Barbarian Tales 1: Mistress of the Sword - Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Captured

A two day ride brought Shailaja to the fortification on the bluffs overlooking the road where she had met her first humiliation at the hands of Gorvag. It was abandoned now, but the rows of stakes guarding the approach had only been partly dismantled. It was a strong defensive position and one that she would have kept permanently fortified had she been the ruler of Cebar, but the lack of proper military tradition was one of the reasons why Arkana was such a fertile breeding ground for mercenary armies. Rather than raise his own forces each ruler depended on hired help and the result was continued chaos.

Shailaja reflected on this now as she had not before she had met Sturm. She saw now that much of what he had said was accurate and that her time with the Ravens had in many ways been ill spent. It was for that reason that she turned her horse down the hill in pursuit of Gorvag rather than toward the city of Cebar and vengeance there. She still felt great anger at what Bekor had done to her, but she wondered just what she might have done had he come leading an army against Kaltara? Might she not have been equally gleeful in the humiliation and punishment of her enemy?

Finding Gorvag was not quite as easy as she had hoped. Not surprisingly the camp where the Ravens had stayed was long deserted. The question then was where had the Ravens gone? With no better idea of where to find them she decided to follow the road toward Uvar. One hundred mercenaries should have left a trail that was not too hard to find.

Indeed it turned out to be easier to find than she wished. As she rode toward the city of Uvar she found clear signs of the passage of the Ravens. Burned and blackened farm buildings and the rotting corpses of dozens of villagers and dead livestock lined the roadway.

Shailaja felt deeply affected by this. In spite of all that the Ravens had been, with Den as their leader they had avoided most of the depredations she now saw. Clearly under Gorvag the Ravens were an entirely different band. Given the fact that she had now accepted such plundering as undesirable she was deeply disturbed at this turn in their behaviour. Den had allowed the looting of cities and even the violation of women if such acts happened out of his sight, but he had never allowed the outright ravaging of the countryside. She resolved to catch up with the Ravens as quickly as possible to put an end to Gorvag's leadership.

As a result she rode hard, changing mounts frequently so that she might make the best time. About twenty leagues from the city of Uvar the road swung south and the trail of ruined farms showed that this was the way the Ravens had gone. The trail of devastation angered her as it had not before when she had been a member of such a band. Then she had thought it only right and proper to despoil the homes and farms of their enemies.

It appeared that the Raven's passage had been a leisurely one. They had looted and burned every farmstead in a swathe a league wide, sparing no one and apparently gained in strength as they had moved.

Under Den at no time had the Ravens been more than a hundred in number, Den insisting on quality rather than quantity. "A hundred well trained men are worth five hundred rabble," he had always insisted, but it appeared that Gorvag did not share this view. From the size of the camps Shailaja guessed the Ravens to be nearer two hundred men than their original number.

However, the larger size of the Ravens slowed their movement. Shailaja saw that they took with them a great many carts when before the band had moved entirely on horseback, using packhorses and mules to carry all necessary equipment. Wagons meant that the Ravens could take more with them, but it also made them much slower and she gained on them daily.

This spurred her on to ever greater speed. She had no definite plan in mind when she finally caught up with her old mercenary band other than confronting Gorvag and making him pay for his treachery. The fact that such a confrontation might not necessarily turn in her favour did not cross her mind. The mercenary code gave her the right to challenge Gorvag for leadership and that she would do, making sure that she killed him in the process. It would not atone for all of the injuries he had done her, but it would go some way to satiating her thirst for vengeance.

---

She caught up with the Ravens mid-afternoon of her third week on the road. She had stopped a few leagues back to prepare herself while the band made camp. If she was to confront Gorvag she wanted to do it properly and she took advantage of the warm summer day to stop at a small stream and bathe properly. Then she washed and combed her hair before braiding it into its long warrior's braid.

She had managed to obtain some workable armour in one of the small towns off to one side of the path the Ravens had taken. It was not as splendid as the fine armour she had acquired during her three years with the Ravens, but it was serviceable. Deciding that it would be most fitting for Gorvag to meet his end in the style Den had practiced, she donned her armour and placed her two swords in their sheaths. Arrayed in her martial splendour she then mounted her horse and rode at a relaxed pace toward the camp.

