Episode XVIII - Rachael By Motif ATTENTION*ATTENTION*ATTENTION*ATTENTION*ATTENTION*ATTENTION*ATTENTION* This story contains...well...just any number of scenes depicting graphic violence, nudity, sex, impolite language, lesbianism, and other elements which may cause undue stress to people of a sensitive nature. Consequently, this story should not, (and I can't stress this point too strongly,) *NOT* be viewed by minors or people who may be offended by the story elements outlined above. If you are reading this right now (and you'd pretty much have to be, right?) and either of the above conditions apply to you, please take my advice and move your mouse pointer up to the little box with the 'x' and click on it. OK? OK. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------- Episode XVIII - Rachael The young warrior lay on her back, straining to break the hold of the larger woman keeping her shoulders pressed hard against the practice mat. Her foe's sinewy left arm encircled the back of the tattooed amazon's neck while the crook of her right arm circled behind one thickly muscled leg, pulling it up off the floor. Hands clasped together, the experienced warrior rocked the younger fighter's constricted body onto it's upper shoulders in a simple "cat's cradle" pin. With her left arm trapped and useless beneath her opponent's body, the pinned brunette's right hand pried at her mistress' hands. Despite her opponent's best efforts, the stronger African warrior rocked the young fighter even further onto her shoulders, relentlessly increasing the pressure on her neck and back. Smooth muscles rippled and bulged along Rhonda's sweat slick arms and across her shoulders as she pressed down on her new slave's trapped body, maintaining the pin in spite of her opponent's frantic straining. Finally, the brunette pounded her free hand on the mat, signaling her surrender and Rhonda released her pupil and rolled to her feet. "Not bad." she commented, helping Rachael up. "Stretch out a little, then we'll do katas next." "Yes, mistress" Rachael said differentially. After two solid hours of exercise and training, both women were breathing deeply and drenched with sweat. Rachael's many tattoos were clearly visible through her plain white cotton slave's tunic, while Rhonda's own purple clad frame shone with perspiration, making the glossy ebony skin covering her superbly muscled body glow with a warm red undertone. Rachael let herself move automatically though the familiar exercises while inwardly she wondered at the change that had overtaken her current owner. Rhonda's normally strenuous regimen of exercise, training and more exercise had increased in tempo until nearly all of the warrior's waking hours were spent in honing her already formidable skills. And the more Rhonda pushed herself physically, Rachael observed, the more she seemed to withdraw inwardly, until it seemed to the young warrior that her mistress was determined to sweat out whatever it was that drove her to such physical extremes. The series of katas ended with a fluid combination of arm blocks and strikes and Rachael was gratified that her mistress seldom stopped the exercise in order to correct some defect in her stance or position. Rhonda was a thorough but demanding teacher and expected only slightly less dedication from her students than she did from herself. The brown haired acolyte had come to respect her mistress' almost religious devotion to training, which was a marked contrast to her previous mistress' more carefree style. "That's enough for today." Rhonda announced briskly, running a strong fingered hand through her short, tightly kinked black hair. "Go get cleaned up and finish your morning duties. I'll be here for awhile." Acknowledging her mistress' orders, the young fighter walked toward the entrance of the small private gymnasium. Rhonda rarely used the public gymnasium these days and Rachael wondered if the recent hostilities between the arenas two most powerful clans, which had culminated in the banning of the one of the families involved from participation in the arena, might be the cause of the experienced warrior's decision to use her own private facilities. As she reached the door, Rachael turned back to her owner, who was busily adjusting one of the weight machines. "Mistress," she said in a tentative voice, "may I go to temple this afternoon?" Rhonda continued on as if she hadn't heard her slave's request and finished her work on the machine, then stripped the sweat soaked purple shirt from her sleek, powerful torso and sat in the seat with her back to the machine. Just as the young acolyte opened her mouth to repeat her request, Rhonda said distractedly. "I suppose so." Although her mistress had never denied Rachael this request, in the weeks she'd been training with Rhonda the young acolyte had never seen her perform any sort of religious devotion. Emboldened by her owner's continued assent, Rachael decided to ask a question that had concerned her ever since the day Rhonda had defeated her. "Mistress." she said quietly, "Don't you believe in the goddess?" Rhonda's flat answering stare almost made the