Chapter
10: The Slave Market
Shailaja slumped in her
cell, sitting across from the one who desired to kill
her. It was bad enough to be
in the same cell with Vasanta, but to be yoked to her by the heavy wooden
rod was almost insufferable. The
Nahn princess seemed chastened as well, but that mood did not last
long. In spite of the yoke connecting
them she lurched to her feet and claimed the bed.
“Sleep on the floor,”
she ordered. “It is only
fitting for one of such dishonourable
lineage.” She defiantly
took up a position in front of the bed and challenged Shailaja to move
her.
Shailaja did not need a
second invitation. Grabbing the
pole she used her superior strength and the fact that Vasanta was not at
her best, to forcibly move her to the other side of the
cell. The princess fought as
best she could, but Shailaja had no trouble proving her
point. However, she was mindful
of the fact that tethered as they were neither of them was going to get much
in the way of rest if they continued to
fight.
“None of this is doing you or me the least bit of good you know,” Shailaja said as she held Vasanta pinned against the wall on the far side of the cell.
“What do you mean?” Vasanta scowled, as she struggled to gain control of the pole.
“This stupid vengeance thing,” Shailaja answered. “We are slaves. Don’t you understand that we have to work together if we are to get out of here?”
“I am sworn to avenge my brother,” the princess replied, finally giving up her efforts to break Shailaja’s grip. “Have you no concept of honour?”
“Much more than you think, but honour is worthless if you can’t carry out your threat. We are prisoners. If we don’t cooperate we will be here until we die. Kill me after we escape if your honour demands it, but in the meantime help me get out of here.”
Vasanta glowered at her, but considered Shailaja’s proposal. As much as it galled her she could see that the northern barbarian made sense. Even killing Shailaja would solve nothing. She would still be a slave and would probably be severely punished for daring to destroy someone’s property. There was little point in vengeance if it resulted in a lifetime of captivity. No doubt the killing of one slave by another would me met with savage punishment. “Alright,” she agreed. “I will kill you after we escape. What is your plan?”
“I don’t have one,” Shailaja answered. “We have to stay alert and see what transpires. Eventually I’ll think of something.”
“You’ll think of something?” Vasanta sneered. “I can hardly wait for that flash of brilliance.”
In spite of her sarcasm, however, Vasanta offered no further objections and made no effort to claim the bed as Shailaja relaxed her grip on the yoke. It was a truce of a sorts and Shailaja attempted to further it by offering Vasanta the use of the bed first.
“You think me so weak I cannot sleep on the floor?” Vasanta spat. She sank to the floor of the cell and glared defiantly at Shailaja as if daring her to force her to use the bed. Shailaja shook her head. It was clear that the Nahn princess was beyond reason. With a sigh she took the bed and tried to get some rest.
Fortunately Vasanta seemed disinclined to offer further aggravation and Shailaja
was able to get a brief rest. Her
sleep was interrupted by the opening of the cell
door. The little serving girl
entered the cell. They had learned
that her name was Chana and she seemed to have a surprising amount of authority
for a slave.
Behind her were several
heavily armed guards wearing armour and carrying
falchions. Chana stepped into
the room, apparently quite unafraid of the two huge barbarians in the cell
with her. “You will come
with me,” she said. “And
please try to show better sense than either of you have so
far. I do not wish to have to
order your punishment.”
Vasanta peered behind the girl and noted the presence of six guards, each
armed with one of the nasty polearms that seemed to be standard issue for
Tharian soldiers. She
snorted her contempt, her lip
curling. “And who gave you
such authority, little slave?”
“It is not I who put
you here,” Chana replied.
“But be warned that force will be used if you
resist.”
Scowling, Vasanta looked
past the girl to the waiting guards.
“Where are you taking us?” she
asked.
“I don’t have
to answer that,” Chana said haughtily, “but since you ask, you
are to be examined to determine the state of your health and then prepared
for the auction.”
“I thought the auction
was some days off,” Shailaja
interjected.
“So it is,” Chana
agreed. “But the Slavemaster
has taken a personal interest in both of
you. You are first being taken
to the baths and then to the physician to the
gladiators. You will remove your
clothing and follow me.”
There seemed little point
in resisting. Wherever they were
being taken Shailaja reckoned it could hardly be worse than being in a cell
with Vasanta. She stripped off
her clothes and then waited with arms folded beneath her breasts while Vasanta,
with much poorer grace removed her clothing as well, contemptuously tossing
her desert robe into the corridor.
Shailaja ignored this petulant
outburst and without waiting to see if the princess was agreeable stepped
toward the door, keeping one hand on the pole just in case Vasanta offered
any resistance.
Fortunately, Vasanta decided
to use what little common sense she had and followed without resisting, although
it took them a few strides to get into a rhythm where they did not jerk the
neck of the other.
To Shailaja’s surprise
the guards made no comment about either her or Vasanta as they escorted them
to the baths, a situation she found strange until she noticed that at least
two of the guards were women, a fact that had been disguised by their helmets
and armour. It gave her something
to think about. She had thought
that only her society and that of Vasanta had women warriors, but it appeared
that Thar accorded women rights that were similar to
hers.
The baths themselves were
something of a revelation being much larger than Shailaja had
expected. She had pictured a
small room with some sort of tub, but it turned out that in Thar a bath consisted
of a large pool surrounded by a covered portico and water deep enough to
swim in. It was open to the sky,
but a quick glance told her that the only way out was the way she had come
in, unless she could jump thirty feet to the top of the
portico. Even had she not been
yoked to Vasanta escape would have been
impossible.
Their guide motioned toward
the water and handed each of them a cloth and a sliver of perfumed soap and
then waited while they entered the water. “Try to get yourselves as
clean as possible,” she urged.
“I will wait here until you finish.”
Shailaja found that the
water was cold, but warmed by the full sunlight it was pleasant
enough. After the weeks of slogging
through the desert and the exercise they had been force to engage in it was
a wondrous sensation to feel the water against her
skin. She noted that a film of
grime coated the water around them and quickly put the soap to
work.
