King Of Zunga

Suddenly she withdrew, with final twisting motions of her lips as they passed over the end that nearly put an end to Blade. He let out something between a groan and a sigh of relief as the steadily rising pressure faded away to something more tolerable.

Now he wanted to be in her, desperately wanted to feel her wet canal tightening around him. He knelt down on the ground, grasping her firmly by the upper arms. Then he lay back, and as he did so, he pulled her slowly but firmly down on him, penetrating her just as slowly and firmly.

She was aroused and dripping and no virgin-that he felt the moment he entered. Her head went back at such an angle that for a moment Blade wondered how her neck could manage it, and her eyes rolled up in her head. She was no virgin indeed! She was expert and hungry and demanding. Her hips began to move in a slow circular rolling motion that alternately tightened and loosened the pressure on him. Again he had to fight for self-control.

Up and down, around and around she churned. Her breath came now in great whooping gasps, so loud that Blade half expected a dozen guards to wander over to find out what the noise was. Next to his losing control, the last thing he wanted was a mob of spectators.

It went on and on, and fortunately so did Blade. There was more than one time when he knew absolutely that another half second of Aumara's stimulation would bring him over the top. But she always sensed those moments, and always slowed her movements by just the little bit needed to save the situation. In spite of the coolness, they were both sweating now. Aumara's sweat dripped down off her writhing body onto Blade and mixed with his.

Blade's hands had been holding onto her arms all this time. Now they seemed to develop a will of their own, moving inward and down. Her nipples jutted forward from her full, perfectly curved breasts, hard little points. His hands kept moving, down over the curves of her breasts, down over the nipples.

As his hands cupped her breasts, she exploded. The scream rising in her throat died in a hiss, but her body arched like a bow in a series of wild convulsions. Then so did Blade's, as he bent himself upward, driving still deeper as he gushed and spurted into her. He fell back on the ground, Aumara sagged down on top of him and lay with her head on his shoulder, his relaxing organ still inside her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Blade was never quite sure how he and Aumara got back to their tents afterward. And he had only vague memories of rolling himself up in his hide cloak after crawling back into the tent. But he had very vivid memories of the encounter the next morning, when the bawling of the cattle as they were watered and the clatter of the pots as the slaves prepared breakfast roused him out before dawn.

Vivid memories, and pleasant ones. Aumara was beautiful, and she had obviously been well satisfied. Her interest in him was another piece of luck. Whether it was good or bad he couldn't say right now. As long as he could satisfy with both his wits, and his virility his luck should remain good. But the affairs of princesses could develop nasty complications at a moment's notice. So could affairs with princesses. He would have to do his best, and rely on the ruthless but apparently just King Afuno to take up any slack.

They were on the move again, before all the dawn colors had faded from the sky, ambling along at the same tedious pace as the day before. The plain stretched out before them, as bare and flat and empty as before. It was not until nearly sundown that the smoke and the herds of Dorkalu, the Zungan capital, came in sight.

«We are almost home,» said Aumara. The grin she gave Blade made it obvious what home meant to her, at least for the moment. It meant more privacy and comfort for them and their lovemaking. Blade decided not to try explaining to her how much time he would have to spend training the warriors, assuming that the Great D'bors and the On'ror let him.

The homeward-bound herds thickened, until the warriors had to form a ring around the caravan to keep its cattle and those of the herds separate. A few minutes later Blade made out a long, dark line on the horizon. «The walls of Dorkalu,» Aumara said.

The sun dipped below the horizon and the tropical darkness swallowed up the land. A little after that, torches sparked in the darkness ahead as warriors came out from the city to escort the caravan the final miles to it. And eventually more torches sparked in the darkness ahead, held by men standing on top of the walls themselves. These stretched out of sight into the darkness on either side, and rose more than twenty feet above the plain. Dead ahead lay a massive gate, wide enough for a dozen men to march through.

The cattle turned aside instead of going through the gate. In Dorkalu, the herds had their own separate compounds outside the walls, each with its own fortifications and guards. But the royal caravan kept straight on.

The gate squealed and groaned open, and the caravan marched through without breaking formation or step. On the other side of the massive walls an i

Now the caravan broke up in a flurry of barked orders and slaves and warriors hustling about on a dozen different errands. Afuno leaped down from his platform as lightly as any young warrior and came over to Blade. Four warriors nearly as large as he was stood on each side of him.

«Blade,» he said, «we must move quickly before the Ulungas try to make people forget Chamba's sacrilege and remember only that I went against their word. They will not have an easy time of it, for Chamba's sacrilege was great and public. But they may do it, and if they do, we will be back where we started. I will not give you up to the Ulungas. But in such a case I would not be able to give you a chance to train my warriors in your English fighting arts.»

He sighed. «If I had one son left-just one-I could throw myself against the Ulungas, sacrifice myself to bring them down. And then my son could rule a kingdom in which the Ulungas had no more power. But there are only daughters left. It is always a delicate thing to set up the joint rule of a princess and her consort. It is too delicate a thing to survive what might happen if I fought the Ulungas openly.»

Blade was worried. This gloomy note was something new for Afuno. «Surely at least the War Council will not listen to the Ulungas?»

«The Great Mors are supposed to be like you-wise men, not just warriors with strong arms and thick heads. Not all of them are. And the On'ror is only partly a war leader. He also speaks for the Ulungas in questions of war. He will speak this time, and he will speak loudly. I only hope nobody listens to him. At least, not until you have done your work for the Zungans.»

In spite of these disturbing words, Blade managed to get a good night's sleep. It turned out he needed it, because the next morning a summons to appear before the War Council came.

Like most Zungan public business, attending the War Council had to be done on an empty stomach. Blade supposed this was certainly one way of discouraging long speeches. But he would rather have sat through any number of speeches with something in his stomach than face the War Council and present his case with his empty stomach growling like a starving dog.

By now he was used to explaining himself, his fighting arts, and the English people to the Zungans, while putting his best foot forward. He tried to avoid claiming too much for his fighting skills, pointing out that he had never seen slave raiders in action. But if they were as he had heard them described, he could certainly teach the Zungans how to do much better against them. They would not win every fight, but they would win many more. And they would do this without any sacrilegious violations of the Sky Father's laws, such as throwing their spears as Chamba had done. Blade saw Afuno smile at the mention of Chamba.