Episode Two of the Lost World - 'Elinorr – Princess Warrior Kitten'

The barbarian town of Katar in the Lost World

The town was slowly burning. Thatched roofs, reinforced by slates crackled under early morning sun as grim American mercenaries hosed them down with portable flame throwers. The small town of Katar had marshalled its soldiers against Harry Stone and had paid the price. The streets were littered with the broken bodies of sun bronzed warriors, who only minutes ago had stood firm, shoulder to shoulder, in the style of a Greek spear phalanx. Their bravery had been met with fully automatic pod-gun fire and high explosives. The few surviving warriors were lying wounded, barely comprehending what these gunshot wounds were, as Carl gave the signal for the mercenary Bloodhawks to fan out, outflank and seize any last pockets of resistance. Harry Stone himself shouldered his AP-77 pod gun and raised the brim of his flak helmet as he surveyed the burning street. An H&K rocket gun had torn apart the main gates to the town hall, and even now the screams of frightened women could be heard as a couple of Harry’s German mercenaries pushed them out onto the marbled steps.

“You know what I like most about this place, Carl?”

“What’s that, Harry?” Carl didn’t take his eye off the battle scene. Harry might relax after a fire fight, but Carl never let his guard down.

“No fucking superheroes. Not one. No She-Cat, or Bat Fuck, or Tit Girl, or the Phantom Phantom, or the League of English Perverts. Just us…” he grinned, “and them…” the survivors of Katar stood trembling, unable to comprehend the scale and speed of their defeat. “And they don’t have any guns. Which is just the way I like it.” The soft smell of food being cooked wafted into his nose. “Ah… food… I love the smell of bacon in the morning. It smells like… breakfast…”

Olaf dragged a wretched looking man towards Harry and deposited him at his feet. The man was a warrior, probably an important one by the quality of his leather and steel armour, but any sense of bravery had long since disappeared.

“Who’s this then?” asked Harry as he kicked the man onto his knees.

“The chief, Harry. The mayor, or King, or whatever they have around here. He’s called Utar the Terrible.”

“Yeah? He doesn’t look very terrible to me. Looks like he’s about to wet his trousers actually. Aren’t you, Utar?”

Utar shook his head, unable to understand English, and wailed something pathetic.

“What’s that? What’s he saying?” Harry turned to his native interpreter.

“He wants to know whether you are Gods with your bright fire sticks,” said the short man with the long braided hair. Microsurf had implanted a chip inside his head that allowed him to understand English.

“Right. Well you tell him that we’re not Gods – we’re Americans – the next best thing.”

The banks of the river Raan

The hot midday sun was beating down through the stifling leaves and branches that made up the canopy of the lush jungle as the long caravan wound its way through well trampled forest paths. It was a victorious procession of savage military might. War had come again to the central lands of the Lost World, and the spectre of death roamed the land burning and killing with fire and cold steel. The Orkhan, the supreme warlord of the Spartan city of Volopolis was winning campaign after campaign against his neighbours. Two days ago his forces had met and crushed the once proud armies of Raajin in a pitched battle along the banks of the river Raan. Now, after much feasting, looting and the obligatory rape of Raajin's women, the Orkhan was marching his conquering legions back home. At the head of his army rode his elite Piquisti legions, each man lightly armoured and mounted on a big war horse. Each of the Piquisti wore a striped tattoo across his face, proclaiming his status and devotion to their warlord. The Orkhan’s lightly armoured skirmishers – the Crow Walkers – were somewhere ahead in the advance of the main force. The main bulk of the mercenary infantry followed closely behind the Piquisti, shouldering their pikes and their enormous circular shields, patterned after the shields carried by Greek hoplites over two thousand years ago. Then came the captives - over nine hundred prisoners taken alive after the battle. They were a grim and dejected force, mostly stripped naked, their bronzed bodies sweating under the intense heat of the noon day sun as they carried the army’s provisions and loot. A number of their women followed close behind, tied together in a group. Behind the convoy of prisoners walked the rest of the Orkhan's infantry - mostly archers and lightly armed skirmishers. Behind them came the pack animals, the wagons and the hundreds of camp followers - cooks, baggage handlers, hunters, armourers, smiths, prostitutes, and their extended families. It was an enormous caravan moving at a very slow pace through deeply forested terrain.

Elenor Haines stumbled wearily along the dusty trail, her bare feet sore and swollen from a day and a half of walking. Her shoulders were burning bright red with sunburn despite her previously healthy tan. Elenor's hair was loose and hung about her face, damp and sticky with sweat. Like the other prisoners she had been forced to carry a heavy sack of flour which she supported against her shoulder. A length of rope had been tied to her right ankle. The ends were tied in turn to the ankles of the man in front of her and the man behind her. The man behind her was Alex.

"I wish you wouldn't look at me like that," said Elenor as she toiled on the upwards slope of the trail. The jungle path was rising to a high elevation. The caravan had been walking uphill now for nearly half an hour and the effort was beginning to tire her out.

"Like what?" replied Alex. Like Elenor he too was exhausted and badly sunburnt. His suntan lotion had long since worn off and his skin was blistering and peeling across his back and shoulders.

"Like I'm naked."

"But Elenor, you are naked! We're all naked!"

It was true. Like the other prisoners taken by the Orkhan's army, Elenor had been stripped of her clothes.

"I know, and you keep staring at me. This isn't easy for me you know."

"It's a bit difficult to not look at you - you're walking directly in front of me after all. Anyway, it's not as if you don't keep sneaking crafty looks at me every now and then."

"I do not!"

"Oh come on, the first thing you looked at was my cock. You can't keep your eyes off it…"

"Rubbish! Your problem Alex is you live in this little fantasy world of yours where you delude yourself into thinking that intelligent women would be at all interested in the contents of your filthy trousers.”

"You're in your element here aren't you? Surrounded by lots of big men with muscles and hundreds of cocks swinging freely in the morning air. It’s like cock city for you."

"Alex!"

"Just an observation. No need to get shitty with me. No need to have a cow."

