Samarkand the Omnibus: Books 1-2

by Graham Diamond

  “To life, Lord Niko!” another of the whores called, raising her chalice. The liquid spilled over her chin as she eagerly swallowed.

  Plates filled with exotic dainties cluttered the floor, the food half-eaten. Niko rolled over, rested his head at the foot of one of the velvet divans. Beneath his loose tunic the hard, masculine lines of his strong figure emerged. “I have a surprise for you all,” he announced, holding up a hand, gaining their complete attention.

  “A surprise?” mimicked the Abyssinian girl, black skin in stark contrast to the cream-colored rug she sat upon. She looked at her master eagerly, as did the others. “What sort of surprise, my lord?”

  Niko grinned, turned from face to face, at last fixing his gaze on the singer. “It has come to my attention,” he said, “that my companion here has been taking too many liberties with the concubines...”

  A number of good-humored catcalls came from the women.

  “No, now listen to me, all of you,” said Niko, unabashed. “The overseer herself — whatever is her name? — has personally conveyed to me an expression of displeasure.”

  The Abyssinian turned over and squealed. “My lord, such is impossible! Your slave has brought us nothing but pleasure!”

  Her companions laughed and agreed, the singer bowed, nearly toppling over into the arms of a passive attendant.

  Niko wavered as he managed to stand, and confronted his faithful companion directly. “This overseer says you are to be punished.” The singer’s face began to pale. Niko laughed hoarsely. “Let me see now,” he mumbled, scratching his head. “What sort of punishment can there be for a man whose loins forever burn?”

  “Make him take us all on,” blurted the yellow-haired whore from the north. “Yes,” chimed the third, the beauty called Lina. “One hundred and fifty women, each to be satisfied upon peril of his head.”

  The lordly son of the Khan roared. “I fear such punishment would kill the poor fellow,” he remonstrated. “Surely no man, whatever his crime, deserves such a fate!”

  “To die in paradise is no punishment at all,” observed the clever singer.

  “Then you accept the challenge?”

  The younger man shrugged, smiled. “If it is my lord Niko’s will, then so be it.”

  The women went wild with laughter and applause, leaving Niko to feel he’d been bested. “Just a moment,” he said, calming them down. “In truth, my friends, I had another punishment in mind.”

  “Oh?” questioned the black-skinned girl. “Surely not to rob him of his manhood?”

  Niko pulled open the singer’s robes, stared at his limp member. Even in its flaccid state it was huge, like a horse. “To make of him a eunuch would break too many hearts,” he sighed sorrowfully as the whores stared in admiring wonder. “Still, I can’t have myself being continually on the losing end every night, now can I?” He reached for another goblet. “So,” he went on, “I have decided on the only alternative.”

  The singer regarded his master with puzzlement, the whores waited in eager anticipation.

  “I have decided to free him — free him and marry him off.”

  “No!” said Lina. “It would be shame to rob us of his values —”

  “My mind is firm,” rejoined Niko to the disappointment of them all. “Now all that remains is to find him a wife.” He winked. “A proper wife who would keep him in his place.”

  “I know!” said the girl from the north, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Marry him off to Mistress Tania!”

  Everyone broke into raucous laughter. “Yes, to Tania! That bitch has taken five thousand men in her time,” chortled the Abyssinian. “A whore of whores! Why, men have died in her arms! They say her tricks of ecstasy can kill the strongest!”

  “Aye, and even the most knowledgeable in the bedroom,” added Lina.

  Niko turned to the distraught singer. “What say you, man? Shall you wed the biggest slut in all of Samarkand?”

  He hung his head, burped loudly without covering his mouth. “My lord would make of me a martyr,” he said quietly.

  “And if Mistress Carolyn is unhappy,” remarked the yellow-haired lovely with a sneer, “then marry him off to her!”

  The women giggled and Niko shared their mirth. “Yes, that would solve two problems together, wouldn’t it?” This new overseer was too fastidious for his tastes, too abiding of Kabul’s strict rules. At least the eunuch Castus, her predecessor, poor obese fellow, had allowed the rules to be bent now and again.

