Ox-Yoke Pt. II of Midsummer Fires

Tektu didn't need his eyes, to know it would be a miss, but he lifted the cloth, in time to see the arrow smash into a stone, nowhere near the target. The stick Poradis had tossed into the air, clattered to the ground. Tektu had tried too hard, trying to be fast, and had released much too soon. Another arrow to replace. Tektu wished he minded missing the target, but he didn't feel anything. It was as if his pain and pleasure were happening to someone else. When Arkwan had watched his morning practice, and when Tektu could tell, by the sag of his brow, that his brother was disappointed, it had hurt like an arrow in the guts; Tektu wished he could feel that now. Arkwan didn't whip for mistakes, but with Poradis he followed the normal custom; a stroke for a miss; ten for a broken arrow. He dropped his loincloth and took the strokes, but Tektu's bottom was as tough as tanned bullhide, and a stroke of the greenwood hurt him about as much as a pinch on the cheek; nothing like the misery of disappointing Arkwan. Of course, when he'd shot well, and Arkwan got that tiny crinkle in the corner of his eye, Tektu had felt like the High King of the whole green Earth, a feeling of joy that made him giddy, like drinking Hema at midsummer.

Kahela shot next, and she watched her arrows miss the target with dead eyes. She was not trying. There was a flicker of greedy pleasure in her eyes as she lifted her tunic for the strokes that would, if only for a heartbeat, distract her.

Poradis too, missed every day, trying to match Tektu's tricks, and it was not a cheerful way to start the day, whipping the old man's skinny, wrinkled bottom. Tektu said to him, as an arrow master shames his worst pupil, that he must shoot naked, and Tektu stood behind him, switch raised and ready to blister his bottom. But this morning Poradis did not try any fancy fast shooting, or cover his eyes; he aimed carefully. Arrow after arrow hit the target; his old body standing as wooden as a carved God. Then Tektu and Poradis practiced dodging cloth-head arrows, and Poradis was hit. But he got no whipping for that: being hit by the arrow hurt enough.

"You should try harder to hit the target, Kahela," Tektu said, once they had retrieved the arrows and lifted their packs. "Even if there is no battle, there could be bandits. We could be taken as slaves."

"We may be robbed, and raped, and killed, Tektu, but not made slaves. Not in the lands under the High King."

"Do bards never come to your village, weaver boy? Or do little weaver boys spend all their time playing with toys?"

They walked for some time. Tektu could see that Kahela was going to make him ask. He was pleased in a way; her nasty remarks showed some spirit. "Punish me for a dunce, O wise bard," he said, mockingly, "but explain your wisdom."

Tektu was hurt. "Arkwan said I was ready for tattoos, and Nakien himself pricked me."

Kahela stopped suddenly. Her face was white. Tektu grabbed her in time to keep her from falling. Too late he remembered that Nakien had also pricked Huwh. Kahela looked like she was about to bawl, and Tektu wanted to slap her. Instead he lowered her to the ground, and yelled in her ear. "Dunce! Why do you say we may be killed, but not taken as slaves? Arkwan was taken!"

Kahela looked at him and shook her head. She said: "Arkwan was not a man of the High King when he was taken; so Kros had the right to say he was on a cattle raid."

"So it's against the Law to take slaves," Tektu argued. "Isn't it also against the Law to kill?"

"Tektu, if you were taken and kept as a slave, in some village, every bard and peddler who passed through would know you. You are the son of Nohas; everyone knows you, so no one can take you as a slave. We may meet bandits along this path, but they will kill us, or we will kill them. Raiders might take us as slaves, and carry us back to their own lands, but raiders will not reach us here, in the heart of the kingdom."

"Ha! In a bard's tale," Kahela snorted. "Real bandits don't live in caves - they live in some village, and pretend to be honest men."

"And live on bugs? And how would such men keep slaves? Stay up all night to watch us?"

"And tell Taslan that he escaped from Kros? Taslan would have to return him, to keep honor. Arkwan was taken fairly under the Law, so for Taslan to keep him would make Taslan a thief. King Taslan is fighting; he can't make an enemy of the bronze makers."

"Nomads do not come this far south - and before you say pirates, we are too far inland for a coast raid."

Tektu felt his penis shrivel. Kahela was a teacher of student bards, almost a bard herself, and he had called her a dunce, which was no different than calling a warrior a coward or a deserter of friends in battle. And having challenged her, he had proved the dunce instead. So he couldn't call her punishment unfair, whatever punishment it was. But the punishment she had chosen was worse than she knew. Tektu had entered a woman only once before; with Nakien, sliding into her a heartbeat after Nakien pulled out. His seed had burst out. Tektu had liked the smooth easy sliding, easier than a man's shit-eye, since his penis had been still sore from getting his tattoo. Nakien had said that he should learn to keep his seed in, to prolong his pleasure. Tektu never found out that woman's name. That same night he had met Raki-Dannia-a`hik; they had spent the night playing, and wrestling, and laughing, Laughing at nothing. Toward morning they had slept, but Raki had woken Tektu in the gray light before sunrise.

Raki had his hand around Tektu's long stiff shaft. "Tektu, in your sleep you said ... Do you really want to?"

Tektu nodded, and Raki turned away. Tektu pushed his sore penis tip slowly and carefully into Raki's shit-eye, and then pulled out again. Then he put his hand on Raki's bare penis, and fondled it to nearly, but not quite, the point of bursting seed. Then he took his hand away: "We may come back to this village, Raki. I don't know. It depends on Nakien. Get your tattoos soon. If you have them when I come back, we can do anything you want."

Raki had wept. "I suppose you'd rather enter a woman. I saw you. You put your seed in her, didn't you?"

"Raki, I'd rather put seed in your bottom than spend a night with a hand of women, learning Nakien's secrets of pleasure. Get your tattoo."

"I'm learning to be a priest. That's what my name means in the old tongue: priest of Dannia. I was dedicated to her when I was born. I'll have to enter a women for the planting sacrifice, but I'm not sure I'll be able to. And it's very bad luck if the priest doesn't spill seed. You're lucky: you might perfer boys, but you'll never have a problem with women. Not me. I can't fuck women."

Tektu had boasted that his penis would always rise when he wanted it to, but now, with Kahela, he didn't feel a stir. So her punishment was going to be his shaming. And Kahela won't like me very well after this, either, he thought. But there was nothing he could do; no one refused fair punishment. He dropped his loincloth, and started to remove Kahela's tunic.

Poradis, who rarely spoke, grabbed Tektu by the shoulder. "Can't you wait till tonight, young ram? We should keep going in the daylight."

Tektu didn't wait for Kahela to agree. He put his loincloth back on, lifted his pack, and headed along the trail, putting three arrows in his belt, and carrying his bow, strung. "We'll carry our bows strung as long as we are in the woods," he shouted. "If Kahela is right that thieves will kill us, we need to shoot first."

Toward midday, Poradis stopped Kahela and Tektu with a touch, and put his hand across his mouth. "What is it?" Tektu asked, as quietly as he could.

