The spangling gossamer spun from grass-leaf to grass-leaf tingled by her left hand: her spies, the bloat-bellied spiders, were warning her. She drew the bone-handled sickle from her side and tensed like a coiled spring, her ice-blue lips parted in anticipation. The sun rose, a burst of splendour blinding in front of her, a nimbus of glory with something golden at its heart. Shading her eyes, Shalunga saw a Valkyr warrior, tall, glowing, blonde and deadly.Her plaited blonde hair was shielded by a gilt helmet with straight nose-guard and her small breasts were held by a gold chain-mail bikini top. Her mini-skirt was of the same strong material and her sandals were laced in golden thongs that criss-crossed up slender calves.Eyes of forget-me-not blue were circled in glitzy gold of the same type that painted her sulky lips and the sun-burst that covered her navel.

‘Shanga witch filth!’ she yelled,’your foul body defiles Fricka’s mountain no more! The spear of Ilse takes your life!’ As the gold-headed javelin whistled towards her, Shalunga skipped to one side and let it bury itself deep in the short-cropped grass where she had crouched seconds before. She hissed an angry intake of breath and flicked her curved steel at Ilse as she drew a short, leaf-bladed sword. There was a clinking snick as the sickle’s tip severed the chain-mail bra, baring pert little pink-nippled boobs.The blonde wailed at her shame and at the slight nick that bled and stung between her tits. Infuriated she hacked at the shaman-babe, narrowly missing her throat and just cutting her left arm. ‘Blonde bitch! You’ll die for that!’ spat Shalunga, retreating and crouching as Ilse gathered her strength for her next swing. The steel sang through the air but the witch pirouetted away from it and at the same time swung back-handed her stabbing blade.She caught the Valkyr vixen on the upper thigh, tearing chain-mail and flesh. Ilse sank on one knee as scarlet blood coursed down her slinky leg. Vainly she held up the sword which dropped back under a rain of short, savage hacks. She staggered to her feet, sword in both hands, lifted it high …and took Shalunga’s sickle in her belly. The shaman thrust in and up, ripping the vixen’s guts till her steel hit sternum. Ilse stood transfixed in evey sense: head flung back so hard that her helmet fell off to roll on the grass, glinting in the light of the new sun; arms flung out wide in crucified despair; her back arched and legs shuddering. Her scream split the fresh dawn morning. ‘Ayeee! You fucking bitch! You….you’ve…gutted me good!’ Shalunga tugged out her blade and Ilse dropped heavily to her knees, clasping the terrible gash in her guts, feeling the hot blood pumping through her clenched fingers and down into her blonde-fuzzed crotch. ‘No..no…oh, fuck, I got my slaughter-slash’ she grunted as her pale blue eyes glazed over in cold death and she lurched over to sprawl supine at her killer’s bare, slender feet.

Shalunga licked the virgin blood from her blade: it was a recognized aphrodisiac and would make her even more irresistible that night in the Shanga camp. Leaving the dead vixen bathed in a mocking glow of golden light, effulgent on the chain-mail clinging to long, luscious thighs, she found her smoky gentians, circled them widdershins and deasil, then, crooning a chant, cropped them carefully. Mission accomplished. Now back to camp with her spoils….and that included a clipped-off curl of silky blonde pubic hair.

SHAMAN SAVAGERY: PART TWO

The same sun that shone pale on the eviscerated Ilse sent lambent rays of liquid gold across the level lake that bordered the Shanga encampment. On a rock near one of the fir-clad islets that dotted the center of the lake sat Thetis, a young warrior of the Nixen, a tribe of lake-dwellers, more at home in water than out of it. Her sleek, wet body was naked and tattooed in jade-green fish-scales, her hazel hair was cropped short and her pussy was shaved. Between her open legs, up to her tits in the water, was her young lover, Lorelei, eagerly pleasuring the older girl with her clever lithe tongue. Thetis’ green-glossed lips were open as she moaned in delight, the warming sun drying the wet from her breasts and shoulders, adorned with random strands of emerald water-weed. ‘Ooooh! Lorelei, my love, it’s like a lovely wet eel in my cunt! Oh my water-warrior, I adore your salmon-sleek body!’ Plunging into the lake she embraced her lover, kissing cold, wet lips into warmth as the two Nixen reveled in their lacustrine element like playful young otters, teasing, chasing, catching and giggling.

