Ubara of Gor Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Our ship is becalmed. I witness Kerim Shah's true 'sorcery' for the first time

“It’s good to have a man in my bed,” said Yishana as she lay there on her stomach, her lower legs raised and crossed together at the ankles as she cupped her chin in one hand and gazed up at Simon who knelt in the soft furs before her. I knelt close by, painting my nails carefully with sky blue polish as Yishana stroked Simon’s thigh. As always she seemed amused by the reaction in Simon’s face as his pierced and trapped penis tried to rise unsuccessfully.

It was the ninth morning since the ocean wind had dropped and we had found ourselves becalmed, our ship bobbing restlessly on the flat surface of the Thassa as we travelled towards the isle of Asperiche. Of all the nightmares sailors face this is one of the most fearsome, for in the semi-equatorial waters of the Thassa the sea can be a fickle force that at times drives ships on to rocks, and at times disappears entirely to leave vessels such as ours listing aimlessly far from land. There is no way of telling when the wind will return, and those onboard can only hope and pray that the food and water will last out until it does.

Sailors are even more superstitious than the average land dwelling Gorean, and as the days rolled by I saw growing fear in the men’s faces. They believed that the ocean wind originates from their wind Goddess and that the absence of it was a judgement of sorts. The Goddess had decided for her own reasons that ships would be becalmed on the ocean. When I had suggested switching to oar power I had been addressed as a heretic. Working against the will of the Goddess would bring her full wrath down upon the Larl in short order it seems. Yishana reassured her men that if need be she would call upon Nakeisha for a blessing, as the gaunt, silent figure of Kerim Shah stood by her side, staring down any Askari who seemed to doubt her claims to divinity.

“The wind will not desert us in our hour of need,” she said simply enough on the seventh day. “It will not. I am favoured of the Goddess, and when the stars are in alignment, I shall call down her favour for us all.”

These reassurances of flaky divine favour and sorcery did nothing to relieve any concerns I had, particularly when the fresh water on board the Larl began to be rationed. Rationing is always the first overt sign that things aren’t expected to get any better any time soon. If Yishana was so bloody divine, and Kerim Shah was such a mighty sorcerer, why didn't they call down the blessing of the Goddess on day one? Why were we still floating aimlessly with the water running low on day nine? But looking at Yishana I was beginning to think she honestly believed in her own divinity and her so called powers. Being stranded at sea didn't seem to phase her in the slightest.

“How long has it been, slave?” asked Yishana as she touched the tip of his penis. The steel ring glistened where it pierced Simon's foreskin.

“Nearly seven months, Mistress,” said Simon with a sense of restraint that hurt him almost as much as the piercings did. “I have not been able to have an erection now for seven months.”

“Seven months…” Yishana laughed softly. “I can’t imagine going that long without sex. It must drive you mad with frustration. Open.” It was an instruction for Simon to open his mouth. He did so, his muscles twitching in frustration as he permitted Yishana to feed him a piece of salted meat – his breakfast. “Close and bite,” she said with a smile, watching him now eat.

“It is… difficult, yes,” he said as he swallowed the strip of cured bosk flesh.

“What must you think of me for keeping you trapped like this? Do you hate me, Simon?”

“No.”

“Really? I don’t believe you. You’re simply afraid I would beat you if you answered any other way.” She curled her fingers in his pubic hair playfully. “And I would beat you if you had answered any other way, though perhaps I should still beat you for lying to your Mistress. Hmm?” She was in a playful mood this morning, so very different from her savage warlike nature when she fought on board the deck of a plundered ship with a short stabbing spear and an oval shield made of animal hide overlaid on wooden boards, but when she did that it was because her pupils were dilated from the fumes of a burning stick wrapped in sacred dried herbs of a powerful narcotic nature, the smoke of which Kerim Shah made her inhale before battle. Then I saw another Yishana – a blood thirsty Yishana as she cast off her modest gown and ran screaming at the head of her Askaris – the bloody red handed Avatar of their jungle Goddess.

“You may do as you wish of course,” said Simon, though I sensed he was scared of being punished. Yishana had sometimes had one of the Askaris whip him. Her own whip hand after all was not that terrible if you were a strong man. Simon had not been able to stand for a day after being whipped by an Askari. He feared that kind of punishment now, and rightly so.

