From: an26738@anon.penet.fi (The Lost King)
Reply-To: an26738@anon.penet.fi
Date: Wed,  6 Apr 1994 09:59:27 UTC
Subject: STORY: The Only Fair Game

     THE ONLY FAIR GAME
     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
     Shaper of Swords charged down the hallway, his ears 
folded flat against his head, his tail whipping back and 
forth.  His claws flexed impulsively, his teeth overhanging 
his lower lip, his mouth drawn into an unpleasant snarl.

     Normally, Kzin do not interrupt one another.  Especially 
not when one is in a rage such as Shaper's, although few of 
the Kzin avoiding him in the hallway could imagine the reason 
for such ferocious anger.  So when K'narl reached out a hand, 
grabbed Shaper by the shoulder and called out his name, many 
took cover.   

     Shaper spun, claws flying for the face of the 
interloper.  But K'narl was a named Kzin for good reason.  
Seizing the youth's wrists, he slammed Shaper up against the 
wall and stared into his face.  "CEASE."

     Shaper blinked, his chest heaving, his claws flexing in 
and out of their recesses in his fingers.  He snarled, a deep 
and angry sound, before collapsing against the wall.  He 
looked away.  "Sir."

     K'narl smiled tolerantly.  "You have a problem, Shaper 
of Swords?"

     "It is not something to be discussed in public."  He 
paused, then added, "Sir."

     "If it is not to be discussed publicly, you will discuss 
it with me privately.  In my home, for meal, now."

     Shaper's ears fanned open, as if unsure of what they had 
heard.  What K'narl inviting him to his house?  A mentor?  An 
offer?  He was dumbfounded.  The rage he had felt drained 
away, leaving him shaken.  "Sir."

     "Come," K'narl said, seizing the younger Kzin by the arm 
and hauling him down the passageway.  Out into the street, 
K'narl continued to handle him like a bundle of meat until 
they reached the elder Kzin's residence.  Once inside, K'narl 
indicated a small chair made of wood.  "Sit, young Shaper.  I 
will bring out food."

     Still bewildered by the sudden turn of events, Shaper 
sat, staring around.  The walls were, predictably, covered 
with weapons.  K'narl's collection predominated with weapons 
of melee' rather than of range; only two rifles were in 
evidence, and those were of exceptionally fine modern 
design.  The rest were knives, swords, hand-held weapons of 
beauty.  The blacksmithing knowledge that had granted Shaper 
his title and what respect he owned came to him as he stared, 
appreciating the artistry of such fine blades.  He wished to 
rise and examine them, but he had been so ordered to sit by 
his elder, and so he would remain.

     The nets, bolas, whips, and other weapons meant to 
entangle rather than kill a running prey fascinated Shaper.  
Those were not common items; only scientists wanted to trap 
prey for examination rather than for food.  K'narl was not a 
scientist, but a warrior, one of great strategic knowledge.  
He was known to be overly cautious at times, but the Kzin 
empire had learned from its mistakes with humans in that far, 
far too often it had screamed and it had leapt when it was 
not ready to do so.

     K'narl returned with two trays.  "It is my understanding 
that you enjoy the rare taste of Kandet."

     Shaper turned, startled by K'narl's return, then ashamed 
by his lack of attentiveness.  He attempted to bluster 
through his embarrassment.  "A weakness."

     "Nonsense," K'narl replied, placing a large tray with a 
Kandet leg before Shaper.  "Kandet is a fine meat, rare and 
difficult to preserve.   If you have the respect necessary to 
obtain it, you should enjoy that privilege."

     Shaper was stunned by K'narl's phrasing.  K'narl had 
just come so close to offering to petition for his name that 
his brain, already confused by the day's events, refused to 
consider the offer.  K'narl gave him a fanged smile and said 
"Eat.  Before the blood in that piece runs cold."

     Shaper looked down at the plate, picked up the meat 
where the bone protruded, and proceeded to gnaw on it, 
tasting it carefully before prying loose a large chunk and 
swallowing it down.  Kandet was a prized running carnivore, 
and to have hauled one down by oneself was considered an 
honor.  To have permission just to hunt a /fooch/ stocked 
with such beasts was honor in and of itself.

