Tales of Erogenia: Book 1 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Slave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

When she awoke Rorrg was gone, but Grettcha was more than enough to prevent her from escaping. Besides, her every movement was so agonizing that she could barely make her way to the section of the cave that Grettcha indicated was for relieving herself. It was a small trench through which flowed a stream of water. There was also another of the basins carved into the side of the cavern wall. Into it trickled a thin stream of water that kept it filled to the brim.

Zenaria supposed that this was some sort of wash basin and took advantage of the opportunity to wipe the sweat, grime, and blood from her body. Then she returned to bed. Waiting for her was the cold bowl of pea soup she had not finished the night before. She stared at it for a second and then spooned half of it down, setting the rest aside for later. So far the trolls had treated her well or at least well compared to what she had expected. But she was still a captive and entirely at their mercy. She could not expect that such benign treatment would continue.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

The rain ended sometime before morning, but it was a wretched bunch of slaves that were forced to their feet. Gazari seemed to think that the best cure for their shivering bodies was to force them into a quick march and he might have been right, but forcing half-starved and exhausted captives to move at all proved almost impossible.

Right from the start the slavers had to use the whip and before long blood streamed from the back of every captive. It soon became obvious that without proper rest none of the slaves would survive the day. Reluctantly Gazari called a halt. Cursing with frustration he ordered that the slaves be properly fed and rested. As a result the column did not get underway until early noon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Continued in Chapter 6

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