far in the palace--the full frontal figure of a naked girl, her upper arms and thighs held at right angles to her body. Her forearms pointed up, palms facing us, while her lower legs and feet pointed down, spreading her sex. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted as she looked at us in glazed horror. Although only a sculpture I noted the vividness of the expression.

The Queen produced a key--I do not know from where, as her costume was quite scanty--and thrust it into the dark slot between the sculpture's legs, where its vagina might have been. To my horror, the sculpture moved, moaning and twisting as the secret door opened inward.

"They were sisters, once," the Queen said casually, and showed me the key: a wafer-flat, stylized profile of a female figure. "They were two of my earliest Rurani Eschai slaves, the daughters of the king of Lansong. What games they would play with one another for me! I grew tired of them eventually, but preserved them in these forms. It pleases me to have them serve me still."

We padded through the secret passage until we came to her inner sanctum, her bedchamber. Her bed was immense and carved from pale chilly marble; four posts carved in the form of human females stood with their arms raised, each holding a corner of the draperies. I have no doubt now they were transformed slaves. Bronzed male figures stood at attention throughout the room, their arms extended--and their cocks--to catch discarded clothes, and more males, now maple and mahogany, crouched on the floors to serve as footstools. And the lustrous marble of the floor held yet more imbedded victims in contrasting colors, subtle enough that they might be taken for designs in the stone, yet very obvious once you saw them. What magic had flattened and compressed them there I dared not think.

There were no other slaves save myself in the bedchamber. Living ones, anyway.

The Queen pointed to a spot on the foot of the bed and tied my leash to a ring there, as if I was a hound tethered while its master went shopping. "You will kneel here until I call for you," she said.

The satin covers crinkled sensuously beneath my knees. I kept my head down, obedient, but my heart was racing again, a mixture of abnegation and passion, at the thought I would serve her personally, here in her most private of chambers, and when at last she called me to the bed I went eagerly, with a supple, sensual grace that was new to me. She lay sprawled across the covers, nude but for belt of crystals, and smiled at me lazily. "Lay with me; I would sample what I have created."

I stretched out full length beside her, breast to breast, hip to hip. Never before had our bodies touched so fully. Even now she dazzled me. She kept her artificial girlishness well groomed, with flesh that was firm and toned without being overly muscled. The lines of her body were hard and perfect... her shoulders, the curves of her waist, the firm little mound of her belly... all pale as the marble of the bed, and a wicked contrast against the roses and pinks and plums of the covers, which had been dyed to mimic the colors of genital skin.

"Touch me," she whispered. "Touch me as you wish to worship me."

Vile as it is to me now, I did want to worship her. I did not love her, understand; I did not want her respect or friendship. I did not want to know her mind. I simply wanted her to please her, and belong to her, as all life on earth belongs to the sun, and that was all I was really thinking.

I touched her skin, noting its softness and smoothness. I caressed her arms down to her fingers with their silvery nails. How slim they were, how tapering and elegant. It was hard to believe how crudely they had stretched my anus. I submissively kissed the warmth of her pale pink palm, asking merely for acknowledgement of my submissiveness, as all slaves do.

She stroked my bare scalp, a delicious sensation, and drew me close. I kissed her lips. A meaningless kiss, because I did not love her, yet she opened her mouth to me and let me explore, the way a lioness permits a butterfly to land on her shoulder.

I cupped her head in my hands, luxuriating in the white silk of her hair. She sighed and touched me in turn, playing with my nipple rings. She slipped them on her middle fingers as if they were jewelry, then pulled, kneading my breasts with her open palms. It was a most exquisite sensation that sent shivers of passion through my flesh.

"My Black Pearl," she whispered. "My beautiful Black Pearl... "

So the Witch-Queen of Obn Dhregni named me, and our mouths fastened again, drawing the sighs out of my throat; and for the second time I was lost.

Chapter 23: Prisoner of Brass

The four bedposts looked down on the Queen and I as we writhed, their expressions serene and sweet. What did they think of the Queen's bedmates? Or did they even think at all?

Because I had been longing to do it, I took her hard pink nipple into my mouth and looped my tongue through the ring, sucking hard. The contrast between the hard metal and warm flesh gave the act a new dimension. No wonder the Queen pierced her slaves. No wonder she was pierced herself. I grasped the ring in my teeth, pulling, and she moaned louder as her nipple stretched. I felt her hands spreading roughly over my buttocks, one finger tracing my slave brand over and over, then sighed as it squirmed between my cheeks and into my anus. Her knee pressed into my sex, and the soft pressure against my clit ring was another delight, to feel it and know she herself had pierced me.

The Queen rolled on her back as I positioned myself over her, both of us sealed mouth to crotch, as in my dream weeks earlier. For all of her wickedness she was the one who taught me how passionate lovemaking could be in a submissive role, the same way the Duke had demonstrated games of bondage and Marnessa of dominance. In retrospect it was too bad, as it gave the act a taint I still feel shameful about.

But at the time, it was the most exquisite of pleasures. She tasted even more heavenly than she had earlier, her sex moist and fragrant from the show I gave in the garden. Her clit pointed like a child's finger and I suckled it roughly, her pubic hair tickling my forehead where my eyebrows had been. I felt her tongue caress me in turn. My hips rolled back and forth in a rhythm like the sea, her milk-white thighs gripping my head as my own gripped hers.

We come together, both of us spasming silently. My head buzzed as I lost control of myself, my face buried in the Queen's musky flesh.

Then my new instincts took over. Silently I slipped off her and when she righted herself and spread her legs I knew I was to clean her, removing the last bits of come-fluid from her sex with my tongue. She looked down on me impassively as I worked. It might have wounded me, that she could be so cold after the passion we had shared, but I was a slave and not entitled to niceties. As it turned out she would never make love to me in this way again. She did not maintain relationships at all with her slaves, even as a dominant; she preferred only to use them as things.

"You've pleased me," the Queen said at last. "Very much. There is not one atom left in you of Jozhande Tanimury, the amazon mercenary, is there? Look at me. Do you remember who you were, slave? That you ever rode on a fine horse with a sword, hard-earned coins jingling in your pockets, and tapped mugs of ale in a country inn with your fellows?"

I looked at her, meeting her obsidian eyes that were depthless yet full of depth. I remember hearing those things and being puzzled by them, for they did not seem to refer to me; after all, had I not always been her loving slave?

I answered honestly. "No, my Queen. I do not." As you remember it was the same attitude evinced by Aylinn and Karina, and though at the time I had been disgusted at how they had forgotten their identities, now I realize they had had no choice.

The Queen smiled. "Good. Now you will learn a little more of what it means to be my Rurani Eschai. Not that it matters, really, for you will never tell anyone. But it amuses me."

To my amazement, she removed her belt of crystals from her hips and draped it around my own. "Do you know why I do this?"

The weight felt odd on me, the only item of clothing, if it could be called that, I had worn all day. "No, my Queen."

