Ubara of Gor Chapter Four

Chapter Four: The Bastion

“Lady Yishana, it is such a pleasure to see you again. You and your... fifty heavily armed Askaris...” Grigor Sanson, the self proclaimed 'Ubar' of the Bastion, smiled and bowed in greeting as he met us halfway along the the wave soaked causeway that led from the narrow harbour front to the high rock that formed the base of the Bastion. As a defensive position it had many advantages, not least of all the imposing vertical height of the island's cliffs. An army could only ascend it by a series of wide stone steps that centuries ago had been hewn from the rock itself. Aerial assault by tarns would be difficult as the Bastion was located far out to sea in the southern Thassa territorial waters, maybe twenty pasangs from the shores of the Black Ubardoms and as is commonly known, tarns – those mighty war birds of Gor – are loathe to fly out over the Thassa once they lose sight of land. Controlling them in such circumstances is next to impossible, though it is said that Tarl Cabot (him again!) came up with an interesting way to utilise tarns in naval combat at the great sea battle that took place between the armadas of Cos and Tyros against the fleets of Kar on the 25^th of Se'Kara, over 50 years ago.

But even if you were brave or foolhardy enough to march your foot soldiers up the winding flight of stone steps to reach the summit of the small island and then assault that fortress Bastion at its peak, you would first have to bring your troops across the sea and land them.

The harbour itself is a narrow inlet that is situated in a cove in a much smaller island that is shaped something like a horse shoe. The harbour has been fortified with sea walls to allow ships in only via a twisting corridor of stone pillars close to the harbour mouth that forces sea captains to traverse their vessel carefully by oar power alone, for even if you were to destroy some of the pillars that are in the way, it is said that further out there are man made rock reefs on either side which would gouge holes in a ship's hull if a ship sailed over them. There is a way past these reefs if you happen to possess a chart detailing their locations but of course said charts are carefully guarded by the Lords of the Bastion over the centuries.

As an aside, there is a small free standing rock that rises out of the Thassa just before you reach the harbour inlet. It can easily be reached from the harbour by a rowing boat in ten minutes or so. A series of ledges have been chiselled away in the rock and slave rings have been fixed in place. On most days, provided the weather is agreeable, slaves are chained to this rock to stand brazenly on the ledges with their wrists secured above their heads in display positions. These beautiful girls are usually the first thing a sailor sees as his ship approaches the Bastion. The rock and its lovely chained girls is in a sense a welcoming beacon and an ostentatious display of the services the Bastion can provide. It acts like a shop window on the high street.

A stone causeway leads from the harbour isle to the Bastion itself, and so once you had hypothetically taken the harbour cove by force, fighting past its sea walls, you would then have to unload your men and march them across the bare causeway in open view on all sides to the base of the Bastion isle.

It is a fact that the Bastion has never been taken by force, which makes it perfect for its commercial purpose.

“Tal, Grigor. You are well I trust?” said Yishana. She stood there in her flowing robes of softly brushed silk. Her hair as always was braided, she wore knee length sea boots of tooled leather beneath her long calf length skirts, and at her tightly belted waist hung two knives in jewelled sheaths. These were good knives, sharp and suitable for fighting with. The knife is typically more suitable for use by a woman than say a sword, for it is quicker to use, assuming of course that the woman happens to be close enough to her assailant to do so. This is often the case as whereas a man would choose to slay another man at extreme sword range, he is more likely to move in close to capture a woman, and clasp her alluring wrists in slave steel, especially a woman as beautiful and desirable as Yishana. This would put him within the required range for a dagger strike, while simultaneously putting him too far in for his sword to be of much use, for the length of a weapon can be turned against you if you do not have the room to use it. A man with a sword would want to keep an opponent with a dagger at the optimum distance where the sword is lethal but the dagger is useless. Yishana's right hand rested on the pommel of one of her knives as she spoke. She regarded the Ubar of the Bastion with an air of confidence rarely seen in free women on Gor. Her confidence of course was understandable bearing in mind she had an honour guard of fifty warriors and she was a valued customer of the Bastion. Economic greed and good sense is a powerful stimulant to a man's behaviour.

“All the better for seeing your beautiful face again, my dear,” said Grigor as he brandished his arms in a welcome. “But still you bring so many men with you when you visit! It is almost as if you do not trust me!”

“I do not trust you, Grigor Sanson, for you are a pirate and I am not a fool.” Yishana glanced at Grigor's own honour guard. It was much smaller – a mere six men, but then Grigor had little to fear. This was his land, he had men everywhere. If Yishana did anything to him she would have to fight her way back along the causeway to the horseshoe shaped cove to reach her ship. It is unlikely that she would reach the Larl alive. The symbolism was important of course. By bringing fifty Askaris with her, Yishana was subconsciously stating that she was weaker than Grigor. She needed the large numbers to feel safe. Grigor on the other hand demonstrated his relative position of strength in the relationship by bringing contrastingly fewer numbers. It was as if he was saying, 'you are just a woman, and I do not fear you.'

