The Amazon warrior woman
Penthesila gripped her horse, Valarie, harder. Faster, she urged. In her head. Valarie could read her mind. As one, horse and Amazon galloped through the rainforest. Valarie shied.
Penthesila drew an arrow. A panther stood before them. Before it could register them as dangerous, it was dead.
Achilles looked down at the panther. Whose arrow was this? He tried to identify it, but it was unfamiliar. Finally, a warrior worth my mettle, he thought as he stroked his beard.
A twig broke. He stiffened. He could smell danger. He turned, drawing an arrow simultaneously. A tall, hefty woman was charging at him on a black horse. He leapt out of her way, regaining his poise as soon as he mounted his horse.
The horses looked at each other, as did the riders. “Who are you?” he asked, hoping to distract her as he strung an arrow.
She gave no indication that she had heard him. Horse and woman dodged his arrow with practised ease. It was all he could do to move to the left on his tired companion, as she shot an arrow in turn.
The battle raged for hours. Her eyes showed a grudging admiration. Achilles was stretched to his utmost. He pushed his hair back as he tried to think of how to outwit her.
She feinted to the left as she leant over her horse, shooting from the right. Daedadron whinnied, pleading for rest. That minute lapse in concentration cost Achilles dearly. The arrow plunged in his arm as he slide off Deadadron.
Penthesila turned. A dragon’s tattoo on her wrist was the last thing Achilles saw.
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