"Look upon the crystals you wear. Each shard, imbued with sexual essence, was collected in rites held over many years, and the essences are continually recharged and refreshed by contact with my flesh. They are the source of my magic, and I must wear them always to keep their power strong. Should I lose them, my magic weakens. Shatter them, and I am as helpless as any slave. That is my only vulnerability. It limits me on the battlefield or when I travel, for even a mundane accident could break them. Not to mention the discomfort when I sleep or make love. That is why I create a special kind of slave to wear the crystals when I cannot.

"Now, a normal man or woman could not serve, for the crystals are maintained only by the highest levels of sexual energy, and even experienced pleasure slaves do not have a sex drive as strong as mine. But my Rurani Eschai does, for I have created you for passion. I will cultivate your desire until you burn as bright as I; and because of the bond between us, you will serve in my stead. You will wear my crystals when I battle and when I whore, and whenever else I find it convenient. Only you and I will know of this. Should my court realize the truth, others would quickly seize both the crystals and my power. But you will not tell anyone, will you?" she said with a chuckle.

"No my Queen," I said, and meant it.

Ironic, wasn't it. I wonder if she didn't get get a perverse enjoyment from it, entrusting a former enemy with her very life. Ironic for me as well, for had I been in my right mind, I would have grabbed the crystals then and smashed them on the floor.

The Queen continued her speech. "I keep a Rurani Eschai for other reasons, of course. To slake my fantasies, to demonstrate my skills at domination. To amuse my court. Sometimes I keep two or three or even more. But perhaps the most important reason is so that you will serve as an example to my other slaves. You embody everything I want in a slave, and you will serve my court, the royal guests, and your fellow slaves as you serve me, a shining paragon by virture of your submissiveness and servitude."

"Yes, my Queen," I said, determined to serve her the best way I knew.

"Lay on your belly," she said. "Yes, that's it."

As I lay there she drew my arms and legs up behind my back and linked my wrists and ankles together. Then she fastened a chain to them, which drew me up so I swung a few feet above the bed.

Surprisingly, I wasn't too uncomfortable at being suspended in this position. It seemed only natural. It seemed natural, too, that she placed gold weights on my nipple and clit rings, each in the form of a disk marked with writing. As a slave my ability to read had been taken from me. But I have no doubt they said something obscene.

"Feel that?" she said wickedly. "How they pull and pinch you?"

"Yes, my Queen," I gasped. Even the slightest motion of the chain sent the pendants nodding, sending shrill vibrations of pleasure through my body. I would ferment there all night, for in my position there was no way I could finger myself to find relief.

"Look at the crystals. See how they glow!"

I glanced beneath me. The crystals were glowing slightly... a rainbow of colors from pallid greens and yellows to aqua and gold. My frustrated arousal was feeding them, as she had said.

The Queen laughed and slipped her long body between the satin covers. And I knew then why she had hung me in the middle of her bed. So that she might look on me before she fell asleep... and that I might look down on her.

* * * * *

For thirty days I was her slave, the time between the new and full phases of Wolfmoon. It is important that you remember this.

It is also important to remember that though I was enspelled to be happy in my slavery, there were times, chiefly when I was alone and exhausted, that I would realize what had been done to me, that I had been a free amazon who had challenged the Queen, and lost. The realization would be followed by horror at what I was now, the groveling slave who served her and abetted her evil. Yet this realization was helpless to affect my behavior. I could never hang on to it; I would always forget it the following day. It was always less painful to give in, surrender to my slavehood, than fight it.

As with Aylinn and the others the Queen's magic made my breasts and buttocks larger, my nipples more protuberant, my skin smooth and without flaw. Other changes were more subtle. I remained bald and hairless and did not suffer menses or become pregnant. I lost the ability to read and write and could do only the simplest of maths. I could speak only the briefest of sentences, in the lowest of voices. "Yes, my Queen," was about the wordiest of them. Small wonder that guests to the palace thought me a lackwit.

And of course, I was always ready for sex or thinking of it.

There was no act that was repugnant to me, even though some make me blush with shame now; I endured many things at the Queen's hands I had not experienced before then, nor since. However, I do not wish to bore you or become tedious with these tales, as most have little bearing on my present story. So I shall not tell you about the time she outfitted me as a mare and had me pull her hackney to market, or strapped on a phallus and swaggered like a man, or threw a banquet in which slaves were the courses instead of foods, with myself a roast, an apple in my mouth, stuffed at the other end with savory fruits and nuts... you will not hear any of that. Perhaps I will relate some of it later, when we are not in a public inn.

The Queen kept me by her side almost all the time. When she could not--for example, when she went riding--she had me serve as a slave statue with her other lovelies. The staff placed me in positions of honor--at the landing of a stair, at the entrance to an important room--where I stood gilded with bronze to distinguish me from the gold and silver slaves on either side. Ultimately, though, I suffered the same fate as they, for all of us were easy targets for the idle fingers of passersby. The fingers always stopped short of orgasm, however, and I was hard put not to sob when my tormenters walked casually away.

There were other dubious honors. At mealtimes I knelt at the side of the Queen's chair, my leash tethered to the arm, and from time to time she would feed me tidbits from her plate. I remember taking them daintily in my mouth, pleased that she herself was feeding me, whereas other slaves ate from bowls on the floor.

She made sure I knew my station, however. There was never a single moment when I was not chained or leashed. Some leads connected to my collar, some to my body-rings. The combinations were endless. Depending on her whim, I might walk unimpeded, or hobble along in full slave harness with chains and bells to announce my passage. She was fond of straps and paddles, keeping one with a loop on her wrist to make sure I marched smartly.

Of all my humiliations, the most enervating came when she held court, for it took place in front of an audience who were once my equals. She would lounge on her throne in all her splendor as I knelt on the hard marble by her side, chained to a ring in the floor with my head bowed, my wrists linked behind me. Visitors to court were always told my tale beforehand so that they would stare, unbelievingly, at the lowly picture I made, and their respect of the Queen would heighten dramatically.

How I remember those looks of shock and amazement. Hardened slave-traders, jaded adventurers, the most neutral of diplomats... it made no difference. If they were willing, the Queen might have me further demonstrate my servitude by pleasuring them with my mouth, in full view of her nobles in their finery. Many cocks I sucked to climax this way. Female visitors took longer to satisfy, but those, too, I was bidden to pleasure to orgasm. Not a one descended the steps to the throne unsatisfied. If the visitors were of a different bent the Queen had me turn around with my rear raised so they could rape either orifice, and she kept a fine selection of phalluses on hand so even the women could participate. Afterwards the guests might take a whip or paddle to my bottom as I quivered on my knees, helplessly counting each blow; but no matter how many scratches and welts I received my buttocks were always healed by the next day, so the Queen could present a fresh canvas to her court.

Yes, Shezrine was very clever. Always I was frustrated, always on fire; any orgasm I had was only a momentary release. As my captivity progressed I began to look forward to each humiliation, each degradation, for without them, my sexual tension found no relief. Perversely, I even found ways to encourage her abasements.

