Gitana's Ordeal

Barbarian Tales
Episode 4
Sisters of the Sword

Chapter 08: Gitana's Ordeal

Malia was allowed the honour of being among the first to enter the stronghold.  She climbed the silent walls and made her way to the gates.  Around her the sleeping bodies of the Kaltarans were sprawled where they had fallen.  With the help of the warriors who had come with her the gates were opened and the stronghold was theirs.  It was only a matter of hunting through the small fortress in search of anyone who had escaped Pexthislia's potion.  

They found only five such warriors.  They had been outside the eastern gate returning from a hunting trip with several deer and elk strapped to their plenya.  Unsuspecting they had ridden right through the gates into the waiting swords of Malia and several dozen other warriors.  They had reacted to the ambush by fighting like demons, killing several of the Sendarans before being cut down.  The one-sided battle gave Malia a clear indication just how impossibly difficult it would have been to take the stronghold by assault.

With an army of Kaltarans I could conquer all of Vedra, she thought.  How unfortunate that such valiant warriors should prove to be my enemies.  But she didn't dwell long on that thought.  A mercenary served the one who hired her; at least until the contract was up.  Respect for the foe had no place in a mercenary's code of honour, if indeed such a code really existed.  Really we honour only gold.

She almost felt sorry for the unconscious warriors as she and her companions disarmed them, stripped them of their armour, and placed shackles on their wrists and ankles.  They were destined for the slave markets and would be transported to Sendar under guard to be sold and would awaken to a much grimmer existence than they had ever expected before they were rendered unconscious.

I did what had to be done, Malia thought.  The casualties would have been terrible had I not found a way to render the Kaltarans insensible.  

It bothered her that she was having such thoughts.  She had worked long and hard to develop the skills of a mercenary and carry on the tradition her mother had begun.  One day I will be spoken of in the same breath as the great Shailaja.  All will know and fear Malia of the Death Ravens.

She pushed her mental debate to the back of her mind and returned to camp for food and rest.  She had slept only a few turns of the glass over the last day and a half and needed time to recuperate.  After eating she retired to her tent and slept most of the rest of the morning away.  

She was awakened just after noon by one of her warriors.  "You are summoned, Captain.  The queen's witch wishes to see you."

"Careful what you call the queen's companion, Pendar.  You wouldn't want to lose your tongue."

Pendar shrugged.  "She is what she is, Captain.  Everyone else calls her that."

"Just so you don't say it where someone might carry it back to her.  Where is she?"

"She and the Queen have each taken one of the guard towers.  She is in the one to the north of the gate."

"Very well, I will be right there."

Malia took the time to splash water on her face, regretting that she had not taken to the time to bathe properly before sleeping.  Then she properly arranged her weapons and clothing and marched to the gates of the stronghold.

"Malia of the Death Ravens to see the Queen's companion," she said to the guard at the foot of the tower.  

"Go up," the guard said.  "You are expected."

Malia climbed the stairs, passed one more guard and then entered a small room just above where the tower joined the wall.  Malia did not find Pexthislia's quarters any larger than her tent, but it did afford her a good view of the road approaching the stronghold.  

Pexthislia was seated on a makeshift throne formed out of cushions and the boxes containing her clothing and other personal effects.  She waved Malia to her feet as she went down on one knee before the sorceress.  "Ah, the brave captain," she said.

"You sent for me, my lady?" Malia asked.

"I did indeed.  It is time for you to see about your promised reward.  Come, I will show you."  Pexthislia led Malia from the tower and across the inner courtyard.  It was crowded with dozens of soldiers and Malia wondered what had been done with the Kaltaran prisoners.  

As if reading her mind Pexthislia led her across the compound and up on the lower eastern wall and she saw at once where the Kaltarans were.

Below the wall, arranged in two long lines were the captives.  The once proud warriors had been separated into two groups.  On the southern side of the road were all of the male warriors.  Each of them was chained one to the other by chains locked about their necks.  Their wrists were also secured so that they could move their hands a little, but not enough to pose much of a threat to the guards that stood over them.

The women prisoners were similarly chained and guarded on the north side of the road.  Pexthislia motioned to the prisoners.  "You are entitled to twenty five of the slaves as your reward in capturing the stronghold.  They are all fine specimens although you may prefer some over the others."

"Twenty five slaves?" Malia asked.  She had never envisioned being given some of the Kaltaran captives as her reward, although slavery was a practice that was long established in Sendar.

