by Rainman1131 » Wed Jan 30, 2013 9:26 pm

Chapter One: In the Land of Giants


Conan stumbled drunkenly to his bed chamber, the night's revelry having at last taken it's toll on his mighty frame and rugged constitution. His chamber was a simple affair, being not much more than a small storage hold on the giant ship, yet it was more than adequate for one such as he. With clumsy, random fumblings, he stripped himself down to his breech clout, careless of all save the placement of his mighty broadsword - which he put beside his bed at his right hand. He then fell face-first onto the multi-folded, purple robe that served as his bed, and drifted at once into a heavy, besotted sleep.

Dreams came to him then, as they had nearly every night since he'd come to this strange land. The images that raced through Conan's slumbering mind were hazy, disjointed things - pictures of a nightmarish, alien world the like of which the bold, far-venturing Cimmerian had never imagined. He saw himself at the helm of a mighty ship, fighting at the wheel as a storm raged about him, tossing the great ship as though it were no more than a child's toy caught up in the ripples of a pond. Amid the frenzied shouts of his men, he strove to keep her bow into the wind. Then his ship was gone, all his crew with her, and he found himself tossed about in churning, mountainous seas, clinging for life to a jumble of wooden timbers that were all that remained of his once-mighty vessel.

Conan knew a period of senseless drifting then, where he was only vaguely aware of his body, as he clung mindlessly to the rolling timbers. Presently, he felt himself lifted from the water, and placed roughly on a hard, wooden surface. The steady rocking under his back told him he was once again on board a ship, though his disorientation and fatigue were great, and he found neither the desire or the strength to open his eyes. There was the dull, echoing sound of rough laughter all about him, and a distant part of his mind bristled at the clear ridicule in those harsh voices. There was something wrong with the timbre of that laughter, he knew, even in his delirium; it seemed too loud to issue from the throats of mortal men. He smiled a little then, even in his stupor, imaging that this was his death and that he was now hearing the mocking laughter of the gods.

When at last he managed to open his eyes, Conan thought his guess right. The figures gathered about him on the rolling deck did, indeed, seem to tower, godlike, above him. He didn't know if it was a trick of perspective or delirium, with him sprawled on the deck and they looming above him, but these beings seemed to be four times his own height. They dressed in the fashion of corsairs, clothed in leather and light chain mail, and heavily armed with broadswords, axes, and doubtless, lethal dirks and daggers secreted on their persons. If pirates envisioned gods, Conan's mind had mused muddily, then surely these beings were the embodiment of that vision.

After a time, amid the harsh, derisive chiding, Conan, heard a lilting, somewhat higher-pitched laughter from far above him. His hazy gaze drifted toward the sound, and he rolled his head lazily on the deck until he saw a huge, widespread pair of high-laced, black leather boots. He was too weak to move his head further, so he rolled his gaze upward past the tall boots, and up to a slim, well-formed pair of legs that were clad in black leather breeches. Conan strained to look upward higher still, following the smooth line of the long legs that melded into flaring hips and a narrow waist. The matching, black leather jerkin covered the torso of the giant being, and Conan saw the sumptuous swell of great breasts inside the bodice of the garment. He managed to twist his head up just slightly, enough so that he was able to see a beautiful, high-cheeked face looking down at him. The harsh sea breeze whipped around the thick mane of night-black hair that framed the incredible, giant face, and the large, dark eyes sparkled with eldrich mischief.

"It is a pretty thing," said the giantess, laughter in her voice still as she looked down with delight. "Perhaps I shall give him to my niece as a present."

The raucous laughter of the surrounding titans rang like thunder in Conan's ears, and he felt his mind drifting, as though becoming detached from its moorings. The last thing he saw was the huge, wavering image of the startlingly lovely, smiling face.

Conan awoke suddenly, his senses instantly alert. He'd been deep in a drunken slumber, yet he had sprung into full wakefulness, quick as a panther. The quick reflexes and instinctive readiness of the barbarian had always served him well, saving his neck many times before. He rolled smoothly to his right, reaching for his sword, and...

His sword was gone.