young woman flinch and she wondered if she'd overstepped herself; but her mistress remained seated and reached up to grab the bar above her head. The African amazon's muscular arms and chest flexed and bulged smoothly as she began pulling the bar up and down, making the weights behind her clank in a steady rhythm, all the while looking stonily at her slave's plain, narrow face. Rachael endured her mistress' frank stare and shifted her weight from foot to foot uncomfortably, inwardly cursing herself for asking such a personal question. As she began to apologize, hoping to forestall any punishment that might be forthcoming, Rhonda finally arched one long eyebrow and said. "The goddesses and I have an agreement; I don't bother them and they don't bother me." Puzzled by Rhonda's rather cryptic answer, and unnerved by her blank, impenetrable expression, Rachael gave a short nod and turned to leave. ------------------ The tall fighter stood at one end of the deserted forest clearing and began to disrobe. The early morning sun sat low in the sky and cast long diagonal tree shadows across the leaf strewn glade. Efficiently, she stripped the brightly colored cloths from her lean, well muscled frame, dropping them in a pile at her feet until she stood naked; chilly autumn air prickling her soft dark-brown skin, raising goose- bumps on her smoothly muscled arms and long, lithe legs. With her lovely, high cheek boned visage set in an expression of calm concentration, the experienced capoeirista began her morning exercises. At first, she glided slowly through the cool air, her long magnificently shaped legs moving gracefully to a rhythm only she could hear. As she advanced along the narrow clearing the tempo of her dance increased, fists and feet flicking out at imaginary opponents, arms and legs blocking imaginary blows. The large collection of wooden beads woven into the long cornrows of her coarse black hair clicked against each other as she lept and spun, accompanied by the crunch of autumn leaves beneath her feet, the only sounds in the quiet glade. As she approached the far side of the clearing, the dark haired warrior moved faster and faster until her lithe form seemed to flicker as she lept through light to shadow to light to shadow. Her small round breasts, perched high on her chest, bobbed and jumped as she danced and spun, their dark nipples jutting stiffly in the cool autumn air. Soon, a thin sheen of perspiration made her velvety brown skin glisten in the soft morning light. A few meters from the end of the clearing the tall warrior came to sudden stop in a stripe of sunlight. Her beautiful, slightly tilted eyes were closed, as they had been throughout the exercise, her head cocked to one side, listening intently. After a moment her eyes snapped open she spun around just in time to see the form of a white robed woman step into the clearing. The two women were silent for a moment as they regarded each other across the intervening ground. Finally, the robed figure called, "I have a job for you." Tamara thought for a moment, then nodded and moved toward her clothes. ------------------ The deep, mellow note of the temple's bronze gong reverberated through the ancient stone structure, announcing the end of the afternoon services. An elderly priestess, her long, flowing gray hair cascading down the back of her sky blue robe, chanted a parting benediction while one by one the worshipers walked across the old blue tile floor to place an offering before the towering golden statue. Rachael watched each woman approach to leave her offering at the feet of the goddess, smiling inwardly as she noticed how many of them avoided the rectangular, slightly less worn patch of blue tile a few feet from the huge statue. Many generations ago a sacrificial stone alter once stood on that spot, an alter where upon certain festive days the bodies of enemies taken captive in battle, or the occasional slave, were once sacrificed to the goddess. It never failed to amuse Rachael that, even after centuries since that particular religious practice had been banned, some worshipers still superstitiously walked around the spot where that long ago alter once stood, as if fearing some sort of contamination from those ancient, bloody sacrifices. One of the last worshipers to approach the great statue was a tall, athletic woman whom Rachael had often seen at temple. She looked younger than herself, though only by a couple of years at most; with long, shimmering yellow hair and a pretty, square face. As the acolyte looked on, the blonde woman knelt reverently before the statue and placed her offering, a small ivory figurine, amongst the others. It was a common votive sold at the stalls of vendors located a discreet distance from the temple. Rachael let her gaze linger on the familiar woman as she moved toward the temple's exit, watching her tall frame move beneath a simple, unseasonably light shift that left her long, coltish legs and well muscled arms bare. She was mildly surprised when the young fighter veered from her course to approach the spot where she stood. "May I speak to you outside?" the blonde woman