The Mountains Of Brega rb-17

by Джеффри Лорд

  All eight carried a short sword and dagger in their belts, and seven carried bows and quivers slung over their backs. The eighth-the apparent leader-carried a spear with a tuft of gold feathers tied around it. All eight also carried bulging brown leather sacks slung over their backs.

  If Blade had doubted that this was a hunting party, he had no doubts now. But he still wasn't sure what they were hunting, and he still didn't want it to be him. It was also a little unusual for a hunting party to be made up entirely of women.

  Unless this was a dimension or at least a people where women ruled. That was a distinct possibility, and not a particularly welcome one. Female-dominated societies were not necessarily more dangerous or hostile than male-dominated ones, but they were hardly ever less so, either. As far as war and cutthroat politics were concerned, Blade knew women were completely equal!

  The eight women passed below Blade and out into the clearing visible on his left. Now he had to raise his head slightly and shift position in order to see them clearly. He did both reluctantly, not at all inclined to accidentally surprise the women and wind up punctured by their arrows before he could explain himself.

  The women were slinging the brown leather sacks off their backs now, opening them, and shaking out the contents onto the ground. There were weighted cords, things that looked like rolled-up nets, small axes that winked in the sunlight, and several large jars. The leader began pulling the stoppers out of the jars, and a powerful odor of something rich and sweet filled the clearing. Even up on his branch, Blade found it almost unpleasantly strong.

  It did not appear to bother the women at all. Now they took off their moccasins and began moving barefooted about the clearing. It was obvious that they were trying not to disturb even the smallest leaf. Carefully they picked up the jars and set them in a wide circle that covered most of the clearing. Then, one by one, they slipped behind the trees around the clearing. Blade's trained eyes saw faint flickers of movement in the shade and the greenery as they settled down to wait. The trap was laid and baited. Now there was nothing for either Blade or the women to do but wait for the quarry to appear. Blade shifted position slightly, away from a branch that was digging into his ribs.

  Time passed. The light from above no longer gilded the needles so brightly or came down at quite the same angle. The day was moving on. Sweat ran down Blade's body and attracted small insects. All whined maddeningly, and some of them bit or stung. High above, the chrrrreeek of a large bird or tree-dwelling animal sounded through the forest.

  Then the breeze became stronger, making the needles whisper more loudly and the branch sway more. It dried the sweat from Blade's skin and drove the insects away, but it also forced him to hold on harder. And it suggested that the coming night might be chilly-too chilly for the comfort or safety of a naked man. But even so, Blade still did not care to risk unnecessarily the arrows of the huntresses below. He shifted again to ease cramped limbs, listening to the branch creak under him and smelling the odor of whatever was in the bait pots.

  Then once again he caught a flicker of movement off to the right. There was something about the movement suggesting raw, careless, animal strength, rather than the stalking pace of the women. Whoever or whatever was approaching was certainly making no effort to keep quiet. Blade heard a steadily swelling chorus of grunts, growls, and half-verbalized mutterings. He began to hear heavy footsteps and a continuous cracking of twigs and rustle of leaves.

  Then Blade saw the approaching party through a gap in the curtain of needles. There were four of them, and Blade's first startled question to himself was-man or ape? Certainly they had shaggy pelts more like a gorilla's than anything else, large, knob-knuckled hands on unnaturally long arms, and low foreheads with massive ridges of bone over the eyes. But they walked erect, occasionally turning their heads from side to side to sniff the air. They communicated by means of real speech, not just animal growls. And each carried a stout club slung by a leather thong from a leather belt around his waist. These men were Neanderthal level or perhaps even more primitive, definitely far below whatever level the women represented. But they were certainly men.

  It also began to look as if they were the intended prey of the huntresses. Blade tensed in anticipation of a sudden explosion of violence in the peaceful clearing below. His eyes drifted from the wild men to the trees that concealed the women lying in ambush. They had covered their tracks well, but perhaps the men would scent them-or him. That was an unpleasant thought. The wild men looked even less likely to give him a peaceful reception than the women did.

