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Deals and Thievery. Hakim stepped into the small smoke filled chamber, the weight of some vague dread upon the necromancers shoulders. "Vulkos my ghost, I have a task for you," Quoth Hakim to his retainer. The lithe albino Kushite looked up from his hoopa. "Yes." He stated with elucidate stillness, deadly pink eyes dilated in the thrall of the Stygian drug Noce. This was a substance which placed its imbiber in a detached state, passive to the point of catatonia until they acted. But when the user erupted into action they were blindingly fast, faster than a striking adder. Fearsome tales were told of the berserk warriors of Noce. "There is a barbarian and slave girl I want you to eliminate." "Yes," the alabastrine Vulkos prompted. His limber limbs could have been hewn from stone, so still was he. The totality of the rangy man's demeanor bespoke minimalist economy, from his compactly powerful frame to his choice of unadorned twin falchions that hung snug upon his rangy hips. The man at arms listened with the no sign of emotion. Hakim was perturbed as he considered his assassins quarry. Despite appearing to be an ignorant barbarian, the sorcerer sensed that Amra was shrewd and wily, a dangerous man to cross. Crossing the burly warrior and his nefarious sidekick was fraught with risk. But remaining idle was to court disaster. This was a desperate situation and his hand was forced; Amra and Kilis must be eliminated, swiftly and in a manner that did not point towards Hakim. "Amra and ... Kira. They are hiding somewhere in the ruins." "They shall be dead before the setting of the next sun." The albino stood then vanished through the doorway to the shadows beyond in a white blur, stepping with the noiseless poise of a hunting wolf. So swift was his departure that it left one wondering if the man had been there at all, if he truly was an insubstantial ghost. Hakim rested his hands upon a stone window sill, his ancient eyes burning with desperation as they swept across the decayed metropolis. The events in the market were at the fore of his thoughts. Whilst there was always intrigue afoot amongst the wizards of Hrul Throst, plotting against the omnipotent Ashir was foolhardy at best. The heartless Praetor had made countless examples of those who sought to depose him. At this moment Hakim deeply rued hiring the two rogues to kill the despot, but the deed was done. Now he needed to clean up his mess. He must deal with the assassin and the slave girl then dispose of his assassin. After all it was much easier to dispatch retainers than directly opposing the Preator, especially when the wily old wizard was on guard. * * * Amongst the glum shadows of teetering chimneys and off kilter roofs an icy hearted thief watched the barbarian and slave girl with avid interest. With wicked calculation the voyeur noted that the pair had exhausted themselves in spectacular lovemaking and would lie together in sated bliss till dawn. The guileful thief had easily followed the barbarian and the slave girl where the city guard could not. After all, the back ways and hidden roof top routes were his daily paths and guile was part of his nature. Rigo knew of the incredible bounty on Amra's head, but Rigo's also featured on the wanted notices that fluttered on the gibbet posts in the square, albeit less prominently then the barbarians. The Praetor was not known for his mercy, but surely Rigo could convince the fickle ruler to pardon a small fish like himself to net a big one like Amra, particularly since Amra had personally slighted the Praetor. His mind made up, Rigo the thief slipped back through the mazing alleyways to the purple tower of the High Praetor. To occupy himself he estimated the weight of Amra's head. As rounded the last turn and approached the tower his feet began to drag. Arm throbbing with pain he loitered about the towers gates, not wanting to enter, beginning to doubt the wisdom of his plan. Perhaps he could have someone else to enter the tower in his stead. If Wila were still alive she would do, but she was not. The choice was taken >from his hands when two guards rounded the corner behind him and spied him skulking like the cut purse he was. With nowhere to flee the gutter rat approached the guards. They eyed him warily. "You. I know you. You're a wanted man." The guard grabbed him. "It's the gallows for the likes of you." "I have news. I know where Amra and Ashir's slave girl are," he said urgently. "Tell us!" a guard ordered grimly, the other nodding. By the shrewd glimmer in the guardsmen's eyes it was deadly clear they wanted the reward. "Tell us or we'll have a sorcerer read the truth in yer smoldering entrails..." the other said with a cruel leer. Rigo grinned but did not cower. "I'll tell the High Praetor himself and only if he gives me the reward and a pardon." "A pardon? No one ever gets a pardon..." The first guard considered then snorted. "Very well, come with me." The guard led the thief through the