Often I performed with other slaves in the staged sexual tableaux so beloved by the folk of this city; other times the Queen permitted her favorites to use me. Sometimes I served as many as thirty a night, enduring many paddlings for their idle pleasure. The Queen had named me her Black Pearl for my skin but around the castle it soon began to refer to my clit, which, traitor as it was, never failed to engorge at the nobles' attentions. "Black pearl indeed," they would laugh. "I should have such a fine bauble for my signet ring!" They often set bets on the length and intensity of my orgasms. There was much amusement to be had from a slave such as I.

Although I was the Queen's personal pleasure slave, she did not take her pleasure from me alone. Her appetites were strong, so she had other lovers: members of her court, royal guests, slaves she was training, occasional freemen she coaxed from the city. I was not jealous. It was, to a slave, merely the way of things. The acts were designed, in a way, to keep my own desires hot.

Sometimes she let me participate. I would stimulate her and her partner with my mouth to make them ready, after which they set me aside like a tool no longer needed to finish the act. After they climaxed, I would clean their organs with my tongue. It was a most degrading way to be treated, but I found great pleasure in it.

Yet, despite her other lovers and the indifference with which she treated me it was always the height of pleasure to return to her bed, to be once again a toy of her pleasure. Though we never made love as partners again it was a special delight to crouch between her thighs on the satin covers, my tongue lapping her sex as she stroked my head like a faithful hound. Then all was made right in the world, to feel her orgasm tremble against my lips, to suck out her juices.

I had no sense of time inside the palace. My memories of the outside world faded to shadows. Sometimes I didn't know if it was day or night. I forgot what an elephant looked like or what flax was grown for.

The Queen continued with her persecutions of the rebels. Several times some poor man or woman was marched into the throne room by her guards, where the Queen told them my story. Their faces would blanch, especially when she had me give one of my oral demonstrations, and fearing a similar fate for themselves, panicked confessions would follow. But it did them no good, for the next day there would be a new pleasure slave on display in the halls, or a new piece of furniture in her bedroom, and the Queen would use them just as ruthlessly as she had used me.

As it turned out, though, J'Wabra had spread news of my capture quickly, so most of the rebels were able to avoid the Queen's net. Her carelessness eventually spelled her downfall. Had she used her magic to interrogate me when I was first captured I could have betrayed all my former friends. But instead she had enslaved me, then erased my memory so I could tell her nothing. That spelled her own doom.

Days ticked away as I served the Queen and her court. I wince when I think of how I eagerly took to their games, how I proudly demonstrated my slavehood before my former comrades. Warrior that I was, champion of fairness, I was now happily submitting to the perversions of one of the most evil rulers on the planet, and finding great satisfaction in it.

For thirty days it was so.

But all things come to an end.

The Queen had punished me, I remember, hanging me from the high vaulted ceiling of the throne room to serve as a human chandelier. My wrists and ankles were bound behind my back to a metal hoop so my torso swayed below, with a dish of burning oil suspended at the small of my back... very uncomfortable, for I had to remain absolutely still lest the hot oil spill. Night blanketed the room and it was very quiet.

Around midnight I heard three distinct booms. Then, faintly from the far reaches of the palace, came shouts of alarm, orders, running feet.

The rebels were finally laying seige to the city, though I did not know it at the time. I heard only sounds of confusion and wondered when the Queen might let me down, so I might kiss her boots in contriteness.

Then came the tap-tapping of high-heeled boots down the halls, crisp and light: the walk of the Queen, and she was in a hurry.

The tapping stopped below me. The chain lowered me to the level of the floor so she looked me in the eyes... and I saw an emotion on her face I had never seen before: panic. Her moon-pale skin was flushed and she was panting in little quick breaths. She had never panted before, even in the throes of passion. Now I witnessed fear.

"The rebels are storming my city," she hissed. "Do you know what that means, slave?"

"No my Queen," I said. Hard as it was to believe, I did not.

She gave a short laugh. "As well you should. Know this, then: they are my enemies, and yours. Will you serve me in my fight against them?"

I remembered being mystified at the question--having long forgotten abstracts like politics--but I knew beyond a doubt that I would serve her. "Command me, and I obey," I whispered. "I am yours, now and forever."

"In any form, in any way?"

"Yes," I said. The depilated smoothness of my body told me that, my rings, my basilisk brand... which, true to her word, she had inlaid with silver to wink cold fire from my ebon skin. "You made me over; I am but your creation. How can I refuse?"

She smiled, stroking my face, my lips. "Indeed. How can you not?" She gestured.

A blinding gout of light burst from her palm. It hit me like scalding honey, both cloying sweetness and burning pain. The sensation coursed through every cell of my body, doubling and redoubling until I screamed in ecstasy, my organs spasming. Yet the magic continued, transforming me, remaking me. My flesh was on fire, torn apart, shattered into pieces. All of these and none. I lost consciousness.

* * * * *

When I came back to myself the chamber was lit by candles. The Queen was occupied below me, but I couldn't move my head to see what she did. In fact, I couldn't move at all.

The candles made reflections in the windows behind the throne. I could see myself... and saw I was no longer myself. Instead, a polished statue of brass hung from the ceiling.

She had transformed me, the same as the others.

My wrists and ankles which were now welded permanently to the metal hoop, my back a concave bow. Below me hung hundreds of glass pendants suspended on chains with sconces holding hundreds of candles, the light of which flickered warmly over my burnished curves. My head was erect and slightly thrown back, my eyes slitted in ecstasy, lips parted in orgasm... such a shameful position, frozen in the act that should remain private. But I felt no shame, only a melancholy relief that the transformation had come at last, for it had been the only thing I had feared as her slave. And it was an honor, really, that I had been transformed into a chandelier and not an ordinary statue like the others.

I noted at last what the Queen was doing. Hidden amongst the glass pendants were her crystal shards. She was hanging them here in full view, but no one would see them.

"Yes," she purred. "Very stupid of me not to think of it before. A transformed slave works just as well as living flesh for the purposes of the magic."

How delicately she worked, arranging the shards on long chains that stretched between my rings, which were now permanently fused to my body. A body that was now a highly stylized sculpture... and would say so forever.

"As long as the crystals stay close to your body, you will recharge them... whether you like it or not," Shezrine said. "The perfect solution, really. When I am through with you here I will enter the battle, for now I can wield my magic without danger. Your rebels will be defeated. Not even their stymphads can save them."

I hung there, silent, as she fixed each crystal into place. I wondered who she was telling this too, as I was now a mute fixture of brass.

"I know you hear me," she said, answering my question. "All my slaves keep their minds when transformed. Though how many remain sane, after years as footrests and statues, remains to be seen." She banged smartly on my skull, which made a dull ringing sound in my ears. "Did you ever think you would wind up like this, amazon? Hanging from my ceiling as a chandelier, as I destroy your companions?"

I had not, but the fact I had lost so much of my memory made her comment rather pointless.

"Yes, it was well worth the exchange," she said, running her fingers over my belly, my breasts. "A magnificent chandelier in exchange for a captive Amazon. Perhaps your friend Shadow will make me a better slave. A little headstrong for the job, but pretty... very pretty."

I could not imagine Shadow as a slave, either, but then, I had never imagined myself as a slave.

A manic gleam appeared in Queen's eyes. "I may create many Rurani Eschai, each charging a complement of crystals. With such a source of power, I can rule the Rift from one end to the other!"

