| THE ADVENTURES OF BONNIE & GEORGE
| by Van ©2011
To see the actresses the author would cast in a Junn-Junn Wastes movie,
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settled into fighting stance, her shield raised and war-club at
the ready. There was movement down the tunnel behind the
blue door, silhouetted against the torches beyond. Then—a
raptor and rider exploded into the arena!
It was Trussa. Like Bonnie, she was naked with her skin
oiled and hair pulled back in a tight ponytail bound with
ribbons, only Trussa's ribbons were blue. The free ends
fluttered in the wind of her passage like pennants and lifted
her braid. A blue-painted and padded shield slightly
smaller than Bonnie's was slung across her back, as was a
sheathed weapon, possibly a sickle-sword or scimitar. She
held a coiled lasso aloft in her right hand, saluting the crowd.
This hardly seems sporting,
Bonnie thought, then took several slow, careful paces to the
center of the arena, turning as she went to face the thundering
raptor and its grinning rider as they loped around the
periphery. She took the occasion to test her
footing. The sandy floor was packed and was quite
adequate; excellent, in fact. She noted that the raptor's
tack was minimal, with no headstall or reins. The saddle
was only a thin pad held in place by a simple harness, and was
without stirrups. Nonetheless, Trussa rode with the ease
of a life spent on raptor-back. She even began to show
off, reversing herself in the saddle, leaning low to either side
to brush the sand with her coiled lasso, and even doing a brief
handstand. The crowd loved it.
The shield and sword are
strapped tight, Bonnie noted. If I can dismount her, it will
take her a few seconds to get ready to fight.
Bonnie ignored the crowd. There was no crowd. She set her mind and body
to walk the Warrior's Path, as she'd been taught by her
Tuscaroran elders. The order of the day was maximum effort
and situational awareness balanced with narrow focus, but without falling into the
trap of target fixation.
Needless to say, alone and on foot against a mounted opponent,
Bonnie was at a distinct disadvantage. Her options were
limited. If Trussa continued to circle, slowly narrowing
the radius of her orbit, when she cast the lasso Bonnie should be able to dodge
and/or bat it aside with her club or shield. If Trussa
came straight on, dodging would be more difficult, but Trussa
would be more at risk of being dragged from her saddle, if Bonnie was on her game
and luck was with
her. Unfortunately for Bonnie, defense against mounted
attack was a theoretical topic. The Tuscarora knew how to
ride, but they were a forest people, not virtual centaurs like
the tribes of the Western Luropean Great Plains.
This is a show, Bonnie
reminded herself, and that
might balance the books, at least a little. Trussa will
try for style points, rather than a quick, clean attack.
And then it happened. As if of its own will and without
direction from its rider, the raptor made a tight turn towards
Bonnie, whipping its tail and spinning in its tracks in a manner
impossible for a horse. Simultaneously, Trussa deployed
the noose of her lasso, gave it one quick spin, and made her
throw. The noose was still in the air as the raptor
planted a foot and its tail began to swing, again.
Bonnie realized what was happening. In what was obviously
a well-practiced maneuver, the raptor and rider were reversing
out of the turn. The lasso would arrive with the added
speed of the charge, then tighten with the momentum of their
departure, pulling Bonnie off her feet. With the speed of
instinct, Bonnie made her choice and acted. She let the
war-club fall from her hand to dangle by its wrist-strap, used
the shield to bat aside the noose, then released the shield's
handle, grabbed the rope with both hands, set her feet, and pulled with all her
Bonnie was pulled
from her feet—but Trussa was pulled from the saddle, as well.
The crowd went wild!
Logically, as she'd been thinking before, Bonnie should have
dropped the rope and charged before Trussa had a chance to ready
herself, but she decided to retrieve the lasso, instead.
This was, supposedly,
entertainment. If the Sand Amazons wanted a show, she'd
give them a show. Maybe things would go easier for her...
and for George. However, sham combat or not, Bonnie was
determined to win.