"A lot of people. See this dust on the leaves? Ahead of us, going slowly. We are overtaking them."

Kahela said: "We can't go along this path and not be seen. This large party - they can't be thieves. We should join them. That way, we will be safe."

Tektu looked at Poradis, who nodded. They started to walk. Poradis spoke quietly: "Put your bow over your shoulder, Tektu. Or they'll shoot you for a thief. Walk slowly. I don't want to turn a corner in these woods, and find ourselves face to face with drawn bows. It will be better if they see us first from a distance. Keep your eyes and ears open; they may have heard us. They could be waiting in ambush."

After some distance through the woods, the path climbed to more open country, and they saw a few people, seemingly the rearguard of the large party. There were two warriors, with shields and spears on their backs, arrows in their belts, and bows in their hands. They were with three old women, who carried heavy packs.

The two warriors had their arrows nocked by the time they turned around, but Tektu thought they should have been faster. At this distance, Tektu thought he could dodge the arrows. But it would be a lot harder to dodge two than one. Tektu held his hands away from his body. They did not shoot.

"Well met if you be a friend," the older warrior shouted. The younger warrior gave a loud shout, and there was an answering shout from further ahead.

"I am Tektu, son of Nohas headwoman. In our village, we keep sheep, and weave cloth."

"Honor, road-friend Tektu. We know of the village of Nohas. But you are far from home."

"Honor, Marwat. Health and safety to your lady Queen, and great honor. You, too, travel far."

"Not so far, yet, but we go to the sanctuary at the smoking water. The Queen is taking rams for the Great Sacrifice."

Kahela shouted: "Honor, Marwat. Health to the Queen and her warriors. I am daughter of Kratik: Kahela, of the village of Sugga law-singer."

Poradis said nothing, and neither did the younger warrior. Tektu didn't know if Poradis drank from the honor cup or not, but he was acting as if he was Kahela's man, standing behind her. Clever, Tektu thought. He's making Kahela seem to be a great lady, traveling with her own warrior. She always looks so good in her clothes, and dirty scruffy Tektu had better take a step back too, and let Kahela be the leader of their party. No would harm a bard, and she had wrapped the dignity of the law-singer around herself.

But Marwat was not impressed. He made them hand over their weapons. They walked along with Marwat and the young warrior behind them, with arrows nocked. Before sunset, they reached a marsh. There was open water in the middle, but separated from the shore by a thick stand of reeds. The Queen's company had set up camp under some trees on the sloping hillside, where a little rill tumbled down the rocks to sink into the swampy grass. The marsh midges made it a poor camp, but a large party can't camp just anywhere.

Tektu and Kahela spoke their names and households again to the chief of the warriors, who made no move to give them back their weapons. One of the warriors asked Tektu if he would like to join their evening practice. Tektu knew that it was the sport of warrior bands to give cocky young fighters a good thrashing. It had been the same when the High King had come to Tektu's village last spring : one of the King's warriors had asked Tektu: "Want some practice with shield and spear?"

And the warrior had given Tektu a kick on the bottom, and the warriors, and the villagers, had laughed. Tektu had been content, glad no worse had happened. But Erdiosh, Tektu's best friend, shouted: "He is not a coward."

Erdiosh, as all the village knew, liked to suckle on Tektu's penis. Boys do that, of course, but people will say that the boy whose penis is sucked, is usually the brave one. "As penis, so dagger," is the old proverb. No one really thought Tektu was a coward, but Erdiosh thought he had to prove himself to the village, and so he took on the king's warrior, fighting with shields and headless spears. It was horrible. Erdiosh was soon curled up on the ground, shouting "Stop. I'm a coward, a coward" His shoulder was mangled, a rib broken, and there was a bad gash in his groin, bruises all over, and a cut from his own shield below his ear. And he had bitten his tongue. The King's warrior had not been touched. Before walking away, the warrior kicked Erdiosh's bottom.

Tektu didn't want to travel with Queen Ishan's company of warriors, slinking along as an admitted coward. With the fast shooting Arkwan had taught him, he knew he could win at some challenges - and he allowed himself the pleasure of seeing in his eyes these warriors with their grinning faces, grovelling in the dust, submitting to his punishments. But Tektu knew it wouldn't happen like that - they would choose the challenges, not him, and unless he could beat their best archer at that archer's best challenge, he would lose. The point wasn't to win - if he put up a good show, lost, and took his punishment well, that would show these grinning warriors he wasn't afraid of them. He said casually: "I had in mind to practice with my bow tonight, not the spear."

A different warrior, no doubt the Queen's best archer, answered him: "A wise choice, son of Nohas headwoman. It doesn't hurt when an arrow misses a target."

"When you miss, son of I don't know who, I'll beat you with my bow. Will that hurt enough for you?"

The Chief of the warriors gave Tektu back his bow and quiver. Some warriors nocked arrows to watch him. The Chief brought out an ash stick; of course no one was going to beat anyone with a valuable bow, that was just a way of speaking. A slave boy came to summon the three captives to the Queen, but the Chief said Tektu should finish the match, and see the Queen later. Kahela and Poradis went with the slave into the Queen's house of skins.

Tektu slung his quiver off his hip, facing forward, tied to his belt as well as hanging from his shoulder. He pointed to a grassy bank, not very far away. The warriors laughed. What a beating this boy was going to get, they thought, challenging a real warrior. The Queen's archer shot first, shooting a hand of arrows in a tight cluster. Tektu took off his loincloth. The warriors sniggered. This calf was submitting to a beating without even trying to match the archer's shooting. This was going to be fun, they thought. We'll torment this fool all night.

Tektu waited for the noise to stop, then laughed. He wrapped his loincloth over his eyes, and faced away from the target. He stood still for a few heartbeats, and quickly spun around. Then he waited, with the cloth still over his eyes, as the warriors began to murmur, and then to shout.

"Three arrows!" someone shouted. "Did you see that? Did you see him draw three times? It was like lightning!"

Tektu took the cloth from his eyes. The arrows were not as close together as Arkwan could have done, but at least he hadn't killed anyone. His arrows were not as close together as the other man's. Good. He would take his beating bravely - something else that Arkwan had taught him. The warriors would respect him for his skill, but not feel that he had won by a trick. But the warrior handed him the stick.

"It is good to have a contest," Tektu said, taking the stick. "I usually practice alone. A contest, with a merry wager - a little bottom-tickling as a prize for the unlucky one - that makes a pleasant change. Who has been my companion, this evening? I judge myself to be the loser; take this again."

"Health to you, Tektu, son of Nohas. I thought to win this contest, and would have beaten you hard. Do not spare me, but strike hard, or you dishonor me. I am Aru son of ... Ishan."

Prince Aru had spoken the Queen's name in a whisper, and was blushing. It is not very admirable, to force a young guest to compete with the chosen best of a company, and beat him for losing. It is even less admirable, when a prince does it. But least honorable of all is when a prince tries to do it - and loses.

