Zaria returned to her room very early the next morning following the lengthy tattoo session. Tsudros, the young artist had warned her she would have considerable pain for five days and to see him the next day for the ointment to stop the sickness which could come to her skin. She knew the other two girls would still be asleep and did not want to wake them. She was aware Branka had gone through a horrific ordeal at the hands of Sharvur the night before, and Svetlana would be anxious about her new life under the commands of her new master, Murka the warrior general.
As she entered her room, as always attended by Mila, the older Slavic woman assigned to her, she asked for no food to be brought, only to be left cool, fresh water. She knew the night would be painful, but Tsudros had given her a small leather wrapping of the paste made from bees to stop the pain which now radiated over her shoulder and down her arm. Zaria stepped into her room and went over to the polished bronze mirror. In the somewhat skewed image, under the torchlight, she saw again the fanciful creature Tsudros had created for her. Its majestic eagle wings flowed down sensually from her upper shoulder where the horned griffin creature looked out at the viewer with wise, confident eyes.
She felt somehow different that night. More emboldened and even more unique. She knew that if Sharvur was going to give her special privileges in his kingdom, she was going to take them and live them to the fullest. For she also assumed there would be a huge limit to her being a woman in all its aspects—a condition which would never allow her, even as a slave among the Pazyryk people, to be with a man and have the joyful experiences of other young women.
As she stood naked and alone before the mirror, she picked up the small leather pouch and began to administer the soothing cream on her graceful wound. The etched design started at her neck and undulated down to her forearm. She wondered how Sharvur would like this tattoo she now carried on her body, though she cared little if did or did not. It somehow represented her new presence and her attitude of defiance. Out of the mental anguish and disturbance of her ordeal as a slave, the physical pain of creating the creature on her tender skin seemed to dissolve her angst. She could for once think of other maters than her incarceration and the absurd responsibility which her forced-virginity was supposed to provide to Sharvur's kingdom.
Those thoughts now through the pain turned to the one person who had impressed her the most since her abduction and life on the Eastern plains. He was the only male that made her feel that strange sensation of joy and at the same time tingling for further pleasure which she could not define or even conceptualize, as it only came to her in little traces. She had noticed that sensation first when Tsudros was there, practically on top of her, working diligently and all the while smiling and soothing her discomfort with his kind and sensitive words. Tsudros, the tattoo artist, with his tangled hair and light stubble of an unshaved face. His piercing blue eyes, and his strong arms which displayed the mesmerizing menagerie of realistic creatures. All these attributes of the young artist made him an indelible image of desire in her thoughts. If only he had held her more longingly in his arms as they departed, she now lamented. How would it have made her feel? More powerfully than the thoughts of him she had now, standing naked looking at her partially tattooed body?
As she slowly and carefully dressed with one hand and arm, she drank her cold water energetically. She knew the morning would bring her a tour of her new accommodations in the palace, but cared little for this. What was now more pressing in her mind were those thoughts of the next afternoon when, by Tsudros' own prescription, she would have to see him again in Sharvur's dressing chamber to allow him to sooth and protect her skin.
Zaria fell asleep that night with great difficulty. For this was caused by a strange mixture of pain from the tattoo—and those other pleasant sensations she could not yet define. These new feelings called out to her to be touched. Caressed in those places she envisioned Tsudros was now touching while with her in the darkness. It was her own hands being reluctantly guided by that image of him—keeping her awake with a light massage exactly where she pulsed between her legs. And this sensation continued as it was accompanied by an incessant tingling which seemed to haunt her thighs and breasts. These new yearnings continued persistently until a benevolent sleep finally rescued her.
* * *
The next morning as Mila came to escort Zaria to her new room, she arose slowly and with great discomfort. She quickly reached for the ointment and applied it over the black-lined creature which was now silently a part of her. The Slavic woman helped her dress and become presentable, as she would now inhabit the palace as a "princess" according to Sharvur's public decree.
The new room which had been constructed and decorated for her was not far down the hall from Sharvur's bedchamber. The dark, stone hallway leading to it was lined with torches and the room was considerably larger and with more comforts than the simple cell she had occupied similar to those of Branka and Svetlana. There was a large enclave area to store her clothing, a toilet area, tall vessels of water and a stone table with what appeared to be small vials of perfume set out neatly on its flat surface. The bed was narrow—a reminder that she was never to be with a man, according to the mandate by which she was now seen by Sharvur and his subjects. She also had in the corner of this abode a large fireplace which guaranteed against those unbearably cold winter nights the steppes, as a windy, frozen environment, could dole out its inhabitants.
As Zaria was at the inner-most recess of the room, helping Mila put her clothing into its new place, she turned and was startled to see Sharvur standing just inside the doorway.
"It seems we both have something to share with each other this morning," he beamed. "I hope you are finding your new logging to be fit for a . . . . princess?"
Zaria put on a forced smile. "It is very nice," she said. "I see you have provided for me well."
"And I see you have a new decoration on your body which I would like to inspect."
She did not like Sharvur's use of the word 'inspect.'
"So are you going to show me this new creation or will you keep me in suspense, Zaria?" He waved his hand toward the door, signaling for Mila to leave them together.
"Take off your top, and let me see how this new tattoo compliments your whole body."
Zaria felt her new sense of independence emerging.
"Before I was a princess, you whipped me and humiliated me," she said in a voice holding back its hurt and anger. "I will not feel that way again in your presence," she told him boldly and at great risk for what Sharvur could do or say.
The king seemed mildly shocked by her stolid stance. His anger began to show immediately, but Zaria could see he struggled to temper it. It was now expected that she should no longer be treated as a slave for his deplorable whims if she were to be given such new esteem in the palace.
"Very well," he said, taking her by the hand and simply holding her arm out for a full display of the tattoo. "Yes. It is truly exquisite!" he remarked in a calmer manner. "I have not seen one like it."
He continued to stare at the fanciful creature for several moments.
"We are both fortunate to have such a fine artist in my kingdom," he told her, finally. "I shall have to repay him with something valuable." Zaria looked down and smiled to herself. For now she could only think of how much she anticipated seeing Tsudros that afternoon, just down the hall in the Sharvur's dressing area.
"Now," the king interjected, changing the subject. "This evening there will be a performance of our warrior dancers in the great hall with their traditional drumming and flutes. I expect you to be there at my side, looking as you always do, quite beautifully. Many will see you as the 'princess' now and I would like them to admire you for your gift to us."
Zaria was not impressed with the compliment or the event to which she would be obliged to attend. Yet she wisely knew such obligations came with her new privileges.
"And afterwards I shall be sleeping with your friend Branka again tonight . . . so there will be no need for you to come to my chamber after the performance."
It suddenly pained Zaria to hear this announcement. For she knew the horrors Branka would again have to endure at the expense of Sharvur's cruel lust.
She thought for a moment.
"I have a new request of you as my king," she said, once again boldly and self-assuredly.
"Yes? And what might that be?"
"I would like that my two friends and I continue our lessons of the Scythian language. With your cousin Moshtok. "Might we still have our morning time with him to improve?"
The king thought for several moments, looking around at his princess' new living quarters.
"Yes. I believe that is an excellent idea. Each morning then . . . early. It would not interfere with any of your duties. You may begin tomorrow . . . as before. I will notify Moshtok."
Sharvur left the room quietly, leaving Zaria in her new living space. It was but one room in the great hall of power—but there was no question she alone occupied it.
* * *