‘Come on, you cowardly, cringing old Mun-Gatah bitch!’ ordered the sullen Cara-Bunte girl called Muchkio, stirring the Protectress of the Quagga God’s recumbent body with a bare foot. When this failed to elicit any response, she bent and, digging her fingers into the short black hair, went on in a mocking tone as she began to haul upwards, ‘Stir yourself. The Lord Torisaki wants to question you.’
In spite of the fact that Charole had apparently been subdued for several hours, such treatment proved ill advised.
On regaining consciousness, which was not until she had been transported to the raiding party’s camp, the Protectress’s first thought—it was, in fact, produced by a subconscious reaction resulting from her last cohesive recollection—had been to try and struggle. Although she was no longer bound, having been released from the pole so that she could be revived and bathed in the stream upon the shores of which the Cara-Buntes had established their base, she had learned that this was not a wise move in her present weakened state.
Shushi having been supervising the cleansing and reviving, so as to administer treatment to the captive’s wounds, had rammed a knee into her stomach and pinned her down. Then the buxom woman’s right hand, which had a grip like the closing jaws of a bear-trap, took hold of and began to crush Charole’s naked left breast. Such was the agony induced by the grinding fingers that she had almost fainted. So, realizing that resistance was futile until she had recovered at least some of her strength, she had laid passive and been released. Satisfied that she had cowed the Protectress, Shushi had applied an ointment to the abrasions acquired while fighting Elidor. From its stinging sensation, Charole had decided it was similar to the medication her nation used and hoped it had the same quick acting qualities.
After the Protectress’s wounds had been tended, she was taken—dragged by the arms and legs as she was still in no state to walk—and dumped unceremoniously outside the sumptuous pavilion tent of War-Lord Torisaki. She had not been fastened in any way, but had known that the time was not ripe for an attempt to escape. Instead of expending energy in what she had known would be a pointless waste of it, she had devoted her attention to taking stock of the situation.
What Charole had seen warned her, although she had not really required the warning, that her position was very grave.
The first thing the Protectress had noticed, apart from the entirely expected fact that she was left without weapons, was that she was not allowed to dress. Instead, she was clad only in the brief black lace panties which were her underwear. The silver lamé halter, skirt, her greaves and sandals were nowhere to be seen.
Charole had not needed to ponder on the reason for the removal of her attire. It had not been done so that she could be assaulted sexually. Rape was carried out on very rare occasions, but the ‘Suppliers’ had implanted such a strong pride of race into the members of every nation that the thought of having sexual intercourse with a person of another race was generally considered abhorrent and was infrequently practiced. She had been stripped because the lack of garments would make her escape increasingly difficult and her recapture more certain.
Continuing her surreptitious observations, while allowing her depleted energy to be restored by the inactivity, Charole had discovered that the Cara-Buntes’ camp was in a valley between two sand dunes and within sight of the ‘Lake With Only One Shore’. It was comprised of the War-Lord’s pavilion encircled by twenty smaller tents. They were similar to the kind of temporary accommodation presented by the ‘Suppliers’ to the Mun-Gatah nation and gave shelter to the hundred or so male and female warriors who had accompanied Shushi and Torisaki on what was chiefly a food gathering expedition.
Down on the shore, drawn up above the high tide level, were a number of boats shaped like shallow oval baskets. Constructed on a framework of willow poles fastened together with rawhide lashings, they were covered with the hides of Defassa and Common waterbucks that were sewed together and whose natural water-resistant qualities were enhanced by a coating of melted fat from the species Kobus Defassa and K. Ellipsiprymnus mixed with earth and ashes. Like the so-called ‘bullboats’ made from the skins of bull bison and used by Indians and fur traders along the Missouri River, which they might have been patterned upon, they were very light and had a draught of less than ten inches. This and their exceptional carrying capacity li made it possible for each to transport a heavy load. So they were employed as a means of communicating between the sea-going vessels and the shore, or to carry back the loot when raiding along rivers.
