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Disclaimer: I did not write this story. I'm just posting it for those
of you who enjoy such stories. If you are a minor (under 18) do not
read, this story is for adults only

Jeff

Anthony 



[Heart Of The Lion is the first in a series of erotic heroic
fantasies, featuring Wulf the Freelance. If response is good, I'll be
posting more in the series. The current story is written with a bow to
Stephen Brust (author of the Vlad Taltos series), Bill Willingham
(artist/writer of the excellent erotic graphic series "Ironwood"), and
George MacDonald Fraser (author of the Flashman series). It is also
something of a tribute to pulp adventure fiction and the Zulus of
southern Africa (yes, the battle IS based upon Isandlewanah). And if
the foregoing makes you nervous, fear not -- it has tons of sex. This
includes hetero sex with lots of talking dirty, group lesbian/hetero
sex (five gals, one guy, and not even human -- wow), and mildly
non-consensual sex (don't worry, it's the hero, he escapes, and gets
even). It does not, on the other hand, contain any blatant acts of
incest, pedophilia, necrophilia, snuff elements, rape, violence
against women (except at the end, and she's not even human, is evil,
and deserves it), etc. If you require any such acts to be turned on, I
suggest you find some other fiction to your liking -- I'm sure it's
out there. The rest of you, enjoy. Please e-mail me if you like the
story. Or if you don't, but if you must flame, flame gently. Now,
without further delay --]



I have several names, but my favorite is Wulf, and I don't know what I
was thinking when I joined the White Empire army. Admittedly, things
had gotten pretty hot in Godshome, especially for a freelancer (read
"thief") like me, who made his living by relieving wealthy, decadent
nobles of expensive items that they didn't even know they had, and
that they never really appreciated in the first place. I found myself
beset on all sides by the legal authorities of the imperium who, for
reasons known only to themselves, finally moved off their well-padded
bureaucratic posteriors and started cracking down on the city's
"criminal elements" -- that is to say, those unwilling or unable to
fork over a portion of their incomes in the form of bribes to keep the
hounds at bay. As this included yours truly, I was forced to find
employment sufficient to keep me alive long enough to blow the White
Empire, and head off for another land more suitable to my chosen
profession.



Now, in any "traditional" profession, I'd probably stand out like a
Xeshite whore in a Rexxaran church choir, but the armed forces of the
White Empire were notorious for accepting virtually anyone into their
ranks, so when I saw a handbill carelessly posted on the wall of the
Dragon's Rest, I read it with interest.



A T T E N S H U N S I T I Z I N S !







Impeeriyul Armee Seekkin Noo Rikroots!



Jenerus Pay!



Menny Benifits!



Bee Rispected an Feered!



Joyn the Impiriul Armee Tuday!!!!







Now, besides the fact that there were a grand total of two words
correctly spelled on the entire flyer, it interested me on several
counts. The army would be a safe haven, I rationalized, and would
provide room, board and regular pay sufficient to finance my planned
exodus from the empire. All I would have to do was bide my time for a
few weeks, then go AWOL with a pocketful of silver.



I was younger then, mind you, and somewhat naive. I figured that,
given the empire's extreme age and decadence, the chances of actually
having to fight were pretty minimal. As usual, I was dead wrong.



As soon as I signed up and received the emperor's copper, I realized
something was up. I was billeted with a motley collection of wastrels
and professional soldiers, issued basic equipment of fair to good
quality, and actually drilled regularly by a sadistic half-elf
sergeant named Rhalatha. She was a scarred veteran who had lost one
eye in a fight with a manticore, but had proved too mean to die. She
drove us like a demon whip-master and earned our undying hatred in the
process. I had to admit she was good, though. She regularly beat me in
sword drill, but at least went so far as to grudgingly admit that I
was less of a complete fuck-up than the rest of my squad. I was made
corporal in short order, a position which I neither asked for nor
wanted, but which I was well advised to take.



My platoon would have made a Litharnan landsknecht vomit. There was
me, a smattering of rugged human mercenaries and career soldiers, a
couple of elven outcasts who kept to themselves and were really,
really scary, a bunch of individuals with varying degrees of orcish
ancestry (is there any such thing as a pure-blooded orc anymore? I
doubt it), a centaur named Rose, a cyclops, two wolfen, a throg, three
nymen and a dwarf by the name of Sigurd. Although he was a bit rough
around the edges and drank like a fish -- both of these being
time-honored dwarven virtues -- Sigurd and I got along well. He was
the first to break the bad news to me.



"Rumor has it we're shipping out soon," he said one night over a game
of Lords and Harlots. "The Emperor seems to have gotten it into his
head that he wants to conquer the Veldt Lands."



I gaped in astonishment. I knew the emperor was a few arrows short of
a quiver, but this was beyond insanity. "The Veldt Lands are a
thousand leagues away," I said, "and full of hostile locals who won't
like White Empire armies tromping through their back yards."



Sigurd shrugged and started loading his pipe. "Tell it to his imperial
majesty. All I know is that he's heard about the gold mines and the
rubies lying around for the picking. He also seems to have developed a
somewhat patronizing attitude toward the Veldt Lands' inhabitants."



I grunted. I knew that there was a hell of a lot of misinformation and
smugness going around in regard to the Veldt Landers. It's probably
because their skin was black and ours was white, which the people on
our side of the equator seemed to feel made us better. The truth is,
and I've known many from the Veldt Lands, that they are every bit as
cunning, intelligent and resourceful as we are. They can also be as
violent, treacherous and cruel, mind you, but this is simply further
proof that we're all the same regardless of our skin tone, height,
mass, strength, longevity, or relative pointiness of our ears.



With my advance intelligence in hand, I was determined to light out of
the camp as quickly as possible, with Sigurd if possible.
Unfortunately, the emperor's good subordinates had seen to doubling
the guard and keeping everyone carefully in camp. No further
opportunities arose over the next three days, and we were soon loaded
onto vast, leaky transport ships for the long journey overseas.



I don't remember much of the trip. Both Sigurd and I spent most of our
time abysmally seasick, and when I was healthy that pointy-eared bitch
Rhalatha had me at work oiling leather, polishing swords, and cleaning
out the bilge. During the voyage, I saw considerably more of the
inside of our worm-infested ship than of the sea.



Things went poorly from the start. Our outdated vessels were not equal
to the task of sailing the distance, and nearly a third sank or were
forced to turn back. Our fighting force was reduced by more than a
quarter before we even arrived. We stopped at a filthy port city
called Vang several days before reaching our destination, far to the
south. It was the last outpost of civilization I remember.



Once we debarked in the hot, arid atmosphere of the Veldt, disease
struck, laying low another quarter of the survivors. The Lands had no
decent port facilities, and our supply lines were stretched to the
limits in any event, forcing us to forage almost from the first day.
The locals, a coastal tribe called the N'jara, fled before us, leaving
their villages empty and useless. The riches of the Veldt Lands were
anything but apparent.



I did my best to command my squad. Rose the centaur was a great source
of help, lending her strong back to hauling, and carrying anyone who
fell ill. Nevertheless, our platoon was hit particularly hard -- nymen
and throgs seemed especially susceptible to local illnesses, and all
died within a week of our arrival. Even Rhalatha felt the strain,
collapsing from heat exhaustion and leaving me to manage the platoon.
Again, I didn't want the job, but I scented disaster on the wind, and
realized that if I didn't keep our unit together we'd all be dead.



Both Sigurd and I knew that it was only a matter of time. We left
those incapable of travel behind at Fort Nathra, the stockade we'd
built upon arrival, and began our march inland. Out of a force of
30,000, we had fewer than 12,000 remaining.



Our commander, Lord Heatham, hoped for a quick campaign against the
Sholanti, the most powerful of the local tribes. From here, he hoped
to establish a stable base of supplies, utilizing the free labor pool
he anticipated obtaining from his wealth of Sholanti prisoners. His
main problem was that the Sholanti had no intention of cooperating.



We crossed over into Sholanti territory after about three days' march.
Our army, despite its problems, was a sight to behold. In the vanguard
marched the Imperial Knights, one of the few units without either
supply or illness problems, this due to the fact that they had first
pick of the quartermaster's stores, coupled with the high percentage
of priests and healers, who tended to their own unit only. At their
head rode a high priest of Kybor, bearing the sacred image of Saint
Orlan. The knights wore white lacquered armor with plumed greathelms
and shining blue and white tabards, carried gleaming lances and rode
proudly barded white warhorses. I got a headache if I looked at them
too long.



Lesser cavalry came next -- mail-clad Xeshite mercenaries, horse
archers, lancers. We marched in the middle -- the endless companies of
infantry, equipped and led in a bewildering variety of styles, so
disparate as to give even the most skilled commander twitching fits.
Finally, the supply train followed, a crowd of wagons and pack animals
that raised a cloud of dust which could be seen for leagues around, a
fact which was not lost on the Sholanti.



On the day we entered their lands, we also met our first Sholanti. He
was a tall, muscular specimen, a long, leaf-bladed spear clutched in
his hands, a leopard skin cloak thrown over his shoulders. He wore a
lion mask which hid his features, and addressed us in heavily
accented, but quite intelligible Imperial common.



"Why have you come to the land of the Sholanti?" he bellowed. "Why do
you come here with spears and bows and the weapons of war?"



Lord Heatham saw fit to answer, spurring his charger forward and
bellowing back. "We bring the lawful rule of the White Emperor to this
land! We bring the force of his justice, and the power of his swords,
and demand your immediate submission!"



I cast a withering glance at Sigurd. "Oh, he's sure to score some
points with that one," I said.



"Respectful he isn't," Sigurd agreed. "We'll have a fight on our hands
in a day or less."



The Sholanti herald barked a brief laugh, then turned and vanished
into the yellow grass. Heatham looked nonplused, as if he had expected
his stupid ultimatum to actually work. Then he turned, spurred his
horse back, and urged us onward.



We marched through the day, then made camp on the low slopes of a
craggy mountain, near a broad, slow-moving green river. Heatham was
intelligent enough to have us dig in and build a palisade, but by the
time this work was finished, we were all so exhausted that all we
could think of was sleep. I crashed to the ground without pitching my
tent and simply curled up in the long grass. I slept like the dead,
with ants and various other insects crawling all over me through the
night.



I awakened to urgent bugle calls and leapt to my feet, diving into my
breastplate and helm, and grabbing my sword. As I cast frantically
about, I saw Sigurd, in full armor, looking grim and determined.



"The battle Lord Heatham so longs for has finally come to pass," he
said, a trifle formally, like a man carefully selecting his dying
words. When I saw the Sholanti, I understood why.