As she had expected her arrival created something of a stir, especially as she entered the camp before most of its inhabitants were even aware that she was there. The fact that not a single sentry had been placed showed the deterioration of the once disciplined mercenary band. Once she was discovered, however, she attracted immediate attention.

Several men ran toward her with drawn swords while a few of the others carried loaded crossbows. It was not quite the welcome Shailaja had expected and she looked about for familiar faces.

"Who might you be?" one of the men demanded.

"I am Shailaja of the Kaltara, former member of the Ravens under Den Zhidar and I am here to see Gorvag."

"Are you now?" the man sneered. "And what might be your business?"

"I am here to kill him, and you too if you do not move from my path."

"You hear that, Walnuf?" anther man laughed. "This girl's here to kill Gorvag. You reckon we ought to let her see him?"

"I'm more concerned that she just threatened to kill me," Walnuf answered. "What say you take off that helmet, girl and let us see what you look like?"

By this time someone had shown up that Shailaja knew. It was Siva, the warrior woman Den had left in charge of the camp when he had led his picked band into the treacherous ambush that had killed him.

"Siva," she shouted. "Tell these fools who I am and take me to Gorvag. He and I have business to settle."

Siva looked at her and shook her head slightly. Shailaja was puzzled at this, not recognizing it for the warning it was meant to be. However, Siva stepped forward and spoke. "It as is she says. This is Shailaja, a member of our band and you would do well to keep away from the reach of her sword."

"Sword you say?" Walnuf leered. "I see two swords. Can she deal with two? One is usually enough for any bitch."

"Perhaps she likes it in both holes at the same time," another wag added, a remark that brought some laughter from the other men around her.

Furious at the mockery and the stupidity directed toward her, Shailaja spurred her horse forward, almost knocking Walnuf and his foul mouthed companion off their feet. "Out of my way," she shouted. "I will see Gorvag."

She pushed through the camp toward the largest tent, reckoning to find Gorvag there. She was not disappointed. As she reached the tent, followed by half the camp, Gorvag stepped from it followed by half a dozen men. Needless to say, he seemed very surprised to see her. However, he recovered quickly, placing his hands on his hips and staring up at her, a mocking smile upon his lips.

"The Kaltaran Ice Maiden," he sneered. "I thought you too busy spreading your legs for Cebarian soldiers to ever make it back here. I suppose you have come to kill me for ridding you of your Uvarian lover."

That told her something Shailaja had not known. Den had never told her that he was from Uvar, not that most mercenaries held any loyalty to their native city, but it was interesting that he had died serving the cause of the city he had been born into.

"Draw your sword, Gorvag or I will kill you where you stand," she demanded.

"Gorvag laughed uproariously. "The stupid bitch still thinks Den's weak rules remain here. That is not how it works, girl. I am leader of the Ravens now and I have others to protect my interests." He looked to the hefty men on each side of him. All were as big as Gorvag, although none matched Sturm for size. They stepped forward menacingly as he finished speaking and one of them reached out to claim the bridle of her horse.

By now Shailaja had figured out where this confrontation was going. Gorvag had denied her the right of challenge, although it was standard practice among most mercenary bands. She saw now why he had added so many men to the Ravens. He had added men loyal to him and not to Den's memory or traditions. Possibly only a small core of her original comrades remained, the greatest number of the new Ravens being loyal to Gorvag's new order. As the hand of his bodyguard reached for her bridle she drew her sword and cut it off at the wrist, at the same time spurring her horse forward, intent on removing Gorvag's head.

She almost reached him, but it was no easy matter to force a horse through a band of heavily armed men. For one thing most horses have more sense than their riders and will not charge into what they perceive as an impenetrable barrier. Secondly, the sheer mass of human flesh will stop a horse, especially if those men carry arms. In this case Gorvag's heavily armed bodyguard brought her horse to a halt, and she laid about her trying to force her way forward while men swung weapons at her and crossbow quarrels whizzed about her ears.

It was the quarrels that bothered her most. She was fully armoured and although Kaltarans generally wear light armour by the standards of most armies, it afforded her sufficient protection to last for a short while in a melee provided she was not struck by a missile. She hunched low over the neck of her horse striking at those below her. Several times she made contact as the screams of those she struck told her. Over the noise of combat Gorvag's voice rose. "No crossbows, you fools. Take her alive."

He could not have helped her more if it was his intention. Free of the fear of quarrels she wheeled her mount, the horse's hooves and body scattering men in all directions; then she rose in the saddle, a sword in each hand and cut down at those who sought to capture her.

