“Something must have irritated the Goddess”, was Awana’s conclusion as she folded her tunic, placed it on the cart and waded into the water. It was the only possible explanation to the unfortunate accident that had befallen their party about two hours ago.

The Amazon had had to put up with Baktu’s scornful words: even with a chain on her neck, the Huambo princess retained her aplomb. Her tribe had trespassed the boundary of the Amazons’ kingdom, been spotted by the guards, who dispatched a messenger to the capital, and the Queen had sent Awana’s battalion to expulse the invaders. Their victory had cost dear, though: wounded by the nomads’ spears, Captain Simona and a few other warriors were now being removed to Erimanton on the shoulders of their companions.

Always a good strategist, the commander had asked her onetime lover to take a different road with the captive princess and her pregnant aunt. The group included Simona’s maid Kizumbu and two other girls: Nwanze and her younger sister, Ngonga. All three came from the tribes from which the Amazons recruited their servants: Kizumbu was a Shanti, and the other two Kimbundo. It was easy to tell which tribe each came from: the Kimbundo girls usually cropped their hair short, while the Shanti prized their long dreadlocks. Kizumbu liked to tie hers in a kind of bushy bun, exposing her delicate ears and the graceful curve of her nape.

Early that morning, they had departed from the camp, and all had gone well until a lion jumped onto on the road. Apparently not interested in a meal, the beast just roared at them and disappeared behind the bushes. But the sight of the predator frightened the mare; whining and jumping wildly in her harness, she broke a leg and had to be sacrificed. For a moment, Awana feared that her mission was doomed: how could they reach the capital without a horse?

Her first idea was to hitch the princess to the cart. That would teach her to sneer at an Amazon! However, foreseeing some trick on the part of the prisoners, Simona had kept with her the key to the locks of their chains. Awana had no other option: she told Kizumbu to put her hands behind her back and, in spite of the grimace that appeared on her pretty face, cuffed her wrists together.

“Go between the shafts. You and Nwanze will pull me”, she commanded. Reluctantly, Kizumbu did as she was told: two years living with the Amazons had taught her not to provoke their wrath, and Awana was already upset by the accident with the mare. Training the cart and its driver on the dirt road was not easy, but after a while the girls got used to the weight on their hips and managed to reach the bank of the big river.

Awana had warned Simona against taking with them the pregnant Nubian, but the Captain had been adamant: the child in the womb of Baktu’s aunt was due in a few weeks, and could prove useful if the Queen decided to make peace with the nomads. If a savage tribe agreed to acknowledge the Amazons as their rulers and pay tributes, the wise sovereign usually preferred to show mercy than to squander efforts trying to keep them at bay. Payment could come in various forms: grains, cattle, lion and panther skins to grace the floors of the Amazons’ dwellings, plants to make dyes for their clothes or perfumes for their bodies, strong males for all kind of tasks - and pretty girls like Kizumbu, Ngonga and Nwanze.

How could a nomad tribe pay tributes, Awana had thought, but kept her opinion for herself. The Amazons’ power rested on orders being obeyed, and she didn’t want a charge of indiscipline brought against her.

Once at the safe spot she wanted to reach, the warrior unhitched the girls and allowed them to rest a little before stepping into the calm waters. She knew that she could trust the Kimbundo: Nwanze was a smart and loyal servant. But what about Kizumbu?

Awana closed her eyes and addressed a silent prayer to the Goddess, remembering what had happened when her squad was bringing to Erimanton the youngsters the Shanti had sent as that year’s tribute. That girl had attempted to escape – something unheard-of as far back as memory could reach. The hunters followed her trail and brought her back; the Captain in person came to deal with the fugitive – and, to everybody’s surprise, spared Kizumbu. What, she even picked the girl as her personal servant!

