Months had passed, had joined into years, since Heracles had begun his Ninth labor. This one, he reflected as he forged ahead across a strange landscape, made the ones he'd accomplished so far seem easy. But now a town was in sight, and he felt he knew whose town it was; if he was right, then he would find the thing he needed there. Acquiring it could be a whole new labor in itself.
As if answering his question, a number of riders appeared on the hillside before the city gates. They stopped for a moment, watching him, then rode toward him at a fast gallop. He squinted against the Aegean sun; but then he allowed himself a smile. Woman, all women, and all bare-breasted and outfitted with weapons of war. He had indeed, after all these months, found the city of the Amazons.
He stopped as they came, his weapons in their sheaths, a lone man who could not have seemed much of a threat to these fierce warrior women, especially since there were at least a dozen of them coming to greet him. When they were within hailing distance they stopped.
"Who are you, man?" one of them, a tall and powerful looking redhead, challenged. "Know you that you will not find a warm welcome here! What is your business in our land?"
"I am Heracles," he announced. "Perhaps my name has reached your ears."
The woman looked started. "Heracles?" she repeated. "Heracles? Truly? Indeed your name is known to us."
"Perhaps," a slim dark-haired beauty nearby observed, "he is not Heracles. Any man could say this. The face of Heracles is not known to us."
The redhead looked around at her. "Yet he does wear the skin of the lion, as Heracles is said to..."
The brunette snorted. "Any man can wear a lion's skin. It proves nothing." She stared at Heracles. "It surely does not prove a man is a son of great Zeus."
"Yet it is so," he argued. "I am Heracles, in truth."
The brunette dismounted. "We shall see," she said. Her lips puckered in a smile, and she drew her sword. "Surely Heracles would have little trouble defeating one Amazon warrior."
"I did not," he said in measured tones, "come here to fight the Amazon..."
The woman ambled toward him. She was more than a head shorter than he and less than half his weight. "But fight you will, warrior," she declared. "Fight, or die!" With that she rushed at him, her sword raised for a killing stroke.
She was fast, almost unbelievably fast, and just as agile. It was all Heracles could do to draw his own sword and raise it to intercept her stroke--but her blade clanged against his. Instantly she was swinging at him again, from the right side; he caught her blade again, and again as she came from the left. Knowing he could not keep this up--he could in no way match her speed and dexterity--he smashed back at her with an enormously powerful swing when she struck again. Her eyes popped wide open in amazement as her sword flew from her hands, streaking over the heads of the mounted onlookers. While she was frozen with surprise he lunged forward in turn, knocking her backwards to the ground and touching the point of his sword to the smooth skin between her delightful breasts. She stared down at it, then looked back at his face.
"Yield," he commanded. "Yield and I will spare your life. I have no cause to slay any of the Amazon."
"It is not our way," the redhead commented. "Tylaria has lost, and she should die. Slay her, Heracles."
"I do not slay the unarmed," he replied haughtily, "unless I am betrayed." Without even waiting for Tylaria to yield, he withdrew his sword and sheathed it.
The tall redhead dismounted as well and drew her own sword. "I am the captain," she observed, "and Tylaria is of my regiment. She issued a challenge and she lost, her life is forfeit." With that she turned toward the dark-haired girl who was still seated on the ground.
"The ways of the Amazon," Heracles growled, "are not my affair. But this brave one is unarmed!"
"It does not matter," the redhead said carelessly.
"Do not interfere," a blond said warningly.
"Melippe gives good advice," the redhead agreed. She drew back her sword for a thrust and kept stalking toward Tylaria, who scooted backwards on the ground.
"Only in this way," Heracles said. So saying, he drew his sword again and tossed it to Tylaria. Instantly the brunette grabbed it and sprang to her feet.
"It will do you no good," the redhead said coolly. She struck at the smaller and slimmer girl.
But Tylaria was equal to the challenge, catching the blade neatly and turning it away. Now ignoring Heracles, the two women circled each other, feinting, looking for an opportunity. Twice the redhead struck at Tylaria, and both times the smaller girl caught and turned her blade. Watching, it seemed to Heracles that he was seeing his own battle with Tylaria conducted again; the dark-haired girl was much less powerful than the redhead, but was more than compensating with her speed and agility.
