Hunter: Warrior of Doridia (The Saga of Jon Hunter Book 1)

by Ronald Watkins

  She spread her robes and slept beside me.

  ###

  We had not been ready when we set out to cross the mountain pass. I would have wished a few more days preparation but a black, boiling storm brewed in the darkened sky and I knew we must leave and cross the pass quickly before it was closed in for the winter.

  We had done well and camped the first night early at the peak of the pass. The weather continued to boil through the windy night and by morning the storm could not be long in breaking. We had pushed on at daybreak and in a headlong sprint sought to clear the pass and descend to the other side of the mountains. I set a blistering pace and was pleased to see Shelba remained with me with little effort. She was lean and fit, better able than most men to hold her own.

  At midday the snow began and accumulated in our path quickly. Sharp wind bit through our furs and it was our exertions alone which kept us from freezing. We could not stop in the snow for we would surely die.

  “Keep moving! We must drop below this storm soon. Move!” I screamed to the faltering woman beside me. Both of us were fatiguing rapidly.

  We fought the howling wind and prayed for relief from the storm.

  It came at last as darkness descended and as we had reached the utmost limits of our endurance. The falling snow decreased, the wind abated. Behind and above us the storm raged as before.

  We continued on until we could travel no more in the gathering darkness. I sought shelter from the wind under a rock ledge and there we made camp. We lacked firewood but the worst of the storm was above us and with our robes I knew we would survive the night.

  We bundled together, piling the heavy furs about and upon us. I held the lovely woman in my arms and warmed by our pressing bodies, we slept the night.

  We breakfasted on dried meat and sat still bundled warmly in our furs the following morning, surveying the world of white before us. Above, the pass was closed by the snow which continued down the side of the mountain to our location and for a distance thereafter. Thick snow clung to the boulders and brush but fortunately only a foot or so was upon the ground before us and I anticipated no trouble when we resumed our march. The sky was a regal blue, the air clean and rich.

  I scanned the distance in the clear air and saw what we had sought. With continued luck our wilderness journey might soon end.

  We broke our snowy camp and began our mountain descent. The terrain through which we traversed was much as that which had been behind us, mostly forest, thinner up the mountain side but thick with underbrush and vines below. We had been favored thus far considering the dangers ever present in the forest.

  By midday we had climbed below the snow line and the temperature had improved somewhat though, the night would be quite cold. Things were different now, of course, for I knew in what direction we headed.

  It was nearing dark and my mind was on matters other than the present march. I was at the lead, Shelba bringing up the rear. We had more to carry than before the crossing but we would discard some of the excess clothing and furs in the next few days as we descended to warmer terrain and had no further need of them.

  The creature stood erect before us as we rounded a bend in the path I had selected through a series of boulders. It was the largest bear I had ever seen, larger than in any zoo and I thought larger than any on the Earth I had known. It apparently had no fear of man which confirmed what I had already surmised, that men were rare in this part of primitive Doridia. It also meant we were but two hunks of dinner for the creature before us. All he had to do was kill us.

  I shouted for Shelba to drop back while I threw down my pack and brandished my feeble spear to the front. I suppose I appeared brave enough but I had little confidence in my crude weapon against such an enormous adversary. Slaying an animal as this might well prove more difficult than any five Sekers.

  The monster growled ferociously and pretended to charge a time or two, rearing back on his short hind legs, snarling savagely down at us. Shelba took a hurried position to my rear wedged between two boulders.

  A memory of something I had once read tickled the back of my mind but before I could recall it the beast lunged at me in greater earnest. I poked at him, aiming my meager stick for his eyes, seeking to limit his sight if at all possible.

  In that instant, I remembered what had eluded me. Abruptly, I began running to my left and then away from the bear who immediately gave pursuit. I suppose Shelba was startled at my apparent cowardice but I had no time for appearances or explanations. Victory was all that counted.

  I ran for all I could, picking a narrow path through the trees hoping to slow the enormous, lumbering beast as it gained speed in its single minded pursuit. I saw a clearing ahead and ran for it before the creature overcame me.

  I glanced behind me and saw the beast closing quickly as we entered the clearing. I began screaming with all the air remaining in my lungs. This encouraged the animal to press its pursuit even more enthusiastically, an action I was depending on with my life. As the massive bear neared my heels, I searched the ground desperately seeking that which I needed. My wind was nearly gone and I could last but a moment more.

  Just as I feared the beast would overtake me, I spotted what I sought. I reached forward and plunged my spear into a crevice, angling the point back towards my pursuer. With all my final strength I screamed a last time and turned, stumbling to the ground, to look behind me.

  The huge animal ran towards me like a boulder careening down a steep slope. It pursued me in primitive, blind determination, striving with all its power to catch me. Then, unseeing, driven by a final frenzy of effort to overtake me as I fell, the massive bear impaled its soft underbelly on my spear, driving it by the force of its momentum, deeply into its vital organs and body, on through and out its back.

  The animal seethed on the ground in anger and pain, twisting, thrashing about seeking to shake off this searing pain. But the weapon was more than pain causing, it was the bearer of death and shortly, the great hunter of the forest, the pursuer, lay dead.

