Chapter
9:
Thar
The mythical city of
But Thar was magnificent
beyond all of their expectations, more than justifying its title of “Jewel
of the Desert.” For the
last three hours they had been walking through the most luxuriant fields
and orchards either had ever seen.
Olive groves, peach orchards, and other fruit trees lined the road
along with date palms and other exotic trees, most of which they did not
recognize. Crops such as cotton
and wheat grew in profusion alongside vineyards heavy with
fruit.
This
is a rich
land, thought
Shailaja.
And
made all the richer through the work of
slaves. On every side
workers could be seen toiling in the fields and orchards and although none
of them were chained, Shailaja had no doubt that all of them were
slaves. The thought that she
was now one of them left her deeply depressed.
Vasanta was in an even more
morbid state of depression.
Although impressed by the lands through which she was travelling,
her mind was elsewhere, fixed on thoughts of
revenge. Recovered enough from
her ordeal to walk, nothing had happened to change her
attitude. She still burned for
vengeance, first against the redheaded barbarian who had killed her brother
and then against the slavers who had dishonoured and enslaved
her. These thoughts superseded
all others to the point of obsession.
However, even she could not help but be impressed by the richness
of her surroundings or the impressive city that loomed before
her.
She and the others in the
slave caravan had first glimpsed the city from a high plateau and even from
a distance it had been imposing.
From the bottom of the plateau a green carpet swept across to the
city. It was crossed by a gridwork
of blue lines next to which were the white dots of farm
buildings. After a month of sand
and heat it seemed an impossible vision and both Vasanta and Shailaja wondered
where the desert city got its water, especially as the water seemed to flow
from the city rather than toward it.
Beyond the farmland rose
Thar, a city of white towers and great
walls. Its size and magnificence
took their breath away. But it
was a city that the slaves looked upon with mixed
feelings.
Thar was the end of the
ordeal of their desert journey, promising Shailaja and Vasanta freedom from
their brutal captors, but it was also another step in their
slavery. Once in the city they
would be taken to the slave pens and treated as human livestock before being
taken to the slave auction and sold to a new
master. It was hardly something
to look forward to, even if it did mean that they would no longer be subjected
to the nightly humiliations forced on them by Gren and his
cousins.
As if reading their minds
Gren had ridden up beside them.
“Your new home, barbarians.
The price you will bring will help me to forget the pleasures of your
bodies.”
Neither woman had
replied. Nothing they could say
would erase the humiliations they had suffered and they did not want to give
Gren any excuse to use them one more
time. They were still a half
day’s march from the city, having passed through the first of the frontier
outposts the day before and had made good time ever since reaching the main
road to Thar. Fortunately Gren
and his cousins were just as anxious to end their desert journey as they
were, and the quality of the road was such that progress was
rapid.
It was the road that should
have given Shailaja the first clue that Thar was a city out of the
ordinary. Unlike the vague track
they had followed across the Tombau the road leading from the frontier post
was raised to allow the wind to sweep it clear of sand or to shed the infrequent
rains. Constructed of tightly
fitted blocks of stone it resembled the finest stone flooring she had encountered
in her own homeland. However,
worn out from her desert ordeal, she had hardly noticed the change until
suddenly coming upon the panorama of Thar and its
environs.
Thar seemed a city that
had few frontier defences. Secure
behind the barrier of the
The outpost consisted of
two towers joined by a thick wall.
The desert road ran right through the wall and was manned by guards
wearing well made iron-reinforced leather helmets and carrying falchions
of polished steel. For body armour
they wore light quilted jerkins, well suited to the desert heat and capable
of stopping an arrow. However,
both Shailaja and Vasanta found their demeanour lacking in proper martial
qualities. They seemed indolent
rather than alert, an attitude no doubt fostered by the fact that Thar could
be reached only crossing hundreds of leagues of hostile
desert. They expected no hostility
from so inhospitable a landscape.
However, they took an interest
in the caravan, its arrival no doubt providing a break to the monotony of
their duty. The guards looked
the slaves over carefully, taking special interest in Shailaja and
Vasanta.
