Tales from Hyboria - Tara's Tale Pt. 02

The young sorceress's teeth bit her own.

Thanocles' assault continued on straining thighs. He leaned forward, bowing Titiana's legs back to her shoulders, until he set his hands on the couch bed. His position put this head right below Tara while he hunched and strained. Tara bent lower to watch his face, his eyes when they squeezed shut, his lips twist back and bare his teeth while a groan started deep within his chest. It rose slowly and loudened while his manhood quickened its thrusts into her plundered maidenhead, and then became a roar when he froze, legs shuddering while his manhood squirted into her depths. Tara even reach a hand out until she remembered she had no body to touch him.

At last, Thanocles fell upon the beside Titiana and lay pantingly. She reached out to him, even as her sobs continued. "My Prince, my love," she whispered.

Thanocles answered not. His eyes sagged shut as already slumber claimed him.

While Tara watched, the prince softly snoring, the erstwhile maiden lying forlornly, a spare woman in silken shawl entered the doorway. On silent feet she crossed to the couch. She brushed Titiana's sodden brow. "Come, my lady," she whispered.

"Who-" started Titiana. Witlessly she rose, though then halted fearfully, lest she disturb the slumbering prince.

"I will see you bathed, changed, and safely home," explained the spare woman over her. "Also, I will give you a potion to drink. Now swiftly, my lady, but softly, lest you wake him. The Prince does not make kindly to those who break his sleep."

Shiveringly Titiana stood, doing her best without waking the prince. She let the other woman lead her from the room, out to the hallways, hugging her breasts.

Tara followed the two women until a doorway at the hallway's end. The spare woman led Titiana through. The sorceress went to follow, but then a deep, ringing voice spoke her name. Tara looked around. While she paused, the hallway lengthened uncannily and dimmed...

...Tara gasped awake, lying upon a bed, drenched chillingly. A small lamp burned, showing her room in the Librarium apartment she and Theophobus had moved into. Beside her sat the old man, who had called her name, and was also shaking her arm. On his sight she flinched to the bed's edge. "Peace!" he hissed.

"I was about to learn something," she snarled. "Why did you wake me?"

"Because you've lain under this astral spell for the whole night, since yestereve," he reproved. "There is a cost for spending overlong away from one's body. You look almost half-dead!"

She tried to swallow, failed, and licked dry lips. "What hour is it?'

"Within a glasstide of dawn," he shook his head. "I should have woken you sooner, but myself dozed off." He handed her a cupful of watered wine, which she thirstily drank. "What have you learned?"

"Some things," she answered slowly. "Courtiers suspect you of sorcery, but wit not your true powers. I think they seek your use for their own ends. Of me they stand heedless, as merely your daughter."

Theophobus nodded. "What else did you witness?"

"A tragic waste of virgin's blood," she muttered. "Elsewise, somewhat of the games our patron the Prince plays to disport himself." She fingered her lip. "There is much more to the palace than merely the court, ministers, and petty lords vying for favor. There are servants, and also whatever secrets the Prince keeps in his seraglio. I need to get closer."

Theophobus stroked his beard. "How?"

"Wake me at noon," she answered. "I need to find an expert."

"An expert at what?"

"At something only women know. Now leave." She waited for him to go through the door and shut the curtain, and then lay back upon the bed.

* * *

Tara swiftly strode the winding street's cobblestones; new sandals smartly tied around her ankles. A swath of blue silken shawl was drawn over her head, hiding her hair and drawing her face into shadow. If any burghers chanced to gaze within, they might see but her gray eyes shining.

She halted before a green-painted door and regarded its high face and thin arching windows high on the upper floors. She looked both ways along the street, and then knocked on the door. A moment later, it opened, and a porter stood within, who eyed her askingly.

"I seek the mistress," she told him.

The porter bowed his neck, held the door aside, and let Tara enter.

He led her to an antechamber, and then up a spiral stairway. On the upper floor they followed a balcony overlooking an inner garden until they came to a room at the far end. There he showed her inside, bowed, and left.

