Doomsday Warrior 05 - America’s Last Declaration

by Ryder Stacy

  “Meeeat,” Archer answered hopefully.

  “Man-meat. The cats never eat, do they? Not the whole time that we’ve been here. Have you seen the look in their eyes when they see us? How they drool? They don’t drool when they look at the women, do they?” The immense freefighter suddenly looked very concerned.

  “That’s more like it, pal. I will try—and you can try too—to seduce the virgins. But don’t do anything to actually deflower them. Control yourself for the first time in your life. We must tease and fondle and make them desire us—but don’t enter them or we’ll never get out of here alive. Comprenez-vous?” Rock was slipping into the French dialect from time to time as he heard it every minute around him. Archer nodded.

  The next morning the Kreega women came to take them out for their exercise, first placing the collars on them under the watchful eyes of the cats. That afternoon, Rock winked at one of the virgins standing outside the temple. She blushed. Archer sent out a shit-eating grin at the other and she turned, red-faced, away. The flirting continued for several days until one night the two young blond women came to them, sneaking in through the back of the teepee. They dove on top of the two men with uncontrollable desire. Rock and Archer stroked their small pear-sized breasts, kissed their pink nipples. But they would not let the virgins push them down and mount them. They drove the girls to a frenzy, until they were nearly hysterical, and then sent them off in tears. The plan was going to work. Sexual desire was the strongest instinct known to man—and woman. And Rockson was going to use it as a weapon to escape.

  Trouble was brewing. Outside their jailhouse teepee, Rock and Archer could hear voices arguing loudly. They peeked through the flap on the front just as the dawn sun rose and saw Reina, the queen of the Kreega, and Ishtar, her hated challenger, standing face to face, their cheeks flushed with rage.

  “Il est moi,” Reina screamed. “Le Rockson est moi.”

  “Non, non,” Ishtar yelled back just as loudly, her long chalk-white hair swinging behind her. “Rockson ne vous pas. L’homme etes pour le tribe total.”

  The disagreement over the use of Rockson’s body grew louder and louder and though Rock couldn’t understand half the words he got the drift. They both wanted him for themselves. The Doomsday Warrior felt a certain amused pride in being so desired. Ishtar suddenly reached forward and slapped Reina square in the face. There was sudden, complete silence from the other Kreega women who stood around the encampment watching, their mouths open, their faces frozen in shock. Reina stood back and smiled, a thin grim grin.

  “Vous desirez la morte. Votre decision, bete.” She turned on her heels and walked across the open area of the camp heading into her own tent, festooned with dayglow red and blue symbols of her power: running elk and deer, spears and knives. Ishtar stared after her for a few seconds and then rushed off to her own tent at the far side of the village.

  Rockson didn’t know just what was about to happen—but obviously some sort of challenge had been thrown down . . . and accepted. This might be the moment they had been waiting for. They had already been in the Kreega’s hands for nearly a week and though there was undeniably a certain amount of pleasurable activity involved in being their prisoners, Rock had more lofty plans in mind.

  It was time to set the plan he had been formulating over the last few days in motion. The vestal virgins were working with the big cats in the center of the village—putting them through their paces, training them to perform increasingly complex tasks. The panthers were amazingly smart and seemed eager to learn. They were completely under the spell of the two blond-haired Kreega. Rock, his hands and feet bound as they always were when the Kreega were not using him for sexual service, crawled over to the teepee flap and motioned to the two beautiful young women. He couldn’t yell or he would be noticed by others but after a few attempts he caught their eye. He smiled and gestured with his head for them to come to the teepee. The two virgins led the black carnivores back to their fenced-in pen and then with shy giggles, staring at one another nervously but filled with breathless anticipation, they headed over to the freefighters.

  “Come in—entrez,” Rock said with the most come-hither smile he could manage. Across the teepee prison, Archer heard the noise and with a groan opened his weary eyes. He had enjoyed all the sexual attention at first—but even paradise can become too much of a good thing. He had lost track of how many women he had had in the last seven days. When it rained, it hurricaned.