A few yards away Vasanta
was also working the dirt out of her
skin. She ducked beneath the
surface to wet her hair and then soaped her raven tresses
thoroughly. Then she ducked again
rinsing away the accumulated dirt of her desert
travels. Shailaja watched her
out of the corner of my eye and realized that it was well that she could
not get at her, as she was suddenly overcome by an almost irresistible urge
to push the Nahn princess’s head beneath the surface and hold it
there. Since she could not do
that she focused on getting as clean as possible.
Awkward as the bath was
due to the heavy wooden pole that connected them; both women thoroughly enjoyed
the bath and would have stayed longer had they not been ordered out of the
water. “Comb and braid your
hair,” Chana demanded.
“And hurry; the examiner awaits, and he is not a patient
man.”
Reluctantly, the two women
complied, shivering slightly as the water dried on their
skin. With Chana’s help
they combed out and braided their hair; and then still nude they followed
her from the baths.
Chana led them down the
cell block and past the corridor leading to the exercise
yard. They made a couple of turns
and ended up in a room that smelled strongly of
medicaments. In the centre of
the room was a large wooden table covered with several folded
blankets. However, it was the
leather restraints attached to the table that caught their
eyes. The chains and manacles
hanging from the ceiling also added a disturbing aspect to the
room. Both women decided immediately
that the room was a place they did not want to
be. Standing beside the table
was a middle-aged Tharian dressed in a white robe trimmed with
gold. His greying hair was cut
short and he wore a neatly trimmed beard and
moustache. A gold band encircled
his forehead reminding Shailaja of another who had dressed in a similar manner,
Selvan-mal-Tir, the Tharian healer who had served in the camp of the Ravens
and who had almost certainly saved her life.
The healer studied them and as they entered the room. “I do not usually inspect two patients at the same time, but I see in your case that I have no choice.”
Vasanta and Shailaja looked back at him without comment. They were still nude, as no effort had been made to return their clothing. Shailaja suspected it was something that was intended to make them feel more vulnerable, but it probably had a greater effect on Vasanta than it did on her. The healer ran his eyes over their bodies and Shailaja stared straight at him, while the princess looked at the wall.
“You are two most impressive young women,” he commented, “and both warriors, which means that your heads are probably filled with ideas of honour and self-importance. Please understand that this means nothing to me. I am Ker-mal-Gen, physician to the gladiators and my word in this room is law. I am going to give you both a very detailed and personal medical inspection and I expect your full cooperation. If I do not get it I will take measures to ensure that you are properly immobilized.”
Vasanta spat contemptuously, but Shailaja simply raised her chin a little higher. Neither woman considered herself to be a frightened peasant to be ordered about. Even the presence of the armed guards did not cow them, nor fear of a repeat of the punishment they had received in the exercise yard. They would not seek trouble, but neither would they back away from it. The Tharians might think them slaves, but in their own minds they were still warriors and would bow to no one willingly.
“The dark-haired barbarian first,” Ker ordered. “Climb up on the slab and lie still.”
“I am not a whore to be placed on my back,” Vasanta replied with her usual vehemence. “I will not do it.”
Shailaja felt the same, but did not voice her opposition; however, her defiant stare communicated her hostility just as well as did Vasanta’s words. “Fools,” Ker said. “But have it your way.” He stepped back and motioned their escort forward.
Considering their handicap of being joined at the neck, they defended themselves well. Shailaja even managed to knock one guard flat on his back, and Vasanta gave one of them a good kick between the legs. However, their resistance lasted only a few heartbeats before they were immobilized. The guards were used to working with reluctant slaves and they targeted their weak point, which was the long pole connecting them. Two of them seized it and using its leverage quickly forced them to their knees and then flat on the floor. They fought to get up, but there were six guards and all that they had to do was keep their weight on the wooden pole to keep them pinned. Vasanta was enraged, cursing and shouting at her captors. “Face me with a sword, you gods-forsaken cowards and I will gut all of you.”
Shailaja saved her breath in an effort to get up, but had no more luck than her fellow captive. She growled in anger as she felt shackles slapped onto her wrists and ankles and then she was hauled to her feet.
The guards used the chains hanging from the ceiling to do it, pulling both women erect and helpless. They stood the length of the pole apart, their arms pulled over their heads and their legs spread slightly by the chains on their ankles. Shailaja stopped her struggling at once, realizing that even her strength was not going to free her from the iron restraints, but Vasanta jerked at her chains for several heartbeats in a frenzied but futile effort to break free. Finally she stood quietly as well, her chest having from exertion. Completely immobilized, one of the guards removed the inconvenient yoke in order that Ker could move between them and properly carry out his examination.
“Well, that was useless, but entertaining,” Ker remarked as he surveyed their panting bodies. “Having you on the table would be more convenient, but I must admit this is more erotic.”
Shailaja glared at him, refusing to submit. It seemed that she was fated to suffer dishonour after dishonour, but she would not be broken and would not recognize her status as a slave. However, neither she nor Vasanta could escape the humiliating examination that Ker subjected them to.
Ker addressed each of the women by name and they realized he must have obtained some information about them from Gren. However, both of them continued their stubborn resistance, refusing to acknowledge that he was speaking to either of them.
“You would be Shailaja,” he said, stopping in front of her. “The Kaltaran barbarian. I have encountered one like you once before.” He said no more, but smiled mysteriously and then moved on to Vasanta.
“And this would be Vasanta, the Nahn princess. You appear quite spirited, but I think you can be molded into what we desire.”
He moved around them in a circle, speaking as he did so, a second white-robed man writing down everything that he said.
“The Kaltaran appears healthy and strong. She well-muscled and is of a formidable height.” Here he stopped to hold up a measuring pole next to Shailaja. “She stands some six and a half feet tall and is well proportioned, and quite pleasing to the eye.”
He stopped again and set aside the pole before approaching Shailaja once more. This time he laid hands on her, running them over the muscles of her arms and then pressing his right hand against her belly, before fondling the her buttocks and then her thighs.
“She is firm and strong with much less body fat than is normal in most women, no doubt due to a life spent in training for war. Her shoulders are broad, her waist narrow, and her hips slim, but well proportioned for child-bearing. Her breasts are large, but not overly so and are well rounded with prominent pink nipples and areola.” He squeezed Shailaja’s breasts as he spoke, flicking his thumbs over her nipples and noting their pleasing response before continuing. “They respond well to the touch showing that she is probably more easily aroused than most other women.”
