The Island By Motif88 Part 3 - Duel Atop the tall white building that housed Coromitas civilian government the clock tower pealed twice. With an hour until her "appointment", Lydia loitered about the statue where she'd personally executed a half dozen surviving native warriors on the day of the failed rebellion. Less than a score of wounded native warriors had survived their tragically unsuccessful attempt at destroying the foreign oppressors. Lydia was one of the two surviving junior officers, the other of whom was wounded, and it had fallen to her to round up the remaining rebels. Crude gibbets were quickly built and before all of the wounded soldiers had been evacuated, the bloody square was decorated with the bodies of dying rebel warriors. As she'd watched the last captured rebel gasp and twitch out her last few moments of existence, Lydia began to form a plan for satisfying her long suspected, but now utterly confirmed bloodlust. Really, it seemed rather obvious. Though outlawed for more than a century by royal fiat, dueling was still fairly common within the boundaries of the empire. The protocols were well established and in some circles it was even considered fashionable for freewomen to settle their disputes on the so-called "honorable field of combat." On the edges of the empire, like Coromita for instance, dueling was very rarely punished, as long as no one too important was involved and the entire matter was handled discretely. --------------------- It was almost a year after the battle before Lydia found a suitable opponent. The tavern was that sort of dingy place run by one of those few non- commissioned naval officers who were prudent enough or lucky enough to have saved some money from their years at sea. It was small, shabby and poorly ventilated; with a couple of long wooden tables and a scattering of benches. A roughly constructed bar squatted near a door which led into what could only be loosely described as a kitchen, in as much as raw food went in and more-or-less cooked food came out. It's proprietor, a retired boson' mate, was a huge weathered looking woman whose jowly visage and general temper resembled that of a elderly and particularly ill treated sheepdog. Most of her time was spent behind the bar, filling leather mugs with either ruinously expensive ale, imported from home, or a cheaper local brew which was reputed to be able to strip barnacles from the hull of a ship. Lydia was nursing her second jack of imported ale; she could certainly afford it now that her hated sister had the family plantation running smoothly. Sitting by herself at the far end of one of the tables, she was enjoying a day off from overseeing when her dueling opponent walked in. The moment Lydia had set eyes on her, she'd known she was perfect. >From the look of her, she was a sailor on her way from one port to another, her ship having docked at Coromita to take on a load of breadfruit plants. Lydia watched from her place at the table as the leggy leather clad woman strode confidently through the door and made a bee-line straight for the bar, a scabbarded rapier swaying from one well rounded hip. Despite her age, which Lydia judged to be at least ten years her senior, the auburn haired woman looked amazingly fit. Feathery light brown locks the color of polished oak curled around a lovely oval face, her skin a smooth mocha and with fewer lines than might be expected for a woman who'd spent most of her time at sea. Sharp, almond shaped eyes of stormy green were set above a cute little nose whose broad nostrils flared intriguingly and a mouth that at first looked far too wide for her face but, upon reconsideration, gave her smile an air of wicked sensuality. A number of silver and jade earrings depended from her multiply pierced ears, which were small and set close against her head. Despite having just disembarked, the woman moved smoothly with a sailor's rolling gait and Lydia's avid gaze was immediately drawn to her long legs which, even though encased in a pair of worn looking brown leather trousers, looked slender and gracefully muscled. On her upper half she wore only a tight vest of worn brown leather, leaving bare her sinewy arms and a brown skinned expanse of chest which sported a dark blue tattoo just above the soft hillock of one full breast. Overall, she was at least a head taller than Lydia and held herself with the poise of an experienced warrior as she ordered her drink. Tossing a coin on the bar the dark haired sailor turned and leaned back, casually scanning the room. Almost immediately, she saw Lydia staring at her and the gorgeous sailor arched a thin, elegant eyebrow, her frank returning stare sending a little shiver thrilling through the blonde soldier. It was the work of a moment for Lydia to put her long anticipated plan into action. She stood and crossed to where the woman lounged against the bar. Insults were traded, then threats, hands went to sword hilts. Lydia was almost mesmerized by the way her intended foe's full breasts rose and fell against the restraining leather of her vest, making the small blue dolphin tattooed upon her chest seem as if it were leaping in a soft brown ocean. Unfortunately, just as Lydia sensed that a dueling challenge was almost certainly forth coming, the bar's owner placed herself between the two belligerents, one large knuckled hand wrapped around a hefty length of oaken club mottled with suspiciously dark stains. The large tavern keeper was a full head taller than either women and looked tougher than both put together. As she demanded in a voice used to issuing commands during a full gale, a pair of the gorgeous sailor's shipmates interceded as