He opened his eyes to the sound of gentle, mocking laughter.

"Looking for this?"

Conan shook his head, then muttered a curse. "Can't a man get some sleep on this damnable barge?"

The woman laughed again, holding Conan's broadsword between her thumb and forefinger, making it appear tiny as a child's toy. "I saw that you had drunk even more freely than usual tonight, Conan. I thought to follow you and catch you off your guard." She twiddled with the sword playfully in her fingers, cutting the air with tiny, pretend thrusts. She grinned down at Conan. "I see that I have succeeded."

Conan grunted, then tossed a fold of the thick, purple cloth over his head. "Go away, Valeria. Is it not enough that my head pounds with that poison you and your monstrous ilk call ale? Leave me be, woman."

The giantess sat on the floor of the small chamber, her back against the wall opposite Conan's bed, her heels drawn back to her buttocks and her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees. It was as comfortable a position as she could manage in Conan's tiny quarters, and still she took up most of the room that Conan's bed did not. She reached down to tug away the flap of the spread with which Conan had just covered himself. "Now, that's not very polite. Are women always treated so poorly in your bed chamber."

Conan opened an eye, regarding the giantess with disdain. "I am not unused to women in my bed chamber. As a custom, though, I prefer such women be invited."

Valeria laughed. "Silly Conan. It's my ship. I'm always invited."

The brawny Cimmerian grunted. He turned to go back to sleep, then stopped, opening both eyes now. "What is that you wear, Valeria?"

The dark-haired giantess laughed, raising her hands and looking at herself. "As you see." Valeria's more than twenty-foot-tall form was clad in a swath of nearly transparent, white silk, the filmy garment gathered lightly about her hips and chest. Her arms and legs were bare, the smooth, alabaster skin almost glowing in the dim light of the tiny room. She smirked down at Conan. "What troubles you about my attire, Conan? Had you thought that I slept in my battle garments, that I took to bed in black leather and chain mail?"

Conan grunted again, then turned his face into the purple spread. "In truth," he muttered into the thick cloth, "I had not given any thought at all to the manner of your dress when you slumbered."

"Ha!" The giantess laughed again. "Liar! Do you think me unaware of your secret glances, Conan? You are a man, after all, and cannot hide your ardor. Of course, it is only in the heat of battle that you will allow yourself to really look at me. When we fight side by side, you cast clandestine gazes up at the curve of my thigh, at the flare of my hips. Many's the time, when we've been crouched low at the rail and waiting to attack, that I've caught you slobbering at the sight of my breasts at the top of my jerkin." Valeria laughed again, making playful, suggestive thrusts with Conan's small sword. "In truth, ever since you came to our land, Conan, you have thought of little else but me." 

Conan had to smile a little himself at that. "Why do you jest so, Valeria? Have you had even more drink than I on this night? We are from two, separate races, you and I. Such a coupling as you suggest is neither seemly, nor even possible as I reckon it. Go off to your cabin, woman, and sleep this drunk off, and let me do the same."

Valeria smiled, patting the flat of the little sword thoughtfully on her bare forearm. "Conan, you have said many a time, and proudly, that you are a barbarian and that you scoff at 'civilized' peoples and all their silly politics and intrigues. You pose as the simple barbarian, deriding intellect and civilization, and espousing only blood-thirsty battle in pursuit of whatever booty is yours to take. Yet, I see a fierce intelligence beneath that brutish mien, and I cannot believe that such a mind is without imagination." 

Valeria's dark, smoldering gaze pierced into Conan's soul. "Surely," she said, trying to make her large voice soft and small, "we can find a way that is pleasing to us both."

Conan blinked and sat up a little in his bed, feeling like his fuzzy head was beginning to clear a bit. "Woman," he said, shaking his head in stunned wonder, "have you lost your senses?"

Valeria laughed again, then reached down to tug away the spread, exposing Conan's nearly naked form. "No, I don't believe I have. And I am also not going to take no for an answer."

"Take care, woman," Conan growled, springing up into a crouch on his bed, with his back against the wall. And still, even seated, Valeria towered above him. "You have seen me in battle. Many of your kind, giants though they were, have perished in bloody agony at the sweep of my sword!"

