Oz Beach Boy The Barbarian Ch. 01

But with lightning reflexes, Matt-Sharakh turned his horse to avoid the blow. As the agile beast swerved, the lone warrior again unsheathed the strange, curved blade at his hip.

Now suddenly at the side of the female warrior, Matt-Sharakh swung down with his blade, slicing right into the woman's muscled sword arm.

As the female soldier screamed in shock and pain, the blade cut through her flesh, muscle and bone like a sharp knife through tree-fruit.

Once the blade had passed right through it, the female soldier's arm dropped from her body and then fell to the ground in an arcing spray of viscera.

As the female soldier looked down with horror at the bloody stump of her arm, Matt-Sharakh swung his curved blade again, and this time cut through the brave woman's neck, decapitating her in an instant.

The woman's bloodied, eviscerated body sat cruelly upright on her steed for a few ugly moments, and then tumbled downward to the side, finally joining its separated parts on the scarlet-stained ground.

With her four brave soldiers brutally and quickly felled, an eerie silence filled the air. Matt-Sharakh sat quietly on his steed, his blood-soaked blade dripping in his right hand.

The lone warrior peered in Sceptre Nazrey's direction with a cold, blank stare. From the ruler's left side, a low, gravelly, booming voice broke the silence.

"Let me take him, Sceptre Nazrey," said the huge, horribly muscled, hulking soldier, his brutish, low-browed face a mess of thick scars. "I'll take that blade off him and break his bones one by one."

"You are a brave, loyal soldier, Jadrath The Skull Smasher," Sceptre Nazrey said quietly, "but I fear losing you too much. This man is too dangerous, even for a brutal killer like you. You will all go...even the great Matt-Sharakh can't fend off fifty soldiers armed with spears and bows."

"We will tear him apart," Jadrath The Skull Smasher growled. "We will bring back what's left of him and feed it to your war-dogs. I will give you his man-dagger and man-sack as a prize."

"No, Jadrath," Sceptre Nazrey said with gentle firmness. "Bring him back alive and as unharmed as possible. He is of more value alive. We can use him."

"Yes...whatever you command," the loyal Jadrath The Skull Smasher said obediently but with clear disappointment. "You are Sceptre Nazrey of Barbocan Valley. We serve you."

"I can use his man-seed as an offering to The Cluster Of Light," Sage Tantulas said with a leer. "I could procure it personally myself..."

"No, you won't, old man," Sceptre Nazrey snarled. "The women can do that. You need not sully your hands, holy man."

"Yes, Sceptre Nazrey," Sage Tantulas said with obvious embarrassment. "Of course..."

"Soldiers!" Sceptre Nazrey suddenly shouted to the men and women on horseback surrounding her, rousing them from the sadness of their four fallen colleagues. "Encircle him, and then move in formation toward him! Leave him no room to escape. Aim your spears and bows until he surrenders his weapons! Then chain him and bring him to me unharmed!"

"We fight for you!" the gathered soldiers bellowed in unison. "We fight for Barbocan Valley! We fight for all of us!"

In response to her brave soldiers' call to arms, Sceptre Nazrey proudly raised her ruling staff in the air with her right hand. Made of elaborately entwined wood and steel, and topped with a huge, shining red emerald, the exalted Sceptre had been passed down from generation to generation in Barbocan Valley.

The Sceptre was held and wielded only by the community's one single supreme ruler. In Barbocan Valley, the gift of rule was passed from one female Sceptre to the next, with the decision of coronation solely and non-negotiably theirs.

Men were not allowed to wield the ruling Sceptre. It was solely a woman's honour to rule. Barbocan Valley's female rulers did not have to be related by blood, or connected through friendship or sexual relations, but often were.

When a Sceptre became too aged to govern effectively, was injured in battle, or merely chose to no longer rule through exhaustion or disaffection, she simply passed the Sceptre on to the woman she felt would make the next best leader of Barbocan Valley.

In the very, very rare instance of a Sceptre's sudden death without notice of succession, her advisors would vote by official council on the next ruler of Barbocan Valley.

Though nearly all Sceptres were truly deserving of their position and made for highly effective leaders, blind nepotism and unfair favour had occasionally led to notoriously inept and disappointingly weak rulers for Barbocan Valley.

The short-of-stature Sceptre Nirmala was pathetically unskilled, indecisive, and cowardly on the field of battle; while the infamously arrogant Sceptre Indranee ignored her advisors and retired in shame after ruling for four seasons of failed crops and near starvation.

Sceptre Talia and the later Sceptre Andrea were so soft-headed, incompetent and foolish that they both retired their rule in abject defeat and confusion during their first scroll in power.