Meanwhile, Trussa had recovered from the fall with an acrobatic
roll. She stood and faced her mount with one eye on Bonnie
and the other on the raptor. She clucked her tongue and
raised her right forearm. "Tock-tock-tock!" Obviously, it was a
signal for the raptor to approach so she could vault back into
the saddle. Curiously, the raptor took several slow,
deliberate steps backwards, away from its rider, then tucked its
forearms against its breast and curled its tail.
The crowd hooted and stomped their feet.
Trussa shook her head in amused disgust, then directed a rueful
grin towards Bonnie. "She want me to handle you myself!"
she shouted. She had to shout to be heard over the
crowd. "I think she like you!"
Bonnie coiled the lasso and tossed it to the side, then readied
her club and shield. "Even raptors appreciate a good
show!" she shouted back.
Trussa released the strap securing her shield and weapon, slid
the shield's strap onto her left arm, then pulled what turned
out to be a padded sickle-sword from the sheath. She then
tossed the strap and sheath aside.
The die was cast for theatrical combat, however real the blows
about to be exchanged. Bonnie politely waited for Trussa
to finish readying herself. She then extended her club
towards her opponent, paused, then thumped her shield—thud, thud.
Trussa smiled and returned the salute.
There was a brief pause... then they charged and their shields clashed!
Again, the crowd cheered!
the Junn-Junn Wastes
George wailed, twisting her bound wrists. She was on her
feet, like everyone else in the stands. She was the only
one present with her hands tied behind her back and her bare
feet in shackles. She was also the only one present not clearly enjoying the
martial spectacle on the arena floor.
Bondara leaned close and spoke into George's ear, her voice
raised to be heard over the cheering amazons all around
them. "Your friend good. Your friend warrior."
"What's going to happen?" George demanded.
"They fight," the Queen answered.
Down in the arena, that was exactly what was happening.
Bonnie and Trussa were trading blows. The clash of their
padded weapons was almost inaudible, but whenever the unpadded
faces of their shields slammed
together, there was a crowd-pleasing thud.
"No!" George complained, again.
Bondara laughed and kissed the top of George's tousled
mop. "Your friend already pass test, Little Trout.
Your Bonnie already prove she warrior. Enjoy show."
George sighed, then gasped in
the Junn-Junn Wastes
had overextended, exposing her sword arm to a bone-breaking
blow, but before Bonnie's war-club could connect, Trussa slammed
their shields together, spun her body around with her right leg
extended, and tripped Bonnie to the ground.
Bonnie quickly recovered, absorbing Trussa's follow-through blow
on her shield while still on one knee. She stood and shook
her head. "That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen!"
she shouted. "In a real fight, I would have bashed in your
skull or broken your knee."
Trussa shrugged, her smile never wavering. "Crowd love
it!" It was true. The noise was deafening.
The fight continued, with neither opponent gaining an
advantage. Eventually, the pace of combat slowed.
The fighters' oiled forms were now shining with sweat, as well,
where they weren't covered with sand from the arena floor.
Their shields came together, again, and Bonnie made a
decision. She released the grip of her war-club and let it
drop, pointing her hand so the wrist-strap slid free. Her
hand now completely unencumbered, she grabbed Trussa's
sickle-sword, just above the hilt. She gave it a twist and
it left Trussa's hand, more easily than it should have.
Apparently, Trussa had also decided to drop her weapon.
Shield to shield, they grappled with their right hands, pushing,
twisting, and pulling.
The crowd reaction was mixed. Some jeered while others
cheered. The mob was divided between those who wanted more
bashing and those who favored an unarmed tussle.
Bonnie released her shield's grip, twisted her wrist and grabbed
the padded rim of Trussa's shield, lunged forward, then spun to
the side. They both lost their footing and tumbled to the
sand, then rolled in a tangle of sweaty, oiled bodies.
They came to rest with Bonnie on top and straddling Trussa's
back. Bonnie managed to slide her left arm free of her
shield's strap while at the same time planting her left knee on
Trussa's shield and against her elbow, preventing her from doing
Trussa struggled, but it was clear she was pinned. "Honker
poo-doo!" she cursed, then sighed, turned her head, and smiled
at Bonnie. "You not supposed to win."
