Tanys Gladiatrix (The Chronicles of Tanys Book 2) (14 page)

"Oh, it's you, Tanys!" the one-eared satyr called out, turning around, "I was looking for you. I guess I didn't recognize you at first. You humans all look pretty much the same to me, you know."

Tanys groaned inwardly, keeping her silence. Still, she could not resist fixing the grinning beastman with an icy glare.

"Come now," he said, "You don't look pleased at all. Perhaps when I reveal the reason for my search... You see, I felt so badly about the way things went between us yesterday that I thought we should take the time to get to know one another properly."

Tanys' jaw twitched.

"Oh, nothing so sinister as what I'm sure you are imagining right now," Torke smiled, "I simply thought we should have dinner and talk about our mutually shameful past lives. That sort of thing."

"Dinner?"

"Aren't you hungry? I'm famished."

"It's mid-afternoon."

"Late lunch then," he said.

"Perhaps later."

Torke's smile faded as the two guards moved to flank Tanys. "I grow bored of these pleasantries," he said, "and you really don't want me to stop being nice."

Tanys sighed and fell into step with the satyr guards as they led her toward the manor house.

They passed through a narrow courtyard to stand before the gatehouse that guarded the entrance to the main house where the satyrs kept residence. Three ornately armored satyrs in red Malchesse livery opened the gates straightaway for the Duke's men. Tanys stepped through into the black marble halls of the Malchesse stronghold.

A sense of gloom pervaded the dark hallways and shadowy chambers of the Malchesse household. Tall ebony pillars stretched up from the polished floors, carved in the forms of writhing feminine forms, bound with twisting cords of thorny vine. They were carved with such artistry, that, even in the dim light, Tanys could read the looks of anguish on the ebon faces. She could almost feel those black thorns piercing her own skin.

Thick red candles guttered and gleamed from polished silver sconces. Their dancing flames leant an eerie sense of life to the tortured carvings that lined the walls of Malchesse House, and Tanys was glad when Torke ushered her into a smaller, well-lit side room.

Waiting within was one of the few satyr women that Tanys had seen up close. Certainly the females of the species seemed more rare than the males and were seldom seen in public. The black-furred satyress had large, amber eyes and long, slender horns that arced high and back over her head. Her ears, large and thinly furred, seemed to glow warmly in the golden lamplight. She was dressed from neck to floor in a red silk gown bound at the waist with a silver chain. Two shiny black hooves peeked from just below the hem of her garment. The graceful caprine features of her face betrayed no emotions as she regarded Tanys' arrival.

At the satyr woman's side stood two human slave girls, pale and naked but for tiny silver cups that conformed to the curve of their sex, barely covering them. There faces were likewise unreadable, because each of them wore a carved silver goat mask behind which spilled their long, curly tresses, one dark haired, the other blonde.

"I leave this slave in your care, Blessed Matron," Torke said. It was perhaps the first time that Tanys had detected any sincerity in the satyr's voice. "I would see her cleaned and brought to the outer dining hall in one hour."

"As you wish," the satyress answered, her voice hollow.

"Oh, and I would prefer her a bit more... tractable."

"As you wish."

As Torke and the guards exited the room, Tanys briefly considered the option of overpowering the three women. Even if she did, the only certain exit was through a trio of heavily armed guards, and that way led only back into the slave pens. She decided to play along with Torke's game and wait for a better opportunity.

The two slave girls stepped forward, taking her hands to lead her to the narrow doorway at the back of the room. She followed them down a series of curving staircases and through a maze of tiny passages until she was no longer certain of which way they had come. At last they stepped into a warm little room that contained a font of steaming water and a low, bronze brazier in which red coals glowed.

The girls led Tanys straightaway to the side of the steaming pool and bade her kneel on a long, narrow cushion before it. Tanys noticed the satyr matron take a little earthen jar from a nearby shelf and, opening it, take a handful of colorful crystals from its wide mouth. These she tossed on the coals, causing green flames to leap from the brazier. Almost immediately, a sweet, resinous smell filled the room. The satyress replaced the urn on the shelf and then left the room without speaking a word.