Still foremost in her mind was her desire to kill Gorvag. He was but a few yards away protected by only a few bodyguards. If she could just force her horse three lengths of its body she could reach him.

Poorly trained as Gorvag's new men were, however, they still had some semblance of combat training. They swarmed around her, several armed with pikes and bills with which they sought to strike her from the saddle. These long arms, equipped with hooks and metal points at their tips were intended to spear or hook a rider, either method being effective in removing her from the saddle. In length they far outreached her swords and she slashed at them cutting off the sharp points, but she could not get all of them. Hemmed in on all sides by several dozen men, the sheer weight of their bodies robbed her horse of its mobility, leaving her to slog it out with her two blades.

So quick were her movements that time and time again her blades found flesh and the screams of the wounded and dying rose up around her as she sought to take her vengeance. She now realize that it might have been wiser had she attempted to flee the camp and come for Gorvag on another day, but she was seized once again by the blood rage and cared not about the odds against her. She simply wanted to kill everything within her reach with the ultimate goal of reaching Gorvag and carving his cowardly head from his body.

To her great pain and sorrow, on this day it was not to be. A bill snaked out, catching her from behind, and snagging in the chain mail that protected her shoulder. A hard jerk of the pole and she was partially pulled from the saddle. Then several hands seized her and complete her unhorsing. She fell into the dozen or so mercenaries straining to reach her. Even as she fell she struck out with her blades drawing even more blood, but now she was among her enemies and hands and weapons reached out for her on all sides. Once again Gorvag's voice rose above the clamour of battle. "Alive. I want her alive."

Men swarmed toward her, hands reaching for her arms, legs, and torso; anything they could get a grip on. She was held, her body bucking wildly as she fought to free herself, but her swords were twisted from her grasp and a heavy blow struck against her helmet that knocked her near senseless. Dazed, she was helpless as she was stripped first of her weapons; and then while Gorvag gloated over her, her armour as well.

"Still the raging barbarian fool," he sneered. "I am going to take great pleasure in breaking you and the breaking is going to be long and painful."

Shailaja cared nothing for his words, but as the battle rage diminished a feeling of cold fear came over her as she realized that instead of receiving vengeance she had delivered herself into the hands of her enemy. She struggled to break the grip of her captors, but was pinned by a weight of bodies, her arms and legs gripped tightly. And then as she continued to fight, her arms were forced behind her. Once again she felt the touch of hemp upon her wrists as she was tightly bound, her wrists lashed together and her arms pinched in at the elbows by a length of cord.

Her head spinning, she was dragged to her feet and stood panting before Gorvag. His eyes were instantly drawn to her heaving breasts. In spite of her helplessness she did not flinch from his gaze, not even when she looked into his eyes and saw the vast store of cruelty within.

"Cold and arrogant as ever," Gorvag said, "but I will break you of that stubborn pride."

He stood just far enough away from her that her feet could not reach him and a man stood on either side of her and gripped her arms. She's demon-possessed," said one of them. "She killed a dozen men and there's not a mark on her."

His remark was not quite true, but Shailaja could not help a twist of her lip. It was the most basic of combat techniques not to get hit, but of course the spear fodder Gorvag had recruited for his much larger army would know little of this.

"See how she mocks us, Gorvag," Walnuf observed. "This she-wolf must be savagely punished."

"And so she shall be," Gorvag replied. "Take her to the punishment circle."

---

Shailaja was marched to the centre of the camp. She held her head high, showing no fear, but her eyes scanned the camp for the comrades she had once known. She saw few. In the short time she had been absent Gorvag had rid himself of all members of the Ravens who might oppose him and replaced them with men that were little more than brigands. The once proud mercenary band had been reduced to nothing but a bunch of armed rabble.

She found herself in the centre of the camp, but where the circle Den had used to settle disputes had once been there was instead a heavy wooden frame of the sort used to mete out punishment. It was already in use, the forms of two moaning wretches lashed to the either side of the frame. From the bloody stripes on their bodies they had been severely flogged.

"Thieves," Gorvag explained. "But I have something very special planned for you."

Shailaja was moved to the centre of the circle and at Gorvag's orders forced to her knees. "Bind her ankles," he instructed. "I want none of her tricks."