The Caravan rested for an hour in the mid-afternoon sun. One thing that had become apparent to Elenor was that the subterranean world of the Lost World had no concept of night. The artificial sun shone every hour on the hour with no respite. Her body was finding it very difficult to adapt to these conditions. Her first night's sleep had been painful and difficult. The snoring and the grunting of her fellow captives was bad enough, as was their terrible personal hygiene, but the bright sun made it difficult to sleep. She had curled up close to Alex, guarding their sleeping space together.

“What’s going to happen to us, Alex?” asked Elenor.

“Well, traditionally I’ll be thrown into the gladiator arena and be forced to fight for my life to serve as entertainment for the Orkhan’s pleasure. Despite being outclassed by gladiators who are stronger than me, I’ll use my superior intellect and agility to win tournament after tournament and, by sparing the lives of my defeated opponents, ultimately win the grudging respect and loyalty of my fellow warriors. Then after a rousing speech in which I proclaim, “They may take our lives, but they shall never take our freedom!” I’ll organise the largest slave revolt since Spartacus and overthrow the Orkhan, and end up marrying the beautiful Princess who has been appalled by the barbaric cruelty of her father all along.”

“Oh. What about me?”

“I imagine you’ll probably end up in the Orkhan’s personal harem.”

“What!”

Elenor had lost track of how long they had stumbled, bound and tired behind this all conquering army. The fast flowing river had washed them up on a natural inlet many, many miles down stream from Cara Flynn’s armed expedition. They were exhausted and counted themselves lucky not to have drowned in the rapids, when the legions of the Piquisti had found them. Without asking any questions, the Piquisti outriders had dragged Alex and Elenor up onto the jungle path. Their clothes had been stripped away and their hands had been tied together with hemp twine. Then they had been pushed and prodded in line with the rest of the captives, despite Elenor’s protests that she was a world class super hero, and that had to count as diplomatic immunity surely?

The prisoners entered the walled city of Volopolis, to the cheers and derision of the women and children who lined the narrow streets to greet the return of their conquering men folk. Elenor found herself being pelted with rotten fruit and bad eggs by women who generally possessed wagon like hips and udder like breasts. She stumbled, tethered in line as the soldiers paraded the hundreds of captives around the market square. Ahead of them, the Orkhan of the Piquisti rode his heavy horse deep into the crowds and scattered copper and silver coins to his people. He roared with laughter and hoisted a young girl of Volopolis onto his saddle. As Elenor watched, the girl bedecked his head with a garland of wild flowers. The Orkhan kissed her roughly and then lowered her to the ground.

Elenor couldn’t believe the size of that man. She understood that in this kind of barbaric warrior culture only the biggest and strongest men clawed their way to the top, but this man was a giant. He stood at least six foot ten inches tall when he wasn’t riding, and he had the bulk and the muscles of a grizzly bear. Clad in filthy furs and black armour, his body adorned with swords, knives and axes, he looked a horrifying sight. Very little of his face was evident. The top half of his head was covered in a black helmet, and his lower face sprouted a thick, oily beard. A row of severed heads hung from his saddle, and his standard bearer had added several more heads to the man’s personal banner.

It was even more of a surprise then when a beautiful and graceful woman walked down the steps, flanked by soldiers, to greet him.

“Welcome home, Father,” she said. Genetics, it seemed, could play strange tricks sometimes. Here she was, as elegant and aristocratic looking as it was possible to be in such a savage land. While her father in comparison looked like Genghis Khan.

“People of Volopolis!” roared the voice of the Orkhan. “Today we celebrate two things! Victory over the filthy warriors of Raajin! But not just that! We also celebrate peace! Peace between ourselves and the Tolemi! For three years now the Piquisti and the Tolemi have been at war! But no longer, for today their ambassador has arrived to formalise peace between our cities!” The Orkhan indicated a group of comparatively civilized looking men who sat on well bred horses beside him. “This is Sartori! High Ambassador of the Tolemi! Today we hold games in his honour! And tonight we feast to celebrate a long lasting peace that will permit us to find and kill new enemies!”

The crowd roared its approval. Behind the Orkhan his armies saluted with their weapons. The ambassador smiled politely and placed a scented pomander against his nose.

“You, you, and you…” said a soldier to a group of three prisoners near Elenor. “You’re going to the arena.” Their ankles were untied and their wrists were quickly bound behind their backs as they were led away.

“You’re going to the arena too,” said the soldier to Alex as he sized up his tight physique.

Alex grinned at Elenor. “One gladiator slave revolt coming up, mark my words! I’ll have us out of here in no time. Just call me Spartacus.” He stood there as men untied his ankle and quickly bound his wrists together.

The soldier stopped now before Elenor.

“Stop looking at me like that!” she said.

“Very nice.” He gripped her hair and turned her round. “Yes, very, very nice.” His other hand felt the smooth curve of her bottom.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Elenor was about to use her sonic scream until she saw how many soldiers were assembled in the city square. There was no way she could take out three hundred armoured men.

“I think the Khan will like this one. Take her away, bathe her and ensure she’s ready for the feast tonight.”

The Gladiator Arena in Volopolis

The soldiers carried away the chopped remains of the previous gladiator.

“You’re enjoying the games, yes?” The Orkhan leaned sideways towards Sartori, the ambassador of the Tolemi.

“Oh yes,” he said diplomatically, as he sat in the Warlord’s box, trying to suppress a yawn. “A magnificent spectacle and one worthy of a people who have been able to stand up to the mighty warriors of the Tolemi for nearly three years.”

“Hah! We had you at the battle of Reek’s Brook! Pinned with your backs to the river!” He slapped Sartori hard, making him spill his drink. “The only way to get the Tolemi to fight!” he laughed.

“Yes, well…” Sartori dabbed at his stained tunic.

“But we have new enemies we want to fight now, so it is peace between us! Peace between the Piquisti and the Tolemi!”

“Of course.” Sartori clicked his fingers for a fresh drink. “The Tolemi are honoured to enter into this treaty with you.”

“Hah! Scared we’d be coming to sack your towns and rape your women next, now the Raajin are all dead!” The Orkhan was in high spirits, thanks mainly to the twenty two pints of ale he’d drunk this afternoon. “And we would!”

Over in the shadow of the box, a soldier prodded Elenor Haines forward.

“The Ambassador requires a drink. Go to him, girl!”

