Casca - God Of Death Part 7

As though time had stopped for them.

As though they were from in a nightmare.

And only Casca moved.

Casca and the storm.

He and the storm were one.

Step by step.

Casca fought away the tremendous pain. Nausea boiled within him as fiercely as the storm without and threatened to throw the insides of his stomach to the raging wind.

Sweat ran freely down from the inside of his mask. His throat constricted and tightened. Mindless of the people about him he moved. The greater the pain the more powerful became his step until he was striding, head erect, a proud image, a G.o.d indeed. They bowed. They prostrated themselves before him.

Step by measured step he proceeded past their p.r.o.ne bodies toward his quarters, himself now the full and only embodiment of ceremony, the thundering storm his only escort.

But, although to them he might be a triumphant G.o.d riding the wind, to him the effects of the coca leaves were wearing off, the pain was intensifying, and he was beginning to feel the real world around him, conscious now of the rain starting to fall, rain that would be a curtain of water in moments, like the curtain of unconsciousness rapidly overtaking him. He had only seconds. He might not reach the safety of his quarters. Yet he knew he must not let them see their G.o.d collapse in the mud so near to security. His hands and feet felt numb, distant. The aching throbbing in his chest was all, present, the pain there overshadowing all else. He could not endure....

But in the last few seconds before he was certain the end was upon him he found himself at the doorway of his quarters. Turning, he took the jade mask from his face.

"Hear me!" His voice boomed out with all his remaining strength, one tremendous superhuman sound, for the louder he cried out the more bearable the pain seemed to be. His voice overrode the storm. "Let none disturb me until I next come forth! Only the woman Metah will attend my needs. I repeat: Let none disturb me until I am ready!"

With that final roar, he turned to the interior. But the effort exhausted him. Once in the shadows he barely had strength to make it to the couch. In the very act of falling on the blankets he was unconscious.

The coca leaves had done their job.

Now it was time to heal.

For the next two weeks only Metah dared to enter the quarters of the living G.o.d. Chills and fever racked Casca's body. Metah would lie with him, holding herself close against him to give him her warmth to fight off the terrible deathcold enveloping him. She fed him as a mother feeds a child, spoonful by spoonful. Alone in the shadows with him she would cry and kiss tenderly the great wound on his chest. To her he was not a G.o.d. He was a man. A man she loved. Everything else was secondary. Even to the priests when they questioned her would she say nothing but that the lord Tectli Casca, sleeps, and when he is ready he will come forth.

Tezmec had a problem. He spent the long days, and even longer nights, questioning himself. He had been shaken to the roots of his being. All the days of his life he had been taught obedience to the G.o.ds and their laws. He had thought he knew all. Now...

True, Casca, the one from the sea, had performed a miracle.

But all that Casca had done was contradictory to Tezmec's teachings. And the pale stranger could not be right concerning the command that there be no more messengers.

The G.o.ds must have sacrifices.

Inside, Casca's body changes were taking place. Millimeter by millimeter his heart was returning to its proper function and position. The severed blood vessels and arteries were repairing the damage, seeking again their accustomed channels. Unknown to Casca in his deep sleep, other blood vessels had taken over the job of circulating his blood through his system, each minutely expanding and contracting and thus pumping the life-giving oxygen and nutrients to the places where they were needed most. In effect, his entire circulatory system was one diffuse temporary heart, adequate to sustain life while, bit by bit, his body took the steps needed to repair itself.

Casca woke.

The first thing he saw was a ma.s.s of thick black hair covering his chest. There was confusion for just a moment, then the ma.s.s of hair moved. Metah. She was lying on his chest, her hair covering him, and she was sleeping. Gently he raised his scarred hand and stroked her hair as he would a sleeping child.

"Little girl," he whispered, his voice ragged and unfamiliar from lack of use, "I love you.

She snuggled .........

The next few days brought an amazing change in him. With every breath he now drew, with every beat of the now-functioning heart, he grew stronger.

Totzin the priest wondered about the progress of the stranger. Casca,s miraculous survival he attributed to an alliance between this foreigner and the hated priest of the Serpent, Tezmec.