For obvious reasons, the raiding party’s four ships had been left out at sea almost beyond visual distance. Each was in the care of a small anchor watch and had had its sails furled and struck below to help make it even less noticeable. If they had been closer, Charole would have discovered that they were painted black and the leaping sailfish motif was reproduced in the natural colors on their extremely raked bows. Despite the need to prevent the vessels’ presence being noticed, thus giving warning that they were in the vicinity, a flag bearing an equally well depicted killer whale in all of Orcinus Orcas black and white majesty flew at each masthead to announce they were in the service of the War-Lord Torisaki and War-Lady Shushi of the Tansha clan.
In spite of the fact that the Cara-Buntes’ physical characteristics and weapons were suggestive of the Orient, the ships showed a distinctly Arabian influence in their lines and rigging. Single-masted, lateen-rigged, lii carvel built, they were of shallow draught and as sleekly sinister in appearance as any zaruk in which, until comparatively recent times, slavers, gun-runners and smugglers—of ivory in particular—had plied their nefarious trades across the length and breadth of the Red Sea. liii
Operated by a system of blocks and tackles, with the tiller-lines hanging over the side in a completely exposed fashion, the rudder extended well below the keel and, while offering greater control when steering, added several inches to the overall draught. Not only did the bows rake forward sharply, but the lines of the stern were equally acute. This made the already weatherly vessels particularly suitable for handling in a high following sea, or through the heavy surf around much of the coastline of their homeland. Attached to the sides, which were pierced for the large, heavy oars known as ‘sweeps’, were the davits whereby two ‘bullboats’ could be carried while the ships were in passage.
Although the vessels were large enough to take a crew of forty, the complement was normally restricted to no more than thirty. This allowed prisoners, a good quantity of loot or—as in the case of Torisaki’s party—meat to be transported. With the exception of the two berths situated beneath the short upper steering deck at the stern, supplied for the captain and his consort, there was no other shelter provided. However, this was only a slight disadvantage and not a particularly severe hardship. The zaruks and the badans liv preferred by some of the clans were only used when making the two hundred or so mile crossing between Cara-Bunte and the western side of the mainland, then raiding along that coast. lv
As in the case between the Mun-Gatahs and the Brelefs, the Cara-Buntes had a subservient race at their disposal. Known as Yung-Libs, lvi they were tall, heavily built, hairy—although not so much as the Brelefs— unintelligent and inclined to be lazy. Their heads were long, large and narrow, while the features were short and broad with a tall nasal opening and eyes that appeared almost rectangular. Clad in animal skins, those in the camp were not armed and served as porters, or in other forms of menial capacity.
With the examination of her surroundings completed, Charole had turned her thoughts to survival and escape. She had realized that the former was entirely dependent upon her being able to achieve the latter. Various comments she had overheard led her to assume that the Cara-Bunte behaved in the same general fashion towards prisoners as her own people. Only those who were young enough to pose no threat were retained as slaves. Any of an age to be active warriors were either used for sacrificial purposes or to fight in gladiatorial combats. So, unless she could find some means of attaining her liberty before she was carried off in the zaruks, she was doomed to certain death.
It was not a prospect with which the Protectress was enamored.
Accepting these unpalatable facts, Charole had no intention of submitting mildly to her fate. It was not that she feared death. For all her faults, she had great personal courage. Apart from her driving desire to regain her power as the Protectress of the Quagga God, she was also motivated by a disinclination to be killed for the entertainment of her captors.
Having yielded to the inevitable, Charole had succumbed to the waves of exhaustion that were assailing her and fallen into a deep sleep. Nor had she been disturbed by any of the raiding party. They were all occupied with guard duties and setting up the racks upon which the meat they would be gathering was to be sun-dried and turned into fulsa, or otherwise prepared for being shipped to Cara-Bunte. When she had awakened, the sun was almost touching the horizon. Although she had felt much refreshed, she had not shown it. Instead, she had concentrated upon conveying the impression that she was still asleep.