Evil geniuses are all alike, aren't they. All of them fixated on world domination, as if they never had to piss or clip their toenails. There was only one snag in her plan. As a statue, I could no longer receive sexual stimulation.

But she had a solution.

The Queen showed me a long phallus of brass as smooth and sylized as I was. "This will serve to stimulate you. When in place, you will give off far more sexual energy than you would as a mortal being, for you will never tire or need to eat or sleep. Unfortunately, it drives out all reason as well. But in the long run you may find it a mercy."

I listened to the thing hum. It was the instrument of my doom. When it was inside me, I would no longer even be able to think.

The transformation would be the logical ending to my adventure in Obn Dhregni. All my experiences here had led me towards this, the ultimate destruction of self, the triumph of sensual pleasure. Now there was no turning back. No other emotion was left to me save lust, no desire save for the desire to serve *her.* Thanks to her magic, I was no longer even human.

*Use me, my Queen,* I thought then. *Use me as I wish to be used, for the most base of perversions, the propagation of wickedness, for it is all I deserve. I have betrayed myself, betrayed my friends, betrayed the causes I held dear. I serve you, and I do so gladly and willingly.*

The Queen ran her fingers over my face as if she had heard me, caressing the hard metal curves of my cheeks, my parted lips. Regret glimmered in her eyes. "You've served me well and faithfully. I shall always regret our time together has been so short." She went around to my rear. "Farewell, my Black Pearl. I will cherish you for many years. Whenever I hold court, I will glance up and think of the pleasure you brought me." Her mocking laughter rang like silver bells.

She slid the phallus into place as smoothly as if it had been made just for me. I heard a click as it filled me completely. Then she locked my labia rings together, both sets, with tiny padlocks to keep it in position.

A tingling began between my legs, a sensation much more extreme and inexorable than the normal responses of lovemaking. I felt it echo within my metal shell, arcing up through my belly and then to my limbs. It reached the tips of my fingers and toes, but found no escape; it merely rebounded, the vibrations echoeing and re-echoing, building to an unbearable crescendo I was powerless to prevent.

My mind began to babble as I approached combustion, my metal flesh reverberating like a giant bell. *Yes,* I thought feverishly, equal parts joy and resignation, *I will serve you, my Queen, however you wish, I will serve, I *will* serve... *

Then the last bits of reason were obliterated, forever. I forgot I had ever been human at all, had human thoughts. The orgasm was steady and continuous, like the roar of a waterfall, and the pleasure went beyond pleasure, beyond any human analogs at all. My mind went blank. I ceased to think.

Below me, the hidden crystals glowed a healthy gold, but who would notice them amidst all the candles?

I vaguely remember the Queen hoisting me to the apex of the chamber, then nothing at all, save ecstasy.

Chapter 24: The Mercy of Ylangaz

My story could have ended there, of course. I could have stayed a mindless statue and fueled Shezrine's evil power forever, and you in this room might be wearing her brands and mouth-pleasuring her favorites at court. Some of you might be furniture and others merchandise.

But, as demonstrated by how I stand here before you, it did not.

I remained in my mindless state for all the next day and part of the night. I knew I existed, but that was it. Outside of that, there was only ecstasy. It was a frightening sensation for all its pleasure because it obliterated me so much. That was its danger, like any strong drug or drink. An evil thing, really.

But back to my story. Sometime during the night the rebels stormed the palace, and one particularly loud explosion caused the throne room to rock on its foundations. The motion made me swing in a wide arc on the rope that held me suspended. One of the magic crystals chinked against another, shattering it.

It wasn't much; just one crystal out of hundreds. But it was the right one, for my slavehood spell was broken.

Was it a divine agency that intervened on my behalf?

I was soon to find out.

Slowly my old personality returned to me, as if waking from a fantastic dream. I immediately saw my prospects were not good. Though no longer in Shezrine's thrall I was still a statue, and though my mind was intact no one would ever know it. In fact, the rebels might pass directly beneath me and never see me, for who would bother to look up at a distant chandelier? And even if they should look, how would they know it was me...or that the crystals I guarded were the source of Shezrine's power?

I could hang here for years, ignored save for an occasional polishing or the insertion of fresh tapers. I would go mad.

To make things worse the phallus was still wedged inside me. Even had I been human there was no removing it, for my bondage and the small padlocks through my labia had seen to that. But the stimulation was no longer strong enough for me to reach orgasm. I could hang here forever in a state of hopeless arousal, my frustration only feeding the crystals and making them stronger... and making Shezrine stronger, as well.

The bitch, the bitch, the bitch!

Yes, I would go mad, I decided.

I wept then, though no tears showed on the face of the statue I was. Yes, this was exactly what I deserved, for my weakness, my failure.

*Why do you weep, Jozhande Tanimury?*

I started. The voice was strong yet soft, undeniably feminine, and had issued from inside my head rather than outside it. *Because I betrayed the people who trusted me. I let my fascination with the Queen's perverse games warp my judgment.*

*Ah, but who judges them as perverse?*

A note of amusement glinted in the soft mental voice, and, annoyed, I spoke my rebuttal, even though I thought it was a symptom of my unhingement. *They are perverse when they warp others against their will.*

But even as I thought it I knew I was not entirely correct. The Duke's games had been most delicious, even if he had betrayed me. Marnessa had not regretted her time as a slave and had served her masters eagerly. And I could not deny the pleasures of lovemaking with the Queen.

The voice chuckled, picking up on what I had thought.

*No matter,* I thought stubbornly. *I failed, and I deserve this. That's the important part. Now leave me alone.*

Another soft chuckle. *Don't you know who I am?*

*Should I?* I thought carelessly.

*Look into your heart,* the voice said gently. *Years ago, you broke a vow to me, and vowed never to break another. Hark back to your past, Jozhande. Listen, and remember.*

My vision suffused with golden light. I saw again the line of mounted Akkidri warriors, the priestess at the temple of Ylangaz, the glory of the dream I experienced there.

And then I saw her, Ylangaz the sun goddess, and she took my breath away. Her hair was blacker than the shadows at noon on the brightest day of the year. Her skin was a dark gold that was almost bronze, her eyes lucent stars...vibrant and beautiful enough to make Shezrine look like a stiff doll cut of white paper. She reared before me like a mountain of light and plucked me from the ceiling. "You made a vow to me, Jozhande, to serve me as a warrior, and you broke it out of shame. You turned your back on me.*

Not since my childhood days had I thought Ylangaz existed, but here she was, and I dangled from her fingers like a pendant on a chain. I would pay dearly for my impiety. *My half-brother shamed me. He took my virginity, making me unfit for your ranks. I lied rather than tell my village the truth. Punish me if you wish, if what has befallen me now is not enough for you.*

Ylangaz laughed, and it was crackling roar of a furnace. "Punish you? I think not. I am not one to punish unjustly. Not am I one to punish for pleasure, as your witch-queen is. I am here to grant you restitution."

*I don't deserve it,* I said stubbornly.

"I decree that you do," Ylangaz said. "Though you did not serve me in name all these years, you served me in spirit. Fair, brave, willing to defend the helpless and serve a just cause. What is that if not the true service of an amazon to her goddess?"