  Blade suddenly realized what the purpose of the sweetness in the pots was. Not only was it bait; its strong odor would overwhelm any lingering traces of the scent of the women, and make the wild men careless.

  It was doing just that right now. The four men were scurrying across the clearing with cries of delight, like children let out of school. Each of them headed straight to one of the pots and squatted down beside it. With more cheerful cries and hoots, they thrust their massive hands inside and began scooping out the contents. It was a thick, sticky paste, semitranslucent like crystallized honey, with white crystals of sugar in it.

  The wild men ate greedily, cramming the paste into their mouths in enormous dripping handfuls, then gulping it down with frantic workings of mouth and throat. Blade had the impression that the paste was a rare treat for them. So rare, in fact, that the desire to cram down as much of it as they could wiped out all thoughts of possible danger. Blade shook his head in half-amused frustration. He was tempted to warn the wild men, but would the warning penetrate their hunger-fogged minds even if he gave it? And what would the women do then, the women lying in wait behind the trees?

  Moments later, the women were no longer lying in wait. Like eight graceful cats, they leaped out from their hiding places. Each had her short sword drawn, but carried it in her left hand. In her right hand each swung one of the weighted cords.

  Still absorbed in their feast, the wild men were fatally slow to react. Before more than one of them could raise his hand or turn around, the weighted cords soared through the air. The weights whipped the cords around arms and legs, pulling the men to a stop as they tried to rise and flee. Then they turned with savage howls, snatched their clubs from their belts, and charged their attackers.

  But the women had their swords ready as the wild men came at them. The swords stabbed and flickered in the air in darting flashes of light. One of the wild men howled and dropped his club, clutching at his stomach, where red blood was suddenly flowing over the filth-matted hair. In an instant the woman who had struck him closed with him, jerking the cord so that he toppled to the ground. As he went down, she shifted her grip on the sword and struck with the flat of the blade at his temple. There was a solid smack, and the heavy-muscled arms and legs relaxed.

  The other three men had managed to avoid the women's initial rush. Now they had formed a rough triangle, back to back, waving their clubs and growling and cursing savagely at the women circling around them. The bare-breasted woman threw her head back and laughed harshly. The leader motioned her to silence with a sharp gesture of her spear.

  Suddenly one of the wild men broke and ran. Blade noticed that he had a massive triangular blue scar on his stomach. The cord around his treelike thigh went tight as a bar with an audible twang. One of the women darted at him, but his club thrashed out at her, striking her sword aside with a clang. She jumped back as suddenly as she had moved in, rubbing a hand numbed by the shock. The wild man jerked again on the cord, making the woman holding it stagger and nearly lose her balance. The man's eyes widened as he saw that. Waving his club high over his head, he threw it straight at the woman. It struck her on the side of the jaw, and Blade heard the crunch of breaking bone. The woman gave a muffled scream of pain and let go the cord.

  Instantly the wild man leaped high into the air, six feet off the ground. He sailed over the heads of the circle of women with a scream of triumph. Two waved swords frantically
upward, one grabbed desperately for her bow, the leader came rushing over with her spear held ready. But before any of them could close, the scarred wild man was vanishing into the forest. Branches and twigs crackled behind him in a rapidly diminishing uproar. Blade could not help hoping the fugitive would get away.

  With one comrade down and the other fled, the remaining two wild men seemed to have no will left to resist. With pathetically childlike whimpers, they threw their clubs down and slumped to the ground, their heads hanging low. The seven women still uninjured closed in and slashed the men's belts. They did not seem to care much whether they nicked the flesh underneath or not. Blade saw one of the men wince, and a bloody furrow appeared on his hairy skin just above his groin.