The growing heat of the sun warned them that it was time for their patrol to begin. They tied green string round their slim waists, string that held a little quiver of ten six-inch poisoned darts of black briar. Their only other equipment was a hollow bamboo cane that doubled as snorkel and blow-pipe. Now, serious, silent assassins, they slipped beneath the softly lapping surface of the pallid lake and moved swiftly and unseen to their station close to the Shanga shore. This was the riskiest of all patrols for the shaman-chicks had it under close watch and stories were told in the Nixen camp of how unwary water-babes had fallen prey to hidden spikes on the lake-bed that were released by trip-wires to impale and drown their victims. Cautiously then, with only the faintest sinuous motion of their long and lovely legs Thetis and Lorelei moved into the shallower water among fronds of deep-green weed, trying to hide in its submarine forest from prying eyes above. And in doing so they swam straight into a death-trap.

A flurry of silver sand stirred up all around them from the lake-bed, clouding the green, lucid waters and filling their minds with terror of triggered wooden stakes thrusting for their unprotected bellies. They were being lifted, raised from their safety in the waters….caught, tangled, held! The tarred cords of the huge net were all about them, catching bare limbs and snagging blow-pipes. Lorelei screamed as they broke the surface, catching sight of the six shaman-bitches, four on the nets, two with tridents. She was caught up totally, her panic having trapped her in double coils of tarry cord, her legs wrapped inextricably in the netting. Thetis, standing in the shallows, lifted her torso out of the black, dripping net and was swiftly plying her blow-pipe. With a deadly puff of all the breath she could muster she got one of the Shanga manning the ropes. The dart buried four inches deep in her right tit; she staggered back with a cry of fury, tugging hopelessly at the slippy, wet wood that carried its venom into her soft woad-circled breast. On her knees, head flung back, she let out a weird and frightening ululation, a banshee wailing for her own imminent death. Her hands clasped her wounded tit, cradling it in its pain. Her back arched in a spasm as she retched horribly and slumped forward twitching out her evil life in the sands of the lake-shore.

Vengeance was, as always, swift to follow. As Thetis reached for a second dart she was speared in the small of the back by a trident. Triple jets of agony shot through her as her kidney was pierced. The blood trickled down the cleft of her pretty butt and her long wet legs as she swayed weakly, hands dropped by her side, head lolling in muzzy pain. She slid to her knees in the water and reeled backwards, giving the other Shanga a brilliant target of bare and defenceless belly. This time the trident was thrust to the head of its tines. Thetis, totally impaled, doubled up with a screech that made Lorelei sick to hear. She rolled over beneath the surface of the shallows, blood and air bubbling up as she thrashed like a hooked fish. The reddened water went still and Lorelei knew that her sweet lover was dead, skewered to death on the bed of their lake.

