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until they at last came to a clearing, the camp of the Kreega. A space a good three hundred feet wide had been cleared of trees though those at the circumference of the space overhung it with their long leafy branches, protecting it from much of the snow and rain. Only a few flakes managed to squeeze through the outstretched branches and these were quickly evaporated by the heat of the surrounding jungle. But what instantly caught Rockson’s eye were the structures that the Kreega lived in—teepees. They stood fifty feet apart, nearly a dozen of them, each about twenty feet tall, with animal hides wrapped tightly around their conical bodies. Thin streams of smoke rose from the opening at the top of each one.
    Reina tugged tightly at Rock’s bonds pulling him close in behind her as they walked into the center of the Amazon village. More of the white-skinned, black-haired women emerged from their teepees as a large muscular woman with gourd-sized breasts blew on a hollowed-out stag horn from her guard post at the edge of the encampment. The deep raspy note shivered through the air, sending a chill down Rockson’s back. The women gathered around the returning hunters, reaching out to touch their male prisoners. Soft but strong hands grabbed at the two men as they walked through the gauntlet of female flesh.
    Reina led them to the largest of the teepees, a good fifteen feet higher than the others. It sat in the center of the camp, emblazoned with bizarre geometric patterns. She opened the hide flap at the bottom of the teepee and pushed Rockson roughly inside. He flew forward, landing on a bed of black grizzly furs. Archer followed closely behind, kicked from the rear by two sets of female feet. He flew inside, landing on top of Rockson. The two men sat up as Reina walked in and stood looking down on them. Four of the women warriors stood just inside the flap, their hands resting on jewel-encrusted daggers at their waists.
    Rockson tried working at the knotted leather binding clamping his hands behind his back. But the knots were tight as steel locks. Reina sat on a second fur bed several feet away from the two freefighters and began a discourse that Rock could barely understand. She spoke in a sort of pidgin French mixed with American slang and a smattering of local Indian dialect.
    “Desirez-vous prenez un bath?” she asked first Rockson and then Archer who stared at one another in noncomprehension. Rock knew the language was primarily French. He had gone over basic language tapes back at Century City. But beyond his basic ability at faking Russian, useful to infiltrate Red posts, he was virtually in the dark about other dialects.
    “Un bath, un bath,” Reina said, irritated, raising her arms and making a washing motion, so that her large breasts swung from side to side like lush ripe fruits, waiting to be plucked.
    “Oh— un bath,” Rock said, getting the meaning of the charade. “Yes, uh, oui,” he answered, remembering his one word of French. Reina snapped her fingers and two of the Kreega guards ran out. But the teepee flap had barely closed when the albino warrior walked in.
    “Ishtar,” Reina spat out as the albino’s eyes met hers. There was obviously no love lost between the two. The albino must have made a quick change for she was now decked out in elaborate ceremonial costume, complete with warpaint on her face and a panther head, eerily lifelike with opened jaws and glowing eyes, atop her skull.
    “L’homme est moi ,” she snarled, her fist wrapped around her dagger.
    “Quelle homme?” Reina asked, her own hand drifting down to her razor-sharp blade.
    “Le plus belle monsieur avec le streak blanc dans les cheveux.”
    “Non, Ishtar,” Reina said, rising and walking several steps until she stood face to face with the albino. Ishtar reached for her blade but Reina froze her with a withering look that even Rock could see said: Are you ready to die. They were obviously continuing their argument