well. Not wanting to lose the opportunity, Lydia herself hurriedly offered to duel with the woman, dashing a handy drink into the sailor's beautiful face to add emphasis to the challenge. The blonde officer exulted inwardly as the beautiful dark haired woman, whom her fellow sailor's called Emerald, readily accepted the challenge with a handy drink of her own. But a moment later Lydia's face fell when the sailor, as was her prerogative as the party challenged, demanded they use pistols. ------------------------ Later that afternoon Lydia arrived at the place they'd agreed upon, a remote fallow field on her family's estate. She'd chosen a subaltern from her unit as her second, a petite, narrow faced Oriental woman who Lydia knew was an enthusiastic participant in the institution of single combat. Her second carried an ebony and gold inlay box which contained a pair of finely crafted, long barreled flintlock pistols. Emerald arrived soon after with her two friends from the tavern and a pair of her own weapons, plainer in style by just as deadly as Lydia's. Her chosen second, an older sailor with short bright red hair, met in the center of the field with the subaltern to perform the customary formalities. Lydia forced herself not to fidget while weapons were exchanged and examined, rules were agreed upon, and other small details were worked out between the seconds. Her opponent appeared relaxed, chatting in low tones with her other friend and occasionally flashing a contemptuous glance at her shorter blonde opponent. At last, the negotiations ended and after a distance of twenty paces was measured off each second led her duelist to the spot where their fight would begin. With their backs to each other, the two women were given a pistol by their respective seconds, the second being held back in case both shooters missed her target. The two seconds retreated to a suitable distance and Lydia's subaltern began the three count. On the count of ten, both women spun and fired. The two pistols boomed almost simultaneously and Lydia felt the sharp snap of displaced air of her opponent's shot as it zipped past her head. A split second later the tall sailor screamed in agony, her gorgeous body flung violently to the ground by the impact of Lydia's bullet. Lydia frowned as she watched the beautiful dark haired woman writhe weakly on her back, crimson blood streaming from a jagged hole just below her right breast. This wasn't at all the way she'd wanted it and Lydia was determined that next time she'd make sure she was the one challenged. As her second trotted forward with the other pistol Lydia impatiently waved her away and strode toward her fallen opponent, her sword rasping from it's sheath to deliver the coup-de-gras. The wounded sailor emitted a low moan, her entire right side aflame with agony, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps as she fought to draw air into her damaged body. Clamping a hand to her throbbing bloody wound Emerald rolled onto her side and with a grunt of effort heaved herself up on one elbow. Her dark almond eyes, already shining with pain, widened in fear as she saw the blonde officer walking steadily toward her, a rapier gleaming in her right hand. A terror inspired burst of adrenaline thrummed through the wounded woman and her long leather clad legs kicked weakly, raising puffs of dust from the ground as she slowly scrabbled backwards in a futile attempt to delay the inevitable. As she strode purposefully toward her downed opponent, Lydia felt that now familiar warmth flare in the pit of her stomach and slowly, sensuously spread throughout her slender body. Her sword swished in short impatient arcs, her blue eyes gleaming with sudden desire. A wicked smile split Lydia's thin lips, seeing the dark haired sailor desperately trying to draw her own sword as she continued her slow retreat, leaving a red trail of blood staining the raw earth. Easily catching up with her fallen opponent, Lydia's cruel smile broadened and her sword whistled down, opening a long rent down the front of her enemy's leather vest. With a small cry of terror the wounded woman wrenched her sword from it's scabbard and raised it to block a second blow. Snarling in contempt, Lydia's sword flicked out, striking her foe's weapon near the base of the blade and knocking it spinning from her weak grasp. Again and again Lydia's sword flashed down and more rents appeared in the dark haired sailor's vest, revealing long lengths of sweat slick brown skin and the occasional thin red cut where her blade nicked her writhing foe. Resuming her crab-like retreat, Emerald yelped with each stroke of her enemy's sword, fear and agony driving all rational thought from her mind except for the need to get away. After a full five minutes Emerald sprawled half conscious on the ground, too weak to retreat further. Her mane of lustrous brown hair was plastered to her agonized face and her vest hung in tatters from her lithe, blood spattered torso which now bore a dozen cuts in addition to the gaping hole of the still bleeding bullet wound. Her head rocked back and forth weakly as she gazed up at her tormentor, beautiful oval eyes leaking tears of pain down her high cheek boned face in a silent plea for mercy. Standing next her beautiful supine foe, Lydia trembled with lust. She gazed down hungrily at the dying woman, eagerly taking in the sight of Emerald's blood spattered stomach and breasts that swelling firmly from her raggedly heaving chest, small black nipples jutting skyward. Lydia's soft lips tingled with desire and she felt her hands and feet grow suddenly cool as her gaze traveled upward over Emerald's slender, graceful