“Rgd vhkk mns sdkk,” the guard said to the King.

“Vd rgzkk lzjd ghl sdkk,” the King responded. “Snqstqd gdq hm eqnms ne ghl.”

The other two guards grabbed Irene’s arms and hauled her a few steps down the hall until they were directly in front of Dor’s cell. “Prince Dor,” the translator called. “You will answer our questions or see what we shall do.”

Dor was silent, uncertain what to do. “Qho nee gdq bknsgdr,” the King ordered.

The two guards wrestled Irene’s jacket and silver-lined fur off her body, while she struggled and cursed them roundly. Then the translator put his hand on her neckline and brutally ripped downward. The blouse tore down the front, exposing her fine bosom. Irene, shocked at this sudden physical violence, heaved with her arms, but the two men held her securely.

“Vdkk, knnj zs sgzs!” the King exclaimed admiringly. “H sgntfgs nmkx gdq kdfr vdqd fnnc!”

Dor could not understand a word of the language, but he grasped the essence readily enough. King, translator, and both guards

were all gawking at Irene’s revealed body. So was Dor. He had thought Irene did not match the Gorgon in general architecture, but Irene had filled out somewhat since he had last looked. He had had the chance to see during the quarrel in the moat, but there had been other distractions then. During the journey south to Centaur Isle, Irene had kept herself fairly private, and perhaps her excellent legs had led his attention away from her other attributes. Now he saw that she was no longer reaching for bodily maturity, she had achieved it.

At the same time, he was furious with the King and his henchmen for exposing Irene in this involuntary manner. He determined not to tell them anything.

“Gd khjdr gdq, xnt snkc ld,” the King said. “H bzm rdd vgx! Sgqdzsdm gdq zmc gd’kk szkj.”

The King was plotting something dastardly! Dor hardly dared imagine what he might do to Irene. He couldn’t stand to have her hurt!

The translator stood in front of Irene and formed a fist. He drew back his arm, aiming at her belly.

“Stop!” Dor cried. “I’ll tell—”

“Shut up!” Irene snapped at him. One of her knees jerked up, catching the translator in the groin. The man doubled over, and the surprised guards allowed Irene to tear herself free, leaving shreds of cloth in their hands. Bare-breasted as any nymph, she ran a few steps, stooped to pick up the door-opening bar, and whirled to apply it to Dor’s door.

Anthony, Piers. Centaur Aisle (Xanth Book 4) (p. 186). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

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