The captured Nixen was dragged into the Shanga camp with its skull-decorated huts and its pervasive scent of evil. Gloating girls in goat-horned helmets mocked her wet and shivering nudity as they followed towards a deep, sheer-sided pit in the center of the compound. Cruel hands held Lorelei tight, twisting her skinny arms, pushing her close to the brink. Her eyes widened in abject fear as she looked down: snakes, snakes more snakes. There must have been about thirty in the pit, coiling and wriggling with a hideous dry slithering. ‘We can’t do eels, water-slut, but these are the next best thing! Enjoy!’ The Nixen war-chick was so petrified she did not even scream as she was shoved out into space. Ten feet down Lorelei landed with a bruising impact that knocked the breath from her bare body. Six pairs of fangs struck instantly: the serpents she had landed on or among. Blood trickled thickly from double puncture wounds in her thigh, arm, belly, left breast, calf and butt. Now she squealed as the fire of venom burned hotly, kicking and struggling to get to her feet. A stab between her legs doubled her over, clawing at her wounded cunny, burning with poison where once it had thrilled with desire. Now she squirmed, bent double in the dirt, hands clawing at her quim as the fangs sank again and again…in he legs, arms, back and,finally, her tender throat. On hands and knees at last, she stared up at the grinning faces and horned heads that surrounded the rim of the pit. She choked in a horrible gurgle, spewed copiously in a series of retching spasms and writhed out her young life on the floor of the Shanga snake-pit.

SHAMAN SAVAGERY: PART THREE

Shalunga was not the only shaman babe on a mission. Two others had been sent deep into the forest to gather a special ivy from a particular mountain ash. Both were tall and had magnificent full tits, whorled in blue, erect-nippled, gorgeous. It was well known in the camp that Shanka, the red-head, had the hots for raven-tressed Shalee but the duty officer had sent them off together, something the High Priestess, iron-haired Shantak, would never have allowed. As the two beauties walked through the green-shaded forest paths, Shanka took every opportunity to let her flesh meet Shalee’s: thighs would kiss at narrow points in the path, hands touch, and warm, full boobs glance against arms. The red-head was aching with lust, dripping wet as she eyed the oiled glory of Shalee’s bare body, that little twitching animal skin concealing her desire from her view. She let the younger girl lead the way so she could watch the wiggle of slender hips and the sway of tight and sexy buns as Shalee walked along. They had to get the golden ivy and get back within the hour: Shantak would punish them terribly if they were late. The ivy and the gentians together would combine in a potion to confer invincibility upon the Shanga tribe and all its sultry, sinister members.

There was the clearing with the tall, slender tree soaring in its midst. Eagerly Shanka reached out to help Shalee up to a low-lying branch, thrilling to touch her soft satin-like skin, to caress her thighs. Shalee was above her, one slim foot on a branch to her left and the other on a branch jutting out at her right. The raunchy red-head was in an ideal position to look up and see, level with her gray eyes, the wet, glistening slit of her loved one. Her nostrils flared, she inhaled deeply: Shalee was as musky as a whole harem on heat! She must feel the same way! ‘Oh, shit, Shalee….you’re sooooo sexy!’ the red-head moaned, softly kissing one perfect bare, blue-painted buttock. ‘Mmmm…that’s nice,’ whispered the younger chick, taking Shanka’s hand from her inner thigh and guiding it to her snatch, frizzed with jet-black silky hair. ‘Now feel me real good!’ she begged. The red-head needed no urging: her finger slid deep inside her lover’s slippery quim and she began rhythmic masturbation as she hotly covered silky buns with her wet kisses. Shalee was rocking gently on the boughs, gyrating her slinky hips as Shanka’s fingers slurped in and out of her cunt. Now the red-head was oblivious to everything except the sensations that thrilled and tingled at all of her nerve-endings. Her hot, pink tongue explored the dusky cleft of Shalee’s butt, her own crotch was rubbing against the smooth ,polished bole of the tree, her young lover was wailing for more. ‘Oh, Shanka, hotlips, sweetlips, oh, baby, eat out my hot honeypot! Make me come with your luscious teasing tongue!’ She lowered herself a little so as to let the red-head reach her better. Resting luxuriously against the warm bark of the tree, Shanka swiftly finished off the hand-job with quick flicks of her rapidly slurping tongue. ‘Oh shit, oh …ooooh! Oh, holy shit! I’m fuckin’ comin’’ howled Shalee, writhing her hips above her lover’s upturned face.