Pexthislia caught her surprise.  "Are you not pleased by your reward?  It is an honour to be given first choice.  You will have a chance to select the best of the slaves."

"I am pleased," Malia stammered.  "I had not thought of receiving slaves as my reward, that is all.  Her majesty is most gracious to bestow such a gift upon me."

She was not exaggerating the value of the reward.  A slave in prime condition could fetch as much as a hundred gold pieces.  She was looking at a small fortune in human flesh, especially if she chose carefully.

"Confused?" Pexthislia prompted.  "Perhaps I can help you with your choices.  That redhead there is most spirited.  She fought like a demon when she was given to the troops.  It took four men to hold her down while the fifth enjoyed her.  The same was true of the dark-haired wench at the end of the line.  They fight like caged beasts in order to preserve their virtue even though we were not able to find a single virgin among them."

"They were all raped?" Malia asked.  She knew that such things happened in war, but she had not expected the forty or so women captives to be so treated.

"I don't care much for the word rape," Pexthislia scolded.  "They are female slaves and may be used any way their owners choose.  Many of the men have been without sex for almost a moon.  These Kaltaran sluts served a useful purpose in relieving them of their cravings.  It is not as if any of them was not used to spreading her legs on a regular basis.  It is said that the Kaltarans are in an almost continual state of arousal and rut like mares in season.  However, if the queen's gift displeases you perhaps you would care to tell her so yourself."

"No," Malia responded.  "I will take them."  She studied her choices.  

The captives were impressive physical specimens.  All of the women were several inches over six feet tall, and in spite of the horrors they had been subjected to they glared murderously at their guards.  The men were similarly imposing.  One or two of them stood almost two yards tall and they were all powerfully muscled.  But Malia had no difficulty making her choice.

"Twenty five you say.  Then I will have the twenty five of the women."

Pexthislia shrugged.  "All women?  So be it.  I would have taken a few of the men had I been choosing.  All of them are fine physical specimens and a few of them are particularly well endowed.  If they can be properly trained they would be interesting bedroom accessories."

"The women will be fine," Malia said.  "What is to be done with the others?"

"I am surprised a mercenary captain should have to ask that question," Pexthislia said scornfully.  "They will be shared among the various captains as is usual who will then distribute their value to the rank and file once they are sold."

"Where do I take them now that they are mine?" Malia asked.  

"Don't worry, Captain," Pexthislia drawled.  "Your slaves will be well looked after.  In a day or so they will be placed in a coffle and marched south to Sendara.  From there they will be shown to buyers and you will have your gold.  Of course, there will be a handling fee which will be deducted from the value of your slaves.  But you should still be several hundred pieces of gold richer."

I wonder who gets the fee, Malia thought.  She stared at the young women she had selected as hers.  She had expected to be paid in gold.  Being paid in flesh was somehow disturbing, especially as it seemed there was very little she could do to protect them.  But things were about to get worse.  The sound of a trumpet interrupted her thinking.  

"What is that?" she said, her hand going to her sword.  

"Relax, Captain.  Her Majesty is merely summoning us to a little ceremony.  Come, I think you will find this most amusing."


Gitana examined her chains for at least the fiftieth time since she had wakened.  To her continued frustration there was nothing she could do about them.  Each of her wrists was secured by a heavy iron bracelet that was linked behind her back after first being passed behind one of the thick wooden pillars supporting the roof of her prison.  

There was no light in the room, but enough filtered through the gap under the door for her to determine that she was in one of the storerooms under the east parapet.  She had been in the room enough times to know its exact layout, but that knowledge was of absolutely no use to her.  

She had awakened with a brutal headache to find herself stripped of her weapons and armour and chained to the post.  She could not remember how she had gotten where she was.  The last thing she could recall was getting a bowl of breakfast porridge from the kettle and then nothing else.  How long she had been in the storeroom she had no idea, but she was certain of one thing and that was that she was not going anywhere until the shackles were removed from her wrists and ankles.  

What she did know was that the stronghold had fallen.  She had listened in despair and growing fear to the sounds outside the room.  There was the sound of foreign voices mixed with Common and the cries and cursing of women and men.  It didn't take her long to figure out some of what was happening outside.  The shouts and screams of female warriors told her that many of them were undergoing a brutal ordeal at the hands of their captors.  