“That’s a fine
piece of merchandise,” the guard captain
commented. “She should fetch
top price.” His gaze turned
to Vasanta. “That one too,
although she looks like trouble.”
Gren
grinned. “Had to show her
who her master was. I think
she’s learned her lesson.”
The captain
shrugged. “Just so that
is all it was.”
“What do you mean?”
Gren asked. “She’s
a slave. I can do what I want
with my property.”
The guard
grinned. “You’ll find
out. Our Hector has strange
ideas.”
“Hector?
Gren asked.
“The city ruler. Guered-mal-Far. Surely you’ve heard of him?”
Gren shook his head. “Then you might be in for a bit of a surprise,” the captain said. He handed Gren a piece of paper that he had stamped with some sort of seal. “Just show this at the gate. You’ll be told where to take your caravan. He stepped back and waved them through the gate.
“What was that about?” Trag asked as he and Gren passed beyond earshot of the guards.
“Damned if I know,” Gren answered. I expect we’ll find out when we get to the city.”
The slavers and their captives
followed the road toward the city eventually arriving before the city
gate. Up close the city walls
were even more impressive. They stood well over sixteen yards tall and were
interspersed with even taller towers.
They stretched before away from the gate in both directions for over
a league, making Thar the greatest city Shailaja had ever
seen. Her military eye noted
that it would take a large and well-equipped army to even think of breaching
such a barrier, and she wondered who the Tharians feared to construct such
great defences.
A steady flow of traffic moved in and out of the gate. Most that left were empty while those entering were laden with produce. There were several guards outside the gate and Gren showed one of them the pass he had been issued at the frontier post and the guard nodded. “The slave market is near the livestock pens. There are a number of street runners you can hire to show you the way.” Although Shailaja received her usual appraising look, he waved them forward as a convoy of heavily laden wagons rolled through the gates.
The main gate was in proportion to the city walls. It was fully wide enough for five yegger carts to pass through axle to axle, and tall enough that a camel rider with a spear could come only within a few yards of the arched roof. To Shailaja’s trained eye it seemed something of a weakness until she realized that the inside of the gate was lined with openings through which arrows could be shot and boulders and boiling water dropped on anyone attempting to enter. So it was also with the wide avenue that ran straight back from the gateway.
It seemed to her that if an enemy did gain control of the gate he could charge straight through to the heart of the city until she noticed that the avenue was lined with formidable towers that could rain death on any intruder. It appeared that the defences of the city had been well thought out and that there was no easy way in from the landward side.
Gren and his merchandise followed the boy down the grand avenue toward the heart of the city. It bustled with more people than Shailaja or Vasanta had ever seen, all of them scurrying about their business in spite of the warmth of the day. Fortunately there was a cool breeze blowing from somewhere that helped to lower the temperatures. They later learned that cool ocean breezes frequently blew through the city bringing the effect that she noticed.
On either side of the grand avenue were a series of magnificent buildings some of which seemed to be temples and others palatial residences. However, the procession went straight past these toward the centre of the city and then to the right down a large intersecting avenue. Here the buildings were less grand and more commercial. From what Shailaja could see the city was laid out in quarters connected by broad avenues that probably came together in the great central square, an observation she later found was correct. Shops of merchants and artisans lined the street, most of them laid out according to the products they produced or sold. They passed entire sections consisting of spice merchants and next to them were the shops of perfume and incense sellers. Farther on they came across the workshops of tinsmiths, coppersmiths, and a little beyond that workers in molten metals such as the makers of lead, bronze, and brass. These industries were large and noisy and placed closer to the outer walls of the city along with other manufacturing and business concerns that most people preferred not to live to close to. Thus they eventually came to the area of the city where the livestock market was found and next to it the businesses of the tanners, renderers, and other malodorous industries. It was there also that they found the slave market.
It was a large open area
with a raised platform in the centre.
