Her breasts were full, her nipples ripe. The forked tongue
snaked out and circled them causing them to worry slightly. She
gasped as the tongue traced wet lines around her chest, then
surrounded one and squeezed it firmly. Her hips arched upward,
her own desires giving her away.

She passed a field with a mare in it. From the way the stallion
pranced she guessed that the mare was in heat. The thought of
the stallion being tormented by the mare caused her to smile.
Shades of her teasing many a man with her own sexuality. As she
drew closer she realized that it smelled as bad as the stallion,
ending the comparison right there.

Soon she came upon a scene of great beauty – gold strewn about
the mountain – works of art scattered carelessly – the dragon’s
horde. Out daring any to even touch it. Gnawed bones and shat-
tered armor showed what fate befell those attempting to claim
that horde.

I stepped triumphant into the final circle, the most intricately drawn. The chanting and drumming reached their peak and
stayed, and the fog of incense cleared, allowing me to see who
sat upon the dais, who sat upon the throne, who presided over the
proceedings.

The ancient texts named him Baphomet; Satan Mekratrig’s
warrior-duke. My sword and shield were limp in my grasp as I
looked up, as he was many hundreds of feet tall. His head was
the head of an ibex, with the outward-spiralling horns, gazing
inscrutably down upon me with the eyes of a beast. His shaggy
chest was traced with scars delineating his prowess in battle,
inflicted perhaps by a flaming sword. He stood, rising from his
throne, on the legs of a goat, stepping into the seventh pentacle
on cloven hooves. In his right hand he held a sword cold as ice,
and his left stroked his impossibly huge phallus. As the warrior-magus, he wielded the primal Wand, and his scent struck me a
nigh-physical blow with the power of his maleness. I staggered,
and could not bear the weight of my shield, letting it drop into
the abysmal pit below my feet, lost.

The fourth circle held the Giant, who looked down at me and
grinned evilly. He threw a boulder at me, which I shattered with
a slap, and then I raised him off the ground as Heracles did to
Antaeus, and crushed the life out of him, redoubling my strength.
In the fifth circle, I slew the Minotaur by taking each of his
horns in a hand, and breaking open his skull. I was imbued with
the powers of a demigod at least by this time, walking into the
sixth circle, the one holding the dragon. The fight was hard,
the flames of the dragon almost enough to make me falter, but
then I realized that they were power too, and took them for my
own, absorbing it into my shield while I made my heart’s thrust
with my blade. The dragon’s blood fountained out, covering me,
and by its power my skin was made invulnerable like that unto the
skin of Achilleus.

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I awoke and prepared myself, my assigned valet dressing me
in the ceremonial armor for the High Mass that I was to attend.
It was heavy, gleaming, powerful, expensive. I would not own any
like it until after my first sacks as a Templar, and even then I
would wear it rarely. I was girt with a weapon that favored me;
clean of line, yet not bright of blade. A bright blade is soon
to rust, and then must be cleaned; this scouring often harming
the blade’s integrity.

The extravagant doings finally came to an end in the early morn-
ing hours and Kontar and I wound up in his suite. We were sit-
ting on the edge of the enormous bed when Kontar asked, “Have you
got all your things packed for tomorrow?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Everything that hasn’t already been shipped
up to the starship is right there in those bags over in the
corner.”

Kontar crushed out the last of his joint before he began to undo
the button of my dinner jacket and I began to remove the ceremo-
nial bronze armor he had worn to the party. “Good,” he said as
he licked my ear. “We won’t have anything to distract us for the
rest of the night.”

Well, that all happened a hundred years ago. So you may ask how
can I still appear to be a man of twenty-five? Simple. You
should have figured it out when I mentioned the argument between
Kontar and his triple great grandfather. The Ailourian anti-
aging treatments were easily adapted to human physiology and I
was the first to benefit.

Kontar is now the sovereign of all Ailouros and Emperor of the
Ailourian Hegemony. The relatives who were ahead of him in line
all died in the Saurian and Avoide wars. But Kontar proved to be
a consummate military genius upon his ascent to the throne and
those former enemy empires are now in their proper places. I
don’t have to worry about losing him to a similar death in bat-
tle. Yes, we’re still together. Oh, we’ve both had many others
over the years, of course, Ailourian, human, and many other
species. But we both agree that we are each the one being who
will always be special to the other.

Kontar and I were having dinner in a restaurant when the snippy
bitch queen showed up with the T.V. reporter, a cameraman and
the newspaper reporter in tow. Kontar knocked the reporter and
the cameraman clear across the restaurant with one blow of his
powerful hand pads. I was glad to see that he controlled himself
that much. If he had used much more force, we would have had two
dead men on our hands. I left the snippy queen writhing on the
floor after I knocked the wind out of him and left the reporter
with a broken jaw. I’d been waiting for the chance to do that
for years.

“The custom of eating with utensils has been long established on
Ailouros,” he replied with a smile, “although our own eating
utensils are somewhat different from yours. I was trained in the
correct use of your own implements before I came here, of
course.”

After dinner, we took our liqueurs into the living room. Kontar
lit a cigar as he sat down on the couch and handed one to me.
“I’ll stick to cigarettes,” I said, motioning it away. “I tried
one of those once during my early teens and was sick as a dog for
a whole day.”

“That’s probably because you inhaled,” he replied. “Also, your
body wasn’t used to tobacco then. I brought these because
they’re just right for a beginner. Don’t inhale; just take it
into your throat and taste the flavor.”

I inhaled cautiously. “The flavor does have something to recom-
mend it,” I thought. I inhaled again when I felt no rumbles
portending an impending volcanic explosion from my stomach and
leaned back against Kontar’s muscular arm. I took a sip of my
cordial. I was conscious of the softly silken feeling of the fur
on his arm against my neck and of the powerful feline muscles
rippling beneath.

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