Chapter 3

Author’s note: [ and ] delineate mind-to-mind dialog.

Hippolyte thought that is was worthwhile searching the road in the opposite direction. This was the main road and not the trail that we had followed when we entered the town. The fact that there had been no reports of bandit activity on this section of road really meant very little. If there had been banditry along here, the victims could be dead or they could have been heading away from our base so that the report would not have come up.

We rode for about an hour before we met any bandits. That was mildly surprising because this was one of the main roads through this section of Greece, and bandits were like a pox on the main roads. As it happened, as we rode along a narrow section of the road with a cliff on one side and a steep drop on the other, we were attacked by two men waving clubs. Clubs were the weapon of choice for bandits because they cost nothing to make and could be replaced at any time.

The two men charged at us from our rear, and we might not have known that they were there if the fools had not shouted at us. Hippolyte managed to get the horse turned to face them, but there was no room for a charge; therefore, she pulled her bastard sword and I grabbed my club. [Jane, be ready for a sudden charge. I want to try a new tactic.]

There was no time for me to answer before Hippolyte jammed her heals into the horse’s flanks and it jumped into a run from a standing start. That caught the two brigands by surprise, and we were upon them before they were expecting us. Hippolyte lopped off the head of the man on the right without slowing down, and I sort of stuck my club out and smacked the other man in the nose with it.

The effect of Hippolyte’s strike was obvious, but my man fell down unexpectedly to me. Hippolyte dismounted with her sword ready to lop off the man’s head to finish him off, but he was already dead. She guessed that I had hit the man at exactly the right angle to drive broken bone into his brain and to kill him without a lot of obvious damage. She congratulated me on my skill with the club and refused to listen to my protests that it had all been an accident. Oh, well, at least she now just assumed that I knew what I was doing. I sure as hell hoped that she was correct.

We took the two heads back to the tavern for our bounty and decided to take some time off from hunting to find me a suitable mace. The club had been effective, but Hippolyte thought that I deserved something more elegant looking, and we could afford the expense. We found a mace at the armorer that looked the part, and that fit Hippolyte’s specifications. It only needed a slightly longer shaft, and the armorer was able to make that change while we waited.

We went behind the tavern again to practice with the new weapon, and I quickly got the knack of handling the mace. Hippolyte complimented me on my technique, and I struggled to come up with an explanation of why I was so quickly adapting to the weapons of this era. Then it dawned on me: I was using weapons that Hippolyte was intimately familiar with, so her muscle memory was using her training to follow the simple commands that my mind was issuing.

I guessed from that idea that I could handle any of her familiar weapons if I just had to do the simple things, but I was well aware that I still needed more training before I could perform in a duel. That required strategy way beyond my current experience. Number one, I hoped that I would never be in a position where that was important because it would mean that Hippolyte was somehow out of commission, and I had no idea how that would be possible without the same happening to me. Number two, I didn’t think that I had the necessary mind-set to be able to fight to the death on my own. Shit! Life sure was complicated!

The new mace was lighter overall than the club had been, and that made it less tiring to hold, but the balance was shifted more toward the head of the weapon so that more skill was needed to swing it just right. I decided that what I should do was to concentrate on telling our arm when to swing and to let Hippolyte’s training determine just how the swing was to be made.

The mace consisted of a straight handle of convenient diameter. The handle was fashioned from a hard wood that I thought was either hickory or a very similar wood. The grip was wrapped with the skin of a dogfish, and that was like the surface of a very fine sandpaper so that the grip would not twist in a sweaty hand.

The head of the mace had a spike on one side and a flat surface on the other; it looked very much like a medieval war hammer and was hammered from a bronze casting. The spike was rarely used from horseback because it was too easy to jam against a bone, but it was there if needed. The most common use of the mace was with the flat side simply breaking anything under its blow like a sledge hammer.

The next morning was my first trip with the mace instead of the club, and, as luck would have it, I never had a chance to use it. We drew a complete blank with this trip. The same thing happened for four more days, and it began to look like we had worked ourselves out of business. Like it or not, it was time to move on.

Fortunately, the lion skin was ready, so we did not have to wait any longer for that. We were now relatively rich with all of the copper and silver coins that we had accumulated, so we had no trouble outfitting ourselves with a pack horse to carry our supplies. Among other things, we now had a tent, so we were not at the mercy of the elements. That was helpful because it meant that we were not forced to take whatever accommodation was available in any town we came to.

As we rode out of town, I could tell that Hippolyte was kind of fidgety. She finally admitted what was wrong. [Dammit, Jane, I am feeling the need for a man. I know, I know, Amazons are not supposed to feel that way, but I am not your typical Amazon. Unfortunately, part of my problem is that Herakles ruined me for the average man. He was as concerned about my pleasure as he was about his, and that is just not the way the average man feels about a woman.

[I feel like I can tell how any man would act in bed with me, and none of those men in the town we just left struck me as being worth the effort. I am a little slow to reach my climax, and the average man would have shot his wad before I was ready; therefore, I would have gotten very little from the experience.

[I am beginning to think that I should buy a suitable male slave and train him to fill my needs. Do you have an opinion?]

[I am sorry, Hippolyte, but I don’t have enough experience with men to advise you. I am no virgin, and I always found with my few partners that I got off very easily. Oh, sure, there was a little foreplay, but not much was ever really needed.

[I do have one suggestion, though. Do you know what a blowjob is? Any man I ever met would shoot pretty soon during a blowjob, and then he would be slow to build up whatever it took for him to shoot again. That way, I was able to make my partner last through as many as two of my orgasms before he came again. That technique might fix your problem.]

[That’s a great idea! I’ll give it a try with the next man I take to bed. However, I still like my idea of training a slave of my own. How would you feel about having a slave join us?]

[I don’t know, Hippolyte. Where I was raised, the idea of slavery was totally unacceptable, so I don’t know how I would feel. On the other hand, I never met a male sex slave, and he might enjoy the experience. All I can say is that I am willing to go along with whatever you decide.]

We talked about that and similar facets of the same problem as we rode, and both of us began to get very sexually excited. Frankly, we started to leak liquid from our pussy as we got more and more excited. I had never wanted another man since I had met George, but I was ready to believe that I would never get back to the 21^st Century, so I was leaning toward Hippolyte’s need. There was one thing for damned sure, if Hippolyte got to fuck, I was sure going to feel it. Under those circumstances, there was no way for me to remain faithful to George, and it didn’t seem to make much sense to worry about it.

We did have to pull out a pad to sit on. It was that or to get the saddle soaked with pussy juice, and neither one of us wanted that. We finally came to a town large enough to have a well-stocked slave dealer. Hippolyte made a bee-line for the stockade. She found the slave master and explained what she was looking for. Hippolyte was not the least bit coy in telling the slave master exactly the characteristics that she was looking for. Her requirements were a big cock when it was hard, old enough to understand what was wanted from the slave, young enough to have sexual stamina, and to be pleasant to look at.