"Beat me hard, Tektu," the prince said, in Tektu's ear. "If you hit light, they will think I am using my royal rank. I will lose the name of honor."

Tektu wondered, what will the Queen think? Will she hate me for beating her son? And the warriors: will they hate me for beating their prince? After winning by a trick? But there's nothing I can do: it would be an insult to Prince Aru, to refuse to beat him.

This prince does well to wish me safety, Tektu thought. It is a dangerous thing, whipping a prince. Prince Aru removed his cloak, then loosened his belt and pulled his loincloth through. He kept his dagger at his side; it was plain copper, just like the other warriors', not a hard copper one by Kros or Tlossos. The prince's loincloth was thick linen cloth, it covered his whole bottom, and the wear showed he'd been sitting on it. Such is wealth. Tektu's was rabbit skin, a mere strap twisted up his crack. Sitting bare on jagged rocks had toughened Tektu's bottom, and he winced just to think of how much this was going to hurt on the prince's puffy soft white skin. Tektu's bottom had scars from the many beatings of his life; Prince Aru's white globes were flawless, as if he had never been beaten, not since his little penises day. Every eye in camp was on Prince Aru; they didn't look at Tektu. Someone told the queen, and she came out of her house of skins. There was a bard with her. Tektu knew him, a red bard named Heyos. The prince looked at the queen, begging with his eyes, and he lay down, facing away from her and the crowd. Some warriors moved around, so they could look into the prince's face as he was beaten. Others stood on logs, or climbed trees, so they could look down at the royal bottom. There was complete silence.

Tektu put his own loincloth back on, and looked at the Queen. She nodded. Tektu stepped across Prince Aru's legs to get a better position - he was left-handed. Then he his raised the stick and brought it down hard across the prince's royal bottom. The rod was solid ash, and this would be a serious, bruising beating. This was nothing like the pleasant sting of a snappy greenwood switch. This was even worse than the whippings with knotted leather straps that Tektu's mother gave him, that left his back a plaid of bleeding cuts. A heavy rod like this could crack a rib. Better to pulp the buttocks with blow after blow, than to land any across Prince Aru's back. But there was no doubt that this very rod was what Prince Aru had planned to use.

Tektu delivered another stroke, then another. The prince gave no sign. Tektu looked at the Queen, at all the watching eyes. He could not tell what they were thinking; no one looked at him. He gave another stroke. Little tears of blood showed from the little jags and knots of the ashen rod. There was now just one strip of unbruised skin across Prince Aru's bottom. Tektu aimed for it, but missed, and landed the rod on the juicy dark bruise of the first stroke. The prince made a little sound. Tektu put down the rod, and sat down. A slave boy helped Prince Aru to stand, and they walked away; the prince leaning on the slave's arm. Only then was the silence broken - a few whispers among the warriors. Tektu, all eyes on him now, retrieved his arrows, cleaned them, and carefully put them into his quiver.

Marwat came over to Tektu. Tektu thought he would be killed. He tried to show no fear, and made no sort of move to defend himself.

Tektu expected a contest of plain shooting. He planned to lose. Then the warriors' honor would be satisfied without shedding Tektu's blood. Or at least, not very much of it. Tektu expected a severe beating, in revenge for having beaten their prince. Perhaps he would not be able to walk tomorrow. But that was better than a dagger between his ribs while he slept.

But Marwat wanted a contest with eyes covered. Tektu shot as badly, and as slowly, as he could. Marwat, with his first arrow, shot so wild he hit a woman; fortunately, she was only scratched. "I am not a prince, son of Nohas," Marwat said as he handed the rod, "you do not need to strike so lightly with me." Tektu did not strike him any harder than he had the prince; Marwat took his hand of blows without a sound, and sprang to his feet with a reproachful look, as if Tektu had doubted his courage, in striking so lightly. It had not seemed light to Tektu. He wondered what these warriors considered hard. Several warriors spoke at once, challenging Tektu to another blind match. Tektu thought: they'll be angry if I refuse. But if I beat them all, what then? Will I see the sunrise next morning?

The slave boy came and said Prince Aru wanted to talk to Tektu. When Tektu came to the prince's space behind the Queen's skin house, the royal prince was lying on his belly, under some blankets, but with his bottom exposed to the cooling breeze. His bottom was shiny, greased with bear fat.

"I want you to finish," Prince Aru said. "I made a sound - I am dishonored. Beat me harder. I will be silent. Give me the strokes you would have, if I hadn't cried."

Tektu said: "Honor, Prince. How hard would you have struck, and how many, if I had lost?"

The prince put his hand on his bottom. "I've used that rod a lot. I didn't know how much it hurt, until now. But I think your hand is lighter than mine. But I would have given you only one stroke; that is our custom. But I lost the wager - I must endure as many strokes as you choose to give."

"Punish me, Prince. I meant only to do what was fair. I did not know the custom was one stroke--I thought you would make a sign."

"One stroke for that challenge, Tektu. But we would have challenged you again, all night long. Until your bottom was so beaten you could no longer walk. Unless you were brave enough to say you were a coward, and refuse a challenge. And if you did refuse, I would have pissed on your face. I've done it before. You want to do what is fair? Challenge me over and over until sunrise. And piss on my face - piss on my face in front of everyone. If you do that, I will never be king."

"The custom with us, stranger, is the same as it is everywhere; the winner does what he wants. But with us, a long whipping is an honor we don't give to stangers. I would have given you only one stroke, but I beg you will not be so crue. Beat me now - I will not cry out again."

Then I challenge you to blindfold shooting, a hand of strokes for the loser. And I will challenge again, again and again, all night long, until my arse is too beat for me to stand to shoot. If you only give me a hand of strokes for each challenge, it will take longer until I cannot stand, but I will challenge for as long as it takes. You would honor me more if you just whipped me now. Hard and long."

"I am not brave enough to keep winning against a prince. However badly you shoot, I can shoot worse."

"You did, Prince. When you let me give you a hand of strokes, when the custom is one. That may be dangerous for me. How many of your warriors are brave enough to win against you? You said you had not felt the ash rod."

"They are not my warriors, they're my mother's. Let's have a real contest, Tektu. Something I might win and you might. A foot race."

"Agreed. I suppose you're good at all kinds of shooting. But you may be surprised. I am a good archer, even if they do let me win."

Tektu stood on a log: "Hear, all of you! Health and safety to the Queen! Honor and her heart's desire! Health to her son and daughters! Prince Aru has challenged me at archery. My best skill is blind shooting, but I will win at the target he has chosen! We agree: a beating for the loser, a hand of strokes. He will regret challenging me!"

Tektu was never very good at a far target, and he had not practiced that kind of shooting since he left his village. Arkwan had said: "In a battle, enemies don't stay still." so they had only practiced shooting at thrown sticks, and other fancy shooting. So Tektu would lose. If Prince Aru was any good at all, Tektu would lose even if he tried to win, and he didn't plan to try to win. He wanted to lose, but he didn't want to shoot so badly, that everyone would know he was losing on purpose. It was very important that he not miss badly. He shot. He missed badly.

