Pool of Radiance - James M. Ward [27]
It was on one of the city's wide piers that Tarl was walking when he spotted the figure of a woman, lying belly down, hammering on the dock so hard that she was actually causing the heavy wooden planks to rattle with each blow of her fists. Beside her stood a great horse. As Tarl moved closer, he could hear that the woman was crying. His curiosity piqued, he edged closer still.
The horse raised its head as Tarl approached, but it made no movement or sound. The woman remained oblivious to his presence. Tarl could see now that blood was caking to the sides of her hands, where they were worn raw from hammering against the nails and wood splinters on the dock planking. Compelled by his faith, Tarl squatted down and grabbed the woman's large hands in his own. "Please, lady, you must stop. Enough is enough." Had the woman struggled against his grip, he probably could not have stopped her from pulling her hands loose and resuming pounding the dock, but she turned her head toward him and left her hands extended, as if perhaps her energies were spent, Tarl could feel the power of a healing spell flowing through his own body and into hers as he muttered a prayer to Tyr. Slowly the caked blood loosened and sloughed off. New skin formed, pink and pale, to seal the broken blood vessels. More new skin formed to cover the tender wound. Soon her torn hands became smooth again.
Though Tarl's clerical skills did not approach those of Sontag, he was blessed with great innate power. He had used his healing abilities before, and had always found healing a very special exchange. The process inevitably involved sharing something extremely deep and personal with the receiver. Healing this woman was no different, except that he felt as though she also had shared something deep and personal with him. He squeezed her strong hands in his own and then pulled the woman gently to a sitting position. He stared into her eyes, and even in the dim twilight, he could see that they were a captivating green. The highlights of her long, full hair shimmered red in the flickering light of the torches that lined the docks. He glanced down, aware that he was staring, and that is when he realized that her leather garments were ridiculously tight, stretched over her tall frame in such a way that they awkwardly revealed much of her impressively ample body.
Tarl cleared his throat and started to speak. His voice cracked as he introduced himself. "I am… Tarl Desanea, a cleric of the warrior god, Tyr. I am… at your service…"
"Thank you," said the woman quietly.
Still holding her hands, Tarl pulled the young woman up to her feet. He swallowed hard as he realized that she was nearly a fist's height taller than he and impressively fit. His face reddened as he noticed that a patch of material above her left breast had torn loose, revealing more woman than he had ever seen in his twenty years. He stepped back toward the horse, releasing his grip on her hands. "Uh, do you have a…blanket… or something?"
The big horse stamped and snorted, and Tarl flushed once more.
"Yes, of course," said the woman, quickly pulling the panel up to cover herself as she realized the reason for the cleric's embarrassment. She then turned to the horse. "Easy, Cerulean. I think we can trust this man." She pointed toward a bedroll lashed securely to the horse's back.
Tarl untied the bedroll, rolled a blanket from it, and moved close to drape it around the woman's broad shoulders. As he did, he noticed her warm, perfumed scent, and as he stepped back, he prayed a silent thank-you to Tyr for not demanding abstinence from his clerics.
"I'm sorry. It seems I've forgotten my manners," said the woman, turning demurely to face Tarl again. "I'm Shal… Shal Bal of Cormyr. I am a mage, formerly an apprentice to the great Ranthor."
Tarl found himself staring again. He had never before seen a mage so long on physical prowess. Most, he assumed, found their way into the mentally taxing profession because they did not have the physical strength for other jobs, and once they