A buxom woman with henna-red hair, arms heavy with jewels, and gown woven with gold thread, sat on a cushion. Her face, no longer young but still handsome, regarded the garden below through a carven rosewood screen. One hand idly waved a peacock-feather fan over her rouged bosom. "Who are you, and what do you want?" she asked brusquely.

"Tara, Mistress Dezira, daughter of Theophobus." She bowed at the neck, doffing her scarf's fold.

The matron's head turned. "Whyfor should either name mean anything to me?"

"I will keep this brief, Mistress, since you run a business," explained Tara: "I have come to learn."

"Have you?" For the first time the Mistress Dezira's gaze settled on the girl. Black eyes bored into her face. "Very well," she begrudged. "Let me see what you have to work with." Her peacock fan waved at Tara's shawl.

Tara shrugged it off. She stood with shoulders bare but for her gray gown's straps, a white sash, and a silver girdle tightened at her hips.

"Not bad," commented Dezira while her eyes judged. "Men like Hyborian eyes, as they so call. Now the rest, too." Her fan waved again.

Tar unhooked her girdle, pulled the sash's knot, and unpinned her gown's straps. Its gray silk flowed smoothly off her olive flesh. Nakedly she stood before the mistress, spread her arms, and cocked a round hip. At the fan's twirl she slowly turned around.

After thorough study, Dezira nodded. "Are you virgin, girl?"

"No, Mistress."

The buxom woman shrugged. "Too bad. Can you fake it?"

"If needs must." Tara's brow tightened: "Out of curiosity, what is men's fascination with virginity?"

Dezira gave her another glance and cocked her head. "You've a brain in that head," she acknowledged. "It's the hunter's instinct at its root, I reckon, to make us prey to their lust. Also, it's a kind of ownership. Being a maiden's first is believed to leave a spiritual mark, and bragging rights besides." Her head tilted. "Your Kothic is fine, but you've spoken another tongue for long spell of your life. Whence come you?"

"My family hails from Koth, though as merchants we've dwelt many places," answered the naked girl.

"Ophir, unless I miss my guess," stated the mistress, and paused: "Whom again did you name your father?"

"Theophobus, once of Korshemish."

"The alchemist? He used to sell me lotus. I remember you now. Those eyes!" She grinned narrowly. "Your mother died, and it was all he could do to keep breath in your frail body. Your were this tiny thing so weak you could barely cry. One of my girls nursed you." She nodded. "You've grown well."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Good. Now I expect you to work every night unless you moon-blood is running," she dictated. "You shall bathe before noon, and after every man you take. I set the fees and take half. For that you get your own room, fresh sheets, and a maid who will change them. I also give out potions daily against childedness and bring in a physician monthly. I require you undergo both. If you get with child, it's on you to hire a midwife and get rid. If you keep it, you shall get gone. If you get the pox, I'll pay your sickhouse and will throw incense on your funeral pyre."

Tara scoffed. "Respectfully, Mistress, I've not come here to work as one of your doxies. As I said, I'm here to learn." She bent forward, scooped her girdle, and plucked a small pouch from its links. She straightened and tossed it at the mistress, who caught it to the clink of metal within. "Consider me a customer," said the naked girl.

Dezira caught the coin purse. She scowled. Then she squeezed the purse and sat back. "What do you wish to learn? Speak."

"Many things," said Tara. "Yet chief among them shall be how best to lure a man and keep his interest."

"Now here shows a riddle," spoke the mistress. "'Tis a little thing to sway one's hips, bat one's eyes, bounce your teats, and rouse his lust beyond reason. You can so easily work the room below and 4live well enough. Yet what you seek to learn is another thing entirely." She chuckled, shut her fan, and picked her teeth. "You're after bigger game."

Tara matched the mistress's stare. "So have we a deal?"

"Your mark," asked Dezira: "Who is he?"

"My business, your money." Her gray eyes did not flinch.

"Who is he?"

