Tales of Erogenia: Book 1 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Spirit Quest

Zenaria strapped her sword over her shoulder. The movement pulled at the cuts Garrod had inflicted on her during their duel, but her face displayed no sign of discomfort. The Shaman had done a fine job of dressing the wounds. His stitches were so fine that the scars would be no more than thin red lines that would slowly fade to white over time. She could, of course, have had a Priestess of the Snow Leopard heal the wounds magically, but that was not the Erogenian way. Erogenian warriors wore their scars with pride and Zenaria already had a half dozen to go with those she had received from Garrod.

She slung her bow and quiver of arrows over her left shoulder and draped a bag of miscellaneous supplies around her neck. She was ready. Striding from her rude hut, she headed for the gate and without a backward look entered the forest.

---

For the first few hours she walked without really watching where she was going. A spirit quest was supposed to take the quester in whatever direction the quest warranted, the success or failure of the quest being left in the hands of the gods. She wandered from tree to tree, flower to flower, and rock to rock. She was, however, not entirely oblivious to her surroundings. Several hours after the stockade had faded from sight she realized that she was being followed.

She stopped, a slight smile on her lips and turned toward a line of trees just behind her. "Jarree," she said softly. "Come out. I know you are there."

There was an almost imperceptible movement in the underbrush and then a sleek form ghosted into sight. Zenaria made a gentle clicking sound with her tongue and the huge snow leopard strolled majestically toward her. "Come on," she chided. "It wouldn't hurt you to run."

"Rrrrrrrrrr," the big cat rumbled, butting its head against her leg and then following with the length of its body. The strength of the animal almost pushed her over.

"Jarree," she murmured wrapping her arms around the leopard's neck. She lay her head against the soft fur, allowing the rumbling purr to vibrate through her.

"Jaree," she repeated. "I would like to take you with me, but a spirit quest must be completed alone."

The big cat sat back on its haunches and regarded her with golden eyes. It was obviously completely unimpressed with her declaration. After a moment it lifted a paw and gave it a languid lick.

"Perhaps you can come," Zenaria conceded. "After all, you're not really a member of the tribe."

It was a moot point. Zenaria's bond with the leopard did not extend to giving it orders. She was blessed above almost all members of her tribe in that she even had a rapport with a member of her tribe's namesake.

Although the mountainous area inhabited by the Snow Leopard tribe was the homeland of the members of the cat family from which the tribe took its name, there was little or no contact between the powerful beasts and tribal members. However, on rare occasions a tribal member established a rapport with one of the almost mythical cats.

No one knew exactly how the link was established. The fact that the tribal shaman or priestess was most likely to establish such a connection went some way to explaining it, but even the most adept practitioners of magic could not describe it; it was simply something that happened.

And it had happened to Zenaria when she was barely old enough to swing a sword. She and a number of other children had been accompanying an older priestess on a nature walk. Encouraged to reach out to the life around them, they had formed a meditation circle, sitting cross-legged in a quiet glade while the forest lived and breathed around them. Something had called to Zenaria. In a trance-like state she had gotten to her feet and moved toward the irresistible pull of another mind.

But it was a mind quite unlike hers. It was a consciousness filled with animal hungers; one filled with thoughts of blood and flesh and tooth and claw. But it was one that bonded with her and had been with her ever since.

Jarree, as she called the snow leopard, had been only a few months old when the bond was established between them. What the snow leopard called itself, or whether it even had a name, Zenaria never knew. Nor was the link between them one of mistress and servant. As far as Jaree was concerned Zenaria and he were equals at the very least. He came and went when he wished and Zenaria never knew when or if the giant cat would show up. Nevertheless, the link was there and whenever she left the stockade she would call to him. Except today. This time she had expected to go alone and the huge snow cat had no place in her quest.

Or did it? Jaree made up his own mind about what he did. If he wished to come with her she could not stop him. Nor could she stop him from leaving. She got to her feet, strung her bow and grinned at the leopard. "Come on," she said. "Let's hunt."

The big cat gave a growl of assent. This was something he understood. On numerous occasions the leopard and the warrior had hunted through the thick forests and Jarree had learned that Zenaria's bow could often reach out and bring down game that even he could not catch. With a bound he moved down the forest trail, his keen senses, searching for prey. Just as cat-like Zenaria followed.

