When our party arrived at Oksca territory we didn't see anybody. I had assumed that they might have possibly get slaughtered by another tribe or fell victim to plague, but soon I was greeted with the sight of a burly native man. He called out to me in his native language.
The savage was the best warrior of the tribe, at least that's how I understood it. He stood six feet tall, long black hair tied in an intricate braid, smooth hairless red skin painted with elaborate patterns in blood and soot. He seemed young, no older than twenty-five, and unlike his tribesmen, he has shown no timidness when facing us.
From his bellicose tone and gesture I understood he was challenging me. I found the notion amusing, so I told my men to stand aside, and just the two of us headed deeper into the jungle.
He was armed only with a spear, which was likely poisoned, as was customary in these parts. He lead me towards a wide clearing, where he stopped and exclaimed again. From there, he turned around and rushed at me. Keeping cold blood, I reached for my gun.
The lead ball shot out from my harquebus with a thunder and hit him in the shoulder. He dropped his spear and staggered and fell, but he did not make a sound, not as much as a yelp. He only gazed in confusion at his wound and then again at me and my weapon. 'Wild man', I jeered, 'behold the might of white man'.
He mumbled something in his primitive language, I didn't even try to guess his meaning, but there was fear and reverence in his voice.
Gazing at his powerful form submitting to me, I wondered whether the stories I've heard were true, was it really in the savages' custom to sodomise the defeated, and I took the opportunity to find out in practice.
Still holding onto the harquebus, I began unbuttoning my breeches. The savage stared at my stalwart white prick, with no puzzlement but with chagrin, his placid behaviour seemingly confirming the tale. 'Come here, you beastly savage', I bid him, stroking myself. The savage hesitated, but then crawled towards me on all fours.