two great jutting mountain ranges. In the far-flung distance an active volcano with belching flames was occasionally glimpsed through the canopy of the woods, the likely source of the lava road.
The stone path wound its way up to a closed, narrow gateway made of roughly cut timber. Beyond the timber enclosure there could be heard the sounds of commotion. BamaOay shifted his driver from his left to right hand, an adjustment more to his liking, and calmly returned the searching stares directed at him by the lowbrow folk as they fixed their gaze upon his magnificent presence from the wall; he saw their existence only incidentally. Even the bare-chested women who now peered over the palisade were noted by him only absently. His full attention was fixed in awful fascination on a fetor that assailed his nostrils from somewhere beyond that enclosure...it reminded him of his dad’s village home.
The gate opened after a few howls from his fellow travelers, the three stooges, and all five now entered into the village. Stocky, hairy men greeted his sight; broad-shouldered, fur-chested, stooped, they were naked except for scanty loincloths and armed to the teeth with all sorts of bone axes, pointy spears and clubs. The sunlight brought out the play of their hair-matted, bestial physiques in bold relief. Their dark, unshaven faces were immobile save for their narrow eyes that glittered with the fire that burns within eyes of someone who could eat a horse, or a man. Their tangled manes were bound back with bands of twisted roots. Crude ornaments made from what looked like human teeth dangled from the ears of some and smears of yellow dirt and mud and was caked on their filthy animal-skin loin cloths. There had been an orgy of feasting some time back for bones of countless creatures lay all over the ground.
These people are pigs, the President thought to himself, and what is that stench?
The lowbrows eyed him curiously and with suspiciousness for he was a primordial man who stood out among the ordinary. His hairless face, one of those feathers from one of those flying Chihuahuas he killed and ate earlier adorning his noodle in place of the missing eagle’s feather. His weird plant clothes, sandals that had spikes on the bottom, his big ears and his shiny metal stick with big club head; they were all very alien sights to these drooling Troglodytes for he was ample in size and therefore good for at least a week’s eating.
Unchallenged his little group threaded its way among the growing crowd of villagers; both he and IllaryHay were being led to the center of this settlement as bongos beat in the background announcing their arrival.
BamaOay’s eyes wavered away from the steady glare of some of the grizzly women and he repressed a cry of horror. A few dozen yards away there rose a hideous, compost pyramid of every form of garbage imaginable. Numbly he recognized the worn path which showed where these savages were turning around to dump a load, all kinds of unsightly loads, an outdoor Port-O-Let...without the Port-O-Let.
These untamed people were carnivores by the look of things; they were eating any animal they could get their hands on, including people! It looked to him as if there could have been years of crap and bones piled up in that one spot; he could not easily understand, even as a barbarian, why these backward peoples had never thought to occasionally cover the disgusting sight: with tree limbs, dirt, something, anything!
He looked over at his partner, she too, reflected disgust upon her features, but the sight of another, then another heap - one shit pile followed by another was too much for his companion. Only a few of the faces looking on as she barfed her brains out, however, reflected any sort of intelligence, any sort of repulsion at what they saw and may have had something to do with the emaciated appearance of a good portion of the eldest villagers. The lackadaisical hunting skills of the tribal hunters, like the three stooges, had seemed to have taken a toll upon the older folk of the village; most wore downcast, dark expressions. Could it be that they too might soon wind up on the menu?
IllaryHay caught a glimpse of a leaping naked girl...then a naked leapfrogging guy between several huts in the village. She would soon discover that intercourse was more than an appetite with these folks; it would turn out to be their main pastime and an integral element of this utopia.
The street broadened as they walked on and the President suspected they were getting into the part of the ecovillage dedicated to important people. The living accommodations were less primitively constructed, some even having stone foundations, but indescribably unimpressive just the same.
A wolfish howling of the locals rose in a sudden torrent of exultation and from a movement in their far ranks an eager surging and crowding BamaOay deduced that someone of importance was indeed arriving. Suddenly, he heard something sounding like rhythmic chanting coming from down the paved path somewhat ahead them, but still hidden by the crowd.