Elenor stumbled forward as a pike butt prodded her in the back. She had been washed and dressed in wispy bits of silk that left nothing much to the imagination and she was fuming. Tonight she was getting out of here. Or sooner if anyone touched her again. Her sonic power was good enough for five or six bursts of solid white noise before it had to be powered up, and that would be plenty once she was away from the crowds and the Orkhan’s army. She picked up a heavy goblet and filled it with ale.

“Drink,” said Elenor as she thumped the goblet down next to the Ambassador. He raised an eyebrow at the surliness of the girl. Movement down in the arena caught Elenor’s eye. She gazed horrified as she saw two men emerge from opposite gates. One man was a brute of a barbarian, wearing half armour, a horned helmet and carrying a broad sword and a shield. He was Magnus, and a crowd favourite if the cheers were anything to go by as he circled the arena with his weapons raised high in salute. The other fighter was dressed only in a breech cloth, a cured leather jerkin and a small helmet. He carried a short sword and a net. This was Alex.

“Oh God…” thought Elenor. He’s not going to stand a chance. And indeed any confidence Alex might have had earlier in the day seemed now to have evaporated, for Alex had never used a sword in his life before. It was quite obvious that he wasn’t going to last more than thirty seconds in close combat.

“…wrong drink…” said the Ambassador for the second time. “Are you listening to me, girl?”

“What?” Elenor turned round in a swish of silk. “What do you want now?”

“You got me the wrong drink. I was drinking wine.”

“You don’t want the wine, trust me. It tastes like Blue Nun.” She turned her attention back to the arena. Magnus was striding forward to meet his opponent, but Alex had better ideas. He flung the net at the barbarian but only succeeded in catching his shield. Then, to the crowd’s amusement, he began running away. Magnus pursued him, swinging his sword and laughing at the pathetic show his opponent was putting on.

Sartori turned to the Orkhan. “Your serving girl is very rude.”

“What?” The Orkhan’s attention was fixed squarely on the sight below. Alex was running for his life with a big hairy barbarian in hot pursuit. It was only a matter of time before he would be cornered.

“Your serving girl…”

“Yes, yes, ask her for a drink if you want one…” the Orkhan laughed as Alex stumbled and quickly sprang back to his feet before Magnus was able to cut him.

Elenor knew she had to do something. She ran to the parapet of the box before anyone could stop her, and vaulted the twelve foot drop to the sand below.

The crowd roared its approval as the slim, blonde, slave girl dropped into the arena and landed feet first, ready for battle. This was something new. This was something worth watching. The warrior turned from his pursuit of Alex, sensing something was happening behind him. When he saw Elenor's seductive body, dressed in scanty silks; when he saw her lack of armour or weapons, he roared with laughter. The crowd were hammering their fists now on the wooden slat seats. Magnus raised his heavy steel sword in a mock salute at Elenor and, loosening the straps on his left arm, he discarded his broad circular shield.

"Come to Magnus, girl," he jeered.

Alex had stopped running around in circles. He panted, exhausted from the cloying heat, as Elenor took a few tentative steps away from the grunting barbarian.

"Alex! I need a weapon!" she shouted. Alex threw his sword in a high arc. The short stabbing blade whistled through the air above the barbarian's head. Unfortunately the sword came down point first towards Elenor. She side stepped quickly and left it to strike deep into the sand.

"Alex! You nearly chopped my head off!"

"Sorry… it's not exactly well balanced…"

Magnus was closer to the blade now than Elenor was. He grinned, showing off a mouthful of surprisingly clean teeth - the benefits of a natural low sugar diet - and circled the girl.

Elenor wasn't sure how she was going to get through the man's guard. She could take him easily with her sonic scream, but her plan was to get up close and time the scream with a punch. If the savages in the arena misunderstood and assumed Elenor's single punch had floored Magnus… well, the consequences might be interesting. But for the plan to work Elenor would have to survive the sword cuts long enough to close.

The blade was slicing at her without any particular degree of skill. Magnus was intent on intimidating her, happy to keep Elenor skipping backwards. She was sweating despite her relative state of undress. The midday sun was brutal in this underground world.

Elenor had her back to the round arena wall now, and she was circling round it as Magnus followed her at a leisurely pace, slashing and jabbing playfully with the edge and point of his blade. Once or twice he decided to scare the girl a little and his blade chipped plaster from the brick work close to her arms and legs. Alex had taken the opportunity to pick up his short sword by its hilt and he was now approaching Magnus from behind. Despite his reluctance to close into hand to hand combat with this monster, he could see that Elenor was pinned and vulnerable.

He picked up a stone from the arena floor and threw it hard. It bounced with a clang off Magnus's helmet. This was enough to make the barbarian turn and run at Alex. Unencumbered by his relatively light leather armour, Alex simply turned and ran away again. The crowd were beginning to find this funny and Magnus, brave, warrior Lord, Magnus, realised that he was becoming the object of ridicule. He roared his anger, bellowing a challenge to Alex who simply ignored it.

Elenor circled round and placed herself before a wooden support beam. Hopefully… with a bit of luck…

Magnus returned his attention to Elenor. He wanted to end this now. The crowd was laughing and he felt foolish facing a coward and a little slip of a girl. He roared his battle cry and swung his sword clumsily at her head. Elenor ducked low and the man’s sword sunk deep into the wood. Now was her chance. She sprang up from a crouch and punched hard at his exposed chin. As she hit him she screamed and the solid white noise pulse knocked him unconscious instantly. The crowd of course only saw a girl emitting a loud battle cry and felling her foe with a single blow.

There was stunned silence in the arena as this giant of a man fell backwards and hit the ground in a cloud of dust. Elenor stood over his armoured body, her thin silken garments flapping in the wind.

And then the crowd roared. They had seen nothing like it ever before. Hardened warriors were thumping their wooden seats and roaring with laughter. And the Orkhan too was impressed. At his signal, five warriors ran into the arena and seized Elenor and Alex. They were dragged before the war lord’s box.

The Orkhan was laughing louder than anyone in the arena. This was sport! He clapped his hands on Elenor’s shoulders and stared down into her eyes. Elenor gazed up. He really was six foot, ten inches tall, and built like a bear.

“What is this! What is your name?” His voice was incredibly loud.

