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Spoils of Victory
©1997, All Rights Reserved They dragged three women into my tent and threw them onto the ground. Two of them were blonde and weeping, the third dark-haired and defiant. "Where does the black-haired one come from?" I asked. "Aren't the Morovians all blond?" "She's a princess of some other tribe, my lord -- a hostage." Arnulf reached down and yanked her hair. "Wipe that look off your face, bitch!" Sparks leaped into her eyes and red into her cheeks. With clawed fingers, she...