gates, his partner following with a firm hand upon the thief's shoulder. They strode across a torch lit courtyard, their shadows prowling sinister upon the blue marble walls, then through the gargoyle and sigil adorned doors. Somberly the trio ventured into a curiously appointed ante chamber lit by flittering firefly lanterns which limned Rigos haggard features in livid hues of lime and lilac. "Touch nothing if you value your life." Rigo eyed the furnishings, calculating their immense wealth but wisely waited. Shortly the first guard returned and lead Rigo into a small smoky chamber. Within, crouched like some sinister spider, sat the Praetor at a simple desk. Ashir sniffed the rogue with repugnance. "The guard tells me you are nothing but a common criminal which should be hung from the gibbets as food for the crows. And you come before me seeking a reward and your freedom in exchange for the whereabouts of the barbarian? A brave fool... Tell me where Amra is and you shall live," there was something sinister to the way Ashir enunciated the word live that raised alarm bells with the duplicitous thief. "The barbarians reward and my pardon or I say nothing!" Rigo blustered. "It is not fitting that a wanted man goes free. It sets a poor example. However I think I can accommodate your wish without breaking the law. Bend it perhaps, but not violate its integrity. Yes, I shall ensure that you will no longer be a wanted man," the Preator smiled at the double entendre which only he understood. "You shall be free with all the wealth you can carry," Ashir explained. "In fact with my arts I can even cure you injured arm. It smells like it is going septic. Quite a fair deal I'd say." Rigo scowled uneasily. This felt more like a deal with the devil. "You'll not have me executed or put in jail?" Ashir shook his head, "and your criminal record will be a thing of the past. And with the wealth I shall give you, you could live like royalty. You could even have your own personal harem... if you like. What do you say? Is it a bargain?" "Yes. My reward first!" Ashir grinned and reached within his voluminous robe and withdrew a glowing piece of amber. "Very well then... look into the eye." * * * Long before dawn stole over the city Kilis opened his eyes. Half asleep he stared up at the cracked ceiling and in that moment of reverie he felt that his sense of self was wholly normal. Absent mindedly he sighed in relief. He was no longer haunted by the possessive nightmare of being trapped in the form of a well turned voluptuary. In his languid oneirism he considered the memory of his uncanny dream avatar and was disturbed that the remembrance lingered in his mind more vividly than any dream. In that fevered fantasy his nature had been abnormally sundered. He lazily considered where the notion of being a shapely female wanton had come from. He had always liked woman. Loved them in fact, adored their bodies and worshiped them with his, but in all his wildest imaginings he had never contemplated being one, let alone having his aggression and masculinity sublimated to a raging and unquenchable female libido. Why would he dream of being ensnared in the form of a sultry woman ruled by hot blooded desires? And such a sensuous body at that? The recollection of the firm tender breasts on his chest and the hedonistic pleasure in his loins dried his mouth. He felt his heart palpitating, urging him to true wakefulness. A feeling of sexual desire was aroused within Killis, at once unfamiliar and yet disturbingly familiar. Killis reached down and felt a warm moistness. "Oh no," she said as she sat up. Her lustrous dark hair spilled about her narrow shoulders and the heavy weight of her pendulous breasts swayed enticingly. "What is it?" Amra asked, his hand resting upon her graceful waist. "I must tell you something. I am not who I appear to be. I... I am Killis," the girl blurted, her eyes becoming tortured with shame. "What is this nonsense you prate?" Amra asked. She looked down obsequiously. "The High Praetor did this to me. He is a vile sorcerer. He unmanned me, trapped me in this body which makes me submit to my masters whims and wishes..." Amra considered the subservient attitude of the girl. Could it be? There were similarities in the mannerisms and voice. Amra removed his hand from her generous hip and regarded her graceful beauty with a growing horror. It came back to him, their mutual recognition at what he had presumed was their first meeting. "Killis?" he whispered, all colour draining from his face. A tear streamed down her check to drop upon her left breast and run in a rivulet between the curves of her cleavage. "But I bedded you. You let me..." He turned his memory to the evening before, his teeth gritting in anger and his entire body shuddering with pent rage. The girl nodded. "I could have stopped had I wanted to. But I did not want to!" Her fists balled at the shame of it all. "I considered it for a moment, but then I yielded to my desires. I wanted you. I still want you! I am