“Elenor…”

“Elinorr? Elinorr!” He raised her right hand in his left and turned her to face the cheers of the crowd. ELINORR!”

“No… El-uh-ner…” but the Orkhan wasn’t listening.

“This is not a woman!” boomed the Orkhan again. “This is not a woman with a woman’s pitiful strength! This is not a woman, useless for anything but satisfying the needs of men between her legs! This is a man! A warrior! And now…” he looked at Elenor, “MY SON!”

The crowd roared its appreciation again. The noise in the arena was deafening. This was obviously an honour given out only for feats of extreme valour. Elenor had already heard that the Orkhan had adopted several particularly brave warriors as his sons.

“A NEW SON! A NEW WARRIOR FOR THE PIQUISTI! LET OUR ENEMIES TREMBLE WITH FEAR AND HIDE BEHIND THE SKIRTS OF THEIR WOMEN!”

Sartori, the well dressed and comparatively civilized ambassador of the Tolemi, sneered. "But Orkhan... she is quite obviously a woman, with sweetly rounded hips and womanly curves."

There was an awkward silence as the assembled Captains awaited their Khan's response. It was quick in coming.

"Do you dare to suggest that the Orkhan of the Piquisti doesn't know the difference between a man and a woman?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Are you suggesting that any of the Orkhan's adopted sons are in any way effeminate?"

“I’m just saying…”

The Orkhan seized the ambassador of the Tolemi people by the throat and slammed him against a wall. "Do you suggest that the Orkhan would be weak enough to appoint a feeble woman to the ranks of his army?"

I am here… urk… as an ambassador…" he was choking, "if you hurt me… it's a resumption of war…" Sartori struggled to get free, but the Orkhan was built like a bear and once his hands closed on your neck there was no getting away.

"You insult my son!" he roared. "You insult my people!" his roar grew deafening, "and you insult me, you snivelling pig of a Tolemi!" A knife was drawn from a leather sheath. It stabbed three times into Sartori's body. "War it is then!" screamed the Orkhan as he hurled the dying body of the ambassador to the floor. If his Captains were shocked by this sudden about turn of events, they didn't show it. The remaining members of the Tolemi delegation looked on with horror as their chief ambassador fell backwards, clutching multiple knife wounds that bled red ribbons down his off white tunic.

"The Piquisti fear no one! We have fought for three years and we can fight another three and three again!" A few of his Captains roared encouragement, but the older hands who had seen many casualties in those three years kept quiet.

The Orkhan seized Elenor's shoulders and hugged her suddenly. Elenor found herself pressed up against filthy, greasy furs and sweat stained cured leather armour. "Elinorr takes his rightful place as one of my sons!" He looked down at her. "But why is one of my sons dressed in the scanty, diaphanous silks of a slave girl! Bring him the garb of a man! Bring him heavy steel armour! Bring him the fur skins of a warrior proud! Bring him cold steel to wield in his fist! Bring him strong ale to drink! Bring him meat to chew!"

The thought had crossed Elenor's mind that the Orkhan of the Piquisti was quite clearly insane. Dangerously so, even. He had just turned round a celebration of much needed peace into a fresh declaration of war because of a passing whim. She had to get out of this place before she and Alex were killed.

"And bring me slave girls! Elinorr has no one to warm his bed at night! He needs a woman!"

"No really, I don't…" Elenor was trying to speak at the same time as holding her breath. The rank stink of this man was overpowering close up.

"All my sons are gifted beautiful and desirable women to warm their bones and pleasure them between battles." The Orkhan ruffled Elenor's long blonde hair. "And in time one of these women will bear your child, and he will grow to be a mighty warrior and carry your name with honour!"

"I really don't think that's very likely…"

"Hah! Your seed will impregnate many women! The Piquisti need many sons!" He slapped Elenor so hard on the back that she fell to the floor. How could anyone grow so big, she thought as she struggled back to her feet.

"Come! We must feast in Elinorr’s honour! There will be drinking, and eating, and drinking, and wenching, and drinking, and games of brute physical strength involving swollen pigs bladders and big sticks!"

The warriors cheered now. A feast was always good news.

“Woah,” said Alex as he removed his helmet. “Way to go, Elenor. Nice work. You’re like, an adopted blood brother now or something. Cool. We’ll be out of here in no time. I might not even have to start a slave revolt.”

“AS FOR YOU…” The Orkhan pointed at Alex.

“Me?”

“You are not a man! You run like a little chicken, squawking with fear in the arena!”

“Hey, man, I don’t do swords and axes, right? Give me a bow and…”

“You are no use as a gladiator! No use at all! Have him taken away! Tie his limbs to four mighty steeds and tear him apart!”

“Hey…wait a minute, man…”

“Alex!” screamed Elenor suddenly.

“Wait, Father…” suddenly a soft, elegant hand touched the Orkhan’s wrist. It was his natural born daughter, the Principia Pandora . She stood there, radiant in a savage and barbaric kind of way, dressed in a cool flowing silken gown. Her dark olive hair was gathered back in a beautifully crafted head dress. Her fingers were adorned with precious metals and sensuous jewels. Her ankles wore enough gold and precious stones to pay to equip a troop of cavalry.

“What is it, my beautiful and innocent daughter?” The Orkhan gazed down at his own flesh and blood.

“That one interests me.” She looked slyly at Alex’s lean body. His long dreadlocks hung down his back. “Give him to me as a play thing, Father. I would have him amuse me, for that is all he is worth.”

“Hah! Better he be torn in four pieces by wild foaming horses, and trampled into the ground than for a man to be the play thing of a woman! But you are right - he does not deserve an honourable death. Take him, my daughter, and enjoy him well!”

Warriors moved towards Alex. The Principia Pandora grinned, making it all too clear what she had in mind for Herne.

“Alex!” screamed Elenor desperately as warriors seized her friend by both arms. She ran towards him. “Be strong! You will survive! You stay alive no matter what occurs!” Elenor reached out and took his outstretched hand as fresh pairs of hands seized her and strove to pull them apart. “I will find you! No matter how long it takes!” Their fingers were slipping through each other’s grip. “No matter how far! I will find you!”