“A ridiculous notion, Yishana. The reputation of the Bastion is inviolate. My business would be ruined if I developed a reputation for turning on my customers. I depend on good will and the knowledge that captains such as yourself can negotiate freely with me without fear.”

“I am comforted by that notion,” said Yishana, “but not to the degree where I will meet you without my men. As I said, I am not a fool.”

Grigor smiled. I could imagine what he was thinking. “I see you still forgo the veil Yishana. You are as bold as you are lovely.”

“I have never seen a pirate ship's captain who is veiled,” said Yishana with a smile. “Have you?” This made Grigor laugh and he acknowledged the skill of her quick retort with a nod of his head.

“I do like you Yishana. I really do.”

“And you have certain qualities that are not altogether abhorrent,” said Yishana as she met his gaze calmly. I think she knew that her unveiled face might prove quite distracting to men. They could for example clearly see her lips – those luscious semi-parted lips that on Gor are a powerful sexual aphrodisiac to men. Perhaps she felt that such a distraction might give her an edge in some of her dealings with men like Grigor. It is possible. Her own Askaris of course believed her to be the living incarnation or Avatar of their jungle Goddess, and so her unveiled face was the face of Nakeisha the wind-rider herself. A Goddess I suppose is exempt from the usual customs governing free women on Gor.

“It is business, I assume?” Grigor looked behind Yishana to where the Lady Saffia of Telnus stood. She was barefoot now, her delicate slippers having not lasted the journey here, and her gown was ragged below the knees where the hem line had been amateurishly cut away at about mid-calf length. Grigor could clearly see her pretty ankles. The Lady Saffia was not secured, for there was nowhere here she could possibly run to. Behind her however were the two other free women, the Ladies Amelia and Tamaya. Unlike their friend they were naked and chained in sirik with their wrists secured in close chains before their body, their ankles secured with other chains and a central chain hanging from their collars to the wrist bracelets and then the ankle restraints. I think the sirik arrangement is the most beautiful way of chaining a girl, but not everyone agrees on that point. “May I perhaps invite you to my personal chambers high up in the Bastion where a great hearth fire will be lit, exquisite wines will be served, and we may recline on opulent couches facing one another as my most sensuous slave-girls serve an array of delicious pastries? I am sure we share many points of interest and the conversation will be enlightening and entertaining?”

Yishana gazed up at the high stone fortress sitting atop the summit of the great rocky crag that was accessible only be that single flight of stone steps and guarded by hundreds of loyal swords.

“A most generous offer, Grigor, and one that I should in fairness return to you. Perhaps you might like to join me on the Larl where I will entertain you with roast tarsk over a charcoal fire, tribal rhythms and beautiful dancing slaves, and seated on my ship, surrounded by my loyal and potentially violent Askaris, we could have this engaging conversation that you speculate may ensue?”

Grigor chuckled and nodded in appreciation once more. “You are so suspicious, Yishana! I respect you. Truly I do.”

“That is nice to know.”

“You are as safe in my private chambers at the summit of the Bastion, surrounded by my loyal warriors, as you would be on board your own ship.”

“An interesting choice of words, Grigor,” said Yishana. “I suspect your personal slave-girls are also 'safe' in the fortified Bastion, are they not?”

Grigor rubbed his chin. “The word might well be applied to the luscious sluts I own, yes. They are certainly 'safe' in the extended sense of the word. But you are hardly a slave, Yishana!”

“And I seek to remain that way.” She clicked her fingers and two of the Askaris led the Lady Saffia forward. Each man held one of her wrists, despite her protests. She was the Lady Saffia Luna Josefina Alejandra of Telnus, and she was apparently not happy at being touched.

“Slave or ransom?” asked Grigor as he examined her.

“Ransom,” said Yishana. “Her Free Companion is Captain Matias Thiago Alejandra of Telnus, Third Sword to the city and Sea Admiral of the Second Fleet of Cos.”

“Ah...” Grigor smiled. “Quite a catch then. The ransom you have in mind?”

“What do you suggest?” asked Yishana as she stood there on the causeway.

“A sum in the region of two hundred golden tarns of fully authenticated weight would not be excessive,” he said. Although currencies on Gor vary considerably, if only because the gold coin of one city may not contain quite the same percentage of gold as the coin of another city, it is safe to assume that a gold coin has the buying power of approximately twenty thousand dollars on Earth. This would make Saffia's ransom in the region of four million dollars, a tidy sum for a single prisoner transaction. “My fee is of course ten percent of that,” said Grigor.

“If you are so fond of me,” suggested Yishana, “maybe I would be entitled to a favoured rate of eight percent?”

Grigor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is precisely that sort of thing we could of course discuss in my private chambers in the Bastion over fine wines and pastries,” he suggested with an innocent smile.

“My desire for a preferential rate does not extend quite that far,” said Yishana.

“A shame, for the wines are first class.”

“I am sadly no expert when it comes to wine,” said Yishana with another smile. “The quality would probably be lost on me. I often drink common paga with my men.”

“And the other two ladies? They who are naked and in sirik? Grigor regarded them.

“Slaves,” said Yishana without any emotion. Behind her the two Ladies cried out in despair, accompanied by the jingle of chains as they shook in terror. “You will have them branded, slave papers drawn up, and sold as usual.”