The plains were black with them. They came on like an inexorable tide,
rank on rank of tall, dark-skinned warriors. They carried great hide
shields and spears like the herald we'd seen. Each unit represented a
different warrior society, and wore the mask of a different animal. As
they advanced, they chanted, and pounded spears to shields in unison,
creating a rumble like oncoming thunder. On the flanks of the infantry
came the Sholanti cavalry -- there were several different units,
including slim riders with elaborately lacquered hair and long,
iron-tipped lances, riding tame zebras, and -- most interestingly to
my eyes anyway -- several bands of strapping woman warriors, dressed
in leopard-skin cloaks and mounted on sturdy black veldt-cats. I
didn't have long to admire them, unfortunately, for the battle had
started even before I could urge my squad to the palisade.



I took a quick stock of our situation. We were fortified, behind an
improvised stone and stick palisade and a shallow ditch. Our rear was
secure, anchored against the rounded mountain behind us. So far, so
good. The problem was that the oncoming enemy seemed every bit as
determined and professional as we were, if not moreso, and outnumbered
us by at least three times.



Heatham was clearly rattled by the size and discipline of the Sholanti
horde. He had probably expected a bunch of jabbering savages who would
flee the moment the imperial knights charged, but it was rapidly
becoming obvious to everyone in our army that we were both outnumbered
and outmatched. In the back of my mind I could only take grim
satisfaction that these veldt-warriors, who most imperials considered
cowardly primitives who didn't even have their own language, were
about to give the White Empire a lesson it would never forget.



Lord Heatham, astride his charger, his blue and white plumes waving
proudly in the stiff breeze, pointed toward the enemy with his sword.



"Archers!" he cried. "Archers!" His command was instantly transmitted
down the line by trumpet, and in an instant the air was full of
arrows, arcing up from our skirmishers and down into the oncoming
Sholanti. Warriors fell or stumbled, but the holes were instantly
plugged and the volley had about as much effect as flinging pebbles at
an oncoming ocean wave.



Our archers kept it up, however, raining volley after volley on the
Sholanti. When they got close enough, our crossbows opened up, and
several wizards chanted and cast spells. Gaps in the earth opened up
beneath the Sholanti, swallowing up dozens. Liquid fire shot from a
wizard's finger to envelop a unit of hawk-masked warriors, who then
fled shrieking. Rocks hailed down on a shark-masked band, recoiling
them. Another unit, all in masks in the shape of lizards' heads, fell
back in terror, assailed by invisible illusions.



The Sholanti advance faltered, their front ranks milling in confusion.
Heatham saw his chance.



"Knights forward!" he thundered. "Forward at the charge!"



With that, we opened ranks to allow the gleaming knights to thunder
forward, all gleaming metal and waving banners. The earth shook and
dust rose up in billows as they passed. Forward they charged, Saint
Orlan's banner at their head, against the milling vanguard of the
Sholanti army.



But the Sholanti were not to be counted out. Heatham had made two
critical mistakes, possibly out of some lingering arrogance regarding
our imagined "superiority" to the Veldtlanders. First, he had ordered
the charge when the enemy was too far away. Their horses, hot and
sweaty to begin with, bore heavy burdens of armored riders and clumsy
steel barding plates, and would be blown and exhausted by the time
they reached their targets. Second, he had sent the knights, our best
and most important unit, into battle unsupported.



The Sholanti were quick to catch on. From their flanks, relatively
unmolested by our missile volleys and magical attacks, the Sholanti
cavalry countercharged, barreling down on the knights' exposed flank.



Oh, gods -- I knew I was probably going to die in the next hour. But
what a sight, I thought... The zebras were fastest, and bore slim,
lightly armored Sholanti men with long, wicked lances. Individually,
they would be no match for our knights, but in a body they were truly
terrifying, galloping hell-for-leather across the plains, zebras
whinnying and screaming, calling out a deep-throated war cry:
"Uuuuusuuutuuuuuuu!"



The cat-cavalry came behind, slower but more methodical, bounding over
the high grass trampled by the zebra-riders' passage. These were even
more magnificent. All women, they were, and the sort of women that
keep me up at night, sweating and sighing. Tall, muscular, fine-boned,
armed with curved swords -- I was glad that I didn't have to face
them.



Yet, at any rate.



The fight in front of us was vicious and short. Heatham realized his
mistake and ordered more cavalry into the fray to keep the knights
from being wiped out, but he was too late. Unarmored but still deadly,
the zebra-riders plunged their lances into our knights. Some broke on
armor, but others hit just right and plunged through bodies, both
horse and human. The cat-riders were worse, however. The great black
mounts swiped with heavy claws and bit with saber-fanged maws,
effortlessly seeking out gaps in armor, rendering knight after knight
to a bloody, twitching corpse, then moving on to the next.



The rest of our cavalry arrived just in time to be butchered in short
order. Through the dust I could see a handful of our riders fleeing
back to the relative safety of the palisade, but I knew that our fate
was sealed.



"Ready..." I shouted. "They'll be on us in a moment!"



But the Sholanti cavalry did not pursue. Showing admirable restraint,
they returned to station, and allowed the infantry, which had reformed
during the engagement, to continue its advance.



This time they had their own magic. Bone and charm covered shamans
advanced, shaking rattles and pointing feather-bedecked staves. Now we
were forced to deal with supernatural forces. Grassfires burst out in
the middle of our camp. The ground shook, throwing many of us off our
feet. Weapons softened and turned to water. A horde of stinging
scorpions swept over my squad, and half of them ran screaming, only to
fall a few feet away, black and bloated.



I scrambled up a nearby rock outcropping, shaking off a half-dozen
scorpions which had tried to crawl into my boot. Sigurd was beside me,
along with the survivors of my squad. All looked exhausted and
terrified, and we hadn't even gotten to sword-blows yet. A tide of
black scorpions surged up the rocks after us.



I grabbed a fetish from my pouch and mumbled a counterspell, hoping
that it would work in this gods-forsaken country. I cast a hand over
the advancing tide of scorpions and was surprised to see them vanish
or scuttle away. Damn -- I was genuinely shocked.



"Good job, corporal!" Sigurd shouted. "I'm afraid it won't save us for
long, though!"



I drew breath and realized that he was right. The Sholanti were only a
few paces away, spears glittering, hide shields like an impenetrable
wall. In a moment they'd be across the ditch and at the palisade.



"Back in line!" I ordered furiously. "If we break now we're all dead!"



Reluctantly, but with the strength of fatalism, we returned to the
palisade.



The Sholanti were on us immediately. We fought a unit of insect-masked
warriors who came at us with almost suicidal bravery. I killed three
at the palisade, and still they came. As I hacked down warrior after
warrior I realized that they were sacrificing themselves, keeping us
busy as their fellows hacked at the wooden palisade nearby. I could do
nothing, I realized as another insect-warrior impaled himself on my
sword and I pulled it free just in time to parry a spear-thrust from
yet another.



It was only a matter of time. Overborne by dozens of screaming
warriors, hacked at by innumerable spears, the palisade collapsed with
a cracking crash, and the Sholanti poured through the gap, their dark
eyes clouded with hatred and vengeance.



I knew what they wanted. We had come to steal from them, to take their
land, and make them slaves. This was their land, not ours, and we were
to pay the full price for our arrogance. The Sholanti kings were
determined to send us back to the Empire, awash on a sea of our own
blood.



"Every man for himself!" I bellowed. "Save yourselves if you can! I'll
see you in hell!"



"Well said, human," Sigurd bellowed back. "Let's get the hell out of
here!"



The line was breached everywhere. It had degenerated into a furious
hand to hand struggle, with each of our soldiers facing at least five
Sholanti. There was no doubt to the outcome now. I saw Lord Heatham,
beset on all sides by spear-wielding Sholanti, belaboring about him
with his sword, and killing at least a half-dozen until he was finally
pulled from his horse and vanished under as tide of muscled black
bodies. The Sholanti spears rose and fell in unison, and I heard their
war-cry once more.



I threw down my sword and ran. Sigurd was beside me, puffing along on
bandy legs. Speed is not a dwarf's strong suit, so I was determined to
help him. He weighed a ton, but I was able to heft him over my
shoulders and run along, albeit at reduced speed, through the carnage
as Sholanti warriors dragged down our soldiers, slit their throats or
bellies, and left them to die. Ahead, a band of Sholanti was ripping
apart tents and plundering the baggage train.



I stumbled on a rock, sending both of us sprawling. Sigurd rolled in a
tight ball and was on his feet, while I rolled on my back, wondering
if this was the end. A Sholanti stood above me, spear poised for a
downward thrust. Our eyes met for an instant, and I saw the depths of
hatred in them.



"Kweeeeeeeeeesh-haaaa!" he cried, and thrust down.



I rolled at the last second, and the spear plunged into the hard
earth. I looked again and saw Sigurd throw himself at the Sholanti,
his ax whirling.



"Run, you bloody gods-cursed human!" he shouted back at me, his face
red and streaming with blood. "I've no chance here. Get the hell out!
Tell my clan how I died!"



I hesitated for a moment, long enough to see a second Sholanti slam
his spear into Sigurd's face. He fell without a sound, blood
geysering.



Gods...



I ran. I ran as fast and hard as I knew how. My army was gone. My
commander was gone. My friend was gone. All I had left was my own
life, and that was in considerable peril. The lower slopes of the
mountain were ahead of me, strewn with bodies, broken weapons and
fallen banners. I stripped off my breastplate and arming coat and ran
naked but for my breeches, making for the slopes and the river beyond.
My heart hammered, and each breath burned like fire, but I kept
running, because I knew that to stop was to die.



I made the crest of the slope, pounding down toward the rocky shores
of the river. A few other stragglers ran with me, but as I watched an
elf went down with a spear in her back, and a band of a dozen or so
Sholanti appeared twenty paces to my left. Ahead lay the river.



A shriek sounded behind me.



"Kweeeeeeeeesh-haaaaaaaaa!"



The spear buried itself in the soft riverbank beside me. With the last
vestige of my strength, I hurled myself into the deep, green waters.
Just as the cold waters enveloped me, a heavy blow crashed down on my
head, and I slipped into darkness.







I swam up from darkness only with great difficulty. My head felt as if
a team of orcish squat-ball players had just had a scrum on my
cranium, my tongue was the size of the White Emperor's throne room,
and my body ached with the sort of pain that makes you sorry you were
ever born.



Oh, did I mention that I was alive? It didn't seem to matter too much.



With effort I managed to wrench my eyes open, and waited a few moments
while everything came into focus. I was lying on a low cot, in a
cylindrical chamber with plastered, whitewashed walls and a thatch
roof overhead.



I was covered with a rather scratchy blanket, and realized abruptly
that I'd been relieved of all my possessions, including my clothes. I
was a strange patchwork of red, brown and fishbelly white, where my
vest and breeches had covered me, but otherwise I seemed relatively
intact.



Beside the cot was a bowl of water and a wooden platter containing
several exotic-looking fruits and some kind of porridge. After briefly
wondering what the porridge was made of, I decided that I didn't care
if it was mashed fruit flies and termites, and devoured it with a
vengeance, not pausing to even bother tasting it.