Muchkio had returned as the light was fading accompanied by the party Torisaki had sent out to assist with the butchering of the slaughtered gatahs. These were regarded as a delicacy by the Cara-Bunte because they were acquired as trophies of war. The party was laden down with the meat and with their victims’ property. It had been apparent that the girl was not enamored of the task she had been given, nor by having to turn over the loot to the warlord. However, apart from looking sulky, she had said and done nothing to make her sentiments known. She and the rest of the party had gone to wash the blood and other signs of their labor from them in the stream.
Waiting until night had fallen, the Cara-Buntes had lit fires. While food was being prepared by their Yung-Lib slaves, Shushi and Torisaki had started to examine the loot. When they had searched the bundle which was strapped to Charole’s saddle, they had clearly been impressed by the sight of her ceremonial garments. However, before they had opened the bag containing the ‘Thunder Powder’ and ‘Terrifiers’, the war-lady had told Muchkio—who was standing close by in a way which suggested she belonged to an influential family—to fetch the Protectress.
As any member of the Mun-Gatah nation could have warned the girl, she was not carrying out her task in the most prudent fashion.
Propelling herself upwards with great rapidity, Charole thrust her left arm between the girl’s thighs. Catching Muchkio by the throat with her right hand, she lifted the girl from the ground. Then, as the fingers untangled from her hair, she swung around and hurled Muchkio from her.
Startled exclamations arose and everybody in the camp looked to see what was happening. Holding their crescent-shaped galaki spears in positions of readiness, two of the men who were standing guard began to hurry forward. So did Shushi and some of the other women, but none of them offered to draw a weapon.
Even as her victim alighted supine on the soft sandy ground Charole darted after her ignoring the approaching male and female warriors. Straddling the girl’s weakly moving recumbent body, she delivered a vicious and power-packed punch with first the right and then the left fist. Already winded and dazed by the landing, Muchkio was unable to resist. Her head was snapped back and forth by the blows, but she did not feel the second land and went limp.
Leaping to her feet, Charole looked around to find out which of the men and women who were closing in upon her posed the greatest threat. She knew there was no hope of fighting her way through them, but she meant to defend herself. However, it soon became apparent that they merely intended to prevent her from trying to escape and did not mean to take any punitive action for what she had done to the girl.
‘Nice work. I couldn’t have done much better myself,’ Shushi remarked calmly. ‘Come with me.’
‘Very well,’ Charole assented, knowing that although the war-lady was no longer carrying either the rentjong nor halakas, she had no other choice but to obey.
‘Who did these belong to?’ Torisaki asked, indicating the ceremonial garments as his wife walked up with Charole.
‘They’re mine,’ the Mun-Gatah woman replied, standing erect and speaking proudly. ‘I am Charole, the Protectress of the Quagga God.’
‘Are you!’ Torisaki ejaculated, sounding both pleased and impressed. Glancing at his wife, he continued, ‘Then she’s an even better catch than we imagined, my lady.’
‘She is, lord,’ Shushi agreed, studying Charole in a speculative fashion. Then, picking up the sack, she tipped out its contents. ‘Huh! You must like coconuts, Protectress of the Quagga God.’
‘They’re not just ordinary coconuts,’ Charole corrected, seeing at last that a chance was being offered. ‘In fact, using one of them, I can make thunder and lightning.’
‘That I would like to see!’ Stated in tones redolent of disbelief.
‘Very well,’ Charole replied, trying to conceal her eagerness. ‘Give one to me and you will see.’
‘All right,’ Shushi said, picking up a “Terrifler” and looking it over without seeing anything significant in the little piece of “burning cord” that protruded from one of the “eyes”. Holding it forward, she went on, ‘Here.’
‘Wait!’ Torisaki barked, before Charole could take the proffered device. He dropped his hand to the lading’s hilt ready to enforce his command. Sensibly, she refrained and he growled, ‘While I’ve never seen anybody who can make it happen, I know how dangerous lightning is when it strikes. So give the coconut to that Yung-Lib there and tell him what to do with it.’
‘It won’t work that way,’ Charole protested.
‘It won’t work in any way, you lying Mun-Gatah bitch!’ Shushi scoffed and, tossing the “Terrifier” down, she lashed a slap across the Protectress’s face.
