Tales of the Thasali Harem Box Set

by Danielle Summers

  “I know who you’re thinking of,” he teased. “Don’t worry. One day you will krask with him all you want, no matter what anyone here thinks or says. I have a feeling about it.”

  Azno didn’t answer but was grateful when they moved on to practicing with the skin-abrading stone the royals used to make their skin soft and ruddy. As he pushed the stone over Toaz’s lean shoulders, Azno imagined himself washing Garghas. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. Garghas’s back would be broad and strong, his chest probably adorned with a thatch of coarse hair. He would be experienced at krasking and probably used to explaining exactly what pleased him and how each act should be performed. That, at least, might make things easier. Despite the reassurances of the sex trainers that they would all do fine when the time came, Azno was convinced he would be an embarrassing failure.

  For a moment he closed his eyes and allowed himself to visualize Lord Garghas, naked and eager, the steam rising from the pool to form a veil around his upper body.

  Then something happened. Without warning, the figure in his imagination shimmered, dissolved, and reassembled himself into someone else entirely.

  Into Haerek Chadan.

  Azno’s eyes snapped open. His breath caught when he saw Toaz standing there, holding the soap and staring at him.

  He knew Toaz could tell exactly what he was thinking about. That made him uncomfortable, but there was no avoiding it. It was just the way Toaz was. He could read people as easily as Azno could read the scrolls in the Old Tongue. It was a talent.

  “Don’t worry. It will all come out well,” Toaz whispered. “You’ll see.”

  A harsh voice interrupted them. “No talking. Focus on the task in front of you,” Oraj demanded. He was standing at the edge of the pool with his fists resting against his sides. “Your future lords will not appreciate idle chitchat. Unless they direct you otherwise, you will speak only when spoken to.”

  “Yes, master,” Toaz said sweetly. He motioned for Azno to turn and began to slide the stone across his back.

  *~*~*

  With no instruction scheduled until later and his morning duties concluded, Chadan decided Mekko’s suggestion of the marketplace had been a good one after all. He might not purchase a young man’s time and services, but he could at least distract himself by looking at other wares for sale.

  Then again, he didn’t count anything out. A few hours of bodily pleasure without any further obligation besides a handful of coins might actually prove beneficial to his state of mind. No one at the palace would think ill of him for seeking such an outlet. Every one of the masters had certain needs, all perfectly natural, and to address them with the harem students was unthinkable—well, not unthinkable, perhaps, technically speaking, but certainly unwise. There were other, safer routes to indulge one’s desires.

  As soon as he had put in a perfunctory appearance at the midday meal, instead of retreating to his normal scheduled period of rest, he headed for the front gate of the palace instead of to his rooms. The short walk down the road to the marketplace helped to clear his mind as well as his senses. The first thing he noticed was the absence of the spicy scents and perfumes that filled the harem schoolrooms and the palace dining chambers. Instead, the air was fragrant with the flowers that blossomed along the paths and the trees that bowed in the strong sunlight. Some of them were heavy with fruit and others colorful with blossoms.

  Of course, even while he strolled along, he could not forget that while he was disporting himself between lessons, the harem students were at their usual extended sex training. It agitated him to imagine Azno there, probably standing naked among the other boys while the demonstrations took place. How did the sex training masters and their assistants control themselves? They must have been in a constant state of painful arousal.

  But then, they saw various bodily displays all day long, so perhaps the sight meant nothing to them, as it would not to physicians or even artists. Personally, Chadan could not imagine being so indifferent, no matter how often he saw sex acts performed in front of him, any more than he had ever grown bored with the poetry and literary sagas he taught his students. Some things were emotionally stirring at a primal level.

  Presently the noise level rose. A change in scents told him he had almost reached the marketplace. Here a number of new smells rioted with one another for his attention—exotic food, smoke from small fires, animal smells, and the smells of sweating and well-oiled bodies alike. Chadan tensed as though readying himself for an athletic event, determined to distract himself.