Shailaja quivered with rage. To her shame she could not stop the involuntary hardening of her nipples or the flush of arousal that darkened her chest and breasts.
“Her features are startlingly attractive for so formidable a warrior, with eyes of piercing green and hair the colour of flame. The hair colour is matched by that between her thighs and although unusual will be found to be quite pleasing to many.”
He was standing very close to Shailaja now and although she knew what his next area of inspection was likely to be she was powerless to stop him as his fingers investigated the area between my legs. “As suspected she is not a virgin, although one might almost expect otherwise from her reaction to being touched. However, she is moist and tight and would no doubt prove to be most pleasurable when taken.”
Shailaja found this last insult too much to bear. “You will die for this,” she vowed between clenched teeth.
“I think not,” Ker laughed. “I suspect you are going to be kept far too busy to have the time to come after me.”
Shailaja did not like the implication behind his words. Was she to be used again against her will? It seemed a likely fate, and this time she suspected escape from her captors might prove much more difficult. However, she was spared further shame when Ker turned his attention to Vasanta.
“Like the Kaltaran the Nahnian captive is a striking woman, with high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes that give her a most exotic look. She is similar in build to the Kaltaran, but stands lower at just six feet. Her colouring is quite different; her hair raven-dark with eyes to match. Like the Kaltaran her body is firm and well muscled and she responds favorably to touch.”
Vasanta writhed in her chains as she was exposed to the same indignities Shailaja had suffered. “You will not touch me,” she screamed.
“How else am I to complete my inspection?” Ker smiled. “I would be a poor physician to neglect my duties. I assure you that what I do is quite impersonal even if it is quite pleasant.”
In spite of Vasanta’s outrage he continued his investigation and his commentary. “The Nahnian’s breasts are high and firm with dark nipples and a most pleasing shape. Like the Kaltaran she is not a virgin, but the bruising on her body tells me that she has not been used by men until quite recently. She appears to have been badly used, her body bearing the marks of a severe flogging probably administered less than a moon ago. It has left some scaring that I have not the skills to remove. The Kaltaran also bears some marks, but these appear to be older, no doubt scars earned in battle. They are not particularly disfiguring unless one looks for them.”
Ker ended his report with these remarks. His examination had taken only a short time, but it seemed much longer and he made no effort to have Shailaja or Vasanta taken down from their restraints. They stood with their legs slightly apart and their bodies stretched toward the ceiling while he continued to admire them and made a few more notes. Finally, he stepped toward them. “You will remain here until Urgan arrives. Your conduct has been far from satisfactory and you must be shown the price of disobedience.” With that he was gone leaving them to await their punishment.
It came finally in the form of the man who had disciplined them on the previous
day as well as
Sed-mal-Barak.
The latter regarded them
disapprovingly. “You two
are becoming a bit of a nuisance.
This time you have disobeyed one who is held in the highest regard
in Thar, a royal physician. There
is only one way to teach you proper behaviour and that is a full application
of the stinger.”
Without further commentary
Sed nodded to Urgan who had already positioned himself behind
them. He held in his hand the
painful instrument they had already
experienced. “Twenty each
should be enough. Make sure that
they remain conscious throughout the punishment.”
Behind her Shailaja could sense Urgan moving and then came the pain. This time she was ready for it, but it still took her breath away. She gasped as the whip curled about her back, the end of it following the lines of her torso and the weight tip carrying it until it reached her breasts. The result was sheer agony, so much so that for an instant her vision blurred and then it was gone as Urgan switched his target to Vasanta.
She too received the blow well. Shailaja heard her gasp of pain, but that was the only sound she made, and then it was Shailaja’s turn again. Urgan counted as he struck; letting them know how many blows they had yet to receive.
As before the pain was intense; incredibly so, but it did not linger; at least not for the first four or five blows. And then the nature of the pain changed, each strike becoming progressively more painful until at the sixth blow Shailaja screamed. She was shamed by her reaction, but she had at least lasted longer than Vasanta who had given in at the fourth blow. But the fact that she had outlasted her smaller and weaker rival gave her little pleasure. She was in too much pain for that, and the high-pitched shrieks of the Nahn princess seemed to add to her suffering.
Shailaja screamed along with her and came close to begging for mercy. Never before had she suffered such excruciating pain. It seemed to go right through her body, penetrating flesh and bone until it reached the core of her being. And it was made worse by Urgan’s expertise. He wielded the whip with the utmost precision and soon revealed that he could reach any part of their bodies with it. He had twenty strokes to explore their bodies and he made full use of them causing the whip to touch not only their backs, breasts, and bellies, but also their backsides and legs and then the most intimate of places. By the time he was finished Shailaja was almost sobbing and Vasanta had long gone past that stage and was crying and screaming uncontrollably.
And then it was over and with it a sudden and complete cessation of the pain. Shailaja stood dumbfounded, her body shaking from the tension, tears streaming down her cheeks and her lungs heaving like a bellows. It was an experience she had no wish to repeat and even Vasanta seemed to have gotten the message. When the guard stepped forward to release them from their shackles they were both as docile as lambs, making no effort to resist as the long pole connecting their iron collars was once again put in place.
“I see you have learned something,”
Sed
commented. “But remember
the punishment can be repeated at any
time. You are slaves and from
slaves we expect complete obedience.”
Shailaja stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge his comment, but she was completely chastened. Although she burned with hatred for her captors she realized now that she must do as they said, at least until the day that she could find some way to win her freedom.
Vasanta too had taken the lesson to heart. She was most cooperative and kept properly in step as they were led back to their cell. There they found Chana waiting for them. “I am to take you to the baths,” the girl said. “You will follow me.”
She turned and Shailaja and Vasanta walked obediently behind her like two puppies. Both warriors felt the utmost shame at their docility, but they had no wish to face the stinger again. Their masters had proven their point that they could do what they wanted with them including inflicting the most painful of punishments. They could do no more than obey.