driven to indulge in carnal acts. I have become a creature of abject obedience. Even now, were you to command me, I would be yours." So saying she hopefully lifted the curtain which covered her lower body, offering herself to him. Amra regarded her naked charms and, whilst he was drawn to her, he shook his head in denial. "The Praetor did this to you? Did this -" he motioned at her splendid body. It was truly desirable. He rose and stalked to the window, his emotions in turmoil. With a gentle padding of feet Killis approached him from behind, placed her arms about him. Her fine hair spilled like rivulets over his powerful back. He let her hold him for a moment, taking comfort in the soft press of her flesh upon his. He swallowed, turned and disengaged her velvet arms from his, deciding that he could no longer desire her in that manner, despite what his body wanted. "Tell me how." "With the Amber Eye. He brought it to my cell and made me stare into it. The thing twisted my body, stripped me of my manhood. A transmigration he called it. Death and rebirth. As I was held spell bound the changes occurred. You can see the results." She motioned at her well formed breasts. "But that was merely my physical sublimation... he made me imbibe his sorcerous philtres which infused my body with such cravings as you could not imagine. Then he gave me to that brute Queeg. I performed other acts..." she paused, her mouth working but unable to find the words, "...other rites which moulded and bent my will to his. He tithed my body, enforced me to act upon the philtre inspired desires until they were second nature," the look in her glimmering eyes was fiery yet haunted, begging him to ask no further. She did not wish for him to know that no force was applied, that once she had ingested the love potion she had become a willing and rampant pleasure seeker. "Finally when Queeg was done Ashir returned and took me to the secret chamber where he kept the eye. He told me that I could take it, look into it and will my former body back. He laughed in my face. ?If you have the will!' he mocked. He knew I did not. I did not!" Amra ran a hand reassuringly over her dainty cheek. He considered wrapping his hands about that delicate neck and ending his friends suffering. It would be a mercy. No man could survive this. He swallowed a laugh, full of madness. No man. But he could not kill a woman in cold blood. "Then, when Ashir knew I was truly broken, he questioned me again about our mission. I told him everything I knew, but not what he desired. I knew not our patron or our target, but when I mentioned we were to retrieve an artifact he grew agitated. I suspect he believed it was the Eye." Amra nodded and closed his eyes. "You were correct. We were to kill the Praetor ... but I dare not hand the Eye to any man. It must be destroyed. But if I were to force you to look into it first, could I will the return of your body." The girl nodded. "I believe so. But, I am not sure that it would cure me of all my desires. The potion Ashir gave me... it twisted my mind. I... have grown to like this body. Being your bondmaid is what I aspire to. But if it is your will, I shall submit, though I suspect I would forever after be a slave girl trapped in a man's body." Her eyes begged him not to force that fate upon her. "Amra, we should flee this place as we are, if not for my sake then for yours!" she pleaded. Amra stared at her for a moment in disbelief. "Talk like that and I'll knock your head in, girl or not," Amra growled in a quarrelsome voice. "But-" "We shall get you back your manhood. The drugs and your body have clouded your mind but it shall pass," he said with dauntless determination. He lifted Kilis' bag with his poisons. "I have a plan. Tell me of this secret den where Ashir keeps the Eye." * * * In the late hours of the night Amra perched atop the outer garden wall of the purple tower. Below him a troupe of guards led by a beautiful girl exited the tower for the city. She looked to be a slave girl, such was her state of undress, yet gold and gemmed jewelry dripped like honey over the splendid curves of her naked body. She moved hesitantly, unusually self conscious amongst the guardsmen. Amra sense something unnaturally feminine about the girl and suspected that like Kilis she had not always been a woman. His curiosity was piqued and he briefly considered following her, but decided against it. Instead he waited, sighting down his axe, nimble muscular limbs poised for attack. Below a patrolling guard paused, not quite certain what was amiss. With innate feline grace the barbarian fluidly twisted his entire body to send the axe whipping downwards with unerring aim, impaling the guard through the head. So quick was his demise that there was not even a cry. The Cimmerian thanked Crom for his good aim. There was the sound of footsteps and the barbarian pressed his lean body into the top of the battlement wall, eyes narrowing. More guards were approaching. His blue eyes searched the hedge maze, ears