All his life, at training, Tektu had been told about fighters who are good at practice, but useless in their first battle. Sometimes the arrow master threatened a beating for a miss, so his pupils could learn to shoot calmly, even when they were terrified. Tektu was terrified by the beatings, but they didn't make him shoot any worse. The arrow master tried a new test, just for Tektu: "From now on, Tektu, I'll whip your friends - whip 'em double with the pig-whip - when you miss, and whip you when one of them misses." With his friends' bottoms on the line, Tektu had aimed his arrows, thinking, I have to make this shot, I have to make this shot. Thinking like that, of course he missed. Day after day, for a moon, his friends were whipped for his failure - whipped on backs and bottoms bruised and sore from the days before. The arrow master made Tektu shoot quickly, and the master stood with the pig-whip raised over Erdiosh or Danha or Ardaha. Arrow after arrow missed, and for each miss the master brought down the braided straps; two strokes. Tektu would never forget the sound, or the crying. And if Tektu did not shoot quickly enough, he heard the lash strike before he released. When it was Ardaha, Tektu tried desperately hard not to miss - and shot horribly. Ardaha thought he was doing it on purpose, and when it was her turn to shoot, with Tektu bent over the log to be whipped for her mistakes, she shot badly on purpose. When it was Danha's bottom under the pig-whip, that was the worst of all, because she never made a sound. Nothing was worse for Tektu than his mistakes being whipped for on his big sister's bottom. Erdiosh was such a loyal friend, that he never complained, and that made Tektu ashamed. The master said: "See the target, Tektu. Only the target. Do not see your sister's face, do not see the pig-whip hitting her bottom. See only the arrowhead in the target." And by the time the new moon rose, he could. But after that time Ardaha never again talked of marriage.

Tektu realized he had nocked an arrow, drawn, and shot, while thinking about practice at the village. The arrow stood in the center of the target. That was a mistake--he hadn't meant to shoot so well. He shot a trio of arrows to finish the hand. Each one went exactly where he wanted it, as he knew it would. But he took care that they were not too close to the center.

As Prince Aru drew for his first shot, the Queen came out of her tent, with Kahela. The prince waited as his mother found a spot with a good view of the target. The Queen put her hand on Kahela's shoulder - Tektu wasn't sure what that meant. Kahela shouted: "Your heart's desire, Prince, shoot well," and Prince Aru shot his hand of arrows. They struck in a fairly wide scatter, but with Tektu's one bad miss on his first shot, it was clear Prince Aru had won. With this beating, Tektu thought the warriors' honor would be satisfied, even if he won in other contests. But first he would have to endure the beating.

The look in Prince Aru's eyes, made Tektu's heart sing. Tektu was a warrior of the Kohiyossa - the little weaver boy had come a long way. The little boy who disappointed his mother, embarrassed his friends - the last boy in the village whom anyone thought could ever be a warrior - what did he think was he doing? How could he have set out to rescue a god? Arkwan had said he could do it, and what Arkwan said, Tektu believed. But still he felt like the boy he was. What had he to do with warriors, with heroes, with gods? And yet - and yet ... What was it? When Prince Aru looked at him - what was it? The prince did not treat him as a boy. Kahela did, Danha and Nakien did, even Arkwan did. But this prince didn't. This prince did not give him honor, this prince thought he already had honor. That was the difference. Prince Aru - a seasoned warrior, a grown man, and of course a prince, looked on Tektu as an equal - or even as a better man. Tektu knew he hadn't fairly earned that, just from trick shooting. But it felt very good to have Prince Aru look at him like that, all the same.

But it could not last. Tektu had never, never in his life, taken a hard beating without screaming. That tiny moan the Prince made - Prince Aru thought he was dishonored by it. How tiny that was, compared to the screaming that Tektu was about to do. The prince's admiration and respect - all lost. He was supposed to rescue a god - little boy Tektu was supposed to rescue a god! But in a very short time Tektu would be no longer the companion of princes and the admiration of warriors, but a despised, bawling, babe.

But there was nothing for it, but to do it. He bent and whispered in Aru's ear. He said, "Honor, Prince. Strike hard."

"Queen, your heart's desire. This woman says she is Kahela daughter of Kratik, of the village of Sugga law-singer. The man of their party, Tektu son of Nohas headwoman, has just been challenged by Prince Aru. I will bring him after his beating."

Queen Ishan had summoned the strangers to her tent as soon as they reached the camp. Tektu had been detained by his match with the prince, but Kahela and Poradis had followed the slave boy to the queen's house of of skins.

The queen looked at Kahela with suspicion. She turned to the red bard by her side: "Heyos, do you know this woman from the Law-Singer's village? Daughter of Kratik?"

The bard looked Kahela up and down. "Honor, Queen. I know Kratik well, but it was long ago when I was with the Law-Singer. Does Kratik still have his bullhide whip?"

Kahela answered : "His elbow pains him. The students come to me now, for help with their singing."

"Hah! Help! I think you are indeed the daughter of Kratik. And this ... Poradis? Poradis!"

The two old men embraced and kissed. "But why do you not give your name?" the bard asked. "Have you become a slave?"

Poradis answered: "I and my daughter guard the doorposts of my house. All is well with the house of Aradis."

Heyos said: "Health, Queen Ishan. I know this man, he is Poradis son of Aradis of Sugga's village. And I will know Tektu son of Nohas, when I see him. You remember the tale of the God we do not name, at the dance of the bronze makers? When I last saw him, Tektu was traveling with the slave who claimed the God had used his body."

Kahela said: "Honor, Queen. The slave makes no claim. Nute, the peddler, was at the dance, and Nute says that all who were there, saw the God in the slave's face."

Kahela didn't know what to say. She wanted to discuss it with Tektu, before revealing any information to this Queen. She wanted advice. She wanted, desperately, Huwh.

"Honor, Queen Ishan. Last summer, a year and a night before the dance at the bronze makers, the God came to a dance, in a village in the north. At that dance too, He used the penis of a man - the same man. At that dance too, He entered every woman. Not in a night, but at the tenth moon, a woman bore a son with golden hair. The bronze makers tried to sacrifice this boy, but his mother saved him, crushed by a tree-trunk in the rescue. Nakien, the white bard, has ruled that this boy is indeed the Kohiyossa. This summer, at the dance of the bronze makers, the God used the same penis again. He entered every woman, putting His seed in them all. The smashers ..."

A slave stuck his head through the door. "Prince Aru has lost his challenge to the young stranger! The Prince has handed him the rod! Um. Honor, Queen Ishan."

They all followed Queen Ishan out to the practice ground. The watching warriors made a ring around Tektu and the Prince; they parted to let the queen through, but did not let Kahela through, and Kahela couldn't see anything behind the solid ring of warriors' bodies. She stood with the other women at the edge of the crowd. They heard the smack of wood hitting flesh, over and over. "What is happening?" a woman asked.

Another woman said: "Prince Aru is getting a long beating. He challenged a stranger, and lost."

