Mankil-it was a word Ponkert had learned to hate during the week since leaving Hogar's inn and his two sexy daughters. The Earthman rocked and jolted on the back of his own personal mankil. He was decked out in the finery provided by the grateful innkeeper, and a sword, dropped by one of the highwaymen he had encountered, dangled at his side, not to mention the laser pistol tucked into his breeches. The weather was fine and the countryside had provided an abundance of eatable food, but he couldn't remember ever feeling more miserable. Mankil-the sound of the word only made him feel worse.
Hogar had given him the six-legged beast out of kindness. However, Ponkert also suspected the innkeeper had a distinct sadistic streak in him. Hogar had forgotten to mention where the mankil, which looked like the misbreeding of a horse and a rhinoceros, got its name. The wobbly, somewhat lopsided gait of the massive animal seemed to have but one purpose-to bust his balls!
When he had first begun his search for Jan seven days ago, he had thought it would only take time to adjust to the mankil's uneven strides. The first three days of his ride had left him sore when evening came. The fourth day created an ache in his crotch that wouldn't quit.
The fifth day sent knives of pain into his groin as the beast bobbed up, while he was bouncing down. On the sixth day, he had walked more than he rode to avoid the ball-breaking torture.
Now, as noon neared on his seventh day, he reined the mankil to a halt, fearing his very manhood was in jeopardy. With relief washing through his body, he slid from the broad hairless back and dropped to the ground.
Allowing his mount to idly munch on the thick sylvan grass, Ponkert walked to a nearby tree.
From the leafy boughs of the strange unearthly tree, he selected a large pecan-like nut that he had come to find quite tasty during his brief stay on Keller. He cracked the peach-sized seed against the trunk. The yellow meat inside had the slight hint of persimmons, which he savoured while puzzling his mankil problems.
All in all, the beast would be an invaluable asset in his search for his missing co-pilot. After all, it was easier to ride than walk, not to mention the greater distances he could put behind him in a day. But on the other hand, if the ride was going to emasculate him, there was little purpose in continuing the ordeal.
Tossing the empty shells from his bands, Ponkert watched them bounce on the ground. Still perplexed, he pulled another from the tree and smashed it against the trunk. The over-sized nut cracked in two perfect halves and the meat fell out into his hand. Munching on the tasty nut, he fingered the split shell remembering the walnut boats he had constructed to sail in mud puddle seas when he was a child on Earth.
"Chadwick Ponkert, you're the one real dumbass!" he mumbled, realizing he held the key to his problem in his hand.
Delighting in the almost fur-lined feeling of the interior of the nutshell, he quickly pulled a red sash from his waist. Within the hour, Ponkert had fashioned a crude, but comfortable jock strap, complete with nutcup-literally a nutcup. Smiling, he once more mounted the grey hairless mankil. A quick check of the green signal blip on his locator beacon and he nudged the sides of the beast with his heels.
Thirty minutes later, and with a minimum of discomfort, he grinned smugly to himself, assured that he had met and outsmarted the mankil's primary weapon against mankind!
Glancing at his crotch, he mused over the fact that his new accoutrement looked exactly like a codpiece. He smiled. He had never experienced difficulty in attracting women in the past and he certainly had not been neglected since arriving on Keller. For moments, his mind's eye recalled the tempting visions of Terri and Letti.
However, no matter how lovely the mental images, the jarring gait of his mount bounced them away and Ponkert once more turned his attention to the passing countryside.
During his first week, he had closed the distance between himself and the green blip on his locator by almost a hundred and fifty kilometers.
He had also confirmed his first impressions about the planet; it was definitely medieval. The two villages he had passed through had been ruled by feudal lords, both somewhat more accommodating than Sir Yngvi.
The society here seemed to have stepped right out of the days of Earth's King Arthur. Most labours centered around farming, but family manufacturing was beginning to bud. Ponkert had also noticed the sexual mores seemed to be somewhat more lax than he expected. As his visits to the two hamlets proved, the sexual attitudes of Terri and Letti were the norm rather than the exception on Keller.
