"So why should it be any different for me?" Helga demanded. "Is rape any worse than a blade tearing into your body? In some ways, yes, I suppose. It's more humiliating, certainly."

"Don't be so sure of that," grunted Demansk. His hand rubbed the scar over his belly. Some part of his mind, idly, was pleased to note the absence of fat. The muscle there was perhaps not as hard as it had been in his youth. But it still felt like a board, at least, if not a bar of iron.

"I got this scar because the man I was matched against in my first battle was vastly better at mayhem than I was. At that young age, anyway. He toyed with me, even — dammit! In the middle of a battle! — taunted me, played with me. Then took me down at his leisure, leering the whole time."

He found himself gritting his teeth at the memory. Then, realizing what he was doing, barked a laugh. "Gods, he was good! I felt like a virgin in the hands of a rapist, I swear I did. I can remember my cheek slamming into the ground and the feel of his sandal stamping over me as he went on to his next victim. I was in a daze for. . some time, while everything around me was a blur of noise and confusion and pain. The only clear thought I can remember was that I realized how Errena must have felt after Wodep took her in his beast form. Used, humiliated, discarded like so much trash. As if all that was left of her was the bones tossed into the litter, after her flesh was eaten."

They were silent for a moment. Then Helga said, "Yes. And my — let's call it a 'wound'—didn't take months to recover from, as yours did." She eyed that portion of Demansk's midriff skeptically. "You're lucky, at that, you survived at all. If the blade had penetrated your bowels, you'd have spent weeks dying in agony."

"True enough," said Demansk. He took a deep breath. "All right, daughter of mine. I thank you — bless you — for understanding."