Rocking on her heels, Charole emitted a squeal of rage and pain, then brought her right fist across in a punch to the war-lady’s jaw. Spun around and sent staggering a few steps, Shushi managed to avoid going down. What was more, as Charole darted forward, she tried to snap home the kind of kick which had served her so well earlier. This time, the results were far less satisfactory. Refreshed by the hours of sleep, the Protectress was able to react with her usual speed. Catching the rising ankle, she gave a twisting heave which flipped the other woman over in a half somersault. Then, as Shushi landed on her back, Charole bounded into the air and bent her legs so as to land with her knees on Shushi’s breasts.
Once again, exclamations arose all round and the Cara-Buntes started to gather. However, as when the Protectress had thrown and leapt on to Muchkio, none of them—not even the warlord—showed any sign of intervening. In fact, he stood with folded arms and displayed nothing other than interest.
Timing the move perfectly and in a way that showed she might have been shaken, but was far from incapacitated, Shushi rolled clear of her descending assailant. A screech of rage burst from Charole as she saw her intended prey avoiding her. It turned to a wail of distress as she came down and, despite the sand being soft, felt some of the skin being peeled from her knees. However, she could have thought herself fortunate to have suffered no worse an injury; but she was not granted an opportunity to do so. Twisting back in the direction from which she had come, the war-lady coiled her body and folded her legs on to her chest. Straightening them out quickly, she smashed both feet full into the Protectress’s imposing bosom. A flood of agony rushed through Charole and she went over backwards with her hands clutching at the stricken area.
If Shushi had been less roughly handled, she could have brought the fight to an end there and then. As it was, sensing that there was an arduous struggle ahead, both she and Charole stayed down and let several seconds go by while they recouped. Each was watching the other and they regained their feet, a couple of yards apart, at almost the same instant.
Circling one another warily and like two primeval jungle cats, the women paid not the slightest attention to the exhortations of the crowd. As her sash had come unfastened, Shushi shed her tunic to leave her clad only in a pair of scarlet silk panties as brief as the Protectess’s solitary garment. Long experience had taught the Cara-Bunte women warriors the danger of fighting bare handed with the hair in the traditional ponytail. So the war-lady knew what to do to alleviate the risk. Reaching behind her head with her left hand, she jerked off the semicircular silver band and shook her long black tresses free.
Quick though Shushi’s move had been, Charole acted even more swiftly. Darting forward, she bounded up in a dropkick. Although the war-lady tried to leap rearwards, the feet reached her breasts with sufficient force to repay the treatment she had given to Charole. Crying in pain, the buxom woman tumbled on to her back. However, remembering what had happened the last time she made the attempt, the Protectress did not essay another knee-drop. Instead, she flung herself bodily on to her supine but far from helpless rival.
Both of the women were trained warriors, skilled in unarmed combat, but pure feminine instinct elicited exactly the same response from each as their bodies came into contact. Even as Charole’s fingers were burying into and wrenching at Shushi’s hair, pain burst like a raging fire through her own head. She felt as if her short locks were in danger of being torn out by the roots as they were savaged just as vigorously.
Over and over the embattled women churned, alternating between pulling at hair and swinging wild, yet hard, punches or slaps indiscriminately. Snapping forward at one stage, Charole’s forehead pulped Shushi’s nose to bring blood gushing out. Not long after, a butt from the war-lady split the Protectress’s top lip. During the rolling, squirming mill, Charole found herself kneeling behind Shushi. Her left arm was across the buxom woman’s face and the right was drawing upwards on a hank of hair. Just as she was deciding to put the right hand to some more useful purpose, she felt a set of firm white teeth sinking into flesh. Not in a gentle nip either and the blood on the limb was soon no longer all from Shushi’s nostrils.