“Please spare us such a fate!” sobbed Lady Tamaya. Yishana turned round, a look of annoyance on her face. She slapped Tamaya hard across her face, knocking the girl over.

“Be quiet, Cosian slut!” she snapped.

The Bastion has always played an important role in the southern part of the Thassa where pirate ships prowl the ocean in search of plunder, prizes and precious women. It has both a primary and secondary purpose and is commonly used by virtually all the pirate Captains who sail within the region of the equatorial waters of the Black Coast.

The secondary role is quite minor, and if that had been its primary function, it is unlikely the Bastion would have become the economic powerhouse that it is today. The secondary function is therefore simply a place at which slaves can be sold in small numbers or in bulk. It is a clearing house that will purchase any quantity of slaves quickly and without any fuss. Questions will not be asked, and the semi-legitimacy of the pirate ships is not a matter for concern. Bear in mind that many successful pirate captains have bounties on their heads from Gorean city states who find their activities to be a nuisance at best or a serious threat to their shipping at worst. Pirate ships therefore do not have free rein where they may dock and transact business. It is safe to say that there are many ports on the west coast of mainland Gor where Yishana would be ill advised to visit. And so the Bastion is a useful place in which to sell slaves. Plunder too can be exchanged there but commonly the prices for plunder are low and so Yishana has other places on the Black Coast itself where merchants will turn a blind eye to where the trade goods come from if the price is right. They will meet her with hooded lanterns in secluded coves, far from the prying eyes of city guardsmen and customs officials, and they will pay good silver for what Yishana has been able to steal.

But the Bastion's primary function is what has made it legendary. It is an agent for conducting ransoms – a clearing house for high priced captives.

On Gor it is easy enough to take a valuable captive. The problem is always the tricky business of ransoming her. If you are paying a ransom how do you trust that the pirate will indeed free your loved one? How do you know that your loved one has been cared for in the meantime and left inviolate? And if you are a pirate, how do you know that a trap has not been set for you when it is time to collect the ransom? Mistrust on both sides has often led to tragic mistakes in the past. This is where the Bastion comes into play. A pirate can hand his captive to the Bastion. She will be kept securely in reasonable conditions and a message will be despatched to whomsoever will pay her ransom. The ransom is then paid directly to the Bastion, and because the Bastion enjoys a hard earned reputation for playing fairly with both parties of the transaction, the pirate can be assured that he will receive the ransom, less 10%, and the relative can be assured that he will receive his Lady back in the same condition that she was in when she was given over to Grigor Sanson's safe keeping. The reassurance that this arrangement offers makes for smooth transactions in the case of ransoming women.

If ransom isn't paid for whatever reason, the contract between the Bastion and the pirate states that after a certain period of time the captive becomes their property and she will be enslaved and sold in the markets of Gor to recoup the expense of maintaining her during the window of ransom. The enslavement condition is important of course for otherwise there could be the suspicion that the Bastion would subtly frustrate ransom negotiations long enough for the period of ransom to expire, thereby rendering the captive theirs, and in secret they might make their own deal with the family and thereby collect the whole ransom for themselves. By being contractually forced to brand and enslave the girl, she is then rendered worthless in terms of ransom for no family will pay to get her back once she is a slave. She would be an embarrassment to them. Far better that she be sold to a foreign market where she may crawl and lick the whip without bringing shame to her original Home Stone.

I cannot think of a single instance when a woman has been successfully ransomed once she is a legal slave.

The Ladies Amelia and Tamaya were thrust to their knees on the beach by armed Askaris as Grigor approached to assess them. I noticed one of the six men walked beside him, also taking an interest in the captive women.

“I assume they have been used by now?”

“Frequently,” said Yishana. “Tamaya in particular squeals like an excitable quala when my men take her in the furs. So much for frigid Cosian virtue.”

A quala is a small three-toed mammal, generally dun coloured with a stiff brushy mane of black hair. It travels in a scampering flock and presumably makes a noise much like an excitable Cosian woman being put to use by a man.

Grigor nodded as he assessed her flanks. “Good slave flesh and Cosian heritage is always popular with Port Kar clients. She's heavily bruised though.”

“My men play rough,” said Yishana without any degree of concern for the woman's well being.

“What of the other one – the blonde?” enquired the man who stood beside Grigor.

“Her name is Amelia. She is not quite as responsive as Tamaya, but my men speak highly of her flexibility. Who are you exactly?” Yishana regarded the man who had spoken to her without any introduction.

“Mikos. I am here looking at available stock. I deal with Grigor from time to time. May I?” he indicated the Lady Amelia who looked at him with fear in her eyes.

“As you wish,” said Yishana. We watched as Mikos began to handle her. There were small cries of surprise from the Cosian woman as the man explored her curves with interest. The cries grew more pitiful when he began to excite her between her thighs.

“Her body flushes nicely to my touch,” said Mikos. “I find her of interest. Are you a slave, girl?”

“No!” cried Amelia in protest. “I am a free woman!”