Bonnie wrenched Trussa's right arm behind her back and trapped
it under her right knee. Trussa tried taking advantage of
the change to roll onto her side, but Bonnie took hold of her
ponytail and pulled her head back. "Stop that," she
growled, "or I'll use the un-padded
end of my war-club to give you a bash behind the ear. Then
you'll miss the rest of the show."
"That ruin my day," Trussa chuckled. "Okay, Luropa-girl
win. Trussa surrender."
"As if I'm going to trust you," Bonnie scoffed, then took note
of the long ribbons at the end of Trussa's braid. "Hmm...
more than adequate."
"Adequate for what?" Trussa asked, then sighed, again.
Bonnie was using a ribbon end to bind her right thumb.
Next, her left arm was freed from her shield and its thumb
bound, as well. Finally, the third ribbon was used to
reinforce and cinch the thumb bondage.
Bonnie pulled Trussa to her knees with her left hand gripping
her prisoner's braid, then reached for her war-club. "You
aren't going to give me any trouble, are you?" she inquired,
holding the padded business end before Trussa's smiling face.
"Trussa already surrender," the captive subQueen noted.
"And Trussa... trussed," Bonnie noted.
The crowd was more-or-less quiet, collectively stunned by this
unexpected turn of events.
Meanwhile, Bonnie had hooked Trussa's lasso with the head of her
club and was sliding it towards her. "Don't move," she
ordered, dropped the club, and picked up the lasso. The
crowd murmured as she proceeded to take three turns around
Trussa's neck, then tie it off with two half-hitches. She
didn't use the lasso's noose as she didn't want to trap Trussa's
ponytail. She wasn't feeling particularly
vindictive. And besides, the braid made for a convenient
Bonnie retrieved her shield, gripping its handle and the coils of what was
now Trussa's tether in her left hand. She picked up her
war-club, tossed it into the air, and slid her wrist through the
strap and caught the grip while it was in midair.
"Show off," Trussa admonished.
"Quiet," Bonnie snapped. With her captive bound and on her
knees and her shield held at the ready, Bonnie extended her club
and slowly turned in a full circle, sweeping the club across the
hushed crowd. She was careful to step through the slack
rope. It would ruin the effect if she tripped herself.
"Bonnie!" George yelled, her soprano voice clarion clear in the
hushed silence. Countless heads turned towards the
diminutive, suddenly blushing prisoner next to their Queen, then
swiveled back to Bonnie and her prisoner.
Bonnie smiled and nodded at her partner. Then, her
features set in grim determination, she gestured with her club
at the crowd, again. "All right, then!" she
shouted. "Who's next?"
The crowd went wild, chanting "BON-NIE! BON-NIE! BON-NIE!"
Trussa turned her smiling head and said something, but her
words were lost in the cacophony. Bonnie leaned
close. "Parade!" Trussa shouted. "You supposed to
"BON-NIE! BON-NIE! BON-NIE!"
Bonnie smiled and nodded. "Stand!" she ordered, and the
humiliated captive (that is, the obviously not humiliated captive)
did so. War-club raised in triumph, Bonnie led Trussa in
a slow victory lap of the arena.
"BON-NIE! BON-NIE! BON-NIE!"
Flowers and bundles of green leaves were tossed from
the exultant crowd, raining down and settling on the sandy
floor like sparse, multicolored snow.
"BON-NIE! BON-NIE! BON-NIE!"
the Junn-Junn Wastes
Bonnie finished leading her prisoner in the victory lap,
hundreds of Amazons poured from the stands and lifted Bonnie
onto their shoulders. Bonnie's shield and war-club were
pulled away. She looked back over her shoulder to make
sure Trussa wasn't being trampled, but her captive was
gone. There was no sign of George or the Queen, either,
not in the stands or on the arena floor.
Midway between the red and blue doors, a section of the main
wall rumbled to the side, revealing a wide passage.
Simultaneously, the closest section of the inner wall dropped
into the sand. The way now clear, the amazon throng
carried Bonnie into the tunnel beyond.