whispered with a shy smile. It was not uncommon for strangers to want to talk to the young acolyte; she looked somewhat like a priestess and most of them just wanted to ask simple questions about theology or were merely curious about her religious devotion. "If you like." Rachael whispered back cordially. Again the tall woman flashed Rachael her shy smile and turned to proceed her out of the temple. The dark haired acolyte gathered up her prayer mat and a few unburnt sticks of incense, stuffed then in her carryall, and with a last reverent glance at the imposing golden statue turned and left the temple. -------------------- Tamara made her way through the bustling afternoon crowd thronging the wide east-west road that bisected the arena proper. She passed through the park like area between the administration and barracks buildings, the street narrowing until the old temple hove into view, whereupon she slowed her normally brisk stride and began looking for her contact. She easily located the stunningly beautiful slave her employer had described, idly browsing a merchant's stall which displayed long shallow trays of inexpensive jewelry, and was immediately struck with a vague sense of unreality, as if her vision had suddenly become slightly sharper. Positioning herself across from the tall young woman in the small open air stall, Tamara pretended to look at the cheap baubles while minutely examining her contact, unable to shake her disconcerting feeling of deja vu. She was really very lovely, Tamara thought. Her short black hair framed an attractive oval face with dark, almond shaped eyes above a cute wide little nose and generous lips. Her flawless golden skin stretched softly over a muscular, well formed frame that nicely filled out her short slave's shift; but it was her legs, amazingly long, sensuously curved and smoothly muscled, that most impressed Tamara. For a long moment the young capoeirista stood tranfixed while an image flashed unbidden across her mind. She saw herself lying upon a rough stone floor, the dark haired slave stretched atop her, their bodies both naked and sweat slick. Her strong arms tightly encircled her contact's slim waist and their equally gorgeous legs were entwined and straining while the young woman's hands were planted on either side of her prone form, trembling as they propped up her upper torso, her shining tawney skin stretched taut as her back arched and... Abruptly, her contact looked up and immediately caught Tamara's frankly appraising stare. Though the young woman's face remained carefully neutral, Tamara felt her own begin to burn in embarrassment at being caught in such unprofessional behavior. With a small annoyed shake of her head, the beautiful dark haired slave made an unobtrusive gesture toward the old temple. Nodding to signal her understanding, Tamara quickly walked away from the stall, trying to shrug off the odd moment of unreality while looking for a spot where she could safely watch for her quarry. "What's her problem?" Kim wondered, continuing her cursory inspection of the stall's wares. -------------------- The late afternoon sun shone from a cool blue sky, warming the worn steps of the old temple which were scattered with autumn leaves of red and yellow and orange. Rachael marched toward the tall blonde who sat waiting for her at the bottom of the steps, hoping that whatever the young woman wanted wouldn't take too long. As she approached, the woman stood and extending her hand, introduced herself. "Alana, Lana's daughter." she said. "I'm Rachael, acolyte of the warrior caste." she responded formally, taking the young woman's hand. In the bright light of the sun Alana looked older, her pretty face seemed drawn and a little pale as if she'd just recovered from an illness. Still, her handshake was firm and she looked healthy enough. "I know." Alana replied, much to the dark haired acolytes surprise. "Your mistress is a friend of my mother." Rachael felt a moment of apprehension, wondering what the daughter of a powerful woman like Lana could want with her, but nodded and motioned for the young woman to sit, then sat down next to her. "In fact," Alana continued, "Rhonda was my first mistress." "Really?" Rachael prompted, intrigued. Rachael warmed toward the younger woman as they talked, comparing experiences with their mutual former owner. She related how shocked Rhonda had been to learn that her combat training within the sisterhood had included very little by way of infighting techniques. In turn, Alana mentioned how Rhonda had taught her a measure self control; something her expensive hired trainers hadn't managed to do. Both young fighters agreed that, although being defeated by the veteran fighter was a painful (and potentially lethal) experience, it was well worth it to train with the renown warrior. Still, Rachael sensed that the young blonde hadn't approached her merely to make small talk. Alana still seemed a bit stiff, her manner pensive, as if something weighed on her mind and she was only waiting for the proper moment to divulge it. So, during a pause in their conversation, Rachael gave her new acquaintance