  The first thing he passed was a small stage on which a group of young men were dancing in a circle, naked except for small scraps of cloth that occasionally moved aside when they contorted themselves to the beat of a drum. A large group of men stood watching, cheering, and jostling each other, while older men—eunuchs, by the look of them—passed around bowls into which the audience placed coins.

  Chadan hurried by, especially when one of the eunuchs gestured toward him with the bowl. He thought of Azno again, this time dancing for Garghas. Imagining him shedding his clothes and undulating in candlelight for the stony-faced lord was even worse than thinking of the sex class. He ground his teeth and looked for some spicy food to burn away the bad taste in his mouth. So much for distraction.

  The first row of vendors’ stalls offered cloaks, pottery, food, and drink of all sorts, and even crude musical instruments—country-style lyres and flutes, hewn of wood and strung with hand-woven threads that rendered a surprisingly sweet sound. Mekko had a few such instruments in his collection, and on occasion he enjoyed discoursing on their history and demonstrating their sound. It was almost the only thing, other than lechery, that seemed of interest to him.

  “Shall I play for you?” a young man inside the sales stall called to him upon noticing his interest.

  “Perhaps later,” Chadan said. He moved toward the nearest food tent.

  A hunk of fragrant roasted meat on a stick seemed well-suited to his purpose. He chewed its tough gristle and watched some jugglers, all of them thankfully clothed this time, perform in an open space. At the same time, he kept an eye open for thieves. Not too long ago, one of the harem boys—a favorite of one of the younger princes, no less—had been kidnapped in broad daylight from the marketplace and apparently sold into slavery. No one knew what had happened to him, though Chadan had heard various rumors. One, spread by palace servants, was that the boy in question had been taken as a lover by a handsome traveling merchant. They claimed to have seen him back in the city in the company of a garment maker who made moon-eyes over him, long after the abduction.

  Another, much darker, tale was that the prince had engineered the kidnapping and had made sure the boy, who had displeased him in some way, would never return. Chadan thought that entirely possible. The royals kept their emotions hidden, and most of the time they seemed benevolent. Yet when someone crossed them, everything could change as quickly as the sky during a storm.

  A presence hovered near him. Conscious of the coin bag attached to his waist, Chadan glanced over. His shoulders relaxed and his pulse quickened. This was no thief…at least, not in the ordinary sense. This was one of the young men known well in the marketplace—the exact sort Chadan had thought about hiring when he had left the palace, in fact.

  This one was youthful, though probably not quite as young—and certainly not as innocent—as he had made himself look through a careful combination of hair worn long and a simple, boyish tunic of the sort village pupils might wear just before they went off to find apprenticeships. It was clear what profession this young man had been trained in, however. Chadan smiled cautiously. He had no real idea how to initiate a conversation with one like him. He didn’t want to be taken for a dupe, for that really might lead to robbery or at least embarrassment.

  “Hello. I am Keshi. And you are from the palace,” the young man said, startling Chadan.

  “What makes you say that?”

  A shrug. “Your garments are better th
an most would wear to the marketplace on a workday.”

  Chadan looked down at himself. He felt his forehead burn with shame and felt sweat beads gathering at his hairline. So much for blending in. The young man laughed.

  “Besides, I saw you coming down the path. Are you a servant there?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “Ha. I knew I could get you to admit it. Never fear. I was only goading you. You do not have the look of a servant, or even a civil servant. You do not have enough lines on your forehead.”

  Chadan touched his forehead and then felt foolish all over again. “I…well, no. I am not a civil servant. Or any sort of servant.”

  “A trainer, then. Not sex, though. My employer, Shebi, has told me about them. They would not have noticed me.”

  This was one of Shebi’s young men, then. Chadan now understood how the game worked. Everyone knew who Shebi was. At this point, anyone who was not interested in paying could walk away. He didn’t.

  “Oh? That seems hard to believe.”

