I inhaled the rich aroma of scented trees and grass, breathing deeply of the crisp night air. Oxen stood silently nearby. Occasional fires blazed furiously but most were embers as families and senior travelers turned in for the night. Other merry makers were prepared to remain active until dawn.
I returned to the gamblers and my two friends. Ctesias was determined to bet and Koptos equally determined to prevent it. Thus far reason had prevailed. A short, swarthy Leader of Ten had joined the gamblers in my absence. Unkempt and foul mouthed, he bet many copper coins holding a single silver coin aside, determined apparently to wager it when luck was with him.
The sticks had now passed to an obese merchant who threw the sticks with continued good fortune. The lesser betters had been cleaned out or held off until the merchant lost and was compelled to pass the sticks along.
The short, brutish Leader of Ten scowled at the merchant with both anger and envy. A talkative traveler beside me whispered to another, but enough to be heard.
“Watch. There will be trouble,” he whispered. “The Leader was recently discharged by the merchant for drunkenness on duty. He now commands but four men though a Leader of Ten and protects but one wagon, short-handed traveling thus in violation of custom. His patron for this trip only is a seller of used oxen hides. The Leader works now for little more than food and the occasional use of a dimwitted stocky slave, too old to be called a girl. Watch, he places his bet.”
The observer was right. The scruffy Leader was at last placing his single silver coin in the betting circle. He wagered, inevitably, against the merchant, his former patron. The Leader’s eyes burned in hate. The merchant ignored the man and threw the sticks. The crowd roared as the fatigued merchant wearily reached forward to claim his winnings. The Leader abruptly leaped into the open circle, scattering coins about, crushing the playing sticks beneath his worn sandal- boots.
He cried that the sticks had been in his favor but the boisterous crowd shouted him down. The Leader had clearly lost. Unwilling to admit his loss and seizing on this pretext to even a score which had nothing to do with the game, he called the merchant a cheat and drawing his sword lunged for him. The sweating merchant was caught unawares and, unfortunately, had no Seker in his employ at hand. In a moment, he would be dead.
Unthinking, I jumped in front of the Leader’s brandished weapon. We exchanged but a blow or two before I struck the sword from his hand. Instead of running him through, I kicked the scoundrel soundly in his rotund, protruding stomach causing him to double over, retching sour wine as he dropped to the ground.
Several burly Sekers seized him. The punishment, I learned later, for brandishing a weapon in anger inside the camp without just cause, was expulsion from the caravan, weaponless and destitute. It was in most circumstances a sentence of death.
I joined my two friends and sought to escape the congratulations of surrounding men. It really had not been my affair and although I was pleased the merchant lived, I was embarrassed at interfering in so spontaneous and unthinking a fashion. As I began to clear from the crowd the merchant whose life I had spared reached me, gripping my arm with his soft hands.
“Valiant Seker! Sir! Sir! A word if you will,” he implored. I stopped and faced
him. “Sir,” he said, “you saved my life and while I can only properly repay you by doing the same, I would grant you any request within reason. If you wish gold, it is yours. Weapons, fine attire, they are yours.”
Koptos looked at him closely and said, “Are you not the merchant of the wagon which carries the slave dancers of Rashmalan and are you not their owner?”
“I am indeed,” he replied with pride.
I glanced at my companions and without a word passing between us knew what my request would be. Turning to the smiling merchant, I leaned to his ear and whispered my request. As I spoke, he seemed reluctant, then, as I pressed, his head finally bobbed in agreement.
17. THE SLAVE DANCERS OF RASHMALAN DANCE FOR US
They performed exactly as I remembered from the Four Feathers in Taslea. One youthful slave in particular caught my eye with her magnificently proportioned body with great full melon breasts and long raven hair cascading upon her slender shoulders. A spell of erotic excitement consumed each of us as the dance neared its climax, the slaves’ bodies glistening in the torchlight, perspiration drenching them as they worked themselves into a sexual frenzy.
The merchant had agreed earlier to my request as payment for sparing his life though he had hinted we might consider ourselves cheated. He laughed at some secret joke and then escorted us to his personal wagon. There the dancers performed only for us, away from the view of others. The merchant feared, I suspected that other spectators might become uncontrollable without numerous tavern girls available to slack the thirst created by his women.
The dance had gone well for us even in the cramped quarters. At first the women had been uncertain of themselves but they grew more comfortable and self- confident as the dance settled into its natural rhythm. Our pleasure was increased with the knowledge that a sleeping place was prepared for each of us and that at least for this night we could select the Rashmalan beauty that most aroused us and take her when we wished, as often as we wished until dawn. For such was the bargain I had struck.
The women, their owner had explained, had never been required to perform sexually before and might be reluctant as well as being untrained for such service. We were assured that we could use whatever measures we deemed necessary to satisfy ourselves just so his property suffered no lasting damage.
The dancers were soon well into the climax of the dance and at last, to our intense pleasure, each fell to the floor of the wagon, my raven headed beauty twisting uncontrollably upon the carpet. We three exchanged glances agreeing on our selection.