Another sponge bath and skin oiling followed, accomplished by
Bonnie's new fans. She asked when she'd be able to see
George, but all of her inquiries were politely brushed off or
met with vague answers like "later" or "soon."
Bonnie was dressed in a leather loincloth of gleaming brown held
up by a narrow belt. The chamois-thin leather was trimmed
with feather and bead tassels, both in red. Her hair was
released from its braid, cleaned, dried and brushed. Two
narrow braids were tied, entwined with thin, red ribbons.
They dangling to either side of her face. The majority of
her brown tresses cascaded down her bare back.
Then, it was off to a party and feast.
Bonnie was handed a goblet of wine and introduced to forty or
more subChiefs, Chiefs, and overChiefs. All were in their
late thirties or early forties, as best Bonnie could tell.
She politely accepted their praise of her combat prowess and did
her best to remember all of their names. There was still
no sign of Trussa.
And then, George and the Queen appeared!
"Bonnie!" George squealed, ran forward, and embraced her
partner. George was easily the youngest present, the next
oldest probably being Bonnie, herself. "Ooh, I'm so glad you're okay!"
George sighed. "I was so
"I was worried, too, Georgie," Bonnie chuckled, returning the
hug. Her partner was wearing a loincloth and bra-top of
white linen decorated with white fish, of all things.
"Nice outfit," Bonnie teased.
George blushed. "Shuddup!"
"A well-fought battle, Warrior Bonnie," Queen Bondara said after
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Bonnie acknowledged with a bow.
More wine and trays of excellent food followed, but try as she
might, Bonnie had no real chance to talk to George. The
amazon officers monopolized her time, plying her with refills
and asking her opinion of various weapons and fighting
techniques. She only managed to exchange a few sentences
with her partner. "Trade negotiations" were mentioned, but
the Queen and the others brushed off all further inquiries.
"Tomorrow," Bondara huffed, gulping her wine. "Too much talk,
tomorrow." She smiled at Bonnie. "Now, you go bed."
The amazon officers cheered, grabbed the goblet from Bonnie's
hand, and hustled her away, ignoring her protests and attempts
to pull free and get back to George.
George watched her partner's abrupt, involuntary departure, then
turned to Bondara. "She probably is tired, but it's a little early for sleep,
don't you think?"
The remaining amazons laughed, including the Queen. "Who
say anything about sleep, Little Trout?" Her Majesty purred,
then poured more wine into George's goblet.
the Junn-Junn Wastes
was led (dragged) down a tunnel to a heavy timber door.
Its dark wood was carved to depict an amazon warrior with shield
and sword standing in triumph over the bound and gagged opponent
at her feet. The portal was pulled open, there was another
cheer, and Bonnie was more-or-less shoved across the threshold. The door
banged closed behind her and there was a loud thud, probably the sound of
a bolt being thrown. There was no knob or handle on
Bonnie turned and found
herself in a largish cave dominated by a giant bed covered by a
rumpled sheet of crimson linen. Dozens of candles on iron
stands or in lanterns dangling from chains provided light.
Off to one side and flanked by a pair of flaming torches, Bonnie
recognized her red shield and war-club from the arena, arranged
on a stand draped with another crimson cloth. On the floor
at the stand's base were Trussa's blue shield and padded
Bonnie walked to the bed. Something was under the red
sheet, something vaguely in the shape of an "X", and whatever it
was, it was moving. Bonnie grabbed an edge of the sheet
and jerked it from the bed, revealing—"Trussa!"
The subQueen was naked, as she'd been when Bonnie last saw her,
but she'd been bathed and her skin oiled. Her hair was
loose on the red under-sheet, a tousled mass of raven
curls. Her wrists and ankles were in wide, thick steel
cuffs and chained to the four corners of the bed, enforcing a
stringent spread-eagle on her stretched, glistening body.
A crumpled red cloth was stuffed in her mouth and held there by
a cleave-gag of multiple tight wrappings of narrow, red ribbon.