It was pointless to offer resistance. Surrounded by enemies Shailaja would only have seemed fearful and a Kaltaran warrior showed no fear. But fresh in her memory was the brutal humiliation she had received at the hands of Gorvag and the Cebarians, and her stomach knotted as she was prepared for her punishment.

At first she thought she was to be flogged as she had been before, especially when Gorvag ordered her stripped to the waist. Nudity offered Shailaja no shame, but the fact that it gave the mongrel assortment of soldiers pleasure to look upon her nakedness was degrading in the extreme as they pressed forward eager for a closer look.

As usual the perfection of her body attracted the usual unwanted commentary although she considered herself no more attractive than any other Kaltaran. It seemed to her that a good deal of her supposed beauty was due to the fact that the other races of Vedra were so physically inferior.

She knelt before her captors, her wrists and arms tightly bound behind her, her breasts arched invitingly toward whoever might want to sample them. But Gorvag held everyone back. For now she was to be his, and his alone. Helpless, she waited to see what Gorvag had planned for her. That it would be painful went without saying as he had already promised much pain, but what form it was to take was yet to be revealed. And so she waited, face frozen in a look of disdain, but internally terrified that she might not be strong enough to withstand the torture that was planned for her.

Finally two men hurried up carrying a length of timber about eight feet long and the thickness of her upper arms. Gorvag nodded his approval and the two men seemed to know what he wanted as they acted without orders while their leader smirked in cruel pleasure.

"You are about to experience pain and humiliation that will make your previous experience seem enjoyable by comparison," Gorvag gloated.

As was her custom when in the presence of one who is more likely to be angered by silence, Shailaja said nothing, but she wondered how Gorvag could know anything of what had happened to her at the hands of the Cebarians. Perhaps Bekor had sent a message to him relating her pain and humiliation, or it might have been the usual wind that Gorvag seemed so full of.

Whatever the matter her thoughts were soon focused on what was being done to her. With her ankles bound she was unable to rise and with several men watching her at all times she could do little as the bindings were removed from her wrists and arms.

Her relief from the tight bondage proved brief. The pole was placed across her shoulders and her arms were raised so that they could be bound to it at the wrists, elbows, and biceps. It left her arms stretched out parallel to the ground with the centre of the pole resting against the back of her neck. In order to make it fit more snugly additional rope was added, securing her neck to it. The ropes were tight, but not so tight as to choke her. The arrangement left her feeling even more vulnerable than before as just two men could easily move her in any direction by exerting only slight pressure on the pole.

However, moving her was not the reason Gorvag had desired her to be bound in this manner. It was but the beginning of a much crueller punishment.

Having bound her arms to the pole, her ankles were untied and she was required to rise so that she could be moved to the punishment rack. The men who had been there had been cut down and dragged off, leaving it free for her use. She was moved between the uprights and the pole was placed against them in such a way that she was forced to bend slightly at the waist. It gave the crowd watching her and even more spectacular view of her exquisite breasts as they swayed enticingly. Then the pole was securely tied to each side of the uprights, the ropes holding the pole tied in such a manner that it would not slip, and leaving her in a humiliating and vulnerable position. Shailaja thought she knew what was going to happen next, but she was not quite prepared for the horror Gorvag had planned for her.

Gorvag then approached her, a look on his face that would have given nightmares to most women, but Shailaja merely returned his gaze stare for stare.

"You will learn to lower your eyes when I approach, girl," he growled. "And the lesson begins now."

Shailaja saw then that he had in his right hand a hammer and in the other a long iron nail that had been pushed through a leather washer. As she suddenly guessed what he had in mind she was filled with such terror that she turned pale even though she tried her best to hide her reaction.

"Yes," Gorvag grinned, looking down at her. "This is going to hurt a great deal. Let's see how a Kaltaran warrior reacts to real pain."

Shailaja clenched both her fists, unwilling to make it easy for him, but he merely laughed and ordered Walnuf to spread her fingers. This the brawny henchman did quite willingly. With her arms tightly bound to the pole there was little she could do as he pulled back the thumb of her right hand and having succeeded in that, pried open the rest of her fingers and held her hand flat against the pole, palm outward.

All Shailaja could think of as Gorvag set the nail into the palm of her hand was the affect it would have in holding a sword. The fear of pain was secondary to the fear that she might never again be able to hold a blade. For a Kaltaran warrior such a fate would be as cruel as death. A few heartbeats later, however, she changed her mind about the pain.