“Free women do not respond like this...” suggested Mikos as his hands slipped inside her. Within a couple of ihn she was squealing and trembling to his touch, the cheeks of her face flushed with humiliation. “That means you just lied to me. Do you know the penalty for a slave lying to a master?'

“Please, no!”

“So I will ask you again, Amelia. Are you a slave?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “I think I am.”

“Slut!” said Tamaya in outrage as she turned on her friend. The fact they were both naked and had been put to use many times on board the Larl meant I didn't see any distinction between the two of them. Obviously Tamaya thought she herself was somewhat better than Amelia.

“What would you suggest as an offer price?” Mikos asked Grigor.

“Thirty copper tarsks apiece.”

“Thirty copper tarsks!” cried Tamaya in shock. “In Telnus I have a thousand times that as personal wealth. Ransom me!”

“Be quiet, Cosian slut, or I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to the Lady Amelia for her supper,” said Yishana. “You're not being ransomed. You quite clearly shouldn't be wearing the robes and veils of a free woman.”

The Cosian woman was now much quieter.

“Well?” asked Grigor.

Yishana sniffed at the offer. “You're cheating me but I really don't care. I just like to see Cosian women branded and enslaved. You have a deal.”

“Splendid,” said Grigor as he rubbed his hands and motioned to one of his men to leash the crying women and take them away. He regarded Mikos and added, “if you are interested in the curvaceous blonde, I could let you have her for fifty coppers.”

“Hmm.” Mikos rubbed his chin in thought. “May I try her out first?”

“What?!” Shrieked the Lady Amelia in alarm.

“I see no reason why not. You are a serious customer after all. If you just go round the corner of the sand dunes over there you will find some privacy.” He motioned with his hand. “I would ask you not to take too long though. A simple tumble with her behind the dunes should be sufficient.”

“Thank you,” said Mikos as he took hold of Amelia by her long hair and led her protesting form out of sight.

Grigor nodded in satisfaction as he heard the first sounds of the Cosian woman being penetrated and put to good use out away from our view. “Now, if we're agreed on the ransom details I will take possession of the Lady Saffia and make arrangements for news of her tragic captivity to be communicated to her beloved free companion in Telnus. In the meantime she will be a captive guest of the Bastion with, considering her high status, a fine suite of rooms in one of the tall towers, a personal body slave, two good quality meals a day and access to fresh air and exercise in a securely walled cloister area for at least three hours each day.”

“Just so long as I'm not paying for any of that,” said Yishana.

“It is covered by my rate of commission,” explained Grigor.

“If you instead house her in a small cage and feed her cold slops can I get a lower rate of commission applied?” suggested Yishana.

“It doesn't work like that, Lady. The Bastion has a duty of care to both its clients in an exchange arrangement of this nature. Why, I would apply the same duty of care to you yourself if one day, Priest Kings forbid it, you turned up naked and dishevelled in a sirik chain, the tragic captive of some ruffian or rogue who had seized you on the high seas. In fact, you would be given the finest suite of rooms in the snow lart tower with a superior view of the ocean, a window box for growing your own herbs and flowers, and a comfortable fireplace that you would appreciate come winter.”

“You are very kind,” said Yishana.

“It is the least I could do, dear Lady, for all the custom you've provided me with over the years.”

“Let us hope it doesn't come to that though,” suggested Yishana.

“Indeed.”

From the other side of the sand dunes we saw Mikos returning with the Lady Amelia in tow. Again her head was bowed down as he used her long hair as a convenient leash.

“How was she?” enquired Grigor.

“She'll do,” remarked Mikos with satisfaction. “She obviously learnt a few things on board the Larl. Either that or she is a free woman with an active imagination. Fifty copper tarsks, you say?”

Grigor nodded.

“Add it to my final bill. You have a sale. I want her thigh branded with a common kef.” He turned to regard the woman whose eyes were wide with shock. “As of this precise moment you are now a slave. Your name is now Aimee. That is the name you will respond to. No other. Tell Tamaya who you are.”

“Please, no...” the girl who had been the Lady Amelia cried piteously.

“Tell the free women here who you are. Or I will have you whipped.”

“I am a kajira, mistresses,” wept Aimee. “My name is Aimee.”

Tamaya was silent, knowing only too well that this was her likely fate very soon indeed, and that her current superiority in status might be a very temporary thing indeed.

“I think our business here is done, Ubara,” said Grigor with satisfaction. “As always, the pleasure has been mine. Until the next day I have the honour to gaze upon your unveiled features.” And with that he bowed and turned to go.

I watched as the Lady Saffia was escorted back along the beach towards the winding pathway that was the only approach to the fortified edifice that was the Bastion perched high on top of its natural rock outcrop. Her wrists had been locked into slave bracelets and she was escorted by Grigor and two of his men, one of whom held a chain that extended from the centre of the bracelets arrangement. Mikos led away the former Lady Amelia, while a guard led away the Lady Tamaya.

“You know of course,” said Tijani as he stood next to the Ubara watching as the Bastion Ubar departed, “that he would like to have you in a chain and collar?”