At this point, as you might guess, I was beginning to suspect that I
would live after all, when my hopes were suddenly shattered.



The doorway was covered in a colorful, striped blanket, which abruptly
parted to reveal one of the tallest and most muscular Sholanti
spearmen I had ever seen. I met his gaze, my heart racing. When he saw
I was conscious, an inscrutable expression flashed across his face,
and he retreated through the door.



Outside I heard shouting and footfalls. My heart was racing. I jumped
out of bed, abandoning the blanket, casting desperately about for a
weapon or something to defend myself with. I was in the hands of the
Sholanti, the people we'd just tried to conquer, and who had just
impaled the White Empire's collective asses on one of their
broad-bladed spears. I could only think that they'd kept me alive just
so they could polish me off in some slow and excruciating fashion once
I had returned to health. Unless I could get out of this mess, I was
as dead as a Slaerthist at a Saint Orlan's rally. I was doomed. I was
ruined.



The entrance of a second Sholanti through the curtain ended my
fatalistic reverie and brought my scrambling to a screeching halt as I
gaped, open-mouthed and dumbfounded.



She was beautiful. A statue carved of gleaming mahogany would not have
done her justice. She was my height, with a serene, high-cheekboned
face, dark brown heavy-lidded eyes and full lips. Pale bone rings hung
from her ears, and several heavy necklaces of multi-hued trade beads
lay piled on her shoulders. Her body was a picture of lean muscularity
-- deep brown and smooth as glass -- her arms slender but wiry, her
legs like a Xeshite wrestler, her stomach flat as a windless sea.



None of this is to suggest that she was in any way unfeminine. Her
hips flared alluringly, and her bare breasts were ripe and rounded,
projecting in a way that made me consider becoming religious again.
Beyond the jewelry -- earrings, necklaces, carved anklets and silver
bracelets enough to choke a dragon, she was alluringly close to total
nudity -- just a hide loincloth and -- this I noticed with sudden
shock -- a leopard skin cloak. Further inspection revealed that she
carried twin curved swords, one on each hip.



I stared for a moment, then finally made the connection. the cloak...
the swords...



"You -- You -- " I blathered, not realizing that she probably didn't
understand a word I said. "You're a cat-rider."



A smile graced her exquisite countenance.



"Good boy," she said in flawless Imperial common. "You win a prize."



"You speak common?" My astonishment was building with each passing
moment.



"That should be obvious, paleman," she replied. "I spent some time as
a mercenary in the barbarian lands -- that's what we call your part of
the world, by the way -- and I learned how to speak that gibberish you
call a language."



"I'm grateful," I replied. "Uhhh, can I be so bold as to ask what I'm
doing here?"



"Sit, boy," she said. "This could take a while."



I complied, grateful for every moment I remained alive with all my
major organs intact.



She planted herself before me like one of my instructors at the Magic
Academy. The main difference was that she was much more fun to look
at.



"You were in that pathetic excuse for an army we butchered three days
ago?" she asked.



I sighed. Lying would not only be stupid, it was likely to be
suicidal. "If you mean the White Empire expeditionary force, under
that wanker Lord Heatham, the answer is yes. I'm sorry to say that I'm
just a minor functionary. If it had been up tome, I'd have stayed home
and left you people in peace."



She tapped her forehead, a gesture which I later found was the
Sholanti equivalent of nodding in agreement.



"As far as we know," she said, "you are the sole survivor of that
unfortunate expedition."



It came as no real surprise, but it still hit me hard. All dead --
Sigurd, Rose, even the contemptible Rhalatha and the vainglorious Lord
Heatham. Damn all kings, I thought. And damn all generals.



"What about the people we left back at our stockade?" I asked, "Did
you wipe them out, too?"



"No," she replied contemptuously. "We're not butchering barbarians
like you people. We sent them the head of your Lord Heatham and told
them to sail home and tell your Emperor never to come back."



"It probably won't work," I said. "The Emperor and his entire court
are bugfuck crazy."



"It's of no matter. If he sends another army, we'll kill them, too."



"That's encouraging." I took a deep breath. "Exactly what are your
plans for me, by the way?"



Her gaze took on a distinctly wicked cast. "That's a little
complicated... Excuse me, but I didn't get your name."



"I'm usually called Wulf," I said. "I picked it myself because it
sounded so dramatic."



She bowed, an act which did amazing things to her breasts.



"Ushandra Kalundi," she said. "Of His Majesty's Maiden Guard." I
frowned. "Maiden guard?" I asked. "The cat-riders?" "The same. We're
his majesty's personal bodyguards. Since only men can be king, I guess
he figured we were less likely to try and overthrow him."



"Are you maidens in the sense of..."



"In the traditional sense?" Ushandra snorted. "Hell, no. It's just an
affectation. We have to quit if we get pregnant, but we have ways of
getting around that restriction."



I didn't bother to ask. I was more concerned about my own skin.



"So you never did say what was going to happen to me," I said.



"Well..." she began, choosing her words very carefully. "The consensus
among the shamans and King Uzu's advisors is that you have a sharpened
stake hammered up your ass, be hung from a tree for three days, then
hacked apart while you're still alive, and your separate pieces burned
and buried."



This last didn't go over very well. I stared in horror.



"I'll be damned," Ushandra said in amazement. "I didn't think you
people could get any whiter than you already were."



"I'm full of surprises," I said. "So I'm going to be tortured and
killed horribly? Is that what you came here to tell me? Or did you
come to ask if I had any last requests?"



"'Not really." She looked contemplative. "The fact is that the shamans
are telling the king that your army was composed entirely of zombies,
and that impaling you and cutting you into small pieces is the only
way to make you stay dead. We've treated all your other soldiers that
way."



"Yeah," I said, "but they were really dead. I'm not! Why in the hell
did those blasted witch doctors get it into their heads that I was a
zombie?"



"Isn't it obvious? You're so pale you must be dead."



"Troll crap!" I spat. "You've been to the Empire. You know we're all
this color!"



"Sure I do," she agreed, "but my opinion doesn't hold much weight with
the shamans. They seem to feel that wisdom resides only in those
Sholanti with testicles."



I made some incoherent, frustrated noises. I was on the verge of
tears. "How the hell do we prove to them that I'm not a zombie?"



She tilted her magnificent head back. "Ahhhhhhh,- she breathed. "The
crux of the matter. Well, my dear Wulf, there are several ways of
telling if someone's a zombie, at least according to those
rattle-shaking frauds."



"Any that I can use?"



"Well, they claim that when you throw a zombie in water, he floats,
while a living man will drown."



"Big help, cat-rider," I said bitterly. "But if that's my choice, I'd
rather drown than be buggered and dismembered."



"There are a couple of other signs," she continued. "The most
important one, given your current dilemma is the common notion that
zombies can't... Oh, what's the word...?" Her dark eyes fixed me like
a goblin impaled on a knight's lance. "Fuck?"



Before I go on, I should say a few words about myself. Sometimes I
honestly do not know whether I am being rewarded or punished for the
sins of a previous life. Given the rather -- shall we say -- colorful
nature of my life, one would be justified in thinking that I actually
sought out all the exciting things that have happened to me. The truth
is that I have never gone looking for money, women, sex or adventure
-- it has all just happened. When life throws a deep pit in my path I
seem to unerringly move toward it and plunge down into the darkness.
This was just one more such incident.



"Are... you... saying..." I blathered, realizing at last, and with
considerable discomfort, that I was stark naked, and that Ushandra was
nearly so.



"I am saying, my dear Wulf, that I knew you weren't a shambling undead
monstrosity, I thought you were on the cute side, and when the elders
were debating what to do with you, I volunteered to prove that you
were really alive."



"Just doing your patriotic duty, were you?"



"Oh, yes," she declared with enthusiasm, moving closer and letting her
leopard-skin cloak slid to the floor. "Now, you'd better be able to
perform, white man. Your life depends on it, after all."



Oh, yeah, I thought. Just what every man wants to hear.



She leaned down, placing her hands on my shoulders, breasts bobbing,
dark eyes nasty and excited. "You do well, you're free to go. We'll
provide you with an escort of warriors to the edge of our territory
and send you off with food, water and the directions to the nearest
port city. Otherwise, well... we've discussed it. Do we have a deal?"



I swallowed. "Do I have a choice?"



"That's really the beauty of my plan," Ushandra said. "No, you don't."



"Well then," I replied, "take me, I'm yours." 



"I didn't think you'd take much convincing." She leaned forward and
her soft lips embraced mine, tongue slipping into my mouth with
burning eagerness.



"I picked up a few bad habits in your part of the world," she
whispered huskily. "Want to cooperate?"



At this point I would have said yes if she'd ask me to dress up like a
Vikan monk and beat myself with a willow switch, so I could only nod
wordlessly, and watch as she pulled her loincloth away, leaving her
completely naked save for all those wonderful beads and bracelets,
bright colors against her dark skin.



Gods, but my mind was racing. If ever there was a man who had to
perform under pressure, it was me. As Ushandra had noted, my life
depended upon rising to the occasion -- this was no time for
performance anxiety.



Fortunately, my battered body still had some reserves remaining. As
Ushandra's lips sought mine once more and our tongues thrust against
each other, I felt a familiar tightness growing between my legs, a
tightness which only grew more noticeable when her hand slipped down
my thigh and encircled my cock.



"Oh, yes," she breathed against my mouth. "You're being a good boy."



I responded by grabbing her head and shoving my mouth against hers
once more. She moaned deeply, hands moving up my sides, nails scoring
my flesh.



"You like that?" she hissed, eyes locking with mine, deep and wild.
"You want more?"



"Yes," I replied. "Give me more."



"Tell me." Her tone was urgent, a strange combination of a command and
a plea. "Tell me what you want to do."



I grinned broadly. "You look as if you'd love to have your cunt
licked," I said. "Is that what you want?"



Dark eyes locked with mine, urgent and feral as the jungle cat she'd
ridden into battle.



"Suck me," she said. "Suck me and I'll suck you."



"Happy to oblige," I replied.



We rolled onto the cot, which creaked and swayed ominously.



I kissed her, nibbling down her face and shoulders, pausing to stroke
and lick delicately at her heavy breasts, feeling her nipples stiffen
beneath my mouth.



"Yes," she breathed. "Bite my nipples. Bite them hard."



Ah, so she was that kind of woman. I sank my teeth into the dark,
delicate, swollen flesh and was rewarded by Ushandra's deep intake of
breath and groan of pleasure.



"Ahhhh, sweetheart..." She babbled briefly in Sholanti, forgetting
herself, then continued on in common. "Oh, I want you to lick me. I
want you to lick my cunt..."



"In good time, dearest," I replied. "I'm nowhere close yet."