  Keshi shrugged. “It’s understandable. All that bare flesh. They long to possess it, sink their teeth and claws into it. When they come here, they favor rougher entertainments than my master provides.” He tilted his head. “From the look of you, I would guess you are an arts master.” He gestured toward the tent selling the instruments. “You seemed interested in those. You are the music tutor, perhaps?”

  The thought of assuming Mekko’s identity amused Chadan. “Perhaps.”

  The young man nodded and took his hand. “What are you called?”

  Chadan started to give his real name, then caught himself. He didn’t dare use Mekko’s, either. That was asking for trouble. Besides, he had a feeling Mekko was not unknown at Shebi’s establishment. “Diviak,” he said.

  Keshi did not seem to recognize it. He was not a reader of ancient poetry, then. For some reason, Chadan found that a relief. “You are hot and thirsty, are you not?”

  Keshi pronounced the word “thirsty” in a certain way he understood instinctively. Chadan nodded. It was true. He was parched, and hungry, too. And, he realized, unbearably lonely.

  “Come with me.” Keshi tugged.

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere cooler, quieter. I will get you refreshment.”

  Briefly, Chadan resisted. He wasn’t ready to enter a brothel, something he had never done before. Shebi’s brothel was famous—or perhaps infamous—for its unparalleled pleasures and highly skilled companions-for-hire. Still, he felt ashamed of giving in to his baser needs like this. What if someone he knew saw him there?

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Your first time at Shebi’s, Diviak? No worries. I will show you how to enjoy yourself.”

  Chadan was sorely tempted. Wasn’t this what he had come to find? Finally, he relaxed and let himself be led on through the crowd. They entered through a curtain at the back of a beautiful building painted the color of a seashell. A private entrance for discreet arrival and egress, he supposed. He should have known that. Shebi was a consummate artist in the practice of bodily pleasures. He also apparently understood how to ensure social ease for all his customers.

  They entered a tiled chamber containing an enormous bed adorned with scarlet sheets and many oversized pillows. A table sat near a back wall. On it Chadan saw goblets and decanters, along with a bowl of crisp fresh fruit and berries.

  “You see? It is much cooler here.”

  “Yes,” Chadan agreed. Nonetheless, he was sweating.

  In a flash, almost before Chadan realized what was happening, Keshi was naked. He hung his tunic on a wall peg and motioned Chadan toward the bed.

  “Disrobe and stretch out here. I will wash your skin to cool you.” He lifted a clean square of white cloth from a basket beside the bed. He dipped it into a bowl of water on the bedstand and made a circular gesture with it, as if he were polishing the air.

  Trying not to blush, Chadan nodded. He saw a small wooden rack by the door and understood it was there to hold his own clothes. Taking longer than he should have, he fumbled out of his robe and placed it there, tucking his coin pouch inside the folds to protect it. Keshi waited patiently, watching. Chadan could feel the young man’s shrewd gaze skimming over his bare back. It made him shudder nervously. He almost refused to remove his underclothes but decided he would feel stranger remaining even partly dressed while Keshi was not. Besides, Keshi’s wet cloth would dampen his inner garment. That seemed unseemly, and he really was sweating.

  He forced himself not to cover his stiffening cock with his hands while he made his way to the bed. He had no desire to enact the role of a blushing virgin at his mature age and position, even if it was somewhat close to the truth. The entire span of his manhood had been devoted to learning and teaching. He had never taken the time to do anything else. Not find a lover or master the nuances of lovemaking. Basic rutting, he could handle, and on a few occasions, long in the past, he had enjoyed that—somewhat. He always felt it would be better with an actual lover. Keshi wasn’t that and could never be.

  Thankfully, his cock did not notice the difference. It stood up, drooling with need. Chadan was sure he saw Keshi nod in approval when he saw it. That gave him a boost of much-needed confidence.

  Trembling a little, he stretched out. Keshi ran the cloth up over his chest, across his abdomen, and then down lower. The water on the cloth was scented and seemed to make his skin tingle. But he supposed he might have been imagining that.