“But no, I will not whip you for lying. You fear me, and that is natural in a broken and house trained slave. I am fearsome, am I not?” said Yishana.

“Mistress is many things to me,” said Simon as he knelt there gazing at her.

“Yes I am. When is your birth date?”

“The fourth day of the first hand of the fifth month.” This roughly equates with the 22^nd July in the Earth calendar if my memory is correct.

“Perhaps, if you have been very good, very very good, my handsome burly slave, I will allow you some pleasure on that day. I will have you tied to my couch and I will have the rings removed from your manhood for a time. I will permit Emma to pleasure you with the lightest touch of her hands until you spurt like a geyser into the air! Isn’t that something to look forward to, Simon?” she laughed. “Emma's sweet touch on your body.”

Simon remained silent, simmering with rage.

“I said, isn’t that something to look forward to?” She suddenly rose up and slapped his face, annoyed he hadn't answered her. “Would you not like Emma to bring you to orgasm with the light touch of her fingers?”

Do it your fucking self, I thought to myself as I layered on some polish to the little finger of my left hand. I don't want to masturbate Simon on his birthday.

“Emma is beautiful, but I think I would prefer you to do so, Mistress,” said Simon.

That was a very bold thing for Simon to say and I looked up, surprised that he had done so, and immediately regretted it for I messed up the polish on my nail with a slip of the brush.

“I could whip you for saying that,” said Yishana as she sat up straight in the furs of her couch. She happened to extend her left leg in the furs and I noticed her shapely ankle now lay mere inches from Simon’s hand.

“Yes you could. Would you prefer me to lie instead when I speak to you, Mistress?”

“No.” Yishana shook her head. “You are lucky you amuse me. You are lucky I do not feel threatened by you. You are lucky I am not like other women. Be thankful that I find you handsome. Be thankful that you give me pleasure at times.” Yishana gazed to the side of the room as she ran her hand down her leg, lost in her own thoughts for a moment. “You find me attractive then?”

“Exquisitely so,” said Simon,. “Unbearably so. To see you is to want you, Mistress. But surely you know that?”

“No,” said Yishana softly. “I do not necessarily know that.”

“Look in the mirror then,” said Simon, motioning towards the mirror on the wall. “What do you see?”

Yishana gazed at her reflection and shrugged. “I see Yishana. I see the Ubara of the Black Coast.”

“You do not appear to understand quite how desirable you are,” said Simon as he reached down and touched her ankle with his free hand. She looked round, startled by this audacious physical contact. She had not ordered him to touch her! And yet his hand now touched her ankle! How dare he! “Has no man ever sought to have you in his furs?”

“Of course not. I am Yishana. No man would dare suggest such a thing and live.”

“All these years and no one has told you what an exquisitely feminine body you have?” said Simon in surprise. “No one has told you how ripe your breasts are? How lovely your legs are?” His fingers curled around her ankle lightly. It was not a grip. Not yet.

“No.” Yishana gazed again at her reflection in the mirror. Perhaps she saw what I saw – a beautiful woman sitting in luxurious furs, with her left ankle extended towards a man. She gazed for a while, perhaps beginning to see herself as she appeared through Simon’s eyes.

“I am Yishana,” she said. “Ubara of the Black Coast.”

“And Yishana has a body that would drive men to rapturous lust,” explained Simon. Now his fingers curled further and he held Yishana’s ankle. She felt the slight pressure of his grip and looked down, startled.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing you don’t want me to do, Mistress, otherwise you would have commanded me to stop.” Now Simon drew Yishana by her ankle towards him, further extending her leg until it lay flat against the furs. Yishana’s breasts rose slightly as her breathing quickened. “Pull your leg back if you wish, Mistress.”

Yishana did so, or rather tried. Simon allowed her the pretence of drawing her leg back maybe an inch before he simply returned it to its place before him with a sharp tug. It was easy enough. He was after all very strong.

Yishana supported herself in the furs with the palms of both hands against the surface of the couch. Slowly, imperceptibly, her moist lips parted. “You are holding my ankle!” she said.

“Order me not to if you so wish, Mistress,” said Simon with a smile. But still Yishana said nothing. “So…” Simon stroked her lower calf with his other hand. His grip had tightened to the point where Yishana was now perfectly held. “Lie back in the furs, Mistress.”

“No.” Yishana’s voice sounded subdued, uncertain now. I could tell her breathing was even more ragged. She stared at Simon intently, almost as if she wanted to know what he might do now.