How could this have happened?  Had the entire garrison been put to sleep?  Did the Sendarans possess some sort of powerful magic that could render their enemies helpless, and if so why had they not used it earlier?  There was no way for her tell.  All she knew for certain was that she and many of her warriors had been captured and many were even now being subjected to a brutal ordeal.  

She almost wept as another scream sounded from outside the doorway.  It was the scream of a young woman undergoing some terrible punishment and although the sound was too muffled and distorted for her to tell who it was, her mind flicked through images of the woman warriors under her command.  

There was no escaping the horrific images and the sounds of torment seemed to go on forever.  Eventually, however, the sounds of brutality faded to be replaced by that of soldiers going about the business of occupying the stronghold.  If anything Gitana found this change even more distressing.  What had happened to her warriors?  Were they still alive?  Or had the Sendarans butchered them after subjecting them to the brutality so typical of conquering armies?

Suffused with anxiety and the shame of her failure, she sat in the darkness and waited to see what was to come.  The sounds gradually became more normal and the smell of food wafted into the room, reminding her that she had eaten or drunk nothing since the bowl of porridge she had eaten early that morning.  She wondered how she could be thinking of food at a time like this, but reminded herself that a warrior had to eat in order to fight.  How long am I going to be kept here?  Have I been forgotten?  And why was I not kept with the other warriors to suffer the same fate they shared?

Thoughts and more thoughts tumbled through her mind.  And still no one came to her prison.  Then, just when she began to think she might indeed have been forgotten the door to her prison opened.

Four men came into the room.  One of them carried another set of chains the others were all heavily armed.  "Time for you to meet Her Majesty," one of them remarked.  "It's going to be a meeting you will never forget."

Gitana was not afraid to die, but what she feared was that her captors had something else in mind for her first.  The screams of her women warriors reminded her that there were far worse things than death.  She had wondered if they were still alive.  Now she might find out.  

She was given no chance to escape.  The man holding the chains shackled her ankles before removing the manacles from her wrists.  Then her arms were held while the manacles were replaced and a rope was placed bout her neck.  In this helpless and humiliating state she was led from the room, one man holding the rope, another behind her and the two others flanking her.  

Staggering into the sunlight she was almost blinded by the glare of the afternoon sun.  All around her were dozens of Sendaran soldiers who stared at her with interest.  "So there she is at last.  Hope you enjoy your meeting with the queen.  I know I'm going to enjoy watching."

There were other remarks of that sort, and many that were much worse.  Gitana ignored them all.  As her sight returned she looked in vain for the members of her garrison as she was led toward the west wall of the stronghold.  It was there that she found the Sendaran queen waiting for her.  

Balshiva was seated on top of the parapet, her sedan chair arranged like a throne allowing her to oversee both sides of the wall.  Next to her were her witch advisor, her general, and a dark-haired young female warrior.  Gitana returned their gaze without flinching, noting that the young warrior actually looked away.  

Balshiva's gaze was positively malevolent as she looked upon her captive.  "Did you enjoy your stay in the storeroom, Kaltaran bitch?" the queen gloated.  "While you have been sleeping your warriors have been paying the price for your stupidity."  

Gitana did not answer.  Instead she tried to walk with as much dignity as her chains would allow as she was marched up the stairs to the top of the parapet.  There she found that a platform of heavy wooden timbers had been constructed overlooking the gates.  In the center of the platform were two upright wooden timbers into which ringbolts had been secured.  She knew at once what it was to be used for, but that was not what caught her attention.  As she reached the top of the wall she almost cried out in despair as she caught sight of the spectacle below her.  

Chained in two parallel lines were the men and women she had commanded.  They were all on their knees and heavily guarded between two rows of Sendaran soldiers.  Arrayed beyond them were hundreds more soldiers of Balshiva's army.

"Do you like what you see?" Balshiva taunted.  "You will see more of them if you survive the next few hours, but first they will discover what happens to those who dare to displease me."

Gitana was escorted to the space between the two posts.  There the chains on her wrists were once more removed so that she could be properly displayed.  Two huge soldiers forced her arms out to the sides and she was chained again so that she stood with her arms angled out to the side, each wrist secured to one of the posts.  Once so positioned the chains on her ankles were removed and she stood looking out over the horde of soldiers and her own warriors.  

She could now see that her warriors had been treated harshly by their captors, especially the women, most of whom had been stripped of their clothing and who bore marks of harsh treatment on their bodies.  