“IllaryHay,” he whispered without shifting his gaze.
“Yes,” she replied, smiling between clenched teeth and looking like some kind of boob at the primitive audience.
“I’ll do the talking,” he whispered squeezing the handle of his driver with his muscled hand.
“Be my guest,” she replied, still struggling to keep the smile etched on her face, “have fun.”
"Shit!" murmured the President, his burley countenance set in wolfish lines as he unconsciously strained his corded muscles when he suddenly saw the lean figure of middle-height woman almost hidden in long colorful plumes set on a harness of leather and sinew. From amidst the plumes peered a highly unattractive woman, the feathers fluttered and rustled evilly, her saggy hooters flapped about as the female shaman leaped and cavorted with the tribespeople.
With fantastic bounds and prancing she came bouncing upon the strangers and whirled around before them silently captivating them. With any other barbaric people this would have seemed ridiculous...a foolish savage meaninglessly whirling about in a smelly gown. But, that face of hers glaring out from the billowing mass of down gave the scene a sort of demonic feel. No broad with a face like that could seem innocent, or like anything except the vicious, cannibal witch she was.
Suddenly, the witch froze to statuesque stillness; the plumes rippled once and sank about her, just as did her hooters, but down to her navel. The howling fell silent. A giant of a man stood semi-erect and motionless behind the dancer and he seemed to increase in height...to grow and expand as he did his best to stand up straight. BamaOay experienced the illusion that the man was beginning to tower above him and staring contemptuously down upon him, though he knew the primitive was not as tall as himself. He shook off the illusion with difficulty.
The half-naked man carrying a wand and headdress of wild flowers approached with an aura of some importance. Grimacing the giant grew in size, the President noticed that to make him look taller the man had begun to gradually tiptoe when he approached. Now at his side stepping in unison with the Chieftain was the ugly damsel all dressed up in feathers.
"Who you?" the giant man demanded of the two foreigners, then looked at the three stooges asking with derision in his voice, “Why, not barbecue?”
Pile Driver took the lead, "He have sign Moonbeam, him B’jackass."
A fiendish howl bounded convulsively into the air and the primitive mob gave tongue to yelling that shuddered up to the heavens. They rushed toward BamaOay with joy, but the giant beat them back with his arms. A snarled command by their chieftain sent most of the women folk scurrying to the huts. They peeked out of doors and windows and everyone could be heard murmuring something akin to, “He the King...B’jackass.”
The tribal leader now responded with a harsh, guttural intonation that carried with it the groan of a grizzly. He thrust his head on his short, thick neck toward the simpleton, Pile Driver; his eyes shone red and bloodshot in the shadowy half-light. “B’jackass?” the large man asked with suspicion in his deep sounding voice. "How know B’jackass?"
She pointed to the head of the driver. “He have mark Moonbeam.”
The village held its breath. The Chieftain stood still as a statue, then demanded, “Take look
Witch, see if true.”
The prancer dancer...her plumes trembling faintly about her approached the President carefully. Looking closely at the club head her eyes began to grow noticeably larger. “Oh, he do! He do have mark!”
A shuddering gasp swept over the village as both men and women crowded hastily back around the guests and celebrating commenced with the villagers uttering primordial mating calls, and generally hollering and howling all over the place.
A’rooooooo...
A’rooooooo...
Everyone was overjoyed and set about whooping it up in all sorts of odd fashions. Everything had suddenly turned into something resembling a street orgy at Mardi Gras. Some of them grabbed a man, or a woman, anything close by and were humping the ‘sunlights’ out of whatever they happened to be like wild beasts. Other men who had not claimed a mate in time had pulled their fur pants down and were whacking off in the midst of the throng. The women, those that were not by now engaged in primordial sex, had bared their fuzzy chests and were flapping their hooters around like they worked at strip clubs.
BamaOay noticed his companions, the three stooges had also gone missing apparently joining the orgy. He took a glance over at IllaryHay to gauge her reaction to the
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