The flood of emotion abruptly diminished and my mouth spewed some other repulsive sound: a cry of relief. The rhythm of Dur’s assault had increased, but the girl’s unmarred left hand had dropped from her neck to hang limply on the table. Her body wobbled, resisting less and less.
My emotions returned, along with a surge of Hate so potent I felt electrified. My fingers sparked as I reached out to grab and squeeze her throat, to finish what the collar had initiated, but they passed uselessly through her.
“Control your Shame!” I screamed at her. It was a foolish gesture; her eyelids drooped as her head slumped against the collar. She was fading away, her face blotched with purple. Strangulation had sculpted her a colorful mask, but I did not recognize her.
Her golden hair was peculiar, a few strands of it shining in the firelight. Yet it seemed impossible—golden hair should not exist, and it was only long enough to reach her elbow. “Should it not be attached at the heel?” Her pale skin, equally unsettling—should it not be transparent? “Should there not be hooks upon her arms?” From the depths of my mind came a word to describe her: Human. As I thought upon the unfamiliar word, but knowledge flooded my mind. I was inundated with information, and for several moments I was paralyzed as I processed the information.
She was human, a slave to the Goor masters. Strong control the weak, as it should be. She certainly was weak, to have been so overwhelmed by Shame.
“Perhaps all humans are weak. The Nail’s creatures would destroy them.”
Where is The Nail, Maal? Where are its furious creatures? asked Tawny.
Her words created a sudden anxiety, demanding I confirm the horrific monument was not nearby. I pushed to the right and floated left to see beyond Dur and the girl, desperate to verify my safety.
A pair of towering, stone cliffs flanked my view. They seemed to lean toward each other, creating an oppressive sensation of being squeezed. They pinched together at the end of the long hall—two uneven sides of a giant wedge. Striations of rock slanted upward from the pinch at a steep angle, which left a disturbing impression that the floor sloped toward it. The natural rock bore lumps and depressions which created a collage of strange shadows. Large iron nails—hammered through their stony skin—clung to remnants of tapestries, banners, hunks of fur, a broken antler, and a portion of a massive, curved horn from some huge beast. Dark stains contaminated the lower walls, hinting at the violence which had created them. Huge, open fireplaces roared in crude alcoves, three to a side, belching dirty smoke which crawled up the walls to vanish into the darkness above.
The room wheezed, pulling smoke to and fro as the strangled wind forced its way into the room at irregular intervals. The Goor paid no attention to the ruffling of their fur by the wind, nor the sad wail which at times grew loud and insistent, like a mother crying at the loss of a child. Yet there were no children amongst the crowd—only males. Scores of them clustered in small groups, either squatting near the walls, eating at the dozen large tables, or hanging casually by an arm from thick wooden timbers overhead. I watched a pair cross the room by those timbers, effortlessly swinging with long hands and arms. Those that moved about on the ground used the knuckles of their hands and their flat feet to walk.
The beasts were noisy in their activity: arm-wrestling, throwing food, eating sloppily. One group engaged in a game where tiny bones were tossed into a ring, followed with whooping by the winner. A Goor with five skulls was raping another with only two, the victim screeching in protest. Their raucous sounds echoed off the walls, a language of loud grunts.
Such repulsive creatures: uncivilized and disorderly. They should be quiet and still, awaiting orders. Yet if one of these creatures did lead, I could not discern it.
“Who is your master?” I asked, but there was no response from the table. After repeated shouts and gestures, it became clear they could neither hear nor see me. While perplexing and frustrating, I could not immediately hate my condition.
After all, you can not be stabbed or disemboweled, said Cerulean. I shuddered as a brief image of a creature from The Nail made me wince.
“Jil! No, not again!” a tall woman yelled from nearby. “Leave her alone!” she yelled as she dropped her plates. She rushed toward me, the collar around her neck dragging a chain which scraped shrilly along an iron bar overhead. Two Goor from a nearby table intercepted her, one with a punch to her gut. Dur did not bother to look.
Down she went, with an “Oof.” From her knees, she glared.
“eXia task: no stop Dur task,” the beast growled at her, raising an arm.