Awana shook her head. Simona was known for her sexual appetite, but since the Shanti had begun to share her tent she had lost interest in the young recruits. Kizumbu must have honey between her legs, or a tongue made of silk, Awana thought scornfully as her eyes wandered over the Shanti’s slender body. Anyway, she seemed to have learned her lesson and honored the anklet Simona had placed on her foot to indicate to whom she belonged; otherwise, the Captain would not have risked bringing her in the expedition against the Huambo.

However, it was obvious that Simona’s trust in her Shanti was not complete: if it were, she would have kept her at her side, especially now that she was wounded and needed care. “I am too weak to keep an eye on her, Awana. Take her with you”, she had said.

To prevent trouble, before leaving the camp the warrior had chained Kizumbu to Nwanze’s waist. So far the girl had behaved herself, patiently sharing with the Kimbundo the burden of pulling the vehicle. Awana shrugged: if Kizumbu tried to escape again, Simona would have to find another Shanti for her nightly pleasures - she would not hesitate to send an arrow between her shoulders.

Her eyes turned to Ngonga, whom she had ordered to push the cart through the calm waters. During a routine inspection at the Kimbundo village, the young Nubian had been designated to wait on her; Awana had been impressed by her dedication and decided that she merited to wear her anklet. Still under training, Ngonga was doing her best to learn all the duties and skills pertaining to her new position. Before the warrior had appeared in her village, she had never suspected that a tongue – hers, or the Amazon’s - could bring about such intense pleasures…

Awana smiled: the girl had opened her broadest smile and turned to Nwanze, as if wanting to call her attention to the importance of the task she had been trusted with. But the Kimbundo was staring at the bank they had just left behind: many wotis away, her village lay in that direction, and it was most improbable that she would ever see it again.

Ngonga’s naïve, almost child-like gesture touched a soft cord in the Amazon’s heart.

“Nwanze, Kizumbu, move on! And you, Ngonga, go ahead - show them what you can do!”

Feeling the tug on her neck, Baktu sighed and clutched her left hand around the wheel: this would help her not to slip while crossing the river. The raid had been a huge surprise for the Huambo, who had no idea that the land beyond that narrow creek was part of the Amazons’ territory. They needed pastures for their cattle, and looked for them wherever they were. As the Amazons fell over them like a swarm of locusts, Baktu had fought bravely to defend her people, but seeing that the situation was desperate, her second in command had cried for her to take a few men with her and flee to safety. They were almost reaching a hill where the thick vegetation could offer them refuge when a rope closed around her torso and a strong pull made her fall down. The auburn-haired Amazon had lassoed her!

With a dagger between her shoulders, she had been walked to the prisoners’ gang and chained at her aunt’s side. What would become of her tribe? Would they spend the rest of their lives as slaves to the fearful Ladies? Baktu didn’t know. All she knew was that when the short battle ended the warrior had come to fetch her and her aunt.

Her cherished necklaces and bracelets had fallen to the ground, torn by the Amazon’s powerful hands. And how shameful it had been to feel them sliding over her body! At a given moment, she had the impression that the woman was pressing her lips on her nape – but luckily someone called her, and Baktu was left to her sorrow. After a short while, the warrior reappeared with those three black girls, climbed on the seat and the party left.

“Where are we going?”, she asked, but nobody deigned to reply.

When the mare broke her leg, for a brief moment she thought that they would return to the camp, but the Amazon solved the problem hitching two of the girls to the cart. How difficult the journey was going to be for her aunt, Baktu thought, but kept silent: protests would be of no avail against that woman’s determination.

And now the girl with the cropped hair was pushing the wheel towards the other bank, and the chain kept pulling her forward. Baktu tried once more to wrestle the collar from her neck, but that little square thing held it well in place, and it was impossible to tear it off. With water up to her waist and chained to her poor aunt, all she could do was walk behind the cart and take care not to sprain an ankle on the pebbles hidden under the dark surface.