The Orkhan laughed and slapped Elenor across her back. “Forget the weakling. Look…”A small group of dusky, exotic looking women were brought before Elenor. Like her, they were all scantily dressed in soft pastel silks that left little to the imagination. The Orkhan gestured generously and said, "the best of our recent captives. Choose one to warm your furs, my son."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Elenor watched Alex being hauled away to Pandora ’s villa.

"It is a gift - an adoption gift from me to you. It is tradition!"

"It's just that, I don't really…" Elenor searched for the right words, "I don't really like them." It would be all right, she tried telling herself, Alex wouldn’t be killed. Whatever indignities he was bound to suffer, Elenor would help him.

"They displease you?"

"Well…"

The Orkhan summoned his warriors. "These women are displeasing to my son! Take them away, flay them alive and throw them into the salt pits for the swamp leeches…"

The women began to scream. Many of them dropped to their knees and began begging for their lives.

"Wait!" screamed Elenor. "You can't do that!"

"They displease you! They are no use to man or beast! Take them away!" The warriors moved towards the terrified women.

"Wait! I quite like that one over there!" Elenor pointed at random. "In fact they're all very nice - it must have been the light…"

"Ah!" The Orkhan clapped his hand on Elenor's shoulder again and it reverberated around the room like a clap of thunder. "The way you look at that slut, it is with the lustful gaze of a true warrior of the Piquisti! She will warm your furs well and bear you many babies!"

The girl, a dusky skinned South American looking beauty ran to Elenor and knelt at her feet, kissing them gratefully.

"You don't have to do that," whispered Elenor through a forced smile, but the girl wasn't listening.

"Show my son to the rutting chambers so that he may have his way with his new slut!"

"But I'm really not tired yet…" pleaded Elenor as she was pushed now into the rutting chambers of the Piquisti. Lipita hurried in behind her. The Orkhan and his many sons made filthy fisting gestures and grinned as the doors to the rutting chamber closed, leaving Elenor with her chosen girl.

"I don't fucking believe this…"

Enormous stag horns hung on each wall, and the room was dominated by a raised bed, about the size of most rooms, covered in the thickest, softest, furs Elenor had ever seen. Hundreds of beeswax candles had been lit to bathe the room in a soft and opulent light. Before Elenor could object, the girl clambered onto the bed and slipped the silks from her body. She brushed her long hair back over her shoulders to give Elenor an ample view of her pert breasts.

“Now look…” Elenor held her hands up in the universal language of stop that, right now. “We’re just going to sleep. That’s all. Just sleep. Until they open that door. Okay?”

The Feasting Hall – later that evening

All the warriors of the Piquisti had gathered in the Orkhan’s great hall. Elenor had been afforded the honour of a seat beside the Orkhan and all the fleas that inhabited his furs, beard and pubic hair. Since being let out of the rutting chamber, Elenor had been given a crippling set of armour that consisted of a heavy ring mail shirt, a padded steel helmet, steel greaves and vambraces. It now hurt to move at any speed greater than one mile per hour. The Orkhan was in a great mood, as evident by the fact that only three of the servants had sustained injuries so far.

“Kurgan! Tell me – what is best in life?” roared the Orkhan as he tore a giant strip of meat from an ox leg with his teeth.

Kurgan spat out a mouthful of ale and grinned as he jumped to his feet and addressed his Khan and the other warriors. “The open steppes! A fleet horse! Falcons at your wrist! And the wind in your hair!”

“Wrong!” roared the Orkhan. He clipped his son playfully around the ear and sent him sprawling to the ground with just a couple of broken bones.

"Elinorr… tell me now - what is best in life!"

Every eye fell on Elenor as she half choked on the strong mead in her drinking horn. She was groaning under the weight of the heavy ring mail and the enormous horned helmet that the Orkhan insisted she wore to the feast. I look like an armoured yak, she thought. "Um…"

"Speak Elinorr! What is best in life?"

Elenor's mind raced. Dimly she recalled some DVD that Alex had watched a few weeks ago.

"Um, is it something to do with, like, crushing your enemies, um, seeing them driven before you and, uh, hearing the lamentation of their vimmen?" She spoke the last word in a heavy Austrian accent and hoped for the best. She closed her eyes and flinched, half expecting a thump from the Orkhan’s hand.

The hall was silent, waiting for the Orkhan's reaction. When it came it was a great, good humoured, booming laugh. "Yes! See! Elinorr is a true warrior! Yes! To crush your enemies!" He held out his giant hand and clenched it hard into an iron fist. "To see them driven before you!" The warriors cheered and raised their enormous drinking horns.

"And don’t forget the lamentation of their vimmen…" Elenor was getting seriously pissed on this 16% proof mead ale. Another enormous one and a half pint drinking horn was brought to her table by a delicate blonde haired girl, dressed only in a white leather breech cloth.

"More ale for Elinorr! More ale for my son!" The Orkhan’s massive hand smacked her shoulders and knocked her head first into her shield size portion of roast ox. The Orkhan suddenly noticed the size of her drinking horn for the first time. “But this is only a drinking horn for a warrior!” he boomed. “Elinorr must have a drinking horn fit for a champion! Bring forth a champion’s drinking horn!” Quickly now, the small one and a half pint sized horn was removed and a bigger horn, filled with three pints of mead ale was brought to Elenor instead. She lifted her face, smeared now in gravy, and stared dumbly at the fresh drink. “We must feast!” roared the Orkhan. “For tonight the very Gods drink with us!” His men roared their appreciation and beat their fists on the wooden trestle tables in appreciation.

Harry Stone’s Camp, high in the jungle hills of the Lost World

Harry was in bed with two native girls when his lieutenant and right hand man, Carl came in through the door. The Bloodhawk mercenaries had occupied a beautifully constructed lodge built onto the slope of a steep jungle hill. The view from the wooden veranda was spectacular, taking in a panoramic vista of the rain forest canopy. Brilliantly coloured birds with remarkable plumage flew between the trees, squawking and fluttering their wings. Delicate wind chimes hung in the open windows as the cool air of the upper hills circulated through the spacious rooms. Down below was a waterfall where several of Harry’s men frolicked and splashed with the native women.

The two girls who shared Harry’s bed were sisters, or so Olaf had told him. They were both young with soft caramel skin and pouting lips. Harry couldn’t understand a word they said, but that hardly mattered. A few hand gestures seemed to be sufficient to get them to do whatever he wanted.