*You don't care that I am dishonored? No longer virgin?*

"Humans make those laws, not I," she said. "I have many different names, in many different lands, and the rites of worship differ. It does not matter if I receive sacrificed lambs in one place and burnt corn in another. I see only what is in the heart. Neither do I particularly care who believes and who does not. But I do care about preserving the balance and preserving justice, so ask, amazon, a boon of me, and I will grant it."

I smiled then, though the lips of the brass statue remained frozen. *Free me from this prison.*

Ylangaz shook her head sadly. "I cannot. Though I am powerful, my powers do not extend to the world of wizards and sorcerers."

Disappointment darkened my heart. It seemed I was to remain a statue. *Then let me warn my friends.*

"That I can grant you," Ylangaz said.

I felt my spirit tugged loose from the hard case of brass. Relieved and ecstatic, I buzzed like a fly around her broadly smiling face.

"Easy," Ylangaz said, guiding me back to face her. "I've freed your spirit for only a short length of time. Make haste now, to warn your comrades. The Queen's side is winning the war, but the battle still has time to turn."

She snatched me like a ball from midair and tossed me so I went flying, breathless, away from the golden world of the sun and back into my own, where I shot from the lips of the statue like a flaming arrow. I flew across the throne room, through the very walls themselves, until I found myself hovering at the roof of the palace. With a single thought, I could travel anywhere.

I looked around me. The battle raged closer to the palace than I hoped: flashes of fire and lightning, explosions, clashing weapons. The Queen's nobles kept up their games, visible through the brightly lit windows no wartime strictures had darkened. They had no loyalty to her, only to their pleasures.

But even as I hovered I knew my time was running out. I had to warn Shadow and the others.

No sooner had I thought it than I was traveling, to a place I *knew* where he was, as if drawn by a scent, or more properly by another sense known only in spirit form. I flew over the palace in a blur, zipping over the grounds where Shezrine was assembling her soldiers. The Wall of Thorns was no longer moving as vigorously as it had, and I saw why--the rebels were bombarding it with cannon and catapults. Battles raged in the streets around the point of beseigement; fires flickered. I saw citizens running to and fro, slaves escaping, animals running blindly; in a matter of minutes the wall would be breached and the bulk of the armies clash.

I passed over the chaos in my invisible state, seeking out a building, then a door, then a room, and finally came to the spot where Shadow paced, receiving reports from his captains in the city. He had been injured in the shoulder and around the ribs, and the cotton gauze was packed tight. Food lay on the desk, but it was untouched, as was a carafe of wine. Finally he sent the last man away. I saw him look towards the window, and I knew that he was studying the horizon at the spot where Wolfmoon waited to rise...the full, rugous moon that would spell the end of his term as commander, for then he would be a wolf. Moonrise was late tonight, but even so it would spell defeat for Deneir and his army.

I let myself float above the floor, inside the circle of lamplight. I was unsure if I could be seen or not. I didn't know how to get his attention, but I didn't have to; he turned and saw me first.

He drew back, gasping, as if I was a ghost. "Jozhande!" He made some gesture, it might have been out of exorcism or piety.

"Do not be afraid," I said quickly.

"You are all golden," he said in amazement. "Like a dawn-spirit..."

I lifted my arm and sure enough, my spirit form was as hard, sleek and golden as my brass one, though I had more mobility. "I am no ghost," I said, lowering my hand. "But neither am I as alive as you."

Shadow continued to stare, looking me up and down. I gathered I was just as nude as when I'd become a slave. "We knew you'd been captured. But we could do nothing...Shezrine's men were all over the city, hunting us like deer. A few days after Ushroez betrayed us we heard that she had...that you--" he swallowed, forcing himself to go on--"...had become her personal toy and no longer remembered your former self, and she set you to provide entertainment for her court."

It took a lot for me, a warrior, to admit that kind of defeat, yet I could do nothing else. True strength comes from facing the truth, not hiding from it. "Yes, she did," I said, nodding. "And when she tired of me she used her magic to turn me into a brass statue, and at this moment my real body is dangling from the ceiling of her throne room. As her chandelier."

For the second time he swallowed. I saw his jaw clench. "What happened to Karina?"

He would ask that. I felt a tiny death come to me, that he would put her welfare before mine, yet how could he not? "She is safe," I said, unwilling to go into the tale of her transformation and the fact she now served as one-third of the Queen's favorite footrest. It was true, actually, for who would think to molest a footrest?

"How is it you can travel from your body, if you have been turned into brass..."

"There are other beings more powerful than Shezrine," I said. I felt the magic surrounding me begin to fade. "Listen to me, we haven't got much time. When the rebels breach the Wall of Thorns you must go with all speed to the Palace, no matter what happens, no matter how many men you lose. There, fight your way to the throne room. From its ceiling hangs a shapely brass chandelier...that is I. Tiers of clear crystals hang down from my body, and hidden among them are Shezrine's magic shards, the ones that store her sorcerous power. You must smash them at whatever cost. The easiest way to do is cut the cord which suspends me."

"But then you will be..." he began, his eyes wide with the implications.

"I know." I could be smashed into pieces as well, or severely dented when I hit the marble floor forty feet down. But there was no other way. I felt myself begin to fade. "Quickly, Shadow! Before the moon rises, and all is lost!"

"Jozhande!" he shouted, and ran over to me, stretching out his hand. But his fingers passed through me, and, tugged like a kite on a string, I flew back to the hanging sarcophagus that imprisoned me. All went black.

When I came back to myself the sounds of the fighting had come very close. Through the windows I saw torches, beams of cold light, explosions.

Yes, I thought. Fight your way to the palace, breach the golden gates! Storm this wing, this room! Break her power forever!

Shouts, screams, the clashing of weapons. Faint at first, but growing louder as the rebels fought their way down the hall. There were many casualties; I could tell from the pitch of the cries. It was a second sense I had. If I had been human I might have smelled charred flesh, for the Queen was in the forefront leading her men, using her magic with desperate abandon. Not only was she defending her palace but the very source of her power, that which hung suspended from the ceiling.

I imagined many fresh statues littering the halls. I prayed Shadow's was not among them.

The cedarwood doors to the throne room splintered open and the fighting burst in. It raged beneath me like an angry sea and I saw violent shadows moving on the walls, though I couldn't move my neck to look down. Closer, closer, I prayed. Let them see me, let them look up!

"No!" I heard Shezrine shout. "You fools, you fools! Stop him!"

A flaming arrow zinged upward, swiping the heavy rope that held me suspended. It was enough to start it to burn.

"It is you who will burn, Shezrine!" Shadow's voice. "There, watch as your precious crystals are dashed to pieces!"

The Queen screamed in rage. I felt myself tilt as the rope was consumed. Farewell Shadow, I thought. I'm sorry I failed you, I'm sorry I failed you all, but perhaps this will make up for it. I tried not to think about what it would feel like to be crumpled and dented against the floor, or break into halves. Would my soul fly free then? Or would it continue to occupy the statue, no matter how mutilated it became?

