Tales From Hyboria Taras Tale Pt 03

Author's note: this is fiction, intended to explore fantasies, and does not endorse behavior, violent, sexual or otherwise, in real life. Please keep it safe, consensual, and legal. All characters portrayed herein are eighteen years of age or older.

*

"My Prince, a woman is here to see you."

"A woman?" Prince Thanocles walked through the armory. He tossed his practice sword upon a table and began unstrapping his breastplate. "What?"

"Yes, Prince." The steward bowed. "She said she is here from the Librarium. Do you wish me to send her off?"

Thanocles shrugged off his breastplate and let it drop to floor, soon followed by his tunic. "Nay," he bade. "Send her in."

He was sitting in the bath, arms propped upon the rim, eyes shut, and enjoying the steam when he heard footsteps on the stone floor. "My Prince," greeted a female voice, low and soft, but with an edge. He opened eyes and smiled.

There stood Tara, hair tightly braided, wearing a black silk chasuble. Billowing, sleeveless folds whelmed her arms and scooped low until her girdle's silver links gathered them at waist, thence falling over her hips. She bowed slightly, holding a scroll to her breast.

"The sorcerer's daughter." Thanocles' eyes narrowed over his grin. "Why are you here?"

She held forth the scroll: "I was bidden to bring you this, my Prince."

"Why?" he asked.

"Presumably, you wish to read it"

"I don't read," he declared. "I have scribes to do so."

"Yes, Prince." She drew apart the scroll's spools. "You wish me to read for you?"

"I think not. I've asked for no scroll." A smile played his lips. "What is this? Some pretext to gain my presence?"

Tara smiled and bowed slightly. "You've found me out. This was the best way I could find to reach you."

"Indeed." His grin leered. "Well, since you're here, we may as well not waste it." Within the bath he stood. His stout, muscled body rose glistening from the water until all but his calves lay clear to eye, wide shoulders, corded belly, and heavy manhood hanging restlessly.

Unmoved, Tara stood. She overlooked the prince's nakedness, and then cocked her brow.

Thanocles watched her until silence stretched between them. He pursed lips. "Well?"

Her expression did not shift. "Well, what, Prince?"

"Wash me."

"Ah. I see." Tara's bow dropped her eyes to the floor. "I shall fetch the bath-slaves for you." She swerved backward and headed for the doorway.

"Nay! I don't wish slaves. I wish you to-" His voice died as she left. He scowled and almost leapt from the bath, but his foot slipped on wet stone. Strong arms caught the bath's edge and forstayed him a wicked fall. There he halted, water slopping over his knees and onto the floor while he watched her back disappear.

His frustration stewed until the bath-slaves came: a foursome of Brythunian maids matched in height, eyes, and brown-gold hair, clad in scant scraps of cloth twisted around their waists. One knelt before him, dried his loins and thighs, and glanced shyly upward at him,

"Stop," he bade. When she obeyed, he reached down and raised her chin, looking on her face. Swiftly he compared her to the other three. Then he let her free. "Lean forward on your hands," he ordered.

The bath-slave shivered and did as bidden, head down, eyes watching him sidewise.

Thanocles walked around to her rear swaying high. He stooped and cupped her buttock, dipped his thumb into her exposed quim, and plumbed her depth. In answer she gasped, and then began whimpering softly. He considered the sounds from her throat until they turned to a moan. then he knelt behind her and pushed his manhood's bulb into her folds. He plowed her tightness from behind and soon was thrusting toward.

Then he looked up. There stood Tara right inside the doorway, watching him. He glared at her over the slave's hips and back. Almost he commanded her to leave. Yet the pleasure-stroke overtook him. He gasped and squeezed eyes shut while ecstasy emptied out of him. When Thanocles opened them, Tara still waited, no longer bearing the scroll, hands folded within her chasuble's folds. A bemused look, almost a smile, played about her pale eyes.

He slapped the slave-girl's haunch, which sent her scurrying from the bathroom, leaving prince and sorceress alone.

"You," he growled, "are an insolent wench. When I command, you shall obey."

Tara's head tilted. "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated. Unbelief widened his eyes. "You tread dangerous ground, girl."

"Have you not enough bath-slaves and concubines to catch your seed when your lust seethes over?"

His glare fixed on her. "My word is law, and you and your withered old father serve at my pleasure. And when I say pleasure, I mean any and all that entails."

"Of course, Sire. Forgive me." She bowed slightly. "Yet let me ask you this: how am I to fulfill the task you bade if I am yielding my womanliness to your shaft?"

His brow pinched. "What task?"