The nymphlike girl knelt, back straight, eyes never wavering. "May I get dressed now?"

"No! You may not. Who is he?"

Tara ignored the mistress and plucked her gown from the floor. "Let me put to you that my education is an investment," she proposed evenly, and began dressing. "You teach what I need, and I shall direct my influence sent to your welfare. Now do we have a deal?"

Dezira smirked. "You've some steel under that soft flesh, I'll grant. I'm unused to being withstood." She nodded. "Get you dressed. Yet give a thought to trimming that thatch between your legs or even shaving bare. Men like to see what they're getting into."

After Tara redonned her clothes, Dezira led her out, down a stairway, and to the garden in the house's midst. There, in the open rooms' archways, lolled a half-dozen women, ebony locks thick with perfume, rings in their ears and noses, and embroidered shawls wrapped teasingly about their bare breasts. In one room a fat Shemite sprawled on a couch. A woman with curls bleached golden sat on his lap and fed him grapes. Further along, a zither whined.

The mistress brought Tara to where the women gathered. She waved her fan about them, the garden, and the room. "My girls," she said simply. "Some were born of whores like ourselves. Some are merchants' daughters sold off to settle debts. And some are rare finds from the slavemonger's block." She snapped her fingers: "Tara here would learn of the arts whereby the sisters of the House of Nightingales ply our trade," she introduced, and then pointed to a girl sitting abench: "Time to dance!"

The woman, a sloe-eyed, strong cheeked beauty with skin dark as a Stygian's, rose while a drum joined the zither. She pointed toe, cocked hip, and let her shawl fall open, baring heavy breasts with nipples wide as saucers. As her dance began, she did not merely sway, but rather her whole body bowed, shoulders and waist following her arms' snakelike wave. She whirled, and her skirt flew and rose up to her moonlike buttocks. On the couch the Shemite cheered. He threw a copper at her skipping feet while the gold-bleached beauty stroked his belly.

Tara watched the dance intently while the other women clapped in time. Dezira overlooked the scene, and then studied her young customer. "You seem vexed," she observed.

"I have always found dance beautiful," commented Tara. "Yet I had erenever witted the skill."

"All my girls learn dance, and not merely for entertainment, for it also teaches grace," she said, and then added: "Such hearkens to what you've asked of me."

Tara nodded. "I can well see." Then she glanced, gray eyes narrow, to the mistress: "Do you teach them?"

Dezira laughed. "Sometimes, but the basic steps. I have friends who have danced before kings in Korshemish, Koraja, and Khauran, who can make men beg without ever showing a hint of skin, and who can drive them wild beyond reason with but a swing of their hips. Sometimes as a favor they dance here and pack the floors with enough men to make the joists groan. I can meet you with them, though they will have their own fee."

"Understood," agreed Tara. "Give me a day, and I shall bring the fee. "Now what else can you tell me now, to start my lessons?"

"So swift, like a hawk already seeing its prey from afar," joked Dezira. "What can I easily teach from a lifetime of emptying men's purses along with their seed, and moreover by keeping them coming back? Men love newness, which also bespeaks your question earlier about virginity, and why they often stray from wives and sweethearts. Along with that thought, jealousy is our easiest flaw to fall into, as women, and also the worst. Nothing will drive men off more swiftly than green eyes and shrill voice. Mind that."

Tara nodded and waited.

"You've youth to your welfare, which never hurts while you have it," continued the mistress. "Yet you'll need something else to make you shine, especially in a roomful of equally beautiful women such as a great man is likely to gather. You'll need something else to make yourself outshine. You see me?" she asked. "Think I can have any man into bed if I wish?"

Tara's eyes narrowed. "I reckon you can, at that."

"Yes. And admit it has nothing to do with my looks," said Dezira. "It's a show of presence, how to walk into a room and command it merely by being there," she explained, "even a thing of spirit. Do you understand?"

Slowly Tara nodded. "I almost think so."