  “What would you like me to do?” Keshi asked.

  Chadan began to panic. He had not thought to ask how much Shebi’s employees charged. He did not want to embarrass himself by running out of coin—or cause a scene by appearing to have swindled Keshi out of his services.

  “I…I have six ginamar in my pouch,” he blurted, having no idea how to negotiate skillfully. “I am afraid I do not know how much…well…that is…”

  Keshi smiled and placed a finger over Chadan’s lips. “That is enough to buy an entire night with me, if you like.”

  “I cannot.” Panic surged again. Chadan squirmed, wondering if he should jump to his feet and flee. “I must be back at the palace in time for afternoon lessons. I must—”

  “Shhh, dearest Diviak. Do not trouble yourself.” Keshi’s hand on his chest pressed him down while his soft voice soothed him. “I am well used to serving men with responsibilities—including duties at the palace. And though I know love cannot be hurried, I also know that it sometimes must be accomplished within certain time constraints.” He moved the cloth aside and licked Chadan’s chest instead. Chadan closed his eyes and imagined, just for a moment, that it was Azno on top of him.

  “Two ginamars and you will leave here satisfied and get home on time,” Keshi said when he lifted his head. He waited just long enough for Chadan to nod before he resumed his efforts.

  As he lay back and enjoyed Keshi’s skills, Chadan pictured himself hinting at his afternoon adventures the next time he saw Mekko. He wanted his fellow masters to know he had visited Shebi’s. That way, no one could say he was thinking of disporting himself with a student.

  He caught his breath, horrified at his own carelessness. Even such thoughts were dangerous. Himself and Azno? Never.

  Yet, once thought of and given form, the image would not leave his mind.

  Chapter Three

  The rest of the day dragged on like a headache. Chadan got through his duties as best he could. Thankfully, Azno had no lessons with him that day, though he was due for the usual rehearsal time just before the evening meal. As far as the rest of his pupils were concerned, he felt uninspired. When he tried to recite a classic poem for discussion, his voice caught on an especially passionate line and his words trailed off in a sort of gurgle. The students had stared, not knowing what to make of his tongue-tied blunder. Chadan simply scowled and coughed, as though he were suffering a sore throat, and set them to their own work. They busied themselves translating and composing at their desks and interacted
little with him, which suited his mood.

  He knew they would talk about him later, but hopefully they would simply think him ill—or possibly even suffering from an excess of drink from the night before. It happened to some tutors on the days after banquets. The students would never guess the truth, Chadan resolved, and that meant he was determined not to open his mouth lest he say something that would inspire further gossip. He did not trust himself not to blurt out an embarrassingly revealing anecdote or even, in an unguarded moment, Azno’s name.

  Alone after the students left the classroom, he watched the sundial move in the courtyard outside the instruction room and both dreaded and longed for the moment when he would see Azno again.

  Finally, the initiates arrived, bursting into the rehearsal chamber with great excitement and in high spirits. Toaz and Ithu were pushing one another and giggling, as usual, while Dreghip was already chanting—not the poem they would rehearse, but a coarsely humorous folk poem he had probably heard at one of the more boisterous evening banquets. When Chadan stared at him and cleared his throat with a growling noise, Dreghip blushed and fell silent. Chadan waved them into their usual positions on the dais. He kept his eyes trained on the steps themselves, seeking no one’s face. When they moved aside to take their places, though, he found himself gazing directly at Azno’s soft, shy smile.

  “Let us begin at once,” Chadan said, tearing his attention away so abruptly it caused him physical pain. “We are fast approaching the day of performance, and your output so far has been nothing short of pitiful. Let us put aside our distractions and give it our all today.”

  To his surprise, they did. The chant went well—in rhythm, clear, and well enunciated, the obscure words and the archaic pronunciations close to flawless. Even Toaz kept his disruptive sense of humor in check. The notes of the poem blended and rose into the air like an effortless symphony of wild birds.