The Tattooed Princess

The Hall of Power

Zaria returned to her room very early the next morning following the lengthy tattoo session. Tsudros, the young artist had warned her she would have considerable pain for five days and to see him the next day for the ointment to stop the sickness which could come to her skin. She knew the other two girls would still be asleep and did not want to wake them. She was aware Branka had gone through a horrific ordeal at the hands of Sharvur the night before, and Svetlana would be anxious about her new life under the commands of her new master, Murka the warrior general.

            As she entered her room, as always attended by Mila, the older Slavic woman assigned to her, she asked for no food to be brought, only to be left cool, fresh water. She knew the night would be painful, but Tsudros had given her a small leather wrapping of the paste made from bees to stop the pain which now radiated over her shoulder and down her arm. Zaria stepped into her room and went over to the polished bronze mirror. In the somewhat skewed image, under the torchlight, she saw again the fanciful creature Tsudros had created for her. Its majestic eagle wings flowed down sensually from her upper shoulder where the horned griffin creature looked out at the viewer with wise, confident eyes.

        She felt somehow different that night. More emboldened and even more unique. She knew that if Sharvur was going to give her special privileges in his kingdom, she was going to take them and live them to the fullest. For she also assumed there would be a huge limit to her being a woman in all its aspects—a  condition which would never allow her, even as a slave among the Pazyryk people, to be with a man and have the joyful experiences of other young women.

            As she stood naked and alone before the mirror, she picked up the small leather pouch and began to administer the soothing cream on her graceful wound. The etched design started at her neck and undulated down to her forearm. She wondered how Sharvur would like this tattoo she now carried on her body, though she cared little if did or did not. It somehow represented her new presence and her attitude of defiance. Out of the mental anguish and disturbance of her ordeal as a slave, the physical pain of creating the creature on her tender skin seemed to dissolve her angst. She could for once think of other maters than her incarceration and the absurd responsibility which her forced-virginity was supposed to provide to Sharvur's kingdom.

            Those thoughts now through the pain turned to the one person who had impressed her the most since her abduction and life on the Eastern plains.  He was the only male that made her feel that strange sensation of joy and at the same time tingling for further pleasure which she could not define or even conceptualize, as it only came to her in little traces. She had noticed that sensation first when Tsudros was there, practically on top of her, working diligently and all the while smiling and soothing her discomfort with his kind and sensitive words. Tsudros, the tattoo artist, with his tangled hair and light stubble of an unshaved face. His piercing blue eyes, and his strong arms which displayed the mesmerizing menagerie of realistic creatures. All these attributes of the young artist made him an indelible image of desire in her thoughts. If only he had held her more longingly in his arms as they departed, she now lamented. How would it have made her feel? More powerfully than the thoughts of him she had now, standing naked looking at her partially tattooed body?

            As she slowly and carefully dressed with one hand and arm, she drank her cold water energetically. She knew the morning would bring her a tour of her new accommodations in the palace, but cared little for this. What was now more pressing in her mind were those thoughts of the next afternoon when, by Tsudros' own prescription, she would have to see him again in Sharvur's dressing chamber to allow him to sooth and protect her skin.

            Zaria fell asleep that night with great difficulty. For this was caused by a strange mixture of pain from the tattoo—and those other pleasant sensations she could not yet define. These new feelings called out to her to be touched. Caressed in those places she envisioned Tsudros was now touching while with her in the darkness. It was her own hands being reluctantly guided by that image of him—keeping her awake with a light massage exactly where she pulsed between her legs. And this sensation continued as it was accompanied by an incessant tingling which seemed to haunt her thighs and breasts. These new yearnings continued persistently until a benevolent sleep finally rescued her.