“Do as I say, Mistress,” said Simon and there was a hint of warning now in his voice.

Yishana’s skin had a flush to it as she lay back in the furs. I noticed her arms were at her side with the palms facing down. Her head was turned to one side. There was a slight tremble to her body. I stared at Simon thinking this was a very dangerous thing he was doing now. And I also knew that if Kerim Shah could see this, he would be very angry.

“Very good, Mistress. Very good indeed.” Simon drew himself forward until he loomed over her, his head gazing down at her slim, supple body as it lay practically beneath him. “Just imagine the sheer pleasure I could give you now, a pleasure you have never even imagined in your wildest dreams, were I not restrained the way I am. Think on that for the future perhaps.” He leaned further down and brushed her open lips with his own. He had released her ankle in doing so but now he took each of her wrists and held them down beside her head. There was a soft barely audible whimper from Yishana’s lips, but a whimper nonetheless, and I saw her taut body lift itself from the furs, arching her back slightly as if wishing to press against Simon.

And then almost as if she suddenly realised what her body had done, Yishana thrust herself back down into the furs. She struggled against the iron grip on her wrists, but to no avail.

“I am Yishana!” she said as she looked up at a man who was holding her in place.

“Yes, and Yishana is a beautiful and desirable woman,” said Simon. “To see you is to want you as you lie there in the soft furs.”

“You can never have me, slave!” she hissed. “I am Yishana!”

“I have you now,” said Simon.

“I am your Mistress! I can order you to release me!”

“Yes you can,” said Simon. “Other women who have been in your position did not necessarily have that option. They perhaps felt even deeper thrills of pleasure than you are feeling right now because of it.”

“What do you mean?” hissed Yishana again.

“Only that although you are feeling aroused now, it is only a shadow of what you might feel, for you know you are still in control here, and that will deny you the most exquisite of feelings. A woman who knows she is in control can never truly feel the way she hopes to feel. Only when the control is taken out of her hands for a while can she know otherwise.”

“Do not presume to tell me what I might feel!” Yishana struggled again, struggled hard. Simon allowed her to do so until her energies were spent. Panting, exhausted for the moment, Yishana lay back in the furs, her wrists still pinned.

“Did you enjoy that?” asked Simon. Again Yishana said nothing. “My beautiful Mistress.” He bent forward again and this time kissed her hard on the lips, kissing her as perhaps no man had ever kissed her before. Yishana squirmed again, confused perhaps for what she might be feeling, however minor those feelings might be in comparison with the sexual feelings enjoyed by a slave. Because whatever Yishana was feeling now was nothing compared to the way a woman would feel if the forced submission was real. But of course she had no way of knowing that, no way to compare. Only slaves know the truth of such things. When Simon finally drew his lips away from Yishana’s, she lay there gasping, a slight sheen of perspiration on her body.

“You dare!” she said.

“I think Mistress, you fear to free me from these rings. You fear what you might feel if you had a man in your furs that could do more than simply kiss you. I think you fear that you might in the end lose control, and like it.”

“I am Yishana!”

“And Yishana is a woman.”

“Release me!” she said as a trace of panic seemed to course through her body.

In an instant Simon did so. He moved away from her body on the couch and waited silently as she sought to compose herself. I made to relieve the tension by enquiring whether the mistress required anything.

“No, Emma, I do not.” She sat up on the couch and regarded us both. “I concede you are physically strong, Simon, stronger than I am. But strength takes many forms. My strength comes from the blessing of the Goddess. She guides my bloody hand as I cut a swathe through the Black Coast.” She ran her hands through her hair and began to twist and gather that hair back into a long braid. Without being asked I moved to her side and began to assist. On deck, away from her cabin, Yishana would always wear her hair like that.

It was the ninth morning since the wind had dropped and left our ship becalmed in the doldrums. But this morning Yishana's sorcerer would do something about it.

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Yishana came down on to the main deck, accompanied by Kerim Shah. The Askaris formed a semi circle before her, expectation riding high in their expressions, for they knew that the lack of wind could afflict the vessel for up to a month. Kerim Shah was the first to speak.

“The trade wind of the Thassa has fallen silent, for Nakeisha has turned her face away from the surface of the world. For days now we have remained still, but no more. Today we invoke the Goddess in all her winged glory to return to us the life giving winds. Behold – the Ubara Yishana, the Avatar incarnate of the Goddess. Our blessed one.”