Once Casca recovered he found himself in control of the city and the people, and every day he increased that control. The miracle of his survival and the G.o.dlike speed of his recovery would have set the stage for him in any event, but the way he was now twisting Tezmec around his little finger speeded up matters greatly. Something had happened to Tezmec since those incredible moments at the altar. He had no will to resist Casca. His thoughts were confused, but he watched in silent bewilderment as Casca stopped all human sacrifice and did nothing to hinder him. He did come in private to Casca and protest that surely disaster would strike his people, the rains would stop, and pestilence would stalk the land as it had done in the days of Cuz-mecli's father. But when the Tectli Casca would hear nothing of his reasons but merely stated flatly that the sacrifices must stop, Tezmec bowed his old head in obedience.

Even the warriors of the Serpent followed Casca's lead. They firmly aligned themselves with the living G.o.d that walked among them. Casca had more than adequately shown his superiority to all the warriors in the matter of combat and had defeated any who dared to face him in tests of strength and ability.

He was firmly in control.

Except for Totzin.

Only Totzin did not follow the will of Casca in all things. And there were rumors. It was said that young girls who had disappeared were being offered to Teypetel the Jaguar under the blade of Totzin's dagger. Rumors, though. No proof.

The law concerning sacrifice was clear. Only captives in war or those who came voluntarily from among their own people could be used as messengers. To take maidens against their will was unthinkable, and, though Totzin was hostile to Tezmec, surely he would not break the laws of their people. No, the disappearance of the young women must be accounted for as the acts of raiders from some of the savage tribes living about them, young braves sneaking in to steal brides. It had happened before. Perhaps even the Toltecs could be responsible.

Meanwhile, Totzin carefully avoided any confrontation with Casca. When they did chance to meet, Totzin showed deference and servility. But deep behind his honeyed words his heart was black with hate, hate for this pale-skinned one who had by some conspiracy taken over control of Totzin's nation and proclaimed himself a G.o.d. Totzin had seen the runners sent by Casca to the coast where the rest of the accursed foreigner's men waited.

Twice before, Casca had sent runners, but Totzin's Jaguar soldiers had stopped them and offered their hearts to Teypetel. But the last runners had succeeded. Now more like Casca would come. And with them Totzin's power would decrease even more. The time was now. He must meet with the king of the Olmecs. Between them they could crush this evil that had come and deprived them of their just dues and respects. Soon the great jaws of the jungle hunter, the killer of men, would have all the blood he needed. The G.o.d Teypetel would feed to the fullest, and he, Totzin, would himself offer the body of Casca to the G.o.d, and if the stranger's heart still beat after the blade, then he would slice him into a thousand separate pieces and feed them one by one to the vultures. That would take care of even the Quetza.

Totzin sent runners secretly to the stronghold of the giant king of the Olmecs. Following Totzin's instructions, they offered their master's allegiance if the great Olmec king would come to their aid and rid their city of the foreigner, for surely, was not the great king of the Olmecs the only one powerful enough to stand against the blue-eyed one in combat? And if he did this, would not the wealth of the Teotec nation be his? And, with Totzin as his suzerain, there would be sent him an unending stream of victims for the glory of the Jaguar.

Casca had grown used to being a G.o.d and was beginning to enjoy it. On his tours around the city he gained an ever greater appreciation of what these people had accomplished. They had no weapons of metal to speak of. The only ones they did have were poor things beaten out of native raw copper ore. They apparently lacked the knowledge of how to refine the ore itself. But gold and silver were plentiful and they used these metals for the glory of their G.o.ds. The metal gold seemed to them to have no value other than its easy pliability in the manufacture of sacred artifacts and art objects.

Casca discovered what many another innovator had before him and since-that it is not easy to change a people's technology. For the children he had made a cart of clay with wheels that rolled. The children were delighted. Casca decided this would be a good way to teach the people the use of the wheel for heavy transport, for, although the idea of the wheel was known, it was not used here for the obvious purpose. Casca demonstrated the ability of the wheel to haul heavy loads. Demonstrated, but that was all. G.o.d or no G.o.d, he got nowhere with the people; they merely smiled, agreed, and went back to doing things as they always had, hauling their loads on their backs with a strap about the forehead to keep it in position.