"Good. It's a start. You've a look that draws eyes to you. It's a little hard, but we can soften it and use to good outcome. Until then we shall start with simpler things. Let your Ophirean accent thicken to sound outlandish, especially out here in the East. As a rule, always find a way to stand out."

"I will," agreed Tara.

Dezira nodded. "Also, and this goes a length to both luring and keeping a man: give him a taste of the forbidden."

Tara frowned. "How?"

"You can do more than merely let a man rut in you," answered the mistress, "but we'll start easily." The dance was ending, to cheers from both the women and the Shemite. Dezira glanced at them, and back at Tara: "Have you ever kissed a woman?"

Tara paused. "Not in the way I'm guessing you mean?" she asked slowly.

Dezira grinned. "Swift wits will serve you well." She beckoned to the dusky dancer, who sauntered over. The mistress hugged her shoulders and gently pushed her forward. "Kiss her like you mean it."

Tara stared at the Stygian beauty, tall and strong-cheeked, who stood proudly, not bothering to cover her heavy breasts. Coolly she regarded the gray-eyed girl. Tara's tongue licked her lips.

Hesitantly she stepped forward. She reached up and touched the dusky woman's face. She stroked her cheek and traced a fingertip over full lips. They parted teasingly. Tara rose on tiptoe and softly brushed her lips against the darker woman's. Orchid and dainty musk filled her nose. The dark woman's mouth opened further, and her tongue slipped out, running across Tara's. Her own lips opened and sought the other's taste until they dueled ticklingly like two fish.

With a squeal Tara lost balance and wobbled back on her heels. The tall Sygian giggled and steadied the gray-eyed lass by her shoulders. Then the dusky woman bent low and answered by suckling Tara's lower lip. Naked, heavy breasts pushed against Tara's through her gown's thin silk. Tara leaned back just enough to behold the Stygian's face, who was smiling. The gray-eyed lass smiled back. She leaned forward to lay another kiss and tangled fingers among her myriad braids.

Throaty laughter floated from the room. Tara glanced upward and saw the Shemite, who avidly watched the two women's embrace. His hand had found the bleach-golden woman's teat, who still sat his thigh. He squeezed her softness until her nipple peeked through his fingers. She answered in kind as her hand dove under his robe. Yet he did not notice. "You two wenches," he bade: "Come here!"

"I think you have the right idea," said Dezira. "Make him long for what he can never have."

The Stygian broke kiss and half-stepped toward the Shemite's couch, though her sloe eyes lingered. Tara shook her head and stepped backward, letting the dusky woman alone join the Shemite and the bleach-gold doxy. Then Tara witted him staring at her, teeth bared, like a hound who had let slip a hare. Yet he relented when the Stygian knelt upon his belly and held a nipple to his lips. She and the wench kissed over his head, which he took as cue to lift the Stygian's skirt and fondle her thighs.

Tara retreated to the garden's pillar, where behind one she hid, but looked around at the threesome of bodies entwining on the couch. She watched while the Stygian dove between the bleach-gold's loins and suckled her womanliness. The Stygian, robe stripped off and forgotten, knelt behind and laid his paunch atop her waist. He grabbed her hips and thrust sharply forward. She grunted and dove back into the other doxy's spread folds, leaving Tara regarding the line of heaving flesh. She stayed behind the pillar, even when the gold wench's cry peeled through the room, and the man groaned, bucked, and sagged with face darkened. Only then the Stygian's head rose. She glanced about the room until her eyes met Tara's at the gardens edge.

Dezira laid hand on Tara's shoulder, making the gray-eyed woman jump. "Easy," she soothed, and regarded her student: "Are you well?"

Tara nodded, eyes glittering widely. A light flush brightened her cheeks.

The mistress nodded grinningly. "You feel it, don't you?" Tara reddened more from shame, whereat the older woman patted her back. "That's good. Men will wit your arousal and will know it from fake. It will draw them. Now have you had enough?"

"For now," said Tara. "You are right I have much to learn." She bowed to the mistress. "I shall return." Then she strode away.