"Finding your uncle's spy."

"I bid you hush!" he hissed, and quickly looked around. "What if the blackguard is listening in as we speak?"

"I assure you, Prince, we are quite alone. We may speak freely."

While Thanocles regarded the gray-eyed lass, his frown deepened. He eyes were drawn to her breast, where, despite the black robe hiding her from neck to foot, two raised nubs poked out against the sateen silk, each wide as a gold coin and jutting a good inch out beyond her flesh. He tried to look off, failed, and shook his head. "What-" he stuttered.

"Speak on, Prince," heartened Tara, "since doubtlessly you wonder at my coming here."

"Yes," he said, tearing eyes away. "Why did you come here? You and your father have stayed here nigh a month, and still no spy or aught else to show."

"And that is just the problem," she answered. "We can do little where we sit and wait."

"Why not? Have I not given you access to my court?"

"Nay, Prince. You let us into the Librarium," she corrected, "and that is not the court. It is not even in the palace, where we may not enter without leave. I shrive it betook me a swift tongue and no few lies to reach you here."

"Which were sake enough to have you stripped, flogged and cast into the gutter," muttered Thanocles.

"And yet how are we to find a spy in your court if we ourselves are not in it?" asked Tara.

"If you two are doughty enough sorcerers as you claim, it should not matter."

"We claimed we could find your spy. We never promised to do so hamstrung." Her eyes flashed.

He laughed. "You grow bold. Tell me: under what pretext am I to invite a middling alchemist with whiff of sorcery hanging about him and his nameless daughter among my nobles?"

"Simple, she read, while walking to a shelf, whence she drew fresh clothes: "do not try to hide it." She shook out and undershirt and held it up before him. "Name my father your counsellor sorcerous. Then we shall have standing enough to come and go as we need."

"Now we come to the thrust," he gleed while he caught hem and drew the undershirt overhead. "Such would doubtless further your father's name, including your own, all without even a spy to show. I think not." His head cocked. "Besides, I recall I have already granted you access to the court. My birthday feast happens in three days, and your father has promised lotus for the celebration. You may come to court then."

Tara likewise held up the prince's fresh jupon. "Very well." She smiled hardly as he donned it. "Yet allow me at least the favor of overlooking the battlefield before the battle." Her eyes batted. "Show me your palace."

"What? Me?" he babbled, pulling his head through the neckhole. "Now?"

Tara nodded yes to all questions. She stretched a golden belt and knelt before him. "Show me as you see it." She wrapped it around his waist and clasped it snug.

Prince Thanocles looked down on her, on her knees, head right on height with his loins. His dry mouth gaped. Almost he set to speak, but then licked lips and clamped them shut. Instead, he grabbed her arm and hauled her afoot. "Come," he said roughly.

He led her out of the baths, back through the armory, and through the practice-yard where earlier he had faced his knights at swordplay. Thence he showed her the palace stables, replete with neighing destriers who tosses manes and grooms who hastily bowed as their prince passed. Then he led the way through the kitchens and past the stockrooms to the banquet hall, and from there to the gardens, where myrrh-shrubs vied with roses, and peacocks crowed among caged songbirds. He finished the tour in the hall of state, where he dropped her hand and sat upon his golden throne, whose arms were cast as rampant bulls, and set with purple canopy and rugs of far Vendhya.

"There. You've seen it." His fingers drummed the throne's golden arm. "Satisfied?"

Tara stood before the throne's dais gazed around at the palace's bell-like dome, the windows of stained glass letting light stream in, pennons hanging of honors and victories, and tapestries set upon the walls, which showed Koth's history since its rude foundation on the bones of Acheron and the rise of its warrior-kings. "Thank you, Prince," she inclined her head while continuing to look. "Yet is what you've shown me truly all?"

His head shook. "What mean you?"

A half-smile played her as she turned eye to him. "What of your personal apartments?"

He chuckled. "What? You wish to see even those?"

She nodded, gray eyes narrow. "Even your bedchamber."

He grin grew toothy. "Careful what you ask, sorcerer's daughter. I may grant your wish."

"I'll take my chance," she replied. "Will you indulge me, Prince?"

Again he led the way, back through the banquet hall, to the guarded doors she remembered from the feast. At Thanocles' wave the porters opened, and prince and Tara strode through. There waited the same marble hall with doors, each to a room appointed with silver lamps, ebony tables, exotic rugs, and skins of zebras, lions, tigers, and other wild beasts.

At last Thanocles leaned against the doorway next to last. "I believe you've seen all now," he observed, "except the bedchamber. He tapped the lintel whereagainst he leaned and nodded for her to enter.