Valeria nodded seriously. "Oh, this I know, great Conan, you who was once a king in your own, tiny lands. And here, by your prowess with the sword, you have taken many of the fingers and eyes - aye, and the lives - of those foolish enough to view your size as a weakness. But, look." The dark-maned giantess shrugged apologetically, and twiddled the miniature sword in her fingers. "I seem to have your mighty sword right here, great king."

Conan flexed his iron thews, and glared up at his captress. "Having seen me in battle, then," the barbarian said with a hard grin, "you surely know that I am no less dangerous when armed like this."

"Yes, this I also know," Valeria said, as she flicked the sword negligently from her fingers, sending it end-over-end in a whistling arc across the room. It stabbed deep into the rough wood far above Conan's head with a solid thock!, then vibrated in place for several seconds before falling still. "But unlike your foes in battle, Conan, I do not make the mistake of under-estimating you." With that said, Valerie snaked her long, bare arm down suddenly, taking nearly the whole of Conan's arm in her fist and squeezing it tightly.

"By Crom!" shouted Conan, pulling against the powerful grip and bringing his free arm around to grasp at the giant fingers. "Unhand me, woman! I shall not tell you again!"

"As I said, Conan," Valeria said, a strain in her voice, as she continued to hold the small barbarian's bulging, densely-muscled arm. "I do not take your strength lightly, as have other's of my kind. Still..." The giantess grunted with effort, reaching down her other hand and grappling with the small, powerful hand that was prying mightily at her own fingers. "...I know that my strength is much greater than yours, and I shall not be denied on this night!"

Conan fought valiantly against the powerful, yet oddly soft hands that assaulted him. His trapped arm was of no use, but he had one of Valeria's fingers gripped in his free hand. He wrenched at the huge digit with all his strength, succeeding only in lifting one of Valeria's fingers upward slightly off of his arm. The small victory was short-lived, as Valerie's other hand came down, quickly over-powering his smaller grip, and pulling that hand and arm off to his other side. Before he knew it, Conan was pinioned helplessly, with Valeria's hands spreading away so that each of Conan's imprisoned arms was stretched straight out from his sides.

For several moments, Conan struggled in Valeria's grip, twisting his torso futilely back and forth, and pushing up with his legs to try to get some sort of leverage. He made no headway at all, his struggles serving only to tire him further, as he had already been in a fatigued state from his surfeit of drink. As he slumped in frustrated fury in the grip of Valeria's mighty hands, he found himself further galled by the realization that the palms that enclosed his arms so relentlessly, were as pliant and smoothly feminine as softly-tanned calfskin.

Valeria, with the firm muscles of her face and arms showing the thrumming strain of holding Conan at bay, managed a tight grin. "You see, Conan," she said, her breathing a bit heavy now, "I...I don't under-estimate you, my king, but..." Valeria's smile held triumph, yes, but also something that may have been affection. "But am stronger than you, and I mean to take you now, here on your tiny bed." She grinned more broadly, struggling only slightly now against Conan's diminishing struggles. "I should not, in any case, allow myself any guilt for my conquest of you, for such is not in my nature. Yet, my heart is much gladdened to know, by the looks you have given me, and, see...the look that you give me even now, that such an anticipated union pleases you, as well. Conan, stop being stubborn. Will you not accept this great bounty that I offer you?"

Conan just glared up at the giantess, his breathing even more ragged than hers.

Valeria looked pointedly at Conan's breech clout, and grinned. "That bulge in your clout is answer enough."

Conan closed his eyes, sighing heavily. When he opened them again, his blazing, blue-irised gaze struck up at Valeria fiercely, and his thick lips curled into a nearly-invisible smile. "Alright...alright, girl, you have...you have worn me down." He glanced at the huge hands that still gripped his arms, then looked back up at the giantess. "I...I am at a bit of loss as to how this will get done, Valeria, but I'm certain that I shall need the use of my arms to make a proper attempt of it."

"As you say," the dark-haired giantess purred, as she let loose of Conan's arms, "my king."