---

Zenaria knelt beside the bleeding body of the stag her arrow had brought down. A few feet away Jaree gulped down the stag's still warm liver. Zenaria said a quick prayer thanking the Snow Leopard for success during the hunt. Then she begged the stag's spirit for forgiveness for taking its life and giving its liver to Jaree before properly carrying out the ritual, although she supposed that because Jaree was the living symbol of the tribe's totem she might be forgiven.

The prayer finished she properly bled and then butchered the stag. Even with Jaree gulping down a sizable portion of the stag there was far too much meat for her to eat or carry with her, but she knew that it would not go to waste. Scavengers and other predators would make short work of the remaining carcass.

It was still a bit early to make camp, but she decided to stop anyway. She was in no hurry and the meat would take a little while to cook.

Jaree climbed into the lower branches of a fir while Zenaria set up camp. There wasn't much to it, merely a few spruce boughs set over an aspen sapling strung between two small trees. Finished, she kindled a fire and set part of the butchered stag to roast near the flames. The other meat she hung higher up to cure in the smoke.

While waiting for the meat to cook she took out her sword. It was four feet of finely balanced steel, a weapon worthy of the daughter of a queen. Weighted to add to its cutting power, it was slightly wider near the tip than it was at the cross guard. Few warriors of the tribe including the men had the strength to wield it properly. For Zenaria the sword had a special meaning. It had been her father's sword and it had been taken from his dead fingers when his torn body had been found. Carefully she lay it across her knees and taking a soft deerskin cloth began to polish the blade. It would have been difficult to get the blade much shinier, but Zenaria kept at it until she was satisfied and then carefully sheathed the sword and set it to one side. Then she started on her arrows, carefully inspecting each one for straightness and working on the goose feather flights.

The sizzling of the meat reminded her that she was hungry. A little of the excitement of starting out on her quest had worn off and she found she had a real appetite. Tearing off a chunk of the unleavened bread she had packed with her she used it to wrap a piece of venison and stuffed it into her mouth. The bread would not last long, but she would enjoy it while it lasted.

She ate until full, tossing the remaining bits of roast meat to Jaree and then wrapping the smoked venison in the leaves of a wild cabbage she found growing next to a nearby creek. Then, stretching herself out beside Jaree she slept, secure in the knowledge that with the great cat lying next to her, nothing would disturb her sleep.

---

She awoke long before dawn and fashioned a breakfast out of what remained of the venison. She then made her way to the stream and used it to both quench her thirst and wash the grease from her face and hands. Then picking up her gear she continued her quest.

For the first hour or so Jaree walked beside her. Then toward midmorning the leopard moved off on its own, disappearing into the forest. He would return later or he would not. Zenaria touched him with her mind and then let him go.

By now she was walking through unfamiliar territory, but she knew where she was going, and headed steadily south toward a range of mountains that flanked the southern border of Snow Leopard territory. For the first time she felt that her quest had really begun and her spirits rose. This was not the first time away from the safety of the stockade, but it was the first time she had no idea when she would be returning. It was an exciting event for a young warrior who had not yet blooded her sword.

By the end of the day she was moving steadily upward, and in spite of the fact that it was summer she could see patches of snow on the higher slopes. She reflected that she was not really prepared for cold weather. She would have to take care of that problem.

She strung her bow. There had been plenty of deer sign during the last two days and she should have no trouble bringing down another one.

Her confidence proved accurate. A short time later she brought down a large doe. It was now early afternoon and she decided to camp right where she was. A few yards away there was a large boulder that hung over the trail. It would make a good shelter and she tossed the carcass of the deer over her shoulder and carried it there.

Over the next few hours she carefully skinned the carcass and then worked on the skin, cleaning and scraping it. For what she wanted to use it for it would have been better if she had time to stretch and cure the hide, but she didn't want to spend that much time where she was, so she just prepared it the best she could.

While a haunch of venison sizzled on the fire she worked on the doeskin. In just a few hours she fashioned a pair of boots that would stand up to ice and snow, as well as a poncho to cover her arms and shoulders. It was the best she could do without killing another deer which she would not do. And she surmised that since it was high summer it would probably not be too cold in the high mountain pass.

