Shakuni's near demonic laughter rang shrill in the famous hall of games of Hastinapura's court. The crown prince, Duryodhan, and his hundred brothers followed suit like the vestiges of apparitions who bit at the heels of true wickedness like fools.

Dhritarashtra, the King of Kururashtra, a man blinded not as physically as he was, by his love for his sons, watched on mute and incomprehensive. He was torn between the dilemma of stopping his beloved eldest offspring for the sake of dharma and choosing to turn an ironic blind eye to his evildoings, yet again.

Bheeshma, the supreme commander of Hastinapur's formidable armies was seated on his chair, bent from the middle, with an aged hand over his wizened eyes like a great banyan tree which had buckled under the weight of a storm. The virtuous Gangaputra and stalwart of his mammoth empire was silently cursing the cruel fates that were making him bear testimony to this horrific day.

Acharya Drona, son of the revered Bharadwaja and disciple to the master warrior sage - Lord Parashurama, had his wrinkled face turned to the side. His eyes were crushed close as his shaking hands gripped the handles of his golden seat in a desperate grip. He was silently praying to the Gods, begging them to somehow turn him deaf for the moment.

Angaraja Karna, who had made a solid name for himself in the annals of history, being one of the most accomplished warriors of Aryavarta, a man for whom the sounds of battle were the sweetest music, had such an alien look of miserable guilt on his usually stoic face that it was almost hilarious.

His expression was mirrored perfectly on the face of his compatriot and friend, the King of half of the Panchala Empire, as well.

Drauni Ashwatthama, the super warrior who was son to Drona and friend to the Kauravas, was exchanging discomfited glances with the king of Anga nervously. His initial jubilance at getting a one up over the Pandavas had slowly disintegrated into horror and shame as the accursed game had progressed, paving the way for a monstrous face of Duryodhan to come out, that he has never witnessed before.

The sickening sound of metal hitting flesh and ripping through skin and muscle made the four other Pandava brothers feel ill.

Tears streamed down the pale face of the mighty Vrikodhara as he shuddered when Nakul hid his wet face inside his older brother's massive shoulder like he used to do when they were but mere children, playing in the woods of Shatasringa.

Sahadev, the younger Madriputra, swallowed a whimper and buried his own face in his hands, quaking as the uproarious laughter of his so-called cousins hit his ear drums like merciless hammers.

Yudhishtir looked like someone had punched their hand right through his chest and ripped his beating heart out, leaving behind a gory mess between his emptied ribcage. He could hardly hear anything except a ringing noise, which assailed his head like a barrier of self-defense against further anguish.

Arjun grunted in pain but refused to let a single emotion of even a slight discomfort appear on his handsome features. The long limbed Son of Shakra staggered just a little at the impact from the arrow which had plunged into his muscled chest, causing more of his brilliantly red blood to paint his wiry towering figure into a macabre canvas of destruction.

The arrows sticking out of his left leg, abdomen, and right shoulder moved along with his shallow breaths. His charcoal curls devoid of the restriction of his bejeweled head gear had hidden half of his face, yet the single prussian eye, which was visible to everyone, was sharp like the apex predator that he was.

There was no dullness or haziness present in those magnificent cyan orbs of a man grievously bleeding since a few minutes and evidently suffering through an agony which to lesser mortals would have been excruciating.

"Looking a little peachy over there slave, aren't you? Want me to stop? You can beg, I may consider if I am feeling merciful."

Duryodhan's snide remark went unanswered, making the former's frustration increase.

The Yuvaraja had been expecting to hear his younger cousin's screams of pain or choked pleadings for mercy for quite some time now. That was the main reason for indulging in such an act for filling in the time till his beloved Dusashan brought that hag - the haughty Princess of Panchala, that the Pandavas had crowned their Empress, by her admittedly beautiful hair, to him.

But the third Pandava remained miraculously unmoved and frostily silent throughout the savage torture that was being inflicted on him.

"It looks like the cat has gotten his tongue, nephew dear. Or else we are well aware of how the wretch likes to boast about his so-called prowess all the time. Isn't it?"

Gandhararaja retorted nastily, his rotten teeth glistening like that of a jackal.