"Do you know where Baran is?" Tanys whispered to the dark-haired girl unlacing Tanys' loincloth.

"Shh," the blonde placed a perfumed finger on Tanys' lips.

"I don't have time for this," Tanys said, "I need to find out what... where." She had forgotten what she wanted to say. She took a deep breath trying to gather her thoughts. The sweet aroma of the incense overwhelmed her senses, and Tanys allowed the girls to lay her back on the mat. She wiggled her buttocks into a more comfortable position as deft fingers pulled her loincloth away. She exhaled in a long, slow sigh and sank into the soft, warm depths of the cushion.

Tanys' eyes fought to stay open, but she had forgotten why that was important. Damp cloth pressed against her bare skin, thrilling her with its touch. Her eyes fluttered open to the dreamlike scene of the two goat-masked women bathing her as she lay stretched upon the mat. Their hands moved over her body, seemingly everywhere at once, until her every sense thrilled at their ministrations. Her body writhed gently beneath each soft caress. Her lips parted as though to speak, yet she heard only soft moans in a voice that seemed to belong to someone else.

Hot water washed over her naked breasts, and she offered them up, hoping they might receive further attention. Firm hands closed upon the swollen orbs, squeezing and pulling at the sensitive mounds until Tanys was biting her lip with pleasure and arching her back to present them fully to her gentle captors. Tanys gasped as fingernails plucked at the tip of her nipple, teasing it to erection. Soft fingers pinched and pulled and Tanys suddenly felt a strange lightness there. She opened her eyes to see one of the goat-faced maidens lifting away the golden nipple ring from Tanys' breast. She wanted to protest. It meant something important. She could not remember what it was now. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wept for its loss. She felt as though she had once belonged to someone, but now was cast out, utterly naked and powerless.

The blonde girl leaned close and a gentle hand brushed the tears from Tanys' cheeks. The hand trailed down over her lips, and Tanys tasted the sweet salt of her own sorrow on the delicate fingertips. She took them in her mouth, softly suckling at those slim fingers, dragging her tongue across the tips of the long fingernails.

Tanys groaned as the girl's fingers pulled free of her mouth, sighing as those same fingernails raked wetly across her skin, tracing a path down the length of her body. They paused at the shaven mound of Tanys' sex, grown rough during her weeks of training. Scented oil and a keen blade were produced, and Tanys spread herself submissively beneath the razor.

The dark-haired girl cradled Tanys' head in her lap. A cup was pressed to Tanys' lips and she drank deeply as the blonde began to shave her. The wine tasted of cinnamon and some other, elusive flavor. The cup was set aside and the brunette began to wash Tanys' raven black hair, combing it straight to pull the tangles free. Tanys paid her no heed, her mind focused entirely upon the slow draw of the blade over her secret flesh. The blonde girl's fingers tugged gently, tightening the delicate skin wherever the razor would touch next. More than once her touch drifted from the job at hand to the oil-slick crease of Tanys' womanhood to flick teasingly or softly probe. By the time the razor licked clean the last trace of roughness, Tanys was shuddering for release.

The girl poured a fresh stream of warm oil over Tanys' glistening mound, working it in with her fingertips. Reversing her grip on the razor, she pressed the thick pommel of its long ebony handle up between Tanys' thighs. Tanys nodded in fervent approval, then hissed wordlessly as the polished wooden shaft pushed inside her.

The slave girl worked the knife handle with practiced expertise, pushing further and further inside until Tanys could feel the base of the blade itself, grasped firmly between the girl's fingers, touch lightly against the throbbing bud of her passion. This dangerous thrill drove her wilder still, and she pushed her hips against the girl's hand, riding the polished ebon shaft. Her breath came faster and faster until she cried out, her hips rising and falling spasmodically as she came.

The warm wet shaft pulled out of her, and Tanys lay, trembling on the mat. The room seemed to spin around her until she felt she was going to be sick. Tanys pressed her eyes tightly closed, and wished that she could remember who she had been before. It did not seem to matter anymore.