neck to take in the exhausted, terrified features of her lovely face. The tip of her tongue flickered over her flushed lips and Lydia trembled, on the verge of giving in to the overwhelming need suffusing her body, when a shout brought her head jerking up from the suffering form of her adversary. "Finish her!" her second shouted again. Lydia's eyes locked with her second's and the slender subaltern took a step backwards, recoiling from the naked look of bloodlust shining on her superior officer's face. Giving her second a warning glare, Lydia again looked down at her opponent and growled, half in anger and half in frustration. Somehow, Emerald had found the strength to arch her back and painfully draw one leg up under her. Her dark eye's shining with hate-filled determination, she reached down to fumble desperately at the hilt of a knife concealed in her boot. "Stupid cow!" Lydia spat and lunged, thrusting the point of her sword through the bowed body of her downed foe. A hoarse shriek erupted from the dark haired sailor as her enemy's blade plunged between the soft mounds of her taut round breasts and into her chest. Emerald convulsed, her back arching even higher, her arms flailing at her side as she screamed. Blood gurgled up from her throat, spilling from her mouth until at last her lithe, tormented body slackened. The enraged blonde officer glared down at Emerald's blood spattered face, her slim body tense with anger and unrelieved lust, her bloody sword trembling in her tightly clenched fist. The dying sailor's heavily lidded eyes were half closed and her wide sensuous mouth moved voicelessly. Emerald knew she was dying and wanted to make her last words memorable, but it was so hard to think around the pain. Finally, she managed a final word. "Mother..." she whispered around a mouthful of blood and with a last violent shudder lay still on the crimson stained ground. With a snarl of frustration Lydia yanked her blade from the corpse of her opponent. Next time, she vowed as she strode away, she'd have satisfaction. -------------------------- Six long, frustrating months past before Lydia was afforded another opportunity to slake her own peculiar lust. It was at one of her sister's interminably boring parties on the plantation that she saw Sabra Markston the Fourth, a young noblewoman new to the island. Lydia immediately took her measure. She was a pale, almost fragile looking girl with a pretty heart shaped face framed by a cascade of golden hair worn in long ringlets about her slim, adolescent shoulders. An airy, lacy white dress adorned the young noblewoman's willowy frame, sleeveless and low hemmed, revealing graceful birdlike limbs whose soft pale skin testified to her newness to the tropical climate of the island. Sabra had the refined manners common to most of her class, and along with them a condescending arrogance that seemed to be written into their very genetic code. It took a very minimal amount of effort on Lydia's part to start an argument with the young noblewoman and before she knew it, the blonde officer had received a genteel slap across the face and an invitation to duel. Lydia, perhaps a trifle too eagerly, accepted and immediately specified the conditions of their combat. The experienced officer couldn't repress a smirk as she saw her erstwhile opponent blanche at the stipulation of an "old style" duel. --------------------- An empty warehouse provided a discreet forum for the combat, a squat brick building located in a quiet part of town. Since she was the first to arrive Lydia eagerly shucked her rapier from it's scabbard and began to prepare for the fight, her weapon making a sharp whistling sound as she shadow fenced. Perspiration beaded on her well tanned skin and dark circles grew beneath her shirt's armpits as she parried and thrust with her phantom opponent, her feet shuffling on the hard packed dirt. The thump of the warehouse's door announced the arrival of her opponent and Lydia frowned in consternation as she saw not one but two women approach. She'd specified, as the one challenged, that there were to be no seconds. "What the hell is she playing at?" Lydia wondered. The young noblewoman was dressed in a baggy black silk shirt and tight trousers of the same material, their cuffs tucked into calf high black leather boots polished to a high gloss. A wide red sash was tied around her tiny waist and a matching red kerchief held her curly blonde hair piled atop her head. In one hand Sabra carried a rapier whose hilt and guard was set with so many jewels and stones as to preclude it's having any sort of useful balance. "She looks like she's going to a fancy dress party." Lydia though contemptuously. A step behind the swaggering young woman walked a huge broad shouldered warrior dressed in a much more serious fashion. She had a square, blocky face with dark gray eyes shadowed by a low broad brow and shoulder length silver hair that hung in a single thick braid down her back. Brawny, suntanned limbs protruded from a sleeveless tunic of plain white cotton, covering a wide chest and immense sloping bosom. A well used longsword hung from a leather belt encircling her thick waist, bumping rhythmically against one broad hip as she strode steadily forward. The two women stopped a few feet away and stood side by side before the angry duelist. With a low mocking bow the young noblewoman introduced her companion. "Ms. Wickham," she said sweetly, "Allow me to present my champion, Hlida." "I didn't say anything..." Lydia began angrily. "But my dear Lydia." Sabra interrupted, "You must know that it is my prerogative, as a woman of noble lineage engaged in matters of honor, to appoint