Bonnie smiled down at the helpless amazon, admiring the play of
the flickering light on the well-toned curves of her deeply
tanned, shining skin. "The spoils of victory," she
chuckled. "I assume that had I lost our little contest, I
would be in your place and the decor would be blue, rather than
Trussa nodded and tugged on her bonds. Her eyes were
Bonnie examined Trussa's right wrist cuff and its attached
chain. She followed the taut links to a ring solidly
embedded in the base of the bed-frame. There was no clip,
locking pin, or padlock. The cuff was secured by an
internal lock, and a key was nowhere in sight.
Bonnie climbed onto the bed, knelt beside the captive subQueen,
and turned her head to the side. The cleave-gagging ribbon
was secured with a simple bow. Bonnie released the bow and
unwound the ribbon, then pulled the cloth from Trussa's mouth.
A low table off to the right held a stoneware pitcher and cup,
as well as several trays and bowls covered with red
cloths. Bonnie climbed off the bed and gave the pitcher a
sniff. More wine.
The trays and bowls held various hors d'eouvrves. Many
were the same savory items she'd been served at the post-game
party. She poured wine into the cup, carried it back onto
the bed, and held Trussa's head so she could drink.
"Thank you, Warrior," Trussa sighed as Bonnie returned the cup
to the table.
Bonnie stood beside the bed, her arms crossed under her
breasts. "You threw the fight," she accused, "admit it."
Trussa smiled. "No. Bonnie better than I
thought. I try to impress crowd. Should have
waited. Should have learned your skill before making fancy
Bonnie smiled back. "And now you pay the price."
Trussa sighed. "And now I pay price."
Bonnie released her belt and let it and the loincloth drop to
the floor. Now as naked as her living battle trophy, she
climbed onto the bed, straddled Trussa's waist, and settled her
weight (some of it, anyway) atop the spreadeagled captive's
flat, firm tummy. "I sincerely hope your prestige hasn't
been too badly
Trussa frowned. "By losing fight? It better to win,
but losing not disgrace."
"I thought you were a leader of some sort?"
Trussa favored Bonnie with a rueful smile. "You think Sand
Amazons idiots? Warriors fight with hands. Chiefs
fight with hands and brains. Queens fight with
brains. Arena fight is not
war. Fight hard, fight with honor, no disgrace in
Bonnie nodded. "My apologies." She leaned close, her
hands on either side of Trussa's smiling head.
"Still..." She kissed Trussa's lips. "You're bound to be the object of
After all..." She kissed her, again. "You lost to a
"Trussa lost. Trussa deserve what she get."
"Indeed," Bonnie whispered, then slid her right hand down
Trussa's flank, between her splayed legs, and began stroking her
labia. Trussa gasped and bit her lower lip, but the smile
never left her eyes. "I'm going to pay you back for
everything you did to me, last night in that cave," Bonnie
"Bonnie know how?" Trussa teased, squirming and tugging on her
Bonnie kissed Trussa again, before answering. "Bonnie know
how." She licked the side of Trussa's neck. "Bonnie
know tricks Trussa not know."
"L-like what?" Trussa gasped, continuing to squirm as Bonnie's
hand worked its magic.
"—the Javanese Spider?" (Lick.)
"The Cat's Whiskers?"
"W-what they?" Trussa sighed. A delicate shudder shook her
helpless body as Bonny tickled her clitoris.
"I'll show you later," Bonnie answered, "after I prove that I was
paying attention last night—" (Kiss.) "—that I learned all of your tricks."
"Ahhh!" Trussa gasped, squirming and pulling on her bonds.
"My Warrior! Ahhh—M'mpfh!"
Bonnie's left hand was over Trussa's mouth in a tight
hand-gag. Her right hand continued its teasing massage,
but at a slower pace. "Shut it," Bonnie ordered, "or your
gag goes back in. And don't cum 'til I tell you, no matter
how wet and slippery
your slimy little pussy has become. Obey me, or I'll get
my belt and whip your tits."
When circumstances dictated, Bonnie Plantuckett could shed her
cultured, upper class persona and behave in a manner her London
relatives would consider to be most unladylike. In fact, she could be
shockingly coarse and brazen.
the Junn-Junn Wastes
Later, at Dawn...