Fronting it was a large three story building, the lower floor of which
consisted of a row of seven yard tall columns over which was set a large
screened balcony. Catching Gren
staring at it the boy explained.
“That’s where the Hector sits if he wants to
bid. No one can see him, but
he can see everything.”
Gren
shrugged. “Where do we take
the slaves?”
“Over the other
side,” the boy pointed.
“I’ll show you.”
The boy led the slavers and their merchandise down one side of the
market squire. There were several
armed guards standing by a gate as well as a man wearing a blue robe and
a chain with a large gold medallion.
He looked toward them as they
approached.
Like most of the Tharians
Shailaja had seen, he was a man of average height with dark hair and beard
and a dark complexion. He was
also somewhat heavy; his prominent belly attesting to the fact that he usually
ate well. “Sed-mal-Barak,
Slavemaster of Thar.” the man said, introducing
himself. “I will see that
your slaves are properly housed and fed.
You will pay me ten percent of the proceeds of their
sale.”
“Ten percent?”
Gren asked.
“There is no
haggling,” Sed replied.
“It is the law in Thar.”
“A most convenient
law,” Gren observed. “At
least show me where they will be kept.
I want to see what I am getting for my
money.”
“It will be my
pleasure,” Sed smiled.
“You may accompany your slaves while they are escorted to their
quarters.” He motioned for
one of the guards to open the gate and then with an escort of ten other guards
the slaves were marched into their building.
Shailaja expected to be
herded into some filthy pit and was surprised to find herself in a long stone
corridor with rooms on either side.
Each of the rooms was sealed with a barred door and as she and the
other slaves were paraded down the corridor she could see that they were
occupied by a variety of men and women.
However, each cell seemed clean and there was a straw-filled mattress
in each one. The imprisoned slaves
regarded them as they passed, most impassively and a few with real
curiosity.
Reaching the end of the
corridor they went through a second heavy door and found another row of
cells. These were mostly empty
and one by one the slaves were detached from the chain as they passed each
cell.
As the slave at the head
of the line Shailaja was ushered into the first
cell. For the first time in a
month she was separated from the chain for a purpose other than sexual
brutality. Incredibly, as the
cell door slammed shut and the key turned in the lock, she actually felt
a sense of relief. Perhaps this
night she would not be raped or forced to perform some sexual
perversion. One after the other
she heard the cell doors slam as each of the other slaves was placed in a
cell. But long before the last
slave was imprisoned Shailaja had climbed onto the bed and fallen into a
deep sleep.
She was awakened by a noise
outside her door. Groggily she
rolled off the bed just as the door opened and a young woman entered carrying
a bowl of what appeared to be soup, along with a loaf of bread, and a cup
of water. The girl was only half
Shailaja’s size and for an instant she considered an escape attempt,
but the girl’s words put an end to that.
“I know what you’re
thinking. You’re thinking
‘This is my chance.’ But
you’d be wrong. There’s
nowhere to go but the corridor and it is locked and guarded at both
ends. You could run up and down
the cell block all you want and not get
anywhere. Once you’re in
here you stay in here until you are let out.”
Shailaja sat back down on
the bed and picked up the bowl of soup.
“Albright. I won’t
try to escape. How long is it
until something happens?”
“You mean the slave
auction I expect. That happens
at the start of each moon and you have nine days to go before
then.” She gave Shailaja
an appraising look and then added.
“You look like you’ve had a bit of a rough
time. You could use a week of
rest before the auction. You
want to look your best.”
“Why should a slave
care how she looks?” Shailaja bristled.
“Well,” the girl
answered. “Of course you
want to look good so you fetch a better
price. The more your master pays
the better he will look after you.
At least that is the way it usually is.”
Shailaja considered this
wisdom and the girl continued.
“You look like some sort of a
warrior. So you’ll probably
be let out for exercise. But
don’t try anything funny. You
won’t escape. No one escapes
from the slave cells or at least no one
has. All that will happen is
that you’ll lose your right to exercise.”