It was a pity that she was so vocal in her love-making: her orgasmic yelps attracted a two-girl Valkyrie patrol to the clearing. Ulrika’s eyes were red: she had recently discovered the gutted body of her bed-mate, Ilse. Beside her stood Gutrune, her tears rolling still in grief for her sister, each drop carrying with it some of the gold glitter of her eye-shadow, so that they looked like salty Danziger Goldwasser rolling down her pale cheeks. Grim, silent, determined, they parted to circle the clearing, Ulrika behind Shanka, Gutrune facing, but hidden from, Shalee. With telepathic accuracy they flung their gold-headed javelins at exactly the same moment. Shalee took the spear in the lower abdomen, just above her belt of goat teeth. The blood-smeared blade thrust out a foot from the small of her back, knocking her from her perch in the rowan tree, dropping her onto a bush that broke her fall. As her climactic yelps turned into a scream of pure pain, Shanka was skewered by Ulrika’s steel, ripping her hot beauty between the shoulder blades, tearing out between her melon-like globes and driving deep into the tree-trunk. Both spears had hate and strength behind them and both shaman chicks knew that they were finished. Shalee sat, legs splayed, looking down stupidly at the spear-shaft jutting from her ripped tripes, the hot scarlet blood that coursed down between her long legs; she tried pulling it out but only intensified the pain that clawed out her guts. Her head lolled muzzily, she gave a sudden retch that vomited up blood and the remains of her breakfast and fell back into the merciful shade of the bush, her legs twitching as she breathed her last. Shanka had not screamed: a ghastly grunt had been all her response to the steel piercing her upper lung and pinning her to the tree of love. She clung to that tree, long slender arms about its trunk, legs gripping it tight, her cheek resting against the sleek bark. Through her tightly clenched teeth, blue-glossed lips rolled back, deep red blood began to drool. Her eyes gazed at the blue- swirled legs of Shalee, sticking out from the bush: if only…they’d be alive….to love together….but now……A series of convulsions shook her chest and she wailed out ‘Shaleeeee…..honey-cunt…….my love-chick!’ The last words rattled in her throat and she sagged against the ash-tree, her yellow piss gushing down its silvery bark as her bladder failed her.

SHAMAN SAVAGERY: PART FOUR

When Shalunga returned to the camp about an hour before noon she found herself caught up in a state of terrible and deep-seated fear. Shantak, the High Priestess of the goat-cult of Shanga, a sleek and svelte 45 year old with curly iron gray hair to her waist, her still firm body tattooed with hieroglyphs, paced up and down the central compound, surrounded by the whole tribe, sweating in the heat, shaking with fear at her wrath. She waved her long carved staff at Shalaka, the duty officer of the day and Shalunga’s lover: ‘You stupid fuckin’ bitch! I tell you my bowels know that those two sluts are dead! That their randy little cunts drove them to forget their duty and their loyalty….to Shanga….to me! You sent them out together! You, you skinny tart! Sex and patrols do not mix! You, too, are besotted with the slit of that Shalunga! I tell you, we could have been invincible! And I tell you, those two tribes are to attack us today! And you are responsible, you dirty little mare! You filthy cow! Too busy licking the lovejuice from your friend’s quim! Well, your time has come, bitch!’

Shalunga felt the icy claw of fear clutch at her lower belly. She stared at her fair-haired bedmate, eyeing those firm little tits that she had so often sucked, the long slinky legs that she had often kissed and licked from pretty toes to passion-packed pussy. Shalaka’s eyes, brown, big and liquid, pools of lust, were now wide with utter shock. Her icy-blue lipstick covered quivering, pallid lips. Her sleek thighs trembled ‘Strip the sleazy whore!’ yelled Shantak. ‘Bare her miserable bitch’s body…now!!’ Two of her minions, young girls who served her own desires, dark and devious as they were, rushed to grab Shalaka and tear off the goat-teeth belt with its dangling squirrel furs.The necklace, bracelets and anklets went next, torn roughly from her slim limbs, spilling the scattered goat teeth in the dirt of the compound. Shalunga’s bowels melted, she felt her guts go liquid with stark fear for her love-chick. ‘To the pit with this piece of shit!’ yelled Shantak, beside herself with rage. ‘Oh, please, Shanga, spare her, spare us to love long and lingering love again!’ prayed Shalunga, ‘and…don’t let me shit myself in front of the tribe!’