She felt a touch upon her breast and opened her eyes. A tiny metallic click sounded, and Tanys looked down to see a delicate platinum ring hanging from her nipple, and from this shining ring dangled a glittering ruby teardrop. She watched it rise and fall with the swell of her breast, marveling at its beauty.

"Do I belong to someone again?" Tanys whispered.

The twin goat masks stared down at her in silence.

"I'm sorry I'm late," the one-eared satyr said as he entered the room. He looked familiar.

Tanys shook her head as though to clear her thoughts. She had been daydreaming as she knelt on the floor beside a long table that was draped in red cloth. It seemed odd that she was on the floor. It must be the proper way of things, because she had a very comfortable cushion on which to kneel, and, in any case, there was only one chair at the table, and that was now taken by a one-eared satyr in a yellow doublet.

"I'm pleased that you could join me, Tanys," the satyr said, smiling.

Tanys was her name. He must be speaking to her, but she did not know what to say in return. She was certain that she knew him. His name began with a, "T... To..."

"You can call me... Master," the satyr said, leaning back in the high wooden chair.

There had been a T in his name after all; though Tanys still was not convinced that was the name she had been trying to remember. "Master?" she asked, "Where am I?"

"You are home, Tanys. What a silly question."

Tanys' eyes fell. It seemed strange as well that she was naked. Only the little jeweled ring through her nipple. She wondered how it had got there. Had it hurt?

Another satyr appeared, carrying a tray of food and drink. He placed it on the table before the seated faun and left the room. Tanys looked expectantly toward the door, but no one returned with a tray of food for her. The scent of roasted meat carried from the table as the satyr began to eat, and Tanys' stomach grumbled in response.

The yellow-clad satyr's ear pricked up, and he smiled. "Are you hungry, Tanys?"

"Yes."

"You will address me as Master!" his voice was cold, and Tanys was afraid that she had displeased him.

"I'm sorry... Master." For some reason, calling him that seemed terribly wrong. She was certain he had another name.

"Well then," the satyr said, "I'd better give you something to eat."

He tore a bony leg from the carcass of the chicken that he was eating and tossed it onto the floor in front of Tanys.

She stared down at the chicken leg. Why had he done that? Was there a shortage of clean plates in this strange house? Nevertheless, she was very hungry. She reached out to pick it up.

"Stop!" the satyr shouted, "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to pick it up," Tanys answered, stunned by his reaction.

"Do you have a napkin with which to clean yourself after you eat?

Tanys looked around. She had only the cushion on which she sat. "No... no, Master."

"Then you don't want to get your fingers all greasy, do you?" he asked.

Tanys shook her head. She looked hopefully toward the table.

"I'm afraid I only have the one napkin, which I will need for myself," the satyr answered.

Tanys looked toward the door from which the servant had brought the food.

"He does not serve humans, Tanys," the satyr sneered.

She was human. Only satyrs received napkins in this house, it would seem. She looked down at the scrap of chicken then up at the satyr, imploringly.

"Silly girl," he said, "just use your mouth."

Tanys stared back at him in disbelief, but he gave no indication that he might be joking. She looked again at the food on the floor. She was very hungry.

Tanys leaned forward on her hands. Her dark hair fell across her shoulders as she lowered her face toward the floor. She whipped her hair back with a toss of her head and held it to one side with her hand as she rocked forward on her knees. Her lips brushed against the roasted flesh, testing its solidity, then pressed down on either side of the haunch of meat. She lifted it, delicately clenched between her teeth, the sweet taste of it on her tongue.

As she raised her head, the meat tore free, and the chicken leg dropped from her lips. She moaned as it bounced away, leaving greasy stains on the black marble floor. Tanys’ face and breasts flushed red with shame. She licked the taste of meat from her lips, and her stomach groaned again. Why did satyrs have the right to eat at the table and use their hands while humans had to eat off the floor like dogs? Her eyes rose to the grim-faced faun who sat watching her. Why was he the Master?