The rope burned through. I fell.

I plunged like a fishing weight through the air, into the milling throng of soldiers, who beat a hasty retreat; while sworn to defend their Queen, none wanted to be eviscerated by a flying piece of glass.

I hit the floor with a violent, ringing, crack, the crystals splintering beneath my weight. A cobweb pattern appeared at the point of my impact. The reverberations echoed through my head. I felt oddly light and soft. For the first time I felt something, the sharp splinters of glass beneath my belly.

I was turning back to flesh!

The crystals had been crushed beneath me and Shezrine's magic was running out like water down a drain. I stretched my neck and moaned. It was the most wonderful sound I had ever made. Shezrine made her statues more sturdy than she knew.

The rebels rushed in and lifted me above the glass, unlocking my arms and legs from the hoop, disentangling me from the fine golden chains. Shezrine's men began to retreat, sensing something had gone wrong. The Queen herself was now very pale, if anyone that pale could be said to grow paler. Her lips trembled as if forming words, a spell perhaps, but the magic did not come.

The rebels stood me on my feet. On every face was amazement. "Is this the Amazon?" "Is the Queen's magic gone?"

"Yes, and yes," I said when my voice came back. I raised my head. "I am the Amazon Jozhande Tanimury, former *Rurani Eschai* to the Queen." Their faces became even more amazed, as I looked nothing at all like the warrior they had known, though the color of my skin gave me away. Still groggy, I pointed at the Queen. "The crystal shards held her magic, the product of murdered men and women, and now she is helpless. Take her."

Shezrine spat. She clutched a pendant around her neck, a crystal, I realized belatedly, and vanished in a puff of smoke. She had kept one shard on her as a safeguard, and she was using it to enact her escape. I whipped my head around to see her sprinting up the hall.

"Leave her to me," I growled. I grabbed a sword from the nearest rebel and ran after her.

Chapter 25: Shattered

I chased the Queen up the hall like an avenging demon, the stolen sword raised in my hand. Around us, soldiers and rebels clashed in confusion, shouting discordant orders. But they were engaged in their own battles and did not stop me...though quite a few noticed me, nude and denuded as I was, the golden nipple rings knocking against my chest. If more than one turned to stare who could blame them.

On either side the slave statues began to writhe and struggle in their niches; the slave chandeliers gave voice, begging to be let down, as they felt the tide of battle turning. Shezrine's epicenter of magical power had been her crystals, and now they were smashed her magic was fading in an ever-widening radius. Alabaster statues blushed slowly to pink, then stepped stiffly from their plinths, hands traveling over their flesh in amazement. Untransformed slaves popped out of bas reliefs on the walls, columns holding up the ceilings, and spurting fountains full of coins...even, in some cases, from the floor, where they'd been compressed into the marble in novel designs. Though naked, they lost no time in taking up arms against their former masters. Some of them, I'm sad to say, only got in the way and perished like blossoms swept from a tree; yet more ran in confusion, seeking a way out of the palace. But none of them aided the Queen.

My feet slapped against the porphyry and chalcedony floors. The brass phallus pumped in and out with every stride, still firmly secured by its two tiny locks, and my clit throbbed as its decoration swung. But the sexual sensations were only fuel for my pursuit. Instead of debilitating me, they gave me power.

A light, rapid clicking told me Shezrine was headed up the stairs. I turned to follow. I saw a gauntlet lying on the landing, and further up a breastplate with two empty cups; she was discarding her armor to gain herself speed. I saw the flash of her leg as she reached the top step. Behind her came her helmet with a raucous clang.

So that's where you head, I thought. I leapt the obstacle and took the steps two at a time. Even though her magic was gone she still had numbers of her side, and I knew fighting yet raged in the city. The battle was far from over.

Down the upper hall I saw a panel swinging gently: the secret door to her private chambers. The young girl embedded in the panel tore herself free with a sucking sound as the magic faded, and the golden key Shezrine had flung to the floor grew to human size in an eyeblink, stretched her dimpled limbs and smiled; the two lost princesses of Lansong embraced. But I was running past them and up the secret stair, my quarry panting several yards before me.

I burst into the audience chamber where Shezrine had seduced me forty days before. Her statuefied captives were coming to life, the subtle tones of marble, the brilliant ones of glass fading to pink and tan and ivory as they exclaimed their freedom. The lamp sconces hopped down from the wall, the furniture slaves untangled themselves, stretching like dancers, all of them, men and women, incomparably lovely; Shezrine would not have preserved them if they were not. The sight of all that luscious naked flesh might have tempted me to dally there, if I hadn't been on the hunt. But an open door beckoned, and I ran for it as the former slaves found their tongues and began to ask me what had happened.

Shezrine's bedchamber, and the bed where she'd taken her pleasures with me. To the side of it the Aylinn, Karina and Marnessa statues knelt with their heads low, holding the glass disk high with their shapely buttocks, but now the process reversed itself. The glossy tones of healthy flesh infused their stiff forms like fabric dipped in dye; the slave harnesses they wore darkened to black. Their solidified hair became separate strands, spilling over the carpet like silk. They struggled in surprise as consciousness came back to them, mainly from the cold weight of the glass on their cheeks.

I kicked the tabletop over and their heads came up, living and breathing once more. Even in my haste I found their expressions most amusing.

"Jozhande!" Karina gasped. "What has..."

"It's a long story." I said, cutting the cuffs that bound their wrists and ankles with the tip of my sword. As I watched their exaggerated endowments began to deflate, leaving them their old selves, though I admit they still made a pretty picture in the leather.

Aylinn cursed. "What that bitch has done to us!"

"You must find the rebels," I told them. "Aylinn, the stymphad wing needs you to lead, they can't fight otherwise. And Karina, you must go too, with haste, to each of the beasts... they ring the palace at a distance of eight blocks. Touch each one and command them to life."

"I'll take her there," Marnessa said, quick-witted. "I know all the secret ways out of the palace." I was thankful for this as both Aylinn and Karina looked very bewildered. I suppose Marnessa was used to the sensations, as she'd been transformed--and untransformed--before.

"But what happened to you!" Karina protested.

I smiled grimly. I wondered, indeed, what I looked like to them: smooth as polished mahogany and shining with sweat, the gold that pierced me glimmering with every motion. "A gift from the Queen," I said shortly. "Where did she go?"

"There--" Marnessa pointed, at another door swung open, and I ran.

"Go to the rebels!" I called behind me. "Quickly! Before the tide turns again!"

I wondered what the rebels would think of them when they showed up in their harnesses, the Queen's brand still vivid on their cheeks. But there wasn't any way for them to avoid it. Swiftly I pursued my quarry.

The stairs led to a narrow attic at the top of the palace. Shezrine had gotten ahead of me by a good margin, but I saw her footprints in the dust, the triangular front of her boot, the round dot of its spiked heel. The attic hall made a turn, and opened out to a flat area on the roof. There was nowhere else to go. Shezrine was trapped.

Torches ringed the terrace and the former Witch-Queen was staring out in horror at her city, noting how sections of it were burning. She clutched her remaining crystal in her fist as if it was charm, but it did not help her. Since she had shed her armor she was nearly nude save for her high black boots, nipple rings, and a cloth-of-gold loinguard.