straining with preternatural attentiveness to the sounds of the city. "From where?" he growled, eyes flashing like a wildcats. In an instant he discerned that they were heading away. In a whirlwind of activity the man dropped from the wall upon which he was perched, crossed to the guard in two graceful bounds, snatched his axe and quickly slipped away along a hedgerow path. Amra flitted noiselessly amongst the verdant shadows with the predatory grace of a hunting cat. He stole through the labyrinth of privet hedges then scowled as he suddenly rounded a corner and was confronted by a guard patrol crossing a small octagonal courtyard surrounded by shelterbelts with paths existing on all corners. Without pause the guards drew their blades and advanced hurriedly upon him. Assuming an open stance he raised his ready axe in an exaggeratedly broad movement, his other hand drawing a dagger. He backed away and let them close on him so the confines of the maze were to his advantage and their numbers worked against them. "Make way or your innards will nourish the trees," Amra said with such calm conviction that three of the guards faltered in their advance. But two still advanced. One of the guards thought to take the barbarian quickly and moved to swat the axe from his hand. With a fluid riposte, Amra dove forward under his swipe and scored a deep wound along the impudent guards forearm. The man dropped his blade and swore, staunching the flow of blood with pressure from his good hand as he backed away. The second guard hissed angrily as he lunged forward. His blade was blocked and then forced high by Amra's axe. Without pause the rangy barbarian stepped in close to the guard and drove his dagger deep into his shoulder. The guard grunted in surprise. He winced in pain as the blade was pulled free. He back peddled out of the fight. The remaining trio of guards moved cautiously forward after seeing their compatriots so effortlessly dispatched. "Come on, it's the three of us against one," one of the guards snarled encouragingly to his friends. "He was lucky against the others." Sensing that they had the advantage of numbers the guards moved forward with greater certainty to dispatch their solitary foe. Two fanned out, moving slightly to each side of Amra and the third bided his time directly in front. Amra stood his ground like a wolf at bay, waiting for the guards to make the first move. With a bark from the middle guard, the three warriors attacked, swinging stabbing and slashing with abandon. With a flurry of feet Amra spun, twisted and hacked up, blocking masterfully with his axe and dagger. A blade dove at his eyes and he knocked it aside with his dagger, following through with a wickedly fast axe swipe at his foes face. The centre guard fell back, his skull shattered. Now Amra faced two guards. Still confident with their numbers, they pressed the attack. Amra feinted towards the first guard then dropped and spun, his axe cutting clear through the seconds leg. Without pause, Amra continued his spin and leaped up into a forward dive towards the first guard, lashing out with his axe at the zenith of his leap. His blade hit the guards hand. The last guard yelped in pain as his fingers were mercilessly severed and his sword fell from his stump of a hand. Amra landed deftly and sped away towards the tower. Those remaining guards still mobile struggled to follow but Amra was too fast. "Ah, horse dung!" Amra swore doing a rapid about face and heading back the way he had come. Ten more guardsmen poured through the entrance to the courtyard he had just vacated, with others storming the other entrances. Amra was surrounded. A tiny crossbow bolt clipped the stone at his feet. He looked up. Almost half of the guards were armed with tiny little crossbows that were trained upon his chest. "Yeild!" a guard ordered. Amra grinned with the mirth of a wolf. He might be surrounded but he was not captured. Amra had long ago vowed to die on his feet rather than live on his knees especially since the fate which the Praetor would have in store for him was most undesirable. Amra hardly feared such puny weapons. He spun his axe in his hand. Hardly feared them that was until with a twang the first barb bit into his flesh. He staggered sideways drunkenly. "Poison," he muttered, vision swimming. Four more arrows found his flesh in rapid succession. His weapons dropped from his suddenly feeble fingers and he swayed. As the world fell and the light dimmed he realized with final horror that he was captured. * * * Rigo had been swindled. The Praetor had been true to his word, had given Rigo wealth and freedom as promised. But as the transformed thief led the soldiers towards Amra's hiding place with a kings ransom of jewelry adorning her otherwise naked, voluptuously feminine body, the knowledge that she was no longer a wanted man made her feel most queasy. Catching the glances which the guards bestowed upon her, she felt very much like a wanted woman. Rigo felt like an utter rube at being