wilbursmith_warlock-第62部分
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t the prettiest of the girls； for she had a cast in one eye and a large nose； but she was loyal； loving and true。 At her suggestion Mintaka sold her to a merchant who was travelling to Thebes the following day。 He took Thana with him； but three days later she was back in Avaris； bound by wrists and ankles to the side frame of a chariot of the border guards。
Trok dealt with Thana on his return from Manashi： he condemned her to death by love and she was given to the regiment that had led the charge at Manashi。 Over four hundred men took their pleasure with her until； at sunset on the third day； she bled to death。
For three days Mintaka wept for her without cease。
* * *
The wedding of Pharaoh Trok Uruk and Princess Mintaka Apepi was played out in the ancient Hyksosian tradition that had its origins a thousand years earlier； and a thousand leagues to the east； on the vast treeless steppe beyond the mountains of Assyria from which their ancestors had ridden to the conquest of Egypt。
At dawn on the day of the wedding； a party of two hundred of the relatives and members of the tribe of Princess Mintaka burst into the royal apartments where she had been kept captive ever since her return to Avaris。 There was no resistance from the guards who had been expecting this incursion。 The members of her faction carried Mintaka away； and rode towards the east in a tight formation with the princess in their midst； shouting defiance and brandishing clubs and staves。 Edged weapons of any sort were banned from the festivities。
When the bridal party had been given a head…start the bridegroom led a party of his own tribe； the leopards； in pursuit。 The fugitives had shown no urgency to escape； and as soon as the pursuers came into view they turned back and gleefully launched themselves into the fray。 Even though swords and daggers were not allowed； two men suffered fractured limbs； and there were a few cracked skulls。 Not even the bridegroom escaped without cuts and bruises。 In the end Trok claimed his prize。 He snatched up Mintaka with an arm around her waist and lifted her into his chariot。
Mintaka's resistance was not in the least play…acting； and with her fingernails she inflicted a deep scratch down the right side of Trok's face； which narrowly missed his eye； and the dripping blood spoiled the colourful splendour of his costume。
'She will give you many warlike sons！' his supporters shouted in admiration for the ferocity of the Mintaka's resistance。
Grinning delightedly at the belligerent spirit of his bride Trok drove her triumphantly back to his temple where the newly appointed priests of his order waited to perform the final rituals。
The temple was as yet only open foundation trenches and tall heaps of stone building blocks； but this did not detract from the pleasure of the wedding guests or the enthusiasm of the bridegroom as they stood under the canopy of woven reeds while the high priest bound Mintaka to him with a halter rope。
At the culmination of the ceremony； Trok cut the throat of his favourite war horse； a beautiful chestnut stallion； as a sign that he placed a higher value on his bride than on this other precious possession。 As the animal fell kicking and spurting blood from the open carotid artery the pany shouted their acclamation and lifted the couple into the flower…bedecked chariot。
Trok drove back to the palace with one arm still firmly around his bride； taking no chances on a second escape。 The army lined the way； swarming around the vehicle； and showered gifts of amulets and good…luck charms into the cockpit。 Others held up bowls of wine to Trok as he drove past； and he gulped them； spilling much of it down his tunic where it mingled with the blood from his torn cheek。
By the time they reached the palace Trok was soaked with blood and red wine； sweating and dusty from the ride and the fight to claim his bride； reckless with wine and wild…eyed with lust。
He carried Mintaka through the crowd into their new apartments； and the guards at the door turned back the wedding guests with drawn swords。 However； they did not disperse but surrounded the palace； chanting encouragement to the bridegroom and ribald advice to the bride。
In the bedchamber Trok threw Mintaka on to the white sheepskin that covered the mattress and used both hands to struggle with his sword…belt； trying to loosen the clasp and cursing it lustily when it would not yield。 Mintaka hit the bed and bounced off it like a rabbit startled from her burrow by a ferret。
She raced to the terrace door and tried to wrest it open。 The locking bars on the outside had been put in place by Trok's orders。 Desperately she tried to tear open the panel with her fingernails； but the doors were solid and thick and did not even tremble to her onslaught。
Behind her Trok had at last rid himself of the sword…belt and the scabbard clattered on the mosaic tiles。 He came lumbering unsteadily after her。 'Fight as much as you wish； prettyling；' he slurred。 'It sets my prong on fire when you kick and scream。'
He placed one arm around her waist； and reached around with the other hand to seize one of her breasts。 'By Seueth； what ripe； juicy fruit is this？' He squeezed hard with fingers calloused by the hilt of sword and by the reins of his chariot。 The pain shot through her chest； and she screamed and twisted in his arms； raking for his eyes again。 He caught her wrist。 'You'll not play that little trick twice。' He swung her off her feet and carried her back to the bed。
'Baboon！' she cried。 'You smelly hairy ape。 You foul animal。'
'You sing a sweet love song； little one。 My heart and my prong swell when I hear how much you desire me。'
He threw her down again and this time pinned her with one huge muscular arm across her chest。 His face was inches from hers。 His beard prickled her cheeks； and his breath smelt of sour wine。 She twisted her face away。 He laughed and hooked one finger in the neck of her shift and ripped the silk to below her waist。
He prised out her breasts and one after the other squeezed them hard enough to leave red fingermarks on the tender flesh。 He pinched her nipples and pulled them out until they darkened in colour； then ran his right hand over her belly。 Playfully he prodded one thick finger into her belly button； then tried to force his hand between her thighs。 She locked her legs； one over the other； to deny him。
Suddenly he reared up； straddled her； sitting across her lower body with all his weight so that she could not struggle； and ripped off his tunic。 Under it he was naked。 His body was trained by war； hunting and rough games； and although her vision was distorted by pain； tears and terror； she had an impression of wide shoulders and bulging muscle； limbs thick and thewy as the branches of a cedar of Lebanon。
Still pinning her under him； he twisted round until his belly pressed against hers； and the coarse hair that covered his chest rasped against her breasts。 With mounting terror she felt his massive penis prodding against her。
She fought not only for her dignity and modesty； but as if for her very life。 She tried to bite his face but her small sharp teeth were smothered in his beard。 She clawed at his back and the skin peeled away to jam under her nails； but he did not seem to feel it。
He was trying to force a knee between her thighs； but she kept them locked together； hooking one of her legs over the other。 Every muscle in her lower body was frozen in a rigor of fear and revulsion； hard and as impenetrable as a granite statue of the goddess。
Both of them were sweating； he more heavily。 It poured from his body； greasing their skin so that his huge member slithered over her belly and pounded at the junction of her thighs。
Suddenly he heaved his upper body free； and swung a heavy blow； flat…handed； across her face。 It jarred her clenched jaws； crushing her lips and nose。 She felt blood flood into her mouth and darkness fill her head。
'Open up； bitch！' he panted