Gorvag struck true, bringing the hammer down in a stroke that would have made any carpenter proud. The nail pierced the centre of her palm and was driven deep into the wood. A second blow pushed the leather washer against her palm, holding it fast to the wooden pole behind it. To describe the pain as excruciating would have been an insult to that word. She had never known such agony; and that, accompanied by the fact that her warrior abilities had been completely crippled, caused her to scream in pain and fear.

Gorvag laughed as she shrieked in agony. "Not so arrogant now are you , girl? Go on, scream, I quite enjoy the sound."

To her credit, Shailaja screamed only once, her initial cry dissolving into a sob as she stood before him, her right hand throbbing in agony and the red blood welling up around the wound and dripping onto the ground.

"Well, that's a good start," Gorvag chuckled. "Let's see what I can do with the left hand."

As before, Walnuf uncoiled her clenched fingers and held her hand flat while Gorvag set the point of the nail against it. Shailaja supposed he wanted her to beg him to spare her the pain, but instead she raised her tear-streaked face and held his gaze, almost daring him to go ahead. He needed no further urging, driving the nail almost to the head in a single stroke.

Although the pain was no less, this time she somehow held back the high pitched shriek, but bit her lower lip until it bled and let loose a long shuddering sob. The pain was so intense that she would rather have suffered a hundred lashes than endure such punishment. She fought with every breath not to beg for mercy.

"You bear pain well, but you will eventually beg me to show you pity," Gorvag said, seeing the tears of pain that started from her eyes. "And now I will do what I promised you the first day I laid eyes on you."

Shailaja did not understand his words until she saw him begin to unlace his trousers. Then his intentions became more than clear to her, but there was little she could do about it. Her suffering was so great that he could have demanded anything from her and she would have had little will to resist.

His unlacing completed, Gorvag stood before her, his limp member dangling just two spans from her face. But already Shailaja could detect the stiffening of his manhood as he stepped toward her. Her nostrils were filled with his strong male scent, an odour she normally found arousing, but this time her stomach lurched in protest.

Gorvag seized her by the hair, bending her head back and forced her to look him in the eyes. Shailaja held his gaze unflinchingly in spite of the agonizing pain in the palms of her hands.

"I'll see the fire in those emeralds dimmed before I'm through with you. You will suffer like you've never suffered before and it starts now." Gorvag crowed. His fingers found her swaying breasts and closed savagely on her nipples. It was brutally painful, but so great was the pain in her hands that Shailaja hardly noticed it. However, Gorvag was just getting warmed up.

He moved behind her and slit her trousers from the back and then pulled what was left of them down over her hips. Then he settled his body against her backside, his now stiff member touching her in a place where no man had ever taken her. "You think you hands hurt, barbarian? That's going to be nothing compared to the pain in your backside."

There was a slight wait as Gorvag rubbed a sweet smelling oil over his manhood. Then he shoved forward, forcing his way into her. In spite of the lubricant it took considerable grunting for Gorvag to penetrate her, and as he had promised there was more pain than she had ever cared to experience, so much so that it almost eclipsed that of the pain in her hands.

"I told you I would do this on the first day we met," Gorvag jeered. "It's been a long time coming, but now I have you." He thrust hard, sending agonizing pain through her backside. She moaned and he thrust deeper, penetrating her fully.

"You'll do more than a little groaning, girl," Gorvag grunted as he held her hips. "Before I finish with you I'll have you begging me for a quick death."

By now begging was not far from Shailaja's mind, but her honour and the stubborn will to resist that had always characterized her would not allow her to surrender. In spite of the horror and helplessness of her predicament she still had hope of escape and as the agony of her violation increased she cursed the youthful stupidity that had led her to ride boldly into a situation she would have been much better avoiding. It was a hard lesson, and one that would most likely cost her life.

Gorvag used her as harshly as he could, stroking deep within her with the full intention of proving his mastery over her. Every movement of his body sent a surge of pain though her, but especially through her painfully pierced hands. Shailaja's punishment presented quite a spectacle to the members of the camp who surrounded her. With every one of Gorvag's thrust her large breasts quivered and her hair, now unbraided and falling to her waist, swirled about as she was taken.