The girl checked the bucket
in the cell and noting that Shailaja hadn’t used it yet left it where
it was. “I’ll be back
at dawn with breakfast. Remember
what I said until then.”
Shailaja nodded and settled
down to finish her meal. She
could have done with a good bath, but expected that was out of the
question. Her belly full, and
with nothing else to do, she lay back on the pallet and was soon asleep once
again.
Shailaja awoke long before
dawn and found that she was no longer tired, so she got to her feet, found
the bucket, made use of it and then proceeded to go through her
exercises. She had no weapons,
but she could at least limber up her body and practice hand fighting
techniques.
A few turns of the glass
later the girl appeared with more food and
water. She removed the bucket
and returned with it a short time later.
“You will come with me,” she
said. “You are to exercise
and then bathe.”
Shailaja remembered what
the girl had said about the chances of escape, but nevertheless she kept
her eyes open, hoping there might be some slight
opportunity. She was led down
the corridor past the cells of those who had been her fellow slaves and out
a door at the end of the corridor.
She found herself in a large open area surrounded by high walls that
were well out of her ability to climb.
In the area were a few other female slaves, all easily identifiable
by the iron collars they wore. Like
Shailaja, most of them had an athletic build and were engaged in a variety
of exercises.
“Here you will exercise
for one turn of the glass,” the girl said, “and then I will return
for you.”
By this time Shailaja had
determined that the top of the wall was patrolled by armed guards, all of
them armed with crossbows. For
a brief moment she had entertained the idea of approaching the other slaves
in the compound with the intention of forming some sort of human pyramid
that would take her to the top of the
wall. That idea no longer seemed
practical and she decided to take the girl’s advice.
As was her custom, she stripped
off her clothing and began to go through a more vigorous version of the exercises
she had practiced in the cramped cell.
Not too surprisingly she immediately attracted the attention of the
male guards as well as that of the other women in the
compound. One of the women strolled
over to her, a grin upon her face.
“Well,” she said,
“you certainly don’t shrink from showing off your
assets.”
“There is no reason
why I should,” Shailaja answered.
“I am not ashamed of my body and my captors have used me hard
for the greater part of a moon. I
am well used to men slobbering over me.”
The woman looked
surprised. “You mean you
were taken against your will?” she asked.
“Of course,” Shailaja
answered as she stretched my body to one side, bending until the tips of
her fingers touched the ground and then mirroring the action in the opposite
direction. “It is not my
custom to allow such as they to use me under any
circumstances. Force was their
only recourse, and to my shame I was not strong enough to stop
them.”
The woman
frowned. “And where did
that occur?”
Shailaja stopped and stared
at her. She was not Tharian;
she did not have the local colouring and she was much taller than the girl
who had fetched her from the cell, although not nearly as tall as she
was. From her blonde hair and
light complexion Shailaja judged that she probably came from one of the more
northern regions of Vedra.
“Why do you ask such
things?” she demanded.
“It is something I would rather not
discuss.”
“You have just admitted
to being raped,” the woman replied.
“And if it occurred near here then such an action was in violation
of the laws of Thar.”
“I am a slave,”
Shailaja replied bitterly.
“My masters can do what they want with
me.”
“Not
so. In Thar even slaves have
rights,” the woman insisted.
Shailaja shrugged, not believing
her, and not particularly caring about what rights a slave might
have. She was a slave in name
only. Sooner or later she would
find a way to escape and when she did she would hunt down those who had shamed
her and take her vengeance.
Her thoughts of retribution
were interrupted as a door on the other side of the compound
opened. Into the exercise yard
stepped Vasanta. Like Shailaja
her chains had been removed although she still wore the heavy neck iron Gren
had placed on her. Shailaja saw
her immediately and it took Vasanta only a few heartbeats for her eyes to
find the woman she hated.
Vasanta’s response
was immediate. Crossing the space
between them she came straight at
Shailaja. “Kaltaran
filth,” she growled.
“Now you will pay for the murder of my
brother.”
Before she could reach Shailaja,
however, the woman who had been
speaking with her stepped between them.