“Get your pants on Harry, the boss is coming.” Carl grinned as he saw the women. Harry and Carl had known each other for a very long time. They had served in the UN army together ten years ago and had fought in the bloody Borneo campaign. There were no secrets between either of the men.

“What does she want?” Harry kissed Cani and then her sister Felita. He climbed out of bed, naked, his sun bronzed body on display, covered in the scars of several battles.

“She wants to go over the logistics for the journey into the mountains.”

“Can’t that wait until tomorrow?” Harry picked up his black military vest from the back of a chair and pulled it over his shoulders. He tucked his dog tags under the vest, grabbed his camo pants and stuck a leg through the first hole. He strapped his shoulder holster over his left arm.

“You know what she’s like Harry. And by the way I don’t think she likes the way our men are enjoying their R & R.”

“Well she can fuck off then. We’ve worked really hard to get this far. The men deserve some fun.”

“Hope you’re going to tell her that Harry. Here she comes.”

Harry was just putting his boots on when the Contessa Steffani Adriana Vannozza Guilia Borgia entered the room. Like many of the men on this expedition she wore combat fatigues, but these were no ordinary jungle clothes, they had been designed and sewn especially by the House of Versace. The clothes hung perfectly on her body. Her long black hair was exquisitely cut. Harry had never seen such perfectly cut hair, except in shampoo adverts. The Contessa’s hands were soft pink with perfectly groomed nails and trimmed cuticles. And as always she smelt of the most expensive fragrances from the finest Venetian shops.

Her name was quite a mouthful, but Harry also knew her as the Italian super villain, Virgo. He tended to use that name when she wasn’t around. It was simpler to remember.

“Contessa. How lovely of you to visit.” Harry picked up his hip flask and drank a little bourbon. “I’ve got some wine if you’d care.”

“No thank you, Mr Stone. I’m here to work.” She swept into the room and glared at the two girls in Harry’s bed. “Must you sleep with every native slut you come across?” From the expression on her face she obviously didn’t care for Harry’s nocturnal activities.

“Actually, all joking aside, yeah I do. It’s good for morale.” He fished inside his jacket and pulled out a couple of cheap silver necklaces – the kind you could buy in New Age shops in any western city. He gave one each to the sisters and motioned for them to go. They seemed quite pleased with the gifts and quickly rose naked from the bed and hurried past the Contessa.

“How could it possibly be good for morale?”

“Well,” Harry returned his hip flask to his desk. “The men see me fucking women all the time and they respect me for it. They laugh and wink and shout, ‘go on my son’ and that respect turns into loyalty. No one’s going to risk their lives for a leader they don’t like.”

The Contessa regarded him, not sure whether this was some subtle wind-up. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Have you requisitioned the necessary supplies for our trip across the mountains?”

“Yep.” Harry unrolled a map across his desk. Carl weighted it down with rocks. “In addition to my men, we’ve got two hundred native levies trained up with rifles, and twice that in bearers. We’ve got a problem with one of the soft back floaters though. Gene says the fuel cell is leaking.”

“Then he’ll have to fix it. That’s what we pay him for.”

“Not if you want to leave in two days time he won’t. We’re going to have to radio for a new power cell and that’ll take…”

“We’re not leaving in two days time, we’re leaving tomorrow.” The Contessa pointed arrogantly to a spot on the map. “We’ll travel with one less floater if we have to.”

“What? The plan was…”

“The plan has altered. I have new intelligence.”

Harry scratched has head. “Such as?”

“We have competition. STAR Industries has sent an expedition down into the Lost World behind us. It is well equipped, well armed, and they have contracted the services of Cara Flynn.”

“Cara Flynn?” Harry smiled and turned to his friend. “Small world, eh, Carl?”

“Sure is Harry.”

“You know the woman?”

“Yeah. We ran into her two years ago. South America. She calls herself a freelance archaeologist but really she just goes around robbing tombs.”

“She is a friend of yours?” the Contessa didn’t seem happy with the idea.

“Not exactly.” Harry smiled. “Hey, this just makes it more fun.”

“Well, regardless of your association with this tomb raider, we need to get to Mimosa first.”

“So, is this a good time for you to tell us what you’re looking for in Mimosa?” Harry sat down on the edge of the table.

“The Fountains of Paradise, Mr Stone.”

“What’s them?”

“The most precious gift of all. Life eternal. The fountains of youth.”

Harry and Carl looked at each other.

“The very same fountains that men such as Pizarro and Cieza de Leon sought for in vain in the jungles of South America. They had heard the legends from the tribes people, little knowing that the legends spoke not of the surface of our planet, but of the jungles below it, of the Lost World.”

“A fountain of youth?” Harry had to admit he was interested. Who wouldn’t be?

“Yes, Mr Stone. Those who bathe and drink in the sacred waters of Mimosa will live forever.”

“Okay…”

“It goes without saying that the bonus payment which we inferred during our meeting in the Piazza in Venice is immortality for you and your men. You will have your chance to bathe in the waters yourselves. And then upon returning to the surface with me, you will be given enough money to spend several eternities in idle luxury.” The Contessa smiled, confident of the hold this information would give her over these subordinates. “I would like a cigarette, Mr Stone.” She held out her hand imperiously.

“Get the Contessa a cigarette, Carl.” Harry stroked his chin. “And Mimosa’s here?” He studied the map.

“In the high mountains of the Lost World, yes. Even in this land the city is a legend.” She took the cigarette from Carl and held out her hand for it to be lit. Carl produced a wind proof Zippo and obliged. “My family has had an interest in this fountain since the end of the fifteenth century. It was an ancestor of mine, Rodrigo Borgia who, in his Holy Office as Pope Alexander VI, issued the Papal Bull permitting exploitation and colonisation of the Americas, following the discovery by Christoff Columbus. My family learnt of the legend in 1501, but Rodrigo was to die shortly afterwards.”

“And now you’re financed by Microsurf?”

“Something like that, yes.” The Contessa smiled and tapped some ash on the floor.

“Which means of course, in subtle super villain speak, that you don’t really give a fuck about Microsurf – you just want the Fountain for yourself?”

“I would never say such a thing, but you will of course recall I mentioned in Venice that I would be paying you twice what Microsurf intended to offer you.”