The assembled spectators shouted encouragement to Gorvag and he redoubled his efforts, forcing a gasp from her lips with every thrust. Her tight sphincter was far too small to accept a man of Gorvag's size easily, and he made little effort to be gentle, forcing himself into her with savage energy and excruciating pain. Shailaja moaned in agony and cried out with every thrust, no longer able to hold out against both the pain in her backside and the agony of the nails penetrating her palms. He continued his brutal assault until he finally emptied his seed within her. It was painfully humiliating and it marked only the beginning of her ordeal.

"Her ass is reserved for me. But you can do what you want with her cunt," Gorvag cautioned as he stepped back from his almost weeping victim.

It was enough for his men, and Walnuf took her next, and using her just as harshly as Gorvag had in spite of his mild restrictions on her use. By the time he was finished with her Shailaja was in so much pain that it was only with difficulty that she held back her cries. And then it was the turn of the next man. The assaults continued all night long and into the hours of early morning. Each one seemed more painful than the last. By now Shailaja was slick with her own juices as well as those of the men who used her, and it should have been easier, but the pain of her pierced palms made every movement of her body so painful that she was almost sobbing at the end. It ended only as the light of dawn tinged the horizon and only then due to the arrival of a dust-covered horseman.

His coming caused no little stir in the camp although Shailaja was hardly in any condition to be aware of much of a change in her surroundings. She remained in the position her captors had placed her, bent at the waist on her knees, her tortured hands swollen, and her body stinking from her ordeal. Too exhausted to even raise her head, she was aware only of the fact that for awhile at least, her torment seemed to have ended.

The sun rose and with it a quickening of the activity in the camp. Shailaja hung in her cramped position, her body on fire with the pain of her ordeal. Unable to move from her painful position, she fought against the slow crippling of her body caused by her inability to move. She moaned without thinking, and suddenly Gorvag was in front of her once again. Seizing her by the hair he raised her head and stared into her eyes.

"I thought you might be stronger than that, barbarian," he sneered. "At this rate you'll not last out the day." He shrugged. "So be it. I'll see if you still live when I return. For now I have urgent business."

His words barely penetrated her consciousness. She knew only that for now her ordeal at his hands was over. However, it was not an end to her anguish. She slumped forward, the ropes binding her arms holding her where she was, and waited to see what would come.

---

She had little recollection of what else passed that day. Someone, she thought it was Siva, gave her water, but there was nothing anyone could do to ease the position of her body or the pounding pain in the palms of her hands. As the day dragged on she sank lower as the strength drained from her body under the heat of the summer sun. And then she was aware of a commotion in the camp and the sound of horses.

There was the sound of loud conversation and the movement of people toward her. Slowly she lifted her head, although it cost her what little remained of her strength to do so. Before her was an unlikely assortment. Gorvag, of course, and to his left Siva. Next to Siva was one she knew but had not had much association with. This was Selvan-mal-Tir, the Tharian healer who had been with the Ravens from before she had joined. To Gorvag's right was Walnuf and with him were five other men she did not know. These last were tall men; each of a height with Gorvag and all wore polished black lamellar armour.

She recognized them as Belusendrans, a land to the east and south of Arkana. Like that of Kaltara they were a warrior culture, but one that extended no equality to women. Indeed it was said that in Belusendra a woman ranked no higher than a slave. However, at the moment she had little interest in their origins or even what they were doing in the camp of the Ravens.

Gorvag loomed over her a sneer upon his lips. Once more he seized her hair, almost yanking it from the roots and tilted her head toward him. "It seems our barbarian is a mere woman after all," he sneered. "I expected more of her than this."

"You drive nails through her palms and then subject her to the use of more than a hundred men and you are surprised she barely lives?" Siva growled. "She is dying and brought there by your hand."

Gorvag glowered at Siva. She had been long with the Ravens and perhaps it was this that gave her the courage to speak so. However, it was quite obvious that Gorvag was not pleased by her response. "Watch your tongue woman. I am leader here and your friendship with the redheaded barbarian matters not to me. I will punish her as I see fit."

"It seems something of a waste to me," commented the tallest of the Belusendran warriors. "Putting her on her back would be much more rewarding than nailing her to a frame."

Gorvag bridled once more at the implied criticism, but this time he reacted differently. "Think you so, Velag? She is an untameable barbarian from the frozen wastes of Kaltara. How then would you deal with her?"

"So this is the Kaltaran," another of the Belusendrans mused. "She seems a little less than impressive in her present position."