She moaned again, and I felt an edge of frustration in her voice,
which was fine with me. I moved, with hands and tongue, down the
smooth expanse of her belly, noting a sheen of sweat had started, and
feeling her buck and writhe beneath me. Between the carved ebony
columns of her thighs lay the soft swell of her mons. I stroked her
softly, feeling heat radiating from her. She writhed with almost
back-breaking intensity- Sweat shone on her breasts as they rose and
fell with her feverish breathing.



"Oh, please..." her demanding tone had given way to mindless yearning.
"Please suck it."



I slipped down, positioning myself between her thighs, and touched my
tongue to the delicate black flesh beneath her tangled pubic thatch.



It was as if I'd just cast a lightning bolt on her. A convulsive heave
raced through her, and I felt strong hands grab the back of my head
and shove me violently against her cunt. She spread her legs wide as I
did so, and my tongue met hot wet flesh. As her moans grew louder I
flicked tongue into her cunt, then hard against the swollen prominence
of her clit. An idle notion flashed through my mind that I'd heard
some Veldt-lands peoples cut off girls' clitorises before they reached
puberty. I was grateful that I wasn't dealing with one of those
groups, sure enough.



"Ohhhh." Her grip tightened, and she ground herself against my face,
riding my tongue. Gods, I thought, in addition to being easy, this was
proving to be damned enjoyable.



"Make me come," she groaned. "Make me come and I'll suck you." She
went on in Sholanti some more, then switched back again. "I'll make
you come... I want to make you come..."



Not surprisingly, this spurred me on rather well, and I licked with
renewed enthusiasm. I slipped a hand between her grinding thighs and
slid two fingers into her. Damn, but she was tight...



My fingers only served to redouble the flames of passion which tore
through her. She was covered in sweat now, and glancing upward, I saw
her contorted face, .staring down at me from between the heaving,
bouncing mounds of her breasts. "I'm coming..." she groaned. "I'm
coming... Now..." The explosion which I caused in Lab C at the Magic
Academy couldn't have been any louder or violent. She heaved up, her
groans increasing to shrieks, then pounded down, only to rise again,
her hands still locked behind my head, her sopping cunt clamped
against my mouth. Down she came once more, and with a sudden crack,
the bed collapsed, spilling us onto the earthen floor.



"Don't stop, darling... Sweetheart... Make me come again..." She
hadn't even slowed down, so I kept at it, licking and thrusting
fingers as hard as I could -- she seemed to have an infinite capacity,
and I wasn't giving up until she told me to.



Eventually, after about her eighth orgasm, she collapsed like a limp,
sweaty rag, stroking my head and whispering what I could only assume
were endearments and various obscenities, in both Sholanti and
imperial.



"Oh, Nokoli... oh, darling... Oh, you fuck me so well with your
mouth... Mana hali godo... You make me come so well... Dena mahao... I
want you... Djina kura shokali... I want your cock in my mouth... Nula
bandi bishura kai..."



Mind you, Ushandra was a warrior, and didn't know the meaning of the
word "retreat." A brief respite for her to catch her breath and she
was on me again.



"I've got a favor to return," she said, pushing me down onto the ruin
of my cot. "We've still got to prove that you can perform all the
requisite functions."



I didn't answer, not coherently anyway, but only moaned as her lips
encircled my cock in a tight ring, sliding down with hot eagerness,
enveloping me in the dark wetness of her mouth.



She seemed almost as excited about this as she had been about getting
licked. She groaned and sighed as her head bobbed up and down, dark
and heavy lips surrounding the pale flesh of my shaft. I obliged by
thrusting up to meet her, an act which only seemed to increase her
excitement.



We continued in this manner for some minutes, until I felt the
unmistakable signs of approaching orgasm. She, too, seemed to sense
it, for she removed her lips from my cock, and held it in her hands,
looking up at me with that strange combination of vulnerable pleading
and stern command.



"Fuck me?" she said, half way between question and demand. "Fuck me
now?"



I didn't need much more encouragement than that, but positioned myself
as she rolled onto her back, knees bent, thighs luxuriantly spread,
tender cunt-flesh exposed and open, pouting and damp, waiting for me
to fill it.



"Fuck me now," she said. "Godo malika. Put your cock in me."



I was pretty much beyond words by this time, and replied with actions,
rubbing the head of my cock against her sopping lips and distended
clitoris, watching her writhe and meeting her pleading-demanding gaze
with what I hoped was calm patience. Inside, of course, I was just as
eager as she was, but I wasn't about to give in, considering how
important my performance was.



"Now," she whispered. "Now, please. I can't stand it anymore."



I pressed on, playing with her lips and clit, my fingers stroking her
sweat-covered thighs. Finally, when it seemed as if she would orgasm
simply from anticipation, I thrust inside her with a single stroke,
feeling the tight ring of her taunt cunt-muscles reluctantly giving
way before me.



"Ohhh...." Her voice rose to a high-pitched squeal. "Godo malika.
Shanki hutara, Wulf. Fuck me... harder..."



I thrust in again. She was still tight, and the pre-eruption energy of
her coming orgasm was almost physically tangible, like a glowing
corona around us. Her face contorted, mouth constricting into a
compact "O" as she shook her head back and forth, her voice rising in
register until it was completely inaudible.



Faster, now. I fucked her with increasing speed and force, feeling a
tremor go through her body at each stroke. She was rigid now, hands
clasping my shoulders, nails digging into my flesh, sweat gleaming
from every part of her body, her imposing collection of beads and
bracelets clattering and tangling, surrounding her exquisite face like
the frame of a fine portrait.



"Yesssss...." she hissed at last, and I felt contractions squeeze my
cock like a fist. She was coming, and I was suddenly concerned that
she would hurt herself, so powerful were the convulsions which wracked
her body.



Of course, I wasn't going to hold out much longer, either. The small
corner of my mind not completely lust-driven harkened back to her
statement about having to quit her unit if she became pregnant, and I
was wondering what to do about matters when she decided for me.



"Come on me..." she moaned. "You've got to... Take your cock out and
come on me..."



I complied quickly, pulling out of the heaving, convulsing depths of
her cunt, and she latched onto my cock with her hands, tugging and
stroking.



"Come now," she demanded. "Come for me. Show them..."



I didn't have time to worry about that last statement, for orgasm
washed over me, racing through me like a brushfire, and explosive
contractions shot streaks of hot, white semen across Ushandra's
sweat-soaked belly, splashing onto her heaving breasts. Still in the
throes of ecstasy, she rubbed my hot seed across her skin, then licked
at her own fingers.



"Oh, yes," she sighed. "Yes, Wulf. Mano lapano. You are alive, Wulf.
You are alive..."



"Na. Godo muhad shikari, Ushandra," said a voice from nearby, making
me jump practically out of my skin.



In the doorway stood a wizened old man, bedecked in bones and
feathers, carrying a decorated staff. Gods dammit! One of their creepy
little witch-doctors! Gods, how long had he been there? I glared and
started to speak.



"It's all right, Wulf," Ushandra cautioned, touching my lips with what
seemed to be the last of her strength. "He had to be here. He had to
witness that you were truly alive. Now he believes me."



I stared wearily. This little interlude had sapped what little
strength I'd recovered since the battle.



"Tell him that I'm honored that he acknowledges I'm alive," I said.
"But, for the moment, I'd like to go back to sleep."



Ushandra looked at me with tender eyes. "You're sweet, Wulf," she
said. "Nokoli. That means `beloved.' I'm glad you're going to stay
alive."



"You're glad?" I replied, still staring at the shaman. "I'm downright
ecstatic." I returned my gaze to Ushandra and felt an unexpected rush
of tenderness and affection toward her. "I'm sorry. I should be
kinder. You saved my life, Ushandra. I'm grateful. You're very
beautiful and very resourceful, and I think that I'm going to be
extremely fond of you." 



I took a breath. "Nokoli," I said. "Beloved. I think you are."



She smiled. "You'll always have a beloved among the Sholanti." She
rose to her feet and picked up her few scattered garments. "Sleep now,
Nokoli Wulf. Dream of me."



She swayed gracefully from the tent, none the worse for the hard
fucking we'd just had, and then she and the shaman were gone.



I was asleep an instant later. I did dream of Ushandra, as a matter of
fact, but I dreamed of lions as well.



Lions. It turned out to be prophetic.







Part 2







[In our first episode, Wulf the Freelance is the sole survivor of the
White Empire's military expedition to the Veldt Lands. He is captured
by the Sholanti, a nation of fearless warriors, who believe he is a
zombie and want to destroy him. The Maiden Guardswoman Ushandra proves
Wulf is human by banging his brains out.]



I spent several days at that place, which I learned was called H'luru
Kraal, recovering my strength. I suspect that I would have recovered a
hell of a lot quicker if Ushandra hadn't shown up every night or so to
renew acquaintances, and explore a number of acts which she'd learned
about in the Empire, but which her fellow tribesmen thought to be
perverse and sinful (in this they were completely correct, of course,
but we were perverse and sinful people), but I wasn't about to
complain.



After a week or so, Ushandra informed me that the shamans wouldn't
stand for me to be in the village any longer, alive or undead. I
suspect that word of our antics was getting out to the local women,
and they were demanding that their doctrinaire husbands and lovers
show more initiative and imagination.



Whatever the cause, we set out for the Sholanti frontier a day later.
Instead of the promised escort, I got Ushandra and her steppe-cat, a
muscular black monster named Shuya which regarded me with cool
contempt, not unlike the glances I got from the Sholanti shaman as we
marched out of town. I also noticed a couple of furtive grins and
winks from some of the Sholanti women, as well.



Since I'd spent the last few days worrying about whether the shamans
would visit a plague of starving parakeets on me, I was as glad to
leave as the Sholanti were to get rid of me. Not that I blamed them --
I was the last survivor of an army which had come to reduce them all
to penurious servitude, and as such I wasn't going to win any
popularity contests, so when H'luru Kraal faded into the distance
behind us, a deep sense of relief swept over me.



I walked while Ushandra rode Shuya. She'd provided me with traveling
clothes and weapons, including a Sholanti spear and a sword scavenged
from the bodies of our soldiers on the mountain. The grassy plains
stretched out ahead of us, broken by the occasional baobob or umbrella
tree, sometimes folding into gentle ravines where shallow rivers
crawled, crocodiles and hippopotami basking along their muddy banks.
Herds of zebra, gazelle and water buffalo blackened the plains in the
distance, while white clouds of birds swirled overhead.



"What's beyond your territory?" I asked.



"The lands of the n'doro noko, the lion people," she replied. "They're
nomads, hunters. We fight them sometimes, but we usually leave each
other alone."



I considered this. "How should I deal with them?"



"I discussed it with the shamans," Ushandra replied, rummaging around
in one of Shuya's saddle packs. "They weren't inclined to help you,
but I persuaded old Mokura to give me this." She pulled out a small
black stone and handed it to me.



It was about the size of my thumb nail, and had a small picture of a
lion carved on it.