Yishana stood in her ankle length robe of silk, her hands clasped as if in prayer, palms together before her stomach, her head held high. Kerim Shah placed sticks of wood entwined with dried herbs onto a charcoal brazier until the herbs began to burn. Then, lifting this length of stick away from the heat, he held it before Yishana’s face, allowing her to breathe in the fumes. Even from where I stood I could sense that the herbs were some form of potent drug, not dissimilar to high grade cannabis resin. As Yishana breathed in the smoke her eyes began to dilate – a sure sign that the narcotic was taking hold. It was the drug that Kerim Shah gave her before each battle on the High Seas and I now began to understand something of the duality of Yishana. She was in effect two people – the woman with mortal limitations who covered herself up in silk gowns, and the savage battle crazed Yishana who stripped to a breech cloth and followed her men over the sea rails of enemy vessels to fight and kill with a savage fervour that would surprise even Brinn. The drug was potent and gave her courage and resilience in the face of what might be mind numbing terror for most women. I watched as Yishana’s face seemed to change and with the rush of euphoria now evident from the smoking branch, Yishana pulled at the slip knot of her robe and cast it from her body. She stood there now in just the breach cloth, throwing her arms up into the air in triumph to the resounding cheers and shield thumping of her men.

“Nakeisha! Nakeisha! It is I, Yishana, your chosen avatar! Come to us now, I beseech you, come to us in our hour of need! Direct your face once more from the heavens and empower us with the life giving wind! Let me be your spear to cut a swathe through our enemies in Cos! Let me be the terror of the Thassa! Let me be the knife in the darkness, the stalker on the threshold, the whisperer of secrets, the maker of widows in hated, despised Telnus!” 

I’m not sure what I was expecting. Some smoke and mirrors perhaps to give the crew some courage and reassurance in the face of adversity that has natural enough causes. It was obviously a theatrical spectacle, but I couldn’t understand what purpose it might serve beyond prolonging what little hope they had.

But then I saw the birds. A handful at first, then a dozen, then twenty, then fifty and then in their hundreds they came, sea birds of every description, summoned apparently by the power of Kerim Shah’s sorcery and Yishana's divinity to circle and hover above the Larl. Their winged bodies began to blacken the top most masts and then as Yishana called out to them in the name of her Goddess, they came down to her, landing lightly on her shoulders, her arms, her outstretched hands, and those that couldn’t simply flew about her body in tribute forming flight patterns that were unnatural. I was astonished. I glanced back at Kerim Shah and saw him smile as across the deck the Askaris bent their knees as one before Yishana's apparent mastery of the creatures of the air.

Together they called out her name repeatedly, paying her homage.

“Yishana al Ghul! Yishana al Ghul! Yishana al Ghul!” They smote the decks with their fists and gazed in admiration as she walked barefoot through their ranks, sea birds of all kinds dropping down now onto her shoulders and outstretched arms, her drug glazed eyes seeming to radiate fire as she gazed with satisfaction upon her warriors.

“Yes! I am Yishana al Ghul – the dark hand of vengeance!” she screamed in a voice the scared the shit out of me. “See me and despair, men and women of Cos!”

I was beginning to understand how all this worked, how Yishana maintained control over a crew composed of such strong, virile men, but I was still puzzled for it seemed to me that as far as Yishana was concerned this was no trick or subterfuge.

She believed in herself.

She believed in herself completely.

I gazed back at Kerim Shah as he stood there seeming to nod in satisfaction as over a hundred men worshipped their Goddess.

Three hours later the trade winds returned and our flat sails began to respond from their slumber. The Goddess, it seems, had chosen to hear the prayers of her chosen one.

“It's coincidence of course,” said Simon as we stood near the starboard rail observing the build up of the wind. “Or perhaps Kerim Shah had noticed some change in the swell of the sea, meaning the wind was coming, and he decided now would be a good time for his magic.”

“And the birds?” I said. “That wasn't normal.”

“No, it wasn't. I can see how Yishana maintains control over superstitious people though. It was a good show.”

“One of the Askaris told me that he once saw Kerim Shah kill a warrior from Cos on the deck of the ship simply by looking at him. His blood began to run from every orifice until he literally collapsed screaming from loss of blood. I'm not talking about a bloodied nose, I'm talking about blood running from his ears, mouth, nose, even his ass and penis like it was being squeezed out of a toothpaste tube.”

