Although the mountains around Lake Tahoe had been covered with snow since September, it was the middle of November by the time the first snow had fallen in Carson City. All the people that lived outside the town had been prepared for this for a month. They had, by long custom, gone into town around the middle of October and purchased the supplies they would need for the winter. The merchants in town had been preparing for this time for years, thanks to long experience. Beans, coffee, flour; most of the staples were laid on in ample supply, because, once the winter set in, no one would see several of those people before March.

Karen was no exception. She had gotten her supplies and was comfortably certain she could last. With the first frost, she had gotten a nearby neighbor to butcher two of her cattle, in exchange for ten percent of the meat. The colder days would keep it from spoiling.

Having had her fill of a large steak for dinner, Karen, dressed in a long-sleeved blouse and a long skirt, had snuggled up under a blanket, reading one of her father's old books by the light of an oil lamp. On the table next to her was a glass of whiskey, and she was further warmed by a roaring fire.

She had been reading for about an hour when she heard the sound of wheels crunching the hardened, icy snow outside. She rose from the couch, leaving the blanket and book behind her, walked to the door, and opened it.

She was a little surprised to see Yolanda, walking up from her wagon. Karen held the door open for her and allowed the Gypsy queen to enter. Shivering, the dark-haired woman walked immediately to the fireplace, while Karen poured her a glass of whiskey. The Romany woman was dressed in a full-length skirt, boots, and a flannel blouse, under a heavy wool coat.

After Yolanda had warmed up, Karen said, "Let's get your horse off that wagon." She threw on a coat and her boots and the two women walked back out to lead the horse and buckboard into the barn. Once the horse was comfortable, they returned to the house. Neither spoke, yet both knew what was to come.

Inside the house, Karen walked toward the fireplace while Yolanda stayed on the opposite side of the room, near the door. Wordlessly, facing away from each other, they slowly took off coats and boots. When they turned around, their eyes met and, still wordlessly, they faced each other, drawing closer to each other. There was hatred in their eyes as they stood three steps apart.

Yolanda slowly began to unbutton her blouse, her eyes still locked with Karen's. The blonde imitated her rival's actions. Since it was winter and no one had been expected, Karen wore no corset. By nature of her tradition, Yolanda was not wearing one.

For the first time, the two women faced each other undressed. For the first time, each could see the full, chiseled muscle of her opponent's upper body. And, for the first time, each realized that the other had made her that way.

They each studied the muscles of the other, the perfection of form and attitude, not overdone, but giving the aura of quiet confidence and power. Each took the time to admire the beauty of her opponent, Karen studying the dark features of the Gypsy woman who was still wearing the sash around her head. Yolanda studying the long blonde hair and pale features that her rival displayed. Then their eyes locked again, with even greater intensity and greater hatred, as each realized just how equal, in every way, they really were.

Slowly they closed the distance between them, until the two sets of perfect breasts touched, drawing a gasp from each woman, like contact with live electricity. They pressed further into each other, each challenging the other with her eyes. They reached for each other's right hand underneath the breasts and clasped hands as if in a handshake. But the grip was tighter than any handshake ever offered by any woman.

Although she knew the ritual, Karen had not done this in quite this way before. Tamara had explained quite thoroughly how the combatants were to face each other bare-breasted, and the reasons for it, but, to the disappointment of each of them, they had not done it that way.

Even though they were dressed, Karen could still feel the older woman's nipples boring through both blouses against her own. And she had been able to feel her own breasts get harder and tighter as the hands gripped below.

Tamara's eyes never left hers, and there was a light in the darker beauty's eyes, something that Karen had never seen there before. Karen felt her excitement grow by the second. At last, she was meeting her teacher in a test of strength that one of them would win, because there was no sign that either woman would surrender. For half an hour, the two women tested each other's strength.

Then the glow left Tamara's eyes and she suddenly broke off with a cry, pulling her hand free of Karen's. She needed the help of her left hand to do it, but she freed herself from the grip, and rose and fled, leaving Karen to call her name behind her.

As she looked at the agony that was Yolanda's face, Karen knew that the battle of their spirits was vicious. Neither of the women could dominate with her grip or her body. The women grunted loudly, each feeling the other's breasts, hard, unyielding, against her own. For over an hour, they faced off like this, the spirit of the other goading them on, as it had in all other contests between them, though this time fueled even more by the closeness they felt.

The muscles in their right forearms screamed, and their vocal cords screamed as well, yet neither gave in to the other. It was no longer a matter of giving in to the pain, it was now giving in to the other.

Fighting the slickness that their sweat caused, each woman cupped her left breast with her free hand, now. She pressed her nipples had into her opponent's right breast, trying to use them as weapons as well, but to no avail. Their spirits were evenly matched and the muscles and will of the two strong, intense women were too evenly matched as well.

For both women, there was the certain knowledge that this was the prelude to the final test of strength between them, the one which would leave only one of them alive. There was no avoiding it and both knew it. For the Gypsy queen, it was not necessarily a new experience, but she had never faced an opponent like Karen before, in strength or in spirit. Karen, for her part, remembered her final duel with Tamara which, though incomplete, taught her about the strength of the female spirit and the depth of hatred of an equal spirit could cause.

Neither could say with any confidence that she would win the duel that both knew they would have, and preserve her own life. But the greater duel between them, the duel of their spirits, had taken on a life of its own.

Each felt her strength waning. Each felt the grip of the other waning as well. Yet each held on with all of her remaining strength, with the last of her reserves of endurance and determination.

Finally, the muscles in Karen's hand and forearm gave out and her grip slackened. Yolanda maintained her grip, barely, to prove that she had, this time, outlasted her blonde rival.

The hands dropped, but neither woman moved away from her rival. Each was too weakened by their contest. Each sagged against the other and waited for some strength to return.

Ten minutes later, they were seated side-by-side on the couch, each holding a glass of whiskey in trembling hands. Neither spoke, but each knew what the other was thinking. Each of them had won two contests. Neither could be described as stronger than her rival. Under the Romany custom, to settle the question, there was only one more battle between them.

The death duel.