The Pagan's Prize Read Online Free PDF Page A

silently and smoothly as if the
fabric were butter, and falling to her knees, she slipped through the narrow
opening.
    Her heart beating in her throat, Zora lifted her tunic
above her knees and fled, looking neither to the left nor right but dashing
straight for the tree line. She was nearly there when her left heel glanced off
a jagged rock and, grimacing in pain, she had to hobble the rest of the way.
She was almost crying with relief when she safely reached the dense woods. She
leaned upon a trunk and paused for a brief instant to catch her breath and
inspect her foot.
    "By the blood of Odin, where are you flying to, my
pretty bird?"
    Gasping in fright, Zora glanced up to find a huge
Varangian trader fastening his breeches as he stepped from behind a tree. Her
heart sinking, she realized she had been so preoccupied with her injury that
she hadn't noticed the man relieving himself against a gnarled trunk only a few
feet away.
    "Stay away from me!" she cried when he took a
step toward her. Brandishing the knife she still held, she glanced beyond him
to the darkening forest and freedom, then met his leering gaze. In the fading
light filtering through the leaves, his eyes appeared a pale, chilling blue,
and the deep scar bisecting his sparsely bearded cheek only heightened his air
of menace. His hair was white-blond and coarse, and he was dressed in fur skins
like a barbarian.
    "Have you flown from your master's nest?"
Ignoring her poised weapon, he advanced another step. His gaze roamed over her,
lingering uncomfortably on the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. "I don't
remember seeing you among the other women. If I had, I swear I would have
sampled you first."
    Craning her neck, Zora felt as if she faced a giant.
She had seen these massive Norsemen before in Tmutorokan's marketplaces, and
her father himself was a tall man, descended from fierce Swedish warriors who
had settled in Rus two centuries ago. But now she was alone with the large
Varangian, with only a knife to protect her.
    "Stand back," she warned shakily. "I am
Zora, princess of the Tmutorokan Rus and taken captive against my will—"
    "And I'm the king of Denmark," he mocked her,
drawing closer. "Sheathe your talons, pretty bird, and come back to the
camp with Halfdan Snakeeye." His arm, strangely tattooed with serpents
devouring each other, suddenly shot out as he lunged for her.
    "No!" she screamed, swiping at him with the
knife. As the blade sliced into his flesh, his harsh laughter filled the woods.
He easily knocked the knife from her hand, and catching a fistful of tangled
hair, he yanked her hard against his massive chest. Crying out from the
stinging pain, Zora thought her scalp would be ripped from her skull.
    "I said come to Halfdan. I want to find your
master and strike a deal."
    Zora fought him with all her strength as he lifted her
in his arms, but he only laughed harder, enjoying her struggles. Nor did it
seem to make any difference to him that blood trickled from his wound. When
they stepped from the trees, a curious crowd began to gather and Halfdan smiled
broadly, enjoying the attention.
    "Look what I found while I was pissing in the
woods! A golden bird, a daughter of Freyja, goddess of desire and beauty! From
whose nest has she escaped? I wish to speak with that man!"
    Zora twisted wildly in his grasp, but the giant's
muscled arms were like bands of steel and thick as small tree trunks. Torn by
cold fear and outrage, she demanded, "Let go of me, you vile, disgusting—"
A beefy hand clapped over her mouth abruptly silenced her, and she was jerked
even harder against his chest, pinned so tightly she couldn't move. Her stomach
roiled from the Varangian's acrid stench of sweat and filth.
    "Who owns this woman?" Halfdan bellowed, now
almost to the center of camp.
    "I do! Release her at once!" came an
indignant reply. Gleb rushed forward with his stout guard. "She is not for
sale!"
    "Not for sale?" the Varangian trader echoed
incredulously.
    "I'm