While Casca busied himself with the load-carryinmg activities of the people of Teotah, however, in the land of the Olmecs quite a different kind of traffic was going on. The loads being brought into the Olmec cities were not food nor articles of trade. They were tribute from the villages in the Olmec domain, tribute in the form of weapons: spears and axes and clubs sided with flint; deer horn s.h.i.+elds; and quilted suits of cotton armor. The king of the Olmecs had arrived at a decision: he would march on the city of Teotah. His ego had been bruised by the reports he had received of the Quetza's great strength. That and the opportunity to have warriors loyal to his cause already within the city was too much to pa.s.s up. He would prove to all that he was the greatest warrior in the world. After Teotah he would march against all who opposed his divinity. He would leave his monuments behind: the great heads of his and his father's likenesses, fat lips sneering in a grin that showed teeth filed to needle points, as the teeth of the jaguar were pointed, so must his be. The decision made, the king rose from his throne and gave orders to his captains to make ready. When the moon was full they would march.

And on the coast, other men were already marching.

The runners had finally gotten through to the dragon s.h.i.+ps. The Vikings had the word from Casca and had set out to rejoin their leader. They were not aware of what a strange sight they made in this land ... large men with tanned skins and hair of many colors, their armor gleaming in the sun, helmets with the horns of beasts on them... strong men who cursed at every step that took them away from the security of the sea and their only link with their homes, the dragon s.h.i.+ps that had brought them safely thus far. But their master called, and they obeyed, leaving the dragon s.h.i.+ps in the care of warriors bearing the emblem of a snake and of such few Vikings who were too ill or too injured to make the journey to the city where Casca the Walker was a G.o.d.

Olaf Glamson, however, relished the change, and the chance for action. His high spirits and laughter did much to dispel the gloom that many of his countrymen felt in these forbidding jungles.

Every step took them closer. Word of their coming reached Casca while he was with the young king. Casca and the king were fast becoming great friends. Casca liked the young man for his spirit and courage. The youngster was eager to meet these approaching strangers, for the Quetza had said that with them came a new order. And Cuz-mecli, though he had believed in the need for it since that was his teaching, had never really liked the sight of men's hearts being torn from them. Now, if the G.o.ds were all like the Quetza, surely it would be better for his people. He had seen no disaster befall them since the sacrifices had stopped. The rains still came, and the people prospered and were content. They gloried that only they, of all peoples, had a G.o.d living with them.

As for Metab, she gloried in her man. Casca took no other women and seemed to be content with her. She was always at his side. The close a.s.sociation brought a subtle change: she grew more beautiful every day, carrying herself as if she had to the royal manor been born. She was the consort of a G.o.d .. . but she knew him as a man..

The days were warm and good. Casca walked among his people, watching the women spin, watching them turn the spindles to convert the cotton wool into thread for cloth. The young children were learning the arts of their fathers . . . to be either warriors or priests. But the ones who really made the city live were the farmers, merchants, and artisans. Casca took a special delight in the workers of stone and gold. Watching a goldsmith refining his precious metal, Casca noted that there was no difference in the method here from that of his own homeland, Rome. The gold was stacked in earthenware plates and placed in a pot, each plate separated by powdered stone or brick dust. Then the pot was covered and heated until it glowed red. The smith would build up the heat with a blowing bellows until the gold was hot enough to melt. The impurities would combine with the dust, and when the process was finished the gold was purified and ready to be worked.

Casca was thus absorbed in watching the gold-smith when the runner came and fell to his knees before the Quetza.

"Lord," the runner reported, "they come! The giant and the ones with the s.h.i.+ning skins hme as you ordered."

The Vikings had reached Teotah.

ELEVEN.

The sight that greeted the Vikings was one that they knew they would long remember Those who lived would tell and retell to their children and grandchildren what they saw that day. To begin with, they were properly awed by the size of the great city, and by the buildings. But that was only the beginning. When they reached the great square and were surrounded by palaces and pyramids, the sight left them all with their mouths hanging open-unfortunately an invitation to the Teotec flies. Ten thousand warriors lined the square, each in the brilliant plumage of his sect. Foremost, by virtue of their allegiance to Casca, were the Serpent men. Then the Jaguar soldiers. Less prominent were the Coyote troops and the Puma sect, but even these were grouped together in a brilliant rainbow display of feathers and skins. Their faces were painted, their weapons edged with obsidian and flint, their s.h.i.+elds bearing designs strange and wonderful to the Vikings and ta.s.sled with exotic feathers.

Nor was the sight alone all. Then came the sound of drums and reed flutes. The group of Serpent soldiers to the west drew back to form a lane, and the Vikings gawked in amazement. Here came a giant litter carried by fifty men, their faces black and each naked as the day he was born. They moved and chanted in step, carrying their enormous burden. The litter was protected by a canopy. Seated on a throne under the canopy was a monstrous figure ingleaming feathers, his face covered by a green stone mask, his hands holding a spear and one of the wooden clubs edged with razor-sharp obsidian.