"And the stranger is beating him? What a fool. I'll cook and eat his balls when the queen cuts them off."

When the Prince was helped away from the practice ground by his slave, they passed Kahela, and the Prince gave her a little shy smile. Kahela followed them, and hid behind a tree. The slave was indignant. "How dare he beat you!" he said as he soothed the royal behind with bear grease. "You should drink some Hema for the pain, Sir. And when you have this serpent whipped to death, let me handle the rod."

"No Hema," the Prince said. "Fetch the stranger. And Khanikos, his name is Tektu son of Nohas headwoman. Speak to him with proper honor - or I'll have him, beat you."

When Tektu was fetched to the prince, Kahela, behind her tree, could hear everyting they said. When they agreed to another match, Kahela could tell that Tektu was planning to lose. But couldn't Tektu see that the Prince also planned to lose? Kahela ran to the queen's tent.

"Where have you been, Kratik's daughter? Do you know that the man you came with, beat my son with a rod?"

"Be well, daughter of Metik-Dannia-dae. Tektu may win again, if you do not stop them."

"Why should I stop them? If my son challenges a better archer, let him be beaten."

"Honor, Queen Ishan! Punish me for not speaking to you properly! I think Tektu plans to lose. But I think Prince Aru plans to lose as well. I don't know why."

"My son sees himself a hero. It must be sweet for him, to take his beating honorably, in front of everyone, after a fair contest. The warriors always lose to him on purpose."

"My warriors will obey me. But we shall go see this match. Do nor fear, Kratik's daughter; I will not allow harm to come to your companion."

It was Huwh's voice. As clear as if he was standing next to her. "Well done," he said.

Tektu had already shot. Prince Aru was about to begin. The queen looked at her son, her eyes speaking, and she put her hand on Kahela's shoulder. Aru wasn't sure what that meant. Kahela wasn't beautiful, but there was something in her eyes; when she had come into the camp, in a heartbeat, he had wanted her. He wanted most women he saw, and the woman he wanted, came to him: he was the Prince. But not Kahela; she was almost a bard, and would not care about his title. He would have to prove himself to get this one.

Aru planned to lose and get another beating, only this time, he wanted Kahela to look at his face. He didn't think she had seen it the first time. He would lose and take a beating, honorably, and she would watch his face as he endured the blows without a sound. Just an amused smile on his face. Surely she would be impressed. But as he drew, she shouted "Your heart's desire, Prince. Shoot well!" She must know what his heart's desire was - she had those eyes that could see into a man's heart. He shot his hand of arrows, not quite knowing if he wanted to win or lose. He thought he had lost. But the warriors shouted "Aru, Aru!"

Tektu dropped belt and loincloth for his beating, and stood waiting for the Prince to command him. He looked into the Prince's face proudly, as an equal. Not the way the men looked at him; they never let him forget he was the prince. But Tekto was his equal - more than his equal, Aru thought. This young man was a hero for his skill; true, he had shot one arrow wild, but then he shot the other four accurately - showing he could have won. He had just lost out of courtesy - and as a gentle reproach to Aru for having moaned when he was beaten. Tektu had lost on purpose, just to take this beating silently, just to show Aru how a real man takes a beating. Aru had no one else who looked into his face like this. He had never met anyone with the air and presence of this young man, this hero wandering the roads like Rhonan of the old tales. Aru thought - I could have this man for a friend. He's a wandering hero, and she's a bard or as good as, so they might be just wandering the roads together. They didn't say they were man and wife. But why would she want me if she could have him?.

Tektu had a snub nose and a lopsided grin, but he had a warrior's strong body, and a long penis, tattooed with a spiral pattern. His ball sack was smooth, and his piss-beard hardly more than a boy's. He had scars across his bottom, like most warriors who trained with strict teachers. His black hair was braided close around his head, in the hero pattern, showing that he, or his father or grandfather, had won that high honor. Aru made Tektu bend over a pile of packs, with his legs spread. Young as he was, Tektu was as tall as Aru, and heavier. If he is coupling with her, Aru thought, I don't have a chance. But she wished me luck, not him! Aru was frantic with desire, and his penis stiffened inside his loincloth; I should remember not to wear it so tight, he thought, as he loosened his belt. The tight hard rod made Aru want punish Tektu like a naughty slave girl, by raping his shit-eye, and Tektu was positioned for it, his shit-eye no more than a hands-breadth from the tip of Aru's pulsing, naked prick. Aru, in the grip of a frenzy that made him need to fuck or hit, smashed the ash rod across Tektu's bottom, hard and fast. As he gave blow after blow, in his eyes he was thrusting into Tektu's bottom with his own rod. His penis hurt. He gave more than the hand of blows they had agreed, but he stopped at last, and threw down the rod. How she must despise me now, he thought.

Tektu stood up, in a daze, and took a few steps, trying not to show the pain that every step cost him. Poradis came over, holding Tektu's bow and quiver.

"Health and good appetite, Wvaksa Tektu, son of Nohas. Have you finished your evening practice? Shall we do some battle shooting?"

Tektu took the bow and quiver; trying to act normally. Poradis stood a short distance away, holding a slab of bark the size of his hand. Tektu faced away from him, quiver tied low by his hip, and the bow hung to the front. Poradis shouted, and tossed the bark up and to the side. Tektu spun around, grabbed an arrow with one hand and the bow with the other, nocked, drew, and released. He missed the bark, but not by much. He turned away again, and hung his bow. Poradis threw again, and shouted. This time the arrow clipped the bark as it fell. One more time: Poradis threw, toward the lake this time, and the arrow went solidly into the bark. Poradis and Tektu walked over to the fire, where food was cooking. Tektu seemed to have forgotten the pain, and he walked along easily, his long penis swinging with his steps. The warriors crowded around, asked Tektu what battles he had seen, and began to tell tales of battles, two or three of them talking at once. Skins of mead came out from under cloaks. Tektu drank standing up. Aru sat alone on the practice ground, his hand on the ash rod.

As Aru sat, alone, not joining the men, the sweet familiar tune of the evening sacrifice was raised; and they sang to the lake waters as they each cast a seed of grain or a drop of mead into the fire. The warriors hugged their women, or each other, and thought of the homes they did not have.[ source ]

Warriors rise early, and under the summer moons they sleep when the sun sets. But they lingered a while, singing by the fire. The Chief Warrior's wife, thinking of sleepy heads at breakfast, stood up and stripped by the firelight. She shivered in the breeze from the lake. "I'm going to sleep," she told her husband. "It's cold. If you don't come keep me warm now, you can sleep cold tonight. Alone." When the Chief rose and stripped, they all did, and all the men lay down together, with only a few camp followers and slave girls to share between them. Tektu lay on his belly. Warriors crawled across to lay on top, climbing under cloaks, and one of them put his knee on Tektu's bottom, making him howl. Everyone laughed; and spoke words of sympathy, no one any more thinking it a matter of shame to cry out in pain. A woman stepped on his bottom, and he howled again, to more laughter. Warriors suckled on their women's teats, or on each other's penises.