“What are you doing?” she
asked. “There is no fighting
in the exercise yard.”
“There will be no
fight,” Vasanta raged.
“The Kaltaran whore seduced and then murdered my brother, and
I will kill her.” As she
finished speaking she lunged forward, brushing aside the blonde northerner
and coming straight at Shailaja.
Vasanta had no weapon other
than her hands and although Shailaja had discovered she was a fine swordswoman,
she was lacking her skill in unarmed
combat. She was also not fully
recovered from the savage beating she had received from
Trag. Shailaja stepped back as
Vasanta sprang, deflected her attack with her left arm and struck back with
her right. It was an instinctive
response and she struck with a blow that might have killed had not
Vasanta’s impressive reflexes saved
her.
She ducked under the blow
and slammed full into Shailaja.
They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, each striking and clawing
at the other. Here Shailaja’s
superior strength was an advantage.
She twisted away from her opponent; brought up her knee in an area
that is not as painful for women as it is for men, but nevertheless not a
pleasant experience; and heaved her weight on top of
her. Vasanta struck up at her,
but Shailaja had the advantage and delivered a couple of nasty blows before
she was suddenly seized by several pairs of hands and dragged away from her
smaller opponent.
Vasanta was seized as well
and they were dragged apart by the other women in the exercise
yard. “Have you no sense?”
the blonde woman asked. “You
will both be punished for your
foolishness.” By this time
several men had rushed into the area, all of them armed with the despised
slavers’ hooks. Shailaja
ceased her struggles and stood quietly, but Vasanta continued her attempts
to break free, only ceasing when her arms and neck were encircled by the
hooks.
The crowd of women and guards
around them suddenly parted and Sed-mal-Barak stepped between
them. “I see that you two
need to be taught some manners.
Fighting among slaves is forbidden and you will both be punished for
your transgression.”
“I care not for your
punishment,” Vasanta shouted.
“The Kaltaran barbarian murdered my brother and I will have her
blood.”
Sed looked back and forth
at the two of them and then reached a
conclusion. “I think
not. You both need a lesson and
what better way to teach it than in the presence of the
other. From this day until the
day of the auction you will remain in one another’s
company. Perhaps by the end of
that time you will have learned proper respect for the
rules.”
Shailaja and Vasanta thought
his words a strange pronouncement, but what he intended was quite quickly
made clear. They were both forced
to kneel and then one of the guards secured the end of a long wooden pole
to the collar about Shailaja’s neck.
As soon as it was locked in place the other end of the pole was attached
to Vasanta’s collar, leaving them connected but at the same time separated
by a distance of about three yards.
They were then allowed to stand.
Sed looked upon them with
satisfaction. “From now
on you will be connected to one another in all that you do, and it begins
with the completion of your
exercise.” He turned to
one of the guards. “Urgan,
have them work off some of their anger with a few circuits of the exercise
yard. If they falter do not hesitate
to use the stinger. First though
have the dark-haired barbarian remove her clothing to match the
redhead.”
Urgan nodded
maliciously. “It will be
my pleasure, Excellency.”
Shailaja noticed that he was carrying a curious looking
whip. It consisted of a wooden
handle about a yard long and attached to it was what appeared to be a thin
length of string about five times the length of the
handle. The string was weighted
at the end by a lead bead that would allow it to be snapped out to its full
length. She supposed that this
was the “stinger” Sed had spoken of, but it made little impression
upon her. It escaped her notice
until later that Urgan was wearing leather gloves and that he was careful
not to let any part of the seemingly innocent whip touch any other part of
his body.
“You heard his
Excellency,” the guard said.
“Now you run until I tell you to
stop. Make a complete circuit
of the yard staying as close to the wall as
possible.”
Shailaja
shrugged. It seemed a simple
enough request, provided she could get Vasanta to run with
her. She was developing a strong
dislike of the Nahn princess and now it seemed she was fated to be connected
to her for however long it suited their
masters. She took a step forward,
pulling Vasanta after her.