  “Entrez, entrez,” Rock said to the two virgins who seemed to hesitate slightly at the teepee entrance. But their desires were too powerful and overcame whatever reticence and fear they felt. They walked in and closed the flap behind them. Rock motioned for them to untie his hands and legs as he said, “Je vous desire. Vous etes tres beaux.” The girls grew increasingly nervous, knowing that what they were doing was taboo. But desire is the strongest hunger of all and when it strikes, the rules fall by the wayside. Besides, it wasn’t fair that all the other women of the tribe should get to experience the fruits of love and they should be left alone in their cold temple.

  Rock wrapped his arms around the taller of the two and motioned for Archer to follow suit. The big freefighter blew out a deep breath, shook his head to wake himself up enough for the action and reached out for the young beautiful virgin who had untied him. Soon, the Kreega virgins were experiencing the highest pleasure of life on earth—but they were no longer virgins.

  Outside, the Kreega warriors were stomping around, screaming as if all hell were about to break loose. The last Challenge had been years before and all knew that the future of their tribe would depend on who won the imminent battle between Reina and Ishtar. The women ritualistically drew the large fighting circle in the dirt about thirty feet in diameter. They put on their war makeup, jagged red and yellow stripes across their bodies, and sat at the edge of the circle waiting.

  They didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes the two challengers emerged from their tents and walked toward the circle, slowly, glaring at one another from across the open center of the camp. They looked fierce, terrifying with their full battle gear on. Each wore a fighting helmet made of a mountain stag’s head. The fur covered the top of their skulls and from the stag skulls rose the dead creatures’ horns, nearly five-feet long, thick and strong and capable of goring through flesh in a second. On their hands the two women wore the panther claws of dead cats. The cut-off paws were wrapped around their wrists coming nearly halfway up their forearms. The claws were extended, nearly six inches of razor-sharp, daggerlike weapons, able to slash open a stomach or a chest with a single swipe. Covering their chests were iron breastplates, one over each breast, covered with jewels and tied around their backs with leather straps. Each woman was unclothed beneath the waist but for their black fur loincloths and stripes painted down the sides of their legs—Reina, blue and Ishtar, green. The two warrior women reached the outer edge of the Challenge Circle as the Kreega women began beating on drums, pounding out a pulsating rhythm—the song of death. For two Kreega would enter the circle but only one would emerge alive. There was no mercy, no partial wounding. The Challenge would end when one of them lay dead in a pool of her own blood. The Kreega women looked excited, their pearly teeth flashing in cruel grimaces. This was their way. The strong ruled, the weak died and returned to the earth from which they had sprung.

  Rock and Archer had completed their deflowering of the vestal virgins who lay back on the bearskin beds with dazed but happy looks on their flushed faces. They breathed deeply, amazed and delighted at their entrance into the world of women. The two freefighters on a signal from Rockson grabbed the love-swooning women and quickly tied them up, putting gags around their mouths so they couldn’t scream.

  “Sorry, girls,” Rock said as he finished binding the females he had tenderly made love to just minutes before. “But we’ve got to get the hell out of here. And it’s better that you’re bound and gagged when the others find you. Tell them, ‘Le Rockson make vous son priso
ner.’ Comprenez-vous?” The two young Kreega women looked up at him with fear and betrayal in their sky-blue eyes. He felt rotten about it all. He had never hurt a woman in his life—and though these two certainly hadn’t been hurt, still he knew they would face many problems from their adventures in the flesh. But then the freefighters hadn’t asked to be made prisoner. He hoped they would survive.

  He heard the drums outside suddenly stop and one of the Kreega women begin speaking. He peered cautiously through the teepee flap. A very tall and slender woman, herself with a stag helmet on her head but no other fighting apparel, was giving some sort of speech in the center of the circle. He could barely understand what she was saying but it was clear she was laying down the rules of the fight—and from what Rock could gather, there weren’t any. Anything was allowed. Any dirty trick they could come up with was part of the Challenge. There was only one outcome and that was life for one and death for the other. The gods were looking down—they would decide who deserved to be the victor.