Rage replaced her fear as she realized what had been done to her warriors.  To be taken prisoner was humiliation enough, but to be violated and abused while so helpless was an act of cowardice that was beyond her imagining.  Even while she had these thoughts an image flashed through her mind of the redheaded warrior and her companions she had sent off in chains.  Was this the punishment of the gods for her brutal treatment of Shailaja and the those who were with her?  

"Strip her."  The queen's words brought her back to her own dilemma.  

One of the men who had brought her to the platform moved toward her.  She thought about resistance, hopeless as it would have been, and then decided that would simply make her look fearful and so she stood completely still as her trousers were removed.  Her boots had already been removed while she was unconscious so jerking her trousers off each leg was fairly easy.  For a few moments she stood clad only in her shirt and breechclout before the Sendaran attention turned his attention to her torso.

With her arms pulled out to either side and held by chains he had to use a knife to cut away her shirt.  He slashed her sleeves from wrist to shoulder, and then with one more quick cut of his blade her shirt joined her trousers on the floor of the platform.  The breastbands crisscrossing her chest would have been next, but a word from Balshiva stopped him.

"Wait.  Let her be looked upon for a few moments.  Let everyone see her for the helpless slave she is."

The warrior stepped away from her and for a few moments Gitana stood before the assembled crowd her helplessness utterly revealed.  Catcalls from the assembled mass of warriors demanded that she be completely stripped, but Balshiva gave no order, letting the expectations of the crowd of warriors build.  

"Now the rest," Balshiva said finally.  

In short order the warrior used his knife to cut through her breast bindings and her loincloth, leaving her completely exposed.  A cool wind was blowing up the pass.  It swirled around her body, but she paid it no attention.  She was no worse off than the huddled forms of her hapless warriors.

Nor did she flinch from the hundreds of eyes that were upon her.  Like most Kaltarans nudity did not dismay her.  She was proud of her well-muscled body and high upturned breasts.  That she was beautiful was without question.  A dozen lovers had told her so and the murmur of appreciation and a few obscene remarks as she was fully revealed told her that the Sendarans found her so as well.  

"Still so proud," Balshiva observed.  "That will change before we are through with you."  She nodded to one of the guards who had been standing to one side and he advanced upon her accompanied by another man.  

Her eyes widened slightly, but she kept her face expressionless as she saw what he held.  It was a razor, but the way he used it surprised her.  Given Balshiva's malicious expression and the expectant look on Pexthislia's face she had expected him to begin removing her skin, slice by slice.  Thus it was a complete surprise when he began to shave her.

He started with the area under each of her arms and with the help of a bit of water quickly removed the hair that was there.  It was not a particularly pleasant experience, but nor was it painful.  It more humiliating than anything else, as Balshiva had no doubt intended.  Kaltaran women were not given to removing body hair.  It was another reason for her treatment of Shailaja.  Both she and her dark-haired companion were devoid of hair except upon their heads; a feature that she had regarded with contempt.  It appeared that she was now about to become a good deal more like them than she would have liked.

The next step was predictable, but she bore the humiliation as the region at the apex of her thighs was shaved.  One of the guards held her legs, but she would not have moved in any case with the razor so close to Selene's grotto.  She stood absolutely still as she endured the degrading ordeal.  She looked straight ahead, avoiding the eyes of the wretched Kaltaran prisoners and the lascivious gazes of the hundreds of Sendarans.  

"So much pride," Balshiva sneered.  "Naked and helpless she pretends indifference to what is being done to her.  Let us see how well she endures the mark of a slave."

To her left a cloth was pulled aside revealing a brazier filled with glowing coals and Gitana's gut clenched.  Beside the queen Pexthislia rose from her chair and strolled to the brazier.  With deliberate ceremony she removed an iron from the coals and held it up for all to see.  Fascinated, Gitana stared at the glowing metal noting that its end was shaped in the in the form of a crescent moon set inside a star.  

"Do you see the mark?" Pexthislia asked.  "You have been given to me and you will serve me for the rest of your life in any capacity I choose.  But first you must be taught proper obedience and subservience.  This mark will be the beginning of that lesson."

Gitana did not answer, but her body beaded with sweat as the witch moved the iron closer.  Even from half a yard away she could feel the heat.  

"Hold her," Pexthislia ordered.  "I want this to be perfect."

Behind her Gitana felt someone grab her braid close to her head and push her head slightly forward.  She had no time to react as Pexthislia thrust the iron against her forehead.  