By far the most shameful of Barbocan Valley's failed rulers, however, was Sceptre Ariadne. Corpulent, cruel and handed the Sceptre by her blindly loving mother, Ariadne spent her two scrolls of rule doing little more than taking sexual advantage of the young men and women of Barbocan Valley.

As the crops failed and half-men from The Black Tundra raided the Valley's borders, Sceptre Ariadne hid in her chambers and engaged in debauched orgies of food and sex until her advisors convinced her that leadership was indeed not her strong suit.

Ariadne agreed to pass the Sceptre on to a more worthy ruler on the condition that her extreme and perverted sexual desires continue to be facilitated.

The foul shrew was provided with a much joked about array of young men and women until her eventual death, which was brought on by the consumption of too much food and wine.

At the rumpled, hunched over age of 75 scrolls, Ariadne's rumoured, shameful dying wish was to have ten young men loosen their skins and loincloths in front of her and then work their man-daggers until they sprayed their man-seed in her wrinkled, joyful face.

Unlike these notorious figures, Sceptre Nazrey was a much admired ruler of Barbocan Valley. She was beautiful and wise, and knew when to take advice from those more proficient in their fields than her.

Fierce and uncompromising, Sceptre Nazrey was brave in battle, highly skilled in combat, and respected and admired by her loyal subjects.

Barbocan Valley rejoiced when the brave soldier Nazrey was handed the ruling staff by her aged former military commander Sceptre Eleonora, one of the community's most revered and respected rulers.

A highly successful leader, Sceptre Nazrey's name had even been mentioned in the same breath as Sceptre Basira, widely considered Barbocan Valley's greatest ever ruler.

With the sound of thundering hooves reverberating in her ears, Sceptre Nazrey rode down towards Matt-Sharakh behind her fifty-strong horde of soldiers, still burning with regret over the horrible deaths of her four brave fighters.

Sceptre Nazrey stayed back with the elderly Sage Tantulas and watched as her fighters rode in a hard, swirling circle around the scowling Matt-Sharakh, who quietly sheathed his bloodied blade, and then smiled at the beautiful young ruler through the ring of furiously charging riders.

Now closer to Matt-Sharakh, Sceptre Nazrey was struck by how handsome the lone warrior was. His light brown hair was long and straight under his shadow-cat skull helmet, and his features were strong, well-defined and extremely manly.

Matt-Sharakh's brown eyes shone intensely. There was a fearsome, quiet power about this man. It provoked emotions in Sceptre Nazrey she had not experienced before.

Sceptre Nazrey's beautiful brow furrowed in quiet confusion. She was not used to the presence of such a noble, powerful and self-possessed man, who also displayed fighting prowess the likes of which she had never seen.

The males of Barbocan Valley served vitally as soldiers, labourers, enforcers of law, prison guards, workers, joy-givers, and bare performers, but offered little in the way of wisdom or words. They were valued for their bodies and not their minds.

This lone warrior was obviously different. Sceptre Nazrey felt an undeniable stirring under her loincloth as she looked upon the big, bulging muscles of Matt-Sharakh's mighty arms and powerful legs.

The beautiful ruler pondered again at how Matt-Sharakh had acquired his moniker of The Stallion Of The Steppes, and felt a sensual shiver rise from between her legs.

With a degree of guilt and deep concern, however, Sceptre Nazrey acknowledged that Matt-Sharakh was provoking stronger feelings in her, ones that radiated not just from between her legs, but also from her heart and mind.

Now completely encircled, Matt-Sharakh sat still on his steed as the fifty soldiers of Barbocan Valley moved toward him in fierce, determined unison, their spears and bows raised and pointed right in his direction.

Clearly wise enough to know when battle was futile, Matt-Sharakh remained still and calm as Jadrath The Skull Smasher and two female soldiers broke the encroaching riders' circle and moved toward the lone warrior with their broadswords threateningly raised.

"Surrender your blades," Jadrath The Skull Smasher said firmly, "or your flesh will be pierced by fifty spears and arrows. You are now a prisoner of Sceptre Nazrey of Barbocan Valley. You are a fine fighter, but there is no way out, even for you...Matt-Sharakh."

"You know of me?" the handsome lone warrior asked, his voice deep and rich, and unsheathed the two curved weapons at his hips. "My name travels even to the other side of The Black Tundra?"

"Yes, we know who you are," Jadrath The Skull Smasher replied. "Myths and tall tales...stories to frighten small ones...I'm sure you bleed red just like all the other men I've killed."