The women as always expected to run to safety. This time, to their amazement, they were held inside the wagon by the mercenaries as each of us claimed the woman of our choice. The women screamed and fought the burly guards who laughingly held them fast. They were no match for grown men and we were able to take our companions to the place prepared for us. I soon had mine thrown to the furs.
She fought like a tiger leaving teeth marks in the skin of my hand. As we fought, I tore her meager clothing from her body, exposing her nude flesh. Pinning her lush body to the love furs, I sought to calm her with little success.
“Away! Get away you animal!” she snarled. “My master will punish you if you take me. Get away, away!”
“Foolish, slave, think you that your Master has not given his permission? Who arranged the dance? Who arranged for the guards to prevent your exit following the dance? Who arranged this place and made no effort to prevent my taking you? Who but your Master?”
I saw disbelief in her eyes, indeed, fear was there as well. I thought then that the merchant had told the truth and this was the first time the dancers had been taken by those who had viewed their dance.
“No, no, I will not. No! You are a man. I will not,” she screamed as she continued fighting me. “I cannot, not with you. No. Leave me alone. I refuse.”
“You cannot,” I said. “You are but a slave and have no choice. The decision is made. Now, you will please me and in the manner I say.” I had her pinned, unable to resist further.
Her magnificent chest heaved as she breathed heavily from her exertions, her large, firm breasts rising and falling with each breath. She was incredibly sensuous and I intended to have her. She had been promised and I had been long without a woman. I had much desire to quench this night and this creature would serve me and serve me well. If she would do so willingly and with cooperation, so much the better. If she would not, then, I would have her nevertheless and as often as I wished.
“Please, don’t. You don’t understand,” she begged now that she realized further struggle was useless.
“If I don’t understand, than tell me.”
She shook her head. I began to stroke her body and lay my lips to her neck
. “No, stop. I’ll tell you, but you must stop.”
I raised my head and looked at her, waiting for her explanation. I had time to listen. As much of the night as I cared to give.
Slaves were normally passionate creatures often well trained since service at night had as much to do with their reason for purchase as any daytime duties. Slaves usually accepted their place since it was hopeless to resist and most often became enthusiastic love makers. This slave’s reaction was, to say the least, atypical.
She spoke to me quietly and to hear her I lowered my ear to her soft, moist lips. “We dancers of Rashmalan are not what we seem,” she began. “We are selected at a tender age and taken to strict schools for lifelong instruction. Much of Rashmalan’s fame and no small part of her outside income derives from us. Many are dropped from instruction over the years; only the best continue and as we ripen into womanhood only the beautiful are permitted to finish training. We are taught everything but not all you see when we dance is a result of our training.” She turned her head to the side, eyes avoiding mine. “Understand how it is for us. Pity us, Seker, for we are but poor slave girls and have no choice. We are compelled to do as we are instructed.
“We live from early childhood in the constant companionship of women. We are taught that we can only affect men as we do if men never touch us and that we can properly perform only if we hate and despise them and their touch. We are taught to excite men, knowing in our minds that as we do they will never touch us. We show our hatred by working men into a fever pitch of lust and passion, and then we deny them what they most desire. They must quench their lust on common tavern slaves and not with the unattainable dancers of Rashmalan. We are taught that we cannot truly be a dancer of Rashmalan unless we...we are lovers only to other women. Such activities are encouraged.”
She looked at me with tears in her soft, doe- like eyes. “We are drugged, Master. Just before we dance we are given a drug which is made from a plant found only in the mountains near our city. It is the drug that causes us to go into heat, like an animal, so that at the end we reach orgasm but it is never complete, never enough, only the beginning of a fire which must be quenched. We rush off not just to avoid the men who have watched us but also to release ourselves from the animal heat which holds us in its power. For only the touch of another woman can release us.
“This is what we are. This is how it is done. We have no choice in the matter and must do what we are taught and what our bodies compel. We truly are slaves. It is said if a man takes us we are ruined and will no longer have the same effect on men.
“So you understand why you must not do this. Please, release me. The heat is greatly within me and must be released or I shall be consumed. Please, allow me to return to the other women. Please.”
I listened. Much of what she said was foolishness but then she had heard it repeated for so many years that she could not see it as such. She had also been denied all normal contact with men and had no standard by which to judge.
Of course, she could be satisfied by a man. She was after all a woman and one forced into lesbianism, not a practitioner by choice. She had never been given the opportunity to learn about a man.
Now I understood why the women were kept apart from the others in the caravan and why foreign mercenaries were employed to guard them. Doubtless, they were changed often. The secret of the Rashmalan dancers could not be maintained in the close quarters of a caravan in normal circumstances.
“You are wrong,” I said. “You have been lied to all of your life. A man can please you and probably more completely than any woman. Do you not now crave satisfaction?”
I could see she was much aroused and had remained so during her conversation with me. “Are you not even now in the animal lust? You have no choice. Close your eyes.” She stiffened momentarily at my touch but only momentarily. “In pleasing myself, I shall please you as well.”