  The speaker stepped back and the drums began again, louder, ever louder, as if the very bowels of the earth itself were pounding out the war beats. The Kreega starter of the Challenge lifted a torch in her hands and looked at both women, who had eyes only for one another as they shifted from toe to toe preparing their strong bodies for mortal combat. The starter let the torch fall to the ground and the moment it hit, Reina and Ishtar charged into the center of the circle, their clawed hands outstretched and flailing at the air.

  They tore into one another like rams battling for supremacy. Reina let Ishtar think she was going to attack claws first and waited for her opponent to get within two yards. Then she suddenly lowered her immense stag horn helmet and charged into her adversary. Ishtar stopped dead in her tracks and tried to lower her own helmet to meet the attack. But her head was only halfway down when the sharp horns caught her full in the chest. The breastplates made of inch-thick steel prevented the horns from piercing her but she was knocked backwards, falling down in the hard-packed dirt of the combat arena. She rolled over twice as Reina slashed down with the razor claws but found only dirt.

  Rock watched with fascination as the two female warriors battled it out about fifty yards away. The full attention of the tribe was on the fight. Every woman in the village stood around the outer edge of the circle, watching, wondering who their next leader, their queen would be. The two challengers circled one another more slowly now, riveted to the other’s eyes, waiting for the flash of the pupil indicating an attack. Reina had hoped to take out the younger, less experienced Ishtar with the first thrust. But it hadn’t worked. She knew the albino was tough—but not as tough as her. Reina had ruled for nearly ten years, since her mother had died. And she had killed many times. She would wait until Ishtar made her move—then she would strike.

  Rock knew the time was as right as it would ever be. They had to make their move now. The fight could be over at any moment. Death, when it comes, moves fast, its skeletal fingers taking their due in a blur of blood.

  “Come on, man,” he whispered to Archer. “Time to head home.” The big freefighter still seemed a trifle less than enthusiastic about leaving. After all, when would so many beautiful women crave his body in such a way again. With a deep sigh, he followed the Doomsday Warrior to the back end of the tent, taking a final look at the two non-virgins who struggled furiously to get out of their binds. He walked suddenly back and planted a soft kiss on their foreheads. In spite of his immense size and strength the near-mute was at heart a soft and tender man. He didn’t want them to remember him with hate. Their eyes softened for a moment as they seemed to understand his message. Whatever happened to them now they had at least fulfilled their womanhood—and for this, even within their anger, they were grateful.

  “Jesus Christ,” Rock hissed from the far end of the teepee. “Another kiss and you’re going to end up panther chow. Come on.” Archer turned and grabbed his crossbow which had been hung on the inner wall of the animal-hide tent. He rushed over to Rock who, using one of the long hunting knives from the belt of the Kreega he had deflowered, quickly sliced through the thick deerskin hide of the enclosure.

  The two men slithered through the rip and crawled on their hands and knees through the dirt behind the teepee to some low bushes about fifty feet away. The moment they hit the other side of the shrubs they tore ass in a half crouch toward thick woods about a quarter mile off. Rockson prayed the fight would last long enough to give them a good start—and that the Kreega would be unable to control the panthers now that the virgins had been made impure. Because this time, he knew, the warrior women would not greet them with such open arms. Behind him he could hear the drums pounding fiercely in deep rhythmic patterns.

  Reina and Ishtar continued to circle one another for nearly a minute before the albino made her charge. She thought she saw a weakness in Reina’s foot movements—her legs crossing one another as she continued to circle. If she could just catch her when her legs were off balance, perhaps . . . Ishtar timed her charge just as Reina lifted her left leg and then rushed forward, her stag horn helmet lowered. But Reina caught the glint in the charging albino’s eyes and pulled back, not completing her step. Ishtar charged past, the stag horns missing Reina by not more than an inch. But an inch was enough. Reina slammed down with both clawed hands into her opponent’s back as she rushed by, bent over. The long curved claws dug deeply into the straight white back, gouging out ten slashes along the backbone. Torrents of blood gushed forth, drenching the woman warrior’s flesh. Ishtar fell forward from the blow, slamming into the dirt on her chest plates. She tried to rise but was not quick enough. Reina, without a moment’s hesitation, bent over and drove her horned helmet into the struggling enemy’s back. The horns sank in nearly a foot, driving Ishtar to the ground, severing her backbone in four places. She flopped wildly for a few seconds and then was still, her eyes staring down at the bloody dirt—eyes that could no longer see.