  I stood and gulped air into my ragged lungs, shaking at times uncontrollably.

  ###

  The cheerful fire lit Shelba’s lovely face in a most pleasing manner. A roast of bear meat was on a spit and soon we would eat our fill. Shelba, much to my pleasure, had removed most of her clothing and stood near me nearly nude. I think she was lovelier than I had ever known her to be. Her usually soft rounded body was now firm and more angular then when we had first entered the forest but this only enhanced her beauty. The most changes were in the set of her mouth and in her eyes which now often sparkled in laughter.

  She was preparing thinner meat strips to be eaten the following day on our trek. Unfortunately, we would not to be able to consume all of the bear’s flesh before it spoiled but we would eat well until then.

  “I read it once in a book,” I continued. “A certain tribe of primitive men, very small like children, use the technique to kill a manlike hairy beast. It is, of course, a great gamble and one cannot always to be certain of success.”

  “No doubt,” she said, “but when one is pursued by such a creature it does seem the best course of action.”

  “I was relieved when it worked.”

  She paused and a look of softness, new to her, appeared in her eyes. “So was I, Jon. So was I.”

  We were making good progress and would soon reach the caravan route I had

  spotted from high on the pass. As we rested and consumed our midday meal of cold meat, I had explained my plan to Shelba.

  “It seems to me it should work,” she replied. “In listening to you I have the impression you have known of this plan for some time and considering your conduct since we entered the forest alone, I see you were preparing me even then for my new role... Master.” With that she laughed and continued laughing until tears ran down her cheeks.

  I saw no humor in my plan. I proposed that we reach the road ahead of us and join the first caravan that came to us. I had gold with
which to pay our passage and would explain that we had become separated from our caravan when Shelba, my slave, had been taken by outlaws. I had recovered her and after wandering for some time we had found a caravan route. Like most successful lies, our story was a variation of the truth.

  The plan called for Shelba to be my slave in all ways. She must play her role well for both our sakes. As my property no one would dare molest her and, of course, no one would possibly suspect her to be to be the Lady Shelba or for that matter recognize a slave girl to be to be a Lady. Unless the caravan had travelers knowledgeable of the Taslean High Caste it was unlikely, though not impossible, that anyone would know her.

  The danger lay in that I might to be slain and Shelba would then remain thereafter in true slavery. No one would believe her story for slaves were notorious liars, given to be exaggerating their supposed illustrious origins. No one would believe her.

  Had I proposed my plan to be her at the beginning she would have refused or if she had agreed, would have played the part unconvincingly. Now, because of her experiences in the wilderness, she could take part in the enterprise freely and enthusiastically and could play the role of slave quite convincingly. I had prepared her for this from the first and also I had thought the Lady Shelba could benefit from some humbling.

  We reached the road and set up a secure location from which we could watch in two directions. Within three days a large caravan came to us, crawling along the dirt road. As we approached it, I saw familiar slave girls marching beside a brightly painted wagon.

  They were the slave dancers of Rashmalan.

  16. WE JOIN A CARAVAN

  The fires burned brightly, the wet wood snapping in the flames, wisps of pale smoke drifting into the air. The camp was still noisy in the early evening hour as I strolled, alone, about the circle.

  My slave, Taran, and I had joined the sizeable caravan in excess of one hundred wagons and well manned with Sekers. These were experienced professionals and saw little need for skulking along the road, fearful of attack. I received the distinct impression that these hardy men would welcome a little action.

  We were bound for Runah, one of the most populous and wealthiest cities of all known Doridia. The caravan had traveled to many cities over the previous trading season but it had originated from Runah and for most the return there would be a homecoming. Wagons of other cities had joined the caravan at Lathanah, the last stop, and would travel on from Runah with another caravan once their trading was completed.

  My slave and I had been readily accepted by one of the wagon groups, the merchant accepting my story with only passing interest. He had paid more attention to my gold and to my slave for whom he offered me ten copper coins in payment.

  Shelba had not been offended when I informed her of the offer, rather she had been annoyed at the low price as she believed herself worth much more.

  “The greedy, nearsighted, ignorant, cheap ... merchant,” she spat. I smiled turning my head as I did.

  ###

  I left Shelba at my place beneath the wagon to which we were assigned as I began my stroll. Thievery on caravans was rare but not unknown and then too, it was her place as a slave to remain with my other property.

  I had made some purchases so we were both presentable, me in a fine new nondescript tunic and her in simple slave garments. Designed to be both functional and revealing they only served to enhance her lush figure. I sighed at the sight of her. This slave served only most of my needs, not all, unfortunately.

  “Hunter!”

  I looked about me to see who had called out. No one should know me here. I spotted Koptos and beside him, stocky Ctesias, not surprisingly carrying a flask which, no doubt, held something other than water.

  After our enthusiastic greetings, I related my full story to them and swore each to secrecy. Having worked for the Great House of Rahdon they were familiar with all the young comely slaves and I feared that given time they would recognize the Lady Shelba. Also, I had not identified my true House to the merchant with whom I traveled, naming instead a lesser one.