     When they were finished eating, K'narl sat back in his 
chair and patted his belly.  "Fine food."

     "Agreed, sir," Shaper said.

     "Now then, my young friend, tell me why you rode down 
the hall in a mood to rip out the entrails of anyone who 
stood in your way."

     "Sir..." Shaper began uneasily.

     "You will tell me," K'narl said, a dark shadow crossing 
his face.

     "Yes, sir," Shaper agreed.  He swallowed momentarily.  
"I mated for the first time today."

     "Mated?" K'narl asked.  "Or attempted to mate?"

     "Mated, sir," Shaper said.  "I did not fail in my duty 
to contribute.  It was an honor to myself and my father and 
his before him, and I did not fail in that honor."

     "Excellent," K'narl agreed.  "Then why such youthful 
rage?"

     "Sir," Shaper began again.  "Forgive me, sir, but the 
act-- the act is so unworthy of a Kzin as to be ridiculous!"

     "Explain."

     "The weak, soft, fat, pathetic whimpering of that 
passive female.  The way the priests watched.  The position, 
the act itself-- I have never felt so ill.  It made my shaft 
firm and it made my blood race in ways that only occur in 
the /foochs/ themselves, but I had to be so controlled.  I 
could not damage the female, yet my every urge told me to be 
wild, to be a Kzin.  I could not."

     "Yes," K'narl said, his lips curled into a common 
snarl.  "Combat and mating; they both make our hearts pound, 
yet only one is truly the act of an adult Kzin.  The other is 
a sad shadow, necessary but unpleasant."

     "Not during the act," Shaper interrupted.  "My head did 
not work then; I was loosed upon her.  But all the time I 
knew the priests were there with their stunners and their 
nets to protect the females.  It was later, when I was 
leaving and knew what I had committed, and how ugly it had 
been, that my rage became so..."

     "I am told," K'narl said, interrupting Shaper, "That 
human females have some fight in them, as far as a human's 
fighting strength is concerned."

     "Human females are not insentient!"

     "No, they are not.  But compared to the males they are 
not so much better than ours.  They have a little fight, but 
with the proper training I am sure they are as pliable as our 
own.  I imagine there is always that little spark of fight, 
because they might find a knife or some other weapon and turn 
upon their mate.  But any proper male knows how to control 
and take a female properly."  Leaning forward across the 
stone table, he said, "Shaper of Swords, what if I were to 
tell you that I knew of a-- an organization, that had an 
answer to your frustration."

     Shaper gave K'narl a look of surprise.  The wording of 
that offer sounded like K'narl was proposing something 
improper.  A heretic cult, perhaps?  "Your organization has 
human females to mate with?" he said, allowing a little 
sarcasm to creep in to his voice.  The tone may have seemed a 
little insubordinate, a risk to his very life.

     K'narl smiled.  "Better."

     Shaper blinked.  "What then?"

     "In the northern hemisphere, there remain some small 
zones that managed to escape the devastation of the War with 
Man.   In some cases, there is still tube service to those 
locations.  We have a /fooch/ in one of those locations.  The 
radiation is as low as background; it is completely safe.  
The /fooch/ is small, a little over two thousand /yarrach/, 
but it is private, and safe."

     Shaper waited.  K'narl continued.  "You have had a 
successful mating, Shaper.  Yet you found no pleasure in the 
act-- there was no blood, there is no memory to treasure.  In 
this *fooch* we hunt the deadliest of all game, not to kill, 
but to mate-- in combat, with claws and teeth.  For there is 
only one thing on all of Kzandi worthy of the aim of another 
Kzin's mating lust."

     Shaper stared at K'narl, unfathoming.  "What?"

     Shaper's fur stood on edge to see the elder Kzin smile.  
"Another male Kzin."

     "WHAT!?" Shaper shouted, standing up and knocking over 
the chair he had been sitting in.

     "SIT!" K'narl commanded.  Shaper stood, stunned, then 
slowly picked up the chair and sat down again.  "There is a 
hunt tomorrow, and I have been given permission to invite you."

     "But--" The obscenity of what K'narl was proposing 
horrified Shaper.  But worse than that-- it fascinated him.  
He wanted to know more.