The captain was obviously getting annoyed with it, too. She took a step back and threw her sword up over her shoulder; then she lunged at Tylaria with the obvious intent of smashing through her defences. The smaller girl stood as if paralyzed, not even lifting her sword to try to deflect a blow that most likely would have torn the weapon from her hands.
But the brunette was, deceptively, ready. At the last moment she dropped to her knee, allowing the redhead's swing to swish over her head harmlessly. At the same time she thrust her own sword straight out, gripping it with both hands, bracing herself. Unable to stop her momentum, the redhaired captain ran onto it. The blade struck her near her exposed navel and smoothly slid all the way through her body.
She stopped, at last. Her eyes wide, she stared down at the blade that transfixed her, at the spurting blood. Her own weapon dropped from her fingers, bouncing on the ground. She looked up at Tylaria, then dropped to her knees.
The brunette pulled the sword out of her; the pool of blood around the redhead's knees began to expand rapidly. "I did not wish this, my captain," Tylaria said. "But I was not honor-bound to stand and die without resistance."
"No," the redhead muttered. "You were not. Lead the regiment well, Tylaria." She barely got the words out; her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed heavily to the ground.
"You will not lead, Tylaria!" the blond Melippe cried. Her face a mask of fury, she jumped down from her horse and drew her weapon.
"No, there will be no more single combat, not today," Tylaria said commandingly. "Amazons, to your bows!" Instantly the other mounted women unslung their bows and fitted arrows to the strings. Their apparent target looked up at them with consternation-- but she also sheathed her weapon.
"I am captain by right," Tylaria told her. "I did not initiate combat, I made no such choice, I am not an assassin nor a mutineer. Do I have your fealty, Melippe?"
The blond stared for a moment. Then she cast her eyes down. "You do, Tylaria. You fought well."
"Thank you, Melippe. I charge you with tending the remains of our former captain. Treat them with honor and respect."
"Yes, my captain." She turned to her task.
Turning to Heracles, Tylaria returned his sword. "Because I doubted," she said, "our captain, a courageous woman and a great warrior, lies dead. This I regret; this will be my burden. I doubt you no more." She made a formal gesture with her hand. "I greet you, Heracles, son of Zeus, and welcome you to the lands of the Amazon. Come, let us take you to the city. You will be rested and given sustenance, and I shall make your presence known to our Queen, Hippolyta."
After Tylaria had retrieved her own sword, the party escorted Heracles into a well- kept but rather Spartan walled city. Shown to temporary quarters, he was bathed and fed-- by silent male slaves. Eventually, a young woman came to him and told him the Queen would receive him in her throne room, and she led him there.
Queen Hippolyta was not dressed in royal robes; rather, she appeared just as the warriors had, bare-breasted, wearing a very short metallic kilt and boots that came almost to her knees. She was young and extremely beautiful, a rather elfin face surrounded by a cloud of short ink-black hair. Her breasts were smallish but perfect, her thighs smooth and muscular. On her head was a simple tiara which bespoke her rank.
But Heracles' gaze was focused on the golden belt around her waist--the famed girdle of the Amazon Queen, the object of his quest.
As he entered the room, she rose and came to greet him. "Heracles, I bid you welcome," she said, her voice low and musical. She smiled warmly. "Tell me, what brings you here to the land of the Amazon? It is not a place many of your sex have a desire to visit!"
"They have not seen what my eyes have beheld, then, Queen," he said. "Else many among them would find the risk well worth the taking!"
"Your words are honey," she replied. "And it is so, Heracles, there are men here who are not slaves, men whose prowess has earned our respect. As have you, O Son of Zeus. Tylaria, as I know well, is an excellent fighter; any man who can defeat her has a skill exceptional."
"I regret the death of the regimental captain, O Queen..."
She waved a hand. "It was not your fault. She attempted the enforcement of an old law, as was her right. But that law is appropriate for the field of battle, not for mere guard duty. Her poor judgment cost her her life." Putting her hands on her hips, she regarded him boldly, looking him up and down at her leisure. "You are such as no other of your sex I have seen," she told him. "Yet you have not told me your purpose in coming here."
He refused to meet her eyes. "You have heard of my labors, O Queen?"
Her smile had returned. "And who has not?"
"They are not of my choosing, O Queen..."
"This too is known. So. You are here to fulfill one of your tasks. And what is that task, Heracles?"
