Conquering his pride, again he divests himself, and now walks the maze naked, figuring that life with a chance of possible future success is better than an ignoble death of thirst.Conquering his pride, again he divests himself, and now walks the maze naked, figuring that life with a chance of possible future success is better than an ignoble death of thirst. Again, the maze shuts him off, and again he hears the ponderous, heavy sounds of the Minotaur's hooves through the thin, unyielding rock. But this time, it would seem that the Minotaur's desires are assuaged, for he hears the echoes of the hooves closer and closer still, then further for a moment, and around the corner looks up at what rough beast now owns him, eight foot tall or higher, with black, short fur delineating his every line, and his head, fabled, inhuman, with golden, undying eyes. A heavy, thick hand rests upon his shoulder, forcing him to his knees, and a golden circlet, seemingly delicate, yet with imponderable weight, closes about his neck. Low, growled tones rumbling from the Minotaur's chest order him to rise, and he dares not refuse the strength before him; that locks his arms behind his back with chains and bracers of beaten gold, chastened with platinum. Bound, he is led around three short corners, and enters the center of the Maze, the Minotaur's abode. Strange demense of cavern and garden, with millenia of tribute from kings, warriors, philosophers, and aesthetes all arrayed. He is taken to a large, satin, flat couch (no back) and lain upon it, on his stomach, the Minotaur besides him large, and regal in every line. Reaching out from the couch, ponderous still but with the grace of the inexorable, the Minotaur plucks a single grape, and feeds it to his slave. Then, a fragile crystal goblet is brought to his lips, in the thick-fingered hands that could splinter stone as easily, and he is made to drink. Again, he is fed, and given only another swallow; after his hunger, surfeit must not be rushed. The Minotaur's hands rest upon his shoulders, and trace his sleek, bound, warrior's lines, testing them, hands large enough to encircle his ankles with ease and spread them effortlessly, locking them apart with a bar no doubt also of precious metals, cool against his skin. Skin warmed by the Minotaur's touch. The Minotaur moves to the head of the couch, where the warrior's head lies over the edge, where he was fed by his Master's kindness. |