The Thorian Sagas. 1. The Trader.

Stoker stripped off his belt and stood there, glistening naked in the firelight.

For the moment, he had control of his body, despite all of the disturbing temptations he could see in front of him and all around him. They were strange feelings for him to have; and they were coming at him a year early.

The dog had tried to warn him.

The warrior women sensed something very different about him, and felt suddenly breathless, as well as nervously alive in ways they had never known before, moving closer together as though for protection from him.

They did not fully understand it. It was an instinctive reaction; united for safety, while giving in to their deep curiosity.

This was the first man they had ever seen. And he was a 'real' man. They knew that much. They also suddenly knew that this was no ‘half-man’; not like any Yunk they had ever seen.

Some of them were not even sure what they were seeing.

Yunks did not have those… other things… hanging beneath him there! Did they? He could not be a Yunk!

Then what was he? He was nothing like their own males.

They had read of this; what a true ‘man’ was actually like, and why. They had discussed it in the privacy of their dormitory, wondering about that more intimate, and unappealing interaction between the sexes, but which was forbidden for them.

Nothing had prepared them for this. Their first, real man.

They saw. They knew. But they could not yet speak of it.

He ignored them staring, and their obvious interest in his body, so very different from theirs. He also ignored their softly whispered comments to each other, rustling like a breeze in that room.

He did not care. He had been challenged, and that took precedence over everything else.

He hoped she would know enough not to….

If she did anything like that in a final act of desperation, he would become unreasonably angry and violent with the pain, and might unintentionally injure her.

He saw the way they were looking at him.

This had been a mistake, but there was no retreating now, or he would forfeit, and lose.

They had heard about male vulnerabilities there, though they had not understood it until now.

Monique was not observing him as closely as the others were.

“How long do we fight?” Her mind was on the coming contest.

She turned and watched him stretching his muscles, continuing to warm up, as she did the same, though suddenly conscious of what the others had seen, except they had turned away, before he took offense at their sudden, focused interest.

The others began to warm up, too; striving to bring their feelings under control, taking their minds off him; getting into the mood of it, as though all of them were getting ready to fight him.

He had fired them all up in some breathtaking way, but in ways none of them clearly understood.

They would think, and talk about that later when they rested, hoping to sleep. Though sleep would never come easily after this.

He smiled at the sudden change; a rooster suddenly appearing in the midst of hens, taking over; taking charge. It had still been a mistake on his part.

Better get it over with. The damage had already been done.

Taking on all of them, might be about right, in leveling this field of combat, and it would be nice, for once, to lose, in the midst of such gentle promise with all of them pinning him to the floor.

He forced that thought aside too.

He asked Monique, and them, a question in return for her question about how long they would fight, already knowing what her answer would be.

“How long do you, fight in any battle to ensure that you survive.”

They had never fought in battle and had never had to think about it. He must know that.

The signal was given to start the contest.

He answered his own question as he watched his opponent circling him warily. This was second nature to him.

“In battle, you fight until one of you is either dead, or is no longer able to go on, and surrenders, to avoid death.”

Better to die, than to surrender.

“That is how long we go against each other. Until a winner is clearly seen.”

Before he’d finished speaking, Monique rushed at him, intending to grab at his leg, with an elbow in his belly for leverage, and to use her momentum to throw him off his feet before he could react to stop her, but he was no longer there, having stepped aside, touching her gently on the elbow as she went by him, to put her off balance.

She recovered quickly, turned and came at him again and again, puzzled that he could evade her so easily each time, when he could so easily have thrown her any one of half a dozen times.

He did the same thing each time she came at him (striving not to express what he felt when he saw how her breasts moved as she rushed at him), and each time, he moved easily aside, touching her with the lightest of touches on the side, leg, or shoulder, to put her off balance again.

For one so large, he moved very quickly… constantly watching her eyes all of the time; his gaze never wavering for an instant as he crouched, hands extended, ready for her next attack. He made it look so serious, yet she was no real opponent for him.

The next time, he let her grapple with him and try to lift him off balance, then to sweep his other leg out from under him, but it was like trying to wrestle with, and to move, a large, immoveable boulder, deeply embedded in the vineyard.

He stood to one side smiling at her, leaving his arm extended for her to deal with, unable not to see how her breasts always moved so delightfully as she came at him. She was out of breath already.