Shalaka was dragged quickly to the second pit, not the one that had received the Nixen that morning. Her bare feet left two thin and pathetic trails in the dirt as she was hauled along, the tribe eagerly following, glad that the awful rage had found its object. Shalunga could barely make her legs move to follow but Shantak’s minions forced her to a prime spot on the lip of the pit. Deep, fifteen feet of sheer drop to a sandy floor; hot, filled with the glare of the sun, now almost directly overhead; deadly, with is sole occupant…a twenty foot python, sluggishly uncoiling as the noise reached its lair. ‘She is very hungry, filth, so your death should be quick. But it deserves to be so slow, you traitor shit!’ spat Shantak at the shivering girl. ‘Oh, fuck, oh, please, oh no!’ prayed Shalunga as the grinning favourites of the priestess shoved her lover sprawling from the brink of the pit. Down she tumbled, flailing those skinny arms and legs, her pert little tit, tip-tilted and sexy, jiggling. She lay groaning, bruised badly, ribs broken, shoulder dislocated, her broken nose spurting dark-red blood over her bare breasts and belly. The thing was waving its head from side to side, its forked tongue flickering as its cold beads of eyes fixed on the sobbing babe who lay naked before it. With enormous effort and shooting pain in her bruised and broken body, Shalaka staggered slowly to her feet and backed away towards the sheer stone wall of the pit. ‘Oh, no! No! No!’ she sobbed, her hands held out ineffectively towards the python as it uncoiled its length and slithered through the sand towards her. Shalunga stared down, horribly fascinated, almost hypnotized, as Shalaka certainly was, by the fixed reptilian eyes. A sudden dart, the poor cow was down again and those thick, rippling, muscular coils were wrapping about her bare beauty, coloured walls of dry, cold skin and sinew enfolding her torso. As the python squeezed its victim the shaman babe wailed, ‘No! I…I…ayeeeeeeh!’ The crowd heard her ribs crack, saw her big brown eyes bulge in agony, her tongue thrust out from her saliva-drooling blue-glossed lips, her head rolling in pain, her long legs kicking wildly. From between her skinny thighs, from her exposed fair-haired bush spurted three little arcing founts of hot yellow piss. Then her legs stretched once and all was finished. Her folly had been punished at a terrible cost. Shalunga tore her stricken gaze away from her crushed lover, soon to glut the appetite of a hideous snake. The day that had begun at first light in triumph was not half way through and her world had crashed in ruin. Shantak would pay for this, her revenge would be terrible. But before Shalunga could plan her vengeance the sentinels on the thirty-foot high walls announced the attack by both dying in spectacular ways, first victims of the assault.

SHAMAN SAVAGERY: PART FIVE

The sentry on the wall facing the lake had spun around like a top, croaking voicelessly, a black poisoned dart through her windpipe. She stared and lifted hands to pull it out then lurched forward to topple the thirty feet onto a girl running for the wall. There was a snap as her fellow-warrior’s neck broke and they both lay in a still tangle of bare, dead beauty. On the other wall the sentinel almost leapt backwards, a Valkyr javelin quivering in her chest, her plump tits jiggling as she crashed down to the dusty ground. Goat-horn trumpets sounded as the shamans ran to defend their camp against the combined assault of Nixen and Valkyries. Some had bows, others spears, a few skilled war-babes carried the deadly Shanga sickle. Shalunga was ordered to remain with Shantak and her two sulky minions Shaira and Shazu who hated any other chick being in the inner circle. But Shalunga knew she was only there because the Priestess did not trust her out of her sight. The four of them remained in the central compound, one or other of the younger war-witches running to bring back reports from either wall of the stockade.