A shudder went down her spine: each step forward took her farther into the land of the fearful Ladies, and away from freedom. Would she be forced to pull a carriage like those girls? Would she be sacrificed to their gods, whose name she didn’t even know? Baktu lifted her head: whatever was in store for her, she was a princess and would not give her captors the pleasure of seeing her imploring for mercy. Fate was fate, and she would face hers with courage.

Awana assured herself that Nwanze and Kizumbu were following the cart and glanced again at the beautiful Nubian chained at its back. She had never seen a Huambo before – nomads who lived outside the boundaries of their kingdom were of no interest to the Amazons. But she had to concede that her charge was exceptionally attractive: the shaven skull, which she had noticed in several girls of the tribe – was it a sign of their rank? – added an exotic touch to the African features of her face, her body was well-shaped, and the sheen on her skin reminded Awana of the panther mantle that the Queen sometimes wore in special ceremonies.

Simona’s words still resounded in her ears: “go for their princess and capture her – that will make the nomads acknowledge their defeat.” Even with the fight raging around her, it had been easy to spot the girl: she was clearly the one in command, and surrounded by the best nomad warriors. At a given moment, Awana had seen her running towards the hill, taken out her rope and, confirming her reputation as the ablest lasso-thrower in Erimanton, caught her as if she were a filly in the arena.

But in the heat of the battle, the warrior had had no chance to admire her prey. It was only when Simona ordered her to chain the princess to a cart and take her to the capital that she realized what a jewel had fallen into her hands. The flame of desire had arisen inside her loins: as she was locking the collar on the back of the captive’s neck, she had approached her lips to the perfect curve of her nape, and stopped just a second before giving in to the impulse to lick it. Awana didn’t know whether it was terror or courage that had made the girl stand motionless as she stood behind her, stroking her nipples and letting her hands slide along her silky belly. Only Simona’s voice calling her name had prevented her from continuing her exploration – she burned to check what lay between the thighs of the princess. And during the last part of the journey she had turned often turned back to contemplate the young nomad, whose body she could now describe by heart.

From her place at the side of the cart, Awana glanced once more at the lovely mounds that graced Baktu’s chest, imagining how a golden ring would look nice on those delightful nipples. The Queen would like to have that girl in her harem – and so would any Amazon, she thought as another wave of desire burst inside her.

“Stop, Awana!” a thin voice whispered from the deepest of her mind. “You have Nwanze, and now her pretty sister. No need to risk your head tampering with the Queen’s property!”

But the sheer sensuality that emanated from that creature was taking its toll on the Amazon. For a moment, she played with the idea that the Queen could reward her years of loyal service with the right to lock her anklet around the captive’s foot. Ah, to have that fleshy mouth forever at the reach of hers! She would lay the Nubian on the lion carpet and feast in the nectar flowing from her slit, lick and suck those nipples as if they could give her eternal life, grind herself on that silky skin until a climax burst out from the button between her legs…

Lost in her daydream, Awana felt her foot slipping on a pebble and grabbed the cart’s shaft just before losing balance. She heard Baktu sneering at her false step and bit her lower lip: that girl had guts! But she had a mission to carry out – and carry it out she would. The nomad princess and her aunt had to be taken to Erimanton; what would happen afterwards was not for her to decide.

Awana forced herself to focus on the muscles rippling on Ngonga’s shoulders as she pushed the cart towards the other bank. “How can such a frail-looking creature be so strong”, she muttered to herself. “I did well to choose her – she is even more tasteful than her sister!”

They were arriving at the opposite bank, which was somewhat steep. Awana climbed it and ordered the prisoners to help Ngonga to push the cart onto dry land. A glint of hate shone in the princess’ eyes:

“Look at my aunt! She cannot make such an effort. But I will do her part, as well as mine.”

Awana said nothing: she was not interested in the other Nubian, but in testing the princess. During her permanence in Erimanton – which could last a few weeks, or the rest of her life - she was going to obey orders, and she had better learn that as quickly as possible.