a champion, should I choose to do so." Fondly laying a small hand on her companion's brawny forearm, she continued. "Hlida has been with me for some several years and has always been most ready to provide satisfaction in many areas of endeavor." Lydia fumed as she looked at the pair as the young noblewoman recited her almost certainly rehearsed speech. Lydia had had little contact with the nobility and wasn't completely sure that what Sabra averred was actually true, though it had a ring of truth about it. Moreover, her situation wasn't exactly prime for negotiation, being alone with two armed women. But it was an insistently aching sensation throbbing in her lower belly that finally made her decision for her. "Very well then." she muttered darkly. A broad, superior smile spread across Sabra's pretty face. "Excellent!" she ejaculated, rubbing her palms together in her enthusiasm. "Truly excellent!" She moved a couple steps back from the two opponents, shapely hips moving fetchingly beneath the taut silk of her trousers. "Old style, I think you said." With a noncommittal grunt Lydia removed her shirt and trousers, noting with amusement the appreciative glances darting from the young noblewoman as more and more of her own slender, sleekly muscled body was exposed. Kicking off her ankle high boots, the blonde officer picked up her weapons and paused momentarily, standing naked and defiant before the two women, glaring steadily at the young noblewoman. "You'd better hope your woman wins." she said flatly. Sabra's gaze wavered beneath the level stare of the experienced fighter and a brief look of uncertainty flashed across her youthful features. Shortly, she looked away from her erstwhile foe and addressed her champion. "Hlida." she said coolly, "Eviscerate this woman, will you?" Lydia waited patiently while the tall warrior undressed. Though most of Hlida's skin was tanned a golden brown, her huge breasts were pale and blue veined, almost translucent beneath a light sheen of perspiration, with thick pink nipples and areolas almost as wide as the palm of Lydia's hands. Thick cords of muscle bulged beneath the deeply sun bronzed skin of her legs and thighs while the area around the dense thatch of silver-blonde hair covering her sex was similarly untanned. Stripped naked, Hlida looked even more formidable. The huge Nordic woman hefted her long sword and stalked toward her. Lydia noted that although the big fighter moved a little ponderously, she held her heavier sword as if it weighed no more than a kitchen knife. Bringing her weapons on guard the experienced blonde officer realized that her foe's superior reach would give her a considerable advantage. Additionally, her own sword would almost certainly break if she tried to parry a solid blow from the heavier weapon, and her main- gauche would probably be swept from her hand as well. Balanced on the balls of her feet, Lydia turned her right side toward her advancing opponent, presenting her sword at a level angle while holding her dagger back and low at her waist. Seeing the muscles of her larger foe's arms tense Lydia took a quick step forward, her blade licking out in a high inside line. The tall woman's sword swept up and the two blades rang as they met, then the heavier blade flashed back down, swishing through the air as her lithe foe pivoted in quartata. Lydia continued her high line attacks, declining counterparrys and gradually turning the muscular woman in a circle as she nimbly avoided her foe's returning slashes. An unexpected cross cut swept perilously close to the flat plain of her belly, but the sudden turn her opponent was obliged to make in the course of her slash gave Lydia the split second she needed to carefully deflect the cut with her main gauche. Without pause Lydia spun and continued to press her attack, her lithe well tanned body moving gracefully around her brawny, heavier foe. After turning the big warrior in almost a full circle Lydia suddenly changed tactics. Putting on a burst of speed, she executed a precisely timed passe in quartre and as the heavier blade rasped against her sword, Lydia spun and abruptly darted forward beneath her foes high back swing. As she leapt past the larger fighter, her rapier back trailing behind her, Lydia slashed at her opponent's side with her dagger, drawing a long red line down the left side of Hlida's muscular torso. The tall warrior grunted at the sudden pain and slashed wildly as she turned after her foe, the tip of her sword scoring a shallow diagonal cut on the smaller woman's naked back as she sped past. Lydia bit back a cry as she spun to face her foe, then yelped aloud in as she danced back from her foe's slashing blade. The huge fighter had already stepped forward to attack, seemingly unaware of the jagged cut leaking blood down her left side. Lydia grimaced as she was compelled to retreat before the heavier blade of her larger foe. Clearly, she'd underestimated her opponents speed and agility, and lost the initiative because of it. Berating herself for this potentially fatal mistake Lydia continued to back away, careful not to directly parry the broadsword, but using her lighter blade to deflect Hlida's sword obliquely when she could and dodging the heavy blade when she couldn't. The large Nordic woman's sword slashed up and down like clockwork, forcing her smaller foe to retreat towards the back wall of the empty warehouse. A broad grin creased Hlida's mouth, seeing a look of worry growing on her lithe opponent's plain featured face. A strong down cut clanged against the slender blonde officer's blade as she parried, almost knocking the weapon from her sweaty grasp and Hlida's smile