She took the hard slap across the cheek, wavy, black hair spilling over her face. He raised his hand to slap her again, but she caught it. Staring into his eyes, she rose. At her full height, she flung his arm away.
I could not have been more stunned by her glamour.
She was a giant, a goddess among these white-furred animals. With her back straight and chin up, she towered over them, unabashed in her nudity. The tops of their fuzzy heads could only tickle the bottom curves of her enormous breasts. Two spread hands and a mouth would not cover one of those fleshy, round globes, but I would have eagerly volunteered to try.
She pressed a hand to cover the recent strike to her abdomen, a flat expanse of light, slate-colored skin from which my gaze could only slide down to the outward curve of her hips. Her thighs were thick and strong, and between them a patch of black hair beckoned. Only the dark blots of bruises marred her sumptuous body, agonizing in its perfection.
“Was that her name then?” I had to attempt it. “Ex-ee-yah,” I said. It slid out of my mouth effortlessly. “Ex-ee-yah.”
Take her, Maal, said Magenta. Take her and claim her as yours.
Oh, how I desired to. It was not enough that her figure was voluptuous; her face was immaculate: a perfection of symmetry and contrast. Arching eyebrows pressed together in delicious anger above bright, sapphire eyes that should be forced to gaze upon only me. The striking angle of her jaw deserved to be grasped, before planting a rough kiss upon her sumptuous lips. Her face was flush with defiance and condescension, an addition that my nature found alluring.
“The stone endures,” she spat. She sneered at them.
I wanted her painfully.
Dur began yelling, "Oo-oo-oo!” and his friends raised their fists and shouted. It was followed quickly a loud "Ooooo,” his lips exaggerating the shape of an ‘o’ as he shook in the convulsions of orgasm. He pulled his short stump out of the girl and spewed his pallid semen on top of her ass.
“I’m going to crush every one of you into dust,” eXia said, watching Dur. Her eyes smoldered down upon him. “Even the stone will forget the Goor existed.” Her Hateful words excited me.
Dur ignored her and brushed fur to cover his cock. He joined the others at the table, showing teeth. One of them clapped him on the back with a matching grin, then resumed his meal.
I wanted to take the spoon in Dur’s hand and jab it into his eye. I could not say why, but I Hated him. Perhaps because eXia Hated him. Perhaps because of the Shame he had inflicted upon me through the girl. eXia had called her Jil.
“Jil,” I said. Her name was strange, as if somehow unreasonable. “Jil,” I said again, confused at the trepidation that accompanied the sound.
Her body slid off the table, but the collar guided her neck ungently to the ground, like the backward swing of a pendulum. I was suddenly yanked in her direction. She came to rest in a heap on the wooden floor, face down. When she stopped moving, I stopped moving, as well.
“Am I attached to her by an unseen rope?” It was preposterous, but I was ethereal as well. I waved my arms in front of me to ensure there was not such a leash.
The Goor barricading eXia moved away, and she hurried over, dragging her chain. She knelt by Jil, who seemed tiny adjacent to eXia’s giant figure.
“Jil,” she said simply, lifting the girl's head gently off the ground, to stop the collar from choking her. “Jil,” she said again, turni
ng Jil’s head up and slightly patting the side of her face.
Frowning with worry, eXia inserted two fingers into her own mouth, and a shiver of delight passed through me. She gathered her long, black hair in one hand behind her head. With the other, she wiped wet fingers across her cheek and leaned forward, holding her moist skin just above Jil’s mouth. Her enormous breasts pooled about her thighs as she closed her eyes and appeared to be listening.
Oh, my, said Magenta.
Lust surged within me. I reached forward to touch her before I knew what I was doing, but my hand passed through her just as it had everything else.
eXia sat up, and released a sigh. “Jil,” she said softly, pulling Jil closer to cradle her head in her lap, reducing the tension on the chain locked to her collar. “I’m glad you live, but I wonder if you feel the same.”