So Shalunga found herself high up observing the flight of blue striped arrows into the water of the lake , aimed at the submerged Nixen, betrayed by their bamboo snorkels. One poor bitch took an arrow in the small of her back; no big deal except that the barbed, bone-tipped shafts were steeped in a vicious corrosive toxin. With a flurry of splashing water she broke the surface, arms, green tattooed, flung high as the venom ran through her gut. Howling her terror she flopped back into the lake and disappeared in a foam of red-tinted bubbles. Another Nixen caught a shaft in her shoulder. She dived deep, traced by the smoky cloud of blood that flowed from her deep wound. The waters frothed as she convulsed in her death throes below the surface and then she was floating belly-up…her proud, gorgeous, full boobs pointing to the sun, her eyes staring in pain, the green bile still pouring from her slack, open lips. Still another of the water-warriors was pierced in the back, between her shoulder blades: she jack-knifed like a dolphin breaking the surface, plunging back in to bury herself in the weedy deep, her last bubbles a pathetic froth on the still green surface as the slick water-grasses held her in their fatal embrace.

Now the dripping, wet-skinned naked Nixen were wading through the shallows, bringing their blow-pipes into action as they advanced. Still they took serious casualties. Shalunga watched with an evil leer as one full-breasted beauty caught a shaft in her left nipple, big and brown. The barbed head sank deep in her heart and she splashed forward into the now deeply reddening waters near the shore. But the Nixen were accurate snipers with their darts and had several skilled shots concealed in bushes by the shore. A shaman archer, standing to get a god shot at a wading Nixen caught a dart in her right tit. She yelped, ‘Fuck! I’m dead meat!’ as she gaped at the slow trickle of poisoned blood, almost purple, that oozed from her split nipple. With a grunt she toppled forward, over the stockade to smash into the beach below, spreadeagled and naked in her death. Beside Shalunga a pretty young witch with curly red hair under her horned helmet was shot through both cheeks by a swift black dart. Her open mouth filled with blood as she gagged horribly and fell backwards and down into the camp, her broken body convulsing as she lay Her lover, carrying a trident, turned to gasp, ‘My angel! Nooo!’ when a dart hit her in the neck below the ear. She shuddered as the curare stiffened her lovely limbs and plummeted to fall on top of her dead bed-mate…together in the dirt.

Shalunga sprinted back to Shantak. The High Priestess was fitting a machete blade to her staff. ‘Shaira is with the great ones….Valkyrie javelin through the throat. You must take her place on that wall. Bring me news. Your dead bitch of a lover is to blame!’ Shalunga resisted a futile urge to disembowel the cunt there and then and raced on to where the blonde vixens were pressing their attack Some had got scaling ladders on to the wall at one edge, far from the main gate. As Shalunga bounded up the stair to the parapet a gutted Valkyr hurled past her to smash onto th paving below the stockade. Her gilt helmet rolled off displaying her cracked skull, the long blonde hair soaked and clotted in blood. On the parapet she was just in time to see a Valkyrie, plump-boobed and tall, hurl her opponent over the stockade onto the row of defensive sharpened stakes below. There was a grisly ‘schlurp’ and a fearful scream then silence. This was no place to be: two more shamans disappeared, one lifted high in both hands by a giant blonde who lobbed her, wriggling in desperation, down to death on the stakes. The other was held in a neck-lock and forced to the edge above the paved compound. Her bare limbs flailed wildly as she was launched out into air to splatter in a spray of blood on the stones below. As Shalunga ran back to her post she heard a massive splintering, rending crash behind her. A Valkyr catapult was in action. It had taken away four feet of the parapet above the gate and three shamans with it. Standing by Shantak and her snub-nosed, small-boobed minion, Shazu, she stared in disbelief as the great gates caved in behind a mighty boulder which smashed to pulp a fleeing shaman who was in its path. Glancing lake-wards she saw more running shaman babes, some toppling over with six darts in the back, victims of the sleek-bodied Nixen.