Vasanta trudged down the corridor, barely hiding her emotions. As usual she trailed Shailaja, a position she now detested. For a month she had trod in the redheaded barbarian’s track and she was heartily sick at looking as her shapely backside, however, her emotionless features revealing nothing of what she felt. She seethed with hatred and resentment that was directed not only at her masters but also at the woman in front of her. She blamed the tall Kaltaran for everything that had happened to her, refusing to accept that her obsessive desire for vengeance was primarily to blame. However, as long as she was controlled by the pole connecting her to the barbarian whore there was nothing she could do except fume in helpless impotence. However, she would not forget what had brought her to this hapless state. One day she would be free and when that happened she would make the redheaded bitch scream.
Vasanta’s thoughts of vengeance were interrupted as they reached the
area of the baths and entered
a large room containing a number of cubicles, each with a seat and a
shelf. They bypassed these and
went through a door on the far side of the room and entered the
baths.
Once again bathing provided
them with a pleasant experience, especially after the ordeal of the examination,
and once again it ended all too soon.
After a half turn of the glass Chana seemed
satisfied. “That’s
good enough,” Chana commanded.
“There is another place for you to
go. Come out of the
pool.” They had little choice
but to obey even though the cool water of the bath provided a refreshing
change from the heat of Thar’s climate.
They were taken only a short
way to a room that was open on one side and looked out on a pleasant garden.
Shailaja was quite surprised that such a place should exist in a place inhabited
by slaves, and looked upon it as further proof of Thar’s wealth that
even slaves were allowed access to such a
place.
A pleasant stroll in the
gardens, however, was not what Chana had in
mind. Instead they were directed
to a stone bench while Chana and a rather pretty young man attended to
them.
The man attended to Vasanta,
much to her obvious displeasure.
“Such beautiful hair,” the man purred, as he drew a comb
through her tangled locks.
“It’s like the finest silk.”
Vasanta jerked her head
away. “Get him away from
me,” she growled.
What is wrong with you?”
Chana asked. “Jeral was
only paying you a compliment.”
“I don’t want
him touching me,” she answered through clenched
teeth.
Chana
sighed. “I don’t have
time for this. You are to be
ready in less than a turn of the
glass.” Shrugging her shoulders
she motioned toward Shailaja.
“Jeral, you look after her.
I’ll comb out her ladyship.”
“In Nahn we would put
one such as him to death,” the princess said.
“You are not in
Nahn,” Chana replied.
“Here we tolerate many who are different including bad-mannered
barbarians.”
Vasanta had no reply to
this and sat quietly for the rest of the session while the two barbarians
had their hair was combed out and then fashioned into the familiar long braid
that hung down their backs. While
they sat, however, Shailaja wondered at their
treatment. After the savagery
of their march across the desert and the humiliation and pain they had been
subjected to earlier in the day, this sudden privileged treatment seemed
oddly out of place and she could not help commenting on
it.
“You are valuable
property,” Chana explained.
“We rarely get one such as either of
you. As a matter of fact I have
never seen anyone quite like you.
Your price at the auction will be high, but you must be presented
properly. Your day is not yet
through.” This last comment
somehow left both Shailaja and Vasanta feeling
uneasy. What further trial did
their captors have planned for them?
It was with a feeling of trepidation that they moved to yet another
room. Here there were a number
of tables draped with large towels and attended by a young
woman. They were ordered to lie
face down on the tables and an older woman stepped forward to look at
them.
“Halla,” Chana
said, addressing the older woman, “you are to do the best you can with
these two. They are to be presented
at the next auction and must be made as ready as
possible.”
“Oh, this is most
awkward,” Halla said, laying her hands on the pole that connected the
two women. “What did you
do to deserve this?”
Neither Vasanta nor Shailaja
answered, and Chana did not bother to enlighten the
woman. Instead she waited while
the woman inspected them.
“You have been treated
outrageously,” the Halla commented as her fingers stroked the scars
on Vasanta’s back. “It
will be hard to repair such damage in so short a
time.”
To Vasanta’s credit
she merely shrugged her shoulders slightly at Halla’s
touch. She had apparently learned
a semblance of discipline. Shailaja
also lay quietly as the woman turned to her.
“You also have been
badly used,” Halla said, as she touched the traces of the scars left
by the flogging Gorvag had given her.
She turned back to Chana.
“It will be a challenge, but I will see what I can
do. I will start
immediately. Can I count on their
cooperation?”
“They should be most
cooperative,” Chana replied.
“They have had a rather hard lesson today, and the tether is
a reminder of their position.
However, it is difficult to predict how a barbarian will react and
it might be best if they were both restrained.”
“Well then,” Halla
said, “I will take you at your word.
We had best get started.”
She immediately issued a
series of orders and several of the young women moved
forward. They were quick and
efficient and before either woman had time to react they had secured a leather
strap across each of their backs preventing either of them from moving from
the table. Then they did the
same with their wrists and ankles, leaving them strapped securely to the
table.
Both women could have resisted,
but by now neither could see how that would
help. They had already been shown
twice what resistance in Thar meant and had no further wish to be subjected
to the stinger once again and so they allowed the women to restrain them,
wondering what further torment was about to be inflicted.
Shailaja lay quietly as
the young women attending her went to
work. They each selected a jar
from an array of such objects on one of the shelves in the room and began
smearing its contents on her backs.
She had no idea as to the jar’s contents, but she felt its effect
immediately.
A mild burning sensation
swept through her skin wherever the cream
touched. From where she lay she
could see that the girl applying it to Vasanta’s back was using a cloth
to spread the cream and was careful not to get it on her
hands. However, the sensation
was mild and so she lay still and let the girl complete her
task.
“It will burn a
little,” Halla said.
“But do not worry it will not harm
you. The cream will attack the
scarring that mars your bodies and eventually leave you
unblemished. Lie still and let
it do its work.”
Her warning and explanation
came just as the mild burning sensation
intensified. Suddenly Shailaja
felt as if her back was on fire and had Halla not said something she might
have been inclined to resist what was being done to her.
It was the same for
Vasanta. Shailaja saw her attempt
to rise from the table, but the leather straps held her firmly in
place. If the pain of the salve
was bad for her, for Vasanta with her more extensive scarring it must have
been exquisitely agonizing.
However, the girl attending to Shailaja was not quite
finished. Halla had paid close
attention to her appearance before having her bound to the table and probably
had access to Ker-mal-Gen’s detailed
notes. She knew where every battle
scar on her body was located and went about applying the cream to them as
well. Soon more than one part
of her body felt as if it was on fire, but she had no choice but to endure
the pain.