While the planet wasn't exactly what he and Jan had originally set out to find, he realized a veritable mine lay within his reach if he could set up the matter transmission link with Earth. The very strangeness of Keller would attract tourists in droves, not to mention the sexual attitudes. With just the right amount of dickering with Earth's government, he would in fact be Prince Ponkert with a pleasure planet at his feet.
The title rolled around in his head and he savoured the sound. Pleasure Prince Ponkert. He would establish his empire and sit back to enjoy the rewards of his labours.
Almost humming to himself in revelry, Ponkert affectionately patted the huge varicose neck of his mount. The animal tilted its monstrous head sideways to glance at him with dull, flat-grey eyes, then turned its vision back to the path.
"Such unresponsiveness! A kingdom of wealth is within our reach and you don't even blink!" Ponkert chided the animal. "You, my friend, deserve a name to fit your apathy."
Musing to himself, the Earthman dug into his historical memories and pulled a most fitting title for the beast from the mid-twentieth century. He could think of no better name denoting nonresponse than that of a president of a then powerful nation.
"Nameless one," he announced to his mount, "by the powers vested in me, Pleasure Prince Ponkert of Keller, I hereby dub thee Richard of Millhouse."
The mankil didn't even feel the title was worth another sideways glance and continued plodding its way forward.
Ponkert's amusement over the emotionless animal was cut short by a scream of terror that echoed before him. Reining Richard up a small rise, he scouted the terrain ahead. In an open glade in a valley of a full kilometer away, he could discern three indistinct figures surrounded by darting grey forms. As he watched, one of the men fell under an onrushing grey tide.
Digging his heels in the mankil's thick sides, he lumbered toward the commotion. The tableaux became clearer. A pack of wolf-like creatures, with long vicious canines bared, surrounded two men, whose swords flashed out drawing blood when one of the creatures pressed too close.
What he had seen fall was not a man, but a mankil, which part of the pack was now devouring.
As he watched, the two men fought valiantly, the smaller, a young boy perhaps, was noticeably tiring. The ring of grey-furred death was edging closer and closer. Eventually, by sheer weight of numbers, the two would fall as had their mankil.
Swinging his heels hard into his mount's flanks, he urged it to a full gallop. From his side, Ponkert pulled the blue-steel sword, prepared to slice a path through the wolf-like creatures.
It was then the unexpected happened. Richard, who had followed its rider's commands to this point, abruptly dug its six hooved feet into the ground and came to a dead stop. Ponkert, however, didn't. Instead, the Earthman went flying head over ass above the broad grey neck of the mankil, landing on his back with a bone jarring thud.
Shaking the pain from his racked body, he rolled to his feet with only his dignity suffering any noticeable injury. However his short flight had left him swordless and on the very edge of the circling pack of wolves, which seemed to be twice the size of their Earth counterparts.
While the two men, battling for their lives, had not noticed his arrival, one of the pack did and turned its attention to the newcomer. A short dash and a powerful leap sent the two hundred pound animal hurtling for the Earthman's throat. In the entire history of man, only one unique feature has allowed him to meet more powerful animals and survive-not his brain, but his ability to leap sideways.
That's exactly what Ponkert did. The wolf missed him, its dripping fangs brushing the cloth of his shirt. The time needed for the animal to reverse its course for another attack was all Ponkert needed to slip his laser pistol free. The wolf didn't have the opportunity for another leap before a thin line of red heat blasted from the gun, searing through its brain.
As he turned back to the remaining pack, Ponkert watched the snarling, snapping teeth of the wolves take down another of the men. The remaining would-be victim's blade slashed out in retaliation. Two of the wolves fell, their throats gushing red.
However, the Earthman realized that neither the unknown swordsman nor himself would be alive much longer if he didn't act fast. Stiff-arming the laser pistol before him, Ponkert squeezed off two quick shots. The blazing needles of light leaped from the end of the blaster, frying the brains of two nearby creatures.
The smell of charred flesh and howls of agony filled the air, causing the rest of the pack to break off its attack on the lone swordsman.
Instead they turned their attention to the new menace. Hastily sighting, Ponkert triggered off two more of the thin lances of ultra-intense light. The beam seared its way into the largest of the wolves. An almost human cry erupted from its death-twisted lips and blood dripped from three inch fangs. Another short volley of blasts eliminated two more of the creatures.
