The afternoon came with a storm, blowing cold rain across the plains. Autumn was settling into the Eurasian Steppes as it always did, foreboding of a harsh winter when survival would be tenuous and the Scythian tribes would see a natural attrition to their numbers—particularly the old and the young.
Sharvur had been called out with his generals to plan a raid in the West, as their supplies of goods they needed as nomadic people were running low. Not having the development of agriculture or stationary settlements disallowed them some foods such as grains and dried fruits. Fine cloth and silk they also would steal or sometimes trade for their own supply of gold and gemstones which they gleaned from the mountains. Most of their subsistence besides incursions as raids on other peoples, was hunting, gathering and following the herds of wild horses, elk and mountain sheep
Zaria found Tsudros that afternoon waiting for her in the anteroom of Sharvur's bedchamber. It was where she had procured her first elaborate tattoo, admired by so many, and which set her apart from other slaves, and now as a princess. Knowing Sharvur would be away for several days gave her the confidence to greet Tsudros as she had anticipated—with a warm smile and searching eye for his attractiveness which on more than one night had come to haunt her. Zaria's fantasies of him since their only meeting had left her sleepless in her private but lonely chamber of the palace.
"Zaria, come here . . . and let me see how my work graces you."
Tsudros was waiting with his bag of implements and jars of ointments. His long hair fell freely on his shoulders and his wiry, firm body showed off his height as she stepped up to him to take his hand. Once again she was cast into a spell by Tsudros' stark blue eyes. Was that the magic of his artwork? How he saw the world through such exceptional eyes? Zaria was also impressed by Tsudros strong but graceful hands. She had watched them working on her skin for hours before, careful to scratch out the sensual line of the eagle's wings with each feather distinct from the rest. And how tenderly he had lightly sponged the blood from the curving and swirling wounds he caused her.
"I come to you once more Tsudros . . . confident you will decorate me in the finest way. And again like no other," She took a seat at the long table. On this occasion she had groomed herself in a manner she had anticipated for him. Her golden hair was braided back and she wore a light blue chitin which could be easily slid off her shoulders to allow for his work. She also wore a perfume she was given as a gift from Mila, the women who now attended her full time. The older Slavic slave had made the concoction herself using the pedals of flowers collected in the spring and a rare citrus oil supplied by her warrior lover who would gather it in his raids to the South.
"Well I will do my best, Princess," he replied, looking over her decorated arm and shoulder, lost now in the scrutiny of his previous work.
"And please, Tsudros . . . do not call me 'princess.' I am just Zaria."
"Alright, Zaria," he said smiling self-consciously. "I prefer that too."
Zaria patiently allowed him to look upon the broad design of her tattoo, shifting her chitin down off her shoulder.
"And now, will you do your magic to my other arm?" she asked, holding it out and shifting the top over to expose her opposite barren shoulder.
"I am not certain," he said after a moment and in mysterious way. "I must think . . .dream a bit about you and the design. I need to see the drawing on your body in my mind first . . . and then I will create . . . just what I see."
Zaria was intrigued by this process and smiled at him while he focused on her face and upper torso. Again he was deep in thought.
"But I do not see it here," Tsudros said, passing his hand smoothly over her unadorned shoulder and arm.
"You do not?"
"No. But wait. . . turn away from me," he said, motioning her to turn aound.
Zaria turned as he directed and faced the wall of the small room.
Tsudros then brought several lit candles which were around the perimeter of the anteroom room up closer to the table. He quickly went in to Sharvurs bedchamber and returned, pushing before him a large waist-high vase full of olive oil and with a floating wick. The lamp provided even more light at the edge of the long table.
"Now turn away again," he said.
Zaria complied.
"Can you . . . take off your top so I may see . . . just your back?"
A sudden chill of excitement ran across her neck and shoulders as the artist asked this. And after considering it, she simply pulled the chitin up over her head and removed it, leaving her bare back exposed to him in the bright light.
As Zaria waited in anticipation, she felt a heightened since of anxiety as Tsudros did not speak. He apparently was picturing something there on the broad canvas of her naked back.
"Alright, he finally said. "I see what my mind is asking me to draw. . . here on you." She felt Tsudros' warm smooth hand move from the back of her neck downward in a broad serpentine curve to a point just above her buttocks.
Zaria was speechless. She had not considered her back to have any such tattoo, and certainly not something so sweeping as to cover such a large area of her body. Yet, under the spell of his beguiling hand resting there, and the idea that he had seen something no one else could imagine, she knew she could not refuse his vision.
"Tell me, Tsudros . . . what do you see there . . .?
"I would rather not . . . just let me put my dream there, while I see it so clearly. Trust me, Zaria, that you will love it, as you do the mythical creature which no one else in this kingdom has upon them."
Zaria was feeling a trembling and heightened since of excitement with her naked back still exposed to him, and especially from not knowing what would emerge there. A design she would wear her entire life.