an opening. --------------------- >From the broad display window of a busy religious icon shop across from the temple, Tamara pretended to examine a tall statue of the goddess while surrepititously watching her blonde quarry. She'd seen Alana exit of the ancient temple and sit next to another woman on it's broad worn steps. They'd chatted amiably for awhile as the last few worshipers left, then the young blonde had suddenly leaned closer to the acolyte, her gestures becoming more animated as she spoke. After a moment, the dark haired woman nodded her assent to something Alana had said and the young fighter handed her a small envelope. Tamara smiled tightly as she saw the object of her mission pass into the keeping of the smaller woman. Although she was confident of her ability to defeat her former slave, the tall capoeirista had heard about Alana's last match. Watching the two fighters go their own respective ways, Tamara prepared to follow the young brunette, speculating that it would be far easier for her to rob a unarmed temple acolyte than it would be to take it away from an experienced arena fighter. -------------------------- The westering sun cast the broad white gravel streets in half shadows by the time Rachael had said goodbye to her new aquaintance, the letter she'd been given safely tucked away in a corner of her bag. It was well over two miles to her mistress' villa and the young acolyte set a brisk pace, eager to be back before nightfall. The crowd had thinned on the wide main street as shops began to close for the day, but thickened again as Rachael turned off onto an avenue that passed by a number of the arena's more popular taverns and restaurants on the way to the southern gate. There were a few slaves besides herself, running last minute errands for their mistress'; though no males of course, they wouldn't be allowed out at this time of day. Slowing her pace as she threaded her way through the bustling crowd, Rachael gradually became aware that there were many more crimson uniformed guards about than she would have normally expected to see at that time of day. Though young and inexperienced, Rachael was far from stupid. She'd heard all the rumors about the two powerful families whose long time rivalry had recently escalated into hostilities just short of open warfare. She'd also heard the story of how the First Administrator, her temper already short after having single handedly broken up a full blown riot, had issued a warning that anyone who stepped out of line in any way would would be immediately and harshly punished. And when one of the Baruch matriarch's own daughters had turned up dead Ms. Mikaela had instantly made good her threat; declaring that while the killer remained uncaught, the entire Shimmura clan were banned from the Arena. So, Rachel reasoned, it didn't take a rocket scientist to deduce the cause of the increased security. By the time she'd made her way to the edge of the busy tavern area, the sun had lowered until it's light bathed one side of the street, make the red brick faces of the buildings take on a red-gold-brown glow. Rachael felt vaguely ill at ease. The women around her; warriors, servants, clerks, even the guards seemed quieter than they should be; and it occured to the young acolyte that there was a sort of tension in the air, as if everyone knew there was something wrong, but no one could say exactly what. -------------------------- Carefully keeping ahead of the young acolyte, Tamara's long muscular legs carried her down a narrower, less populated street that paralleled the route her quarry was taking. Little by little the street traffic thinned as they approached the western gate until finally Tamara gauged that the time was right to carry out a quick "smash and grab". She stopped at a cross street and patiently waited until the auburn haired woman passed, then jogged over to the wider main avenue and began following her briskly moving target, keeping about half a block behind her. Tamara gradually closed the distance between herself and the preoccupied young woman, unconsciously flexing her arms. Just as her quarry passed an alley between the last two taverns along that side of the avenue Tamara darted forward, aiming a punch at the base of the young brunette's head. Tamara's fist flashed out just as her quarry's head turned, turning a solid punch into a glancing blow. While the wide eyed acolyte gasped in surprise and pain her brightly clad ambusher struck again, rocking her head back with a solid right cross. The tall warrior lunged after the reeling acolyte and grabbing a handfull of her quarry's cloak; but with a hard yank the smaller woman lurched away from her attacker, jerking Tamara off balance and leaving her with the garment as she broke into a stumbling run. With a growl of frustration Tamara gave chase, nearly bowling over a shorter asian woman who had just stepped out of a tavern. "Dammit!" she cursed, dodging nimbly around the sudden obsticle and darting after her quarry, "Don't people stay at home anymore?" -------------------------- With her gaze firmly fixed on the light ahead of her, the