Sacrifice for the Quagga God (A Bunduki Jungle Adventure Book 3)

by J. T. Edson

  ‘No,’ Zongaffa answered. ‘I had some branches prepared as you suggested. When I’d filled one, I had the slave throw it on to the fire.’

  ‘From what I heard and can see, it worked,’ Dryaka commented, before the old man could continue. ‘Are there any problems?’

  ‘Making the branches is easy enough, so the carpenter tells me,’ the Herbalist replied, somewhat hesitantly. ‘We’ll have no difficulty in producing all you need—but—’

  ‘But what?’ Dryaka growled, the geniality with which he had started to eye his companion began to fade at the suggestion of further problems.

  ‘There could be a limit to what they achieve,’ Zongaffa warned. ‘We were counting on there being a large and dense cloud of smoke that would blind and half choke an enemy, so our men could attack them before they recovered. But there wasn’t nearly as much as we expected.’

  ‘Smoke!’ the High Priest snorted, nodding to the gory remains of the Telonga slave and continuing, ‘If the “Thunder Powder” does that—Will it do the same again?’

  ‘I—I don’t know,’ the Herbalist admitted, and his attitude implied that he was not enamored of the prospect of finding out. ‘I’ve only tried the one.’

  ‘Then make up some more,’ Dryaka commanded, as Zongaffa had expected—feared, in fact—that he would. ‘We’ll take them well away from the villa to test them. They’re too dangerous to do it around here.’

  ‘Y—Yes, my lord,’ Zongaffa assented with no show of enthusiasm. ‘Where shall I go?’

  ‘There’s a gorge about two miles to the east,’ Dryaka replied, after a moment’s thought to select the best location. The point he picked had several qualities to recommend it, being in the opposite direction to the capital city of Bon-Gatah and well clear of all other human habitations. There were others, which he elaborated upon. ‘Its sides ought to deaden the sounds. Anyway, I’ll have Mador take an escort of Brelefs with you. There’s fairly open country on either side so they’ll be able to make sure that nobody can spy on what you’re doing.’

  ‘Very good, my lord,’ the Herbalist said miserably.

  ‘Get all you need ready this afternoon and make a start in the morning,’ the High Priest concluded. ‘Take as many Telonga slaves as you’ll require. I’ll go into Bon-Gatah and make arrangements for you to have plenty of them.’

  Despite the assurance with which he had spoken, Dryaka was aware that he was taking a grave risk by carrying out the promise. He had already defied his nation’s age-old conventions by telling the People-Taker to collect double the usual number of Telongas. What he intended to do next would be even more certain to incur the wrath of the Council of Elders if they should learn of it. That could prove dangerous under the circumstances.

  While the High Priest had regained his status among his closest adherents, he had lost the backing which many otherwise uncommitted members of the population would have given to him before the incident at the hunting camp. So the force which he could call upon to defy the Council was limited. However, he had already made the opening moves to form an alliance which would give him the power that could make them think twice before calling him to account. In fact, as long as the Protectress of the Quagga God would stand by him, their combined factions were almost certainly sufficient to retain them in office until Zongaffa had produced enough of the logs filled with the ‘Thunder Powder’ to crush any opposition.

  Chapter Two – A Matter of Great Importance

  Staggering slightly and gasping for breath, the young woman launched a kick with her bare right foot in the direction of Charole’s midriff. It was not, as the half a dozen privileged onlookers in the garden of the Protectress of the Quagga God’s town villa could see, the wisest move for Dolvia to be attempting in her exhausted condition. She was far from steady enough to balance on her left leg. Nor could she move with the speed and precision that had served her so well in the earlier stages of the fight and caused her opponent more than a little difficulty and suffering.

  And, despite the pretence that they were merely indulging in a friendly training exercise, it had soon become obvious to the audience that Charole and Dolvia were fighting in earnest.

  Not that the Protectress had expected otherwise when Fabia had suggested Dolvia should take the place of the female adherent with whom she had said she would be practicing unarmed combat. In fact, although she would have preferred to be contending with the more important of her visitors, she had hoped for just such a result on mentioning her intentions at breakfast that morning.