“Neither of us actually saw it though, Emma,” said Simon, “so it's just hearsay. That's how superstition works. The Askari you talked to probably didn't even see it either, he spoke to someone who knew someone and so on. But by now he may have convinced himself that he actually was there too when it supposedly happened. Humans have a capacity for self delusion on a grand scale. That's why we have religion.”

“I suppose.” Like Simon I knew there was no such thing as magic. “That business this morning, Simon.” I regarded him as I ran a hand through my wind swept hair as I leaned against the sea rail. “I'll warn you again that you're playing a very dangerous game with our mistress. She could turn on you without any warning. You go too far.”

“Are you jealous, Emma?” asked Simon as he regarded my semi-naked body that he was no longer permitted to so much as touch.

“Jealous?”

“Jealous that I am growing in favour in Yishana's bed chamber? She is beginning to find me exciting, I think.”

I sneered. “You're a silk slave, Simon. Don't make the mistake of thinking that means much. She chains you to her bed and makes you wear this...” I reached forward with my hand, lifted the scrap of cloth about his groin and touched the small chain the secured the foreskin of his penis. He flinched at that touch as his penis tried to grow hard. “Is it uncomfortable every time you are near a woman?” I asked sweetly.

“Yes,” said Simon through gritted teeth. “You know it is, kajira.”

“Oh, how terrible it must be, to be so tempted, to be surrounded by so much temptation, and to merely feel discomfort rather than blissful pleasure.” I stroked his foreskin again as it strained to rise.

“You're a bitch, Emma,” said Simon.

“And you're the man who betrayed my friendship and took away any chance of me ever seeing my children again. I think I have every right to speak to you like this.”

“I'll be free again,” said Simon. “And I will remember these words.”

“Pretty little silk slave,” I said sweetly as I walked away, perhaps adding a little sensual wiggle to my step as I did.

I was feeding the captive Cosian women in the afternoon when Kerim Shah found me. The ladies Amelia and Tamaya would be required to eat on all fours now without using their hands when bowls were placed before them. They were kept naked, not even permitted the simple white breach cloth that the ship girls wore knotted about their waists to reinforced in their minds that they were the lowest girls on board the Larl. At first of course they refused to eat like this and I was required to lay about their exposed thighs with the switch. I didn't take any pleasure from doing so, except of course maybe a little pleasure because they had recently been free women. I have suffered enough at the hands of free women in my time on Gor to find my sympathy for their plight when they fall to capture knots somewhat muted at best. These two ladies at least now had a little inkling into what it must be like to be kajira.

I watched them lap at their bowls with their heads down and their buttocks raised as they knelt. If their buttocks weren't raised sufficiently I need only tap those sun kissed flanks with the tip of the switch to see them suddenly perk up as required.

The ladies were required to call me and all the ship girls mistress. I liked that. These Cosian free women didn't seem haughty any more.

The Lady Saffia was accorded better treatment. In the morning and early evening I, or one of the other ship slaves, would bring her better food of the standard eaten by the men on the Larl. This would often be an oats based porridge of sorts mixed with fruit and biscuits. There would also be dried cured meat, often in sausage form, which would be sliced and offered as a side dish. She would eat this in the shade, still dressed in her shortened gown, often observing the more animal like feeding of her former friends.

“Look at the way they feed,” said the Lady Saffia one day as she delicately placed a thin slice of preserved sausage to her mouth. “Like beasts.”

“Like slaves, Mistress,” I said, for we were told she should still be addressed that way until her ransom was paid.

“I suppose they will be made slaves when we reach land fall?”

“I think so, Mistress,” I replied as I served her some watered down ka-la-na wine.

“But I will not be?” she enquired by way of reassurance.

“I believe not, Mistress, provided your ransom is met.”

“My ransom will be met,” she said with satisfaction. “It will be a large ransom of course, for I am worth a fortune, possibly dozens of fortunes, to my beloved, Captain Matias Thiago Alejandra of Telnus, Third Sword to the city and Sea Admiral of the Second Fleet of Cos. He shall deliver chests of gold many times my body weight provided I am unharmed.”

“That is an impressive ransom, Mistress,” I said as I knelt and offered her the wine goblet.