broadened as she heard her foe grunt from the impact. Lydia knew she couldn't afford to be trapped against a wall by the big swordswoman. Her skin itched maddeningly as thin trickles of blood seeped slowly down the deeply tanned skin of her back from the shallow cut and her sword arm ached from effort of parrying her foe's heavier blade. Lydia carefully studied her larger foe, looking for a line she could exploit; but could find no flaw in the experienced warrior's attack. Grimly she braced her feet and ducked beneath a high whirring cross cut, determined to attempt another fleche maneuver and reverse their positions. Hlida pivoted her entire body with the momentum of her sword and one thickly muscled leg pistoned out to send a foot slamming unexpectedly against her foe's chest. The smaller woman staggered back with a heavy grunt, her flailing sword drawing a shallow slash on the inside calf of Hlida's retreating leg. Droplets of sweat bounced from Lydia's lithe tanned body as her back fetched up hard against the bare brick wall and despite the wound Hlida leapt after her stunned foe, a vicious grin twisting her normally impassive features, her brawny sword arm drawn back for the killing stroke. Instinctively Lydia ducked under a high level crosscut that would have decapitated her had she been a split second slower. Her back scraped painfully against the rough brick as she dodged the blow, her lips curled back in a snarl. Through sweat blurred eyes Lydia saw her foe's sword sweep up and the slender officer barely had enough time to raise her own weapons in defense before the heavy blade descended. A sharp shriek of defiant rage rose from the smaller fighter to mingle with the loud metallic clang of Hlida's sword striking her foe's raised crossed blades. The blonde fighter's slender body shook visibly and her knees almost buckled, but somehow both weapons and woman stood up under the impact of her foe's powerful blow. A faint look of amusement crossed the tall silver haired warrior's face and she bore down on her blade, thick muscles bunching on her arms as she forced her foe's trembling weapons lower and lower. Rivers of sweat poured down Lydia's trembling wiry arms, coursing over her knotted shoulders and on down her athletic body as she strove to keep her foe's sword from splitting her skull. Her chest ached furiously from her opponent's kick and her arms screamed with the effort of keeping the hovering death above her at bay. Lydia bared her teeth in a vicious smile as she stared up at the crossed blades, knowing she couldn't sustain the effort for long. "I will NOT be beaten by this mercenary bitch!" she vowed to herself. Desperately Lydia kicked out, managing to drive a heel into her foe's shin. But the kick only drew an annoyed grunt from the larger woman and her sword dropped a fraction of an inch closer to the top of Lydia's sweat plastered head, it's point grating on the brick wall behind. Lydia kicked out again, this time stamping a foot, but the result was the same and her arms shrieked at her as the blade slipped lower. With her sweat drenched face frozen in a look of complete concentration, Lydia kicked out once more, sending a perfectly timed foot thumping into the silver haired warrior's crotch. Lydia's jaw almost dropped in astonishment as her muscular foe barked a short laugh, but showed no further effects from the blow to her sex. The blonde officer could feel the razor edge of her enemies blade tickling the hair atop her head and she knew she could make no more attempts at kicking her foe. Lydia felt a faint, uncontrollable trembling thrumming through her raised arms and panic began gnawing at her concentration. "How the hell do you stop this bitch!" she thought crazily, staring up at Hlida's broadly smiling foe. With a savage triumphant grin splitting her angular face Hlida bore down on her sword, the familiar hot glow of battle madness cloaked her strong body in a sense of thrilling invulnerability. Adrenaline hummed through her veins like electricity through a white hot wire and the almost physical ache of her need to see the blonde woman dead and bloody at her feet eclipsed the pain throbbing from her foot and shin, crotch and side. The silver haired fighter knew it was only a matter of time until her smaller opponent's arms gave way and she looked forward to adding another victory to her already fearsome reputation; as well as the rewards her wealthy employer would bestow upon her after the duel. Lydia's eyes watered from the dust floating down from the place above her head where the point of her foe's heavy sword grated on the brick wall. Her naked, well tanned body trembled with exhaustion as she tried to blink away the irritating grit in her eyes. Lydia wavered on the edge of despair, amazed at the unstoppability of the muscular Nordic woman, when a sudden thought burst into her mind, bringing with it a faint glimmer of hope. Grimly, Lydia decided to throw caution to the wind. Hlida snarled in triumph as her foe's arms finally yielded and the blonde officer seemed to collapse beneath the power of her superior strength. Her sword swung down, it's point digging into the wall as it descended, showering the crouched form of her opponent with grit. Abruptly the heavy blade jarred to a halt, almost perfectly perpendicular to her waist. Hlida's ice blue eyes widened as she saw her weapon buried, not in her foe's head as she'd expected, but rather in a long deep groove in the wall behind. With a hoarse howl Lydia sprang forward, driving her shoulder in below the tall warrior's sternum and slamming her dirk into the muscle ridged plain of her stomach. The sliver haired fighter's own