"Mind your tongue, you soulless piece of utter shit lest I tear it out for you! Do not sully my brother by equating him to that honourless sutaputra whom you gave away a kingdom in charity!"

Bheem bellowed like an enraged bull, making Shakuni move a little into Duryodhan's shadow, like the coward that he was.

If Karna had been able to focus on anything at the moment, he would have snapped back at the second oldest of the Kuntiputras with his usual brand of scathing sarcasm but right now he could not think beyond how to stop this madness from progressing further.

He may have followed Duryodhan to the ends of the earth and will probably continue to do so and he may have also conceded to this heinous plan at the start but disrobing a woman in front of a full court? He may detest the daughter of Agni with all his heart but he had some sense of honour at least.

And he may revile the Son of Indra just as much but he wanted to win against him in a fair fight.

What was happening was... pure torture. Injuring an unarmed man, enslaving him through decidedly unfair means and then not even letting him defend himself, all for the crown prince's personal amusement, was not something which the Son of Surya found that he could digest so easily.

But he had to hand it over to Arjun.

His arch nemesis had held himself up with a fortitude and tolerance to pain, which was bewilderingly proficient.

Karna had doubts whether he himself could have kept standing on his two feet till then. He probably wouldn't have been able to not yell in agony at the least.

Those arrows were not the usual fare at all. Barbed at the sharp end and three and a half foot long, coated in burning poison, they were specially contracted from Hastinapur's deadliest quatermaster.

But Arjun remained unbelievably statuesque.

"Hah! Look at you, Bhimsen. Such lofty proclamations, yet you wouldn't lift a finger to save your beloved brother. Is this your sense of righteousness?", Shakuni asked in his oiliest tone.

Bhim had to look away at that as his face burned in embarrassment more than rage.

For what Gandhararaj had declared was, unfortunately true.

The Pandavas had threatened and raged, then begged and literally groveled in front of them all, but they had not tried to stop them physically.

Yudhishtir's dharma would not let slaves intercept their so-called masters out of turn.

They could only plead and beseech.

Suddenly a loud feminine scream brought everyone's attention to the entrance of the hall.

"Draupadi... no.."

Arjun finally whispered shakily.

His usual velveteen baritone had weakened with the blood loss, and his face drained of color for the first time since Duryodhan had shot at him.

The voice which run ominously all around the accursed Dyuta Sabha held no note of fear though, only a blistering shade of fury, befitting a war cry of the warrior Goddess Durga herself.

"Here you are, dasi!", Duryodhan's wickedly joyous words tapered off into shock when instead of his brother dragging in the illustrious daughter in law of the Kurus by her hair like they had envisioned, Dusashan's battered body came tumbling down the staircase like a sack of potatoes.

Arjun breathed a sigh of relief then, almost toppling over his feet, his rigid form finally seeming like it had truly been mutilated by arrows.

His plan had worked.

The Kuru court saw astounded, as it was not Draupadi who came in next, following the bleeding trashed black and blue, second oldest of the Kauravas, who lay whimpering on the ground - but an unfamiliar woman, wielding expertly what looked like a massive ox tail whip in one hand.

Her gait screamed raw power as she stalked into the room like a lioness on a hunt, utterly unperturbed at being unsummoned by the baffled guards who kept gawking at her instead of trying to stop her.

It didn't seem like even the God of Death himself would have been able to stop her.

When she stopped at the foot of the podium, the lamps reflecting on the gigantic chandeliers hanging in the ceiling, casted a brilliant shine on her and everyone, who had leapt up their seats in shock froze, almost in a trance.

The woman was bewitching in a strange way.

Her features were so sharp that it could be called almost masculine, yet there was the innate feminine softness to them. Her eyes were a molten honeyed amber, which was trained like that of a bird of prey, and her long straight hair caressed her slender waist like a tumultuous river of obsidian.

But what was most striking were the silver scars mapped into intricate stories of battles fought on her wheat-ish gold skin along her admittedly slim but surprisingly muscled arms.

She had the arms of an archer or a swordfighter.

This was not a mere queen, despite the look of gentle nobility hidden in the crude chiseled lines of her beautiful face.

This was a monarch.

A ruler.

A warrior.

To be continued