Defeat was sealed by the shaking of the sandy ground beneath their bare feet: horses! Valkyr cavalry thundering in through the splintered gate. Shantak yelled, ‘Support me!’ as she ran out to face the charging horsewomen, Shazu by her side. ‘Fuck you, lady!’ sneered Shalunga, hiding behind a nearby hut. ‘Feed my sexy babe to the snake and expect my sickle by your side…like fuck!’ Shantak was still one fit bitch. She easily unhorsed the first rider ,her blade hacking through golden chain-mail into her left globe, splitting it like a ripe peach. Behind her little Shazu could not cope. One rider swiped a sword-tip along her bare back, she spun round in agony and had her head split open by a fierce down-swing from another Valkyr. The Priestess, splashed by the warm blood of her favourite, lost her concentration. A sword blade swung viciously into her throat, severing gullet, wind-pipe, jugular and carotid. Horses trampled over her as she lay sprawling on her back in the dirt.

Grabbing the fallen staff with its blood-stained machete blade, Shalunga raced for one of the side gates….where she was cornered by two wet-skinned Nixen with captured tridents and three Valkyries armed with short, leaf-shaped swords. At once she was in a swirl of deadly beauties all aiming for her sweating, oiled, woad-painted nakedness, her belt having broken in her flight. Tridents stabbed, swords lashed. She whirled, jumped, pirouetted, all her balletic skill used to evade the whistling steel that glinted and flashed around her. One young Valkyr was too slow and Shalunga lunged with the staff: it ripped a gap in the chick’s heaving belly and she sagged screaming to her knees. Now a Valkyrie and a Nixen hurled themselves at Shalunga from two sides.She bobbed down and out. The Valkyr screeched as the triple tines tore through her chain-mail bra and dug deep in her magnificent full breasts. She lurched back in death, crashing against a hut wall. Next Shalunga threw the machete-headed staff at the other Nixen and took her between her water-weed streaked little tits. She dropped the trident which the shaman babe picked up .One of each left. The furious Nixen hurled herself at Shalunga, wild to avenge her mate. The wily shaman grabbed the trident shaft as it hissed past and swung the Nixen in front of the charging Valkyr. The short sword sliced through her body to jut out between her green-tattooed boobs, blood gurgling from her gasping mouth. Bereft of her sword the Valkyr retreated till her back was to a hut. Pinning her there would have bee fun but Shalunga had yet to use her favourite sickle. The girl exposed her pale naked belly, brave in defiance. With an expert swing Shalunga slit her gut open from left to right. The blonde choked a gurgle in her mouth and stared in disbelief at her gashed belly. Her fingers clutched in desperation at the gushing blood as she sank to her hands and knees before her merciless killer. What a triumph, gloated the naked witch. But she had reckoned without the determination and hatred of her last victim. Looking up with glazing cornflower-blue eyes, the blonde bitch, one hand in a futile clasp of her ripped belly, picked up a fallen sword and with her dying gasp thrust it deep into Shalunga’s bare, wet cunny. Appalling pain shot viciously through the shaman-chick’s ripped quim, her blood cascaded down her long parted legs as she doubled up in ferocious agony, her hands between her thighs trying to stanch the gush of life-blood from her wounded sex. Now she was crawling in the dirt, leaving a trail of sticky scarlet blood behind her, heading for the python pit. But she never made it. Cold death had kissed her warm snatch and she spasmed her last blood-gurgling breath as she rocked wildly from side to side, knees lifted high, hands pressing hard at her butchered cunt. The last shaman slaughter-slut had ended her evil days as had so many of her victims…in pain and a pool of her own blood and urine.