GWENDOLINE had been moved to the
area of the Queen's Compound and moored halfway up the canyon
wall against a large cave opening. A temporary platform
had been erected to allow for easier access to the main
deck. Permanent docking facilities were planned for
further up the canyon, where camouflage canopies could be
deployed to hide visiting hoveryachts and hoverfreighters from
sky-god honker attack, however unlikely the possibility.
Site selection was underway for full-scale, permanent Trading
Company bases that would shelter and service regular commercial
traffic, all the way across the Junn-Junn.
Mother Bindra was standing with Bonnie, George, and Trussa on
GWENDOLINE's quarterdeck. On the valley floor below and in
several caves on the opposite canyon wall, hundreds of amazons
lounged about, awaiting the departure of the expedition.
Also, the neighboring terrace farms seemed to require an
inordinate amount of weeding this morning. Something like
two hundred male farmers were busily wielding hoes. Oddly,
they didn't seem to be making much progress.
Bindra was in her usual linen shift and sandals. Trussa
was in her usual boots and loincloth, with a revolver strapped
to her right hip. George was in the white Little Trout
loincloth and top with which she'd been gifted, as well as an
off-white desert robe. The added coverage of the robe
seemed to have cured her chronic blushing problem. Bonnie
was in knee-boots and the brown leather loincloth with red
tassels with which she'd been
gifted. She'd added a bandeau fashioned from the red cloth
and ribbon that had comprised Trussa's gag on the Bed of
Victory. Bonnie told the amazons the bandeau was a trophy,
but she was really wearing it at George's insistence.
Amazons with Bonnie's endowment might go topless, but that was
no excuse for a cultured Luropean young lady to parade around
bare-breasted (in George's opinion). Bonnie's Tesla-pistol
rode her right hip.
"I wish I had more time to go over the plans with your
gunsmiths," Bonnie was saying to Trussa. Her hand was on
the butt of her pistol. She'd already gifted Trussa with
one of their Tesla-rifles, and plans were underway for the
production of Tesla-carbines designed to repel Big Honkers like
the T. rex.
Distributed one or two per patrol as squad equipment, they might
save a few Sand Amazon lives.
"First 'honker-giggler' nearly finished," Trussa
responded. "Dozens ready by time you make return trip."
"Possibly more," Bindra agreed, "with work well underway on the
next cycle of design improvement."
"They understand the technology," George chided her partner.
"I know," Bonnie responded, "but the spacing of the charging
coils and the internal baffles of the resonance chamber can be
tricky. Get it wrong and the barrel will burn through with
only a hundred or so firings."
Bindra chuckled, then patted Bonnie's hand. "I assure you,
my dear, our artisans are up to the challenge."
Bonnie smiled at Trussa. "I still wish we could stay
Bindra glanced from Bonnie to Trussa and back, her smile
knowing. "Unfortunately, we can't complete our plans for
the Trading Company until we have Gondwanese partners," she
Bonnie nodded. "Of course."
George favored Bindra with a wry smile that would have been
impertinent if the young adventurer and the elder stateswoman
hadn't become such good friends. "I still don't understand
why you're all being so mysterious
about the identity of your Trade Envoy. Last night,
Her Majesty would tell me nothing." She noticed Bonnie's
smile and blushed. "I asked her at dinner," George
explained, "before you and I checked the mooring lines and
stowed the new maps." She bowed to Bindra. "And
thank you, again, Mother, for the maps and geographical notes."
"Our pleasure, my dear," Bindra smiled, then nodded towards the
mouth of the cave. "And speaking of our Trade Envoy..."
Bondara was boarding the hoveryacht, accompanied by several of
the Old Women and overChiefs. Oddly, her eyes were not
masked by the usual blue and purple stripes of paint. She
still had a mask, but
now it was a band of pale skin, contrasting with the tan of her
other features. Her loincloth and bra-top were of
chamois-thin, brown leather with a gleaming, distressed
finish. There were a few decorative tassels, but nowhere
near the number she usually wore. A revolver was strapped
to her right hip, the strap of a carbine and an ammunition
bandolier were slung across her shoulders, cross-fashion, boots
were on her feet, and she was carrying a haversack with a rolled
blanket or desert robe by one shoulder strap.