Tara shunned his eyes. Instead, they settled on the door at the hallway's end, the one she had been forbidden to follow during her astral exploration. "What lies herethrough?" she asked.

"Nothing," he answered. "Wait. Do not go there!" he warned. Yet Tara did not wait. She scampered through ere he could catch her, and pushed through a bangled door-shroud.

She found herself in an enclosed court with gallery around the edge, open to the sky. Orange trees and a pool waited in the gardenlike midst, though smaller than the palace's pleasure-gardens. Tara looked around, even when Prince Thanocles hustled through the door after her. She took in not only the bronze and onyx statues of naked houris and pillowed benches, but also the half-dozen women dressed in jewels and silken shawls.

"A seraglio," she spoke.

"Indeed," said Thanocles, "and therefore not somewhere anyone may simply enter without leave."

"Still, if I were to yield you what you wish, then maybe 'twere meet I see this," she reckoned.

While Tara spoke, the tall, spare woman she recognized from her astral spell strode forth, halted, and bowed to the prince. "Mira, greeted Thanocles, "forgive the intrusion. We have an unexpected guest."

Tara spared a glance at Mira, and then for the other women present. Their sight made her pause. Most all their bellies swelled to varying widths, from middling to so great that one might bethink her ready to give birth, all but Mira's and one whom Tara recognized as Titiana. The golden lady retained her slimness, though a bruising welt marred an eye and cheek.

"So," said Tara, looking around the small court: "Is this to become my fate, should I yield my favors? If I get a babe from you, will I be kept here?"

"Nonsense!" said Thanocles. "My seraglio is fit for noblewomen only." He waved hand at the women: "You behold here daughters of some of the greatest houses in Koth. Vivia is daughter of Prince Almuric, King Strabonus cousin on his mother's side, executed for rebellion ten years ago. Pulcheriahere is daughter to Count Minas, who surrendered with Yaralet, and whomfrom I took her as hostage. Livia and Livania here are twins, offered me by Sir Pelion in exchange for the stronghold at Bar-Golga, along with its estates, and we are already laying bets as to which drops her babe first." Then he paused. "Lady Mira here is my first concubine, whom I've had since youth," he told, looking to the spare woman. "As such, she oversees the seraglio." When Tara eyed her, Mira bowed, but did not meet her gaze.

"Which brings us at last to our newest addition," summed the prince, waving at the golden lady Tara already knew, who huddled in a corner: "Titiana here was naughty. She believed the favor I had shown her was not enough. On the night she entertained me, she chose not to drink the potion Lady Mira gave her. What's worse, she hid the deed and lied! Then she misses her moon-blood, and next her father is asking me awkward questions." He strode to her. "We like not ladies who do not what they're told, and neither do we like liars!"

The golden lady's hand shielded her bruised eye and cheek.

"So what think you?" The prince turned to Tara: "Is curiosity satisfied?"

"But one question more," answered the gray-eyed lass: "If I am not worth the seraglio, then what would become my fate?"

"Well, I suppose I'd send you back to your father." The prince shruggged: "Or if he will not have you, we would guest you at some house, either in the city or at a lord's estate."

"How thoughtful," said Tara. She again surveyed the garden-court, paying especial heed to Titiana's bruised face. "I understand this is more than I could hope for." Her words dripped wryness.

"Yet it could be fun," said Thanocles, licking lips.

"I'm sure," she answered. "Thank you, Prince. I'll now take my leave." She bowed.

"But wait!" he called. "You haven't seen the bedroom I promised."

"As you've already said, Prince, I've seen enough. I'll stay with being a sorcerer's daughter." Tara strode to the door.

"Wait!" he called after her. "I bid you-" Yet she did not wait. She left through the doorway, hiding a smile.

Tara wove through the palace hallways, by mincing courtiers and guards slouching boredly, out through the main door. She then crossed the front square leftward to a hall domed with stained glass. She strope up the steps and nodded to the steward, who nodded back as if he knew her.

She found Theophobus in an empty ramshackle wing that looked used to store spare shelves and rotten scrolls. He stood amidst borrowed furniture, whereon a brazier burned, a kettle bubbled, and a copper horn caught the steam and thence led to a twisted tube. From its mouth dripped a bilious oil into a vial. The old man watched this distillation dribble to its goal and looked up at her entry.

"We may have a problem," told Tara. "The prince grows impatient with our spy-hunt."

Theophobus stepped back from his alchemy. "Thanocles quickens matters more than I forehoped." He sighed. "What would you?"