"When we get to the border, swallow this," Ushandra said. "It will
make you look like a lion-man."



I frowned. "I thought they were just another tribe who called
themselves `lion people'. You mean they're actually another species?"



She tapped her forehead. "Solitary males wander the plains, and the
other n'doro leave them alone. They have prides, the same as normal
lions, with a single male and several females."



"Some guys have all the luck," I replied. I looked down at the stone
again. "Uhhh... I'm not sure how to say this, but what happens when
the stone... ummm... isn't inside me anymore?"



She chuckled. "The magic will last for a week or so, even if you pass
the stone. That will be more than enough time to get across n'doro
territory."



"You sure this isn't some kind of trick -- poison or something? I
mean, Mokura probably wasn't very fond of me..."



"Don't worry, nokoli." A look of fierce determination crossed her
strong features. "Mokura knows that if anything happens to you I'll
have his intestines for a necklace."



"Good," I replied. "Of course, I'll still be dead, but..."



"But you'll be avenged. Your spirit will rest."



"That's encouraging."











By day, we walked slowly, at our leisure, living off the food Ushandra
had brought, or foraging for springbok and other small game. At night,
we made camp, I cast protective pattern-spells, and we made love by
firelight with the stars shining down like a million gleaming
gemstones.



On our last night together, we lay naked on Ushandra's scratchy
groundcloth, the reassuring bulk of Shuya curled up and sleeping
nearby. I held her close, feeling her soft expanse of skin, staring
into the dark pools of her eyes, now deep in shadow.



"I'll miss you," I said. "I'd like to promise that I'll come back
someday, but I can't. We don't have regular passenger service to the
Veldt Lands from my part of the world."



She sighed. "They want us to be strong and merciless." There was a
catch in her voice. "The king doesn't like us to form permanent
attachments. I think it's because he wants to keep us all for himself.
Not as if he doesn't already have eighty wives, mind you."



"Old deviant," I muttered.



"It doesn't matter. The fact is that I have a duty to remain here.
Otherwise..."



I let the word hang in silence for a few moments.



"Otherwise what?" I asked at last.



"Otherwise, I'd ask if you wanted me to go with you."



I sighed, too. "If you did, you know that I'd say yes."



She was silent again.



"I was hoping you'd say no," she replied. "That way I wouldn't have
any regrets, and we'd just go our separate ways."



"Ah, well in that case, hell no, I never want to see you again. It's
been fun, but when ya gotta go, ya gotta go." I smiled tentatively.
"How's that?"



"You're a bad liar, Wulf."



"Actually, I'm usually a damned good one. I'm only a bad liar when I
try to tell someone I'm not in love with her."



Ushandra reacted in that strange, dichotomous manner I had become
familiar with. Part of her reacted as if I'd just struck her across
the face, while the remainder melted like a golem in a wizard's
furnace.



"Oh, Wulf..." she whispered. "Nokoli. Nokoli manda. Best beloved."



I kissed her deeply, holding her close. It seemed the right thing to
do.



"Make love to me again, nokoli," she said. "Let me remember you."



I did as she asked. The closeness of our parting added passion to the
night, and we set to each other with an unbridled enthusiasm. Our
hands and mouths roamed all over each other's bodies -- I toyed with
her nipples, pinching and biting so hard that she cried out, but still
asked me for more; I stroked her mons, then licked and bit my way down
her belly, along her thighs, and in the moist, soft flesh between,
sliding my tongue inside her, playing her with my fingers, thrusting
my face against her hot, eager skin. She gave back, biting and
scratching like her steppe cat, kissing me feverishly, then devouring
my cock, lips moist and trembling. We lay locked together, my tongue
laving her cunt-lips and clit, her mouth swallowing my member; she
soared to orgasm after orgasm, while the heat inside me built higher
with each passing moment.



Then I straddled her from behind, slipping my cock between her
muscular thighs, shoving and thrusting, harder and harder as she urged
me on. She came again as I did so, then lay on her back, knees drawn
up, her gorgeous black cunt exposed to me, and I rubbed my cockhead
against the wet lips. She begged me to fuck her then, but I waited,
feeling her heat build, then slipped my cock into her, pulling out
sopping with her juices, plunging in again.



"Yesss..." she moaned, so loud that I was afraid they'd hear her back
in the kraal. "Oh, nokoli... Oh, fuck me hard..."



I groaned loudly in response, prepared to pull out and come as soon as
she had her final, gut-wrenching orgasm.



"Stay inside me, my love," she pleaded. "Keep your beautiful cock
inside me. Fill me with your come."



Her own words seemed to excite her more, and she came almost
immediately, back arching, breasts bobbing and straining, dark
continents in the moonlight.



"Ahhh," she cried again. "Stay inside me, darling. Share your seed
with me..."



Of course, I complied. My love for Ushandra had become pretty much
total, and I would have done anything she asked of me. I felt her hot
cunt close around me, tightening and releasing, over and over, as each
wave of orgasm crashed down on her, and I realized that I was tipping
over the edge as well.



"I'm coming, too," I managed, before I felt my cock explode inside
her, pumping hot semen to mix with the damp secretions of her cunt.
Gods...



"Fill me." Another plea and demand combined. "Fill me with your hot
sperm, darling. Godo malika, nokoli. Godo malika..."



At length, our various convulsive climaxes had finally died away, and
we lay, exhausted, in the firelight.



"Oh, my sweet Wulf," she sighed. "I'll remember you always."



"Gods," I replied, cradling her in my arms, "how could I possibly
forget?"å We slept well, though the sorrow of our parting lingered in
the back of my mind, and haunted my dreams.











We parted late the next morning. It was mercifully brief. Ushandra was
a warrior, and had lost many friends and lovers over the years. She
told me that she would miss me, and always nurse the hope that I might
return, and I agreed.



She looked nervously at the ground. Shuya was a few yards away,
stalking a white butterfly.



"Wulf," she said, "I'm not one to be overly -- what's the damned word?
-- sentimental at times like this, but..."



"Yes?" I asked, feeling the heaviness of her heart.



"Wulf, I love you. That's not a demand that you stay, or any kind of
demand for that matter." She paused again, and I saw a faint gleam of
tears in her eyes; I was just managing to hold back, myself. "It's a
gift, Wulf. My love is a gift to you. Keep it with you, and use it
when you need to be strong. I haven't loved many men in my life, Wulf.
It's not a thing I do lightly."



"I love you, too," I said, and meant it. "Ushandra, I'll never forget
you. You keep my love with you, as well. It's something that no one
can ever take away."



She tapped her forehead. "Now, swallow that damned stone so we can see
if you drop dead or not."



I shrugged. "Here goes." I took out the stone and placed it in my
mouth. Nothing out of the ordinary happened; so far, so good.



With effort, I forced the stone to the back of my throat and swallowed
hard. It didn't go down very easy, in fact it got stuck once on the
way, but eventually it made it all the way.



There was no immediate effect. I was just beginning to think that the
old man was having us both on, when I felt a sudden wave of dizziness.
The grassy plains around us wavered, as if in the heat. I stumbled,
briefly, and felt myself change.



It's a hard process to describe. As it happened, I realized that the
shaman had given me some powerful magic. This was no mere glamour, it
was actually changing me into something else. Surprisingly, it wasn't
terribly unpleasant. My muscles and internal organs tingled and
twitched as they changed, but the pain one would expect from such a
radical rearrangement was mercifully absent.



I watched my flesh soften, flow, then harden into new shapes. My legs
grew longer, stretching into a crooked semblance of a feline leg,
forcing me to pull off my boots lest they damage me. Tawny hair
sprouted from my arms and neck, growing into a bristly golden pelt and
dark brown -- almost black -- mane. My face changed, elongating, teeth
changing from my flat omnivore's equipment to the rapacious fangs of a
predator.



My clothes felt uncomfortable against my new pelt. An unfamiliar
sensation tugged at my spine, and at last I realized it was a tail,
now coiled uncomfortably inside my breaches.



Gods... There seemed to be lion-man senses coming on with the new
body, as well. My sight remained good, though colors faded, and motion
became more significant. Odors which were only dimly perceived
hammered at me with harsh intensity. Sounds buffeted me -- off in the
distance I heard elephant and rhino snorting and bellowing, and
another veldt-cat screaming challenges to other males.



I looked at Ushandra. She seemed impressed, staring at me with wide
eyes.



"You smell wonderful," I said. "Better than before."



"I'm so glad you approve." She tapped her forehead again. "Old
Mokura's outdone himself this time."



I agreed, but also realized that my new body was downright
uncomfortable. Strange instincts assailed me, and one of them was to
shed these stinking human rags as quickly as possible. I stripped out
of my clothes rapidly, inspecting my new body and its capabilities as
I did so.



Outwardly, though I couldn't see my own face without a mirror, I
resembled a muscular hybrid of man and lion. I walked easily on two
legs, but a tail bobbed behind me for balance, and my feet were
mid-way between normal human appendages, and a padded lion's paw. My
toenails had elongated to claws, and I felt a barely restrained power
in my muscles, as if they would take me springing off across the veldt
without my permission.



My chest, abdomen and inner thighs were white, and a massive mane of
black-brown fur covered my head and shoulders. My hands were normal,
although, like my feet, they bore a wicked set of claws. My face, I
determined with my fingers, was also leonine, with a short, heavy
muzzle, wiry whiskers and a broad, moist nose. I was pretty far gone
from Wulf the human. Fortunately, I noted, I still had my
lightning-fast mind and razor-sharp wit.



I also noted, with some embarrassment, that nature had provided the
lion-men with a surprisingly human-looking genital arrangement, one
which I hastened to protect with an improvised loincloth.



This last didn't escape Ushandra's notice, either.



"I'd never really noticed lion-men's cocks before," she said artfully.
"Now I wonder if they're all as well hung as you, or whether you just
got lucky."



I didn't say anything -- what can you say to a remark like that? The
fact was that I was equipped about twice as well as I had been as a
human. What the hell kind of sex lives did these randy cat-bastards
have, anyway? I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.



We packed my discarded clothes in my backpack, for use when I returned
to my normal form. I kept the short Sholanti spear and a few pieces of
equipment, which I hung from a belt. Besides this and the
aforementioned loincloth, I was pretty much clad in nature's garb, but
it seemed only too natural for the form I had been squashed into.



"You are a magnificent sight, Wulf," Ushandra said. "I'm almost sorry
there's a taboo against fucking n'doro noko." She chuckled. "Well, I'm
sorry that my last memory of you will be while you look like this, but
I have to admit you're damned handsome."



I grunted. "Maybe I should just stay this way."



"Oh, no, Wulf. I wouldn't want to deprive the world of your human
self."



We stood in silence for a few moments.



"Well," she said, "I guess this is good-bye."



I nodded, not wanting to speak for fear I'd burst into tears, lion-man
or no lion-man.