"Ready," Bondara announced, dropping the pack on the deck.
Bonnie and George were surprised. Trussa was utterly
"Queen can't leave!" Trussa objected. "Queen must
stay. Queen must lead."
Bondara nodded, a very self-satisfied smile curling her
lips. "Agreed, but Young Old Woman Bondara go where Young
Old Woman Bondara want."
The overChiefs stepped forward, grabbed Trussa by the arms and
wrists, and began stripping off her loincloth
"What? Let go!" Trussa's eyes popped even
wider. "No!" she gasped. The overChiefs were
buckling a new loincloth around her waist, and it was decorated
with a great many bone discs and feather tassels. "Not
ready!" she objected.
Bondara took Trussa's head in her hands. "Trussa ready,"
she whispered, and kissed the new Queen's lips. She locked
eyes with her former subQueen for several seconds, then kissed
The overChiefs cheered, all the while continuing to restrain
their new Queen. Mother Bindra gestured towards the rail
facing the canyon and they led Trussa forward.
Bondara stepped to the rail, as well. "Behold!" she
shouted, her voice echoing from the canyon walls. "All
hail Trussa, daughter of Gagga, Queen of the Sand Amazons!"
An instant and resounding cheer thundered through the canyon,
from both the amazons and male farmers.
The overChiefs released Trussa and she turned to face Bondara,
hands on hips. "Trussa only one who not know?" she huffed.
Bondara shrugged. "You should see face," she chuckled.
The crowd was still cheering and Trussa turned back to wave, as
was a monarch's duty.
"Not big on ceremony, are they?" Bonnie asked, smiling at
"It would seem not," George agreed.
Bondara had overheard. She leaned close to be heard over
the crowd. "Much feasting. Much dancing. Much
jûb-jûb. Seven days."
"A pity we'll miss the festivities," Bonnie said. Her eyes
were on the streaming banners she'd asked to be rigged along the
canyon rim. They were beginning to stir.
"Yes," Bondara agreed, smiling at George. "Pity we miss
feasting and dancing."
George was blushing (again).
"The wind is quickening," Bonnie said. "We should
go." She smiled at Bondara. "And welcome to the
expedition, Your Majesty."
Bondara smiled. "Bondara. Just Bondara."
Bonnie offered her hand and they shook. "Welcome,
"Yes, w-welcome," George stammered, then offered her hand, as
Bondara shook the blushing youngster's hand. "Thank you,
As always, Mother Bindra was aware of everything that was
happening. "Our friends must depart!" she announced with a
Trussa gave a final wave, then stepped away from the rail and
went to Bonnie. The newly crowned Queen pulled the
startled Luropean into a tight embrace and kissed her
lips. Bonnie quickly recovered and began returning both
the embrace and the
kiss. Bondara and the watching overChiefs and Old Women
chuckled. George's blush deepened.
Finally, the kiss ended. "Safe journey," Trussa said.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Bonnie replied.
"Hah!" Trussa huffed, breaking the embrace and striding for the
cave entrance. "Silly Luropa-girl titles. 'Queen'
title enough." She patted George's head as she passed, and
Bondara slapped the Royal Butt.
Bindra and the others quickly made their farewells and
departed. The amazons at the mooring lines stood ready.
Bonnie manned the wheel and rigging controls. "Prepare to
cast off!" she ordered.
Bondara headed for the forward mooring line. "Come, Little
Trout," she called over her shoulder. "You show Bondara
how to coil rope."
"You mean stow the line!" George shouted, then smiled and
scampered after their new crew-member. Bondara joining the
expedition was a most surprising
development, but not unwelcome.
George's smile broadened, but her cheeks retained their rosy
hue. Not at all
unwelcome, she decided.
And GWENDOLINE continued across the Junn-Junn Wastes
to the Wild Borderlands of Gondwana.
Bonnie, George, and Bondara
had many thrilling
adventures before their return journey.
dear reader, is another story.
the Junn-Junn Wastes