Gundar: Scene 2: Ambush

Gundar did not believe the sight that lay before him. Amari, the city, the legend. Just as the old man had said. A fortress like Gundar had never seen before. An impregnable baked-brick stronghold such as he had never known. Evidence that this legendary kingdom did exist. Evidence of Amari’s wealth. Proof of its power. He had been taken prisoner by strong young warriors from this incredible legendary city. So the old man had been right. The marauders were from Amari. At the sight of this place of his capture, Gundar again fought helplessly against his impossible bonds. Strength bulged on taut smooth skin that rippled like the breeze on a lake. A sheen of nervous sweat coated the rounded contours of his solid tanned skin, ridged slabs of his uplifted chest strained, capped by dark pouting nipples. Every power-filled muscle danced within his bonds but Gundar remained prisoner of the Amari. These men who had come for him. For what? This had been no slaving party, they had captured only him, Gundar. They had come looking for him alone.

And the other words of the old man rang true too. They were cruel by nature. What fears lay for Gundar behind those walls? For three days now he had been marched in the slave collar to here. Barely a drop of water had wet his lips, hardly a bite of food. Free of these bonds, Gundar would have made short work of every one of them. Guarded and tormented every minute by fit young warriors, though, they had no intention of letting him go flee. Taunted, tested, whenever they took a rest. The old man had warned him of the Amari’s streak of cruelty. For days now, Gundar had learned the folly of ignoring that warning. They had routinely mis-treated him. They had mis-used him physically. They had abused his manhood. He was their plaything. Gundar, the mightiest creature in the jungle, had been used as an Amari toy. In the way only cruel men in their prime knew how. Powerfully built arrogant warriors intent on asserting their preening manliness. Sadistically abusing his body, ridiculing him, experimenting with Gundar’s own burgeoning manhood. For fun, to exact the sadistic enjoyment out of Gundar’s plight that he saw filling their groins. The old man’s words rang now prophetic. “You’ll spend the rest of your life in chains”. Gundar’s arms had been locked in this collar for three days. While they had toyed with him, mocked his helplessness. And brought him captive to their city. For he knew not what.
 
Stories had reached his ears. Skirmishes from an unknown invading band. Sometimes robbing, perhaps searching for slaves, always frightening simple unarmed villagers. . But each time Gundar went to investigate, the marauders had evaporated. A band of about twelve, built like fearsome warriors. They roughed people up, gave it to anyone who stood up to them. Popping up all over the place, aggressively asked questions in a language no one understood. Stole food, threatened the women and then stole back into the forest and disappeared.

Gundar had sat patiently by the old man’s bed holding his hand while he ranted on. “Amari’s”, he kept saying. “They were Amari’s”. Everyone smiled benignly. Amari was out of the mists of time, it was not real. The old man had been stabbed when he’d dare stand up to the band. Vicious muscled bullies who had taken it out on a frail old man. He was obviously gripped by the fever of his wounds going on about being attacked by men from a storytale.

“Amari’s”, he repeated to Gundar, glad that their giant of a protector had turned up. But his temper broke when he saw the patronising smile on that big soft face.
“Don’t give me that look!” he snapped. “You’re not so big I can’t box your ears”, he yelled infuriated at the giant muscled hulk by his side.
“I spent 5 years in their slavery. I know an Amari when I see one”.

Gundar nodded kindly, he let the man rant. Five years in slavery in a city that did not exist, the old man had started to believe his own stories! Stories about being taken as a young man into slavery. The starvation, the destitution. He’d obviously elaborated his stories so many times he thought they were true. The unwarranted beatings at the hand of the Amaris. Things, the old man said, he could not talk about in front of the young, giving Gundar a knowing look. Gundar listened patiently, putting these stories all down to the fever, burning up with his wound. Amaris - a legend. A mythical kingdom never seen. But supposedly peopled by a ferocious warring tribe. Whose cruelty against their enemies was legendary. Whose name was a by-word for barbarity. A name to frighten children with when they wouldn’t go to sleep.

Gundar stood to take his leave, the old man already dozing. But as he left, he heard the dozing words from behind.
“Take care, young man. The Amari’s mean harm”.
Prophetic words.