We embraced and kissed as best we could (she decided that the taboo
didn't extend to tonsil-jousting, at least), then she mounted up on
Shuya, who cast some suspicious glances at me, and rose off across the
veldt.



I watched her go, waving my spear until I couldn't see her anymore.



I sighed. So here I was, alone in the grasslands, in the form of some
damned inhuman creature who looked more at home drinking milk from a
saucer, and a very long trek ahead of me.



Overall, I told myself, it could have been worse.



The n'doro could have been the badger-people or something. Maybe the
skunk-people...



It didn't bear thinking about.











I spent the next few days getting used to my new body. The plains had
become a place of renewed wonder for me, as my enhanced senses
revealed an intricate place of smells and sounds, far beyond what I
had perceived before. I was faster and stronger, too, bounding
tirelessly through the grass, chasing down small animals and
dispatching them with my spear, or my new predator's teeth and claws.



That was another aspect of my new form -- I had a hunter's instincts,
and shunned most of the supplies in my backpack, preferring instead to
stalk and kill springbok, wild pigs, small antelope, and other cute,
helpless little creatures. If I got too hungry, instinct took over
completely, and I ate them raw, allowing the human side of me to get
finicky and disgusted later when it was back in charge. When I had
time or wasn't too hungry, I cooked my meat like a civilized being.



The only thing I missed -- and this was significant, given my chosen
profession -- was my vision. My colors were seriously reduced, as was
my detail vision, though my motion sensors were such that I could see
a mouse disturbing a blade of grass at a hundred paces. Although my
strength and speed, as well as my enhanced senses were wonderful, I
found myself looking forward to the day when I got my human body back.



My nightly routine was about the same. I made camp with a small
campfire, set up a pattern-spell to protect myself (my magical
abilities seemed undiminished), and slept like a log, dreaming about
Ushandra and how much I missed her.



I thought about her during the day as well, since there really wasn't
a hell of a lot else to think about. My heart was heavy those days,
with visions of her slipping through my mind, dark and alluring,
always just out of reach. Sorrow and unhappiness tugged at me, but I
went on as best I could, because I had no choice.



I never saw another lion-person. I assumed they were all being nomads
somewhere else, and was actually quite grateful, since I didn't know
how to act around another n'doro.



Then, of course, it all changed.











Five days from the border I had reconciled myself with never seeing a
lion-man in the flesh. I continued to take my usual precautions each
night, setting up my campfire and magic circle, but I wasn't terribly
worried. This particular night I camped in the lee of a jumbled pile
of grey rocks, strewn across this section of the plains like a giant
child's building blocks. I drifted off to sleep, listening to the
steady drone of insects and gazing dreamily into the fire. I thought
of Ushandra, and not for the last time.



I awoke with a start, my heightened instincts bellowing alarms. My
heart hammering, I scanned the rocky terrain around me, warmly
illuminated by my campfire, and the sliver of moon overhead.



What I saw wasn't terribly reassuring. I was surrounded by at a
half-dozen vague, man-sized shapes, lurking in the shadows, eyes
reflecting a feral yellow-orange. As they slowly stalked forward, into
the firelight, I realized that I was seeing my first n'doro noko.



These, however, were not exactly what I expected. They were all
female.



Gods, but there's a grace in wild beasts that humans can only aspire
to. Their purity of movement and singleness of intent, the focused
intelligence gleaming in slitted animal eyes, the grace of the hunter
and the hunted, unsullied by the greed and desires that foul the human
soul.



These creatures embodied that simple and pure splendor, combined with
the sensual beauty of the most self-assured human woman. They were
lean, muscular creatures, sporting golden pelts and lashing tails like
my own. Golden eyes gleamed, fixing me with intense stares that
hovered between curiosity and hostility, staring from short-muzzled,
triangular faces sporting whiskers and saber-fangs.



And, like myself, they were nearly naked, decorated only with a few
oddments such as bracelets, earrings, and leather bindings around
ankles, forearms or tails. They each had two breasts (that satisfied
one question I'd had about how close they were to real lions, at any
rate), taut and supple-seeming, hanging enticingly over taunt,
white-furred bellies. Gods, if I were inclined that way, I'd find them
damned attractive...



Wait a minute... Was I inclined that way? Gods... My lion-man senses
reached out and caught a whiff of a swirling, musky odor. It reached
deep into my brain, touching places inside me, redoubling back upon
itself, sending messages down my spine, into my chest and belly,
touching at my loins and my new, until now relatively unused genitals.
I felt a rapid increase in my pulse, and felt blood move from head
toward cock in a sudden rush.



No... The human side of me still mourned over Ushandra. Admittedly, it
had happened before and, to my regret I realized that it would
probably happen again, but parting from a loved one, possibly forever,
has a foul effect on one's libido. Until this very moment, I'd figured
that I wouldn't be having sex for at least another month or two.



Now, though, those funny lion-man instincts were taking over, and part
of me wanted to step outside my circle and fuck these lion-women
senseless. Fortunately, my sensible human side was still in control,
and I resisted for the moment.



The lion-women approached my circle, eyes still locked on me. They
wove back and forth like the great cats they were descended from,
cautiously advancing a step, then retreating, and advancing again. I
began to notice individual differences. The lead female was the
largest and, I suspected, the oldest, silver rings dangling from both
ears. The next wore a woven leather necklace, bearing a rough crystal
hanging down between her upright breasts. The third, now slowly
stalking out of shadow and into my firelight, had black eyes, their
pupils barely visible, and thin leather thongs strung with various
colorful beads wrapped around her wrists and forearms.



They didn't speak, but I could see them sniffing the air intently. The
lead female finally reached out a surprisingly delicate and
long-fingered hand toward me, only to encounter the invisible barrier
of my magic circle. In a few moments, they were all at the circle,
curiously touching it and testing its strength.



I doubt whether my circle could have restrained a bull elephant or a
charging rhino, but it would probably hold this crew off for a while,
at least. My problem was that I wasn't sure if I wanted to hold them
off. Damned lion-man libido... Gods...



After a couple of minutes of testing the barrier, the females fell
back, staring at me in a ragged group. The other three females were
less heavily decorated, and harder to tell apart, save that one of
them wore a jet-black bracelet decorated with silver banding, but it
was hard to see in the dark.



Another tense handful of moments passed, then the elder female stalked
forward purposefully, and addressed me directly. I wasn't sure what
surprised me more -- that I understood her (probably my lion-man brain
processing my new "native" language or something), or what she said to
me.



"We walk the plains, seeking our lost mate," she said in stilted,
obviously formal language. "The night is dark, alive with the sounds
and smells of prey. Just when we believe that we will never find our
lost one, the scent of a male touches us. We investigate, and find a
handsome young male, camped alone with a fire, in the manner of the
hairless ones, sleeping, woefully alone, without the warmth of females
to keep him safe. We admire the male, for it has been long and long
since a male has given us the pleasures of his touch."



She paused, touching the barrier, then continued.



"But alas, even as desire for this handsome male sweeps over us, my
sisters and I are saddened to feel a wall of solid air around him,
like the spells made by the rattle-shaking hairless dark ones. We
wonder if he is a prisoner, this handsome young male, and whether we
should rescue him, like the pride-females in ancient songs of valor.
We wonder if he fears us, or if he fears the dark, and uses the spells
of hairless savages to protect himself. Further, we wonder why he does
not speak to us, why he does not approach us, or even show interest in
our young, ripe bodies, our eager loins and our soft flesh."



I remained silent, more out of astonishment than anything else. The
lioness' words had an effect, however, and the heart-pounding
excitement I'd felt before redoubled itself. I felt my cock growing
hard between my legs, rising up to unavoidable prominence.



The elder female bared fangs, and licked lips with a pink, bristly
tongue.



"My words bring a reply that is not words," she continued. "My sisters
see the male, his member growing ready for love, and they, too, grow
excited."



Instincts flashed through my mind once more, a racial memory implanted
in my inhuman brain. I realized that this was a formal mating (or at
least sex) ritual, in which females try to entice a male into sex,
while the male feigned indifference. Fortunately for me, I had reacted
appropriately, remaining silent and pretending not to be interested.
The magical shield, which they apparently had never seen used by a
lion-man before, only added to the apparent excitement of the ritual.



"Perhaps my sisters will show the male what it is like to pleasure
them," she went on, looking back at the remaining five females, who
now huddled together in a close bunch, hands stroking each other.
"Their desire grows with each passing moment, and if the handsome male
will not relent, they will have to find their delectation in each
other." Two of the other females began earnestly licking each other's
face and shoulders, and in a moment all five had taken up the
activity.



Dammit. I had stepped into it again.



The five remaining females slowly dissolved into a maelstrom of
probing hands, breasts, bellies, tails and huge, pink bristle-studded
tongues. The black-eyes lioness slipped between the tawny thighs of
the necklace-wearer, grooming the golden pelt of her stomach with her
tongue, moving lower and lower until the moist pinkness made contact
with the other's wet cunt-flesh.



I hoped that lion-women's flesh was sturdier than that of human
females -- most of the women I knew would have reacted with screams of
agony at that kind of treatment. But the necklace-wearing lioness took
it with luxuriant grace, writhing and making a deep growling sound in
her chest. Damme, but I think I actually heard her purring.



While black eyes devoured her companion's cunt (calling it a "pussy"
at this point would probably be redundant, I'm afraid), the third
female, the one with the bracelet, began to play with her from behind,
sliding fingers inside her companion, an act which met with approval,
to judge by the unrestrained howls and tail-lashings which followed.
Nearby, the two others lay in a close embrace, licking between each
other's muscular thighs.



My erection grew to painful prominence, and the instinct to rush into
the fray raced through my veins, and my breath came in short, panting
gasps.



"The male approves of the pleasure my sisters give each other?" the
elder lioness asked, looking with what could only be a smile from me
to the writhing bodies nearby. "Is this sufficient to arouse the
handsome male to action? Is it sufficient to persuade him to share the
long stiffness between his legs with an elder female and her sisters?"



I would say, right off-hand, that it was, but I still resisted,
watching the yowling, licking orgy of excited female-feline bodies
just out of reach, glowing yellow-orange in firelight.



"Oh, is there more we can offer the male?" she asked again, her voice
still full of confidence that I would eventually relent. "Can we lick
his body? Can we offer the softness of our breasts up to his caresses?
Can we take that fine, thick organ in our mouths and suckle at it?
Would this be sufficient for him to join us, to slip his great member
inside our bodies?"



I sighed. It was inevitable. I muttered the dispel command, and strode
out of the circle, my excessive erection (which probably would have
scared the hell out of a human woman) bobbing uncomfortably.



The elder lioness' face broke out in a grin of triumph.



"Ah, the male joins my sisters, at last. What would he like, we
wonder? Of all the pleasures we describe, which would he most desire
first?"



The two youngest females left off their frenetic licking and crouched
in front of me, staring intently.