And still Aru sat alone on the practice ground. He pulled his cloak more tightly around him against the midges and the cold breeze.

Tektu's penis sprang up.

He had to turn on his side, but the bodies were so tightly packed, he had to push to do it. The woman who had stepped on his bottom slithered down, and got her mouth around his penis. "Stop," he shouted, about to burst. She didn't stop, but licked and suckled and nibbled like a lamb at teat. Tektu's head was against an old slave woman, who was being fucked from behind, and two warriors were rubbing each other's penises and leaning against his back. But he didn't have time to be polite. He pulled his penis from the woman's mouth, and stood up, lifting her; and the men leaning against him fell off backwards. Tektu ignored their yelps and dropped the woman on top of them, and thrust into her, seed bursting at once. All around, men had been as quick, and panting hoots and sighs sounded like a chorus of singers. Only a few men continued to stallion, here and there in the heap of bodies. A warrior called out: "I let Marwat use my shit-eye, and he won't trade. Does anyone else want my penis tonight?"

Tektu asked the woman her name. She was Adjehan, wife of Runad spearman. Tektu apologized for being so quick. "I am very sore," he said. "Could you fondle my balls? And please, in a while, can we fuck again? I want to do it right, to suck your teats, and your ears, and tongue, and cunt, and every part of you." But Adjehan said she should go back to her husband. Tektu lay on his side, pleased that he had been able to get it up with a woman. But the pain in his bottom nagged and worried at him. He knew he was supposed to go to Kahela. His quarrel with her, that morning, had been a debate, and he had lost. Since he had challenged her - calling her a dunce - he was bound to submit to her, and the punishment she had named, had been to enter her, which was fair. It wasn't honorable to avoid a punishment. And it wasn't that he didn't like cunts. He had liked fucking Adjehan. But Kahela? Kahela? He wasn't that brave. Men trying to sleep complained of his tossings and twitchings.

Aru ate with his mother. Slaves brought them food, and the queen had a small fire by her tent. Prince Aru lay down to sleep in the tent. One of the slave girls came and said "Punish me if I fail to pleasure you." She had a whip in her hand. Maybe she really did like him - she wanted to fuck all the time. And when Aru was impotent, she didn't make fun of him, but demended a whipping, saying it was her fault. But tonight he didn't feel like trying--he told her he was going for a piss. She followed, but he slipped away from her in the dark, and he found a place to curl up in a pile of windblown leaves. If he went back to Mother's tent, the slave girl would pester him for a fuck, so if it got too cold, he would have to slip in with the men instead. But he was ashamed. They despised him. Prince Aru turned over on his other side. His bottom was sore, and he couldn't sleep.

Aru was a warrior - an archer. Just an archer like the others, even if he was the only son of the queen. He might not even be chosen king, unless he could prove himself. If I had honor, Aru thought, I should have asked to be punished like the others, from the start. I'm not worthy to be king, and the men know it. And it wasn't so bad, really, the beating. I did well. I didn't make a sound, except for that one little moan. I could have stopped it with a word, but I handed over the rod and bared my bottom. I was brave enough to do that. Mother won't like it, but I'll tell the Chief that I must be beaten the same as any other archer, from now on. I have to do it; for respect and honor. They despise me. Why would anyone want a king who is impotent? When I am beaten the same as they are, side by side, maybe the men will take me along when they go to steal a pig, or to rape some village girls. And if we're caught, we will sit in a stream together, cooling our bottoms. We'll hold each other's penises, and say to each other: "You're such a baby; can't take a whipping," the way brothers do when they've been whipped.

Aru wished he could cool his bottom now. It just went on and on hurting. He wished he had someone to laugh at the pain with, to hold penises with. I could go find Tektu, he thought. Tektu is a hero, for his weapon; it won't matter to him that I'm a queen's son. He's not afraid of me like the others. We could be friends. But I can't - I beat him more than we agreed. Aru stood up, and stretched. Then it really hurt. I have to sleep, he thought. Real warriors can always sleep, even after a beating. He lay down, then got up again. Naked in the cold wind, carrying his cloak, he walked through the trees. The icy blast cooled his bottom a little. The moon was rising, large and low in the east, and he felt his way through stripes of moonlight and shadow. He tripped over a man; it was Kahela's slave, the old warrior. Where he fell, his hand felt a woman's hip. "Tektu?" she said. It was Kahela. She was not sleeping with Tektu at the moment, but she obviously expected him. It was as he feared - Kahela was Tektu's woman.

"I am Aru, archer" he said, "Health, Daughter of Kratik, and I wish you your heart's desire." He pulled at her cloak, which he was kneeling on, and felt with his face in the deep darkness. He found her shoulder, her breast, her teat. He suckled. "You know my desire," he said, "it is you."

He said: "Don't call me that, I am just an archer; just a warrior of the queen." He moved beside her and felt for her lips with his own, but she ducked her head and he kissed only cloth and hair. It was cold. Her skin felt very cold. Aru found the cloak he had dropped, worked his legs under her cloak, and spread his thick woolen cloak over them both. He hugged her tight. She kept her head down, and her knees high. He nuzzled her ear for a bit, then lay still. The wind had picked up, now blowing down the valley. He was cold, his bottom hurt, and he wasn't sleepy. He tried to lie still. The short burst of joy he had felt, at finding her alone, made him all the more heartsick now. Now that she had refused him.

Some time later, Kahela reached out and felt Aru's body, found his penis, and held it. She snuggled into him, but kept her head down and her knees up. I'll rape her in the morning, he thought. Except I don't want to do it with everyone watching, 'cause I might have one of those times. But if I ever catch her alone, I'll rape her and rape her and rape her. I'm sure to get hard if no one is watching. I'm sure to spill seed with her, I want her so badly. I'll win some battle, and she'll love me. I'll ask my mother for some gold, and pile golden jewelry on her like a queen; like a goddess. To the fire with her! I want her!

Aru realized his bottom didn't hurt any more, and he felt a great desire to sleep.

Kahela made her way to the lake, wrapped in Aru's warm cloak, as he had rolled over on top of hers, and was still sleeping. She folded the cloak and left it on a log, before pushing through the reeds to the open water. She sank in the mud up to her knees, so she was glad she had left the fine royal cloak behind. At the open water, she tossed in her few grains of barley, but they floated, not moving, as if her sacrifice was not accepted. "Queen of Wombs, may I be carrying Huwh's son! Give me that, and I will sing your praises forever!" Kahela was starting her monthly bleed, so it was impossible, even for the Goddess. But it was a comfort to say the words. Huwh always included the King of the Sea in his morning sacrifice, so she added: "Great King Sea, strong and kind, and Great Rod of the Centaur, whom all praise: may I have pleasure and comfort from a man again, on this green Earth! May I have pleasure again from a penis!" It seemed impossible. Aru was kind. And polite, for a prince. She had been willing to have his penis inside of her. It was an honor, she supposed, to be desired by a prince, since after all no one would call her pretty. But it would be Huwh's face she saw, Huwh's voice she heard, yelling "Goddess Cunt!" as he reached his peak of pleasure. And it would be no pleasure, for Kahela, to be fucked by a memory. She churned her cunt with a reed stalk. But the muddy reed just made her think of Huwh's penis, horribly blotched by disease, and now moldering in the dark, under the ground. She did not think she would ever desire a penis again. The thought of a penis - of warm flesh stuck into her - made her sick. Man's seed seemed at that moment as polluted as menstrual blood.