After one piercing shriek, the Protectress replied in kind and just as effectively. Bringing her head forward, she closed her mouth on Shushi’s shoulder and tore at it like a wild animal. Wailing like a soul in torment, the war-lady reached over her shoulder to catch her assailant by the hair. Then, forcing herself and Charole from the kneeling position to their feet, she bent at the waist and, taking advantage of the leverage offered by being shorter, catapulted the other woman over. Although Shushi also went down, the impact separated them. They were up in an instant, both breathing hard through the exertions of almost ten minutes’ hair-tearing, rolling-around brawling. Each had now a blackened eye, bloody nostrils and lips, grazes on elbows, knees and shoulders. Blood also trickled down Charole’s left arm and along Shushi’s neck to flow through the valley between her heaving breasts.
Oblivious of the audience, who were still encouraging them to better efforts, Charole and Shushi came to grips again. This time, however, it was like trained warriors. There was little to choose between them in skill, or strength. What was more, each had seen sufficient members of the others nation fighting in the arena to possess a fair idea of what to expect. So Charole countered the war-lady’s chops and open handed jabs by punching, while each was conversant in using the feet and knees as weapons. Nor did either have any ascendancy when they used wrestling throws, locks and grips.
For almost an hour longer the battle raged. It went through the camp, up and back down the nearest sand dune. About half way through, having recovered, Muchkio tried to interfere. Turning on her, Charole and Shushi battered her unconscious and trampled on her as they resumed their briefly interrupted hostilities. There was only one other intervention. Locked in a clinch, they had been in danger of falling into a fire. Leaping forward, Torisaki grabbed each one by the hair and threw them clear of the danger.
Stumbling in exhaustion, barely able to see through her right eye and with the left swollen closed, Shushi launched a swing at Charole’s head. In only a little better shape, the Protectress sidestepped and, as the war-lady staggered by, turned to jump on to her from behind. Desperately trying to counter the move, Shushi made the mistake of falling backwards. While she landed upon her opponent, she found her waist trapped between the other’s sweat-sodden thighs.
Because of the time they spent riding, the Mun-Gatahs’ leg muscles were so developed that the scissors was a deadly tactic for them. Crossing her ankles to help crush on Shushi’s midriff, she began to apply an—even in her present condition—murderous constriction. Nor did she restrict herself just to that. Rocking her body on to its shoulders, she raised her victim into the air. What little breath Shushi had was leaving her in a pitiful moan. Never had she experienced such strength, nor an equal pressure. It was as if her body was being pulped into two pieces. Then she felt herself descending sideways. The landing made the legs tighten until it seemed that the lower was on the verge of caving in her ribs. However, it also had the effect of breaking the grip. As the limbs opened, she rolled free and managed to continue moving away.
A good minute went by before either woman could rise. When they did, it was obvious that they were both on their last legs. Tottering towards each other, they weakly grabbed for hair and wobbled in a circle tugging as hard as they could. After almost thirty seconds of such ineffectual behavior, Charole summoned every dreg of energy she could muster. Suddenly she slipped backwards, dragging Shushi after her. Placing both feet against the war-lady’s barely resisting body, she brought off a stomach throw.
By some miracle, Shushi managed to at least partially break her fall. Hardly aware of what she was doing, driven only by an indomitable fighting instinct and courage, she turned on to her stomach and forced herself up until reaching her knees. Charole was already up. Sobbing for breath, she reeled in to smash a kick between the bare olive-skinned shoulders which pitched its recipient face down once more. Falling to her knees beside Shushi, the Protectress turned her over and, drawing her into a sitting position by the hair, delivered a coup-de-grace with a punch to the jaw. As the defeated war-lady flopped supine, the victress toppled forward across her. Charole made one desperate, unavailing attempt to get up, then she too subsided into loss of consciousness.
‘What a fight!’ Torisaki enthused, his face alight with a mixture of excitement and lust as he studied the two battered, motionless figures at his feet. “Take them both into the pavilion and tend to their injuries. By the Dragon God, I’m going to enjoy tonight.’
While the war-lord’s orders were being attended to, he noticed the ‘Terrifier’ lying where his wife had dropped it. Going over, he picked it up and stood looking at it for a few seconds. Then, giving a shrug as he decided the Protectress had been bluffing for some reason, he tossed it across into the fire. Turning, he strolled towards the pavilion in the wake of the women carrying the unconscious fighters. Before he had taken three steps, the device exploded.