People by the tens of thousands stood lining the thoroughfares as far as the eye could see. They were all quiet and well-behaved. When the palanquin approached, they would prostrate themselves to it.

The litter was definitely the center of attention. As it drew closer, the Vikings could see that it was covered with sheets of gold and decorated with blue and green stones. An ancient priest preceded it. His staff of office aided him to walk. His head was erect and proud beneath his coating of red and black paint. Closer the giant litter came. The drumming and the fluting reaching an ear-piercing crescendo as they neared. Ten feet from the Vikings they stopped. The sudden silence was impressive. It was broken for the Vikings only by the sound of their own breathing. Then a voice boomed out at them.

"Welcome!" it said in the language of the Nors.e.m.e.n. "Welcome to the lands and city of the Teotec.

Olaf stared in amazament. "Is it you, lord, behind the green mask? Aye. It must be. None of these people has eyes of your color. By Odin, lord, you look like some great green bird in all those feathers. Surely you sit in a strange nest. But we are glad to see you, lord, and, as you have ordered, we have come to do your bidding."

In the Roman manner taught them by Casca, the Vikings drew their swords at Olaf s command and with the wind whipping through the blond and red mustaches cried out as one man: "Hail, Casca, Lord of the Keep! Ave! Ave!"

Casca signaled, and the junior priests lowered their burden carefully to the ground. He stepped to the front of the litter.

His barbaric splendor was a sight to see. On his arms and wrists he wore bracelets of gold in the likeness of serpents eating their tails, while around his neck a ma.s.sive pendant of beaten gold inlaid with jade pictured the history of the Teotec.

He removed the mask. It was beginning to cramp him anyway. His familiar scarred face, red and sweating, smiled at his men.

Sweeping Olaf up in his arms, Casca roared with obvious pleasure. He thumped Olaf on his back until the young Glamson thought his ribs would give way.

"Pray, lord," he pleaded, "if you would have me in any condition to fight later on, go easy now.

Casca's rolling laughter echoed around the square, and the sound of his mirth set the native people to smiling. All was well. The Tectli was pleased. Pa.s.sing through the ranks of his men, Casca called each by name. He asked about the faces that were missing and frowned at their loss. But the life of a soldier is death, and they had died like men. When the living returned to their home fires even the dead would become immortal in the telling and retelling of great feats.

Returning to his litter, Casca called out to the city: "These are my men! They are to be your friends! They shall live among you! But, remember, they are not of your ways and customs. Be patient with them, and they will learn. If any offends, you tell me, and I will administer justice. These are my words. So let it be. I am the Quetza."

Turning to Olaf, he said, "You will be made welcome. Quarters are prepared. You and your men must rest after your journey. Come to me for the evening meal. Bring your officers, and we will talk of what must be done here."

Olaf was properly astounded. He bowed his head. "As you wish, my lord." Then he turned to his hairy band, and his voice boomed out in command, very much like Casca: "Let none here offend our hosts by bad manners. Though these people appear to be savage, I think we could learn much from them. The first one of you who gets his a.s.s in trouble, particularly over a woman, will find himself singing his death song a h.e.l.luva lot quicker than he thought. Understand? Good! Then follow these men." He indicated the priests who had stepped forward at Casca's bidding. "We will rest."

Once at their a.s.signed quarters, the Vikings settled down to an excited chatter about their new surroundings and about what had happened to Casca. While this was going on a group of women slaves, heads bowed, demure, entered. Each went to one of the warriors and put a necklace of gold and turquoise about his neck, then a bracelet of gold set with jade on his wrist. Shy and fearful, they then withdrew. After getting a good look at the a.s.ses of the slave girls, several of the Vikings were immediately ready to trade their gifts for a quickie.

All right, settle down." Olaf s voice came through the excitement. "You men hit the sack. But before you go to sleep, make sure your weapons are clean and ready for use. Also, I want three men posted at the entrance at all times. We may be guests here, but we should be careful as always."

