James Silke - Prisoner of the Horned helmet

Gath did not move or speak.

Brown John chuckled mockingly. “From the very first day at Lemontrail Crossing I have been conspiring to use you for my own dreams, to make certain my Grillards remained free to practice their frivolous magic. And what happens? I am usurped by a girl of my own choosing. A mere child who will not have the slightest idea of which necks to feed your axe, to say nothing of which nation to have you bring down. I am utterly defeated. And unable to help you… the one I would help the most. Yet I will tell you, Gath, whether you trust me or not, I would not trade places with any man. But, if you wish it, I will leave you alone now.”

It was a long time before the shadow replied. When it did, its voice came from the depths of a tortured soul. “Stay, old man, and listen.”

Robin Lakehair sat naked and dry on the bottom of the mammoth flask in Dang-Ling’s secret underground laboratory. Around her the glass glittered with highlights cast by oil lamps, like a huge jewel with Robin’s warm, brown body as the living center.

She was calmly eating brown bread and cheese. When she finished she washed her throat with wine, then curled up against the curve of the bowl and closed her eyes. Sighing long and deep, she cast a suspicious eye through the glass wall and gasped, sat up.

The Queen of Serpents stood regally at the head of the staircase looking down at Robin. She wore full-length armor, a tunic of gold and silver plates that shimmered over her magnificent breasts and sinuous thighs. Her fingers spread over her hips like blood-tipped fangs.

A tiny diamond-and-silver hooded cobra with topaz eyes crowned her raven hair. Her face was polished ivory flushed with scarlet. Her dark eyes glittered with malevolent energy.

Robin sank in a helpless sprawl, her face buried in bare brown arms.

Dang-Ling’s obsequious, half-bowed figure crept around Cobra as he said guardedly, “I hope, your highness, that our procedures with this girl meet with your approval. We have worked diligently but she still holds her secret, that is, presuming she has one.”

Cobra avoided responding by looking around admiringly at the maze of tubes, bottles and vessels. “I am impressed. I have never seen equipment of such complexity.”

“It keeps me amused.” Dang-Ling bowed with an unconvincing show of humility.

Cobra humored him, “I would imagine,” then asked curtly, “What is your specialty?”

Her abruptness startled the priest. His confidence wavered and he stammered, “My specialty? Well,” he rubbed and squeezed his fatty pink hands, “it may not seem very spectacular… or even practical… but in deference to the Butterfly Goddess who is worshipped through the embraces of sacred prostitutes, my laboratory is dedicated to the pursuit of carnal pleasure.”

Amusement coiled in Cobra’s cheeks. She asked archly, “And the Barbarian girl, you have examined her only along these lines?”

Without waiting for an answer, Cobra turned back toward Robin. Dang-Ling qualified apologetically, “Well, no, as a matter of fact. It seemed hardly likely that such a child could have any real carnal power. My efforts have been directed more toward discovering her true nature.”

“And what have you found?”

“Actually nothing. She is merely what she appears to be… a young, exquisite, but inexperienced girl.”

Cobra eyed him condescendingly. “You may have misjudged her, priest. For instance, would you not agree that, for one so young and innocent, she wears her nudity quite naturally, even sensuously?”

Dang-Ling peered down at Robin. “Why… why yes,” he piped with a startled voice. “You’re quite right. That is a precocious quality.”

Cobra’s black-rimmed gold eyes were hard, intense, her voice more so.

“Listen carefully, priest. If the Dark One continues to outwit the helmet, he can turn its powers not only against you and me, but against our master, the Lord of Death himself.”

Dang-Ling staggered.

She pushed a trembling curl away from his round ear delicately. “You are right to tremble. A very sinister and deceptive enemy has revealed herself, the most deadly the Master of Darkness has ever faced, a sorceress who can not only counteract the power of the helmet, but remove it with her bare hands.”

“No! You can’t mean…”

“Yes.” Cobra directed a long finger to the prisoner. “You have caught an extraordinary prize, priest. Invaluable. She controls the Barbarian, and keeps him alive.”

“But I have examined her!” Dang-Ling stammered. “She… she has no magic.”

“Oh, but she has,” Cobra whispered. “You simply were looking for the wrong thing.” Her personality changed abruptly. The woman disappeared, and the dark sorceress took command. “Bring me powdered Ansaria and Meralda roots. And barrels of fresh milk. From cows, goats, cats! It does not matter. Hurry!”

A short time later Dazi and Hatta stood on ladders above the mouth of the giant flask holding a large glass tube steady as it spewed white fluid down the throat of the vessel over Robin’s body. Baak stood on the floor nearby pumping it out of an underground cistern into the glass tubes.

Cobra and Dang-Ling stood on the circular staircase watching Robin struggle against the torrent of milk. She tossed and flailed as her legs were repeatedly swept out from under her. Defiance animated her small face.

Cobra said, “I should have seen it the first time I saw her. She has extraordinary desire… and empathy. An extraordinary combination.”

Dang-Ling’s cheeks flushed with anticipation. “Her flesh is perfection.”

“It is not simply her flesh, priest,” Cobra retorted. “Look closer.”

Dang-Ling edged down the stairs to the bottom of the hole. He steadied his weight against the glass flask, leaned forward until his nose touched it.

Robin was thrashing wildly against the slosh and spill of the weighty fluid, but her movements had an erotic eloquence to them. It was as if her breasts, throat, arms and legs danced with the moving whiteness. Within her nut-brown body a white glow grew and spread under her smooth, firm flesh. It filled her with light, reaching to her toes and fingertips.

“I see it,” Dang-Ling squeaked. “I see it!”

Thin shafts of light began to radiate from Robin, then speared through the glass of the flask and flashed across the priest’s animated face. He staggered back against the wall of the hole, grimacing in terror. The light whipped over him with bright bars, holding him prisoner.

The Queen of Serpents watched the light play over the priest, then shivered. “We will all be well advised to remember this lesson, priest. With a girl such as this one, the flesh is merely an outward sign of what dwells within.”

Dang-Ling, as much as he now wanted to, could not avert his eyes from Robin.

“That’s it,” Cobra hissed. “Look at her. What you see is a body singularly untainted by any substance or idea that might impair its spirit. In short, priest, she is the ideal which drives off the brutal realities the horned helmet forces him to see.”

A last shower of milk spilled down and Robin rolled under its impact, then settled facedown as it sluiced out the drain. Exhausted. Half-drowned. Wet, white streaks trailed down her battered flesh. Before she recovered, the inner light was gone.

“There is nothing to fear from her at this moment as she will have no idea of what we saw, and will remain ignorant of her powers.”

“She must die.” Dang-Ling snapped indignantly. “Immediately.”

“No,” said Cobra. “Even though it would give me great pleasure to kill her with my own teeth, I can not. The Master has instructed me to use her to destroy the Barbarian and retrieve the horned helmet, and we need her. If she were to die, he might become enraged and do irreparable damage to our Master’s work. At the very least I am certain you and I would not survive his displeasure. But she will suffer, priest, that I promise you.”