The next few turns of the
glass were spent strapped to the table as the salve did its
work. Gradually the pain subsided
as the scar tissue was broken down.
Finally, satisfied that their blemishes had been removed, the straps
were removed, but they were not yet free to
go.
Halla handed our two attendants
two more jars. “This is
a healing salve. It must remain
on the places we have treated for several
days. During that time you must
not bathe or in any way wash the salve from your
bodies. Only half a moon remains
before the auction and you must appear in prime
condition.”
They were also forbidden
even to exercise as it was feared that the heat of their bodies would dissolve
the salve and render it less effective.
They were forced to spend the next ten days confined to their cell
with little more to do than stare at one
another. During that time it
was probably well that they could not get at one another as they became so
bad-tempered they almost certainly would have been at one another’s
throats.
Halla visited them regularly
as did Ker-mal-Gen. Both seemed
pleased with their progress. On
the eleventh day they were accompanied by
Sed-mal-Barak. The Slavemaster
gave them an apprising look.
“You have done well, Halla.
I see not a mark on them.
They will fetch a very high price indeed; perhaps the highest in our
memory.”
After that Shailaja and
Vasanta were allowed another trip to the baths and another session with the
hairbrush. This time, however,
there was one more humiliation awaiting them and it was one they had no chance
of avoiding.
Chana and their escort must
have expected resistance as they were ambushed as we left the
baths. Several guards closed
in on them from both sides and since they were still attached to one another
at the neck by the long pole, there was little Shailaja or Vasanta could
do to avoid being placed in chains.
They were first pushed to
their knees and then their arms were forced behind their backs and quickly
locked in place. Their ankles
were then tethered, rendering them completely
helpless. They were then marched
to the little garden where Jeral was waiting for
them. Shailaja wondered at the
extra restraints as they seemed somewhat excessive for having her hair combed,
but she soon discovered that Jeral had been ordered to do more than comb
hair.
The guards accompanied them
and made sure that they offered only minimum
resistance. Once in the garden
they were once again placed on their knees with their backs against the stone
bench they had sat upon before.
Very quickly they were secured so that they could not move from the
position in which they were placed.
They were arched slightly back; a position that left them open to
whatever their captors might want to do to
them. As before their two attendants
began with their hair, Chana seeing to Vasanta and Jeral seeing to
Shailaja. This caused very little
stress, but it was what was done afterward that had them both
protesting.
Jeral produced a razor and
prepared to remove the excess hair beneath their arms and between their
legs. It produced a very strong
reaction from Vasanta and a lesser one from
Shailaja. The latter was not
pleased by what was being done, but it had happened to her before when she
was Gorvag’s prisoner, and although she regarded it as shameful, she
was at least prepared for it.
Vasanta was not and expressed her feelings freely.
“You will all die for
this,” she raged. “You
leave me as I was when I was born, devoid of all marks of my
womanhood.”
“You have two very
impressive marks of womanhood,” Chana laughed, giving Vasanta’s
breasts a light squeeze. “Not
to mention that which is now much better displayed between your
legs.”
Jeral wielded the razor
expertly, and was soon done. They
later found out that the removal of hair from those parts of the body that
are normally hidden was a common practice among Tharian women, but it left
them both feeling truly naked,
even though they had not worn a stitch of clothing since the day they had
stripped for their skin treatment.
Vasanta was almost incoherent
with anger, but could do nothing as her dark fleece was removed by the despised
Jeral. “A very pretty
thing,” Chana commented, eyeing Vasanta’s naked
petals. “It
is almost enough to make me wish I were a
man. But women can have fun down
there too.”
“You disgust me,”
Vasanta raged. “No real
woman would want such a thing.”
“Not true,” Chana
retorted. “I have spent
many a delightful afternoon and evening with a
woman.”
“It is no more than
I would expect from such a dishonourable people,” Vasanta
spat.
Shailaja said nothing, having
no desire to get involved in such an argument in spite of her anger at once
again being subjected to such a humiliating
grooming. Kaltarans had none
of the reservations or prejudices Vasanta had expressed, enjoying both the
company of men or women in a variety of
couplings. It was an attitude
perhaps promoted by their frigid climate.
As one of their proverbs stated: “When sharing a snowbank gender
matters little.”
Shailaja’s thoughts
on this matter were distracted by the final stage of their
grooming. Jeral applied a stinging
lotion to the areas he had just stripped of hair while Chana
explained. “This will keep
the hair from returning for some time, making further application of the
razor unnecessary for several moons.”
Shailaja and Vasanta found
the news that they would remain as free of hair as a child hardly pleasing
although they were glad to be spared further
indignities. It made Shailaja
wonder what other surprises Thar held in
store. She had no doubt she was
in for a few more unpleasant episodes before she somehow won her
freedom.
That she would eventually
find a way to free herself Shailaja never
doubted. She knew that it would
not be easy, as she had never before faced captors who were so thorough or
careful. She knew that most captives
in her position would have given up hope of escape from so magnificent a
city, but she had no such thoughts.
Sooner or later the opportunity would present itself and then she
would take it. First, however,
she had to find a way to get free of Vasanta and she expected that would
occur soon, especially as the slave market was only days
away. She would just have to
wait and see.
There was little change
in their situation for the next three days except for the fact that they
were once again allowed to exercise.
As before it was awkward with the pole connecting them to one another,
but Shailaja was determined to keep fit as was Vasanta, and their captors
encouraged them on the grounds that the fitter they were the better price
they would fetch.
Shailaja focused on the
limited exercise the tether between her and Vasanta
allowed. It was, of course,
impossible for either of them to practice their martial skills, but they
both worked hard, exercise being one of the few things they could agree
upon. Shailaja longed for the
day when they would finally be separated.
She had almost gotten used to being connected to the Nahn princess,
but the unconcealed hatred the she held for her made her distinctly
uncomfortable. It was like being
tied to a leopard that hadn’t been fed for a day or
so.
The day of the auction finally
arrived and on that day there was a slight
change. Sed-mal-Barak appeared,
accompanied by Urgan, and Shailaja and Vasanta were ordered out of the
cell. Once outside the tether
was removed from their necks, however, Vasanta had learned what disobedience
meant and kept herself under control.