"Alright, Tsudros . . . and yes, I do trust you. I want you to give me what you see. To wear it there on my back, as you have dreamed it."
The sheer boldness of the idea had given her a sense of power and affirmation she could not explain. Zaria knew that what ever it was that Tsudros would carve into her skin would be hidden from most. But who ever saw it would be forced to take notice, to respect her courage and uniqueness. For as she well knew, as the whole community well knew, there had never been a girl or woman who had carried the stigma she was destined to have in the Pazyryk culture.
"Fantastic!" Tsudros said with an enthusiasm that was contagious. "Let us begin, then. Here . . . get up on the table and lay with your back up for me to see in the light."
Zaria left her chitin off and covering her firm breasts with her arm. She climbed up on the table and lay face down. Tsudros took her chitin and rolled it into a pillow for her. He then put it beneath her face readying her for what would prove to be a long and painful procedure. Zaria had expected this and was prepared for the discomfort. Throughout it all she would try to imagine what he was carving with his sharp instruments into her lovely, and innocent skin.
For the rest of the afternoon Tsudros worked tirelessly and Zaria endured the sting and dull pain of the constant etching of her flesh, always on the edge of tears, as before. Though she moaned at times and bit her lower lip to control the urge to cry out, the artist was as gentle as he could be. He constantly sponged the fluids which seeped out of her skin and after saturating the lines with the pitch black oil, he thoughtfully applied the anesthetizing salve to the abrasions concocted from the bodies of bees and wasps.
In spite of the pain, Zaria kept her mind off the ordeal by trying to imagine standing behind the artist and watching him work on her. The mystery of his designs was also a powerful force to keep her in suspense, imagining this creation which curved down her back from top to bottom. At one point, as Tsudros worked near her lower back and just to cleavage of her buttocks, she began to feel an old familiar excitement that had come to her on those nights she could not sleep and fought the impulse to touch herself. This arousal, now mixed with the searing injury of the artist's craft managed to give Zaria the added strength to endure the process to its very end.
"It is complete!" Tsudros finally said, after several long hours of silent work.
Zaria, much relieved, grasped his hand in some finality to the tortuous process. He covered her entire back with a liquid which he claimed would stop any sickness or fever and bent down to her face and placed his hand on her cheek in affection. It was clearly a sign of his admiration for her endurance.
"What will they see Tsudros?" she asked in a hoarse, excited voice.
"Nothing." He said enigmatically.
"Nothing? I have suffered these terrible hours . . . for nothing?"
"Unless you remove your clothing, he said, then smiled in satisfaction. "Only those who have that privilege, as I do to see you . . . will be impressed. Possibly even amazed. For that is my feeling now, Zaria . . amazed. And very satisfied. You have never been more beautiful as now."
Zaria quickly and painfully got up off the bed, forgetting to cover her breasts.
"I must see what you have done! Come! Let us go into Sharvus chamber and stand before the mirror. . ."
'You will need a second mirror to see," Tsudros said. smiling.
"Sharvur has one. A small mirror. I know where he keeps it. Let us go. Now!"
The pain was intense as she moved off the table and got to her feet. She took Tsudros by the hand and still half naked pulled him into the king's bedchamber. Out of a woven basket Zaria produced a small hand mirror and ran to the large polished bronze mirrors he vainly had on the walls.
As she stood with her back to a reflecting panel, she slowly held the hand-mirror up to her face and looked at her back in the golden light of the bedchamber torches. There, dancing down her back in a majestic curve, were seven leopards, each distinctly different, their paws seeming to dance in their sublime and silent procession.
Zaria was mystified as the animals, all powerful and at the same time feminine, seemed so playful yet carried the threat of terrible violence or supreme revenge. While she still smarted greatly from the fresh and open lines, the procession of dancing leopards brought tears of joy to her eyes. She dropped the mirror and threw her arms around Tsudros who stood fearfully unresponsive to her affectionate embrace.
"Oh Tsudros. You have made me so happy! I know I will suffer for many days following this afternoon, but over the length of my lifetime, how ever short or long it will be. . . I will think of you when I feel those wonderful creatures walking, running sleeping . . . or dreaming on my body. . ."
With this, Zaria reached up, and looking into his eyes, put a hand behind his neck. She then gently pulled his face down to hers. As their eyes met, the artist knew he need not fear. He understood Zaria would kiss him out of admiration. But as the kiss was prolonged and developed into a more passionate show of mutual affection, the young artist's body suggested it was no longer fear that accelerated his breathing and compulsion to hold her in his strong, decorated arms.
Before their kiss could evolve into a more dangerous liaison in Sharvurs' bedchamber, Zaria reached up and touched his mouth with her hand. It was a signal to refrain. To never speak of their kiss. And a clear signal to the exceptional artist that she found him exceptional in other ways. Finally, Zaria's endearing hand against Tsudros's face told him this was not the last kiss they would share.
* * *