---

She set out early the next morning, and climbed steadily all day. Her exertion kept her more than warm enough so she didn't need her extra clothing until she actually encountered snow. Even in the warmest month of summer, the pass the people of the Snow Leopard tribe called the Ice Gates was snow covered - a factor that had greatly contributed to her tribe's isolation. Only the most intrepid traders braved the snow-covered heights.

By late afternoon she had not yet reached the summit and the temperature had dropped enough that she had donned the boots and poncho. The snow had gotten deeper, up to mid-thigh in places and she realized that she might have to spend the night in the pass, something that she had not expected. She began to look around for a place where she could set up camp out of the wind. It was then that she caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eyes.

She swept her sword from its sheath and over her shoulder in a single smooth move. Two-handed she caught the attacking snow beast as it charged, ripping the point of the blade through the flesh of its shoulder and arm. With a roar of pain and rage the beast lurched back and began to circle for an opening.

Facing her was a white-furred monster almost nine feet tall. It was man-like, but massively built, its shoulders the length of her sword across. Arms almost as long as Zenaria was tall reached out for her, the talons on the five-fingered hand ready to rip her limb from limb. Six inch fangs were bared in a ferocious grin, and blood-shot eyes were fixed on her.

Zenaria turned to face her foe, her blade at the ready. She was hampered by thigh-deep snow that prevented her from moving quickly forward or back. She had never seen such a beast before, but her people told legends of the ferocious snow-beasts that guarded the high mountain passes and waylaid unwary travelers. It took little imagination to realize what would happen to her if the attacking monster got hold of her. Only four feet of steel separated her from a brutal death.

The monster held back, indicating that she was not fighting a mindless beast. There was intelligence behind those gleaming eyes a characteristic that only made the snow beast that much more dangerous. Slowly it circled her, occasionally taking a step forward and then stepping back. Zenaria followed its every move, wondering why it did not simply attack. It almost seemed as if it was waiting for something.

At the last second she understood. Ducking low she dove into the snow and rolled to one side. The howl of rage from the second snow beast told her that her instinctive move had saved her life. She kept rolling and came up with her sword in motion as the first snow beast charged in, attempting to take advantage of her momentary distraction. But her blade was already moving. There was an ugly 'thunk' and the right hand of her assailant flew through the air.

The snow beast gave a terrible scream as blood spurted from its severed wrist staining the snow red. But Zenaria was too intent on the second monster to pay much attention to the wounded beast. However, her dramatic and savage response to the attack seemed to have intimidated the second snow beast. Although Zenaria had not been certain of the sex of the first animal she could clearly see that the second was female, and although it growled menacingly it slowly backed away. The remaining snow beast also retreated, grasping its arm just above the bloody stump.

Zenaria whispered a prayer of thanks to the snow leopard and wiped her sword in the snow and then dried it with her deerskin cloth. She felt some regret that she had been forced to cut off the hand of the magnificent creature that had attacked her. The beasts seemed intelligent and for all she knew they might be capable of thought and reason. She had been trespassing in their territory and by her standards they had a right to defend it.

The dangerous encounter changed her mind about staying the night in the pass. The animals that had attacked her might return or there might be more of them lurking nearby. She dared not expose herself by setting up camp. She had no choice but to press on even if it meant she would have to walk at night.

Fortunately she was aided by the long summer nights, and when night finally fell, a gibbous moon provided enough light that she was able to make her way without fear of falling. She picked her way carefully, however, conscious of the fact that her spirit quest would come to an ignominious end if she stepped into a hole and twisted her ankle. There was also the danger of another ambush, although that threat diminished as she reached the top of the pass and began her careful descent of the other side.

---

Morning found her tired but cheerful as she reached the tree line once more. She was now walking through territory that few members of her tribe had ever visited, and her encounter with the snow beasts had increased her self-confidence. However, she needed food and rest, and coming across a suitable campsite she stopped.

The place she chose was an area of flat ground between two large boulders. It was easily defensible and there was a small stream nearby. She kindled a small fire and roasted some of the venison she had packed away. Then, her hunger sated, she crawled into the small lean-to she had built and closed her eyes.