In her village, women were careful not to be seen naked, but Kahela had no thought of anyone else being by the lake. It was before sunrise, cold, and the swamp mist had not yet risen. Only the tormenting midges were awake, singing their tuneless song and dappling her bare hide with spots. But she heard a voice, nearby, in the reeds, and in a tongue she did not know. Raiding pirates should not be here, but here they were. She had no weapon of any kind. She was stark naked. She would be taken; she would spend her life as a slave, raped by scores of men. The Sky-Father's joke: she had dared to pray for pleasure from a penis - she, who had taken Huwh's bare penis into her tattooed cunt! Everyone knew that Huwh had broken the Sky-Father's law: he fucked Sugga with a penis bare of tattoo. There should be a blood sacrifice for that. Kahela could have made it for him, naked on his grave at sunrise, so that Huwh would have unstained honor. Then she could have been whipped at sunset for having Huwh's bare penis in her own cunt, until every scab from the morning whipping was peeled away. And shamed too - not only stripped naked before the village, but a leafy sapling stuck in her shit-eye, and honey smeared on her so the bees would sting. But she hadn't done any of this. And now, instead of being whipped for a day, she would be whipped until she died, a slave taken by pirates.

But then the voice continued in the ordinary speech, and Kahela knew it - it was Aru's slave boy, not slavers from a foreign land. He used the ordinary tongue, but he wasn't praying to any Gods Kahela had never heard of.

White bards from across the green Earth came to the village of the law-singer. Even from the eastern plain, where the Sacred Mountain reached the sky. Even from the islands in the northern sea. They spoke of the Gods, and the Laws, of many lands. But Kahela had heard of nothing like this prayer. "Take the breath of my dead mother under your ridgepole"? Why did this boy think a God would want to do that? Not asking for her name to be given honor, but for her breath to be taken. It made no sense. And the way the slave boy talked of the Prince! Kahela knew all the royal genealogy songs - she had taught them to young student bards. Son of Metik-Danniadae, this boy called himself. That was the old king, Ishan's father. So the old king must have fathered this boy on a slave, not long before he died. This slave boy knew whose son he was, and in his secret thoughts, he called the old king "Father", the queen, "Sister," and the prince, "Nephew." A whole nother genealogy, not in the bards' songs, but kept in the slaves' memories. Kahela had no idea. So Aru had a son, by some slave girl. At least he didn't always fall asleep when a woman grabbed his penis.

Kahela waited, and the boy left. She waited some more. She did not know why it mattered, that a slave should not know that she had heard, but it did. By the time she came out of the tall reeds, the sun was up, and a few warriors were about. But Kahela was not thinking about being naked. She had been about to praise the Sky-Father when she had heard the slave's voice. Now she remembered that she had not sacrificed to Him at all. She would have to go back. She heard again in her ears the slave saying: "King and Queen of Heaven." What were the names again? Nakien will want to know. So many Gods. Kahela didn't want to sacrifice to the Sky-Father. I will never praise Him again, she decided. Let Him be angry. Let Him punish me. I owe a blood sacrifice - let him take it. He killed Huwh. He can't punish me worse than that. Kahela walked past the men who were looking at her nakedness, and then she put on Aru's cloak.

The Queen was at the campfire, preparing Hema, using the milk from a young slave woman, that she suckled and spit into a skin. Marwat was trying to provide the seed. "It's Tektu," the Queen said. "Go and see."

Tektu looked ghastly; pale and haggard. "It is only the beating," the Queen said. "but when he tries to stand, he screams. He vomits; even water. The Hema is ready, except for the sacrifice. Do you know the song?"

The Queen threw butter and a drop of the Hema into the fire; Kahela sang, and Marwat intoned the counter-strophes:[ source ]

Kahela said: "Queen, be well, and ... Ishan, that is, Queen, do you want to go to your son? He was beaten as well."

"Slowly, a swallow at a time. And then wait to see if he vomits. Don't give it all yet! Can you do that?"

"Queen, long life. I can do this. Aru was under the oak, behind your tent. The big oak. I should have said Prince Aru, all honor to him."

The Queen came back, dragging Aru by the hair. "Did you rape her?" she asked.

He was naked, and his eyes sought the dust like a boy about to be whipped. "No, Mother."

"Punish me for not speaking properly, Mother. I mean, Be well, Royal Captain Ishan; and punish this archer for not speaking properly to the queen, for calling her mother.. And no, mother, I did not rape her." He straightened his shoulders and raised his eyes to her face. The top of his mother's head was about level with his nipples.

She turned and snarled at Kahela: "Are you coupling with Tektu as well as my son, Kratik's daughter?"

"He didn't f... I mean, Safe travel, Queen Ishan. We did not couple last night."

"You are wrapped in his red cloak, Kahela, and he was sleeping under yours. Did you think I don't recognize them? Just don't bring your swollen belly to my doorposts!"

"Queen, I know the arts of pleasure. Nakien was my teacher; I watched him often, as a girl. I put my hand on Aru's penis, to stoke his desire; his heat increased. I could feel his heat; his balls like soup pots on the fire. He was Womb, I was Fetus with tiny hand. I waited craftily to make his desire more, and when his desire was biting I moved to the position called the Tunic, but he ... um ... fell asleep."

Tektu burst out laughing. He had gotten to his hands and knees, and was trying to stand, but when he started to laugh, he fell over. He screamed, but kept laughing. "You can't learn it all by watching, you, you!" and he collapsed in helpless laughter. "Look at Aru! Look at him!"

Aru was as red as a sloe berry. He kissed Kahela, and began to dance, pulling her along. The unfastened red cloak went flying. She raised her knees high, and smacked his penis from side to side as they danced. She turned around, and he took her from behind, making the four legged beast. Locked together, they jumped and twisted. Then they stopped dancing. Kahela spread her legs a bit, and rested her hands on a pack. Aru bucked. Then he bulled. Then he rammed, very hard. And then he stallioned; he seemed able to go forever. Nakien had never done so well. Rhonan winning the stallioning race had not done so well! The men were standing around the fire, waiting for breakfast, blankets draped over their shoulders. They stared, open-mouthed. Aru's face while fucking was as calm as a meditating bard.

"Well, I guess they told the truth, they didn't couple last night," the Queen said. "If that wasn't a first time fuck, I've never seen one. Or had one." Tektu was standing, and seemed at ease. "How much Hema did you drink?" she asked.

"Be well, Queen. Just a swallow. But I'd like some of whatever the Prince drinks."

