The Tattooed Princess

Women Heart to Heart

        Zaria, Svetlana and Branka all met Moshtok at the horse enclosure, early that morning. And they greeted each other with smiles and hugs. It had been many days since they had been together, now to resume their language lessons. They had all since seen dramatic changes in their new lives and it was their first opportunity to share them.

        "I trust you have not forgotten everything I had taught you about the Scythian tongue," Moshtok said, helping to saddle the horses for the girls. Branka and Svetlana would now be allowed their own mount, under the new arrangement brokered by Zaria with Sharvur.

        The three girls squealed with laughter when finally reuniting and paid Moshtok no attention as they held each others hands tightly. They carefully looked into each other's faces for clues of happiness or despair. Their mentor took this all in stride as he knew much had taken place, relocating the girls within the palace and among a celebrated member of the tent city.

            "You must excuse us, worthy teacher," Zaria said to him as an aside. "This will now be our only time to see each other in the future."

        "So you must not expect us to be the best students we once were, Moshtok." Svetlana echoed apologetically.

           He just laughed. "Females!" he exclaimed. "Yenikai!"

           "Yenikai!" the girls all shouted in unison. Then laughed themselves hysterically.

           As they left the corral on horseback and headed up into the foothills, Mostok pointed out the four warriors of the king who themselves were mounted and rode to the rear of them. These armed escorts followed at a considerable distance, yet nevertheless kept the girls within their sphere of  protection.

            "Princess Zaria . . . I think this has a lot to do with you," Moshtok said quietly, trying not to stare back at the armed horsemen.

            "Sharvur is so ridiculous!" She said, careful not to sound to critical of the king in front of Moshtok, his cousin.

            "Wait . . . How do you know those warriors are for you, Zaria," Branka said in a spunky, challenging voice. "Sharvur is pretty satisfied with me, you know. Though he usually whips me like a little horse to show his appreciation."

            All the girls giggled nervously at this deprecating revelation, while trying to avoid the scowl of disapproval that came over Moshtok's face.

            "Well personally . . . I think those soldiers were sent to protect me," Svetlana said in a mockingly arrogant tone. "Murka wouldn't want to lose any opportunity for another lesson in my pleasure tonight."

            The other two young women just looked at her with no expression, as if in disbelief. Moshtok finally smiled and shook his head. "Yenekai," he whispered to himself.

        "Sorry, Moshtok," Svetlana said, in embarrassment. "That was not appropriate to say in front of my true mentor."

            He nodded his head and held back a laugh.

         "Wait. Svetlana? Is that true? He is not cruel and violent with you?" It was Branka, showing authentic curiosity now, and a growing jealousy for how differently these men may have turned out.

            "Well," Zaraia interjected a bit angrily. "Personally . . . I do not want to hear any more about your bedroom games." She seemed clearly irritated by the enticing discussion.

            In deference to her situation, neither girl argued with Zaria's prudent request, though they all secretly wished the discussion concerning Murka's and Svetlana's bedchamber would go on. This even included Moshtok, as he rode closely behind Svetlana and watched her sensual body moving rhythmically in the saddle. 

                                              *     *     *

        For the rest of the morning Moshtok tried to get his unruly students to attend to his lessons about the Scythian past and future tenses. But it was to no avail. The three young women went on with great enthusiasm, drifting in and out of their Slavic language about many gossips within the palace and the lives of the elite living in the tented city. Everything from fashion to decorative soap bowls was covered by these priviledged observers and reporters, much to the displeasure of Moshtok.     

        The affable young teacher began to resign himself to the fact that these morning lessons had seriously morphed into a gossip forum on horseback. Though it could be worse, he thought, as he looked back at the four armed and dour-looking soldiers riding in silence behind them. For who else in the whole kingdom but he had the good fortune of riding into the sunrise each day with three of the most beautiful young women in the Pazyryk clan--and become privy to their most intimate moments?

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