“Of course,” said Yishana with a smile. “He sees me as a challenge. So do most men.” she turned to regard Tijani. “It frustrates him I suppose that he is unable to have me. Men are not used to that. Does it frustrate you?”

Tijani laughed at that seemingly ridiculous suggestion. “There are plenty of luscious slave girls on the Larl to keep me content, Ubara. I really don't think of you that way.” He said that, but I saw the way he then gazed out to sea, perhaps not wishing to admit to himself that he had other more private feelings when it came to Yishana.

“Good. I would hate to have to kill you,” said Yishana with a soft laugh of her own as she slapped his shoulder. “You have your uses after all. Come. It's time we drank and fed. I shall find you a hot little slut to take your mind off things further.”

We returned to the Larl once our business was done. Row boats ferried us back to the ship in small groups, with Yishana crossing first. It would not do I suppose for her to be one of the last parties to return to the vessel as her safety could not be guaranteed on the beach if most of her men were no longer present to guard her. I rode with her because I was considered to be of value and therefore worth securing safely.

Naomi and the other girls pulled me to one side within moments of returning to the deck. They wanted to know how the meeting with Grigor had gone, for we kajirae are the most curious of beasts. We talk about everything when we're not working. I knelt there as they formed a kneeling circle around me and I described the meeting in detail down even to the parting comments Yishana had made to Tijani.

“I think the master does like our mistress,” said Imani. “I have seen the way he looks at her when he thinks she can't see him doing so.”

“And we all like Tijani,” said Ramona with a soft smile.

“But we all know the master prefers Emma,” said Asha. “He uses her more than any of the rest of us. He has a thing for slutty blonde barbarians.”

I smiled, knowing this was true. What can I say? I'm one seriously hot slave girl.

“Emma was trained as a pleasure slave in the Tahari,” said Naomi before any sign of jealousy could intrude. “That gives her an advantage that the rest of us don't have. We should not resent her for it. That's just the way it is.”

I was grudgingly impressed by First girl Naomi. She really was fair and she tended to look out for us, provided we obeyed her every word. If we didn't, she would not hesitate to use the switch on us. But I kind of liked her. She didn't play favourites, which was unusual for a First Girl. I certainly did back on the estate in the Sardar. Many first girls might have resented my sexual skills, but Naomi didn't. She seemed to value me, and on more than one occasion she had told me to dance for the men late at night, knowing I had also trained in dance in the Tahari slave pens. My skills reflected well on the other girls aboard the Larl as far as she was concerned.

And then because we had some spare time before the evening meal would need to be prepared, Naomi had us gather around her and she began to tell us folklore stories from the jungle interior where she grew up. She was a good story teller and I enjoyed these moments when we kajirae curled up together on deck, sometimes grooming one another with combs, brushes and cosmetics as we listened to our First Girl mistress voicing the characters in her cautionary tales of magic and jungle spirits. There was usually an innocent girl, a bold but young warrior out to prove himself to his village and an evil enchantment of some kind. There were often talking animals and occasionally mythical cities deep within the steaming jungle. The tales we enjoyed the most were tales of a kajira that Naomi seemed to model on herself, and her adventures in a mythical land called Tombalku. Often the kajira would play an important role in a tale, say, of a handsome young master enchanted into the form of a monkey who could only be restored to his true form by the fresh tears of a woman who truly desired his collar above all else. There would also be tales of a free woman and a kajira accidentally trading places for contrived plot reasons in a Prince and the Pauper style when it transpired they resembled one another. Some of Naomi's stories became interactive as she would point to one of us and ask us what we thought a character – usually a slave girl – might do next.

“Be pleasing to her master!” Imani might say.

“Eat the enchanted larma fruit!” Asha might say.

“Beg to be used!” I would say, as I too was caught up in the storytelling and wanted a bit more sex to be added to the plot.

What? It's fun to have some sexy bits in a story!

And Naomi, with a smile, would weave the answers into her story. Sometimes she might prowl the small area of deck where we knelt and lay, acting out the parts of a ferocious talking animal. Her slave girl heroine would often meet with a talking jungle larl who would strive to protect her. The talking mamba crocodile however was never to be trusted and we used to boo and hiss when the mamba made an appearance in one of the stories.

Occasionally Askaris might stop by to squat beside us and listen to part of the story, and whenever they did Naomi would always seem to add a new character to the proceedings that the men might identify with.

There was never enough time though and we would cry with frustration when eventually Naomi would clap her hands together and declare, “that is enough, my pretty little kajirae. Come, lazy girls! We have work to do! The masters would eat and drink and we must be pleasing for them tonight.”

Naomi was the sort of First Girl that every kajira would want to serve. We all dreaded the possibility that one day she might be sold and lost to us forever.

The Larl weighed anchor and sailed slowly round the Bastion headland to put some distance between the ship and Grigor’s warriors as it ventured back out to sea. I stared out at the imposing stone fortress as we manoeuvred round the vertical rock outcrop on which it was based. Somewhere high up in one of the secure towers the Lady Saffia would be coming to terms with her new accommodation. I suspected that Grigor’s description of the ‘suite of rooms’ and amenities that awaited the Lady were probably better than the reality she would discover, for he had something of the estate agent about him when it came to advertising his services. No doubt the suite of rooms would be cramped, bare granite stone, with narrow slitted windows and maybe a rough cot bed and a woven mat on the floor. But it was probably preferable to the wooden kennel in which she had been housed on the Larl. Already I could see Simon being ordered to take the kennel apart and stack the pieces of decking to the side of the vessel for some future use.