She heard me come out. "So" she said. "The errant slave has returned to her mistress."

"Slave no more," I said. I raised my sword. "Come meet your just desserts, Shezrine. The blood spilled by the crystals is calling for you."

Her lips quirked into a ghastly smile. "I think not." She gestured. A magical sword flamed into existence in her hand, a dull platinum color that shimmered with a deep-purple glow. "I have some magic left, Amazon. I will get back what is mine, and destroy your rebels, too."

A screech sounded from below us. A stymphad flew swiftly up and away from us, Aylinn mounted on its back.

"That does not matter," Shezrine said, more to convince herself than sway me. "I will knock them all from the sky."

"How will you accomplish that, Shezrine?" I taunted. I advanced on her, my sword held low and ready for action. She would not escape this time if I could help it. "Show me your power, Witch-Queen."

She roared and charged at me with her sword; both blades clashed. I hadn't taken her for a fighter but I could see I'd been wrong.

"Fooled you didn't I?" she sneered. "Thinking I was weak and lazy, that I lived only for pleasure-- *hah!!*" The metals kissed again. "I developed my skills over many years, from the weaponmasters of my father!"

"And what will you do if you defeat me?" I said. "Use your crystals? They have deserted you."

She said nothing, only countered me grimly, driving me towards the edge.

She was good. I danced back. I didn't know if my workaday blade work stand up against her magical one. I had the sinking feeling it wouldn't, even if my skill was greater than hers. If she won, she could conceivably rally her troops or seek help from one of her captive cities. Their combined forces could crush the rebels even without magic.

She noticed me falter. "If you beg me, I will let you be my slave again," she purred. "My proud black bitch, on a leash by my side." She thrust, I parried, countering. She tottered slightly on her spiked heels, a distinct footgear disadvantage when fighting.

"I don't think so," I said coolly.

"Ah, but you want to be." She raised her weapon high above her head and bought it down, a flashy move I was easily able to dodge. "You already bear my marks, my rings and my brand. Even should I be gone, everyone who looks at you will know what they mean!"

I laughed. "Why should I care what fools think?" I swiped her, but she protected her side.

"You were born to be a slave, and you know it," Shezrine hissed. "Submit to me and I will forgive this rebellion. Accept your true station in life. You know you want to!"

Did I? I faltered, confused. Memories of pleasure and pain, discipline and abandon, came back to haunt me. "You warped my mind with your spells," I said.

"I did not," she said. "The test, the temptation, the collaring...all that was your doing, Jozhande Tanimury...your will, not mine. I only used my magic at the branding, to take away your past. All the rest came from your desire." She gave a triumphant cry, bringing her sword down on mine. The blade cut through clean as if it was butter. I danced back, gasping. "You underestimate me," she said, smiling.

"And you, me." I kicked her with my bare foot and she slipped on her high heels, falling backwards. I brought the pommel of my sword down hard on her wrist. She squealed and let go of her magical blade. Once it left her grip, it smoked into thin air.

I raised what remained of sword, only ten inches of it, but the edge was still sharp. "You hair will serve to bind you, Shezrine," I said, reaching for her long white locks. "I'll be most creative about it."

Before I could stop her she clutched her crystal. Propelled by magic, she leapt twenty feet behind her, turning a somersault in the air and landing on her feet.

"No, Amazon," she glinted. "I will have the last laugh. If you will not be my slave, you will join my crystal...in stasis, for eternity!" The shard blazed white between her fingers. I realized she was drawing all its evil energy into herself, making her veins glow like liquid silver beneath her pale skin. She began to intone an arcane language: "Useeas, ki'atul, amonpor, geb unn..."

I stumbled back as she raised her arms, pointing her palms toward me. A bright light flashed from their centers. Without thinking I raised my arms to my face, the steel cuffs she had welded to me pressed tightly together. The white-hot beam of light reflected off them, as I knew it would, and bounced back on its creator.

"AAAiiieeee!" She screamed, a look of incredible horror on her face as the light enveloped her. She burned like a star fallen to earth, so bright I could scarce look at her. White-hot, blue-white, then violet-white; I saw her writhe as her scream grew shriller, so shrill it nearly made blood run from my ears. The light exploded.

I looked up. The white glow was fading, revealing what remained of the Queen. She was no longer flesh but clear hollow crystal, limbs outflung, mouth stretched in a silent scream. Ironically, she could have been frozen in the most pleasurable of orgasms. Her eyes were wide and blank, caught forever in the same magic she had thought to turn on *me.*

No living flesh could have maintained such a contorted pose. I raised what remained of my sword and dealt the crystal queen a swift, hard, blow.

She shattered before me in millions of tiny shards. The hair-thin wafers blew away like spun sugar, to skirl about on the terrace or fall over the edge. Shezrine's reign was over.

The cuffs around my wrists and ankles, and my neck, loosened and fell to the ground with a clang. I rubbed the chafed areas, bringing them back to life.

A glimmer of silver caught my eye. I knelt before the little pile of transparent dust the wind was swiftly erasing and extracted two silver nipple rings, all that remained of the Witch-Queen of Obn Dhregni. I clenched them in my fist.

I was free. But would I ever be free of the memories of this place?

* * * * *

The battle raged until dawn. With the help of the guardian beasts of the city, and Aylinn's stymphad force, Shezrine's allies were routed and defeated. By noon of the next day Deneir had taken the throne. In a ceremony he received the old crown of the city, rescued from Shezrine's vault, and declared himself king. He awarded those who had shown heroism, among them Shadow, Aylinn, Karina, and myself.

With a heavy heart I accepted the medals and accolades. Though they were given sincerely enough, those closest to Deneir would never forget what the Queen had done to me, and I would never forget what I had let her do to myself. My hairless skull told me that, even as it was hidden under a colorful plaited headdress, with my eyebrows painted in; and three sets of rings told me that, hidden under the clothes I hadn't worn in forty days, the last ring piercing the dark, slippery gem that had given me my name: The Black Pearl. I could have removed them, but Obn Dhregni had taught me many pleasures along with the pain; they would serve to remind me of what I had almost let happen through my foolishness and pride. A badge of both shame and honor, but I have kept them to this day.

No one in the audience saw that, however, as I marched down from the throne, medals heavy on my leather jerkin, my cape flaring behind me. I spared only a small glance for the ring in the floor where I had been chained as a slave, for others to stare at and marvel.

I retook my place in the audience as Deneir stood for his speech. He was a strong man, just, open, and affable, as different from Shadow as night is from day, with a quick easy warmth. He was gold-skinned like many of the people of this land, with dark hair and eyes, not so different from the Duke, really. He laid down his plans for the city's recovery. All slaves were now free, and he would send his men out to ransom the ones who had been sold from the city. Nobles were to swear oaths of loyalty to the new king, and those that would not were to be exiled. Bontatris would be returned to its rightful rulers. Then came practical plans: feeding the city, rebuilding it, helping the ex-slaves find places in the new order. Shezrine had been lax with her city, neglecting its welfare for many years, so he had a lot of work in front of him.