  The queen of the Kreega stood up straight, her face flushed with victory as the lifeblood from her dead challenger spurted out in thick gushes from the gaping wounds in her back. The heart still pumped although its body was already turning cold. Reina turned around and around in the center of the circle raising her arms to the sky.

  “Merci, mère L’Ogre,” she screamed triumphantly. “Je suis le queen de la Kreega.” When she had finished her thanks to the gods she fixed her eyes on the women of the tribe. “Desirez-vous, challenge moi?” she asked them. But none would take up the challenge. Reina was the queen. For now. The strongest, the toughest. The vision of Ishtar’s blood-soaked body would stay with them all for a long time—until some other aggressive warrior, dreaming secretly of the queenship, raised the courage to strike her down. But for today her position was built in stone and blood. The Kreega all bowed to her as she continued to turn.

  Suddenly they heard shouts from the prisoners’ tent. “Les hommes sont disappearez,” one of the Kreega who had rushed from the audience in sexual excitement for a brief fling yelled out. The tribe jumped to their feet and ran to the teepee. They found the two virgins tied up. Reina ran to the panther pen and opened the doors.

  “Destroyez!” she screamed out in rage, pointing to where she could just see the two men disappearing into the thick forests to the south of camp. The panthers looked confused. The mental control that the virgins had exerted over them was gone. Yet still they were the creatures of the Kreega. They ran frantically around the camp not sure what to do, growling and snapping at one another—primitive beasts once again without the firm guidance of the telepathic commands they had always obeyed.

  The leader of the carnivores, nearly seven-feet long, understood the commands and tore off in the direction that Reina was pointing. But only one of the other cats took up pursuit; the rest were confused, frantic. For the first time in their lives, without the commands coming to them, they reverted to a more primitive state, clawing and snarling at the women who edged away, reaching for their weapon
s.

  Rockson and Archer hit the edge of the forest and rushed into the covering canopy of thick brown trees. They had to slow down a little to avoid the twisted gnarled branches which jutted out from everywhere but still managed to keep up a fairly fast pace. They had gone perhaps a quarter mile when Rock heard twigs snapping behind him.

  “Look out,” he screamed to Archer, turning and reaching for the knife he had stolen. But the immense panther was upon him before he could defend himself. It knocked him flat over and instinctively snapped out for Rockson’s jugular. Rock prepared to die, steeling himself for the fanged clamp of the predator’s jaws. But it never came. The weight of the four hundred-pound cat on his back suddenly went limp and the Doomsday Warrior quickly rolled out from underneath. Archer’s last remaining arrow lay imbedded in its throat. Rock flashed a quick smile of thanks and the thumbs-up sign to Archer who began to smile back. But the expression suddenly changed to horror as his eyes took in the second black shape hurtling through the woods. This time Rock had a second of warning. He jumped to the side as the smaller panther leaped with fully extended claws. Rock plunged the knife into the creature’s side and instantly pulled it out again. The panther turned, showing its fangs and letting out a thunderous roar of anger and pain. It jumped again, this time landing full on Rockson’s chest, knocking both of them to the ground. Rock stabbed up with the blade again and again, into the thing’s chest and stomach as its jaws locked onto his arm. He could feel the teeth sinking into his flesh but didn’t have time to feel the pain. After the fifth deep thrust the cat relaxed its hold and then, as if surprised that anything so puny could hurt it, fell over onto its side, its guts spewing out through the shiny black fur onto the black and brown leaf-covered ground. Rock thrust the knife a final time—deep into the carnivore’s throat. At last it was still, a scarlet puddle of blood spreading out from beneath its motionless form.