     "Losing is an indignity one faces in these games," 
K'narl said.  "It is painful, but not dangerous."  He smiled 
that chilling smile again.  "It is something you bear with 
snarls and cries and clawing at the ground.  It is more 
painful in the lesson than the rape, young Shaper.  I have 
lost before."  Shaper just stared, so K'narl went on.  "But 
to win!  To mate, to climax buried deep in the struggling 
body of a warrior who has lost to you, lost utterly-- there 
is nothing better, my young Kzin.  The mating pressure, the 
fighting lust, all rolled into one.  There is no match in 
this universe, Shaper of Swords."

     Shaper could find no words to express the outrage he 
felt-- or the desire.  "So," K'narl said.  "Now that you have 
heard my proposal, would you like to attend such a game?"

     Shaper did not hesitate.  "I must participate?"

     "You must.  You have hunted; you have learned to be a 
warrior.  You have mated.  Now you must learn to do all three."

     "No easy matter."

     "We have ways.  Will you attend?"

     Shaper nodded, slowly.  "I shall."

     "Excellent.  You will not regret this.  Meet me at the 
subkzandor transit tube seventy-one six /izit/ after dawn.  
Understood?"

     "Understood, sir," Shaper said.

     "You had best be on your way then; even a Kzin of my 
name cannot keep a student such as you from his studies for 
long.  Tomorrow is a day of rest for us both, and so a day of 
adventure.  Study well, Shaper of Swords.  Your life changes 
tomorrow. "

     "It already has, sir," Shaper said, bowing his head and 
closing his eyes in respect.  Then he departed.


     At the sixth /izit/ past the dawn, Shaper stood in the 
designated transit station, awaiting K'narl's arrival.  He 
did not wait long; a short transit train rolled out of the 
airlock with the stripes of a privileged user emblazoned upon 
the sides soon rolled out.  Shaper noted that the priority 
markings were very low for an urban vehicle; most 
metropolitan vehicles would have priority over this.  The 
door opened and K'narl's head poked out.  "Come, my young 
Shaper of Swords.  Come meet your companions."

     Names and labels were passed around as Shaper stepped 
into the train.  The names stunned him; some of the Kzin in 
this tube were among the most famous on all of Kzandor!  He 
asked K'narl.

     "The training one receives in this field will serve you 
well on the field of battle.  No worship of Gods, Kzin or 
Human, will serve you as well as the secrets of stealth and 
defense you learn here."  K'narl was silent for a moment.  "I 
must warn you, Shaper, of a danger in this game."

     "A danger, sir?"

     "Yes.  When I interviewed you, I asked if your mating 
had been successful.  I wanted to be assured that you 
functioned fully as a male Kzin before inviting you to this 
most male of games.  As you can well imagine, for every 
success there is a loss; someone must lose."  K'narl paused 
for a moment.  "Some learn to enjoy losing."

     "Impossible!" Shaper said.  "No self-respecting Kzin 
would want to lose."

     "They hide it well," K'narl said.  "Those we find in 
that state we exclude from the game; they are not worth the 
fight.  Sometimes we use them for-- amusement."  He chuckled, 
rumbling.  "We are a very decadent lot in many ways.  But 
there is a pleasure in losing, even to those of us who hate 
it.  To know you have met an irresistible force, and that 
force is one like you, and that you may one day be like 
him--  There is a pleasure in that.  There is even a bodily 
pleasure, Shaper, in the act of losing.  You enjoy the burn 
of a deserved wound as well as any Kzin.  This is much like 
that.

     "Do not learn to like losing too much.  You must put 
your muscle and bone into winning, Shaper.  As your sponsor, 
I will not be dishonoured."

     "I shall win, sir."

     "Good."


     The train came to a halt and the occupants departed.  
Shaper felt lost amidst such eminence and fame, but he 
managed to keep something of a proud demeanor to himself as 
he conversed respectfully with the other participants in the 
day's /fooch/.  They were led into a large room, walled and 
floored in stone, apparently buried underground.  Shaper was 
surprised to watch an older Kzin mount a platform at one 
end.  "Who here is the newest one?"

     Shaper realized that the elder must have meant him.  He 
approached the platform and knelt.  "I, sir."