“But of course! I am regarded as the flower of Telnus – the city would despair if I was lost.”

I think perhaps the mistress overstated her value to the city, but then for all I knew Cosians really did value her as some sort of noble free woman. She was certainly beautiful – that much was clear now that she was forced to live without her veils. Maybe she was thought of as the Helen of Troy of Telnus? Anything was possible on this alien world.

Except magic of course.

There is no magic. 

“Kneel, kajira,” Kerim Shah had said and of course I knelt. I knelt as a pleasure slave with my thighs spread before the shaven headed master.

“A girl is at your service, Master,” I said as I waited a further command. I did not think he would order me to his use. Since joining the slave coffle on board the Larl I had never actually seen Kerim Shah use any of the girls. Of if he had, he must be very discrete. It was strange because men on Gor do not deny themselves the ample pleasures to be taken from the bodies of slave girls. Sex is important to Gorean men and I couldn't off hand think of any other man who had seemed to be celibate.

“We spoke some weeks ago,” said Kerim Shah, referring of course to the conversation in his cabin relating to Yishana. “How is your mistress of late?”

“Well, Master. She enjoys good health and seems happy.” I thought back to the events of this morning when she had allowed Simon to take hold of her wrists. I wasn't sure I should mention that. Although Simon was hateful in many ways, I didn't want Kerim Shah to feed him to the sea sharks.

“And of her use of the kajirus in the furs of her couch?” enquired Kerim Shah. His eyes were hawk like and studied my expression.

“It continues, Master. She chains both of us to her couch. I am her favourite though. I know how to give her pleasure. The kajirus, Simon, is clumsy and knows nothing about pleasing a free woman. He is used to simply taking his pleasure from slaves.”

It is widely known that a free woman is very different from a slave in the bed chamber and must be handled differently by men. The act of free companionship for example, when a woman permits herself to lie with a man, is very different from congress between a master and a kajira. The free woman during sexual congress is commonly still clothed, lightly robed as she lies under covers on the couch. It is made clear that she is only to be touched under the covers themselves, and that the man should only touch her light gown and not for example thrust the fabric high above her thighs, perhaps up past her waist, even perhaps above her breasts to permit access to her naked body. No, if she is to be caressed, the caressing takes place on her clothed body. Furthermore it would be inappropriate for the man to, for example, hold the free woman's wrists, or tell her to pose in any way. Only when penetration is to take place does the free woman awkwardly raise the hem of her thin gown up around her hips to permit the man to carefully and gently enter her. The lights should be dimmed or perhaps extinguished long before this happens and the sheets should still be in place of course. The free woman will rarely speak or respond to the act of penetration and she will expect her companion to satisfy his urges succinctly rather than drag the act of intercourse out for too long. She will make clear before hand that the physicality will be embarrassing for her and that the man should hurry it where possible. Perhaps she may even suggest he withdraws before climaxing so that she is spared the ructions of his orgasm. Afterwards of course they may lie there together in post coital bliss, tenderly holding hands while the woman discusses how her day has been. She will permit her companion to kiss her – something that may be considered unseemly during the act of sexual congress itself when the man is in danger of becoming carried away by his primal urges – and she may, once he is relaxed and in a sedate mood gently scold him for any small perceived failings she has witnessed in his character over the last few days. She will assure him that they will perhaps find time to enjoy an intimacy again in the near future.

Needless to say, when a man uses a slave it is somewhat different. This may explain why men on the whole prefer to spend time with slave girls.

“And yet,” said Kerim Shah, “despite this lack of skill, the kajirus continues to share the Ubara's couch at night.”

“I think she enjoys tormenting him, Master. It is a game she likes to play. He is helpless of course, and very much in awe of her.”

“Hmm.” Kerim Shah regarded me closely. “He does not ever attempt to handle her as he might handle a slave?”

“Of course not, Master. The mistress would not permit that. She would take a sleen knife to him instantly.”

“I see.” I'm not sure Kerim Shah completely believed me, but he seemed satisfied that the situation was broadly under control. “You understand she is no ordinary woman?'

“Oh yes, Master,” I said.

“And that when the spirit of the Goddess inhabits her mortal shell, Yishana transcends the mundane world of flesh and blood and ascends to something close to divine?”

“Yes, Master. As you say, she is no ordinary woman.”

“She cannot be distracted by feminine urges. They would not be appropriate for one such as her.”