  The leader of the women now barked a single sharp command. The bare-breasted woman ran back into the trees and vanished for a moment. When she came out, she was carrying an armful of metal stakes, short lengths of rope, and two of the small axes. With quick blows of the axes the women drove eight of the stakes into the ground. Then they spread-eagled the two men on their backs, tied by wrists and ankles to the stakes. Two of the women went to aid the one struck by the club, who was now sitting up, moaning and holding her shattered and bloody jaw. There was an unmistakable tension, an air of something about to happen, in the clearing. Blade could almost smell it.

  Now the leader stepped forward, moving with a sensuous, catlike grace. She stood nearly six feet tall. She stood over one of the spread-eagled men, raised her spear, then prodded him in the genitals with the butt. He arched his body and wriggled from side to side as much as the tight bindings at wrists and ankles would let him.

  The leader let her spear fall, and drew off her gloves. Her hands went to the belt of her trousers, and undid the heavy brass buckle. Slowly she began to writhe her hips back and forth in a swaying motion, like a snake trying to charm a bird. Blade watched her face. He saw that she was trying to work herself up into a state of arousal-and before too long, it was obvious that she was succeeding. Occasionally she would clasp one or both hands over her breasts.

  Suddenly she jerked off her tunic and stood bare to the waist above the wild man. Another jerk, and her trousers slid down her gracefully rounded thighs. Her stomach was as flat as a board, with only the faintest creases arrowing down toward the thick mass of curly hair between her thighs. The trousers slid all the way down to the ground, and she stepped out of them and kicked them carelessly off to one side. Blade shifted his gaze from her naked body to her face. Her eyes were wide and almost glazed, her mouth open, and her breathing so hard and fast that Blade could hear it clearly.

  Blade was uncomfortably aware that the sight was arousing him. And it was doing the same to the men on the ground. Both now jutted up like miniature flagpoles and were writhing back and forth, gnashing their teeth and clawing at the earth with their fingers.

  Suddenly the woman stepped forward until she was straddling the spread-eagled form of the first man. Then in a single, swift motion she plunged down onto him. She gave a great gasp as his rigid maleness vanished deep inside her. Then she began to rock back and forth, faster and faster, the gasps turning into moans and the moans into whimpers of delight. Her head went back until her hair came undone and flowed down her back. Blade could see her swollen, engorged nipples dark against the tanned flesh of her breasts.

  Then a great shudder went through her, a second, a third. In the same moment the man on the ground cried out harshly in pleasure. The woman stayed where she was for another moment. Then slowly, staggering on legs that seemed barely able to support her, she stepped away from him. After only a few steps her legs gave up, and she sank down onto the needle-covered ground. Her head was down, and Blade could see her breasts heaving from her rapid breathing.

  Now the bare-breasted woman was taking off her trousers, throwing her tunic aside, and walking over to the other man. She did not bother with the slow dance to arouse herself or the man. Apparently the sight of the first coupling had done all that she needed.

  One by one, the seven uninjured women used the spread-eagled men, alternating between them. The eighth woman, the one with the broken jaw, was obviously feeling too sick to join in the proceedings, but Blade noticed that her trousers were unbuckled, and both her hands were down inside the waistband, moving vigorously. If this was a female-dominated society, sex with a man might well be a luxury item, like fine brandy or sports cars in Home Dimension. Blade grinned at the comparison. But whatever their sex life might be, these women looked tough and competent. They would be formidable opponents, offering few chances for mistakes.

  Eventually both the capacities of the men and the lusts of the women were exhausted. Two of the women took axes and went off into the woods. A few minutes later they came back with stout poles, made from cut down and trimmed saplings. The exhausted men were unbound, then swiftly slung from the poles and their wrists and ankles tied again. Blade saw the men wince as the tightly bound cords cut into their flesh. After a few hours of this, they would be beyond either walking or defending themselves. If he wanted to rescue them, it would be a one-man show.