"Queen, I could have had those eyes. Yesterday, I didn't think they were pretty. Now look at them."

Aru had started dogging, no longer stallioning in and out. He was hooting and panting. Then with a sigh, he pulled out. He dropped to the ground, taking Kahela down into a kiss. The Queen tossed the cloak over them.

"Warriors get busy!" she shouted. "Fires! Firewood! Water! Food! Work! All of you! Slaves, the tent!"

Kahela stood up, taking the cloak and leaving Aru naked on the ground. "I need to shit," she said.

"And now, Tektu, you will tell me everything. About the Kohiyossa." The Queen sat on the ground by the fire. "Kahela has told me ... never you mind what! Just you, tell me all. I'll know if you lie, or leave anything out."

Not all, Tektu decided. Let her punish me all she wants. But there were some things, that he wanted her to know. Things the warriors of the Kohiyossa wanted everyone to know: that the God who is not named, had danced, at midsummer, on the bronze makers' ground. Tektu could remember, word for word, Arkwan telling the story; Nakien dragging it out of him. It was the day Tektu's life had changed forever; the day he stpped being a weaver brat and started being the brother of a God. He tried to make the story as convincing, as powerful, in the telling, as it had been in the listening.

"Arkwan, a friend of King Taslan of the northern lands, was taken as a slave by the bronze makers ..."

Aru sat up, listening intently. (How can he sit? Tektu wondered.) Kahela stood in the shadows behind the Queen; Tektu avoided a glance in her direction. He told the tale, from the dance at the bronze makers to Arkwan's going with Nakien to the north, and he told it well. But he said nothing whatsoever about the Kohiyossa.

"..., and my sister went north with Nakien bard, as wife to Arkwan, Nakien's slave. Bards wander so I hope I'll see my sister some day. And that is the end of the tale."

Tektu stopped, and waited. The Queen knew something about the Kohiyossa, so she would know he had left something out, and would punish him. But whatever the punishment, he dared not tell her where the Kohiyossa was.

"And why to you wander on this road, son of Nohas, you and the daughter of Kratik?"

"Queen, wisdom. I am just going home. As for Kahela, who knows? Perhaps she liked my penis, until she found a better."

"And by ash you will learn to address a queen, archer! But, son, what should we do about Tektu? ... I suppose you know he lost to you on purpose, Aru-kin? You beat him more than you agreed; I thought he might die, this morning. And even another such beating will not make him talk. But we can try another way. Tektu, let me tell you what I already know: a baby was born, seed of the slave's penis; he had yellow hair. His mother snatched him from under a tree; she was crushed. And Nakien has ruled that this is the Kohiyossa of legend. What I do not know, is where this baby is."

"Happiness, Queen. He is sent to a village. I do not know where. Only Nakien knows." Tektu said.

"Did Nute carry the baby when he left the bronze makers? Did he? You will not say? And you, slow-shitting Kahela?" The Queen turned around.

Women, and some of the warriors, were working by the fire. They minded their tasks, did not look up. But there was no chatter and gossip. They were listening.

Queen Ishan spoke louder. "Well here is something you don't know, travelers. Blood has been spilled! Nohas is fled. Battle rages at the village of Kros!"

Queen Ishan shrieked. She pulled her dagger, a fine Tlossos, and ran at Tektu, pointing at his eyes. He raised his arms. She threw the dagger down to her left hand, and pricked his thigh before he could drop his guard. "You are slow, headwoman's son," she said. "so the next time you address me, remember. Speak to me properly or you may get pricked where you like it less."

"Happiness, Queen. Wealth, Queen. A long-rod slave boy, Queen. I do not know why my mother is fighting, nor what side she has chosen. But I fight on the side of those who say that Arkwan is the God. If you have chosen the other side, I am your enemy."

"I stand with the Prince, royal captain Ishan." This was a spearwoman named Vaishga, the only woman in the company of warriors.

"Aru archer, Vaishga spearwoman, I have not yet chosen a side. We do not even know yet what are the sides. We have learned much from Tektu, if we can believe him. Based on what we have learned, we will now go west, into the fighting, and not south to the smoking water as planned. We have not chosen a side, we just seek to learn more. If it is true, what Tektu says, that all at the dance saw the God's face . . . well, when we know more, I will hear your words, Aru and Vaishga. And then I will decide, and you will obey. Bow now to the Queen's rule, or be my enemies."

Several warriors grabbed their weapons. Arrows were nocked - even pointed - at the prince and at the spearwoman. Vaishga fastened her cloak, so she wouldn't wave her bare bottom in the air, knelt, bowed, dropped to her elbows, held one hand in the other, and touched her forehead to her thumbs. Aru, naked, did the same. And then, so did Tektu. And then, so did every warrior around the fire, and the camp followers as well. Poradis knelt with the rest. Warriors at practice put down their weapons, and came running. Only Kahela remained standing upright. Someone shouted, "Sovereign Ishan, our captain, Long Life!" "Long Life," everyone shouted the reponse.

The Queen nodded, then broke into a grin which she hid with her hand. She raised Aru to his feet. And whispered in his ear.

"Whatever happens, we will remain loyal to the High King. We must. He is strong and I am weak."

"By today, we would have been at the smoking water," the Queen explained. The moon had waned; after many days of travel, and they had passed through the mountains. The Queen continued: "But we have traveled west this moon, heading into the fighting, instead of south to the sanctuary, and now we are not near any holy grove. We had not planned to sacrifice on the road. But we do have the rams, so we can conduct our own small version of the ritual. Have you ever been fucked by a ram?"

Kahela said: "Be well, Queen Ishan. The High Queen is only fucked by the High King. He wears horns, and they only pretend to cut his balls off. Why don't you do it that way? Have some man play the part of the Ram?"

"Some wvaksa of my kingdom? Have him play the King's part? He might get ideas. No, a ram's cock inside me once a year isn't so bad. Even if the Rams do think I'm the worst-smelling ewe they've ever covered. The hard part will be the dance. But if we don't do it, then my kingdom will not have sacrificed this year, at all. The Lady will be offended. When she chooses lambs and calves for next spring, and babies, we won't get any. Can you sing Sasoyhan's Rides?"

Kahela continued as if the Queen hadn't spoken: "I know all of Sasoyhan's responses and songs. I know them well. I learned them as a girl, since I was sure I would dance Sasoyhan on my wedding night. I dreamed of all my friends, sick with envy, watching me. Watching as the husband I had won fucked me like a hero from an old song. And I dreamed of blood on my bridal gown, raised like a flag the next morning, But things ... Well, anyway. But isn't the Bride of the Centaur supposed to be danced by a bride? Or at least, by a married woman?"

"But who? Adjehan is a treasure; I love her dearly, but can you see her as blushing Sasoyhan? Or Runad as the Horny Centaur? He'd be too nervous to speak, and he wouldn't get his rod up. But Aru ... Aru and you ... great-grandchildren will be told of this dancing of Sasoyhan! The longest fuck in a dance ever. The Lady will say we made her praises last forever, and send twin calves to every cow."