     "Welcome, then.  You know not what awaits you.  This is 
your order.  Take this package.  Down that hallway are 
doors.  Find the eleventh.  Close yourself within and open 
the package.  Follow the directions precisely.  Understood?"

     "Yes, sir."

     "The rest of you know which rooms are yours, and you 
know how to begin.  Go."

     Shaper took the package as directed and walked down the 
hallway; several other Kzin followed him, taking to other 
doors and passing him by.  He found the eleventh and entered, 
closing the door behind him.

     He tore open the package.  A sheet of paper within 
directed him that a signal would be given for him to leave 
the room and enter the fooch, following the yellow lights to 
the door he was to use.  Also in the package he found a foil 
packet that fit easily within his hands.  The directions 
instructed him to stroke himself to excitement, and to apply 
the contents of the packet to his erect penis as he 
masturbated.

     Shaper manipulated his sheath as instructed, embarrassed 
at first, but as the blood flowed into his groin and his 
excitement grew he became more aroused.  The embarrassment 
faded.  His erection grew, standing out from his body.  With 
a pause, he tore open the foil packet.  A thick white fluid 
flowed onto his palm, and he applied it to his shaft, 
stroking insistently.  The fluid was slick, greasy.  He 
smiled, recognizing it-- the priests had offered him much the 
same substance.

     No! he realized as he breathed deep.  There was more to 
this than merely a grease to make penetration easier.  There 
was mating scent in this fluid!  His heart began to pound, 
his erection grew solid as stone as he masturbated.  He 
laughed, his wildest need to take someone, something 
overwhelming him.

     Then the door flew open.

     Startled at first, Shaper realized that was the sign for 
him to leave.  He leapt for the door, grabbing the doorway 
just in time to keep from slamming into the far wall in his 
haste.  He glanced left, then right; nobody was to be seen.  
He found the yellow lights; they led him up a sloping hallway 
with an open hatch at the end.  He nearly leapt into the air 
as he exited into the darkened /fooch/.

     He was alone.  Rain fell in insistent patter.  His 
instincts as a hunter overtook him, and he rolled for brush.  
There were no /foochseth/ in this park, no game to be hunted 
but his fellow Kzin, and no reason for rest until the act was 
over and you claimed your kill.  And he knew that he, too, 
was hunted.  Someone desired him as their "kill" as well.

     He froze, unmoving, and listened.  Not an easy task; his 
own heart beat like the throbbing drive of a fusion ground 
tank.  But over the falling rain as he listened he heard the 
subtle sounds of someone moving in the brush.  Someone near.

     Was it a trap?  The thought that two or more Kzin might 
join up and "share" a "prize" occurred to him.  To be raped 
by one was enough, he thought-- to have two or three take 
their turns with him was more horrible than he wanted to 
imagine.  He shuddered.  Nothing to be done about it.  He 
merely thought about his training.  "You scream and you leap."

     There wouldn't even be a scream this time.  He crawled 
slowly, silently, through the thick jungle brush.  A light 
rain began, and he smiled; it would cover his noise.  His 
target wasn't too far away.  He was downwind of the other, 
even; he could smell his victim.  And from the wetness in his 
fur Shaper knew he had a Kzin and not an animal.  

     He caught a glimpse of orange through the green, a sight 
of Kzin moving slowly through the brush, looking back and 
forth.  He leapt, roaring only after his feet had left the 
ground.

     The other Kzin whirled, dodging.  Shaper cursed, 
recognizing the move.  A human trick.  Akido.

     But not entirely.  The other Kzin was still Kzin.  He 
answered the challenge, leaping upon Shaper as Shaper rolled 
and came to a crouch.  They tumbled against a heavy bush, and 
it gave way underneath their weight.  

     They were not here to wrestle, Shaper reminded himself.  
The thought of losing ran through his mind, feeding his 
rage.  He shoved the other Kzin off of him and sent him 
sprawling against a tree.  The Kzin roared in pain and spun, 
digging claws into the bark of the tree to scrabble to a 
standing position.  Shaper circled through the covering brush 
until he was behind his victim.  The other Kzin kept looking 
back and forth, searching for his attacker.  He turned all 
the way around only in time to see Shaper leap and scream 
once again, his shoulder landing square in his victim's 
chest.  The other snarled in pain and surprise as a claw came 
down and ripped against his arm.