The Bastion looked as impregnable as its reputation suggested. Any woman who found herself a prisoner in that jagged fortress of stone and granite would have no hope of ever being rescued by force of arms. Even the army of Ar would have difficulty assaulting it.

We sailed back into the Thassa until we caught sight of the Black Coast and the inevitable shipping lanes that ran parallel to it.

Every night before we began to serve the evening meal on the deck of the Larl Naomi would order us to line up for inspection. She would walk down the line with her switch in hand speaking to each of us in turn with any special instructions while inspecting us to ensure we looked our best. Naomi would straighten and tidy our white breech cloths, check that we were wearing pleasing bangles and necklaces of tribal beads, scrutinise the condition and length of our hair, and with a stoppered bottle of slave perfume she would dab scent on our wrists, neck and applying some scent to her fingers run it through our tresses.

“Perfumed slut,” she said with a smile as she fluffed my hair a little.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. I was now perfumed for the night with a scent that our masters loved.

“You’ve been concentrating a little too much on Tijani of late, Emma. It has been noticed. Give the other girls a chance. He will still call for you often, do not fear.”

“Yes Mistress, “I said. All the girls wanted the attention of the high ranking men on the Larl and we suspected Tijani was slowly but surely climbing to a high position within Yishana's crew. She trusted him, valued his input, and perhaps equally importantly, the Askaris respected him.

“Speak the litany, Emma.”

And I did. The litany was a ceremony of sorts to reinforce in our heads what we were and what our purpose in life was.

“He is master, and I am slave,” I began. “He is owner, and I am owned. He commands, and I obey. He is to be pleased, and I am to please. Why is this? Because he is master, and I am slave.” I knew the words by rote, having been taught them in Banu Hashim all those years ago.

“What are you, Emma?” asked Naomi as I finished.

“Kajira, Mistress.”

“What do you want in life?”

“To serve men and give them pleasure.”

“Why do you want that?”

“Because I am kajira, Mistress.” And so on. We all spoke the words in turn and Naomi encouraged us to personalise the phrases from time to time by asking personalised questions of us.

“Why should slaves be pleasing, Emma?”

“Because masters will have it no other way, Mistress.”

The men were already relaxing on the deck, sitting cross legged in groups by the time we appeared in our breechcloths bearing bowls of paga for them. The paga was served from a deep pot where girls were sent to fill the bowls. Men called to us to receive drinks and to be honest the paga was often spilled on account of the rolling movement of the deck and the eager grasping hands of the Askaris who delighted in pulling girls to them for kisses and fondling as we tried to serve. The spilling of the paga tended to be overlooked though some of the Askaris made a pretence of rebuking girls who spilled paga when they were seized and toyed with. More than once I had to pay a ‘penalty’ for spilling some of the paga I carried - that penalty often involving gyrating on the lap of an Askari and smothering his body in kisses as I did so.

Some of the Askaris chose to race us as they drank. We would be placed on all fours and instructed to move only on hands and feet. We would be raced up and down the deck in laps with Askaris betting on the winner. I was never very good at this and invariably lost more times than I won so after a while few men would bet on me.

Other races that might amuse the men involved multiple teams of two girls. Within each team the right ankle of one girl would be tied with binding fibre to the left ankle of her team mate with a stretch of maybe a foot. Hobbled in this way and having to co-ordinate themselves, the teams of girls would race to the end of the deck and back. To make thing more amusing for the men, each team would have a third girl whose job it was to keep pace behind the runners with switches. They were allowed to switch the buttocks of the runners in the rival teams when a whistle was blown. This tended to encourage the teams to run quickly with the chaos you might imagine from tethered girls tripping over each other to avoid being switched. The switching could occur only when a whistle was blown and had to stop immediately when the second whistle note was blown. Continuing to use the switch after the second whistle blew meant your team forfeited the race.

I lost my white breechcloth within the first half an hour of serving. A grinning Askari simply tugged it away from my body as I passed by with a bowl of paga. Another Askari seated beside him slapped my ass hard, making me spill some of the paga in surprise. I filled more bowls and stepped gingerly between groups of seated men, my bare feet trying to find spaces through which to walk. Some parts of the deck were now occupied by squealing girls pressed down onto their backs against the rough timbers. Men put these girls to use, their own breechcloths cast away to the sides of the ship. 

“Paga, Master?” I said as I knelt down beside a group of men who were playing dice with a leather cup. Every time a man won he got to kiss and fondle the slave girl Asha who lay between them, her body draped across their laps. She was being passed about, her paga service seeming to be a thing of the past now.

And through it all the hawk like figure of Kerim Shah gazed down from the aft deck, his penetrating eyes watching the scenes of ribald drunkenness as Yishana’s men enjoyed the spoils of their hard life at sea.

