Sabra is captured,
to become a slave for the warlike Kirabi. She and some other young women of her
race, the Vastara, are taken by the frustrated warriors whose own powerful,
muscular women have long ago lost interest in sex except for the minimum necessary
to reproduce.
They were once all
one tribe, the First Tribe, but grew apart over many, many generations, with
the Vastara, the spiritualist and thinkers, becoming smaller and weaker while
the Kirabi became stronger, taller, broader and more muscular. The custom of
the Kirabi of taking lesser intelligent races on the planet as slaves, even as
sex slaves, became unacceptable to the Vastara, and centuries before Sabra was
born they separated and found their own way of life far away. Now, it seems
that Sabra and her friends will be forced to serve the desires of the Kirabi
men – and the Kirabi women – but a very special bond develops between her and
the warrior who captured her.
Dasheen had waited a
week, hiding at the edge of the forest on the other side of the valley. The
Kirabi were restless and bickering among themselves as to the soundness of the
mission, and they grumbled about the foolishness of the improbable quest. Then,
one morning, the Vastara walked out from the trees through the pre-dawn mist,
onto the tall grass.
“They still exist,”
Masan whispered in awe. It had been many, many years since a Vastara was
sighted. Most in their generation thought the tribe was a myth, or surely
extinct. Every other known tribe had been conquered, and they traded their
safety with the Kirabi for whatever the fierce tribe commanded.
The other tribes had
slowly absorbed the addition of meat into their diet. They did not work off the
added sustenance, and the added fat gave them a more substantial physical
structure. Their backs and chests broadened, and their thighs and arms thickened
for traveling long distances and carrying supplies and possessions.
Only the Kirabi
dared to harness the banta and tame them to ride. The jagged teeth and clawed
front feet of the beasts were razor sharp, and it required the speed and
strength of the Kirabi to capture them. Once a warrior had trained his animal,
it remained loyal to him alone. The claws and teeth worked like machetes,
thrashing through overgrown vegetation… or enemies… and clearing a path without
stopping.
“On the ready,”
Dasheen ordered. The men beside him were paired off, with fifteen-foot nets
spread between them. They were tied to the saddles of their bantas and fisted
in one strong hand. Dasheen noticed the fixed stare of his brothers, some
swiping their tongues across their lips in excitement.
This was the first
capture for many years, and although they would not be conquering the tribe,
they would be acquiring new slave women. The men had seen the petite, alluring
women outlined across the meadow. Even from the distance, they could see these females
did not have the bulky shapes of the captives they already possessed.
The first of the
gatherers broke out onto the meadow and Dasheen raised his arm, holding the
ambitious riders back. “We wait until our brothers emerge from the trees. If
not, the women will see the trap and turn back towards the forest. Our nets
will be useless.”
The bantas, sensing
their riders’ impatience, began pawing the grass with their hooves. More women
ran in panicked terror, beginning to group together. Dasheen narrowed his eyes,
trying to see across the distance. It was true. The Vastaras’ hair color was
like a rainbow, with browns and yellows instead of the bluish black shared by
the tribes they knew. Dasheen wondered if the stories of the colorful eyes
would be accurate. His cock began to get thick, pushing his resolve to hold his
beast riders back.
Perhaps twenty
gatherers were gliding through the grass, trying to move sideways when they saw
Dasheen and his file in front of them. The Kirabi chasing them, smoothly closed
ranks on the edges, funneling their tiring run straight towards the nets.
Dasheen smiled, his
white teeth shining against his tanned face and showing through his trimmed
black beard and mustache. He drew his arm down. “Go, beast riders,” he yelled.
With triumphant cries, the men rode forward, dipping their nets low and scooping
two or three gatherers in their mesh.
Sabra had burst out
onto the grass, sure she would feel the claws of a banta tearing through her
spine at any moment. She had made it close to the shifon tree with only Anali
managing to make it further. It had done her no good, as Sabra caught the terrifying
sight of a giant on the back of a beast and close on Anali’s heels. The
panicked woman ran towards Sabra, and the two of them tried to reach the rest
of their tribe.
The beast riders did
not stop them from trying to group together, but all efforts to get around the
bantas and head back to the forest were quickly diverted. They were being
herded further onto the meadow, further than Sabra had ever gone.