  Like the High Priest, Charole knew that retaining her post as Protectress depended a lot upon her ability to defend herself by physical means. So she too kept herself very fit and exercised regularly in armed and bare-handed combat. Being the Protectress gave her a social status and authority only slightly below that of Dryaka and she was determined not to lose it.

  When Fabia and her niece, Dolvia, had arrived with four prisoners the previous evening, Charole had invited them to spend the night at her villa. Being the wife of the District Administrator for San-Gatah, the Mun-Gatah nation’s second largest and most powerful community, Fabia would naturally expect the Protectress to offer to accommodate her when she paid a visit to the capital city unaccompanied by her husband. However, there was no love lost between the two women. Nor had their last meeting tended to make Charole regard Fabia in a more friendly fashion.

  It had taken place on the morning that followed the escape of the mysterious foreigners, Dawn and Bunduki of the Apes, xv the girl from Dryaka’s custody and the man out of Charole’s charge. Accompanied by three of their male adherents and Dolvia, Fabia and her husband, Gromart, had paid a visit to the camp. Not only had they shown interest in its tattered and disrupted condition, but Fabia had also asked several questions about two incidents in which some of the Protectress’s supporters had been killed. Although Charole had contrived to avoid divulging the true facts and no mention had been made about the ‘Apes’, it was obvious that Fabia was wondering if the Protectress might be losing the favor of the Quagga God.

  Not only had Charole found Fabia’s interrogation irritating, but Dolvia’s attitude of thinly veiled derision had been anything but respectful. From all appearances, she was sharing her aunt’s suspicions. However, there had been no trouble other than Dryaka teaching one of Gromart’s male adherents a lesson in manners and the San-Gatah party had departed to continue their interrupted mission to raid and collect sacrifices for the Quagga God in the country of the Amazons. They had met with success even before reaching their destination. Having captured four of the female warriors, Gromart had sent them to Bon-Gatah rather than be encumbered by them while seeking more victims.

  According to Fabia, she had returned with the prisoners because of an injury to her ankle which would have reduced her usefulness on the expedition. Having delivered them to the Temple of the Quagga God and sent the four male members of her escort to rejoin her husband, she and Dolvia meant to go home the following morning. On the face of it, as the Amazons were very capable and efficient warriors, the decision was understandable and there was no suggestion of cowardice. However, Charole would have expected Dolvia to return to the raiding party instead of accompanying her aunt.

  Being suspicious of the motives behind the request for accommodation, the Protectress had taken precautions. She had placed her visitors in the guests’ quarters, which were separate from the main villa and in plain view of the guard room on the ground floor.

  There were solid grounds for Charole’s caution. The ill-fated hunting expedition had seen her plagued by other mishaps and misfortunes as well as the two referred to by Fabia. As a result, even more than Dryaka, she had found that her authority had been shaken. Since her return to Bon-Gatah, two assassination attempts had been made upon her. Try as she might, she had failed to discover who had been behind them. However, her survival and the fact that, out of a need for mutual support, her previously strained relations with the High Priest had improved, me
ant that some of her power and reputation had been restored.

  In spite of suspecting that Fabia had come to test her standing in the Quagga God’s favor, the Protectress could not openly flout the conventions of their nation. To have done so would have confirmed her visitors’ belief that she had fallen from grace. It would also have had an adverse effect on the discipline of her own adherents. So, having accommodated them in the guests’ quarters, she had followed the accepted procedure of inviting them to have their meals with her.

  Over breakfast that morning, Fabia had guided the conversation to the physical training which every woman warrior, as well as the men, carried out. The result was that Charole and Dolvia went into the large garden at the rear of the villa. Watched by Fabia and five of the Protectress’s female adherents, they had started what was supposed to have been a friendly training tussle.

  Less than a minute had elapsed before it was obvious that it was nothing so innocuous as a strenuous, but good-natured, competition. Dolvia had attempted to drive her knee into Charole’s stomach with much greater force than would have been called for in such a harmless activity. Having expected something of the kind, the Protectress had blocked the attack and repaid it with a savage punch into the other woman’s bosom. The blow had hurt, and Dolvia had retaliated in kind and just as hard. After which, they had closed with each other like two enraged wildcats.