scream joined Lydia's as the long knife burrowed into her body, her hands opening convulsively, releasing the hilt of her heavy sword. The smaller officer's charge jarred her opponent off her feet and Lydia drove the stunned woman backwards across the floor in a ragged, stumbling rush. A shriek of mingled agony and rage leapt from Hlida's gaping mouth as red, mind numbing pain shot through her solidly built frame. Her legs gave way and she fell heavily onto her back, carrying her smaller woman with her to the floor. Too late, she tried to wrap her arms around her foe's slender frame, but the blonde woman rolled way, leaving the weapon buried in her muscular torso. Wearily, her naked body soaked with perspiration, Lydia pulled herself to her feet. Her small shining breasts heaved as she stood, their tiny pink nipples pointed and stiff. A look of savage satisfaction suffused her face as she saw her larger foe staring balefully at the knife impaling her broad frame, buried to the hilt in the right side of her body a couple inches below her rib cage. Though Lydia's slender frame ached with pain and fatigue, her mind sang with a sublime song of victory and bloodlust. On the floor, the big woman awkwardly wrapped her hands around the hilt of the knife and with an agonized shout pulled the blade from her body, sagging back to the floor as blood gouted from the wound and blinding agony overwhelmed her senses. Lydia leapt toward her fallen opponent, her sword flashing up to deliver the coup-de-gras. A sharp shriek rang in her ears as her sword descended on her helpless opponent and the victorious fighter checked her swing, remembering that she and her foe were not alone. The angry blonde officer's head swung around, impaling the advancing young woman with an iron hard gaze. Without taking her eyes from the charging black clothed girl, Lydia's sword darted down to dent the vulnerable skin beneath her prostrate opponent's chin. Despite the red agony shooting through her muscular frame the big Nordic woman froze, the bloody knife falling from her hands as her foe's blade lay across her neck like a promise made steel. The young noblewoman abruptly stopped her advance and stared back at Lydia, her lovely, arrogant face displaying equal amounts of fear and determination. "No!" she panted, "You can't kill her." Lydia paused, regarding the young woman standing defiantly only a couple of yards away. The black silk of Sabra's ridiculous pirate outfit clung fetchingly to her slim body and her richly jeweled sword trembled slightly in her hand. "You really want to keep your pet cow alive?" she asked contemptuously. Sabra nodded slowly. "Then fight for her." Lydia spat, a wicked smile curving her thin lips. With a determined grimace, the younger woman once more started toward the blonde officer, but checked her advance yet again as Lydia raised an admonishing finger, her sword still firmly held against Hlida's throat. "Old style, I think I said." she said mockingly. Worrying her full lower lip between her small white teeth, Sabra's gaze wavered between the two women, momentarily stunned with indecision. After a long minute, she gave another rueful nod and, lowering her sword slightly, took a small step forward. Lydia watched with growing interest as the young woman raised her free hand and slowly began unbuttoning her black silk blouse. A narrow swath of pale young skin appearing enticingly as her hand moved down the front of her blouse, the cleavage formed by the round swells of her breasts revealed as cloth parted. Taking another tiny step toward her avidly watching foe, Sabra pulled the blouse from her trousers and shrugged and the gap between the two flaps of cloth widened dramatically. The young woman's torso was slender and long, her stomach flat and slightly convex, her breasts youthfully round handfuls capped by small conical nipples and areola of the palest pink, pointed slightly upward. Lydia's tongue darted across suddenly dry lips as she watched the beautiful blonde shed her garment, the silk whispering against her creamy white skin. Sabra shook her left sleeve free, then switched her sword to her opposite hand and let the blouse fall from her right arm to the ground, leaving her upper body entirely exposed to the warm, stuffy air. Lydia's gaze was riveted on the soft curves of the young woman's half naked body, the wounded woman behind almost completely forgotten as lust mixed with the battle fury thrumming through her. Sabra's free hand rose to remove the red bandanna from her head, releasing a curling cascade of shining golden hair to fall about her bare shoulders, giving the naked, sweat soaked woman an unobstructed view of her flawless, beautifully shaped body. Her hand moved down, absently brushing the sensuous swells of her full, youthfully round breasts. Her fingers traced the gentle inward curve of her belly and she took another small step toward her foe, her sword trailing behind her. Her soft lips parted as she feigned a sigh and ran a finger suggestively along the waist of her black silk trousers, toying with the draw string even as the muscles of her sword arm tensed. Three things happened in the next second. Sabra's rapier swept from behind her as she lunged, a snarl suddenly deforming her soft generous lips, her lithe body leaping into a full extension. A split second later the target of her abrupt maneuver spun away, an impromptu pirouette that almost completely avoided the speeding weapon. The young noblewoman's blade sped through the empty space where Lydia's heart had been only a split second before and Sabra's pretty blue eye's widened in horror as her sword plunged into her champion's