"My task," he said slowly as he glanced furtively toward her waist, "is to acquire the Girdle of the Queen of the Amazon."
She was silent for a moment; when he looked up, she was smiling even more widely. "This?" she asked, touching it.
"Yes..."
"I see. I see, you were supposed to come here and fight with me and my warriors, take it by force. For any other man such a task would be a death sentence. But you, O Son of Zeus, you who have shown yourself capable of the miraculous... For you it might not have been..."
"I have only done what was commanded of me..." he muttered. "What I was required to do..."
She stepped closer. Reaching out, she touched his cheek lightly. "We know this," she told him. "Come, Heracles. Come with me to my chamber, let us discuss these matters further. In private."
She turned away, told her guards to remain where they were, then started walking toward a doorway across the room. Heracles followed; as soon as they were both inside, she closed the door.
"I cannot say," she said as she turned back, "how things are done between men and women in your land, Heracles. Here, we are accustomed to being rather direct." With that she stripped off her short skirt and cast it aside. "I invite you to my bed, O Son of Zeus, where none of your sex other than a slave has ever been." She walked to it, sat down on the edge, and removed her boots.
He grinned. She was more than beautiful, more than appealing. He pushed his lionskin back over his shoulders and went to her, removing his other garments as he went.
Boldly, she reached out and cradled his rapidly-rising erection in her hand. "You are very beautiful, Heracles," she murmured. Bending her head down, she began licking at the tip of his cock. By the time she took it into her mouth, he was fully hard and more than ready for her. Pulling back, he pushed her gently backwards onto the bed, and she did not resist him; she smiled as he came up over her, atop her.
"We do not," she said softly, "usually allow men to be above us at such times..." Reaching down, she guided his erection into her extremely wet cunt, then threw her head back as he entered her deeply.
But he only managed to move his hips a few times before the door suddenly burst open. Startled, he turned his head; Amazons swarmed in, a dozen or more, weapons drawn, screaming a battle cry.
Yanking himself out of her, he jumped up and grabbed his sword, which he'd dropped near the bed. With all his unnatural strength he swung at the first line of women. The was a loud crash; pieces of broken swords and lances flew across the room. One woman was sliced completely in two, her lower half running on a step or two before falling, her upper half landing on the floor several feet away. The tip of his blade had cut deeply into the side of another, and she too collapsed, groaning, her intestines laying exposed on her hip. A third stood staring blankly at the spurting stump of her severed arm.
With a roar Heracles sprang at them, swinging the sword again. A lovely young dark- haired girl was in his path; her head flew toward the ceiling and her body did a jerking dance of death before falling. Swinging to his right, he cut halfway through the chest of another woman, sending pieces of her ribs careening away; cutting back to the left, he sheared another in half diagonally. Courageous and furious, the Amazon troops did not fall back in the face of his assault, they kept forcing their way in through the door. And they kept dying as he kept swinging in a rage, heads and parts of bodies scattering across the now-slippery blood-soaked floor.
Finally he reached the door. Grabbing it, he slammed it against two women trying to get in; they reeled back and the door closed. There was no bar, no way to lock the door. With a snarl, Heracles jammed his sword into the floor against it, preventing it from being opened.
Then, like a panther, he lunged back across the room, picking up his dagger on the way. In an instant he'd reached Hippolyta, who lay propped on her elbows, staring wide- eyed, amazed. "So," he growled, "you thought to distract me, make it easy for your Amazons to kill me. You will pay for your treachery, O Queen of the Amazon!" With that he struck at her with the dagger.
Seeing the dagger descending toward her bare chest, Hippolyta reached up and grabbed Heracles' arm with both her hands. "No!" she cried, her voice rising above the sounds of the Amazons battering at the door. "No, Heracles, you are wrong! I did not plan this!"
He ignored her. She fought him; her strength was incredible, but even so, his was greater. Slowly, inch by inch, the sharp-tipped blade moved down toward her. Her arms trembled with the effort. "Treachery," Heracles repeated. "Treachery. You knew there was a chance you and your Amazons would lose a fight with me, you said so yourself. You will die for it, Queen!"
She fought harder; he came up on the bed over her and put more of his weight behind his arm. The point of the knife kept moving down, and finally it touched her perfect breast below the nipple. With a sob of effort she tried to push it back and at the same time tried to draw her chest back, trying to sink into the bedding, but at last an indentation began to grow in her skin as the point pressed down on her. A moment later she gasped, and a small pool of blood appeared at the bottom of the valley the blade had formed.