"Take him, sisters," my narrator urged, standing behind me, placing
strong hands on my shoulders. "Take his firm member in your mouths.
Show him the pleasure you show each other."



The two females complied, kneeling in front of me subserviently. The
first took my cock in her hands and began to stroke it, while the
second ran a raspy tongue up and down its length. Yes, it felt
strange, but no, it didn't strip off the first layer of flesh. My new
skin was tougher, and held up to the sandpapering the females gave it
just fine. In fact, the sensation was quite intense, running through
my loins and into my chest like a rush of hot air.



Now, the second had commenced to lick, leaving my cock slick and
shiny, and then enveloped me with her mouth, sliding the long, dark
organ inside her, gently flicking her tongue along its length. She
took my entire member, scarcely hesitating when it slid past the back
of her mouth and into her throat. When she finally let it slide out
again, the first female grabbed it with a petulant expression, and
began to suck it herself.



"Now, now, sisters," cautioned the elder, who still stood behind me,
observing and, apparently, overseeing the others' activities, "the
male has graced us with his presence, and deigned to share his bounty
with us. Though it may be difficult, you must share him gracefully."
The irony in her tone was unmistakable, but the two youngsters didn't
seem to notice.



The pace of the licking and sucking increased, and I felt intense
sensations race through me, like my own impending orgasm, but deeper
and different in an indescribable way.



"Ah, the male feels the tongues of the young females," our overseer
continued. "He feels heat built inside him, and will soon share his
seed with my sisters. Who will receive it of the two, we wonder?"



I realized with something of a shock, that the other three females had
broken off from their orgiastic pursuits, and were watching from
nearby, mouths open, tongues protruding, panting, great streams of
saliva trailing from their black lips.



The first female was sucking me with sincere enthusiasm, her dark
brown eyes occasionally looking up at me, or at the elder female
behind me.



"Give your sister a chance, now," she suggested, and the second female
took me in her mouth, running her raspy tongue up and down my shaft,
swallowing the massive member entirely.



Then she released me, and the two of them licked me, stroking my cock
with their long-fingered hands.



"They have learned to share," said the female behind me. "Perhaps the
male will reward them both equally."



That did it. The building sensations finally shattered simultaneously,
and I felt hot semen gush from my cock. No, it wasn't too different
from its human counterpart -- passionate white spurting across the two
feline faces, into mouths, onto tongues and hands, much to the delight
of the two females, who immediately forgot about me and turned to
licking each other clean and, a few moments later, were back to their
mutual cunt-lapping as if I had been a mere pleasant interlude in
their real pursuit.



I didn't have time to feel left out, for the three watchers were on me
in a moment. To my astonishment, no sooner had my erection collapsed
in the wake of explosive orgasm, than I started to feel a rush of
blood and rapidly-increasing stiffness. I began to wonder what the
lion-men had that we didn't. Perhaps it was something in the water.



The elder female continued to watch and provide commentary, which was
fine with me, and apparently with the remaining females, who set to
their work without speaking, but with a fine chorus of howls, snarls,
purrs, and other animal noises. The first squatted astride me,
purposefully rubbing my now-fully distended cock between her thighs,
against what I could only guess was her clit. My suspicions were
confirmed when a second lioness crouched above my face, spreading her
cunt-lips for my inspection. I followed my instincts and began to
lick, my huge pink tongue scraping at the moist flesh. I watched as
her recessed button of flesh grew to prominence, and she whined
urgently in response.



Eagerly, I grabbed her buttocks, pulling her down against my mouth,
and licked as hard and with as much saliva as I could muster. This was
all too much for the first female, for I felt her drop down, plunging
my cock inside her, then rose up and lunged downward once more.



There was still one left from the trio which had been entertaining
each other while the first two sucked me off. I glanced up to see the
lioness I was eating out licking and biting at the distended pink
nipples of the missing third, who squeezed the twin mounds between her
hands, and luxuriated in the tongue-laving she received.



I licked still harder, while the first lioness bounced up and down, my
cock alternating between hot wetness and the coolness of the air. The
second one squeezed her thighs together around my face, nearly
suffocating me and cutting off my lovely view of the third, but I was
once more beyond caring.



When the first lion-woman went rigid, and her cries soared to a
trailing shriek and beyond, I knew she'd reached her peak and was now
plunging over into oblivion. I continued to give her my shaft, pumping
into her even as she writhed and howled. Orgasm for me was miles away
-- I wanted these females to come and come again before I did.



At length, the first female slid off me, to lie in a warm heap near my
feet (I couldn't see her, but I could feel the heat rolling off her
nearby body). At that signal, the last lioness gave up on getting her
nipples tormented and took her place astride me.



Oh, we were magnificent... I know I can say that without being
pretentious, because I hadn't come by my great sexual stamina honestly
-- this was the work of some feather-bedecked savage shaman, and I was
only along for the ride. But such a ride it was. I doubt that Finegal
had a better one when he stole Myskallah's sleigh and melted the
glaciers (if you're not familiar with that particular legend, I
suggest you check it out, by the way).



The second lioness finally slammed her way to body-wracking orgasm at
the insistent rasping of my tongue, but I held her firmly against me,
and kept licking her to a second and third climax. By this time, she
had gone completely limp, and collapsed like an elf stuck full of
dwarf arrows.



That left the last, who was still riding me, knees bending tirelessly,
magnificent muscles tensing and releasing beneath her tawny hide. I
sat up abruptly, looking into her wild eyes, throwing my arms around
her and pounding away from a sitting position.



She stared at me intently, meeting me stroke for stroke, as if daring
me to orgasm before her. An involuntary growl built in the back of my
throat, and I pushed her backwards, rolling forward, my cock still
buried deep in her throbbing, grasping cunt, pressing her shoulders
down into the hard, grassy earth.



She whined, then growled herself, and I felt her claws rake my back.
With a snarl, she sank her teeth into my shoulder, and pain raced
through me. But, as my friends at the temple of Kashella of the Nine
Whips would say, it was good pain, that fed on itself and sent tremors
of pleasure through me. I plunged my cock inside her to the hilt with
a deafening roar, the pain translating instantly to pleasure, and I
came once more, contracting and spasming, pumping hot seed into her
soaking wet depths.



I would have been loathe to lose the contest of wills -- she came at
the same instant, shrieking and roaring hoarsely, claws digging once
more into my back. I felt blood, but once more, I didn't care.



I fell back, once more exhausted by the overwhelming rush of
sensation, but in the back of my mind I realized that I had at least
one session left.



And I suspected that I knew who it was for.



The elder female had remained largely silent through my moments with
her three sisters, and when I looked up to find her, I realized why.



She lay in the grass not far away, knees raised and spread apart,
fingers busy between them. She gasped softly, and her belly heaved
when she saw me.



"Ah, you finish with the younger sisters," she said, the edge of
formality still in her voice. "The elder female must take her pleasure
last. Such is the law, male, and we must all live by it. Still, she
may pleasure herself, and wonder about the male. Are my thoughts made
flesh? Will what I imagine become true? Is your organ risen one final
time? Will it enter the softness between my thighs? Will it fill me
with its hardness and make my body shake with pleasure? I have desired
fulfillment lone enough, young male. Give the eldest female what she
now desires more than any other thing. Give her yourself..."



With that kind of encouragement, who could resist, human or otherwise?
In any event, Elder Female (I still had no names for them) had
instilled a warm respect in me already, with her helpful commentary
and willingness to share with her younger pride-sisters, so I was only
too happy to give her what she wanted. She kept talking, too, which
was a change from the others.



"The eldest female is grateful," she whispered, encircling my
once-more tumescent organ (which still seemed relatively the length of
my forearm, but I suspected that my senses were exaggerating slightly)
with dark-furred fingers. "She is grateful that the male chose to
reserve so much bounty for her. She wishes to show her gratitude."
Gently at first, she began stroking, sliding soft fingers along the
length of my cock. Slowly, she began to tug harder, pulling faster.



"Does the male approve?" she asked and, without waiting for an answer,
continued, "Of course he approves. Of course." Her pink tongue slipped
out of her mouth, to scrape the underside of my cock. "The eldest
female enjoys the male's approval."



Her lips greedily enveloped me, now, plunging my cock once more into
hot, sucking wetness. Like her younger sister, she took it all,
letting it slide deep into her mouth and down her throat, raspy tongue
pricking at it all the way. She stroked and squeezed her own breasts,
and sucked with all the enthusiasm of the young lioness, but with the
skill and accomplishment of her years. In a few moments, I realized
that I was tottering on the brink once more, ready to pump more of my
apparently inexhaustible semen supply down her hot, willing throat.



But she had more in mind for me. She sensed how close I was, and let
me go, holding the base of my cock tightly, shutting down my impending
orgasm.



"The male wishes to give his seed to the eldest female," she said,
with appreciation so great it was almost sarcastic. "But she wishes to
wait. Will the male wait for his female?"



Again, she didn't wait for me to reply, but stepped back and
positioned herself on hands and knees in front of me, dark-fleshed
cuntlips displayed between white-furred thighs, tail lashing with
building tension.



"Place your male organ here for your eldest female," she husked,
reaching back and spreading the moist lips with two fingers. "Give her
what you gave her younger sisters."



As my verbal participation didn't seem to be required, I positioned
myself behind her (and worried exactly how to deal with that tail),
and began to rub my cock against her lips, then dipped down to touch
her clit (once more thanking providence that our anatomies weren't all
that different).



"Ahhhh," it was a sound part sigh and part purr. "Harder, please..."



Hm, I thought, with the part of my brain that wasn't completely lost
in the fog of endless fucking we'd created, she's addressing me
directly. Must be getting close...



I complied, rubbing her clit forcefully, practically battering it with
my cock, and was rewarded with more deep moans and growls.



"Please..." she gasped. "The elder female..." Another growling sigh.
"The elder female... requests you thrust your organ inside her..."
Another. "And end her torment..."



Well, she'd certainly earned it, but I was willing to wait another
moment or two. I took my cock away, to the sound of a frustrated yowl,
then got on my own knees, bending forward, spreading her buttocks
apart, and applying my tongue to her pink wet lips from behind.



"Ohh..." she spasmed heavily. "The male is... The male is kind to his
female..."



It was a big tongue, I realized, and it was time to use it to good
effect. I stiffened it as best I could (it didn't work anything like a
human tongue, but I think I was getting the hang of it), then slid it
between her labia, pressing into her like a penis, sliding into the
wetness of her cunt.



Oh, the reaction I got... She howled again, falling down onto her
shoulders, hands grabbing her buttocks beside mine, spreading herself
further, shoving backwards, grinding her cunt against my face.



"Oh, take me..." she whined, abandoning her formal language at last.
"Oh, yes... No male has done such a thing... Never before... Oh, my
cunt..." At least I think that's what she said. My hybrid brain
probably translated the local word for "cunt" into something I'd
understand.