Two days later, a stranger was pointed out to Gundar, one of the old man’s attackers. One of the raiding party still making trouble. Protective to his own, Gundar had strode meaningfully towards him. But the stranger spotted him and took off. Gundar followed at a comfortable sprint down the river bank, his long loping stride keeping pace without any effort. No stranger was going to out-pace the stamina of Gundar.

The warrior turned and hesitated. He was fit, a fast-runner and Gundar saw him shudder that his sprint had not shaken him off. Gundar noticed him re-think his escape and then dart into the trees seeking cover in the jungle. Without even breaking stride, hardly in a sweat, Gundar followed in fast pursuit. Crashing through the trees, the undergrowth getting thicker, the track getting narrower, Gundar was closing. Not for one second losing sight of that broad muscled back on a full-grown man who dared bully a frail old man from his tribe.

Then the forest all closed in on them, Gundar’s prey slowed, stopped. His back showing confusion, worry. The path had narrowed to nothing. It ended in a wall of rock. Gundar stopped too. And smiled, relaxed, his prey was trapped, he had nowhere to go. Forward was only a rock wall, to the sides dense impenetrable undergrowth. Cornered. Gundar slowed to a halt, feeling a burst of energy gushing with satisfaction, like a dynamic starburst. The old man’s attacker was trapped. The only way to go was back. Round Gundar. Through Gundar. Gundar smiled. Knowing he was about to teach this abuser of old men a lesson he’d never forget.

The man turned to Gundar. Arms out, placating, in friendship. Talking a language Gundar did not understand. Explaining probably he meant no harm, the old man had got them wrong. Smiling, telling lies, it was the old man who gone for them with the knife, the wound was an unfortunate slip. But Gundar just stood and stared, not understanding, not wanting to know. He felt himself endowed with a potency of righteousness. Knowing only that whatever the stranger said, Gundar was going to give him a thrashing that he’d not forget. The warrior was brutishly good-looking, and powerfully muscled. Pure animal male, surely intimidating to an old man but it seemed the brave old man had bravely stood up to these indomitable fighters. But against Gundar this stranger didn’t have the strength for a fight of any sort. In this battle for male supremacy, there was only one possible winner. He was going to be on the receiving end of Gundar’s fist and Gundar was not about to go easy on him. Still the stranger talked away, still many paces apart. Let’s talk about this, his body seemed to say, we men know how easily an accident can happen…….. Warily eying Gundar’s size blocking his escape route.

Eventually, Gundar held up his hand to stop the excuses. Despite his own physical appearance, the strongly-built stranger automatically stopped his incomprehensible gibberish and obeyed Gundar’s simple sign of strength and authority. Cowed by the overwhelming power behind the simple gesture.
“You and your friends took it out on a frail old man”.
Gundar’s voice was deep, authoritative. The warrior did not understand the words but he seemed to get the tone. His eyes opened a bit wider. In fright.
“You’ve frightened women, beaten up old men. Stolen hard-earned food. And now I am going to make you listen”.
To underline his words, Gundar shook his fist.
“You’ll go back to your friends and tell them. Gundar says, Leave”.

The warrior visibly saw the threat carried by that huge threatening bicep. The size of other men’s thighs. He seemed to blanch at the sight of the shaken fist. Gundar saw the swallow of fear in a thick muscled neck. And the warrior started jabbering again. Not so glib, not so confident now. Slowly backing away on his own powerfully built legs. Evidently intimidated by the indomitable force blocking his way. Backwards towards the impregnable rockface. Slowly Gundar advanced. Not even aggressively. He didn’t need to, he’d flattened the swine with one blow. This was justice, this was deserved.

It happened before he realised. A sharp snap cracked in the air. A tight catch around his leg. And then Gundar was disoriented. The world turned on its head. Before he knew it, Gundar was swinging upside down. A tight pain around one ankle and swinging wildly wrong way up. He’d stepped in some animal snare. Just as he had been about to teach this stranger a lesson. Just about to pay him back for wounding an old man, Gundar had stepped into some stupid animal trap. Hardly the best way to teach a bully a lesson.