There had never been a tribe as successful as the Western Horns had been over the last twenty years. Over a hundred adult females, nearly twice that many adolescent females. A hundred male adolescents, twenty adult males and nearly 40 geldings. Roarax was beginning to grey but he saw no reason why he might not go on leading his tribe for another decade…maybe more. The number of females was impressive, but that number of adult males being able to live in the same tribe without open warfare was unheard of.

Most alpha males like Roarax could only handle two or three other adult males in their tribe before an open revolt would spark. Roarax was smarter, he knew the secrets was the gelds. When an adolescent turned sixteen they had to make a choice. They had to either head to the plains until they reached adulthood or challenge the alpha. Nearly all headed to the plain, but there were always a few who challenged. An upset wasn’t impossible but most would never see one in their lifetime. The looser was usually force to decide as the combat came to a close between death and being gelded.

The adults would come back from the plains and either make a challenge or try to live with the tribe, perhaps challenging later, perhaps not. Those challenges were much more serious. Most ended in death, adults rarely chose gelding.

Most tribes treat geldings as less than animal. Their future is that of some whore like beast lifting its tail for the pleasure of adolescents and adults in hopes that they will toss scraps of food or a moth eaten blanket their way. Roarax changed this in his tribe.

When he was young he learned a valuable lesson from old chief Short Tail. At the height of rutting season he crept through the tribe one night and captured each of the half dozen geldings that dwelled in their camp. They were all found in the morning with their hands tied to their tails (the worst position you could ever find yourself in) and leashed to the various totems around camp. The chief declared a feast! Those poor gelds labored for days, taking the built up brunt of the adult and adolescent desire to rut.

No one challenged the chief that year and record number of females bore young that spring. Roarax new that having more geldings kept the adults from killing each other and himself in their blood lust to mate. But to accomplish this more adolescents would have to choose being gelded over death if they were foolish enough to challenge him. Roarax accomplished this by gelding his first son.

Roarax had told his son that he was ill and feared he might be challenged in the next few days. That was untrue. That was the greatest deception of his life. They said his son begged for death but Roarax couldn’t bring himself to do it. Also untrue. Roarax could have easily killed his first born but that would not have served his purpose. He needed an excuse to change the way geldings were treated. Geldings in the Western Horn tribe now live much like adolescents females. Yes, they are put upon heavily during the rut but not so much during the rest of the year. Most seem to eventually enjoy their role in the tribe.

Wisdom

This was not the end of Roarax’s wisdom. But this is wisdom is wisdom that all the great chiefs share. Never give your adversary the choice of when or where to challenge you. There are a dozen ways to provoke a challenge. The adolescents are the easiest to provoke. Even when the adult males move back in from the plains, they move in slowly, testing the waters, hoping to see the chief in a challenge before they make their own. In front of the tribe, make the easy challenges, the easy kills. If it was risky, if it might need sand in the eyes to win…below the river at night or in the woods. A good chief was equal parts father, lover, warrior and assassin.

Never geld in front of the tribe. This was Roarax’s rule and many tribes did not follow it. Some would geld prisoners from raids. Some chiefs would geld and then kill to rule by fear. Those chiefs would not be long lived. Roarax would always geld in the woods. He was in the woods now. He was watching Tor.

Tor gave good reason to be watched. Someday soon Tor would head to the plains. He was smart and strong and patient. In a few years he would return, and if Roarax wasn’t careful, he would be chief. Tor had begun giving Roarax a wide birth, he understood how his honor could be used against him, how his honor could cost him his life or his manhood.

Tor was standing at the side of the river naked, fishing with a long thin spear. More beast than most from the waist down, less beast from the waist up. He would be a favorite with the females. His tail swished flies as he fished. His horns wrapped forward, not wide, good for fighting and good for what Roarax was going to do to him. Roarax waited for him to make a successful catch before he stepped from the woods.

I see you caught me a fish! Give it here boy!

Tor looked unsure what to do. He stuck his spear in the mud (smart boy thought Roarax) and walked towards the chief. Roarax held up a hand, just throw it here.

He fish land a few feet short in the mud.

Roarax snorted, now look what you’ve done, it’s all dirty, come here and clean it.

Tor approached the chief with caution. The chief was a foot taller and a150 ponds heavier than Tor. He would have to bow down in front of Roarax to pick up the fish. This was a test that he would either pass or die from. He knew he might be able to get lucky and strike the first blow, maybe even win, but he would never be able to do it without being wounded in the process. An injured adolescent chief? He would never survive till the first rut.

Tor bowed down to pick up the fish.

No boy, with your mouth.

Tor paused. His blood raged…this insult…just wait a few years. He brought himself under control. He dropped his head towards the fish.

Roarax planted his hoof directly on top of the youth’s head and drove him horn first into the ground. The boy’s natural impulse was to charge but all he succeeded in doing was driving his horns deeper into the muddy earth. The chief grabbed his tail and leaned back, pulling the boy’s legs into the air, letting the youth’s own wait finish driving his horns hilt deep into the mud. Tor flailed wildly. The chief struck the boy’s testicles hard with the flat of his hand and listened as the youth vomited. The vomiting subsided and the youth gasped for air, this warranted another slap and another round of vomiting. The third slap seemed to make the boy convulse. Roarax didn’t get the desired effect till the boy passed out after the fifth slap. This one was tough.