“Yeah, so you said.” Harry clicked his fingers behind him. “Ciggie, Carl.” Carl passed him a smoke. “Well, I appreciate your honesty and frankness. We don’t always get such an open briefing. And speaking on behalf of myself, Carl, and the Bloodhawks, Microsurf can go suck their own cocks for all I care. It makes no odds whether I’m working for a mega corporation or a super villain really, just so long as I get paid.”

“I admire your mercenary sensibilities, Mr Stone. It makes for much simpler business transactions. Tomorrow morning then. I don’t expect any delays.”

The Contessa walked quickly out of the room.

“Nice butt, Harry,” said Carl after a while.

“Never sleep with the senior management, Carl. You always end up being fucked in more than one way.” Harry stubbed out his cigarette – he’d only lit it as part of some sort of macho mercenary commander image.

“The Fountain of Youth, eh Harry?”

“Yeah. Makes you think doesn’t it.” He sniffed and lit a stick of Thai incense. “By the way Carl, I’ve been meaning to ask you this for some time. What’s Virgo’s super power?”

“Uh…” Carl scratched his head. “I don’t rightly know, Harry. I thought you knew.”

“I thought you knew.”

“I never said that, Harry.”

“Carl, you know I don’t know anything about super people. I rely on you to give me the details.”

“I could always ask her, Harry.”

“No. Ask the men. Someone’s bound to know.”

The City of the Piquisti

Elenor couldn't get up in the morning. Her hangover was that bad. The slightest movement threatened to make her sick. Even with her eyes closed she could feel the world spinning rapidly around her. She lay in her sleeping furs with one of Lipita's arms around her.

“Ah!” Elenor recoiled in the bed as she felt Lipita’s other hand pressed tightly between her thighs. The sudden motion made the whole world spin round and she fell back onto the furs, groaning.

Lipita leaned over and kissed Elenor tenderly on the lips. “Is Elinorr ill?”

“Ugh! Stop that!” she pushed Lipita away, but the effort was too much. Elenor could feel the bile rising in her throat. “Oh God… ill… I’ve never felt this ill in my life… I’m going to die…”

“Will Elinorr require Lipita to service her with her tongue again?”

“What? No!” Elenor groaned. It was coming… she was going to be sick… it was coming… “Wh… what do you mean again? I didn’t…” A wave of nausea gripped her stomach. She tried to throw up but the pressure remained where it was.

“Lipita’s tongue is soft and lovely and will please the mighty warrior, Elinorr…” She snuggled under the furs and made her way towards Elenor’s groin.

“Stop that!” Elenor had enough strength left to thump the furs where Lipita’s head was buried. Lipita quickly withdrew. “Oh God… so sick…”

“MY SON!” The door to the room crashed open, nearly breaking off its hinges, as the enormous bear-like form of the Orkhan strode into Elenor’s chambers. His grin was like a deep slash in his face that parted the thick growth of his oily black beard. “Have you used your woman well! Has she pleasured you muchly?”

“Yes… very nice…” croaked Elenor with her fading strength. “Absolutely no need… to skin her alive…”

“Hah!” The Orkhan leaned down over the bed and pulled Elenor up into the air. “You pretend concern for your girl! But the Orkhan knows the truth! He sees that you pretend concern to disguise your animal lust for her hips, and breasts and warm wet…”

“I’m going to be… sick…”

“In time she will bear you many strong sons and you will take her in many different ways! Varied are the pleasures of women!” He swatted Lipita away with a playful backstroke of his hand. “Soft are their rich, ripe bodies! How they wail and thrash, their legs in the air, when they are taken and pierced by the Orkhan’s mighty shaft! How they tremble when fully pierced! Much pleasure does the Orkhan’s shaft give unto them!”

The bile was rising again. “…am going to… puke…” But before she could, the Orkhan emptied a large pitcher of water over her head and carried her swiftly outside into the hot midday sun. Elenor shook her wet hair and tried to focus on the triple images that filled her field of vision. Drills were pounding in her head and any minute now she definitely was going to be sick. “Euughhhh…” The contents of her stomach vomited onto the sand. Elenor collapsed to her knees, gagging and shaking her head miserably as further traces of vomit trickled down her chin.

“Being sick is good!” roared the Orkhan. “Many demons are expelled from a man’s body that way!” He walked to a weapons rack that stood in the open ground. A number of finely crafted axes were displayed proudly on the stand. Without a moment’s hesitation the Orkhan selected a huge single bladed axe and lifted it in his left hand as if it were a knife. “You will need a weapon!” He threw the 30 pound axe at Elenor, hilt first. Somehow she managed to catch it with both hands before it killed her, but the impact knocked her onto her back. This was enough to make her sick again, but this time gravity created a volcano effect. The vomit dribbled down her neck and chest.

Groaning, Elenor bench pressed the heavy axe up and away. She dropped it onto the ground close to where she lay. It thumped into the sand with all the grace of a set of barbells.

“Hah! Elinorr is not used to her father’s weapons! Mighty are these blades! That one is Bowel Ripper…” he turned back to the rack and now selected an enormous, impossibly big, double bladed, two handed axe that must have weighed close to 60 pounds. “This is Head Chopper… your father’s favourite.” He whirled the axe, single handed, three times around his head. The keenly sharpened steel whistled through the air. His muscles were straining like over pumped beach balls as he span round, hacking imaginary opponents to his left and right. “Many of the heads of the Tolemi shall decorate the steel of Head Chopper! There will be much killing for all!” his voice boomed again. “Blood and steel for the Gods! Blood and steel for Elinorr!”

Elenor was quietly sick again.

She must have passed out because she woke suddenly coughing and spluttering as she found herself immersed head first in a six foot tall barrel of rain water. The Orkhan’s right arm was locked around her waist and pushed her under. As soon as he felt her pathetic struggling he lifted her body, single handed, up and out of the barrel and deposited her back on the ground. Elenor was naked under the noon day sun, except for some hemp fibre wound several times round each wrist, a silver anklet around her left foot, and some barbaric silver amulets around her neck. She coughed water up from her lungs and lay on the floor panting for breath.