  But did he want to rescue them? That they had been obscenely abused by the huntresses didn't change the fact that the wild men were hardly above the level of apes. If there was any civilization in this dimension-and Blade was beginning to wonder about that-it probably belonged to the huntresses. But they might be hard to approach. Certainly they would not welcome the release of their captives.

  But, damn it, he was not going to simply sit here while the women carted those poor bastards off into the woods! At the very least, he was going to trail them until they made camp for the night. Then he could see what to do about the wild men, and only after that try to approach the women.

  Blade looked up. The light coming through the gaps in the forest cover overhead was getting unmistakably dimmer and showing a reddish tinge. The day was moving on toward evening, and the women would be making camp soon. And they would not be marching very far before they made camp either, not carrying the wild men. They must weigh well over two hundred pounds apiece.

  Blade settled down to wait as comfortably as he could. The insects were gone, but with the fading daylight it was getting chilly under the trees. The needles seemed to prick more than before, and the resins of the tree stuck to his bare skin like glue.

  He did not have to wait very long, however. After binding the two men to the carrying poles, the women retrieved their clothing and gear. Then the leader pointed at four of her band. They paired off and each pair hoisted one of the carrying poles on their shoulders. Blade heard the wild men gasp at the strain put on their wrists and ankles. Then the leader took her position at the head of the line and brandished her spear aloft. Slowly the huntresses marched off into the now fast-darkening forest.

  Blade continued to cling to the branch for a good ten minutes more, until all sound of the marching women had faded away in the forest. Then he dropped lightly down to the ground, picked out their trail in the leaves and needles, and set off after them.

  Chapter 4

  Blade could easily have trailed the women, even if they had been moving fast or trying to conceal their tracks. His survival training had been the best that England could offer-and his survival experience was even better, the result of sixteen trips into Dimension X.

  But, as he had expected, the women moved slowly, encumbered by their prisoners and their wounded comrade. And they left a trail as visible as an elephant's. Apparently it had never occurred to the lithe huntresses that anything in the forest could turn the tables on them, make them the hunted. Probably they were right, in spite of that surprising display of craft and speed by the scarred wild man who had escaped. But Blade was not one of the wild men. The women were in for a considerable surprise when he slipped into their camp.

  The women did not make camp until it was deep twilight, with the sky turning purple overhead and the stars already coming out. Apparently they had some sort of lamps-Blade coul
d see yellow firefly glows through the trees as he lay under a bush, watching and waiting. Then the ruddy light of a large campfire spread through the trees. Blade heard cheerful voices, the clatter of weapons and cooking gear, and occasional dull chopping noises. It sounded as though they were cutting wood to keep the fire going through the night.

  Gradually the noises died away, except for the crackling of the fire and a faint sizzling sound that Blade could not identify. Probably the women had settled down to their evening meal. Blade decided to slip in closer and spy out the camp. He wanted to release the prisoners, not just blunder about in the darkness, tripping over roots and the sleeping bodies of the women.

  As silent as a ghost, he slipped from one tree to another, and yet another. Each time he was a little closer to the fire's glow. Each time he stopped and waited, almost holding his breath, listening for any reaction from the camp to suggest that he might have been heard. But there was only the wind in the treetops high above, the crackle of the fire, and that sizzling. He continued his slow, stalking approach. In a few more minutes, he found a tree that gave him a clear view of the camp.

  He saw then that he didn't need to worry any more about helping the wild men. They were beyond help. Parts of their bodies lay in a mangled and bloody heap under a bush. Other parts, stuck on long wooden poles, were turning slowly over the campfire. As the fat dripped off into the flames, it made the sizzling noise Blade had heard.

  Blade recognized arms, legs, and various internal organs on the spits. Then he saw one of the women reach into the coals on the edge of the fire with a long stick and rake out a steaming, blackened head. A sharp blow with one of the axes; and the skull was opened. The woman motioned the leader over, and the leader squatted down and began rummaging around in the skull with her knife. Apparently the brains of the kill were the leader's right.