She awoke in late afternoon. However, there seemed little point in proceeding in the few hours of daylight remaining and she decided to make it a day of rest. She was in no hurry to get where she was going and she already had a perfectly good campsite set up, so she ate a leisurely meal and sat by the fire for a few hours before turning in.

---

She awoke before dawn, prepared a breakfast consisting of strips of venison and a small amount of the thin wafer called waybread and set off.

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

---

By the fourth week of her quest she was deep in the greatest of the Erogenian forests, a situation that bothered her not in the slightest. To a member of the Snow Leopard tribe, the forest was the source of all that was important. It provided the tribe with food, clothing, and shelter; and indirectly with metal and other objects obtained through trade for forest products. Zenaria was a perfect example of the forest's bounty. The clothing she wore was soft doeskin, from the brief halter that contained her breasts to the boots that protected her feet. Even her sword might be considered to have come from the forest as the metal from which it was forged had been obtained from traders seeking the fine furs Zenaria's people obtained.

From childhood Zenaria had accompanied members of her tribe into the forest on foraging and hunting expeditions. Her skill with the bow rivalled her ability with the sword and so far she experienced no difficulty in providing for herself. Each day some small animal such as a rabbit or possum provided her with meat for her evening meal. Occasionally she saw larger game, but chose not to take advantage of the situation. Jaree had not returned and she could not eat an entire deer by herself.

She also found numerous wild plants to add to her diet. She was familiar with hundreds of plants and their uses both as food and medicine. As a result she had no difficulty in providing herself with wild onions, and numerous nuts and berries. And so it was with perfect confidence that she strode into a forest that was greater than any she had yet visited.

The trees were now larger that any she had ever seen. In places the branches of great oaks, elms, and beeches interlocked overhead cutting off most of the sunlight. But here and there brilliant shafts of light penetrated the canopy, creating a cathedral-like effect among the giant trees of the forest. Underfoot, a thick blanket of dead leaves muffled her footsteps, allowing her to move in almost complete silence. It was good for hunting, and the thought of game reminded her that she was hungry and she decided to stop and have a bit to eat and drink.

She sat down between the massive buttress roots of a huge oak. In this sheltered location she was completely out of sight. If she was lucky some hapless animal might come from upwind and cross her line of sight. It would save her the effort of engaging in a serious hunt. She lay her bow at her feet just in case.

Overhead a jay gibed at her. She furrowed her brow. No game would come near her with that chatterbox nearby, but she did not change her position. The jay too was entitled to its cha. Eventually it would tire and move off in search of something to eat.

She decided to make the break special and unstoppered her wineskin. It was the last of the small amount she had taken with her, but there was no sense in saving it for later and she finished it in one swallow. The wine of her people was not of the highest quality; certainly it did not rival the imported vintages of Kirvalia or Sandak, or even the wines of other Erogenian tribes, but she was used to it and it soothed her parched throat. She took out one more carefully wrapped package of waybread. It was almost gone, but there was no point in letting it go mouldy.

She chewed slowly and thoughtfully, alternating bites of bread, with pieces of smoked rabbit that she tore off with her strong white teeth. Then, her hunger temporarily satisfied, she got to her feet, stowed her remaining provisions and continued her quest. She decided to follow the sun. It was as good a direction as any and it would take her deeper into this strange forest.

For the most part the forest was open. Giant trees shaded the forest floor and kept down the development of undergrowth, and wherever the forest thickened she managed to find a game trail that took her through it. Whenever she came to a stream she stopped to drink. Water was plentiful this time of year and despite the shade of the huge trees, the temperature was perfect for walking.

"The gods must be smiling on me in my quest," Zenaria thought. It was at that point she heard a twig snap.

Immediately she unslung her bow, strung it, and nocked an arrow to the string. It took her only seconds to perform this task and she stood ready to take advantage of whatever game might show itself. But it was not game that stepped into view.

"Well done, princess," Garrod said mockingly. "Were I a deer you would have had me."

"Garrod?" Zenaria gasped. He was the last thing she had expected to see and his sudden appearance left her temporarily at a loss for words. She realized that it was more than mere coincidence that had brought Garrod to her. There was only one way he could possibly be where she was. He had to have followed her. Recovering, she blurted out a question. "What are you doing here? Why have you followed me? I was told you were on a spirit quest."