  Niko yawned. “I shall have to think over this matter,” he said decisively. “Select a mate most carefully. After all, we don’t want our singer to be unhappy, do we?”

  “He can warm my bed any time he likes,” said the Abyssinian with a devilish grin. She looked to the quiet slave, adding, “But don’t let our overseer catch you — otherwise you will be robbed of your jewels.”

  More laughter, more jeers. Niko, heady from the wine, turned back to the singer. “Which of these beauties will you have this night, eh? Take your choice, for I fear that the morrow might see you wed.”

  There was genuine surprise in the slave’s dark eyes. It was most unlike his master to allow him first selection. Indeed, it was an honor. He mulled over the matter for a few moments, then said, “I’ll take her.” He pointed to the Abyssinian while the others groaned. “And her as well.” The yellow-haired whore clapped her hands and squealed with delight. Niko grimaced. “You’ll have them both?”

  The singer’s grin was silly and happy. “If this night is to be my last in freedom, lord, and if truly you meant to give me my choice...”

  Niko rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Very well,” he said with a long sigh. “Take them.” The girls bounded to their feet, happily followed on the singer’s heels, bowing, backstepping into the far chamber. Niko peered down at the purring Lina whose seductive pose hinted at the pleasures she had in store. The son of Kabul stuck out his hand. “Come on,” he mumbled. “Make me feel this night like my foolish brother Mufiqua. Let your touch enhance me until I, too, believe I’m a god.”

  *

  The rain had stopped. Lina lay back with a feline smile, looking over at the dreaming Niko. The chamber was black, not the slightest thread of light to be seen from the windows nor the vestibule. Niko’s hand closed around her breast possessively; he smiled contentedly in his slumber, spent, unable to rouse himself and go another round. Lina was pleased. She’d done her best for him, she knew, tantalized and titillated him until he practically begged release from the painful pleasure. Even then she had refused, subtly working her tongue and hands over his body, lingering teasingly, heightening his urge, then abruptly halting her efforts while his drenched body writhed with sublime torment. The famous lover had been a toy for her this night. Like a child he had fondled her, probed the deepest recesses of her being, and Lina had let him, let him lose himself completely in amorous desire. It had been at her will and her will alone that he had climaxed, exploding with furious passion and hunger. Now sated, he rested as a boy would: drained, gratified for the moment. But the night was far from over, Lina knew, and Niko was a man renowned for his sexual appetite. Had it not been for the vast amounts of wine he’d consumed, he could have easily gone straight until dawn with his love-making.

  Her lord and master stirred, smacking his lips with unconscious delight. Lina dropped her hand between his legs and gently placed her fingertips along his manhood. The stiffening was slight but unmistakably there. Soon he would be ready again. Should she rouse him now? she asked herself. Or perhaps wait just a little bit longer, let him sink even deeper into his dreams? There was no rush, she decided; let him enjoy his rest. So far the night had gone perfectly, why raise a chance of something going amiss?

  It occurred to her then, as she rested beside him with her eyes opened wide and staring up at the shadowed ceiling, that of all the sons of Kabul, Niko was certainly the gentlest. Temugin and Mufiqua had hurt her in bed, bruised her, and her single experience with the brute Kri
shna was one that even now made her shudder. His sadistic appetite had on several occasions cost other, less knowledgeable concubines, their very lives. Strangest of all, though, had been Khalkali, insisting that she whip him and bind him before his urges could be satisfied. Then there had been Jamuga; that one had taken her to his bed and she’d been shocked and disgusted to find two small boys already there. Her only task had been to watch as he’d made love to the boys, watch and later wipe them all dry with towels.

  She felt a tinge of sadness for Niko as she bided time, waited until he was ready. But the overseer’s orders had been explicit. She was to spend these hours with Niko.

  She lowered her head against his chest, ran her tongue over his nipples. His eyes half-opened and he started to come to life. Her hand massaged his manhood, caressed him softly, touching lightly all the parts of his maleness, while her lips lowered onto his belly. Niko began to quiver; his breathing became hard and he stroked her hair, exulting in the glorious feeling of being so gently awakened by the touch of her flesh.