As if suddenly aware that their new opponent was a creature they heretofore had not encountered, the remainder of the pack broke, scattering into the surrounding forest. Ponkert aimed one last shot to hurry them along. The blast struck a tree stump, rather than the wolf he aimed for, but the exploding results were exactly what he wanted-the wolves had lost themselves in the denseness of the primeval woods.
He turned to the lone survivor of the intrepid band. The youth was bent over the mangled body of his fallen companion. The sound of muffled grief met the Earthman's ears. Without speaking, he approached the crying swordsman and placed a comforting hand on a shaking shoulder.
A face stained with blood and tears turned to his and spoke, "My brother- he's dead-we never had a chance against that pack of direwolves."
Ponkert felt a sudden icy stab in his gut. The valiant fighter was a girl. Dressed as she was in a loose fitting brown tunic and green, baggy trousers, her figure had been effectively cloaked.
Gently manoeuvring her away from the fallen body, he whispered, "There's nothing we can do for him. He died like a warrior."
The girl nodded as he seated her on the ground under the shade of a tree. Assured that she would be all right, he trodded off and returned a few moments later leading his somewhat disappointing mount. Allowing the now passive mankil to graze nearby, Ponkert slipped a canteen from his waist and handed it to the girl.
The girl accepted and after taking a small sip, wetted a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve. Within moments, she had cleansed the traces of the fray from her face and once more looked into the face of her savior.
A shaggy mop of flaming red hair surrounded the girlish face that looked up to him. Tears still misted her hazel eyes and the faint freckles that dotted over her cheeks seemed to glow. As he studied her, she rose, moving almost regally. The haughtiness of the stance she took before him coupled with her tattered, tomboyish clothing struck him as being so incongruous that a smile raised his lips.
"Why do you laugh?" she demanded as a look of irritation flickered across her face. "Am I so ugly or strange to you? If so, then why did you bother to save me with your magic, sorcerer?"
Ponkert did a double take, knowing his smile widened as he realized what she meant by magic. When in the realm of King Arthur, a laser pistol would seem like magic!
"Child," he answered staring sternly at the five-foot-three, very unwomanly figure before him, "I saved you because I'd hate seeing anyone end up as dog food for a pack of wolves!"
"Child!" the girl's voice hissed like that of a coiled snake as she puffed up with indignation. Two firm points strained against the brown fabric of her loose tunic, assuring Ponkert that the term "child" was wrong. "I am Elfgwynne, Lady of Hort!"
Hastily, he corrected himself, "I beg your pardon, milady. I am called Ponkert."
He continued with his biography, following the general narrative Terri had first given Hogar. If a stranger to a planet could be anything he wanted, why not a king from a distant province? Besides, a title seemed to have an edge on the locals. Now this diminutive woman had added another aspect to his name-Magician, Master Class.
"As I have already explained," the girl replied, "I am Elfgwynne, Lady of Hort. My brother was Cleve, Prince of Hort. And of course, my father is King Tomar the Profligate."
She seemed to think her simple explanation was all that was needed. But besides learning the name of her dead brother and the name of her father, who was obviously something of a libertine, Ponkert couldn't make much sense out of the introduction.
The girl continued, "Lord Ponkert, you saved me and attempted to save my brother. As is the custom of Hort, I offer you my life to do with as you please. I am your servant.
She stood staring forlornly at the man. For once in his life, Ponkert was struck speechless. Unlike Terri she was not merely offering him her body, but was giving herself as a slave. While she could hardly be described as ugly, or even plain, she just wasn't his type. Besides, he had to find Jan and then there was a planet to conquer.
"Milady, your offer is greatly appreciated. But I need no reward for what I did. Your life is yours to do with as you please. I will see that you are returned to your father's household. But keep your life! In a few years, you might want to give it to some other man!"
His speech made his chest burn with his own magnanimity. However, the petite mouth of his companion formed into a hard, thin line of determination.
"First help me bury my brother as is fitting a prince of Hort," she said curtly. "Then we will see what Tomar has to say about that!"
Puzzled by her comments, he stared as the red-haired girl turned and walked toward her fallen brother, then he followed.