"You are my spirit quest, princess. And I am close to fulfilling it."

"You mock the gods," Zenaria said angrily. "You destroy your Cha."

"My Cha will be restored when I have accomplished my purpose. And that is to see all weak females returned to their proper place in the tribe of the Snow Leopard."

"You would have us reduced to nothing more than your chattels," Zenaria replied. She still held her bow at the ready. A single smooth motion of her arms and powerful shoulders would send the arrow on its way. She was not afraid of Garrod, but there was something about his sudden appearance she found unsettling. That, and the smug manner in which he confronted her. How long had he been following her?

"That is what women are," Garrod sneered taking a step toward her. "Chattels fit to be used the way men seek to use them."

"Subservient wives and whores," Zenaria elaborated.

"Just so," Garrod smirked. "Although in your case I think the latter is more fitting."

"I am the daughter of a queen," Zenaria said slowly, controlling her temper only with difficulty. "I will not be referred to as a whore."

"But that," said Garrod drawing his sword, "is what you are destined to be."

Zenaria drew back the arrow. She would not make the mistake of facing Garrod with a blade, at least not until her skills had improved a little. "Hold or you die," she warned.

Garrod halted, but his indolent manner and supercilious smile had Zenaria worried. She cocked her ears, listening for the slightest sound.

But she was still caught unprepared by the heavy net that suddenly descended upon her. Heavily weighted with stones, its weight bore her to the ground and then before she could break free four dark forms burst from the undergrowth and added their weight to the tangle.

The bow and the unreleased arrow were torn from her grasp, not that either would have done her a bit of good in the tangle of the heavy netting. She struggled to escape, drawing her knife to cut through the net before Garrod could pin her, even though she knew that it was impossible to cut through the tough rope strands before he was on her.

But it was not Garrod who reached her first. Her blood ran cold. For the first time in her life Zenaria felt real fear. It couldn't be, but there was no mistaking the fearful hissing of the creatures that firmly wrapped the net about her.

Urrts! Zenaria could barely believe what was happening to her. How was it possible that she was being pinned to the ground by Urtts? No member of the Snow Leopard tribe or any other Erogenian would consider any sort of pact with such vile creatures. Yet there was no mistaking their foul lizard stench or the hissing sibilants of their speech.

Garrod's triumphant laugh sounded just a few feet away. "That's it, my lovelies. Hold her. I want her bound just so."

Bound! Zenaria redoubled her efforts to escape, but there were at least four Urtts, gripping her with reptilian strength. Thoroughly enmeshed in the net, she could not find anything solid to push against. Her every movement seemed to work against her. Even as her body thrashed, the unusual sensation of fear now adding strength to her efforts, she felt the net drawn tighter, restricting her more and more until she was so thoroughly entangled that her every effort simply served to draw the net even tighter.

"How does it feel, princess?" Garrod gloated. He was crouched on his haunches only a few feet away. "Have you ever felt so helpless?"

Zenaria's reply was a low growl as somehow she twisted her body and kicked out at him. Beyond all odds, her foot made weak contact and knocked him on his backside. It wasn't much of a response, considering the circumstance, but it gave Zenaria a brief moment of triumph.

"Bitch," Garrod spat. "I'll tame you yet. Hold her you cursed lizards. What do you think I'm paying you for?"

"You've paid ussss nothing yet," came the hissed reply. Fetid breath wafted over Zenaria as she continued her struggles to break free. Sometime during her entrapment she had lost hold of her knife and now could not find it. It was apparent that she was not going to break free, but she refused to give in, kicking and ripping at the net with her hands.

"Sit on her and hold her still," Garrod ordered. "I'll get the ibanak."

Ibanak! No! Zenaria somehow found new strength. Heaving her body she actually succeeded in toppling one of the Urtts pinning her to the ground, but it was a short-lived triumph. With a hiss the creature returned, slamming her head through the netting.

"Enough," roared Garrod. "It will be me who punishes her. Your job is to hold her still."

"Then hurry up human," came the hissed reply. "Thisss one is ssstrong."

Zenaria gasped for breath. The stink of the Urtts tainted her nostrils and for a second she thought she might be sick. And then she felt another weight on her. Reptilian hands reached through the net and gripping her hair held her head steady. She knew that they were going to do, and ignoring the pain tore her head loose.