  My name here was Ramor and it would not do to have them calling me by my real name. Finally, we three were friends and as such they could reasonably expect to share in the use of my slave girl. That would never do.

  “You swear us to secrecy?” exclaimed Koptos, offended by my action. “If I did not know you to be new to our Great House and to the city of Taslea, I would throttle you here and now. Think us fools because we drink wine and enjoy a pretty slave or two? Tell us when once we have failed in our duty? Can you imagine, swearing us to secrecy!” he exclaimed again, facing Ctesias. “What think you?”

  “I think,” Ctesias replied, “I shall refuse him a drink from my flask – for now at least. Join us Hunter... huh, I mean Ramor, we have a surprise for you. This way.”

  As we walked my two friends explained how they had come to be with this particular caravan. They had journeyed to two cities since our last night together in Taslea. Their wagons were expected to return directly to Taslea after this final stop at Runah before the winter rains and snow arrived ending all caravans for several months. Along the way, Ctesias talked incessantly in his usual merry manner.

  “I am reminded of a noble Seker who met an untimely death. Some months before a close friend of his noted for his constant slave companions and the presence of a flagon or two about him at all times had also died. The first Seker was only mildly surprised to find himself in a place that appeared to be paradise but he was shocked to see his friend who, as always, held a naked slave girl on each arm and a flask in each hand.

  “The new arrival said, ‘I don’t know how you made it but here you are in paradise.’”

  “‘Paradise’ his free living friend exclaimed, ‘Why this is purgatory!’”

  “‘But,’ said the first, ‘as always you have slave girls and wine. What more could you want?’”

  “‘Look closer, dear friend,’ the second replied, ‘the flasks have holes in the bottom and the slave girls do not.’”

  We all laughed heartily but none so heartily as Ctesias, a man who enjoyed a good joke, especially the telling of his own.

  ###

  Pungent smoke lingered in the still forest air, carrying with it the odors of evening meals and the sweet, pleasant aroma of burning wood. The camp possessed an almost festive atmosphere as night descended and unlike the caravan I had accompanied from Taslea, this one had children and several families with Free Women.

  In the light hearted mood of the camp, Ctesias, Koptos and myself slowly circled the wagon ring taking occasional swigs from the flask. In short order we purchased a second and later still a third. This was already turning into quite a reunion.

  Ctesias’s surprise was predictably at the wagon which held the slave dancers of Rashmalan. We gawked a distance from their wagon seeking a glimpse of titillating flesh. I observed that the women all slept inside the great wagon, an unusual situation. Additionally the wagon was guarded by over twenty mercenary Sekers, strangers to Rashmalan and twice the usual number.

  When one owns such desirable and profitable property, one protects it, I thought, but still, native Sekers made more sense.

  Several of the mercenaries loitered in a semi- circle about the inward side of the wagon and steered curious onlookers away. The dancers were totally isolated from the rest of the caravan, an unusual precaution.

  We too were directed past the wagon and the three of us caught only a brief glimpse of semi- nude women inside the wagon and heard enough giggling to tease our appetites. We had already learned that the dancers did not perform when traveling and this as well was unusual behavior for entertainers. Masters were usually eager to earn a few extra coins between cities.

  Reluctantly we left the dancer’s wagon and continued our stroll. Two pretty slaves still in their teens were hauling water near us. They smiled at the three of us and covered their mouths as they whispered intently to each other, giggling, eyes never straying from us.
Ctesias sighed and speculated as to how we might locate their owner a little later.

  A short distance away kneeling men formed a crude circle on the ground ardently gambling, the betting accompanied by shouts, cheers and loud moans. The players took turns tossing seven sticks all of which, I learned, must touch when they came to rest on the ground. The thrower had but two attempts to do it properly before passing the sticks to his right. If he won and continued tossing the sticks properly he could retain them indefinitely.

  The game was scored according to the stick’s position. Controversial throws were resolved by a consensus of the spectators. Failing that, they were thrown again.

  There was much betting and shouting as we arrived. Excitement grew as the game progressed and soon I too was caught in the fever even though I took no part in the betting. The heavy betters were merchants, tossing gold coins about as casually as most would copper ones. An occasional side bet involved the temporary use of some slave girl, the winner trotting off to a nearby wagon or bush with his spoils to take his winnings. The men would return shortly, unwilling to miss much of the game. The slave girls would return later, flushed and excited often to be bet again and again. From the looks of some expectant faces, several hoped their owner would lose, especially if the opponent was particularity handsome or a dashing Seker.

  I wandered a short distance from the throng to be by myself and marveled at how alive I felt. It was as though I had never lived before these last few months. Each day was a challenge, an adventure. For the first time in my life I was free to be myself. I needed not follow artificial rules of conduct that were imposed upon me by a repressed society that refused to allow me to acknowledge my manhood. I opened no doors for women or sat through hours of their endless, inane conversation. I listened to no feminist lectures. I was a man and did precisely what I wished.

  Doridians, I had found, were rarely difficult to understand, their emotions and personalities rarely concealed behind a flat exterior. They were as capable of deception and guile as any people but in friendships and casual personal relationships, candor and openness were the rule.