chest. Blood trickled down her left side from the shallow cut that the point of the young woman's blade hand scored and her naked, sweat slick body trembled as Lydia realized just how closely she had come to death. Her ears were filled with the sound of her heart thumping above the shallow cut on her chest, but she was oblivious to the jagged pain, her blue- green eyes shining with unalloyed delight at the tableau before her. It couldn't have been more perfect. The big silver haired warrior was standing absolutely still, the bloody dagger she had intended to plunge into Lydia's back extended in both hands high above her head. A length of shining steel ran at a downward angle from the deep cleft between the slopes of her heavy distended breasts, it's point winking brightly from between her broad shoulder blades. Hlida's square, handsome face was a mask of betrayal, her gray eyes shining with pain as she stared down at her young employer. Sabra also stood frozen to the spot as if she were posing for a fencing illustration, her feet far apart, her body low and forward, sword arm stretched to it's limit with her weapon buried in her champion's chest. But the young woman's face was drawn with sudden horror, her mouth agape, her soft blue eye's wide and staring, trying to comprehend the disastrous result of her scheme. Sabra began to slowly shake her head from side to side, trying to deny reality as she stared back into Hlida's disbelieving eyes. For a long moment neither woman moved, their bodies frozen in mutual horror. Then the knife Hlida held aloft slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers and fell to the floor and the thump it made seemed to break the spell. A single cough issued from the muscular woman mouth, crimson spraying from her lips as blood from her collapsed lung flooded her esophagus. Sabra jerked back in response, her hand twitching away the hilt of her sword as if it had grown red hot. "I...I..." she stammered, her voice small and contrite. "I'm so sorry Hlida..." Hlida's hands came down to grasp the steel impaling her chest and glanced woefully down at her battered frame, numbness creeping through her body like a life-stealing thief as blood flowed from her wounds, painting her tall body with sticky red stripes. With a pain filled grimace, Hlida threw her head back and gave voice to a loud, agonized shriek. As Sabra flinched away from the sound, her dying champion suddenly turned and with a roar threw herself at their mutual antagonist, crimson stained hands reaching out towards her throat. Lydia froze like a deer before a charging boar, unable to believe that anyone could be so grievously wounded and still be mobile. Before she could move to defend herself the mortally wounded warrior crashed into her, knocking them both to the floor and sending her sword spinning out of her hand. The stunned blonde officer landed hard on her back, thick fingered hands closing on her throat as they fell, and a split second later Lydia felt a sharp pain as the sword hilt protruding from her attacker's body jabbed against her chest. Hlida barked a single sharp shriek, her muscular frame spasming as the hilt of the sword pushed against her foe, driving the blade further through her. The silver haired warrior's vision blurred as a tidal wave of pain swept through her and more blood gouted from her mouth, spattering her arms and hands with dark red droplets. Her hands convulsed open and she jerked to her knees, her fists and forearms pressed hard against her massive, crimson painted breasts, her head thrown back in a grimace of ultimate agony. With a last shuddering gasp the Hlida toppled onto her side, her body twitching and shivering as she died. With a deep gasp of relief, Lydia heaved herself onto her elbows, glad she'd been spared a prolonged death struggle with the dying woman. She gazed incredulously down at the tall woman sprawled across her lower body, their legs entwined, their bodies soaked with sweat and blood. Hlida's blood spattered frame was rigid even in death, her hands clutching the jeweled pommel of the sword that had been driven to the hilt in the deep cleft between her large pillowy breasts, back arched in a final spasm of agony, her harsh features drawn in a last glare of hatred. A high shrill scream brought Lydia's head snapping up, her eye's widening as she saw the young woman charging toward her with the dead woman's sword held high above her head. Sabra's face was twisted with fury and despair and lurking guilt as she ran to attack the prone blonde officer, determined to slice her to ribbons with the heavy blade of her slain bodyguard. Frantically Lydia pushed and kicked the dead woman off her, rolling to her feet just in time to duck a wild slash from her attacker. With a snarl the experienced fighter lunged under the young woman's guard, slamming a shoulder into her unprotected midriff, sending her flailing off balance. The tip of the dead woman's sword drew a line of fire across Lydia's flat stomach as Sabra fell heavily to the floor, sweat bouncing from her lithe young body. Lydia stepped back with a grimace of pain as her foe's weapon skittered from her hands and glanced down at the long, shallow level cut a scant inch above her navel. An angry look creased Lydia's face as she saw her half stunned opponent already crawling toward the longsword lying a few feet away. "Arrogant little bitch!" she hissed, flinging herself at her foe. She landed fully atop the slim blonde girl's back, her body's impact drove the air from her enemy and the enraged officer immediately grabbed a double fistful of long, sweaty blonde locks and began banging the young woman's head against