fleeced of her manhood, but right now she had to focus on other, more important things. Like leading these soldiers to Amra and capturing him. The Praetor had made it clear that her life depended upon this, and despite the questionable quality of this new existence she did not want to die. Certainly the jewelry she wore could give her the affluence she had always dreamed of. Her stride quickened at this positive thought. She could buy a submissive slave girl as she had always wanted. Or perhaps a slave boy, muscular and rugged, to take her through the paces of being a woman and play at being her master. Her step faltered as she realized what she had been thinking. Pressing such confusingly enticing thoughts from her mind she led the guards through the city. * * * Quaeeg led Amra through a curtained doorways into the main ante-chamber lit in ghoulish twilight. Within the vaulted chamber Ashir reclined in otiose grandeur upon a cushion piled dais, supping indulgently upon blood red wine and casually stroking the lithe Stygian slave girl stretched forth upon her supple belly beside him. His luxurious lassitude was in direct contradiction to the cruel sparkle of his eves as he surveyed the chained figure of Amra. Despite the opulence of the ante chamber a brooding terror haunted the place. "You took what was mine," Ashir growled. Amra glowered at his captor, every nerve tense, "these girls are not rightfully yours you vulture-hearted charlatan," swore Amra. "You traffic in the black arts and sacrifice innocents to glut your own rapacity. I know what you are! Mark my words fiend, your days are numbered." "You shall know the truth of the matter shortly," Ashir promised as he drew forth the Amber Eye from his robes. His face was alight with a sinister eagerness. At the gleam of the Eye, Amra felt his blood congeal in his veins, but he steeled himself and averted his gaze. He stared at the silken couches, chairs of ebony and ivory, the parquet floors, the satin arrases and velvet hangings which adorned the marble walls, the arabesque ceiling; anywhere but at the High Praetor. Queeg peered curiously at Amra, a grin upon his broken face "Amra, look at me!" Ashir commanded with an overpowering voice. The behest wrought havoc upon his nerves as the barbarian strained against its preternatural force. "Look at me!" Against his will Amra felt his gaze drawn towards the Praetor, bidden by the compelling voice. He beheld the hated countenance of Ashir, met the sorcerers black eyed gaze with a brimstone fire of his own. Sweat beaded his brow as the terror of unnerved hysteria grew. "Good. Now look into the Eye of Dagon!" The moment Amra laid eyes on the monstrous oculus encased in ancient amber he gasped, frozen to immobility. A chill tingling gripped his limbs. There came a period of dim impetus where he became naught but a mote which tumbled adrift through time and space, whirling through the endless cycle of his past incarnations in the infinity of existence. He transmigrated through all his previous forbears, residing once again in all the bodies which had born his ego. He struggled as a babe, a child, an adolescent, an adult and an old one. Bodies slipped from him, both male and female, till he lost all awareness of form. Dimly Amra sensed the interconnection between all living things, all souls, all bodies, spanning endless continuums, an intricately interwoven skein so gnarled and tangled that it bore no semblance of sanity. On and on he tumbled till he reeled at the very core of his being and his sense of identity wavered. To the dimmest dawn of time he was drawn where he found his antecedent self stalking naked through an eerily lit cave, naught but a primeval creature armed with stone spear and indomitable courage. His instinctive barbarian progenitor sought to ambush a many eyed horror limned in the flickering light. The thing was without form but possessed floating oculus which sparked horror and fear. As his ancestor he leaped high and thrust down with his spindly spear. The spear bit deeply but the thing whirled with unnatural speed and crushed him with one of its many tentacle like members. To the core of his soul Amra felt the enmity of this creature and recoiled from it as his ancestral being died. Forward through time he was propelled, the things burning eyes still upon him throughout the agonized throes of his return. Again he fleetingly relived all his lives, his body blurring and twisting between man and woman, boy and girl. He felt that he could tumble down any path, to any time or form. He also sensed the proximity of the thing, its brutal desire for him, its knowing gaze and he hated it. He sensed that the many eyed tentacled thing still existed within the shadows even now. The Eye of Dagon was a two way portal. He saw it and it saw him. He felt its hate. With a primal roar Amra pulled himself free of the power of the Oculus and flexed his arms. Such was his rage his bonds give way as if they were not there at all. His eyes rose to those of the