Camara Tal. He looked towards the stern, and there she stood. She wore that same open-fronted haltar and thigh skirt she called a tripa , her sword hanging from a belt secured loosely around her waist, dipping down onto her hip on the right side. She just stood there, waiting for him to get tired of hanging in the rigging and come down. She was tenacious, she was very patient, and sometimes she drove him crazy. She spent the time in conversation with Phandebrass, who had a book in his lap, sitting beside her, writing in it furiously as they conversed. No doubt the mage was asking her about her people and their customs, writing it all down in his book. Phandebrass was a mage, but he had a keen interest in the societies and customs of races all over the world, and he studied new ones whenever the opportunity presented itself. He had a keen interest in anything he didn't know, for that matter. Phandebrass learned so much that it made him forget little things, like what he was wearing, when he last ate, and who he was talking to. He wasn't scatterbrained, he just had so much on his mind that he lost track of the little things. Tarrin had been impressed by him. He had to be nearly as smart as Keritanima.

Tarrin was starting to get hungry. It was close to lunchtime, and thinking about some beef stew was starting to wake up his stomach. Triana told him that he still had to eat more than normal for him, to give his body the energy to complete the healing. He knew that was the case, because he got hungry much faster than usual, and he wanted to eat more. Tarrin's accelerated healing was fueled by the energy of his own body, which was in turn fueled by eating. That meant that he had to replace that energy much faster than normal. Sliding off the spar, he dropped about fifteen spans to a rope, then used it to angle him to the mast. His large claws drove into the wood, and he climbed down the mainmast as easily as a man may walk across the deck. He dropped the last ten spans, landing easily near the mast, and immediately Camara Tal was there. The bronzed smell of the Amazon touched him immediately, and he turned around to find both her and Phandebrass standing close to him.

"It's about time," she said with her light accent. "I had the cook make you some lunch. Are you hungry?"

Tarrin looked down into her eyes, but he didn't have to look far. Camara Tal was a very tall woman, taller than most men, nearly looking him in the eye. She was physically a very impressive specimen, a perfect balance of chiselled muscle and sleek feminine curves that kept men's eyes on her. The fact that she went around wearing next to nothing helped keep men looking at her. But they didn't stare. They knew better than that. Her coppery colored skin and her raven black hair glowed in the noontime sun, as did the simple silver medallion she wore around her neck. Camara Tal was more than a warrior, she was a priestess, and that medallion was the holy symbol of her goddess. Tarrin had come to discover that all priests wore medallions, even the pseudo-priest Sorcerers, the medallion identifying which god the priest served. By focusing on that medallion, Camara Tal could call upon her priestly magic. Without it, she couldn't use hardly any of her magic, only the most basic and simplest prayers. One of which, she had told him, was a prayer that conjured forth another medallion, in case she lost the one she had now.

That was a very wise precaution when travelling in a place where one's god was unknown.

Camara Tal never ceased to confuse and irritate Tarrin. He liked her-he could admit that he liked her-but her hovering protectiveness was something that he'd never experienced before, even at home. Knowing that she was always nearby sometimes made him feel safe, but sometimes it just rubbed his fur the wrong way. It wouldn't be that bad if she wasn't so pushy. There were two ways of doing things. Her way, and the wrong way. She never lectured or preached to him, but sometimes that look was enough to tell him that what he was doing displeased her. Sometimes her opinion mattered. Sometimes he did it just to annoy her. It was a relationship in flux, which had yet to root itself one way or the other. They could be talking warmly to one another one moment, then shouting at each other the next. He did like her, but he still didn't trust her, and that was probably what kept him so contrary with her.

"I am a bit hungry," he admitted to her calmly. Because he didn't entirely trust either of them, he was wary, nervous, on guard, and Camara Tal seemed to be able to sense that. As a former warrior, she wouldn't have been able to live so long if she couldn't.

"Come on, let's go down to the galley," she invited.

"I say, mistress Tal, you must tell me why your people always dress so, provocatively," Phandebrass continued as they walked. "I've met other Amazons, and that type of dress is something of a standard for your people. I know it's hot in Amazar, but I've been there, and I've seen your people wearing trousers and shirts."

"You've been to Amazar? How did you get away?" she asked curiously. On Amazar, all men were consisered property. Once captured, no man left Amazar, or managed to escape very easily. The Amazons didn't see this practice as slavery. It was a social institution more than anything else, because men did have legal rights. They just weren't permitted to leave the islands the Amazons called home. Koran Dar was the only Amazon male Tarrin had ever heard of escaping the clutches of his female overseers.

"I'm a wizard, madam," he replied with a grand smile. "I'm not quite so easy to catch."

"No doubt there," she chuckled. "Well, we dress like this because of the competition," she explained. "This isn't the only way we dress at home, but when we're going out in the world, we always show skin to keep any potential combatant off guard."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at me, Phandebrass," she said. "Imagine you're a male warrior or cutpurse. Where are you going to put your eyes first?"

Phandebrass thought about it a moment, then laughed delightedly. "I say, that's a very clever bit of subterfuge, mistress Tal. Showing off a figure like that would distract even the most professional mercenary."

"Precisely, and I appreciate the compliment," she said with a quirky smile. "We're not a race of exhibitionists. We just understand our opponents. We've found that men have a hard time fighting against us if their eyes have more than one place to look."

Tarrin thought about that a moment, and he had to admit that it was a rather intelligent practice. Human men being what they were, they wouldn't be able to resist looking at Camara Tal's admittedly fine body. That left her open to use her sword in the manner in which it was intended. It gave the Amazons an edge in battle against male opponents, which he'd learned were in no short supply. The Amazons fought a continual war of raids against Stygia, for the evil kingdom was trying to conquer Amazar. The Amazons were well suited to defending their home, for their islands were surrounded by deadly reefs and riptides, and only they knew the paths to get through them. It ensured that no sizable army could land on their islands, and those survivors that did make it found themselves facing formidably trained opponents. Amazons were warriors, and they were dangerous ones.

"This is why you disdain armor then, mistress Tal?"

Camara Tal snorted. "Armor is for people who expect to be hit," she replied. "A well trained warrior doesn't need armor. A good sword is all a warrior needs to keep herself protected."

"I say, you can't discout the fact that it is useful."

"It has advantages, but it also has disadvantages," she said. "Take that Knight. He wears that suit of armor, and it makes him harder to hurt. But it slows him down, restricts his ability to move, and that helmet limits his field of vision and his hearing. That's what you give away for that extra protection. He's sacrificing speed and mobility for a layer of protection, when the speed and mobility would protect him just as well as the armor if he knew how to use them."