Silent now, she redoubled her efforts. Heracles, just as silent and just as determined, brought his other knee up onto the bed and put more of his weight behind his effort. The blade moved down a little more, and more blood appeared, spilling over her side now and wetting the bedcovers. She kept moving her eyes between his face and the knife, and the blade, with an occasional ripping sound, kept slowly moving into her chest. Each time it sank a little deeper her eyes widened and she groaned. In the end, the fingerguards rested against her skin and her blood was streaming down onto the bed.
With a long moaning sigh she released Heracles' arms and let her hands fall onto the bed. In turn, he stopped pushing, but he made no effort to withdraw the buried dagger. She stared at it for a long moment, then looked back up at his face.
"I am killed," she whispered. "A dagger in my breast, I am killed. But you have done wrong, Heracles. I was not your enemy." She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, but even so a little blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. "But it does not matter. Finish what you have begun, Heracles, do not let me lie here and die slowly. I--"
Her words were cut off by the door slamming open. Heracles, knowing he had no chance to reach his sword, tried to jerk the dagger out of Hippolyta's chest.
But it was jammed tightly, and all he succeeded in doing was jerking her body up. She screamed in pain; he let the dagger go and leapt to his feet, ready to fight barehanded if necessary.
But only one Amazon came through the door--Tylaria, and her sword was sheathed at her side. "There is no need to fight me, Heracles," she said, holding out her hands. "The attack is over."
He stopped short. "Over?"
She nodded. "Yes." Her mouth twisted. "It was Melippe, she spread a rumor that you had kidnapped the Queen and that you were killing her." She sighed. "But it was not Melippe, it was not--she was hot of temper but not a liar..."
Heracles closed his eyes for a moment. "Hera," he said. "Hera, Queen of the Gods. Always Hera. She will not rest until death has claimed me..."
Several other Amazons, eyes downcast and weapons sheathed, came in. Tylaria took a few steps toward him. "And instead, it has claimed many of us." She glanced at Hippolyta. "Including our Queen..."
Heracles started to turn back toward the bed, but just then, Tylaria suddenly went to her knees. "And me..." she whispered. Only then did Heracles see that there was an arrow buried deeply in her bare back. She had shown no sign of the fatal wound as she'd walked in and spoke to him.
But now, her mission complete, she rolled onto her side on the bloody floor. Her body jerked as Heracles went to her and knelt beside her.
"Know," he said, "that his was not my plan..."
She looked up at him and blinked. "I know," she answered. "I know. I am dead, Heracles. Go to the Queen, help her if you can." She shuddered violently, and gout of blood rolled from her mouth, and her eyes fell closed.
Rising, Heracles went back to the bed. Hippolyta, looking up at him, managed a small smile. "No use," she said. "There is no help for me, O Son of Zeus."
He didn't know what to say. "My Queen, I--"
She waved a hand weakly. "No need," she told him. "Clearly I can see how it looked to you; it looked as Hera wished it to look." She stared into his eyes for a long moment. "I meant to give you the girdle," she went on. "And myself, if you found me desirable enough." She coughed, and her face twisted with pain. She looked down at the dagger standing in her breast. "I will be a long time dying from this wound, Heracles," she said again. "Take your knife from my body, and plunge it into my heart, send me on my way to greet dark Hades; Tylaria and my other brave warriors are waiting for me at the Styx."
"My Queen, I--"
"It is all I can ask of you now, Heracles. Send me on my way, and take the girdle. None will raise a hand to you."
His mouth set, he nodded. Taking the knife in one hand and holding her body down with the other, he drew it slowly out of her while she shuddered and groaned.
Then he leaned down and kissed her bloody mouth. While his lips were against hers,
he plunged the dagger back into her, squarely between her breasts, sending the blade
crashing through her breastbone and burying it deep in her heart. Her body surged up
against his hard, quivered against him for a moment, then fell back limply onto the bed.
He raised his head; her eyes had glazed over already. He rose; silently, while the other
Amazons watched, he wiped the blood from his body, dressed, and picked up Hippolyta's
girdle. As the Queen had promised, not a one lifted a hand to interfere as he, with a heavy
heart, left the palace and the city. His Ninth Labor was complete, but not without a high
cost...