“Oh, Mother of
Life,” Sabra sobbed. Anali began wailing beside her, gulping in tired breaths.
The two women watched a line of beast riders galloping towards them with huge
nets spread. Several women screamed as they were scooped up. Sabra caught sight
of two such captures before she twisted to the side to escape.
Rough hemp swept
under her feet, lifting her as a banta passed within inches of her face. Anali
rolled into her as the net closed, being drawn tight at the top by a rope
threaded through the mesh. “Your knife,” Sabra screamed. Her own sobs were
drowned out in the chaos. Her trembling hand worked frantically at the thick
vines, sawing jagged cuts while the net basket swung between the beast riders.
“I dropped it,”
Anali cried. “It fell when we were scooped up.”
Sabra could not get
a steady stroke on a vine to cut through, and her other arm was twisted behind
her and pinned by Anali’s back as they were crushed together. It seemed too
soon, when the bantas stopped and their net was lowered to the ground. Now, the
knife was caught under Sabra’s own weight and useless to even raise to cut her
throat.
Sabra could hear the
cries of victory over the fearful wailing of her friends. It was several
moments before the cheering died down. Sabra stared through the vines at a
giant on a banta lifting the green and black horn of a kilara and blowing the
hollow echo of triumph across the plain.
A sinking feeling of
despair chilled her. Felana would return to the Vastara with the tansas safe,
and there would be a ritual of loss in the young gatherers’ honor that would
last several days. There would be no attempt to rescue them, as the Vastara had
neither the skills nor weapons for such an exercise. Sabra and her captured
group of gatherers would become another Vastara legend.
“Watch for their
knives,” a deep voice boomed, but Sabra could not turn her trapped body to see
its source.
Dasheen had warned
them many times that the harvesters carried knives. He was not worried that the
beast riders might be injured, but he was extremely concerned the frightened
women might prefer an honorable sacrificial death to a position of captive.
Sabra felt a strong
hand wrap around the arm trapped between her and Anali. A strap of leather was
looped around her wrist and cinched tight. The beast rider gripped her other
arm, and Sabra fought to hold her blade. Before she could strike at the man… or
herself… it was plucked from her fingers and tossed onto the grass in front of
her. Sabra shook in fear as her other wrist was tied, and they were latched
together behind her.
Anali was wailing,
and Sabra could tell by the tugging that she was being secured in the same
manner. The net was loosened on the top, and then it was spread flat on the
grass around them. Sabra was too shocked to move. The glimpse she had dared of
the beast riders was terrifying. A fleeting thought of a nice boring life with
Zifan melted away.
It had already been
decided that Dasheen and his troop of beast riders, would have first selection
of their captives. Several of the men would not be honored with a slave, but
the exhilarating chase was worth the trip north while the winds were still cool.
Dasheen dismounted
and his banta stayed close, searching the ground for veran. “Raise them so that
we might see these elusive creatures.”
Sabra felt a hand
grip the lashing binding her wrists, and another threaded through her long
hair. She was raised to her feet, and she tried to control her buckling knees
while she stared at the Kirabi beast riders. Their leader, at least she decided
the red emblem on his vest declared him to be, was walking down the line of
terrified women, studying them. Anali’s legs did give way, and the man behind
her held her up by her blonde braid.
When Dasheen was in
front of them, Sabra stared straight ahead, directly at the emblem on his vest.
No way was she going to lift her eyes and risk fainting. She was already
quivering so hard that her teeth were chattering, even under the hot afternoon
sun.
Dasheen was
delighted to see the colored hair and eyes. Over generations, the trait had
bred out of the Kirabi. At first, he expected his decision to be difficult, and
then he saw a flash of fire in one of the nets. There was only one with this
flame colored hair, and he knew that would be the captive he would select. He
walked down the line, observing all of the Vastara. Like his brothers, he was
amazed by their small size and womanly shape. His fingers itched to caress
their curves, and his cock pressed hotly against his leather breeches.
At last, he stood in
front of the fire siren, basking in her fear. “Raise your eyes, girl,” he
demanded.
Barnes & Noble
luv2readagoodromance
Posted August 11,
2011
A Great, Sweet Story! Not like the picture!
I liked this book,
but not as much as Harvesting Rue (which made me laugh alot!). However, it has
an intersting twist in the plot, with everyone having their own agenda and at
the basis young men like the young girls!