Totzin had watched the proceedings with the bile bitter in his mouth. Well enough, he thought. More of these paleskins for the altars. His eyes caught a glimpse of Metah as she joined Casca on his litter for the return to the palace. Totzin ran his tongue over his lips as he watched the rich sway of her hips and the bounce of her ripe b.r.e.a.s.t.s. When I am done with the Quetza, I shall take her for my own as long as she pleases me. When she no longer amuses me, I shall feed her to the Jaguar ... except for those parts I take for myself .

Olaf followed his painted priest guide across the way to the palace of Casca. His quick gaze missed nothing. He was taken past guards in elaborate headdresses and with strange weapons. The walls were covered with murals depicting the life and culture of the people of Teotah. Behind Olaf his officers followed him in awe. Finally they came to a ma.s.sive door of carved wood. Two Serpent sodiers opened it and ushered the Vikings into a more familiar presence.

Casca stood in the center of the huge room wearing only a loincloth. His arms and wrists were covered by ma.s.sive gold bracelets. Casca welcomed the Vikings. They stood for a moment looking around the room. In the center were benches and a table covered with many foods-even the flesh of the small dog that these people prized so much.

"Before we talk, eat and drink," Casca commanded. He indicated for them to take their places with a sweep of his muscled arms. The movement of his arms focused attention on the jagged scar on his chest, the raised red welt that had not yet had time to pale into the many other faded scars that limned his body. Olaf eyed the jagged wound but said nothing. Casca would tell of it when he was ready, but now for the food. The Nors.e.m.e.n fell to with their normal vigor, though most of them carefully avoided the red peppers and spices. They had met those on their journey, and just looking at them they could remember how they had burned their mouths ... and even later the burning was renewed when the chiles made their exit. The meat they favored most was that of a large bird resembling a giant chicken, but with drumsticks twice the size of that familiar domestic fowl.

The men showed a definite liking for the local wine, once they got used to the taste. Casca told them it was called octli. There was also the more pungent mezcal. A few of the Vikings even swore to its good effects. Both, Casca explained, came from a fleshy, long-leaved plant with sharp spines that was known as the magucy.

Olaf swallowed a long draw of pulque, wiped his blond mustache clean with the back of his hand, and said, "Well, Lord Casca, it may not be beer or mead, but it does set your head feeling as if all were well. Is it?"

The question cut through the clamor.

"Well enough, Olaf Glamson."

They all stopped eating. Casca looked around at the waiting, expectant faces of those who had followed him so far from their home waters. One by one he gazed into their eyes, into the faces of these, his officers. They were rough men with the blood of heroes in their veins, not the refined cultured officers of the Roman n.o.bility nor of the princes of the East. These men could spend a lifetime without sleeping under a roof and feel no sense of deprivation. They could eat anything that walked, flew, dug, or swam, or that could eat them, and they'd even take that on if they got in the first bite. Their form of courage was basic and primitive in its origin. They had been raised on a steady diet of what they believed to be the manly virtues. Courage and loyalty to their own came first. Their own lives were less important to them than being faithful to what they considered to be their honor as warriors.

Beside Olaf sat Vlad the Dark. His hair was coal black, with traces of blue lights in it. His skin was deep bronze from the sun. He could almost have been taken for one of the Teotecs had it not been for the piercing blue eyes that watched all about him in quiet study. Quiet he was, and the most mannerly of the barbarians seated here. Seldom did he get into the p.i.s.s-binding drunken stupor that his comrades seemed to enjoy so much. Nor was the Viking habit of boasting his. He never sang his own praises nor boasted of his prowess with the great axe. Yet few intentionally offended him. The foolish ones who did soon found themselves without their uppermost appendage, for Viad's quiet manners belied his swiftness with axe and sword. Only to Olaf-whom he loved like an elder brother-and to Casca, the Lord of the Keep, did he show deference.

The other Vikings were cut more from the cloth of rude violence and boisterous spirits. Bjornson, Olvir, and Swey were very much like Holdbod the Berserker. When Holdbod fought, the rage would come over him. His lips would froth. He would scream in what seemed an unknown tongue, literally crying for more to come, and slaughtering those who did with his great two-handed blade that was larger than one most half-grown youths could even raise to the waist. With this great sword he could split a man from crown to the waist as clean as a butcher would carve beef.

Casca completed his mental survey. These, then, were his men. He addressed them.

Olaf, we will soon have work to do. Messengers have come to me that the king of the lands adjoining Teotah is preparing to march against us. And, while I have the loyalty of most of this city, there are some whose mouths speak well, but whose eyes and actions lie."