Baktu inhaled deeply and leaned forward. Her biceps popped up as she grabbed the seat from below and lifted the vehicle to safety before stepping out from the water. Why was the Amazon looking so intently at her? Why did her green eyes glitter as they moved down from her head to her toe and up again?

And then the princess understood: the warm breath on her nape, the fingers pressing her breasts and hips - that woman wanted her. How did Amazons quench their need for sex? Baktu didn’t know, but love between females was certainly among their strange customs.

She shuddered – she had never been with a woman, and up to that moment the idea had never occurred to her. But wait – perhaps she could use that unexpected discovery to her advantage? She had to figure out how – perhaps give in to her, and then use her thirst for pleasure to get some kind of benefit for herself and for her aunt? She would see later. Now it was wiser not to let the warrior notice that she had unwittingly exposed her weakest spot.

Unaware of what was going through the princess’ mind, Awana regretted that Simona had not given her the key to her lock: the idea of freeing Nwanze and having that strong-willed nomad pull the cart with Kizumbu had not quit her mind. On the contrary, it had become more insistent after her show of insolence a few moments ago. What a delightful sight would those hips offer as they swayed before her the whole way down to Erimanton! She could almost hear the crowd applauding her as she entered the city with the nomads’ leader harnessed as her ponygirl.

But that vision lasted only for a moment. Awana hit her palm with her fist: she had realized that the wish to humiliate the Huambo prisoner was only a cover for other feelings – frustration, impotence… Her chances of becoming the owner of that exotic beauty were indeed dim: either she would be freed with the rest of her tribe, or the Queen would retain her for her own pleasure. Trying to hide her embarrassment, she feigned to study her map and ignore the moisture that was forming between her thighs. A flush of shame warmed her cheeks: she, Awana, could not fall as low as Simona, who had become addicted to Kizumbu as if the Nubian was some kind of drug…

“Ngonga, come here and help me with my tunic.”

The young Kimbundo felt her heart bouncing inside her chest: it was really a privilege to have been chosen by that powerful Amazon! Awana let her servant remove the last drops of water from her body and looked back: Nwanze and Kizumbu were approaching the bank. The Shanti was not trying any tricks – maybe she was tamed, after all?

As Ngonga tied the strings of her sandals, the warrior glanced again at the Huambo princess standing like a statue behind the cart. What a pleasure it would be to train her, to have her shake the peacock-feather fan over her as she rested on the soft pillows after a good meal… Simona owed her a few favors; she would ask her to intercede with the Queen on her behalf. The sovereign usually paid attention to her counselors, and the Captain would certainly agree with her that proposing vassalage to the nomads was a foolish idea. How would one collect tributes from a tribe that could disappear from the kingdom as easily as it had entered it?

Nwanze was helping Kizumbu - whose hands were still tied behind her back - to get out from the water. Awana sighed, hitched them to the shafts and extended to Ngonga the bag with her personal belongings. Putting it on her head, the girl made a few dance steps, hoping to impress her mistress with her excellent balance. But immersed as she was in her reflections, the warrior just sat on the seat and flickered the reins.

Kizumbu and Nwanze leaned forward and began to walk. This side of the river the road was better, so less effort was required to train the cart. Awana let them find a comfortable pace and turned her head to see how her charges were faring.

Suddenly, she realized that not two, but three prisoners were going to Erimanton – and the third one was not walking behind the cart. She was sitting on its seat, and an invisible chain now linked her to her captor. The name of that chain was desire, desire as intense as she had never felt for any female in her whole life.

Awana shuddered at the glitter on those almond-shaped eyes. For the first time since the battle was over, a smile was flowing on Baktu’s lips. In an impulse, the warrior lifted her hand as if to hit the Nubian, but put it back on her thigh. Her secret had been pierced - and in spite of the chain hanging from the captive’s neck, now both knew who was going to control whom.