Matt-Sharakh dropped his curved blades to the ground with a surprising lack of protest, and then pulled his broadsword from over his shoulder, letting it fall down next to them.

He pulled two more short daggers from his fur boots, and then another from beneath the skins across his chest. In total cooperation, Matt-Sharakh added to the growing pile of weapons on the ground.

Then, with a wicked and knowing smile, Matt-Sharakh reached up under his loincloth, moved his hand around, and then produced another small dagger. He dropped it to the ground with his other weapons and smiled in Sceptre Nazrey's direction.

With the lone warrior now subdued and without his blades, Sceptre Nazrey broke the circle of riding soldiers and cantered slowly toward him. She smiled knowingly at Matt-Sharakh, and then pointed at the two female soldiers closest to him.

"Put this man in chains," Sceptre Nazrey commanded. "He is too dangerous to be unbound, even when surrounded by a horde of fifty. Keep your spears and bows trained on him until he is in bondage. Retrieve his weapons and place them in my chambers."

"Aaah," Matt-Sharakh said and looked at the ruling staff in Sceptre Nazrey's right hand. "This is the land of rich soil, abundant food, and female rulers. This is Barbocan Valley...yes, I have heard tales of this land."

"Barbocan Valley is a fair and just place," Sceptre Nazrey smiled, "but you have just murdered four of my soldiers, and you will be subjected to our laws for that trespass."

"They told me to bow, and then they attacked me," Matt-Sharakh said as the female fighters snapped two chained wrist-bands shut on his muscular forearms. "I do not bow without discussion."

Sceptre Nazrey may have been mistaken, but she was almost certain she saw one of the female soldiers smile and then quickly slip her hand under Matt-Sharakh's loincloth to feel around briefly for his man-dagger.

"Oh, you will bow," growled Jadrath The Skull Smasher. "You will do more than bow, you murderer..."

"Your words are worthless," Matt-Sharakh scoffed at Jadrath. "You are just a war-dog on two legs. Did she take your man-sack like her other dogs? Does she keep you on a leash? Go and play with the arms and heads on the ground over there. Rip the flesh and you'll get to the bones."

"You will die for such talk," Jadrath growled. "I will rip your arms off your body..."

"Enough!" Sceptre Nazrey shouted. "Matt-Sharakh, you will ride with me back to the court of Barbocan Valley. I want to know why you are here."

With his hands chained, Matt-Sharakh toe-prodded his steed to move up beside Sceptre Nazrey, who surreptitiously looked down at the lone warrior's loincloth, desperate to catch a glimpse of what really hung beneath it. How she envied that female soldier's sly indiscretion...

"Jadrath!" Sceptre Nazrey commanded. "You ride behind us with ten fighters, and keep your spears and bows trained on this man the whole time. At any suspicious movement, send your spears and arrows into his back. No mercy."

"Yes, Sceptre Nazrey," Jadrath growled. "He will fall at the slightest transgression. You will be protected."

Sceptre Nazrey and Matt-Sharakh rode forward, separating themselves from the rest of the horde, and from the soldiers' curious ears. They rode in awkward silence for a few moments until Sceptre Nazrey finally spoke.

"Your reputation is justified," Sceptre Nazrey said as she and Matt-Sharakh moved slowly forward on their steeds, riding side by side. "You killed four of my best fighters with ease, and without one single drop of your own blood spilled...yet you just surrendered with no protest."

"I have killed many, many, many more than four, Sceptre Nazrey," Matt-Sharakh said earnestly, "but never when encircled by a horde of fifty. I have killed more men and women than I can even remember, but I know when to fight and when not to fight."

"You obviously know the ways of military strategy," Sceptre Nazrey smiled. "You have fought many battles?"

"Yes, I have," Matt-Sharakh replied. "I will now look for other opportunities, and then I will eventually kill many more of your fighters. You will lose many loyal subjects, Sceptre Nazrey."

"You will not find such opportunities...you are our prisoner now," Sceptre Nazrey snapped back, "and you will be subjected to things that may surprise you. Why are you here? Whose bidding do you do? Have you been sent to take my head?"

"No," Matt-Sharakh replied. "I was being pursued by a band of thirty degenerate men and women who wanted to do Pyrthas-knows-what to me. They had a pack of war-dogs at their feet too. I rode into The Black Tundra, where they would be too scared to follow me."

"Only very few men and women of sound mind have survived a journey across The Black Tundra," Sceptre Nazrey said. "That is a place of nightmares."

"It's just another land filled with things that can be killed," Matt-Sharakh said earnestly. "If you hold your nerve, land-fish can be used for food, man-apes can be cut asunder like any other warrior, and half-men flee if you fight back. It's a place of myth...you could cross it easily with a few good fighters."