Praetor. Ashir flinched at the blue hellfire which burned in that primal gaze. Amra lashed out at Queeg and sent the jailor sailing back. He leaped forwards, hands clutching for the Praetors neck. "Stop!" the Praetor ordered. Amra froze. "Very interesting..." he approached Amra. "The transformation was not precisely what I intended. Inexplicably the eye seemed to opt for this soma, drawn to this form amongst your myriad past incarnations. It is most pleasing. And much like the form I wear, your form is potent, imbued with latent power." Amra's face wrinkled in surprise. Transformation? He felt no different. Or perhaps he did. Perhaps his chest felt a trifle heavier and swollen. Perhaps long wisps of blonde hair wafted about his eyes and draped like silken threads to his markedly slender shoulders. "Look down!" Midnight blue eyes looked down and reeled as they focused upon a pair of rounded, fleshy swells. His body was that of his caveman progenitor, or more accurately cavewoman; a primal force of nature, a creature exuding raw sexuality. This was the lithe fiery lass who had stalked a monster, who had mastered her fear and leaped with the supple grace of a panther atop a tentacled horror. The limbs were slender but quite muscular, the waist narrow, the breasts and hips generous. In that moment he realized that he had not broken the manacles, they had slipped from his suddenly smaller hands, as had his loincloth. As he considered this in his paralyzed stae he flexed his arms and felt much weaker. Frozen, a silken gossamer slip was pulled over her head by the slave master. The material of the meager garment settled upon her like a second skin, its spry fiber conforming tightly to the nooks and crannies of her curvy chest, the sleek lines of her sensual belly and the heart shaped cleft of her ass. The chemises plunging neck line exposed a great deal of her fulsome cleavage and fleshy breast, her nipples proudly distending the flimsy fabric. The skimpy hem did little to conceal her loins or ass cheeks. Her long athletic legs were disarmingly sexy in their innocent bareness. Queeg also remedied her freedom by looping a narrow silver collar about her neck. Matching manacles of silver were used to bind her arms before her and hobble her slender ankles. A filigree chain from the cuffs linked to the collar and two dangled to the anklets. "Follow me," Ashir ordered and she was compelled to obey. She took in her stride the gentle mincing sway of her broad hips, the dimpling of her sexy derri?re, the soft bounce of her breasts and the soft slipping of her silk smooth thighs as they hitched together in the fetters. As she moved the shifts hem rose embarrassing high and she paused, her face reddening at the loss of her scant modesty. As she dawdled Ashir tugged on her leash, making her cantaloupe sized breasts heave up and down as she jolted forward. He led the girl up a set of winding stairs to the top of his mighty tower. A sumptuous candle lit bedchamber greeted her. He unfastened the manacles about her wrists and chained her collar to the head of the velvet-covered dais-bed. With a sinister laugh he left her in his boudoir to secure the Eye in a safe place. When her returned he bore a potion. "Drink this." He commanded as Amra stared. It was not the potion that captivated Amra but Ashir's appearance, for now the sorcerer wore her former body. Ashir's voice held none of the preternatural compulsion to obey it had before. Obviously the power came from the spidery form he once wore, his primal body as he described it. She shook her head so he gripped her jaw grimly and forced the sparkling liquid concoction to her lips, tilting her head back. The philter burned in her throat as it went down, silver dregs running down her dainty chin and upturned neck. Her eyes watered and she gasped, hot flushes wracking her body as the neurological alterations took affect. "Now you are mine!" Ashir declared as he circled behind her, his hand gliding under her shift and between her legs seeking the moist sensitive folds of feminine loins. She squirmed, not in fright but in pleasure. Pealing back her chemise he exposed the hourglass shaped flesh of her womanly hips and taut abdomen. She nudged her hips eagerly towards him, her back arching and her rump rising in seductive undulation. His broad hands cinched about her waist in a crushingly possessive grip eliciting a muffled moan from the girl. She wiggled her hips expectantly and fearfully whimpered as he straddled her from behind. She felt something round and firm pressing between her loins. With a pantherish thrust he slipped into the warm moist sheath of her sex. He began pumping leisurely into her. Meaty slapping sounds echoed off the cold marble walls. Faster and faster he slammed into her causing the platform bed to squeak. She grew increasingly frantic as guttural feminine grunts slipped from her lips. Her collar restricted her movement. She let out muffled grunts and her breasts wobbled to the forceful beat of his thrusts.