Tales of Erogenia: Book 1 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Duel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Continued in Chapter 3

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