I could not feel any emotion from this huge woman at the moment. “Are you human as well?” I asked, but she did not react to my voice. Sudden information I could not explain: they were Stonewalkers. No supporting knowledge explained what the word meant, only the abrupt label.
eXia twisted at the waist to look behind, and raised a hand, leaving her breasts high and exposed. I tried to caress them, but the lack of sensation reduced it to agonizing apathy. I growled as I abandoned my molestation, and instead focused on the considerable effort of turning around—not yet a simple process for me.
Six other nude women strode about the eating area. Like eXia, they dwarfed the Goor. They were well-muscled and earthy, and black hair spilled down their backs. They were each stunning and voluptuous, yet none of them could match eXia’s beauty, nor her expansive chest. Still, I would have them all if I could.
What a trove of pleasure that would be, said Magenta, rolling her r’s.
As if any of them would have you, said Carmine. I scoffed at her.
Though their bearing was proud, they appeared to be servants. They collected empty bowls and mugs, delivered hot stew and drink, and wiped up messes. The Goor gave them no quarter; they flung food at them, spilled mugs onto the floor in front of them, or slapped them across the ass and legs—the rest were deflected. One made a grab for the crotch at the encouragement of his neighbors, but he was too slow, and his furry arm was nearly cracked in half by the Stonewalker’s retaliation. The women remained silent to the Goor assaults, but complained about their iron collars and chains.
What a strange sight they made, moving about the central walkway like marionettes to an eight-legged puppeteer. The walkway stretched the full length of the eating area, flanked by sturdy posts, beyond which were the tables. The space was strangely absent of Goor, allowing the tall women to twist and turn past each other as needed, sometimes breast-to-breast, which I thoroughly enjoyed. It was no quick sidestep; the chains had to be maneuvered out of the way before breasts could be smushed together. Such delightful friction.
Just the opposite for the chains’ drag upon the overhead bars. Every pull sprinkled the floor with rusty flakes as the chains scraped the overhead rods clean of their decaying skins. There were eight, parallel rods above the walkway, each with a hand-sized ring affixed to a chain, and those to the collar of a Stonewalker. The design allowed the rings to slide from end to end without constricting the progress of any other chain, yet the chains impeded every movement. The rusty, metal leashes would obstruct clean-up, catch on nicks on the overhead bars, or drape straight down to hinder passage among the walkway. The way the Stonewalkers angrily shook and tossed their chains out of the way belied their Hatred of them. Even when not interfering, the chains harassed with noisy clinks as they wiped tables, or halting screeches as they walked.
Can you remove your gaze from their wiggling butts? asked Tawny.
Why would he want to? asked Magenta.
Only with reluctance. Above the bars, huge timbers spanned the distance between the two cliff walls, ends shoved deep inside holes that had been hewn from the rock. Wood planks covered two empty squares of the huge lattice to fashion a pair of lofts, with steep ladders for access. The loft closest to me held nothing more than straw bedding and a pile of furs. The other, farther away, was piled high with wood barrels, small crates and burlap sacks.
A Stonewalker was stepping backward down the ladder from the far loft, carrying a huge sack. She noticed eXia’s raised hand and hurried over, her collar dragging its chain with a high-pitched screech. The sack did not slow her down.
“First Stone?” she asked, addressing eXia. Her face darkened when she noticed Jil. “They raped her again?”
“Yes,” eXia said angrily, glancing at Dur. “A wet washcloth, and a blanket, oXellona.”
“Ox-el-lo-nah,” I said. It did not slide out of the mouth as eXia’s name did. She was unattractive: her eyes were small, hiding dull, gray eyes; her nose was pudgy with large nostrils; her mouth twisted down at one end. Black hair had been poorly hacked, leaving lopsided patches. She was too masculine for me: shoulders too wide, thighs too thick, waist too full. It was all muscle, to be sure, except her breasts. They were huge round mounds of delicious flesh, but not enormous, like eXia’s.
“At once, eXiaxana,” replied oXellona.
eXiaxana. Her full name? It settled upon her like a tight-fitting robe. eXia was simply not enough to describe her. “Ex-ee-ahk-zahn-ah,” I tried. Oh, yes.
oXellona hurried away. I enjoyed watching her breasts jounce as she stumbled over a jut of wood. The stone floor was covered by thick planks, recently cut by their bright coloration, and hastily installed. The long, iron nails used to connect them had not been properly sunk into misshapen and warped wood, which created a dangerous surface to traverse. Divots and gouges collected liquids that did not slink between the planks, leaving dark stains where it had dried. Spilled drink, perhaps.