  For fifteen minutes, with barely a pause, the two women had wrestled, thrown, punched and kicked each other around the large lawn close to the marble-lined bathing pool in the center of the garden. xvi At first, it had seemed that, being almost identical in size and weight, they were evenly matched. Then Dolvia’s youth—she was twenty to Charole’s twenty-six—had appeared to be letting her gain the advantage. Despite Charole taking the worst of it, her adherents made no attempt to interfere. Such would have been against Mun-Gatah tradition. Nor could Fabia suggest that the embattled pair be separated when after a while, the Protectress’s superior skill and greater experience had turned the tide in her favor. Although Dolvia continued to fight back, it was obvious that she was taking a beating.

  Swaying on her left leg, Dolvia sent out her right foot in the desperate last ditch bid to fend off defeat.

  It failed!

  Before the kick could make contact, Charole caught the younger woman’s ankle in both hands. Bracing herself, for she too was exhausted and none too steady, the Protectress gave the captured leg a savage heave to her right and released it. Spinning around as if on a pivot, Dolvia met further trouble on completing the circle. Timing the move perfectly, Charole brought her right hand up and across. Its flat palm met her opponent’s left cheek with an explosive crack which drew winces of sympathy even from her adherents.

  The force of the slap brought Dolvia to a halt. She stood dazed and helpless, but not for long. Acting without fear of reprisal, Charole delivered a kick of her own. Rising as she swiveled to give it added momentum, the sole of her left foot impacted against her opponent’s diaphragm. Even though she failed to achieve her full force due to her condition, the result was not to be despised. Thrust backwards, Dolvia crashed supine on the springy turf of the lawn.

  Advancing until she was standing astride the barely conscious younger woman, the Protectress bent to deliver the coup de grace. Taking hold of Dolvia’s right breast with the left hand, Charole hauled her almost into a sitting position. Retaining the agonizing grip, with its recipient trying feebly and unavailingly to pull free, the Protectress lashed out with another vicious slap. Landing hard, the blow rocked Dolvia’s head to the left. Returning, the back of Charole’s hand made contact which snapped her opponent’s face in the reverse direction.

  Sitting by the pool, Fabia let out an angry hiss. However, she knew that any attempt she might make to intervene would be prevented by her hostess’s adherents.

  Twice more, Charole delivered a savage slap followed by a power-packed backhand. Dolvia’s head was hanging limp, jerking like a puppet on a string to each successive blow and her hands had fallen away from her assailant’s left wrist. Then her sweat-soddened breast slipped from the Protectress’s grasp and she flopped flaccidly on to her back.

  Confident that she had won, Charole stood for a moment straddling her defeated opponent’s feebly moving body. Not only was she reveling in the joy of victory, but she wanted to regain her composure. Although she ached in every bone and muscle, she forced herself to hide her feelings. Throwing a last satisfied look at the recumbent Dolvia’s bruised and bloody face, she turned and walked towards her other guest.

  Even with her shoulder long black hair disheveled, its gold lame retaining band having been torn off during the fight, Charole was still a magnificent specimen of feminine pulchritude. There was a bruise on her left cheek, her right eye resembled a Blue Point oyster peeping out of its shell and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of her normally sensually pouting full lips. For all that, the expression of triumphant exultation on her dirty, yet beautiful features was evidence of her cruel and imperious nature.-

  Having stripped to her black underpants—no larger than a pair of bikini briefs on Earth—There was little left to the imagination about the glorious contours produced by a thirty-nine inch bosom above a twenty-one inch waist which curved to thirty-seven inch hips. Her shapely thighs and calves gave indication that other, just as powerful but less noticeable muscles lay under her perspiration-soaked, dirty and bruised skin.