“I am sure Master is right,” I said.

I did not relish these private conversations with the grim, forbidding figure of Kerim Shah. Of all the people I had met on Gor, he seemed the hardest to read. Normally men give themselves away by their desires and lusts, but Kerim Shah seemed to be a man above such things. If he was tempted by anything in his spartan existence I was hard pressed to see what that might be.

Later that day the Larl berthed in a sheltered harbour of sorts formed by a u-shaped inlet on a remote island. Kerim Shah cast a complicated hour long conjuration to shield the harbour inlet from prying eyes out to sea, which in theory meant no one would find us. As far as spells went this one was hard to disprove so long as no one happened to sail past and actually see us. By default if no one was there, then no one saw us, which meant to this superstitious crew that the spell had worked.

The Askaris enjoyed some down time diving into the sparkling clear water in the harbour inlet, swimming, laughing and racing one another through the soft waves. Soon they grew bored of this and called up to the deck for slaves to jump in the water with them. Naomi picked out a handful of black skinned beauties and nodded for them to strip off their white breach cloths and swim with the men. The men passed the girls around in the water, playing and caressing them, kissing them deeply as they trod water together. A couple of the askaris seemed skilful enough to actually penetrate the girls as they floated in the shadow of the ship's hull.

Yishana watched all this from the stern deck and smiled as one or two of the men hailed her from the water.

“Yishana al Ghul!” cried one of the men as he looked up from his slave girl.

“Askari al Ghul!” she shouted back, her face open with a broad smile as she laughed and clung to the rail urging them on. “kufurahia mtumwa wako!” she shouted, which roughly translates as 'enjoy your slave girl'. And enjoy them they did.

The mistress seemed genuinely happy to see her men having fun, and unlike the Gorean free women of the central cities she was not at all embarrassed by the sight of men taking their pleasure with women. It was as if she didn't see herself the same as others of her sex and so there was really no comparison to make.

I felt rather than saw Tijani stand close to me as I peered over the rail. “You don't swim?” he asked.

“I do swim, Master,” I said, “but I'm afraid of sharks.”

“There are no sharks here. The reef keeps them away, that and the enchantments of the sorcerer.”

“You'll forgive me if that last bit isn't quite as reassuring as it might be,” I said as I leaned over the thick wooden rail. I felt his strong powerful hands on my hips as he leaned his body into mine and breathed the scent of jasmine in my hair. “Master wants me?” I said without looking around as his hands stoked my flanks.

“Yes,” he said. He turned me round and motioned towards the other side of the ship where there was bedding of spare sail cloth. He led me by my hand while the Askaris splashed and frolicked in the harbour waters. I leaned forward and kissed him on the tips of my toes, feeling the roughness of his beard growth, feeling his hands now pulling the thin strip of fabric from my hips. I felt him press hard against my belly and I knew he was already aroused enough for intercourse.

He allowed me to slip from his grip and kneel as I slid his own breach cloth down from around his hips. I placed my mouth to his sex and did what I had been trained to do in the slave pens of Banu Hashim. Tijani groaned in deep pleasure as I prepared him to enter me, prolonging the touch of my lips and tongue to drive him close to the point where he might simply throw me onto my back and part my legs with a savagery that I loved in men.

And yes, I found myself thrust onto my back, my thighs quickly parted as I was mounted by a man who was now oblivious to anything else. He rode me, pressing sharp kisses to my mouth as he seized my wrists and thrust them against the sail cloth above my head. It was glorious and I did not miss being in the water in the slightest.

I lay there curled next to his powerful body afterwards, relishing the orgasm he had permitted me in the throes of his own pleasure. Tijani was a fierce but generous lover and I did not mind his occasional use of me during the day when I was not needed by the Ubara. I had feared him originally, because of the way I had teased him on the Carcassonne, but it turned out he was not a petty or cruel man. I felt his fingers touch and stroke the steel of my collar as I lay there, my eyes half closed in bliss.

“Slave girl,” he said with a grin.

“Mmm, slave girl,” I said as I pressed my face to his chest.

He put me to use again soon after and it wasn't until the sun began to slowly sink over the horizon before I was released and permitted to rejoin the other girls who were climbing back onto the deck of the Larl, their black bodies wet and glistening.

Naomi observed me tying the strip of white rep cloth back about my hips. She nodded as she saw the smile on my face and allowed me some time to enjoy the post sexual come down before assigning me chores for the evening.