Or blood, Maal, said Viridian. It must be blood.
It was only then I noticed the misuse the place had endured. Several of the posts supporting the overhead timbers had savage cuts, and one was split nearly in half. The table tops had suffered numerous nicks, snapped-off corners, and canted legs. One of the twelve tables was nothing more than broken, shattered wood, piled haphazardly in the far corner. The benches were in similar states of disrepair.
This decrepit and worn environment was not pleasing. The Goor should be put to work to resolve the damage and replace whatever could not be repaired. Perhaps all that was needed to improve the place was a whip and commanding voice.
If only you had either, said Carmine. She earned a disgusting noise, nothing more.
Despite the deterioration, the dim light from the fireplaces created shadows aplenty, which I preferred to the blinding I received from a quick glance upon a fire. Details and movement were still available to my vision, and even the darkest areas could be penetrated if I merely gazed upon them for a moment.
“Dust and metal!” oXellona cursed, as she rose from a knee, then hustled to the far end of the room. A short, wooden wall closed off the triangular space where the cliffs pinched together, with a sign above that read “Jedd’s Bar,” splattered with feces. Two thin columns of smoke curled upward from behind the wall, and additional firelight glinted. Banging pots and terse shouts from that direction hinted at a kitchen, but none of it could be seen.
oXellona’s chain allowed her no further than the bar that stood before the wooden wall. She dropped the sack on the surface of the tall bar, gathering a man’s attention for a brief moment before a Goor threw a spoon at him.
“Jedd task: get drink!” another Goor shouted, flinging his mug. The man winced as he took a cup in the shoulder, then hurried to retrieve it. He filled it from one of four massive barrels laying on supports before the wall, their tops facing out and punctured by spigots. He appeared to be human, though I could not be certain; his bald head barely topped the height of oXellona’s breasts. His eyes darted nervously at the rude creatures around him, and he ducked once for no reason. He wore an off-white tunic with the sleeves rolled up, and a brown apron splattered with sta
ins. All told, he struck me as a dull, unimportant man. Why was he not also chained?
Perhaps the Goor have no interest in raping him, said Magenta. I found the idea repulsive; I had no sexual attraction toward him. Nor any of the Goor. Additional knowledge presented only two genders for humans and Goor, and this did not strike me as strange. What about the Stonewalkers?
Strong females who would have no interest in you, said Carmine.
“Quiet!” I barked at her. “You have no knowledge of their mating habits.”
Indeed we do not, replied Cerulean.
But we know how strong women find weak mates undesirable, said Carmine. I growled at her.
“Jil,” eXia said, pulling my attention close. She surveyed the nearby Goor, then looked down again before gently patting Jil’s face. “Come, you must arise or they shall kick you.” Her voice was throaty, almost a moan, and I suddenly wanted to hear her say my name with great earnest.
“Hak task: work uXulu,” said a Goor at Dur’s table. He talked like the other Goor, his syllables stunted or oddly extended, turning his words into staccato grunts. The “s” sounds were extended, and the “k” sounds were forced, causing “task” to sound like “tasss-kuh,” and “uXulu” to sound like “uhk-zoo-loo.” Was that their name for the Stonewalkers?
He got up from the bench, four skulls clacking from his shoulder strap. A deep scar cleaved his lips, and a chunk of fur was missing from a shoulder, revealing a flat, pus-filled patch. “eXia task: work!” He swung on his knuckles over to eXia. “Girl task: work!”
“Allow her a chance to recover from your friend’s filth, Hak,” she said. Her height allowed her to glare at him eye-to-eye, even though she remained kneeling.
Hak arched his back and pounded his chest, letting out a pair of animal shrieks. When he settled down he said: “eXia take task: work! Or Hak take task: kick!”
Maal The First Skull- Shadows of the Mind Page 3