A man seized my ankle as I made to return to the paga barrel. He pulled me down next to him where I could smell his paga infused breath. He was heavily muscled and quite hairy and he pressed me onto my belly as he ran his hands over my thighs and ass. His fingers lingered particularly over my kef brand as he then slid further until he was positioned to penetrate me. I felt him slide inside me, and with a grunt he settled into position, his breath against the nape of my neck.

“Kajira,” he said with a slur.

“Master,” I said as I felt him begin to move inside me. He was hard, he was young, he was eager. His name was Kakussa and he had been with Yishana since he had passed into manhood in his tribe maybe eight moons ago. Manhood is secured in his tribe through a night in which the youths are sent into the jungle to camp for as many nights as necessary to bring back the skin and claws of a jungle larl. As a sign of his new found manhood he wore one of the claws of the great jungle cat around his neck on a leather thong. I felt it brush the back of my shoulders as he pushed in and out of me with a growing rhythm that matched his excitement.

“Kajira!” he said over and over again as I felt my body pressed roughly against the deck with each of his thrusts. My nails scratched at the weathered timbers as he came soon to a climax that seemed to satisfy him greatly. He cried out and pulled hard at my hair as he came.

I was released once the Askari was satisfied. I lay on the deck for a moment on my left side, giving myself a little to time to recover my composure. All around me the feast was now in full swing as the sun had set and the deck was illuminated by lanterns instead. Yishana lay on her divan couch on the aft deck with Simon knelt beside her. He bitterly served her wine and dates on a silver platter as she watched her Askaris enjoy themselves. From time to time she threw Simon a scrap of food on the deck which he was expected to pick up and eat without using his hands.

Naomi had been picked out by Tijani who had the girl curled in his arms. They were laughing together as Tijani told her a story. Naomi listened with the rapt attention of a woman who knew she had drawn the lucky straw this night. Elsewhere surprisingly Imani still had her white breechcloth in place and it had turned into a game of sorts as men made half hearted drunken attempts to pull it from her as she skipped past, daring them to try. She had discarded her receptacle of paga and was now simply daring the men to strip her. She had the advantage of being sober while the men around her were drunk as skunks. Time and again she seemed close to losing her breechcloth but each time she skipped back as an Askari closed his fingers on thin air in frustration.

“Kajira!” an older Askari called to me and I crawled the few feet across the deck to reach him. He pulled me onto his lap and kissed me, fondling my naked breasts in the process with his rough hands. Again I was thrust to my stomach and again I felt a heavily muscled body ride me, penetrating me as I felt the timber deck against my cheek. He gripped my hair like a leash as he used me, mouthing words in his native dialect as he came close to the brink, but before he could finish another Askari jumped onto his back and pulled him away. They cursed and fought, wrestling on the paga soaked deck but only in jest for it seemed they were friends. I lay there not knowing whether I was permitted to rise or whether the man might be back to finish what he started. After a few minutes went by with no sign of that happening I rose to my knees, surveyed where I was and hobbled back towards the paga barrel.

I touched myself between my thighs, feeling my sex where traces of the first man’s semen dripped from my vagina.

I was kajira. This was my life now.

The feasting and drinking and noise gradually gave way to a more introspective night as men, their bellies now full with food and strong paga, began to pull slave girls to them to settle for the night. There were inevitably some scuffles, some brief bouts of fighting and some bloodied and broken noses as multiple men tried to claim the same girl but soon those who had staked a claim for the night had their kajira curled up in their arms beside them.

Kakussa had claimed me. He had fought another Askari who had missed out so far on the use of women and had felt perhaps that he deserved my company until dawn. But Kakussa was having none of it. I was put to the deck at his feet and Kakussa punched the challenger who then fell stunned and was dragged away.

Kakussa roped my wrists together in binding fibre to the starboard rail where he chose to sleep. He took hold of me in the darkness and pressed kisses to my belly and breasts.

“Please, Master, it is uncomfortable to sleep like this.” I said as I wriggled my wrists that were now stretched past my head. “If I gave you pleasure earlier, please let me sleep with my arms about you instead.”

Kakussa acknowledged this and cut the fibre away. I looped my arms about him and then felt him turn me round until my back was pressed to his front, spoon style. He settled his head against my shoulder and I felt the hardness of his manhood rise between my thighs. I wriggled against his erection, making him hot for me again.

“Master does not tire easily,” I said as I flexed my freed wrists, happy that I would not be tied the entire night. I could feel his penis twitching eagerly as its tip touched my ass cheeks.

“I watch you, kajira, through the day,” he said. “You are beautiful. One day I will own a woman like you. We will return to my village and she will keep my home during the day and serve me in the furs at night.”

None of the men on board the Larl owned a woman, simply because there wasn’t space on board the ship to accommodate personal slaves. Nearly all of the men dreamed of owning their own girl though.