Olaf broke in, "But, lord,'why should we involve ourselves with these people's fights? Why don't we just take what we will and set sail for home? Surely from what I have seen here there is gold and silver enough to' make us all rich as kings. What are these people to us?"

Casca caught hold of his temper. His voice dropped a register.

Olaf, I love you for yourself and for your father. But this is my will. These people and this city are now mine and they are my responsibility. They have the makings of a greater nation than any I have ever met, but they must have time to grow. Here I have stopped the sacrificing of human beings to their G.o.ds, and they look on me as a G.o.d. I have taken away from them something they held sacred for centuries. And more ... I have found a woman. There are other reasons, but these will suffice."

Casca's gray gaze forced Olaf s eyes down.

"Aye, lord. We have sworn to obey you in all things. If this is your wish, then so it be. We are your men," Glamson replied.

Pleased, Casca responded in gentler tones: "Olaf, after the fighting is done, those who wish may take the longs.h.i.+ps and sail for home. And, as you say, each man will have enough gold to make him rich as a king. But before that time, each must earn his reward. When the Olmecs are beaten, I will release you from your oath of fealty."

"Very good, my lord. But, if there will be slaughter, then perhaps you will have need of this."

Reaching under the table, Olaf pulled the sack he had been carrying when they entered into full view. It was bulky. It clanged as he set it on the table, sweeping aside trays and plates with his arm, clearing a spot.

Olaf reached inside the bag and pulled out, one at a time, items that each evoked a memory of Casca's past. First, there was a full set of Roman armor. It was the set Casca had in his pack when he and Olaf's father, old Glam, had fought for and won the keep in which Olaf was born. It was well-used armor, but it had been even better cared for.

Olaf held up each piece of the armor for his leader's appraisal. The only new piece was the tunic of white linen with half sleeves and a skirt reaching to the knees. The cuira.s.s was of three parts. The shoulder epaulets and the chest and back covering were all made of boiled, formed leather on which were sewn circular pieces of iron. The shoulder pieces were made of four plates, smaller than those of the cuira.s.s to which they were fixed on the ends and pa.s.sed over the shoulders like straps. From the waist were two thick borders of leather plated with strips of iron reaching almost to the knees.

As each piece was brought out and presented, Casca felt a rush of memories.

"One last item, lord," Olaf said. "This was dropped when the cat soldiers took you captive. For some reason they left it where it lay."

Reaching deep into the sack, Olaf withdrew Casca's famous short sword. The weapon had been meticulously cleaned and sharpened. Not a spot of rust would dare make itself known on the s.h.i.+ning surface. The blade had been honed on both sides to razor sharpness. There were, however, several deep notches in the blade that gave it a slightly serrated appearance. They had been too deep to remove without damaging the rest of the sword.

Casca took the weapon in his calloused hand. The grip felt alive. He had carried this weapon ever since he had left the battlefield in Parthia where the city of Ctesiphon had been put to the sword. How many years had it been? Fifty? Sixty? More?

Casca put his free hand on the forearm of Olaf. "Thank you. This weapon is more than a tool. It is the story of my life. It and my destiny are one. Thank you, Olaf Glamson. Now I must go. Even a G.o.d has duties, and several await me. You and the others, eat and enjoy yourselves. Tomorrow we begin to ready for the battle."

That night, while the Nors.e.m.e.n slept, they were closer to war than they imagined. Even now, while they were tossing in their sleep and dreaming of the women they had left at home, Teypetel was being borne on a giant litter carried by eighty slaves at the front of his army. Thirty thousand strong the enemy marched. The litter bearers were changed and replaced by fresh slaves every three miles. Less if the going was rough.

In Teotah, the city of the Teotec, only Totzin knew what was transpiring, and he slept the best sleep of all. Victory was soon to be in his grasp, and the city and its people would be his. The few foreign devils who had come could make no possible difference in the outcome. Five days, and the king of the Olmecs and his army would be at the doors of Teotah. Then the G.o.d of the Jaguar would feed to the fullest. He, Totzin, would see to it that the one calling himself the Quetza performed no further tricks or illusions. He smiled as he slept. A warm, wet flash ran down his leg from the groin as he dreamed of what he would do to the woman of the Quetza. Not all his excitement was s.e.xual in nature; the thought of feeding himself on her flesh was as strong a stimulant as the s.e.x act itself.