By this time, the other
women in the yard had divested Vasanta of her
clothing. She cursed them as
they stripped her and cursed Shailaja as well as she started off, but stumbled
on behind, dragged along by Shailaja’s superior
strength. However, hauling the
princess after her was not easy with the pole connecting jerking at
Shailaja’s neck as the
Nahn princess
resisted. However, her resistance
did not last long.
Urgan’s whip flashed
out and caught Vasanta on her naked
buttocks. “Run, barbarian
bitch, and do not slow down.”
To Shailaja’s surprise
this light touch of the stinger caused Vasanta to cry out loudly in pain
and she immediately quickened her pace, trying to match those of the taller
warrior. Connected as they were,
harmonizing their movements was not easy, but Shailaja assumed a long, slow
stride that allowed Vasanta to adjust.
Still it was not a pleasant
experience. Even the fact that
the collar Shailaja wore had some padding did not prevent it from chaffing
against her skin, and same was true for her running
mate. However, within a circuit
of the yard they were making a reasonable go of it, matching their strides
so that they achieved some sort of rhythm.
Urgan let them continue
at this leisurely pace for a couple of turns around the yard and then flicked
the stinger toward Shailaja.
“Faster,” he shouted.
“Stretch out those long legs.”
The stinger struck
Shailaja’s backside in almost the same spot it had struck Vasanta and
she suddenly understood what had made the Nahn princess so
cooperative. The touch of the
stinger was not the most painful thing she had ever experienced, but it came
a close second. She was so surprised
by the intensity of the pain that she screamed just as Vasanta had and jumped
forward, almost losing her balance and
falling.
“I said faster,”
Urgan shouted. The stinger stuck
again, this time between her shoulder
blades. Fire shot down her back
and she was certain that the skin must have been torn off her
back. Strangely, the sensation
lasted only a heartbeat as had the touch on her backside, but it was enough
to get Urgan what he wanted. She
doubled her pace, forcing Vasanta to do the same and raced around the yard,
observed by both guards and the other
prisoners.
Shailaja and Vasanta later
learned that the “stinger” Urgan wielded was the product of some
sort of sea creature that used its stinging tendrils to capture prey and
for defence. Properly treated
the tendrils retained their potency for quite some time and were most effective
in controlling slaves as they had both just
discovered. What they did not
know until they had finished their run was that in spite of the extreme pain
the stinger generated it left no mark or lasting effect upon those it
touched. They did know that it
kept them moving at a pace that soon had both women facing
exhaustion.
It was bad for Shailaja,
and it was doubly bad for Vasanta.
What for the former was a hard run in the hot sun was sheer torture
for the Nahn princess,
handicapped as she was by the
injuries she had suffered at Trag’s hands, but some how she kept up,
following doggedly in Shailaja’s wake, matching her step for step, her
breathing becoming increasingly ragged as she was run close to
collapse.
Fortunately for both of
them, it was not Urgan’s mission to damage the precious property in
his charge. Once he was certain
that they had run off their desire to be at one another’s throats he
called a halt to their exercise regime, shouting for them to stop just as
they neared the point of collapse.
“Enough,” he called.
“Tomorrow you will report to me and we will have another
session. For now you have exercised
enough and perhaps learned a bit more about your
place.”
The two women stood panting
in front of him, the sweat streaming down their bodies and their chests heaving
until the girl who had served Shailaja suddenly appeared once
more. “Escort them from
the yard,” Urgan ordered, “and place them in the cell of the
redhead.”
“Yes, master,”
the girl replied. She beckoned
toward them indicating that they should follow, and for once Vasanta displayed
enough intelligence to do as she was told without
protest.
There was no thought of escape from Shailaja, and Vasanta had no such thoughts as well. They were both too chastened to do anything more than follow their guide to the cell. Escape now was a near impossibility in any case. Linked together by the long pole there was little either of them could do except wait and hope for a future opportunity. No matter what they wished it appeared that they would be forced to endure the humiliation of the slave market.
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