"Struggle all you like, bitch. It won't do you any good." Garrod's remark was followed by a blow delivered by the palm of his hand that caught her right between the eyes.

"Uggh!" It slammed her head into the ground, temporarily stunning her. Dazed, she lay quietly for a second until she felt something being forced between her lips. She knew what it was, but reptilian hands held her head and the mouth of the leather wineskin was shoved between her teeth. But it wasn't wine that came out.

She almost gagged as the burning, acrid liquid was forced into her throat. She tried to spit it out, but couldn't. Finally she swallowed and felt her strength begin to drain from her body. "Ibanak," she thought. It was a drug used by slavers to quiet their victims. It robbed healthy men and women of their strength and left them compliant.

"That should tame the bitch," Garrod said, his voice sneeringly triumphant. Now we'll bind her."

Hands pulled aside the netting. Suddenly finding herself free, Zenaria flailed at the lizardmen creatures around her, but the ibanak had done its work. Her blows were feeble and uncoordinated. "Coward," she gasped. "The gods will punish you for this."

"Save your breath for screaming, princess. I suspect you'll be doing a lot of it," Garrod sneered.

Reptilian fingers closed over her wrists, pulling them forward. Another gripped her hair, jerking her head back. Struggling helplessly she almost screamed in frustration as her wrists were bound in front of her and then she was jerked to her feet. An Urtt flanked her on either side while a third held a length of rope tied to the ropes about her wrists. She was dragged forward toward a large rock. She almost knew what they were going to do before they even did it, but the thought that it would happen to her was so monstrous she could not believe it.

And then she was stretched face up across the rock like some sacrificial victim, her arms drawn tightly over her head and her legs pinioned by two of the Urtts. Garrod stood at her feet, smiling mockingly. The Urrts grinned down at her, their sharp reptilian teeth bared; saliva dripping from their vile jaws. Enraged and still defiant, she cursed Garrod in the choicest manner she could think off.

"My my, princess," Garrod said. "Whatever would Queen Cirilia say if she could hear such language?'

Garrod was accoutered similarly to the way Zenaria had been before she had been stripped of her weapons and draped across the rock. Slowly and deliberately he began to remove his equipment, beginning with his sword.

"You will be cursed if you do this, Garrod," Zenaria gasped, straining against the beasts that held her in spite of the ibanak-induced weakness. "The gods never forget. You will never balance your Cha with such an act."

"I am doing nothing wrong, princess," Garrod said as he removed his brief loincloth. "I am merely collecting what was promised."

Zenaria stared helplessly at Garrod. Like all men of her tribe, he was powerfully muscled. At six feet four inches tall, his appearance was marred only by the nose Zenaria had broken. There was certainly nothing small or delicate abut the center of his anatomy.

Garrod had kept only his knife. He curled his lip in anger, as if remembering how Zenaria had humiliated him. "Spread her," he said.

The Urtts hissed in pleasure. Zenaria who had been lying quietly suddenly jerked her arms down and twisted her body. For an instant she was almost free, but then the rope tightened, painfully jerking her arms back over her head and the Urtts holding her legs readjusted their grip. Slowly, and despite her now frantic struggles they spread her legs.

"Never give up do you princess?" Garrod sneered. Openly scornful he climbed between her legs and with a deft flick of his knife sliced through her loincloth and breast covering.

"I've done this before, haven't I princess?" Garrod leered. "Only this time I am going to finish what I started." Leaning back on his heels he looked down at her. He was semi-erect, but it was nothing that Zenaria had not seen before.

"Do you know what I am going to do, princess?" Garrod continued, obviously enjoying himself. I'm going to take your virginity and then pound your cunt until you are so sore you'll walk bowlegged for a week. But by the time I'm finished with you, you'll be as loose as a Kivalian Whore. But more than that. You won't have any access to this."

As he finished speaking he held up a small leather pouch. While Zenaria watched he opened it and poured the contents onto her belly. The pouch was hers, the white substance that pooled in her navel was zarat, the powdered root of a plant known to be a powerful contraceptive, and carried by every nubile female member of the Snow Leopard tribe.