“Feeling better?” boomed the Orkhan. He laughed and lifted his new ‘son’ up by the scruff of her neck as a big cat might do to a kitten.

“Gak… chok…ing…” Elenor’s legs kicked in the air as she felt the constricting pressure around her throat. It was only for a moment as the Orkhan deposited her back on her feet.

“Look at you! You have the slim curves of a woman!” He slapped her bare bottom with the flat of his hand. It glowed red with the imprint of his palm. “We must build muscle! You need meat, and ale and strong games of wrestling with your brothers! You shall wrestle tonight with my other sons in the great hall! We shall grease your naked bodies and there will be much sport as you grapple and force each other to submit! And then there will be more feasting! And more ale! And more wenching in the furs! I will order two bullocks to be killed this afternoon, and we shall eat their fresh beating hearts together! It will give you strength to fight the Tolemi!” he spat on the ground as he mentioned the Tolemi.

Elenor vomited again. Surely there was nothing left inside her gut. A thin stream of colourless bile passed her lips and trickled onto the ground. Her only thought of consolation was that no matter how horrible this might be, Alex was surely suffering torments a thousand times worse than this. She had to find him before it was too late.

Pandora ’s regal bed chambers – Later in the evening

Elenor was dressed in a white breach cloth, leather moccasins and the Zebra skin wrap that the Orkhan had gifted her. The men in Volopolis walked around topless because of the heat, and Elenor, being a man, was expected to do the same. Despite the weight, she had taken to wearing her ring mail coat of armour whenever she could bear it, as at least that covered up her breasts. Climbing the north face of Pandora ’s villa however was not going to be possible whilst clad in armour. Elenor wrapped the zebra skin about her upper body and wore it like a poncho. She left her dagger belt on the ground, along with her steel helmet. She had never imagined weapons and armour could be so heavy. They always looked pretty light in the films she’d seen.

Gripping the rough brickwork with both hands, she hoisted her way over the perimeter wall and dropped down onto the ground on the other side. The wall was built for privacy not security. Climbing it had not been difficult. Quietly, she padded towards the lower rooms where she knew Pandora kept her quarters. Candles were burning from one of the bay windows that led to a pleasure pool. The bay window was high up, necessitating a short climb of six feet or so. As Elenor dropped down onto the mosaic stone floor she found herself inside an opulent bath room. It was similar in design to Turkish baths with a shallow pool perfect for lying in. Lily pads floated on the scented and oiled water. A set of marbled steps led down from the edge of the pool. The room was designed to be cool, despite the heat during the day, and compared to Elenor’s uncomfortable quarters this seemed almost air conditioned. A perfumed girl saw Elenor drop to the floor. She seemed to be a bath attendant of some kind. Elenor’s sudden entrance startled her and, dropping a pile of soft fluffy towels, she ran out into the adjoining hall. Elenor was about to follow when she suddenly spotted a familiar looking figure doing the back stroke in the middle of the pool. It was Alex; the man occasionally known as Herne on the surface world.

“Alex, how are you?” asked Elenor as she hurried towards the luxurious pool.

“Oh, not too bad. Getting by. Yourself?” He turned round in the clear scented water, and brushed aside a few lily pads and one or two floating candles.

“Oh Alex, you’re being so brave about all this, but I know how you must be hurt inside. It’s all right Alex, it’s me, Elenor, you don’t have to pretend. I know your pride must be shattered. I know how embarrassing this must be for a man, but when all this is over I’ll help you, I’ll be there for you. We can talk, and you don’t have to let these last few days scar your life for ever. You mustn’t keep the pain bottled up inside; you mustn’t try to cope by putting on a brave face. Society may expect a show of bravery, but I don’t.”

Alex stirred in the bath. “Not quite sure what you’re going on about, but thanks anyway.”

“Alex, I’m not stupid, I can imagine what’s been happening. I know she’s dehumanised you, taken you as her sexual plaything on her terms. I know you’ve been repeatedly raped since I last saw you. We can talk about this to help you come to terms with being molested. I know men don’t know how to cope with the after effects of being raped.”

“Well, I suppose technically you could call it rape.”

Elenor stared at him. “What?” No… she must have misheard… “Alex – you did resist didn’t you? You did fight?”

“Well, didn’t see the point really. Didn’t want to make a fuss, might as well go with the flow.”

“You let her rape you?”

“Something like that.”

“Something like that! Alex!”

“She’s quite nice when you get to know her. Quite lovely actually.”

“But you had no choice in the matter!”

“Well, you know me… always open to a quick one. Always happy to oblige really. It wasn’t a great inconvenience.”

“Alex! You mean to say you enjoyed it!”

“Well… so did she. Must say – I think I’ve introduced a couple of new positions to Piquisti love making.” He winked.

“You bastard!” Elenor threw a loofah at him.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“For your information I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“And like, you’d feel better if I’d had a horrible time? You’re weird, Elenor…” Alex splashed around in the lily pool and reached for a glass of red wine.

“I… I have been really suffering out there…”

“I like the outfit by the way. Very Princess Warrior Kitten. Is that real zebra skin?”

“Fuck off!” Elenor threw a large bar of soap that bounced off his head.

“Ow! Careful!”

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!”

Elenor turned round and saw the Principia Pandora – the Orkhan’s natural flesh and blood daughter – enter the room. She was belting a sheer, silken gown around her beautiful body. The expression on her face was one of anger and outrage. Behind her walked five of her personal guards.

“SEIZE THE INTRUDER!” she screamed.

Harry Stone’s camp in the foot hills of the Lost World

The Contessa Steffani Adriana Vannozza Guilia Borgia sat in her pagoda like tent and listened to the sound of Verdi’s La Traviata on a portable CD player. Opera music in the jungle seemed a necessity rather than a luxury. Sitting on the table in front of her was an old bottle of chilled white wine, and a velvet lined case. The case was open and the Contessa gazed at the two recessed spaces inside. Each space was designed to hold a ring – not a ring to be worn on a finger, but a hoop ring, six inches in diameter, made of a strange platinum looking metal. One of the spaces contained one such ring – the other was empty.

The Contessa sipped her wine. The first ring had been in the family since 1501. And soon it would find its sister. And then… the words that had been handed down through generations whispered in her head: “Two rings to rule them all and in the darkness bind them… “