After the ceremony came a banquet. Karina and Shadow kept close. She had handled herself well in the fighting; the Qu'Az star was bright on her forehead. I felt a bittersweet sadness. There was nothing stopping their marriage, yet looking at Shadow, I could see the pain in his face. Deneir glanced at Karina several times, long speculative looks. The new king was a handsome man. If Shadow discarded her, she could do right by Deneir; as Mistress of the Beasts, she had a status now equal to his.

I went over to her, as we hadn't had a chance to talk since I had freed her in the Queen's bedchamber. She started when she saw me as if we shared a shameful secret. With the true king restored, and the rebels slapping backs and congratulating themselves, who could speak of the games we had suffered?

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

She cast her eyes down. "We all should be sorry. For...for being idiotic, I guess." She flipped a lock of hair behind her ear. Though her flesh had reverted to normal her hair remained long. I remembered that she, too, would always carry the brand of the Queen. Her mouth quirked. "Not many of us could claim a second life as a footstool...it's better to see the humor of it, I suppose, than to dwell on the horror." She took another sip from her glass.

"What do you remember?"

"I remember feeling...incredibly horny, yet frozen and helpless, and heavy and solid all over...I could only see the carpet, yet I kept hoping, praying, someone or something would touch me, so I could find release...but no one ever did, only the boots of the Queen." She shrugged. "It must have been the same for you."

Not quite, but I didn't say it. The brass phallus had long been removed by an excellent locksmith I bribed to secrecy. "All the slaves here have a similar story...we two are hardly unique."

"I hope so," she said, finishing her drink. "And I don't intend to let it get me down. I have a wedding to plan." She flashed me a grin.

I didn't have the heart to tell her it would never come to pass.

A ruckus came from the courtyard outside, where Deneir had set up a tribunal to hear the grievances of the common folk. We went over to balcony to see what the problem was. Already the line stretched far into the palace grounds: shopkeepers and tradesmen questioning the city's new policies, merchants offering trade, ex-slaves demanding restitution. It was the last queue that captured everyone's attention.

Thirty or forty white-haired adults in their mid to late twenties, with anthracite eyes, were pressing their case. Their shabby clothing marked them as ex-slaves, yet I saw Shezrine's features in their faces.

"She was my half-sister!" the man at the lead of the line shouted. "Therefore, I have every right to rule!"

"I more than you!" a slim woman countered. "I was born first!"

"I have more magic than either of you!" a third shouted, forming a very weak fireball that sputtered and fizzed out.

"All of you, quiet!" Deneir's guards bellowed.

I sighed. Here was trouble. Shezrine's long-lost half-siblings, consigned by her father to slavery, had lost no time in staking their claims to the throne. They wouldn't succeed, of course, but I couldn't blame them for trying.

"Deneir has his work cut out for him," Karina said wryly.

* * * * *

Though the battle was over, the city still needed to be set in order. In the smoke of a conquered city, with rebuilding and economic revitalization to attend to, the sensual world of the concupiscerium seemed very far away. I did all I could to help Deneir and the rebels. My hair began to grow again, though oddly not below my neck, and daily exercise soon made me as fit and sleek as I once was.

But every evening, after breaking up fights and directing refugees, when I returned to my room, alone, the memories would take me over. Lost in dark dreams I would writhe on the covers, fingers plucking at my body-rings, moaning in passion, unable to forget. Again I would make love with the Queen, her collar snug around my neck. "You will always be a slave, Jozhande Tanimury," she would say, driving me again to the edge of ecstasy. "As well as a master. In Tontaxir's eyes there is no difference between aggressor and victim. You have played the game of flesh as well as I."

After ten days of this I knew I had to leave. Deneir would do fine without me.

I said my farewells to Aylinn and Lassimla, J'Wabra, Marnessa, Karina. The Duke had gone in shame from the city, an exile for his treachery. Deneir rewarded me richly. The coin would keep me going for a very long time, wherever I wished to go.

Lastly I sought out Shadow.

I found him in one of the refugee centers where the ex-slaves were sent on their way to whatever land they had come from. Huge wagons rumbled by me headed for Altaragona, Bontatris, and the city-states to the east; a flying ship had been chartered to take others across the Rift. They chattered animatedly as if departing on vacation, many of them dressed in the clothes of the nobles who once owned them. I was dressed for travel and leading my horse, so when Shadow saw me he set down his clipboard and walked quickly over.

"You're leaving us," he said.

I nodded. "I think I've done all I can here."

There was an awkward pause. After Shezrine's defeat, we'd both been too busy to talk much about the strange experiences we'd been through, and truth to tell, I'd been avoiding it, afraid of what I might hear. Or say.

"I'll be leaving soon, too," he said. I didn't press. We both knew he'd be abandoning both Deneir and Karina. "But you? Deneir would be happy to have you as a captain--or general--in his ranks."

I shook my head. "Too much has happened to me," I said. "Everyone knows the story of the Queen's dark-skinned slave. It would compromise my ability to lead and inspire." The silver glyph on my buttock told me that. The surgeons here told me it couldn't be removed; it would always be there, reminding me of my slavehood.

"But this is Obn Dhregni--"

"This *was* Obn Dhregni," I corrected. "Deneir has returned to a city foreign to him, though he is of the blood to rule it. He and his followers are a bit more--prudish, shall we say?--than the citizens of this city; to them, the revelries it offers are shameful ones. What Deneir will do with its reputation is anyone's guess. "

Shadow smiled ruefully. "My brother has picked an... interesting... place to rule."

"If he can be nonjudgmental, he will succeed," I said. "However...that is asking too much of his men."

Shadow nodded. "I understand. I...need time to accept it as well." He gestured at the ex-slaves in the wagons. "What do I know of slaves, or slavery, except it repulses me...yet years ago, they say, the folk of this city submitted to it gladly, for the pleasure it brings. Karina has changed because of it. There's a new element in her now, one I can't share, nor do I want to...I have no place here, perhaps I never did."

He had spoken the truth. I looked at him objectively now: quiet, self-contained, still a very handsome man. I remembered the night in the cave and our escapade with Marnessa with fondness. But not longing. That particular erotic tie was broken. Too much had happened to me in Obn Dhregni. I needed time to get over it, to find my bearings again. With light-hearted love of the anonymous kind, with renewed relationships with older friends, before I could pick up the relationship with Shadow...which I wanted with a passion that surprised me. But I couldn't. Not right now.

There would be time. After all, we'd both barely scratched the surface of each other.

I embraced him, reveling in the feel of his hard, hard body, the familiar smell of grass in the rain, a hint of animal musk. I kissed him, meaningfully but not deeply, a farewell. "Goodbye, Shadow," I said. "We'll meet again, I'm sure."

"Should the gods allow it," he said. But the way his hands lingered spoke of a personal desire.

"Gods can be bribed," I replied. "Did Tontaxir not teach us that?" I kissed him again, quickly, than mounted my horse. "Good hunting, wolf-man."

And I pressed my heels to his side and cantered off, through the city gates, older and wiser than when I had gone in...The Black Pearl of Pharazion.

END