When she grabbed at his arm and hand, and tried to use them against him, it was the same again. She barely had any effect.

Despite her obvious difficulties and failure, he encouraged her with undeserved praise, and she knew it.

This fight was ending, even before it had properly begun, but he did not end it. He had to finish this gently and without hurt for any of them.

“A good start.”

It hadn’t been, and they could all see it.

He stood there, smiling, still ready, while Monique was flushed, and with heaving breasts. She was fighting for breath, as well as fighting against her own frustration.

She came at him again and kept coming, but he would not stand still for her, or take her on as he should, or could have.

“You are doing well, but you are very easily put off balance when I use your own momentum against you.”

He smiled at her, much more kindly than she felt she deserved, but he did not say anything unkind or cutting about her lack of success, though she felt it.

He was letting her down easily.

He dropped into teaching mode; holding his hands out, palms toward her in a universal sign for a break as he dropped to one knee.

“Pause for a while, catch your breath. I will help you. Be patient.”

He tore his mind back to the contest as the others focused on what they could clearly see of his body as he knelt down.

“Size me up, before you rush in. Learn what you can about me. What are my strengths and my weaknesses?”

He had too many of those strengths, where she was concerned, but she knew none, of the battle that was raging within him. Not yet.

She listened, and she thought.

He had no weaknesses, as she was quickly finding out, and his strength could never be disputed. She would gracefully accept his help.

“You move quickly, are supple, and recover quickly.”

He knew the importance of praise, even when nothing went well for her.

“You have good balance too, though I disrupted that, each time you tried to interact with me. I will show you more of that, as we progress.

He still smiled at her as he rose from his knee.

“Regard this as a learning process. I have fought many hundreds of contests against men much stronger than I am, and I have taught many others.”

How could any man be stronger than him? He could easily have managed any five of them.

“You should have learned by now, from the hours I have been here already, that I favor my left leg, so I have difficulty turning to my left; and that I am right-handed, so my left side is likely to be weaker than my right.

She had not noticed any of the impairments he had just told her about. None of them had.

“This recent scar on my left buttock also tells you that an attack from my left is much more likely to succeed.”

He slapped at it to cause enough pain to overcome those other feelings he was experiencing, looking at her.

There was a fresh wound there, only partially healed. That must also be causing him pain, but he did not give in to it.

Why was he telling her this?

“My right eye is not as clear as my left. Yet another vulnerability for you to consider.”

He signalled for her to come at him again.

Monique was more considered with her next attack, coming at him from his left, with a maneuver that worked almost every time on her companions as she threw them to the ground, but they were much lighter than he was.

He did not move and could not be moved. He seemed to anchor himself, like a tree might, in the ground.

He felt her struggle hard, before she thought to try and break away and come back in again.

He did not let her go this time, but held her still.

She could not break free of his grasp.

He had to be careful what he did next, and what he touched on her body. He could not grapple with her as he would, a man.

“That was a little better…” he was careful not to bait her… “except for this leg, here….” He tapped her on the side of her leg.

“It is out of position and you are not strong enough to move me this way, so don’t try.”

He held her arm, but still sensed his temperature beginning to rise, being so close to her, touching her, seeing her labored breathing, her breasts rising and falling, and too much else about her.

He had to ignore everything that was disturbing to him, and to refocus, but it was difficult.

He had to end this, soon.

“You are strong, but not strong enough. Had we been in combat I could have killed you with that first move you made. I could have tripped you and then fallen upon you or have broken your neck as you went past me with a rabbit punch… except we’d agreed… no blows. And your last move…? You could do nothing when I pushed your pivotal weight off this foot.”

He showed her.

“It did not take much; just the lightest touch to redirect you. I could have killed you twice over, and have thrown you then, like so….”

His arm encircled her body beneath her breasts as he slowly turned on the ball of his right foot, sweeping her feet from under her, pulling her across his hip, and lowering her to the ground, holding her there with his hand on her abdomen, and the other hand on her shoulder as he looked down on her.

It was almost too much for him.

“Thus.”

He was smiling at her kindly, as a concerned father might, to his nubile daughter, but his feelings were far from paternal, and they must not be allowed to see those changes happening to his body when he’d touched her soft body as he had.

He could control one, or the other… his mind, or his body, but not both.