And I did.
###
It was dawn when I left the slave girl of Rashmalan deep in slumber within the furs of our lovemaking. She had exhausted herself the past night and had been pleasured as no woman lover could ever have pleased her. I had taken my time with this sweet dancer and had enjoyed every part of her exquisite body before slowly entering her. She had accepted me after a momentary start and in frenzy we had made love until the fires of the caravan and of our bodies had burned themselves to embers and finally to ashes.
I walked with my head high, suppressing the urge to whistle as I returned to the wagon to which I and my property including Shelba had been assigned. I crawled beneath the wagon cautiously hoping to sleep a short while before the camp broke for the day’s journey. Shelba slept in my place as one would expect of a Seker’s slave and as I lay down she spoke.
“A long, hard night, Master?”
“Silence. I need sleep.” I turned my back to her.
“I smell perfume if I am not mistaken and you seem much fatigued. Perhaps Master would entertain a poor slave by telling of his exploits this past night. Surely they are mighty for a great Seker such as you. Pity a poor slave and tell of Master’s triumphs,” she cooed.
“Silence. I need sleep.” I buried my head into the soft fur.
“But Master...”
“Silence!” I pulled the warm fur robe about me.
Shelba looked brightly at me and continued. “Poor Master, so tired and irritable. I don’t believe I have ever seen you irritable before. Let this poor miserable slave ease your muscles. Let me...”
“Enough, enough. I give up.” With that I threw back the furs, arose and stalked about the camp until we broke for the day’s trek.
Women!
I took my midday meal with Koptos and Ctesias rather than face Shelba again so
soon. They had little to say about the night before but each smiled incessantly and yawned almost as much as me.
###
The journey resumed free of difficulty. Shelba continued to tease me good- naturedly and in the bright light of day, fully rested, I was in better spirits to take it. Ctesias, Koptos and I did not repeat our experience with the slave dancers of Rashmalan since, regrettably, I had neglected to specify the duration of the journey in my bargain with the merchant who, though grateful I had spared his life, was after all a merchant and would stick with the letter of the deal. As it was, the single night of lovemaking had been enough to fill my thoughts with pleasant reminiscences if not enough to satisfy my body’s cravings.
It was the following night that I met Shandolan of the distant city, Amrahtia. He was of High Caste and thus could only be approached with great deference and in usual circumstances, not at all. We would not speak unless he approached me first.
Shandolan was bored and when I strolled past him sitting singularity at a lone fire on the far side of the camp, he greeted me and bid me join him for conversation. Many, though of the High Caste, would speak freely with Sekers.
Shandolan was elderly and most learned, holding himself in a regal manner. He wore his costly garments with dignity and grace but spoke in a thin voice. He was unaccustomed to regular conversation for his avocation was a solitary one. He was an astronomer.
I had already observed that the science of optics was much advanced over the degree to which one might expect from a cursory examination of Doridian culture. Not only were eye glasses common among the more prosperous but telescopes were often carried on caravans. They were quite useful in searching ahead for trouble.
I had never given much thought to the obvious use of larger telescopes for the purpose of studying the stars. Such interest, I learned, was of a purely scientific nature and most often was only a hobby of the wealthy. Shandolan was, he said, one of a handful of astronomers in known Doridia.
Shandolan discoursed at some length that evening on the nature of the universe, particularity after he found me knowledgeable concerning the heavens. Actually, I knew very little other than the names of the planets and some of the major constellations. But I knew that the
sun was the center of the solar system and that was a fact known only to a few Doridians. Unable to give the real reason for possessing such knowledge indicated that I had puzzled it out for myself.
“Remarkable, most remarkable,” he replied thoughtfully, “although there is no reason why any reasonably observant, intelligent man could not discern the truth even without a telescope. However, you might be surprised to learn that there are, in fact, seven planets. The naked eye can only see five.”
I feigned surprise at this bit of knowledge and successfully resisted the urge to inform him that someday astronomers would discover more. We discussed the various constellations for a time. Only one was the same; the Big Dipper was the Bear. And it was then it happened. The illusive bit of information that had lingered in the back of my mind ever since I had come to my senses, naked on this continent.
I had long ago realized that the Earth no longer spun on the axis to which I was accustomed for the constellations’ behavior could be explained in no other way. It was apparent that I was in the southern hemisphere, though not deeply so as the Big Dipper was not visible at least just barely on occasion.
The Bear, the Big Dipper. It was the key. With a casualness I did not feel, I spoke. “Do the stars move, I mean, over thousands of years.”
“Why yes, of course, we have been able to compute that the stars do shift in position to each other.”
“The Bear, that one there. It looks much like a dipper for water doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Any of the constellations can be made to look like any number of objects.” Shandolan yawned and I realized that he was bored by this line of conversation. I feared that he would dismiss me before I asked my crucial question.
“In time. Tens of thousands of years from now,” I continued. “What shape will the cup of the dipper take? Will it be less of a dipper or more so?”
Hunter: Warrior of Doridia (The Saga of Jon Hunter Book 1) Page 15
