Results Details

I leaped forward and thrust my hand under the wing shell and seized the short, tufted antennae and with one hand on them twisting and the other beneath the shell I slowly managed, lifting and twisting, to force the struggling creature onto its back and when it lay on its back, rocking, its short legs writhing impotently, I drew my sword and plunged it a dozen times into its vulnerable, exposed belly, and at last the thing stopped squirming and lay still. I shuddered. The odor of the golden hairs still lingered in the passages and, fearing I might once again succumb to whatever drug they released into the air, I determined to make my departure. The Mul-Torch began to sputter. I did not wish to resheath my sword, for it was coated with the body fluids of the Golden Beetle. I wondered how many more such creatures might dwell in similar passages and caverns near the tunnels of the Priest-Kings. The plastic tunic I wore did not provide an absorbent surface with which to clean the blade. - (Priest-Kings of Gor)