  “Ahhh,” he sighed, his muscles beginning to stiffen. Then as her tongue lowered again, he sucked in air and hissed it out between clenched teeth. His back arched upward, he tried to bring her up toward him, so that his darting tongue could meet hers, but Lina only lowered her head further. A low, deep, animal groan emitted from his throat; her mouth opened wide and she took him teasingly. Niko pressed forward his hips, ground them slowly. She was kissing him all over now, doing what she had done before, focusing his full attention onto his passion, letting him moan and hiss and loll his tongue while her lips sweetly heightened his craving.

  Passively he waited for her to increase the pressure, shifting helplessly upon the sweat-drenched sheet, wincing at the bite of her teeth, the gentle, hungered bites. His manhood throbbed wildly with need of her, his panting becoming labored and urgent. Still she held him at bay, knowingly let him suffer the delicious agonies of desire.

  It was too much! Too much for him — for any man — to bear! He was a slave within her power now, unable to command or control, needing to at last be set free of this honeyed misery...

  His moans became growls; his hands closed tightly over her head, pushing her, forcing her to confront him, to release him at last from his longing. Again he sucked in air; his lungs were bursting with his need, shoulders shaking. The time was growing close, he knew, wanting it to last an eternity yet pleading for the thunderous climax.

  “Lina, Lina!” he gasped, head reeling. “Lina, Lina!”

  The razor was as fine as a thread, so miniscule she’d been able to conceal it beneath a fingernail. Now she held it carefully between thumb and forefinger. Her teeth bit hard into flesh, the razor swept across his testicles. Niko screamed a ghastly scream.

  He kicked her off him savagely, stared at her twisted face, the streams of blood — his blood — dripping from her mouth.

  “What have you done?” he wailed, wrenching his hands. The whore lashed out again with the razor, slashing his belly. The son of Kabul drew back a fist and smashed it into her face. Bone cracked as she toppled back, tumbled onto the floor. Niko jumped from the bed, kicked, sent her flying. Lina reeled to the wall as Niko glanced down at himself. Dark blood was spilling over his legs; the sperm-sack had been ravaged, his balls spilled from his body, raw flesh where his proud manhood had been. At that terrible moment, seeing what had been done and knowing that it never could be righted, Niko lost his mind. Crazed, frothing, screaming, his eyes bulging, he came at her. Lina bounded up like a leopard. “Death to all Huns!” she croaked, her mouth utterly misshapen, her broken jaw hanging from her distorted face. She came at him with the tiny razor again, lashing, striking savagely. Niko howled and crouched, hands at once to his forehead where a razor cut opened across his scalp. His fists went up, he missed, jabbed viciously with an elbow, pinning her against the wall. There his hands tore at her hair, yanking clumps as she retched with pain and spit out blood.

  She was sliding to the floor; Niko held her up. The whore wailed and kneed him sharply. The son of Kabul hollered with pain, dancing away with his loins on fire and his head splitting. Lina was at his back, trying to jab with her weapon. As Niko spun, a wild, unaimed arm struck her in the face. The prostitute tottered backward, struggled to regain her feet. Her eye was bleeding; her nose was crushed. She nearly collapsed against the bed, coughing, spitting a puce-colored liquid. Niko grabbed her from the back. His strong hands caught her by the throat and squeezed. Lina turned blue, fought like a wildcat, jabbing him, pulling at his ears. Her master was growing weaker; as he groaned, she righted herself and clawed at his face, tearing at his eyes, ripping at his already-scarred flesh. Together, grappling and wrestling, they fell across the bed.

  Suddenly the singer and the other whores burst into the dark chamber. Faces frozen at the grisly sight, they looked on in abject terror. The two antagonists no longer seemed human. Naked, bloodied, mangled and twisted, they tried to kill each other. The bed sheets were awash in crimson; blood splattered over curtains and tapestries.

  The Abyssinian shrieked, fled in panic, her companion on her heels, wailing and screeching. The singer wanted to do something, to help his master, to kill the insane woman and spare Niko’s life. His feet were leaden, though; he could not budge, could not even scream. Helplessly he watched.