young acolyte sprinted down the alleyway toward the relative safety of the street beyond. The light streaming into the narrow passage dimmed briefly and Rachael skidded to a halt, a lump of dread turning over in her stomach as she saw the black silhouette of a woman block the opening, cutting off her escape. Panic fluttering in her belly, Rachael spun to face the pursuing fighter, quickly dropping her shoulder bag and kicking it away from where she stood. Rachael's breath clouded in the cool autumn air as it rasped in and out of her heaving chest. "Who are you?" she croaked angrily. Tamara skidded to a halt a few feet from the young fighter as she shed her cloak and struck a defiant stance, turning her left side to her pursuer and holding her fists at a low angle. The African amazon seemed hardly winded by the long chase. "C'mon alter girl." Tamara snarled by way of reply, "Let's see if your little goddess will help you now." Tamara glided forward like a shadow and feinted a strike at her opponent's head to bring the young woman's guard up; then in a swirl of brightly colored fabric spun left and flashed a quick side kick that glanced off her quarries left side. The tattooed fighter grunted and moved back a step, barely deflecting a deftly executed spin kick. In return Rachael launched a hard straight kick at her foe's midriff which sped past it's target as Tamara spun away, then reversed directions and lept forward to slam a open handed strike against her chest. Rachael grunted again and blocked a flurry of stiff armed strikes aimed at her upper body, then yelped as her opponent suddenly switched tactics, delivering a sharp kick to her left shin. Fighting past the jagged pain flared in her leg, the young fighter fell back on the training she'd received as a acolyte and nimbly executed a back flip. Tamara grinned as she leaned out of the way her young quarries feet and lept forward before the athletic young woman had time to regain her balance. The taller capoeirista's foot flashed up past the caucasian fighter's still low defensive block, catching her flush against the right side of her jaw, rocking her head back sharply and sending her stumbling against the alley's left wall. The dazed young acolyte slid away from a punch she sensed rather than saw and backed away from the brightly clad warrior, desperately fending off another flurry of lightning quick strikes as her adversary pressed her attack. Realizing she couldn't hope to match her attacker's speed and reach, Rachael dropped to her knees and threw herself at the tall warrior's legs, hoping to use the infighting techniques her mistress had taught her. But as Rachael's hand reached her opponents legs her foe's open palm flashed down, striking her squarely on the forehead and knocking her backwards to the ground. With a howl of triumph Tamara lept upon her fallen opponent, landing squarely atop her abdomen. As the young fighter jerked up reflexively, the air whooshing from her muscular frame, Tamara's fist flashed out to again land a hard punch to her quarries jaw, jolting her back down to the ground. Grinning wolfishly down at the groaning, half conscious woman, the brightly clad warrior leaned foreword to grasp her foe's wrists and jerked her arms to the side, then moved up her writhing body to sit on her chest, pinning her arms securely beneath her knees. Rachael struggled to breath and clear her ringing head, gravel grinding painfully against her back as she squirmed beneath the heavy weight of her antagonist. The tattooed fighter's chest heaved desperately, her full breasts flattened againt her chest beneath her foe's buttocks. "Get off me!" she croaked, glaring up at her tormentor, "Get off!" The raven haired amazon reached down and lightly traced the curve of her foe's cheek. "You've led me on quite a chase girl." Tamara crooned threateningly, "Now, I think you've got something for me." "I don't know what your talking about!" Rachael spat defiantly. With an malicious grin Tamara lept up and back a short distance, landing hard on the young woman's already bruised stomach. "I think you do." she snarled at her retching foe and lashed out, clipping Rachael neatly on the chin with a right cross. Despite the bolts of agony convulsing her stomach, the brunette acolyte's body jolted back down, her head bouncing off the ground and a shower of bright sparks obscured her vision as unconsciousness claimed her. It was the work of a moment for Tamara to comb through her stunned quarry's cloths and her mocking smile turned sour as her search came up empty. "Where the hel is it, girl?" she snarled, reaching down to grasp either side of Rachael's tunic and shake the unconscious brunette. "I'll find it if I have to strip you naked and peel your skin off!" Ropey muscles bunched beneath the smooth brown skin of Tamara's arms as she tore Rachael's tunic open, the sound of ripping cloth loud in the narrow ally. Even in the dim light Tamara could discern the tattoos adorning the her quarry's sleek torso. She let out a low whistle, admiring the artistry that had gone into decorating the athletic young woman's tan skin. A smile quirked Tarmara's generous red lips and she reached out a hand, lightly tracing the red spiral winding around the softly swelling mound of Rachael's large left breast with the tip of her forefinger. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?" Tamara gave a guilty start, her hand jerking away from the unconscious young woman before she could control it. The startled African fighter's head snapped up, the beads in her hair rattling angrily as she peered in the direction from which the contempt laden voice had come, her eyes narrowed into furious slits. Tamara's retort died unvoiced on her parted lips as she made out the features of the woman leaning idly against the ally wall a few feet before her. "You...!" she choked out, her hands automatically clenching into fists. The intruder's arms were crossed beneath her small breasts as she gazed cooly at the scene before her. She was dressed in practical clothes, a warm looking brown cotton shirt and sheepshin vest above a pair of brown woolen trousers and servicable leather boots. "Really Tamara." the slim Asian woman reproved with barely conceiled contempt, "Have you taken up mugging people now like a common thief? For shame!" Bridling at the insult, Tamara bared her teeth in a fierce grin and glared at her old rival, her voice tight with barely restrained violence. "Stay out of this Nga. I'll settle with you after I'm done with this temple whore." she threatened, thumping a fist into Rachael's abdomen for emphasis. Her thin lips set in a mocking smile, Nga glanced down at the unconscious form lying sprawled beneath her former opponent. "Exotic." she commented, eyeing the brown haired acolytes many tattoos, "But I doubt a slave would be carrying around much money, Tamara dear." she advised. Goaded beyond endurance, Tamara lept from the prostrate form of her quarry, a vicious snarl distorting her lovely face. "Ioio bitch!" she screamed, her brightly colored skirt flapping around her gorgeous brown legs as she launched into a series of flashing round kicks. The smaller fighter retreated back down the alley, lithely dodging the enraged african amazon's furious attack. Consciousness came back to Rachael by degrees. The angry shouts of combat echoing through the alley first penetrated the painfull ringing fog clouding her hearing, bringing her into sluggishly wakefullness. She groaned at the memory of the tall warrior's attack and managed to roll over onto her aching stomach. Finally, the battered young acloyte slowly levered herself up onto her arms and cracked open one bleary eye. The slender asian fighter planted her feet and crouched under a speeding high kick, then leaned forward to thump a fist into her foes short ribs, drawing a grunt from her taller foe. The brightly clad warrior backed off a step and, as her old rival advanced, sent a side kick slamming into the slim woman's chest. The smaller fighter stumbled backwards but recovered quickly and dodged a couple of flashing kicks, then with a shout suddenly leapt forward and deftly executed a whirling spin kick, sending a foot jabbing into her opponent's belly. While the two warriors fought, Rachael slowly managed to get to her feet. Her head throbbed and her vision blurred in and out of focus as she watched the brawl. "What in the nine worlds have I gotten myself into?" she thought muzzily. The two warriors were just about evenly matched. The tall brightly clad fighter was fluid and graceful, her lithe form moving continuously in a spontaneous yet rythmic style. The shorter, more plainly dressed woman moved with lightning quick, tightly controled bursts of speed; her style both ritualistically formal and devistatingly powerful. Briefly, Rachael caught the attention of her unexpected rescuer who, ducking under a speeding high kick, flashed her a savage smile of pure delight before leaping forward to return the attack. "Well, at least she's enjoying herself." Rachael thought. Remebering her bag, and the letter it contained, she peered around distractedly until her gaze fell on a shadowy lump a few feet behind her. Slowly, careful not to draw attention to herself, Rachael backed up until she could crouch down and retrieve her satchel, her eyes rivited on the fight between the two experienced warriors. Sudden shouting startled Rachael out of her dazed contemplation of the duel and she peered beyond the two fighers to see a pair of red clad women advancing up the alley at a cautious trot. The young acolyte groaned in dismay as she recognized the crimson uniforms of arena guards. "Caught!" the thought echoed through her mind. Panic jolted Rachael awake as the visions of what would happen to her flashed across her mind if she were caught in a back alley brawl. Ms. Mikaela could only banish her, and that would be bad enough, but what Mistress Rhonda would do...! Flashing a last gratefull look at her embattled rescuer, Rachael broke into a stumbling run away from the two dueling fighters, slinging the back around her shoulder while the remains of her torn tunic flapped around her naked, battered body. More shouts echoed behind her as the guards reached the brawling arena