However, they were not allowed complete freedom from one
another. To their dismay as soon
as the long pole was unlocked from their collars it was replaced by the length
of chain they had worn on their trip across the desert.
“You are to be sold
as a pair,” Sed explained.
“It is thought that two barbarians will fetch a better
price.”
That was hardly good news
for Shailaja under any circumstances.
Escape would be much more difficult as long as she was attached to
the vengeful princess. Vasanta
seemed no less displeased, but by now she had learned that her likes and
dislikes had little bearing on what was done to
her. She accepted the chain with
resignation and then they were taken to the
auction.
The two women were marched
down a series of dimly lit hallways that twisted through the slave
pens. As they were escorted down
one last corridor a loud murmuring sound could be
heard. Both women soon recognized
it as the noise of a crowd. And
then the final door was flung open and they found themselves standing in
a small room at the foot of a stone
stairway.
Chana disappeared leaving
them alone with the guards. From
the top of the stairs a boy peered down at them and then ducked
away. Shailaja and Vasanta were
nudged toward the steps by the guards.
Reluctantly they moved up the stone steps into the blinding sunlight
of the auction mart. Blinking
in the brightness they looked out upon a sea of
faces. Both women were immediately
overcome by a feeling of complete
humiliation. Prodded forward
they were moved to the very edge of the platform, where restraining chains
were attached to those they already wore to keep them in place and ensure
their behaviour.
The auction for those preceding them had not quite finished. Shailaja saw that the last ten young men and women of those who had accompanied her and Vasanta across the desert were still there. By now she knew most of them by name, even if she did not know them well. The fact that they were last reflected the fact that they were considered the most desirable and a number of the wealthier bidders was on the auction platform to have a closer look.
For the most part the bidders
seemingly content to trust the auctioneer’s description of the man or
woman being sold. But on occasion
one or more of the bidders would examine the product more
closely. Shailaja noticed that
this was especially true whenever comely young women were on the
block.
She found it most disturbing
to see how the slender bodies of the most attractive young women were fondled
and caressed under the pretence of properly examining the
goods. The knowledge that soon
she would be subjected to the same shameful treatment made the spectacle
even more galling, but there was little she could do except await her
turn.
It came at last as the
auctioneer, a heavyset man dressed in flowing green robes and carrying a
cane, stepped up next to them.
“Honoured citizens,” he
intoned. “Our final
offering. Two exotic barbarian
imports; each as different from the other as wine and honey but equally
desirable. As usual they are
available for closer inspection to any interested bidder, but I would caution
the buyers that they are as yet quite wild and untamed and it may not be
safe to approach them too closely.
You should not doubt, however, that these are two very fine
specimens. Note the perfect
musculature of each barbarian and the exquisite fullness of their breasts
and flatness of their bellies. They
will be most pleasing to anyone seeking to place them in the arena and if
they can be tamed, take them to his bed.”
Here the auctioneer paused;
waiting to see what interest there might be in inspecting the merchandise
more closely. Not surprisingly
in spite of his warning several of those on the platform moved
forward.
There was nothing Vasanta
and Shailaja could do to avoid the humiliation that
followed. In addition to the
chain connecting them to one another, their ankles were chained to heavy
bolts set into the platform, leaving their legs slightly spread for
balance. Their arms were stretched
to either side and secured to stout
posts. The position left them
open to whatever the prospective buyers wanted to do with them and they were
quick to avail themselves of the opportunity their helplessness
provided.
Shailaja and Vasanta jerked
at their chains as the buyers ran their hands over their bodies, commenting
on their imperfections as they did so.
“Neither is a
virgin. I suspected as much,
but I was hoping for
better.”
“They are both too
tall. Most men would fear to
take them to bed for fear of injury or worse.”
“Perhaps the arena
for both of them. I can see no
other suitable use for them, except perhaps as novelty items in a house of
flowers.”
Shailaja had a very good
idea what a house of flowers might be, and she had a strong suspicion that
it was something she would not like.
She also hated the inference that she was good for little more than
pleasuring men or performing for them in the
arena.
“This one seems especially
fierce,” one of the buyers commented as he fondled Shailaja’s
breasts. “:See how she growls
when I touch her.”
Shailaja had not realized
she was making such a sound, but supposed she must have
been. She quickly silenced herself
and stood as still as she could, gritting her teeth and staring straight
ahead as the buyer continued to examine her.
“A real beauty,”
the buyer commented as he ran his hands over the muscles of her shoulders,
and then moved his hand under the heavy mass of her hair to touch the back
of her neck. He was a tall, thin
man with a full beard. Not quite
as tall as Shailaja, of course, but tall enough that he could see the rage
in her eyes.
“Yes, you are
fierce,” he commented.
“But not so fierce I could not tame
you. I expect it would be a most
pleasurable experience.”
He moved his hand from behind
her neck, lifting her hair and then moved it up to caress her
cheek. It was a stupid mistake
and she made him pay for it. Quick
as a ferret she sank her teeth into his hand.
He screamed as Shailaja
crunched bone and tried to jerk his hand free, but she hung on like a wolverine,
oblivious to the blows rained on her by the guards and other
buyers. It took four blows of
the stinger before she cried out and he was able to free his bleeding
hand.
“You bitch,” the
man cried. “You will be
punished for that.”
“Serves you right,
Trevan” the auctioneer sneered.
“You were warned.”
“I will buy her no
matter what the cost,” Trevan raged.
“She will learn to obey
before I am through with her.”
“You will have
competition,” someone else shouted.
“I like her spirit.”
“If there is no further
inspection,” the auctioneer shouted, “I ask that everyone return
to their places and allow the bidding to commence.”
Angry as Shailaja was, a
sense of utter hopelessness swept over
her.
How
am I to escape this?
she thought. It
mattered little to her who paid the highest price, the brutality of the slavers
was behind her, but she now faced a future that seemed just as
bleak.
Beside her, Shailaja caught
a strange look from Vasanta. For
a brief instant she almost thought she saw a hint of a smile flicker about
the Nahn princess’s shapely lips, but then it was
gone. She forced herself to ignore
what was happening to her and instead stared defiantly at the
crowd.
It was
time. The auctioneer began his
final spiel. “Honoured
buyers,” he shouted.