  Almost matching the Protectress in height and dimensions, Fabia wore the attire of a Mun-Gatah female warrior. Her halter and short skirt were made from a mesh of mixed gold and silver fabric. Whilst she wore her sandals, the bandage around her left ankle had caused her to leave off her black leather greaves. In accordance with tradition, she was unarmed. Her silver disc weapon belt and sword were in the guests’ quarters. Ten years older than her hostess, there was a coarsening of her skin; but her body was firm fleshed and she held her age well. Her brunette hair showed no trace of gray and she was beautiful but hard looking.

  ‘That wasn’t a bad work out, Fabia darling,’ Charole announced, adopting an offhand tone as if the fight had been nothing out of the ordinary. Acting as unconcerned and composed as her winded condition would allow, she looked at the other woman. ‘What a pity that your ankle prevented you from joining me for training—Perhaps we can arrange it the next time you come to Bon-Gatah, if you would care to, that is.’

  ‘Yes,’ Fabia answered, knowing that a challenge had been issued and the Protectress’s adherents were equally aware of it. There could only be one answer. ‘I’d like that very much.’

  Passing her scowling visitor, Charole sank gratefully on to the edge of the bathing pool and lowered herself into the pool, crystal clear water. Submerging for a few seconds so as to wash away the perspiration, dirt and blood and get some relief for her sufferings, she bobbed up. Resting her arms on the side, she looked at her senior adherent who was standing close by.

  ‘I’ve sent for Langord, my lady,’ the woman said.

  ‘Thank you, Varbia,’ Charole replied, then let out a cluck of well simulated annoyance and looked once more at Fabia. ‘Oh dear! How remiss of me. Would you like one of my ladies to help you back to the guests’ quarters, while the others take poor Dolvia there and attend to her?’

  ‘I can manage,’ the woman gritted. ‘But I’m grateful for their help with her.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do, after putting her in that condition,’ the Protectress pointed out, oozing false commiseration. ‘She fights well, darling, and has a lot of potential. With the right kind of training—But I’m sure you do your best. Perhaps the Quagga God doesn’t favor your methods.’

  ‘I’ll make a sacrifice to Him as soon as I reach San-Gatah,’ Fabia promised, trying to conceal her annoyance and bitter disappointment. Levering herself up, she went on, ‘If you’ll be all right, I’ll go and help with my niece.’

  ‘My maid’s coming,’ Charole answered. ‘She’ll do what little I ne
ed.’

  Carrying clothing for her mistress, in addition to a large towel and a wooden box containing lotions and ointments for the treatment of injuries, a buxom, white-haired and strong-looking woman was hurrying towards the bathing pool. Fabia knew her to be Langord, the Protectress’s senior attendant, and noticed that she directed an amused glance to where the still unconscious and battered Dolvia was being carried off by two of the adherents. On the point of following her niece, Fabia heard something which brought her to a halt.

  ‘Lord Dryaka has just arrived, my lady,’ Langord announced on reaching the edge of the pool and setting down her burden. ‘I told him that you were at training, but he said he wished to see you on a matter of great importance.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ Charole sighed, turning her gaze to her guest and showing none of the surprise she felt at learning the High Priest was in the city. He had not been there the previous evening, but she knew that, along with herself and the Council, he was privy to a secret way of entering even though the city gates were closed for the night. ‘That’s the worst of holding my position, somebody always wants to see you. I really envy you, darling, you don’t have such responsibilities. I do hope that you’ll excuse me if I have to leave you unattended for a time.’

  Although Fabia’s lips drew into a tight line, she made no reply to the mocking comment. However, she knew that it amounted to a dismissal. What was more, it had been a reminder that—despite her husband being the District Administrator of San-Gatah—her social status did not allow her to demand participation in the forthcoming discussion between the Protectress and the High Priest.

  Turning on her good heel, Fabia limped in a stiff-backed and indignant fashion after the pair of women who were removing her niece. As she went, she considered the way in which Langord had spoken about her hostess’s latest visitor. On her last visit to Bon-Gatah, despite her being present—or more likely because of it, to display a lack of concern over whether the High Priest heard of the omission or not—the buxom woman had never used the honorific ‘Lord’ when mentioning his name.