"You have dishonoured yourself and your house," Zenaria said. "Be certain that nothing you do for the rest of your life will right your Cha. You will be forever damned and when you die you will not be accepted by the gods."

"You are my Cha," Garrod replied. And this is how I achieve balance."

Still holding the knife he leaned forward slightly and touched its razor tip to her left nipple. "So beautiful. Shall I let you keep them, princess? What is it worth to save your tits?"

Zenaria took a deep breath. She had expected rape, but not mutilation. But she would not give in. "Do what you will. The gods will curse you for it."

"Brave as well as beautiful." Garrod set down the knife. He was fully erect, his manhood almost straining to be buried within her. He slid his hands over her pelvic bones and then over her belly. For an instant, Zenaria felt a wash of revulsion roll over her. She swallowed, realizing that the reaction was exactly what Garrod wanted. She lay absolutely still, not moving even as his hands closed over her breasts.

They were large, powerful hands; the hands of a master swordsman and he used all the strength in them as he crushed her breasts beneath his fingers. Zenaria stiffened slightly, but gave no indication that she felt anything out of the normal. If this was the way it was going to be she would give him no satisfaction whatsoever.

"And now, princess, I am going to make you into a woman." Garrod gripped her hips and positioned himself between her thighs. He smiled cruelly and then used one hand to line up his manhood with her entrance. Zenaria prepared herself for the unthinkable and then Garrod froze as a frightening roar filled the air.

"Who invade my forest?" It was the voice of a beast, deep and rasping to anyone or anything who had ever heard it before. Apparently the Urtts had. They released their grip on Zenaria and ran without even waiting to see the arrival. Garrod stood a second longer and then grabbing his sword, he dashed into the trees. Exhausted and overcome with relief Zenaria slid off the rock, her hands still tied.

"What this?" the rumbling voice asked. Zenaria looked up to see the most terrifying monster she had ever encountered. It was humanoid to the extent that it had two arms and two legs connected to a torso. But it was no more human than the Urtts had been. It stood at least eight feet tall and Zenaria saw at once that it was hugely male. It was entirely nude although most of its body was covered with reddish orange hair except in the region of its chest and belly. Two curving horns jutted from its forehead, just above its dark, expressive eyes. A long prehensile tale extended from its backside and curved about in front of it, where it slowly caressed its massive phallus as it stood looking at Zenaria with undisguised lust.

"Woman," it said. "Very pretty woman."

Had she been able, Zenaria would have fled, but she was temporarily paralysed with fear and exhaustion. She could do no more than gaze in horror at the thing as it advanced upon her. It was only when it picked her up and pushed her back on the rock once again that she realized that she should have made every effort to emulate Garrod and the Urtts.

The impact with the boulder drove the breath from her. Barely conscious, she made no effort to resist as the monster spread her legs and made ready to mate with her. "By the gods," she thought. "Have I escaped violation by Garrod only to be raped by a beast?" And why was everything she encountered so interested in ravishing her anyway?

That last thought was driven from her mind by the imminent threat of the rape and then at the last instant another sound interrupted.

"What you do? Get off human female."

The monster lying between her parted thighs hesitated, its immense phallus just inches from her trembling vulva. Then it moved back, but not without protest. "Me punish female. She invade my forest."

"It not your forest. It our forest and you no punish." The creature that spoke now hove into view.

Through a haze of pain, fear, and exhaustion Zenaria saw that it was a member of the same species as the male. It was almost the same height as the male and as monstrously female as the as the first creature had been monstrously male. The thing sported a pair of breasts that made Zenaria's impressive globes look petite by comparison. Like the male it also had two curving horns on its brow and the same prehensile tail.

"Trolls," Zenaria thought in sudden revelation and revulsion. "They're trolls."

The female troll picked up the end of the rope that bound Zenaria's wrists. "Take with us," she said. "Maybe eat or trade, but no punish."

Zenaria grunted in pain as the female troll pulled her to her feet. She had escaped brutal rape twice inside of five minutes, but she was not sure that what she faced was much better. With a painful jerk on the rope the female troll set off through the forest, dragging Zenaria after her. Almost running to keep up, the Snow Leopard warrior fought back a cry of pain. It appeared that she had exchanged one cruel fate for another.

Continued in Chapter 5

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