“You see before you two perfect female specimens; one blazing
like the sun and the other glowing like Selene
herself. And now it is time for
the bidding to begin. Let’s
start the bidding at….”
The slave market was teeming, the area before the viewing platforms even more congested than usual. Two days before fifty-two slaves had been marched in from the desert. They joined another hundred from the city and there were many eager buyers interested in perusing the new stock as well as any interesting offerings from the city. One never new exactly what would find its way to the auction block. For the most part it was usually slaves that were past their prime; cast off concubines now offered as household staff or older men no longer able to put in a proper day’s work, but there were often surprises and that was what made the market so intriguing. Today it was reported that there were many comely youths and maidens available among the newly arrived slaves as well as two especially exotic specimens, and that had drawn in extra buyers as well as the merely curious. It was rumoured that the two exotics were two fierce barbarians of rare beauty and huge size and the market was thick with those interested in seeing them.
It was also thick with those who throve on crowds, from the vendors of sweetmeats and cool drinks to pickpockets who moved in and out of the crowd, keeping a wary eye out for those members of the city guard who also frequented the market. There were also bolder thieves; young boys and girls who darted in and out of the crowd, looking to snatch a purse or necklace from those who too openly flouted their wealth. For the most part these audacious thieves were kept at bay by the ever vigilant city guard, but occasionally an outraged shout would indicate that someone had become a victim and then a chase would ensue as the thief was hotly pursued through the crowd. Likely as not the thief eluded his pursuers or, on being caught and searched, was found not to have the purloined item, having passed it on to an accomplice before being caught. This mattered little to the city guard who usually administered a sound thrashing to the suspected thief before haling him off to the city jail.
All of this provided plenty of amusement for the crowd, even before the slave
auction began. And on this day
there was an added element of interest.
Borne on a litter carried by eight richly dressed male slaves was
Guered-mal-Far, Hector of the city of
Guered was a handsome man in his mid-forties. In his youth he had been a formidable warrior and even now was capable of holding his own with a sword against even highly skilled adversaries. His neatly trimmed beard and hair was now streaked with grey, but he was trim and fit and rode almost every day on his prize race horses. He was richly dressed for this occasion in a violet shirt and tan trousers into which gold and silver threads had been sewn, and a velvet cloak was held in place by a chain of pure gold. On his head he wore a gold circlet studded with precious gems and around his waist a belt of the finest leather. The belt supported a jeweled scabbard that held a sword of Tharian steel, a product city was known for far and wide. He liked to dress simply, disdaining the heavy robes worn by others of his city in favour of clothing that was light and practical. He wore a minimum of jewellery, preferring just a few rings and a jeweled bracelet on his right wrist.
He had come earlier than usual to the auction, knowing that the more interesting buys would not come until later. However, he liked to let his people see him as much as possible. It never hurt to remind his subjects of who was in charge. And besides, most of his subjects adored him. And why not? His rule had been one of prosperity with the size of Thar’s holdings doubling under his leadership and the amount of tribute flowing into city coffers tripling. There were few who would argue with that sort of success.
The first part of the auction went much as expected with few if any surprises. It was the usual collection of middle-aged concubines, both male and female, cast off by their owners as their beauty had faded, along with a few others sold to reduce the size of the household or because they had proven to be poor workers. Most of these would be purchased by merchants looking for housekeepers or workers for their businesses. Here and there was the occasional youth who had proven hard to train and who was being released into some harsher service where his bad manners would not matter. The bidding for these was routine with most of them going for moderate to low offers.
There was a stir amongst the bidders as the recent arrivals were introduced. The bidding for these reflected the higher quality of the merchandise and was much more intense. Guered noted with approval that the young men and women who were paraded across the auction block seemed healthy and free of injury. Whoever the slave masters were they had done an admirable job of bringing them across the desert safely. He watched with interest as each of the young men and women were auctioned off, and then it was time for the final offering.
Guered’s eyes narrowed as the two barbarians were announced and then paraded onto the auction block. Unlike the other offerings they were escorted by several heavily armed men who dragged them forward on the ends of lengths of chains. Both still wore their heavy iron slave collars and were connected to one another by an eight foot length of heavy chain. They were an impressive pair; the shorter woman standing at least six feet and the other topping her by about six inches.
In spite of their height, they were as different from one another as pomegranates and lemons. The smaller woman was dark-haired with eyes to match and a smoldering, sultry appearance. Her breasts were full and ripe with dark nipples and a firm, rounded shape. She had a strong, muscular physique with long legs, a narrow, waist and the broad shoulders of a warrior.
The taller woman, was a study in contrasts in spite of the fact that she too was well muscled. However, her hair was the colour of flame and her nipples reminded Guered of ripe raspberries. Her high, firm breasts swayed slightly as she walked and emphasized her slender waist, strong hips, and legs that seemed to go on forever.
However, it was not the beauty and grace of the two captives that caught his attention, it was the fury and defiance that blazed from each of the captives. Completely unbroken, he thought. In spite of what has been done to them. These two would be very hard to tame. He smiled. He never could resist a challenge; especially where women were concerned. Raising his hand he motioned for the captain of his guards to come forward. “I will take these,” he stated. “Have the slavers meet me in the palace and have the merchandise brought with them.”
The captain bowed and stepped to the edge of the viewing stand. “His excellence, the Hector, has chosen to purchase the final lot.”
There was a disgruntled murmur from the crowd, but no one complained too loudly. There were none who had the resources to challenge the Hector and it was his prerogative to claim any offerings without a bid. Besides, the auction had been a good one and most were satisfied with their purchases. As the two barbarians were led from the platform the crowd began to break up and Guered stepped into his litter.
The trip back to the palace took little time. The crowds cleared in front of the litter and its escort and the distance was not great. Fifteen minutes later the litter was through the gates of the palace and Guered jumped to the ground before his bearers had a chance to set it down. The litter was a bit of nonsense that he was required to use for the sake of appearances. He much preferred to walk or ride horseback and did so whenever he was free from the public view.
Crossing the courtyard he strode past the fountain and took the steps to the palace three at a time, entering the cool confines of the marble and malachite hallways. As the head steward stepped forward to greet him he issued a string of orders. “Have the slavers escorted to my small audience chamber and inform them that I will meet them there as soon as possible. Serve them nothing in the way of refreshments. Have the two barbarians taken to the viewing chamber. I will see them there.”