the floor. Sabra's slender frame flailed and bucked beneath her attacker with each blow, her nose snapping against the hard packed earth with a spray of blood. One of her hands brushed against metal and the young noblewoman scrabbled at the object, her hand wrapping around the leather hilt of her foe's knife. But before she could use the weapon, a hand clamped around her wrist and a sinewy arm snaked around her throat. With a grunt of effort Lydia rolled their entwined bodies a half turn, wrapping her strong legs around the dazed woman's own sweat slick legs. The young fighter gagged as her foe's arm cut off her air and the two women fought for control of the weapon waving wildly above them. Sabra's hold on the knife hilt kept it's blade pointed down at their struggling bodies and she fought to keep it aloft while her enemy pulled down, trying to impale her. As she fought to control the wavering blade, Lydia felt a unstoppably rising tide of pleasure well up in her lower belly, spreading it's warmth to infuse her slim, well muscled body with sweet fire. Her small jutting breasts flattened against her young opponent's slender back, their nipples scrapping deliciously against the soft skin. The writhing blonde girl's small silk clad buttocks pushed hard against Lydia's crotch, rubbing and thrusting against her aroused sex as their legs tangled, tender sweat slick thighs pressing and slipping against each other through the light fabric. The first electric taste of orgasm washed the back of her mouth and Lydia moaned softly, feeling herself lifted on a wave of impending ecstasy. Striving to keep the blade above her, a sudden thought penetrated Sabra's awareness and her fear shot eye's widened even further. "She's enjoying this!" the young noblewoman realized. Panic raved through her aching skull as she fought to draw air into her battered body, the lack of oxygen making her feel dangerously light headed and lending a tint of unreality to the bizarre situation she found herself in. "This simply can't be happening to me!" Sabra thought, her eyes fixed on the sharp tip of the bloody blade that, despite all her efforts, was still descending with implacable slowness. "I'm a daughter of a noble house!" her uncomprehending mind insisted, "I'm young and beautiful and rich and this isn't supposed to happen to me!" Deep within herself, Lydia felt herself ascending on an ever rising tide of sexual sensation, leaving her bruised and bleeding body behind. Indeed, every ache and pain caused by her wounds seemed only to heighten the indescribably erotic feelings that penetrated and enveloped her consciousness. The weak thrashing of her half naked opponent seemed almost irrelevant as Lydia was overwhelmed by wave after wave of blindingly intense orgasmic energy, fusing her overloaded senses and making her sleekly muscled body convulse powerfully again and again until at last her mind spiraled into the blissful unconsciousness of orgasmic light... ---------------------- With a jolt that thrummed though her battered frame Lydia awoke, her eyes snapping open with an almost audible click. A weight pressed down on her, making it difficult draw air into her exhausted sweaty body and Lydia instinctively pushed at the unmoving form lying atop her. After a minute of pushing and scrabbling, Lydia managed to wriggle out from beneath the ominously heavy weight. Lying next to the blood smeared body, reality flooded back into Lydia's mind, ride a wave of dull pain that emanated from the numerous cuts and bruises adorning her slender frame. The blonde noblewoman's pretty face wore an expression open mouthed shock, her pale blue eyes wide and glazed in death. The leather wrapped handle of Lydia's dagger jutted from the cleft between the youthfully swelling mounds of her small breasts, it blade skewering her heart. Each round orb of tender flesh was crisscrossed by numerous red scratch marks, though whether they were caused by own hands or were somehow self inflicted, Lydia could not discern. Blood had flooded down the gentle rise of the dead woman's sternum to form a crimson pool upon the tan flatness of her belly, and rivulets of blood had overflowed to strip both side of her slim waist. In the wake of the most profound sexual experience she's ever had, Lydia was entranced by the sight of her defeated opponent. She shifted herself closer and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on the dead woman's slack lips. The taste of the still warm blood that stained the blonde girl's cooling lips brought Lydia back to full reality and with a groan she sat up and tried to assess her situation. The naked form of the big silver haired bodyguard still lay where she had fallen, the jeweled hilt of Sabra's sword protruding from her chest like a gaudy ornament, it's blade jutting redly from her hard muscled back. Only a few scant feet away lay the corpse of her mistress, arms and legs akimbo on the hard dirt floor, her youthful features frozen eternally in an expression of utter disbelief. Spots of drying blood dotted the floor in a random pattern where the three women had fought, amid of a scattering of discarded clothing and weaponry. Lydia considered the weaponry. The jewel hilted rapier skewering Hlida was easily identifiable as her mistress', while the thick bladed knife protruding from Sabra's chest was practically generic, the sort of weapon that could be purchased anywhere and carried by anyone. Anyone at all. "Lover's quarrel." Lydia murmured to herself. A thin, wicked smile grew on her face as she forced her aching body into motion. Humming a cheery tune, Lydia began removing all evidence of her presence from the empty warehouse.