You see boy, you have to tie them up with their tail. An angry male can break ropes and chains but they can’t bring themselves to break their own tail. Looped twice around each wrist with a twist in the middle, Roarax pulled the youth’s tail taught, the boy groaned from the humiliation more than the pain. I’ll show you how you know when you have it tight enough. Roarax pulled again, the boy fought (his horns still buried in the earth, he went nowhere), you have to pull till the tail muscles just give out or they will be able to use their tail and eventually wiggle free. Roarax placed a hoof on the boy’s back and pulled hard, he felt the muscle at the base of the tail quiver and then surrender, the boy suddenly dropped his manure against his will.

That’s how you tell.

Now, most will never have had their tail lifted. I prefer to go to the woods first but if they are real fighters you must do it before you try and carry them. Tor shook and made a hollow noise as Roarax leaned forward and drove his member beneath the boy’s already taught tail hole. Roarax had rubbed himself with lard before he had confronted the boy to ease the way as much as he could.

The youth bellowed like a girl calf as Roarax’s gnarly shaft parted the boy’s rump. The fight and the seed had had gone out of the boy after only a few minutes. Roarax took great pride in being able to make a male drop his manure and his seed against his will.

The boy had gone limp but Roarax allowed himself some liberties, even making the boy drop his seed again before Roarax marked him as he would a female. Filling the youth’s backside with his seed and then humping his scent into the furry back of the boys legs right below his rump. Roarax’e blood was up. He looked at Tor and watched his seed drip slowly off the boy’s testicles.

Deafeated and helpless, Tor looked even younger now. Roarax carried the boy back into the woods to where a special tree and a fire pit were waiting. Let me tell you how our clan gelds, he did this while he prepared the fire.

The tree is important, it must have a split trunk, it must look like a narrow “V”. It must be strong, so strong that it would be pointless to hurt yourself trying to break it. Tanner trees are best, the bark is oily and is hard to grip. The fork of the trunk must be up about four feet off the ground and it can’t be much wider than your neck. The tree branches have to widen out but not too quickly. Heft you’re your captive onto your shoulder, most will be very docile once they are tail tied, push their head and horns high in the “V”, then slide them down till the space narrows and their horns leave them trapped in the tree.

Most will be terrified at this point. They will need to relieve themselves. In my sack I carry a gourd bowl and a cloth. Do not let them foul themselves. Use the bowl and carry away the waste. Now in the bag I also carry a rag rubbed with fatty soap. Clean them. Use the fatty soap on your cock as well, it will make things easier. Now when you are done don’t give them time to be afraid. Simply lift their tail while you satisfy yourself it is good to use your hand and spill their seed as well. When you are old and experienced like me you will be able to make them spill their seed simply by the way you mate them.

When you are finished they will probably not know where they are for a time, this is good. In my sack I also carry two pieces of moss rope, wet them and tie them both loosely around the base of their testicles. It will do its work as it dries and tightens… if you keep your captive distracted they probably will not even notice.

The rest of the night you must keep them company and give them comfort. You may not sleep because they cannot. They may make many strange requests, things that a chief would never do but you will do for them. Some may ask to spill their seed in your mouth or you in theirs. You may lift their tail a dozen times. You may talk to them, you may sing to them. Feed them berries and give them water. They may cry. They beg for death.

At some time after midnight you will lift their tail again and while you are satisfying yourself their testicle sack will fall off. Do not tell them about this, do not show them until morning. This will give them time to heal a bit. In the morning you will give them their sack and release them, leave the moss rope on, it will fall off in a few days. They will almost always thank you for not killing them. Never ask what they will do with their sack, they won’t know yet anyway. Never ask them about it in the future.

When Roarax approached Tor by the side of the fire he felt helpless and resigned to his fate. Tor pictured himself being hefted up and thrust into the tree, his only real fear was that he would be unable to not relieve himself all over his chief. Instead Roarax reached behind him and tugged loose one of the loops of his tail. Tor began to frantically untangle himself from his tail but paused as he watched Roarax climb the log in front of the tree alone. Roarax spoke facing away from Tor.

If I am killed in a challenge the males in our tribe will go to war among themselves. There is no male strong enough to prevent this. The other tribes, the jealous tribes will raid while we are weak. The tribe may be lost, everything I have worked for will be lost.

But if I could step down from being chief without dying, if I could choose a new chief and support him, I could hold the tribe together. Tomorrow I will no longer be chief and you will head to the plains. I will let Copper Main saddle me as a gelding and he will become the new chief. In two seasons you will return from the plains and challenge him and become the great chief that he could never be and then I will be your geld.

Roarax leaned into the crook of the tree and kicked the log away, he slid down into the waiting fork of wood with a raspy groan. Now hurry and tie my tail boy before I change my mind and snap my own neck.

Half an hour later Tor stood on the log that he needed to stand tall enough to properly pay his chief tribute. He had tied Roarax’s hands back to his tail and tied a piece of wood across his mouth to bite on at his chief’s request. Tor found this strange as it was something he had only seen done to prisoners from raids. He thought for a moment and realized that no one in the tribe would come to investigate his cry for help, they would all assume he had lost a challenge, but if Roarax were to cry out the entire tribe would assemble.

He thought of how many females Roarax had rutted, how many geldings he had made. How many males he had left broken and dying. He thought how he was about to geld his own father and he knew that one day one of his sons would do the same to him and he knew what it meant to be chief.