warriors and, despite the nauseau she felt washing through her, the young acolyte put on a burst of speed as she neared the end of the alley. With a determined grimace creasing her sweating face, Rachael burst into the street and ran straight into a smaller red clad woman. The jarring collision drove the breath from both women as they fell in a tangle of arms and legs, rolling over and over uncontrolably on the white gravel of the deserted street. More by accident than design, Rachael wound up on top of the smaller woman as they rolled to a halt. Panic sent a jolt of adrenaline shooting through the battered young acloyte and she pushed herself onto her knees, more or less straddling the half stunned guard. Beneath her, the red clad woman tried dazedly to push her half naked assailant away, her hands slapping against the tattooed fighter's exposed torso. Rachael winced as one blindly flailing hand found her right breast and dug into the large globe youthfully firm tan flesh. With a hoarse shout of indignation, Rachael reared back and sent a fist crashing down against the writhing guard's jaw, the impact bouncing the back of her head of the ground. For a long moment Rachael stared down in blurry surprise at the suddenly still form beneath her. Gradually she became aware of a sharp edge cutting into the palm of her hand and it took an conscious act of will to open her clenched fist. She regarded the object, a small plastic name tag, for a minute. "Sung?" she muttered distractedly to herself, reading the name on the tag she'd obviously torn off the woman's shirt during their brief struggle. "Never heard of her." Tossing aside the rectangular piece of plastic, Rachael tiredly pushed herself to her feet and, clutching the remains of her clothes around her chilled body, stumbled off down the ill lit street. ---------------------- Rhonda gave the bandages swathing her unconcsious slave's head a last little adjustment, then stood back to view her handiwork. She'd waited a couple hours after Rachael had failed to return at sunset, then had been just about ready to go looking for her errant slave when the young acolyte, battered and half naked, stumbled through the door. Quickly acertaining that her wounds were not life threatening, the tall warrior closely questioned Rachael on the day's events. While the battered young fighter related her story, Rhonda concluded that her slave had an impressive collection of scrapes and bruises, a mild concussion and a slight case of exposure, but wasn't in any immediate danger of dropping down dead. More interestingly, the young brunette had a letter for her. Rhonda put off examining the letter until she was satisfied her slave was well seen to, then with a frown took mysterious letter to her own room and broke the seal. The experienced warrior's normally impassive features gradually softened as she sat down in her favorite easy chair and examined the two sheets of paper contained within. One was a stained and crumpled sheet of indecipherable symbols and letters but the other, written in two different hands, was what most interested her. The first part of the letter was from Lana; short and to the point but still containing a hint of her friend's mercurial humor. In a few brief sentences, she explained that she was unable to visit Rhonda in person because she was engaged in helping "a mutual friend of ours" and that Rhonda was one of the few people she completely trusted. Rhonda felt a familar twinge of regret as she read her old friend's words, having long been frustrated that Lana's feelings for her never went beyond friendship. But even as Rhonda sighed in resignation at her friends prediliction, a series of emotions played across her lovely oval face as she read the second part of the letter and learned the identity of the "mutual friend." Tatyana's part was much longer and detailed what she'd already suspected. Rhonda was gladdened to read that the young fighter had been keeping her distance, not out of disinterest, but because she feared embroiling Rhonda in the hostilities between her own clan and the Baruchs. Rhonda's smooth forehead creased in concern as she read how, before Tatyana could get find a way to secretly speak to her again, she'd been framed for the murder of the woman which led to her clan's bannishment while spying on the Baruchs. The young fighter hoped that, if Rhonda could find a way to decipher the document she'd enclosed with her letter, it might give them a some clue as to what the Baruchs had planned. Tears shone in Rhonda's beautiful dark eyes as she read Tatyana's admonishon not involve herself beyond the decoding of the document, and then read the three words that ended Tatyana's letter. Rhonda read the letter twice more before leaning back into her chair with a thoughtfull sigh. Propping her feet up on the sill of a nearby window, she gazed speculatively out into the darkness beyond, pondering how she could help her young lover. Though she was no great shakes at cryptography herself, perhaps she knew a friend of a friend... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ---- Copyright 1998 - Wet Hen Productions