The Glyder Snake arched up out of mossy soil and pointed a flickering black tongue at the green wall of leafy ferns. Beyond the ferns, harsh sounds rose above the music of dripping dew, trickling water and insect songs that filled the deep shade of the rain forest. Booted feet were crushing dead undergrowth.
As the footsteps came closer a delicate, red-nailed hand stroked the snake’s head. It arched up languorously against the pleasing pressure of the fingertips, then looked up at the owner of the hand. Suddenly the fingers snapped up the snake, held it tight behind the head. Its jaws spread wide, gasping for breath, and its nine-inch glowing body flailed around the wrist in agony.
It was Cobra’s hand. She held the imprisoned snake up to her black-rimmed gold eyes. “I am sorry, small one, but I have no choice.”
Holding the writhing snake within the concealing folds of her robe, she moved through the wall of ferns toward the footsteps, and emerged at the edge of a small shaded glen. She was nearly invisible, part of the vegetation. Her robe had taken on the color of the ferns. Her silver skullcap, like the tips of the ferns, glittered green-gold where the sun touched it. Her bosom rose and fell matching the rhythm of the feathery green leaves fluttering on the damp breeze.
The small glen was no bigger than a private room at an inn. A deep bed of moss carpeted the ground. It was surrounded by ferns except for the side opposite the sorceress, where two birch trees framed a doorlike opening through which could be seen an infinity of flickering black shadows. The roof was leafy branches. A shaft of golden sunlight pierced that roof, made a golden puddle of light at the center of the mossy bed.
The sounds of footsteps beyond the two birch trees grew louder.
Her narrow lips parted slightly in anticipation, and she stepped into the warm column of sunlight.
The advancing sounds hesitated, then moved forward again, angry with snapping twigs and breaking bushes, and Gath stepped out of the enveloping darkness, like a sword drawn from a scabbard. He was darker than she remembered. More brutal. Hard dry scabs were turning to scar tissue. His fur loincloth bristled slightly in the breeze. A new suit of chain mail, his belt and a Kitzakk helmet were slung over his shoulders. A bright steel axe rode his right fist. His chiseled features were mottled with dark shadows, and wore an expression of dark invitation. To a bed of murder.
Cobra trembled involuntarily, and her robe shimmered in the sunlight, began to change. Yellows faded to orange, vermilions to hot scarlet. When she parted her robe, the golden cloth surrendered to its prisoners and flushed flesh revealed itself at breasts, stomach and thighs.
Gath sneered at this invitation. He shrugged the belt, helmet and suit of chain mail off his shoulders, and they dropped with his axe to the ground. His only weapons were his hands, more than enough.
Cobra shuddered, took a step back, lifted the writhing Glyder Snake in front of her and held a thin dagger at its throat. “Wait!” she pleaded.
Gath did not break stride.
Cobra slit the Glyder snake’s throat, and its head tumbled away. She held up the spurting throat and gasped, «“Wait! Your secret is safe now. Only the snake knew where you lived. I can not find you anymore.”
He knocked the bloody reptile out of her hand, and backhanded her hard to the ground. She went down in one soft piece, sprawled on her back. There were streaks of blood across her cheek. Her dagger lay five feet off.
He glared down at her, a hot shadowed mass of muscle pulsing with death.
She gasped for breath, rolled onto a hip and gaped up at him as he dropped on her. He took hold of her head and turned her face away from his, slowly began to twist her neck. She gagged and shuddered under his body sending warm waves of heat through his hand, thighs and groin, and he hesitated. When she spoke, it was very carefully.
“Don’t kill me! Let me talk first.” She gasped for air, begged, “Please, let go. I can’t breathe.” She looked at him over a shoulder. “There’s no danger. I’m alone.”
He let her drop back gasping on the moss, and glanced around warily, then back at her.
She drew herself from under him, and rose on her elbows, whispered, “The Kitzakks send men to hunt you, bounty hunters who kill from shadows and great distances.”
“And you will tell them where to find me.”
“I can’t. Only the snake knew the location of your cave. But they will find you just the same.”
“Again you lie.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I have no reason now, you have passed the test.”
The corners of her mouth reached into the lush hollows of her cheeks. She indicated his new tools. “You must have better, far better! A man who has the kind of enemies you have needs better metal than any ‘man’ can provide.”
He studied her thoughtfully, then said quietly, “I did not know there was better.”
She nodded. “There is always better if you know where to shop… and have the price.”
He studied her for awhile. Her scarlet robe brightened, took on an almost hypnotic glitter. Her heat wafted across the moss and caressed his chest. Ignoring it, he said arrogantly, “I have the price, if you can get the metal.”
She crooned, “I have it now. A helmet. One like no other. It was worn by the legendary Shalarmard, and the demon tyrants, Barbar, Karchon and Geddis. A helmet made from an ancient formula with steel smelted by the fires of the underworld, and hammered on the anvil of the gods.” She waited. “You are interested?”
He nodded.
Realizing he had agreed more quickly than he had intended, her teeth flashed briefly behind the moist scarlet of her smiling lips. They stood slowly, appraising each other. Then, with confidentiality, she murmured, “The helmet is in my dwelling. In the Land of Smoking Skies beyond the Land of Toofar. Come, visit me there, and it will be yours.”
He said, “A long trip!”
“Yes,” she replied evenly. “One most men do not dare to take.”
“With reason.” His tone challenged her. “You spoke of a price?”
She started to reply, hesitated. Color flamed on her cheeks. Her garment glowed wet scarlet, then turned transparent revealing the dark accents of her body, lewd living jewels. She covered herself with her robe, and held her right shoulder gently with left hand. Her right arm hung loosely.
She said, “Dark One, I am not made in the normal manner, but in the manner of the ancients. My passions and my nature were formed during a time when women sat in judgment over men, a time when woman was the hunter and man the prey. So forgive my boldness.” Her eyes became almost imperceptible. A husky whisper exhaled her words. “You are the price. Come to me, be my consort, and you will have paid in full.”
He responded sharply, “A whore’s price.”
“No,” she said with force, “a king’s. Once you wear the helmet no creature will be able to approach you unannounced, no venom poison your blood, no man defeat you.”
He ran a thumbnail across a scab on his forearm then back again and shook his head. “I would rather kill you.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” she said in a low throaty whisper. “Not, at least, until you find if I speak the truth.”
Cobra used a finger to tuck a disobedient strand of black hair back in place, then stiffened elegantly, regal in manner and tone. “Take your time. Wait until your wounds are completely healed and your strength is what it was. Rebuild your new armor until it suits you. There is no hurry.” Her tone became low and husky. “Believe me, I will wait. Men like yourself, my friend of the shadows, are rare. Very rare. And I can make you unique… release all the power that boils in your blood. Make you invincible.” She took a sharp breath. “Do you know what that means to me? No. You could not. You have no idea what it means to a woman, or how she would feel, holding that kind of power in her arms.”
His body replied with a flush of desire.
She smiled hotly, moved to him confidently, and allowed her voluptuous curves to press against him.
His hand took hold of her neck and he demanded, “Name the landmarks. I will find my way.”
He let go of her, and she staggered back. Her breath caught in her throat, then she told him the way. He picked up his things and strode past her, disappearing into a fluttering wall of ferns.
She did not watch him go, but listened to his footsteps fade away. Relieved, she let herself sink slightly with exhaustion and the natural colors of her clothing returned. She glanced at the headless body of the Glyder Snake sprawled awkwardly on the moss. It had lost all of its beautiful electric colors, and was as dark as a wet stick.