There was a hiss like water falling into a hot frying pan and a pain so intense that for a moment Gitana's vision blacked.  A scream tore from her throat; a scream she had tried to hold back.  For a heartbeat she sagged in the restraints as her knees buckled.  

"Now you are mine," Pexthislia crowed.

Gitana fought back sobs.  Her eyes streamed tears of pain and her breathing came in harsh gasps.  But in spite of her pain she remained defiant.  "I will never serve you," Gitana gasped.  "I will die first."

Pexthislia frowned at her words.  "You may wish for death before I am through with you, but it will not come until I decide it is time."  She stepped back and replaced the iron in the embers.  From a stand beside the brazier she took out a whip of the sort used by drovers to drive oxen.  

"But it is apparent that you still need a reminder of just who is in charge."  She gave the whip an expert snap, the sound echoing in the cool mountain air.  "Just a few strokes.  Just a hand perhaps.  I want you conscious in order to appreciate what is happening to you."

She stepped to one side, opening Gitana's back to the lash and cracked the whip across her exposed flesh.  The flash of pain was so extreme it almost eclipsed the burning pain of the brand, but this time she held back her scream.  Another blow.  Another searing flash of agony, but again she did not scream.  A "hand" Pexthislia had said.  Five strokes.  She would not scream.

Three.  Four.  Five.  Her teeth were set tightly against the pain as Pexthislia delivered the final blow.  For a woman who was not a warrior she exhibited exceptional strength, but she was breathing hard by the time she finished.

"I think five more," Pexthislia panted.  "But perhaps with a stronger arm."  She handed off the whip to the guard who had wielded the razor.  "Fivc more," she ordered.  "And do not hold back."

"Do not fear, My Lady.  The bitch will scream for me."

Laid on top of the raw wounds she already bore and with the increased strength of his arm, the guard's first stroke struck her like a thunderbolt.  The impact drove the breath from her lungs and set her back on fire.  The pain was incredible and an involuntary gasp burst forth from her lungs.  Two more strokes and she could no longer hold back a scream.  She screamed again on the ninth and sobbed at the tenth stroke.  She stood with her legs shaking and her body quivering in agony.

"Better," Pexthislia said.  "Clean her wounds and prepare her for her next lesson."

The tending of her wounds proved almost as painful as the flogging.  A cloth saturated with vinegar was used to was her wounds and clean away the blood and fragments of flesh and skin.  It was as if burning oil had been poured into her wounds and Gitana made no effort to hold back her screams and sobs.  

"Not quite so defiant now, are you?" Pexthislia asked as she walked slowly around Gitana's helpless form.  She ran an appraising eye over the red stripes on her back.  "You will feel those for a while, but now it is time for you to learn just what you really are.  Take her."

The last order was directed at the guards on the wall and they lost no time in carrying it out.  Two men lifted her legs and spread them wide while the others lined up to take her.  For the first few moments of the rape Gitana's senses swam and for a heartbeat or so she thought she would faint.  But she was too strong for that mercy and was forced to endure as she was repeatedly ravished until finally she could no longer stand.  The ordeal might have gone on longer than that, but Pexthislia had one more indignity to inflict upon her.

"Enough," she said.  "I will give her to you later.  But I want to do one more thing before she is too worn out to appreciate what is being done to her.  Remove her chains."

Incredibly, Gitana found that she could still stand, but she could do little more than that.  She offered no resistance as the chains were removed and she was led away from the posts.  

"Bring her before Her Majesty," Pexthislia ordered.  

Gitana stumbled as she was led across the platform.  The rape alone would have made walking difficult and her other injuries added greatly to her weakness, but the guards escorting her made sure that she did not fall and she was forced to her knees in front of Balshiva.

Cruelly used by her captors and panting in pain, Gitana could barely lift her head, but she refused to submit, forcing herself to meet Balshiva's eyes.  "You have not broken me," she gasped.  

"No, but we will," the queen answered.  She smiled as Pexthislia moved forward.  

There was nothing Gitana could have done to prevent what happened next, but it filled her with shame as the witch seized her heavy braid and with the quick cut of her knife sliced it off close to her scalp.  "Now you truly resemble what you are," Balshiva said.  "Put the slave with the others."

Gitana was having trouble seeing as she was dragged to her feet.  Her yard long braid, the symbol of a Kaltaran warrior had been shorn from her head.  She staggered between her guards, now truly beaten.  As she was joined to the long line of slaves, sobs shook her body.