Her gray eyes frowned. "We need a sterner stroke."

He nodded. "If a secret be whispered in Yaralet, but be heard in an ear within Korshemish, then there are things we may summon, which can trace that path," he bethought, lips narrow. "Yet we must take care. Tsotha-lanti rules the king's court from his scarlet tower. If he wits our night-thrall, he will deem us ill."

"Know you Tsotha-lanti?" she asked.

He smiled through his beard. "He is the reason I left Korshemish, and count myself both lucky and alive thereby. He is beyond my power."

Tara nodded, eyes dark. "What must we betake to keep our hunter secret?"

"Wait until the Prince's birthnight in three days, on the next new moon" read the old man. "Prepare for that night, for then we shall call our whisper-hunter. Until then, help me ready this lotus, since it buys us the Prince's goodwill."

"Very well," agreed Tara. From a bag she plucked dried citrine blossoms and put them in a sieve. Gently she shook it over a bowl, causing a faint dustlike pollen to fall.

* * *

Smoky stench floated through the palace's pleasure-hall, a cloying billowiness that stung nose and dulled all other smell. It hung aloft as a dirty haze, along with song from lute and harp, which played slightly off step. Here came Prince Thanocles, flanked by lords his boyhood friends. At his entry the revel-guests, lords and ladies bleary-eyed and already half-naked, stood and cheered, full of well-wishes for his birthday, whereat he waved acknowledgement. He strode amongst his companions and ministers, nodding at the noblewomen who bowed and let cleavage gape.

At last he beheld the stinging haze's source: a waist-high brazier, on whose red embers Theophobus sifted an amberlike dust. As he did, forth wafted a new harsh, heavy smoke-cloud. The Prince strode to the brazier, wherearound revelers held reeds, whose ends they reached out and held over the combusting powder and sucked smoke through. He nodded to Theophobus's bow, and then looked around. "Master Sorcerer, I trust this batch of lotus came out well?"

The sorcerer lowered head and stretched his arms, gesturing at the smoke billowing. "The best, Prince. A blend of my own concoction. If you misdoubt, ask your loyal subjects who have already partaken."

Thanocles followed his lead and glanced at the bodies filling couches throughout the hall, with wide but droopy eyes, slumbery under lotus-smoke dreams. Others half or altogether naked writhed together in serpentlike knots, including a lady who sat upon a man's lap, wherein openly drove his manhood, to onlookers' exhortations. The prince appreciatively eyed her bouncing haunches until he turned back to the brazier.

"You guarantee its potency?' he asked the sorcerer.

Theophobus nodded. "The pleasures this lotus summons are unrivaled. Moreover, despite these ecstatic heights, it has the curious outcome of hindering a man's release, which causes not less but more pleasure, for all parties involved."

"Enlivening." The prince grinned. "For such an offer, Master Sorcerer, I have no choice but to partake!"

He picked a reed from a stack beside the brazier, stuck its end over the burning powder, and sucked deep. Thanocles's eyes shut while he breathed smoke. He sneezed as it scoured his nostrils.

Then his eyes opened. The world around him blurred, glowed, and wavered. His pupils widened uncannily, even while his face reddened. He swayed, and from his lips escaped a moan.

When his eyes again focused, Tara stood across the brazier, wearing a scarf twisted and wrapped over breast, leaving her shoulders and belly bare. A girdle's skirt hid her hips and loins, through slits let peek her thighs. She watched him, a half-smile musing her lips.

"Insolent wench," he greeted.

Tara did not bow. Neither did her mien change. She strolled around the brazier and its crowd of lotus-smokers until she reached Thanocles. "How find you the lotus, my Prince?"

At her shift before him and need to look downward at her, Thanocles' head wobbled again. He blinked as his loudening heartbeat made her nymphlike chest bulge bigger. "Fine," he muttered, and then added: "Very good quality." He frowned while trying to focus his words. "Yet expect not your father's skill shall forgive your insult."

Tara clasped his arm. At her touch alone, he groaned and shut eyes, almost swooning. She steered him from the brazier. "Come, my Prince. Let us discuss this matter," she bade gently.

When he drunkenly accepted her lead, she brought him to a pillar whereagainst sat a bench, and seated them both. "I should tell you something about my father's lotus," she revealed. "He mixed it with both the black lotus of the swamps of Southern Stygia and the yellow lotus from far eastern Khitai. This has the effect of bringing not only the euphoria and dreams wherewith you are familiar, but also a curious side-effect: those under the lotus-smoke's power become highly biddable to other's commands."