She came heavily, rocking and writhing, my tongue thrusting in and out
of her like a heavy, pink cock. Nearby, the remaining females watched
with rapt attention, sitting snuggled together in a tight group,
fingering each other's nipples and clits occasionally, but generally
absorbed in my antics with their pride-sister.



In the middle of yet another heavy contraction, I pulled back, grabbed
my cock, and plunged it into her, diving into the hot wet of her cunt,
sending her into another series of contractions, screaming and roaring
fit to alert the Sholanti, days distant across the plains.



"Give it to me," she demanded between contractions. "Fill me with your
seed, male. Fill your eldest female..."



It was fortuitous that I was coming while she spoke, for it looked as
if I came on command, pumping another (and, I suspected, final) load
into her, then pulling out and shooting my last hot, white streamers
across her thighs and buttocks.



"Ahhhhhh," she sighed, an edge of human pleasure in her voice, and
collapsed onto her belly.



The other females broke their silence and bounded toward us, yowling
and purring, and at last chattering in comprehensible sentences.



"Oh, you were wonderful, sister..." "I couldn't restrain myself...."
"I was so excited..." "You made him come so well..." "Did you see him
come on me? I made him come..." "No, you fool, I made him come..."



Two of the lionesses took the task of grooming the eldest's thighs and
buttocks, licking up the come I'd splashed all over her, while the
other three gathered around her head, stroking and massaging. Once
more, I was pretty much forgotten.



Not that I minded, of course. The energy expended in fucking six
females, and of another species at that, was enormous, and its absence
suddenly overwhelmed me. I collapsed in the grass, and curled up to
sleep, the females' excited commentary echoing in my ears.



"You sucked him so well, you did..." "I like the way he felt inside
me..." "How did I do? He was my first male..." "Oh, I loved how you
licked my cunt, darling..." "He licked me, too. Did you see him lick
me?" "Won't you lick me again? I'm still so excited..."



Gods. Didn't they ever get tired?







Part 3







As it turned out, they did get tired -- of sex, anyway. Later
experience revealed to me that the lion-people seemed to believe in
quality rather then quantity when it came to bonking. They only did it
once every two or three months, but when they did it was a virtual
orgy. Once that was over (I suspect they simply saved up their libido
for weeks beforehand and spent it all at once) they had virtually no
interest in sex.



My new body shared the sentiment, and when I awoke amid the sleeping
lionesses the following morning, sex was about the farthest thing from
my mind. Not that it wasn't fun, mind you, lying with a half dozen
massively muscled warm bodies, gently stroking and grooming each other
awake, then lounging around in silence for an hour or so, each
enjoying the simple presence of the others.



"I think," Eldest Female said at length, "that introductions are in
order. I'm Khurra."



I nodded (a human mannerism which seemed to puzzle them). "Wulf," I
replied.



The others were Khasshra (the bracelet-wearer), Gandr'ssh (the
necklace), Drhurr (black eyes), Hrakhll and Ghorra (the two youngest
who had seemed so intent on each other). As I had noted the night
before, now that they'd managed to satisfy their instinctive urge to
get laid, the females pretty much went about their business and
ignored me -- sort of like real lions, I noted.



We stayed together for a few days, hunting, eating, sleeping, roaming
the plains. It was not until evening reddened the sky over the plain
nearly a week later that Khurra finally got to the heart of the
matter.



"There are no other males on the plains, Wulf," she told me. "You're
the first one we've seen in a more than a month."



"What do you think happened to them?" I asked, secretly dreading the
answer.



"We've asked the other females," Khurra replied. "Like our male, they
went on their pilgrimage to the Heart of the Lion, and never
returned."



"The Heart of the Lion?" I asked. "What's that?"



It was a mistake. The females looked at me as if I was demented.



"You don't know?" Khurra demanded. "How can that be?"



I mumbled and searched for an answer. "I'm not from around here..." I
said, hoping that it sounded more sincere when I was a lion-man than
it did when I was human. "My people... My people live on the other
side of Sholanti territory. We don't have... pilgrimages. At least,
not since the Sholanti came."



They looked doubtful, but the notion that I was a hairless one
masquerading as an n'doro never seemed to cross their minds.



"The Heart of the Lion," Khurra said slowly and carefully, "is the
great stone which lies in the Alabaster Temple near the center of our
lands. Each male must go there once a year to commune with our
ancestral spirits and obtain guidance and advice for the coming year.
We females have our own temple, as well, where we gain guidance, and
males are not allowed."



I frowned. "Who built the temples?"



"The spirits built them," Khurra said casually, as if it was the most
natural thing in the world. "Now, the males are not returning from the
Alabaster Temple. Something is happening there. Females cannot go
there, but you are a male. You can go, and see what happened to our
males. If our males do not return, the n'doro will die. Perhaps not
your tribe, but ours certainly will perish. We have discussed this
among ourselves, and decided to ask you. Will you help, Wulf?"



Well, I suppose I wouldn't be much of an adventurer if I turned them
down, now, would I? Besides, I suspected that if I did I wouldn't make
it off the plains alive. Still, the notion of going alone to some
ancient haunted temple, to find out why no one else had returned did
not fill me with a great deal of enthusiasm. Throughout my career I've
been nothing if not cautious, and this didn't seem terribly cautious
to me. All the same, there was a mystery to solve, and my curiosity
had been aroused.



"Sure," I said, trying to sound casual and brave in a noble, lion-man
kind of way. "I'll help. It's the least I can do, given your
kindness."



"You know that if you find our male, he will take over the pride, and
we will follow him."



I shrugged (another puzzling mannerism, apparently). "Such is the
law," I said, "and we all must live by it."



That seemed to satisfy them. We slept huddled together, in the
assurance that at dawn I'd go off to find their vanished men-folk.
Needless to say, doubts assailed me, along with images of the demons
and monsters which awaited me in the horrific depths of the Alabaster
Temple.



Gods, I'd stepped in it again.







The pride accompanied me until we were just in sight of the Alabaster
Temple (it was apparently quite a violation for a female to even see
the temple), and then I had yet another bittersweet parting -- this
entire journey was becoming a series of sad or tragic good-byes, and I
would have been only too glad if it ended as quickly as possible.



I carried a spear and my sword, hanging from an improvised leather
baldric. Beyond that, I had little in the way of weapons, save the
paltry collection of spells I had carried from my unsuccessful career
at the magic academy. I was anything but sure of myself, but the lure
of the Alabaster Temple and what lay inside drew me on.



The temple lay in a deep river valley, set about with greenery -- low
underbrush, succulents and lush thorn-trees -- beautiful, sprouting
pale white flowers, but bristling with spikes the length of my thumb.
The structure itself was, indeed, white as alabaster, though I
couldn't be certain that's what it was made of. A series of low
galleries converged at a central nave, over which rose a weathered
onion dome. Smaller structures surrounded the main one, most now in
ruins. I knew, as if by some scrap of n'doro instinct, that the Heart
of the Lion lay in the main structure, beneath the cracked dome.



I walked along the shallow ravine, where the river rushed and bubbled
through red clay. The temple loomed before me, the doorless portal of
the nearest gallery yawning like a dragon's maw. After a quick glance
overhead to see if any vultures were circling (they were), I decided
that this was as good a place as any, and stepped over the threshold,
into the dim, stifling interior.



Light shone but faintly through various holes in the roof, revealing a
floor which was once richly inlaid with painted tiles, and walls once
lined by proud white columns. The interior was hot and dusty, and the
entire place had an air of antiquity and ancient abandonment. I had no
idea who might have built the place -- perhaps the lion-folk
themselves, in some forgotten past era.



Whatever its origin, the place also exuded a tangible aura of menace,
as if everywhere I went, eyes were watching me just beyond the limits
of my vision. Though the place was silent as a tomb, my instincts told
me that there was danger here, though I couldn't say exactly what it
was.



After a few minutes' walk, I had reached the hexagonal main structure.
This place was better preserved than the hallway; the tile was
gleaming white and relatively clean, with only a few missing. On a low
circular dais in the center of the room, a circle of white columns
surrounded what I could only assume was the Heart of the Lion. It was
a massive white, crystal, suspended at least ten feet off the ground,
hanging without visible support in mid-air. It glowed with a warm
inner light, and my minimal sorcerous training told me that it was an
object of considerable power. Exactly how much power, and what kind, I
didn't know. Whatever it was, I knew a good number of wizards who
would give several major organs to possess it.



I stood staring at the Heart for some minutes before I heard it. From
nearby, a sound scratched at my ears -- a sound obviously made by a
living thing.



How can I describe it? It was part moan, part plea, faint but
insistent. And it was definitely originated in a n'doro throat.



I drew my sword, and kept my spear at the ready in my left hand, then
moved carefully, at a crouch, toward the sound.



It grew louder as I approached the entrance to another hallway,
yawning in dusty darkness. Cautiously, I entered, hugging the wall,
all my senses jumping and tingling with anticipation. Ahead of me lay
a crumbling opening, where a door might once have been. Heart racing,
I stepped through, and saw what was inside.



There were two n'doro males there, hanging on the walls, wrists bound
by manacles, attached to chains which were threaded through stout iron
staples located nearly eight feet off the floor. As large as they
were, the two males hung suspended, feet dangling. Both were in bad
shape, tattered and bruised; one was unconscious, proud maned head
lolling limply, while the other gazed at me through slitted eyes. It
was this one which made the horrible sound.



"Please..." he muttered. "Help us... Or kill us, now... it is the same
thing..."



I hastened toward the male, intent on setting him free, but his tired
eyes widened suddenly, as if he had seen something else, just over my
shoulder.



Instinctively, I spun around, sword whirling, only to strike empty
air. There was nothing to be seen, but my senses registered a malign
presence, somewhere nearby. I struck out again, hoping to strike
something, but it did no good. I whirled again, desperately searching
the dimness of the room for an opponent, and suddenly...



I saw it. A patch of deeper black in the darkness, an amalgam of
serpent and human, with an impossible number of limbs, and -- worst of
all -- twin, slitted eyes, which glowed red and raced toward me. I
threw up my sword, but it didn't work. Paralysis swept over me, and I
felt myself enwrapped in serpentine coils, and fell into darkness.







Mine was not an especially pleasant awakening. The constant pain in my
shoulders tugged at me, and the dawning horror of my situation brought
be to complete consciousness.



I was now in the position of the two prisoners I'd seen. I hung, naked
and alone, from the wall of one of the temple's grim, rubble-filled
rooms, a few errant rays of light shining through cracks in the
ceiling, illuminating columns of dust motes. I pulled feebly at my
bonds, but I was held tightly, the weight of my body constantly
dragging me down, seeking to dislocate both shoulders. Already I was
in pain -- a pain which would soon turn to agony.



The shadows nearby stirred, and with a hiss and a scrape of scales, my
captor slithered into view.



Mind you, now -- 

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