     Shaper smelled the blood, and like the mating scent 
slipped into the grease it drove him into a wild frenzy of 
lust.  The other Kzin wasn't doing well, but he was trying.  
He was fighting.  Shaper knew he liked it that way, knew he 
liked this hunt.  If only females were like this!

     The other Kzin, slowed by his pain and bleeding, 
attempted to strike a blow to Shaper's kidneys, but Shaper 
seized his arm and tossed the Kzin over his shoulder, sending 
him sprawling along the mud-strewn ground face-first.  
Brushing the falling rain from his eyes, he looked down and 
saw his victim's buttocks shoved in the air.  He remembered 
again why he was here.  Looking down, his erection was 
insistent within his body, and he slid it out into his palm.  
The other Kzin was attempting to rise, but Shaper snarled and 
shoved him back to the mud.  "Down!" he roared.

     He closed his left hand about the scruff at the back of 
his victim's neck, and with his right aimed his penis 
downwards, shoving hard.  The loser howled in despair as 
Shaper penetrated his anus.

     The heat, the tightness, were things Shaper was 
completely unprepared for.  He growled in appreciation as 
this male Kzin gave him a pleasure he had earned fully and 
with a warrior's prowess.  He raped the losing Kzin, 
listening with pleasure to his howls of agony, watching as 
the other clawed desperately at the ground, trying to crawl 
away from the penetrating dishonor of Shaper's sex buried 
within his guts.

     Shaper took his pleasure viciously, clawing his victim, 
watching the rain take the blood in little rivulets.  He 
bucked against his buttock, feeling the hardened warrior's 
flesh give way underneath him, lose utterly to him.  As he 
approached his climax, he lost all control, becoming nothing 
but the feral beast that was his animal heritage, his 
Kzinda-given right!

     He roared as he climaxed, shoving himself deep within 
his victim over and over to take as much of his final moments 
as he could.  And then it was finished.

     He rose, slowly and unsteadily, listening.  The room had 
had no more than thirty Kzin in it; it was easily possible 
that none had been in earshot for much of the fight, but 
surely everyone had heard his final roar.

     Someone had.  A party of four Kzin, each wearing the 
black of a /fooch/ administrator, came running through the 
brush.  Shaper pointed down to the figure in the mud.  "I--" 
he gasped.  "I claim my kill.  He requires medical 
attention."  He felt tired, almost faint.  He looked down and 
saw the enormous bloody tears the other Kzin had clawed in 
his thighs during the struggle.  Just before he passed out, 
he said "As do I..."


     "How long have I been unconscious?"

     "Only a few *izit*," K'narl assured him.  "You were in 
no danger.  We have healed your legs; the fur will grow back 
eventually, and there will be no scarring.  You did not give 
us directions regarding scar treatments, and we fall on the 
side of discretion."

     "I understand," Shaper of Swords replied.

     "Your honor is intact, as is that of your victim.  He 
lost, but he went down fighting, as did you.  
Congratulations."  Shaper nodded, sitting up off the thin 
mattress.  "Tell me what you think."

     "It is a dangerous game," Shaper said, answering the 
elder's command instantly.  "The prey is always your equal; 
we could have killed one another."

     "There is no shame in that.  You are nameless, still, 
although I will petition Shufthah-ritt to have that changed 
soon.  You are deserving.  Your art is of no mean quality, 
and your talent as a warrior is well and powerful.  You would 
be a welcome addition, should the Fourth Truce with Man ever 
collapse.  Welcome, Shaper of Swords, to our little 
organization."

     "Thank you," Shaper replied.  "I shall honor your 
welcome."

     "See that you do.  Now, rest.  The train leaves in four 
/izit./  Heal until then."  K'narl rose and left.


                  LEGAL DISCLAIMER
 Concurrent with the United States Supreme Court decision 
 regarding _The Orbison Estate v. Two Live Crew_ and the 
 copyright laws of the United States, this is a work of 
 _parody_.  This work is posted freely without any request
 for renumeration; its only purpose is social commentary 
 presented in an entertaining fashion.