"Is it true The Darkness Overlord makes his home there?" Sceptre Nazrey asked.

"I have heard tales, but I saw no such man," Matt-Sharakh replied. "But there are many dark places within to hide and work cruel magic."

"So you are not here at the mercenary bidding of another?" Sceptre Nazrey asked. "I know you rode with that hateful rapist, King Wexlas The Vile. You have not come for my head?"

"I rode with the mercenary army of King Wexlas The Vile in The Canyon Of Tears," Matt-Sharakh replied. "We fought back an encroaching force of crazed killers from the Western Lands for nearly an entire scroll."

"Yes, I have heard the tales of horror," Sceptre Nazrey said. "You have no allegiance to that corrupt, perverted despot? Even though you battled for him?"

"I took my gold and rode when the battle was won," Matt-Sharakh said. "I am a minion of no man, and especially not of King Wexlas The Vile."

"You do the bidding of no man or woman?" Sceptre Nazrey asked. "You are merely here through misfortune?"

"This is simply where I exited The Black Tundra," Matt-Sharakh replied. "I have no map. I have no plan. have no purpose here."

"And did you kill a shadow-cat to get that helmet?" Sceptre Nazrey smiled. "Or did you buy it from a market with a bag of tree-fruit?"

"I killed two shadow-cats...with my bare hands," Matt-Sharakh replied. "I was hungry. A tribe of gargantuan ebony wilder-women had me naked on The Plains Of Zandalis. I had to fight to survive with nothing."

"And why did they take your skins and loincloth?" Sceptre Nazrey asked mischievously. "Why were you left as you were born? Did they amuse themselves with you?"

"Yes, they did...it was a tribe of forty...they wanted to take my man-dagger and man-sack for their entertainment," Matt-Sharakh smiled. "I wanted to keep those things, so I fled. I survived naked on The Plains Of Zandalis for thirty moons."

Sceptre Nazrey enjoyed Matt-Sharakh's efforts to charm and flirt with her by talking about being without his skins and loincloth.

The beautiful ruler pictured the lone warrior walking naked across The Plains Of Zandalis and quietly shivered with pleasure. Indecent thoughts of his man-dagger prompted Sceptre Nazrey to quickly broach another subject with Matt-Sharakh.

"Your skill on horseback is most impressive," Sceptre Nazrey smiled. "This is why they call you The Stallion Of The Steppes?"

"Yes, my people are of The Steppes Of Kazem," Matt-Sharakh replied. "We learned to ride as soon as we could walk. My people were horse-riders of renown...better than anyone else."

"There is no other reason why they call you The Stallion Of The Steppes?" Sceptre Nazrey asked with a salacious smile.

"There might be," Matt-Sharakh smiled mischievously in response. "Perhaps there is another reason, yes."

"Yours was a prosperous land?" Sceptre Nazrey asked, quickly changing the subject in embarrassment. "Like Barbocan Valley?"

"Yes, mine was a peaceful place of warmth and joy...a good, fair land," Matt-Sharakh said quietly, "until, when I was in my thirteenth scroll, over two hundred soldiers from Mount Haborym tore through our land."

"They took The Steppes Of Kazem?" Sceptre Nazrey asked.

"They burned down our homes, took our food, killed our fighters, and raped and ended most of our women," Matt-Sharakh replied, obviously saddened by his words. "Some they kept for comfort. They murdered my parents...killed my older brother. All of the orphaned children were taken as slaves. I carried rocks while in chains all day to build their kingdom...and I became strong."

"They eventually released you?" Sceptre Nazrey asked. "Or not?"

"No," Matt-Sharakh replied. "They made the mistake of teaching me how to fight, to train me to become a soldier. In my nineteenth scroll, I plotted my escape. I locked and then burned the soldiers' lodgings. When the fighters came running out screaming in flames, I hacked them to pieces."

"The Destroyer Of Worlds," Sceptre Nazrey muttered. "The Bringer Of Death."

"I burned down as much of Mount Haborym as I could before I had to flee," Matt-Sharakh growled. "I killed many with my sword and some with my hands, and I smiled as I did it. The entire land deserved death. Mount Haborym never rose again once I was finished with it."

"Did you return to The Steppes Of Kazem?" Sceptre Nazrey asked. "Was there anything left of your homeland?"

"It was all gone," Matt-Sharakh said. "I was alone. I eventually rode with the war party of the great warrior Lucien The Bold. He and his men were violent and strong, but they were also decent and kind. They taught me how to fight and kill with even greater skill...and then I realised these skills could win me favour and gold."