  Like a vampire Lina sunk her fingernails into Niko’s flesh. Niko yelped, slammed her face sideways against the iron bed post. Lina’s skull cracked, half her face caving in. In victory the subhuman noble lord roared, dragging her back toward him, choking her. The whore gurgled, dazedly staring into his face. His command of reality was all but gone. She gyrated beneath him, forced loose his grip. Niko pounded her abdomen, blood and spittle flying wildly from his mouth. She thrashed spasmodically, head tilted to one side, neck broken. Again and again he struck, beating her to a pulp, wailing and crying, mourning his robbed manhood. Then, as he straddled her, pervertedly spreading wide her legs as if to make love to her, he slumped. He heaved and gasped one last time, then moved no more. When the palace soldiers finally reached his isolated apartment, they found both corpses intertwined and inseparable. Without waiting for the Khan’s instruction, the entire wing of the palace was sealed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Carolyn had been sitting at the edge of the heated pool, her golden body wrapped only in an oversized towel, hair neatly pinned in coils atop her head. She glanced over her shoulder and peered through billowing steam at the first cries and footsteps.

  An overweight palace guard came racing in search of her, dumbly fanning at the clouds of vapor.

  “What is it, fool?” she asked curtly. “Don’t pant there like a dog. What’s happened?”

  “The whore, Mistress,” he stammered. “The concubine, Lina —”

  Carolyn’s brows furrowed with rising temper. “Speak, dolt! What about her? What about Lina?”

  Face white as a ghost’s, he said, “She’s murdered my lord Niko. Killed him as they slept!”

  The overseer was incredulous. “What? On your feet, man! Tell me again, more slowly, accurately. Are you drunk?”

  “No, Mistress.” He rose and said, “It’s true, I swear.” And he reconstructed the murder as best he could, repeating what the stunned singer had recounted.

  Before she could respond, more soldiers came racing from the verandah, closing off the portico, sending away the concubines milling about. Some of the whores began to shriek, others sobbed, still others ran to their private chambers and bolted the doors. The Khan had already been informed of the deed, and his wrath was great. Who could say how many heads would roll for the outrage?

  The overseer dismissed the sweaty soldier and walked calmly from the baths. Guards bowed their heads stiffly, some eyeing her with fear, knowing her duty would be to punish all those connected with the assassination, rid the harem of any and all who bore the slightest friendship for the whore known as Lina.

  As she crossed the vast hall, making a strai
ght line between the Doric columns and toward the arch, she saw a hasty Temugin, flanked by his stargazer, running to his father’s personal quarters. Kabul, it seemed, had sent for all his sons immediately.

  “A terrible event,” Carolyn said, bowing before the gruff lord. “Please relay to the Khan my rage and assure him that I shall take these bitches well in hand.”

  “A little late for that,” replied Temugin, openly showing his distaste for these concubines. He blessed his stars for the man at his side, doubly convinced now that his strategy of sequestering himself in his rooms had been the right thing to do. He knew the others had laughed. Called him a coward to his back. But he would have the last laugh. Oh, yes! He would still be alive when all of them were dead.

  “Out of my way,” said Temugin to the woman garbed only in the towel and adorned in her ever-present necklace of antelope horn.

  Carolyn quickly stepped aside, cast a quick glance toward the soothsayer. For merely an instant their eyes met, and in that point of time each saw the pleased look of the other. Yesterday there were seven sons. Now there were only six.

  *

  In the dark gloom the saya nudged at the shoulder of the man sprawled over the straw. She was dressed in an abba, cowl grimly pulled over her head. When Karim first stirred, he cringed, believing his visitor to be another torturer.

  “I know nothing,” croaked the trader, lifting a swollen hand to protect his bruised face against the expected blow. “Nothing...”

  Carolyn shook her head sadly, pained by what she saw. Karim was covered with sores from head to foot, smothered in festering cankers. Grim effects of the flaming iron prods and needles. She put a gentle hand to his brow, lowered her cowl.