I felt my thigh moved so that he could enter me as we lay on our sides. I gasped for I was now quite sore from the number of times I had been used that night. I think he sensed this and was accordingly gentle with me. We lay there like that for some time with him now sliding inside me slowly, rhythmically until I began to emit little soft sounds of excitement. This was lovely. Just the slow prolonged sensations building up inside, accompanied by the creaking of ship's timbers and the soft peels of laughter and sounds of arousal and sexual foreplay from other parts of the dimly lit deck. I was not the only kajira who was having her slave fires ignited by a man in the darkness.

“Master…” I sighed, making it very clear to Kakussa how good this felt. He kissed me on the nape of my neck above my collar and then below it. I felt him inhale the perfume in my hair. I grew breathless as he continued to slide inside me.

“Do you like this, kajira?” he asked.

“Feel my nipples, Master and you’ll see how much I like this…”

He did and I heard him chuckle at how stiff they were. “Slut,” he whispered into my ear as I began to squeal.

“Your slut, Master," I said, feeling giddy with the sense of being pushed towards orgasm. I moved my body in time to his slow thrusts and came suddenly without expecting to, shuddering, trembling as he then began to thrust harder, faster until he too came minutes later. He remained inside me for a while as we lay there, my back to his chest. I did not want to move.

I pressed back with my buttocks, seeking to keep him inside me for as long as possible before he would inevitably slip out. He seemed content to remain inside me as well.

“I want your use more often,” he said after a while.

“Master knows I do not choose who I am with. The masters choose me.”

“I like you, kajira.” He played now with my blonde hair, stroking it, feeling how soft it was to touch. “When I become a tenth spear I will ask for you to be sent to me each night,” he said. A tenth spear is the first rank above ordinary spearman aboard the Larl. It means he commands nine other men. With the rank comes some privileges including the option to reserve a girl for use on feast nights. Unfortunately for him, Tijani was a a twentieth spear, meaning he commanded two sets of ten men and he could trump Kakussa's claim on me. Which he often did do.

“A girl is happy you find her pleasing, Master.”

“I will fight for you, kajira,” said the man in the way young men do. “I will be tenth spear soon. Then you will be placed at my feet on feast nights. Then you will learn to satisfy a warrior of the Sangeesi.”

I slept well that night and dreamt of my children. They would be seven years old now and living with Brinn on the estate. I dreamt I was there with them, playing under the dappled shade of the trees in Brinn’s sunlit orchard, chasing them around the flower beds as Jacinta pretended to be a demure free woman and Marik pretended to kill large sleens. I dreamt I was reading them stories before bedtime, and I dreamt of tucking them into their beds at night, kissing each of them on their foreheads.

Were they happy without me?

I hoped they were.

I would miss so much. I would miss Jacinta’s first formal robing which occurs when a young girl reaches puberty, when she bleeds for the first time and the women of her family take her aside to teach her the ways of the veils and the robes. I would miss fussing over her succession of small robes and gowns, showing her how to configure the clasps and hooks and how to wind the veils about her face in modesty. I would miss seeing my son Marik at sword practice with his father as Brinn would teach him to stand in a shield wall and kill men. I would miss the day when Marik would be old enough to claim his birthright of the caste of warriors, a caste that is earned rather than given. 

I would miss their first free companionships; Jacinta's in particular when she would be given to a man who met with Brinn’s stern approval. I would miss being the proud mother who saw her veiled and respectably gowned daughter drink the wines of free companionship with a handsome son of one of the warriors Brinn respected, for Brinn would insist she free companioned a warrior. I would miss giving Jacinta the advice that a mother should give her daughter before she experiences her first intimacy with a man.

I would miss so much.

I woke sometime early in the morning as a cool sea mist enveloped the deck of the Larl. I was naked and chilly and so I moved in the arms of Kakussa, snuggling closer to him. He stirred in his half sleep and spoke some words I didn’t understand. He felt warm and made me feel safe and secure. The arms of a strong man do that to me. I turned enough to face him now and kissed him softly. Despite his half sleep he kissed me back and mouthed the words, “go to sleep, kajira.”

“Cold,” I whispered back. I felt him move his hand around in the darkness until he found some sack cloth which he placed over my shoulders. Now snuggled between the sackcloth and his warm body I slipped back into a drowsy slumber. I felt snug and content and didn’t want the moment to end.

“Master…” I whispered in the darkness.

“Go to… sleep… kajira…” he said softly.

“I am pleased to be with you tonight.” I said. I wanted him to know. He had been gentle with me during our last intimacy. He had understood I was sore. I touched his skin and curled his chest hair around my fingers.

“You were pleasing... kajira... but I shall whip you... if you... do not... go to sleep...” He sounded like a bear with a sore head.

He had drunk a lot of paga.

I snuggled a little tighter and peered out to sea where I could hear the waves lapping against the hull of the Larl. I felt the steel collar around my neck and marvelled at how right it now seemed. Of course I should wear a collar.

I am kajira.

I kissed Kakussa on his chest once more before I drifted back to sleep.

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((what follows are a couple of extra outtake pictures chloe created when she was illustrating how Emma might imagine the free companionship ceremony of a young adult Jacinta in her companionship robes with the proud parents in attendance. First picture is a young adult Jacinta, followed by a group picture of her with Brinn and Emma on the day of the ceremony, as imagined by Emma))