That night I knelt and listened to the drumming sounds as several of the Askaris beat out the complex rhythms of the jungle interior. Yishana was naked under the light of the moons of Gor and the lanterns strung up along the sides of the deck, and she was dancing for her men, but not the erotic sensual dances of a slave girl, but rather wild savage, beast like dances as she seemed to be possessed by tribal animals, spitting, hissing, roaring, throwing herself at men who watched and tearing claw marks across their skin as she then wrenched herself free. No man dared to try and use her as they would use a slave. And I think judging from her glazed eyes, if any man tried, she would drive her finger nails through his eyes and damn the consequences. The men sang in their native dialect, songs of love, of war, of hunting, none of which I understood as I only understood common Gorean.

The men feasted and drank and Yishana threw herself around the deck like a prowling Larl, seizing jugs of ka-la-na from the men and pouring the drink into and around her mouth and over her breasts as she laughed. She would snarl at them as she drank and then seize a black skinned slave girl and with an ululating cry to the heavens above thrust the slave, squealing, into the arms of the man and snarl that he should use her there and then on the deck. She would laugh and clap her hands in time to the thrusts as she prowled around the copulating couple, urging them on.

But no man dared touch her.

It was the tribal animal dance of Yishana al Ghul.

And through all of this Kerim Shah, her sorcerer, stood watching from the side, his features and expression impossible to read. He watched the men, almost daring one of them to touch the Ubara inappropriately, and perhaps he stood ready to slay instantly any man who did so with his magic.

“Yishana al Ghul!” the men sang.

“Askari al Ghul!” she sang back.

“Yishana al Ghul!”

“Askari al Ghul!”

The Cosian Lady, Saffia Luna Josefina Alejandra of Telnus, had sensibly retired to her small kennel-like house built for her on the deck and there she hid herself from the debauchery and savage carousing that took place on the Larl. I had seen her take refuge there when the drumming began, the Lady timidly sliding the restraining bolt in place on the cage door and securing it with her padlock. The Lady was permitted to lock herself in her box with the padlock whenever she wished, or not at all, depending on her preferences; though to not do so was risky bearing in mind the number of drunk men on board; but she was not permitted to have the key. In other words if she chose to secure herself in her six feet by four feet by four feet kennel box for the night, she would be unable to leave it until the morning when Naomi would arrive to open the cage door. In consideration of this she had been provided with a toilet pan, though if she used it she would share the box with it until morning.

The other Cosian ladies were helping with the revelries by being passed from man to man during the drinking for their use. They had long since passed the point of screaming and were now discovering their natural slave reflexes through constant practice. From where she crouched in her small box, the Lady Saffia scowled at her former friends as they set about pleasing the men onboard the Larl. I saw her mouth curl around the single word 'sluts' as she stared at her former friends.

I felt Tijani sit cross legged next to me in the semi-darkness. He gave me a small wooden cup of ka-la-na and told me I could drink from it.

“Thank you, Master,” I said as I watched the savage animal dance of Yishana al Ghul on the deck of her corsair ship.

“We will be at the Bastion in a week or so,” he said.

“The Bastion?” I had heard it mentioned in passing but I didn't know what it was or indeed where it was. The Thassa was wide as far as the eye could see and wider still beyond, and the vastness of the ocean concealed many places unmarked on the maps I had seen in the Sardar. Truly I had little idea where we were at any particular time, though it was clear that the Larl sailed pre-disposed routes along the Black Coast.

“It is a place where captives may be ransomed and exchanged, and slaves bought and sold,” he said. “You will understand when we get there. The Ubara is well known to the man who commands the Bastion. They often do business together. It will be interesting to see it first hand.”

“May I speak, Master,” I said as I sipped the wine.

“Yes.” I felt his hand rest on my thigh. He liked to touch me as we talked, and I liked to be touched, so the arrangement suited us both.

“Do you believe that the Ubara is a divine instrument of the Gods?” I asked.

“Of course. I never doubt it for a moment,” said Tijani with the sort of smile and wink that told me he shared the exact same scepticism I had.

“She is beautiful, isn't she?” I said as I snuggled next to him, the cup of wine in my hands as he caressed me.

“Yes,” said Tijani. He gazed at her dancing form with a slow burning hunger. “I think she is very beautiful indeed.”