The steward bowed in recognition of these commands and hurried off as Guered moved further into the palace. He spent the next two turns of the glass in the library perusing several of his favourite books of poetry until a servant appeared. “Ker-mal-Gen is here, Lord” she said.
“Good, send him in and fetch refreshments. Fruit and coffee would be fine.” The servant bowed herself out and an instant later the gladiator’s physician entered the room. “Sit, please,” Guered said as the physician bowed before him. He waved his hand toward a comfortable divan.
Guered waited until the refreshments arrived. It turned out to be a bit more than he had asked for and included several tasty little cakes. As he sipped at his coffee he turned his attention on the physician. “I have read your report. Is there anything special I should know about my latest acquisitions?”
“They are both healthy and surprisingly spirited considering what appears to have been done to them,” Ker-mal-Gen answered. “When I first saw them it was obvious that they had both been very badly used. It appears that they were left alone for the last part of their trek here; probably to allow them to heal. But it was not long enough to hide the evidence from me.”
“There is permanent damage then?”
“Their physical damage has been repaired, but I cannot speak for what they have suffered mentally. The dark-haired woman, Vasanta by name, smolders with rage and I would not like to be alone with the redhead either. However, they appear to be very tough warriors and I expect any mental scars will heal as well.”
“And are they tameable?”
“That, my Lord, is for you to determine,” Ker answered. “They are your property now, and I wish you much luck in bending them to your will. I suggest you have your personal physician assess them; he is somewhat better at these things than I am. Just don’t let Tened know I recommended him. He is too full of himself already.”
Guered laughed. Tened-mal-Benar was the most talented healer he had ever met, but it wouldn’t do to tell him so. He was already the most opinionated and pompous man Guered knew. Don’t worry I’ll send a servant to him. He’ll think it was my idea.”
“Then with your permission I’ll be getting back to work. I’ve got stitches to remove on two men, an abscess to lance, and a broken wrist to check on.”
“Go with my blessing,” Guered answered. “I wouldn’t want anyone in my stable to suffer unduly.”
Ker bowed himself out and as he was leaving Guered turned to another of his servants. “Ask Tened-mal-Benar to attend to the barbarians. Tell him it is as a personal favour to me. I want a detailed assessment as to their potential.” As he spoke he got to his feet and moved toward the door. Four guards flanked him as he moved and there would be four more in the audience chamber.
The slavers turned toward him as he entered. He had waited outside the door for his chamberlain to announce him; a ceremony he normally ignored, but he wanted to impress upon the slavers the honour being shown them. He assessed the six men as he entered. Except for one, a little man he understood had acted as their desert guide, they were not the usual type who engaged in the slave trade. As a matter of fact he guessed that they were completely out of their element. He had seen their type before; barbarians from the northern mountains. They made good warriors, but were not usually engaged in the slave trade or any other trade except killing.
Guered took his
chair. Normally he would have
invited his visitors to sit, but not this
time. “Which of you is the
leader?” he asked without preamble.
The five men seemed taken
aback by his curt tone and pointed question, but one of them stepped
forward.
“I am, your
Excellency. My name is Gren,
son of Halb, and these are my cousins….”
Guered cut him of before
he could introduce the other men.
“I wish to know which of you raped and brutalized the two barbarians
I purchased.”
“I…, they are
slaves, Excellency,” Gren stammered.
“They are property.”
“That is so,”
Guered said, “but in Thar slaves are
protected.”
“Protected?
But they are little more than
cattle. What sort of protection
extends to them?”
“In Thar cattle are
protected as well. No one may
use slaves or animals cruelly without just
cause. Did you have just cause
to subject the two barbarians to rape?”
“That is nonsense,
Excellency. Slaves with
rights! Who would make so foolish
a law?”
“I did,” Guered
replied calmly. “And you
should have taken care to determine the laws of Thar before entering our
domains.”
“Thar’s
domains?” Gren spluttered.
“We did not enter Thar’s domains until we crossed the
desert. How can we have been
subject to any of her laws?”
It was clear he was holding back his rage only because of the presence
of the eight heavily armed guards in the room and the fact that he was
unarmed.
“You entered Thar as
soon as you set foot in the desert,” Guered
explained. “It seems that
you were breaking the law almost every day of your
march.”
“But the desert belongs
to no one,” Gren protested.
“It is nothing but a barren
wasteland.”
Guered waved Gren’s
mouth shut.
“Enough. It may be
a wasteland, but it is Thar’s wasteland and you have violated our
laws. It has been determined
that you subjected two slaves to cruel and unnecessary
punishment. However, I am willing
to partially overlook the crime due to the fact that you protected the other
slaves in your care. As a result
I will not pass any criminal sentence upon
you. Instead I will pay you the
price you ask for the two barbarians.
Five hundred gold ounces.”
Gren’s eyes and those
of his cousins lit up at the
announcement. “Your Excellency
is most gracious,” Gren replied.
But Guered was not quite
through. “That I am,”
Guered smiled. “As I said
there will be no criminal sentence.
If there was you would find yourselves slaves for a period of ten
years. However, I will fine you
an amount appropriate to your crime.”
Guered experienced supreme
satisfaction as the five men realized what was coming
next. “The fine is five
hundred gold payable plus whatever you were to receive for the other slaves
in your care.”
“Your Excellency, that
is robbery,” Gren cried.
“It would leave us with nothing for our
troubles.”
“From what I understand
from your guide,” Guered replied nodding his head toward Windar who
was standing to one side, “you killed the original owners of the slaves
and made them your own. As a
result they cost you nothing and you deserve
nothing. Remember you have broken
our laws. If you protest too
much you will find yourself waiting for the next slave
auction. Now leave before I withdraw
my offer of leniency.” He
got to his feet as he finished speaking.
“Except for your guide I wish you out of my city as soon as
possible. You will be gone
tomorrow.” He turned and
left the room, issuing one final order as he
left. “Escort these men
to the palace gates.”
Guered permitted himself
a smile as the door to the audience chamber closed behind
him. That was well
done. Now it was time to view
his latest purchases.
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