"I assure you, Quorash, that she is formidable enough," Gorag answered. "She killed over a dozen of my warriors and injured many more before she was subdued."

"Indeed?" the one called Velag queried. "Then it would seem she is worth keeping. Other than killing some of your rabble what else did she do to earn such punishment?"

"She sought to kill me," Gorvag replied. "As a leader of men you must be aware that I cannot permit such mutiny."

A few other members of the camp had arrived. Gorvag's comment drew derisive laughs from some. The mercenary leader glowered, but there was little he could do about it. It seemed that the lack of discipline so evident in the camp had not won Gorvag any great loyalty.

Through eyes barely open Shailaja watched as Velag walked toward her. He inspected her as one would a prize horse. "She has the breasts of a goddess, full, large, and rounded; and a face that is most pleasing. It seems a waste to kill her when she could be of so much use in another capacity."

"She is dying." The statement was blunt and it came from Selvan. "It is not the nailing of her hands or the using of her that is killing her, but the position of her body. With her arms raised the lungs cannot draw air as they are accustomed. Nor can the heart properly circulate the blood. Her fluids are descending into her lower extremities and her body is slowly drowning. It is a most painful way to die as I am sure Gorvag knows."

Shailaja slumped forward again, the brief effort of raising her head having exhausted her. The words of those discussing her fate buzzed in the distance like the sound of a swarm of gnats

"I would have her," she heard Velag say.

"Surely a more compliant wench would be to your liking," Gorvag objected. "I doubt you will find much favour with her."

"No," Velag disagreed. "I think the possession of a legendary Kaltaran would please me more. The pleasure of breaking her would be great and I should enjoy finding out how well she moves beneath a man."

"Then she is yours to seal our bargain," Gorvag grinned. "I wish you the joy of breaking her, but I think she may prove more difficult than you think."

"It is a point of pride with me," Velag preened, "that I can break any woman, no matter how strong minded. Within a month she will be as a kitten, purring at my touch."

"Then take her, brother," Gorvag said. "I would very much like to witness such a miracle. Just remember that cats have claws"

"And so you shall," Velag said. "Have her cut down."

Gorvag spoke to someone and Shailaja was aware of several people around her. One from his deep voice she recognized as Ulriggan, the Raven's smith. Evidently Gorvag had kept certain former members of the Ravens who might be of value to him such as Selvan and the smith. She stirred herself again, forcing open her eyes and somehow moving her body.

"I see that she has more life than you would think," Velag stated. "I think she may prove a worthy prize."

Gorvag snorted, but made no further comment as Ulriggan moved to stand before her. From a heavy belt around his waist the smith took out a heavy pair of metal pincers. He held them to the head of the nail pinning her left hand and with a sharp snap cut through the metal. Still bound to the post Shailaja remained where she was while he repeated the operation on the other hand, and then Selvan stepped forward.

"This is going to hurt a great deal, child," the healer said, "but I need to get you to the healer's tent to treat you." While Siva and Ulriggan held her, Selvan cut the ropes binding her to the post and then with the greatest care possible, pulled her hand off the nail.

Shailaja did not scream, but could not hold back a grunt of pain, and her body quivered with the shock of what was done to her.

Velag laughed. "You see what spirit she has? She is going to make a most worthy slave."

And then the other hand was done and she fell forward into the arms of her rescuers. As if she were no more than a child Ulriggan lifted her and carried her to the healer's tent. Shailaja clenched her teeth against the pain the entire way, although tears rolled down her cheeks. It would have been far better had she fainted, but her body would not let her. The great strength of which she had always been so proud now worked against her, leaving her in the grips of such agony that it took all of her resolve not to weep.

Ulriggan placed her on her back on a cot to one side of the tent. There were several other patients most of them put there by her hand, but she hardly noticed them as she lay in a confusion of pain. She was incredibly weak, but she managed to hold up her hands in front of her to survey the damage. They were swollen to several times their normal size and she could hardly move her fingers. In the centre of each palm was an ugly red hole from which a watery blood-tinged fluid oozed. The sight filled her with the utmost despair. What if such damage could not be healed? She would not be able to hold a sword or any other weapon and Gorvag's vengeance would be more than complete.

So deep was her desolation that she hardly noticed as Selvan raised her head and held a cup to her lips. And then a strange fuzziness overcame her and everything dissolved into darkness.

Continued in Chapter 16

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