Dunes of Gor Chapter One

Chapter One: The Garden of Eternal Respite

“A flower grows from beneath a blanket, of fine and purest white. It reaches toward the sun for warmth, for heat and for the light. My love for you grows stronger still, despite the surrounding cold. My heart is yours, bartered gone, for yours has it been sold. Its petals shine from morning dew, its stem grows stiff and strong. It stands strong through the freezing cold; it stands the winter long. I long for you, for your soft touch, I miss the way you smile. The longer that we stay apart, the longer every mile. The flower stretches through the snow, it reaches toward the sun. And now without you the colour is gone…”


“He really is rather tedious, isn’t he?” whispered the Lady Serafina Adamaris Shahzad to her younger sister, Jaleesa, as they sat together in the shade of the beautiful walled Andalusian style garden, listening to the young Torian man read his poem of undying love and devotion.

“He wrote it especially for you, you know,” said Jaleesa as she sipped a cool sherbet drink that had been prepared by one of the young slave girls who served in her father’s sprawling house and grounds in Tor. “I saw his father talking to our father yesterday. I think they want you to free companion him. His father is a rich merchant.”

“Why does he keep squinting like that?” asked Serafina.

“I think he has a bad eye from childhood.”

“Well I’m not free companioning anyone with a bad eye. I’m Serafina Adamaris Shahzad! The most beautiful woman in all of Tor!”

“Second most beautiful…” said Jaleesa with a smirk.

“…Spring is here and growth abounds as you and I are one. We are together, we are in love, the snow for now is done. I see the future, in dreams I have, of our life, long and true. I see the times where all I need are comforting words from you…”

“Is there much more of this?” whispered Serafina. “He seems to have a lot of pages in his hand.”

“Twelve. I heard him tell father this morning.”

“…I see the time when winter comes as winter tends to do…”

“Thank you! That’s enough!” Serafina stood up, and as she did so two of the house slaves knelt quickly before her in case she needed anything. “Your poetry is tedious and it is giving me a headache. In fact you’re tedious as well. Please go away now.”

“But…” the young man looked down at the pages of parchment in his hands. “I love you, Lady Serafina Adamaris Shahzad, for you are my sun and my moon and…”

“Away!” Serafina waved her hand dismissively. “This is an absolute waste of a warm summer’s afternoon.”

“I brought you presents…” The young man seemed very distraught.

“Did you say presents?” Serafina paused and regarded him again. Jaleesa grinned, knowing what this meant.

“Soft silks, and jewellery and amber and frankincense and delicate dancing puppets from the eastern markets that skip and gambol, and a silver broach with our two names engraved upon it and…”

“Any ka-la-na?”

“No… no wine…” he frowned. “The Holy books do not speak well of women who succumb to the intoxicating effects of fermented fruits and…”

“No ka-la-na…” Serafina shrugged her shoulders in the direction of her sister.

“She likes wine,” said Jaleesa to the young man.

“But the juice of the grape tree is surely forbidden to women of virtue and chastity and…”

“Oh do be quiet.” Serafina turned her back on him. “I’m not going to free companion you, no matter who your father is or how important he might be, so you may as well go now. I’ll have a slave show you the way out.”

A few minutes later as the sisters walked through the lush olive groves, Jaleesa sent the two slave girls away with a wave of her hand. She knew for a fact that the sweetly collared little slaves reported back to father every week and there were some things she spoke of that she didn’t want father to hear.

“You’re very rude to your suitors, sister.”

“So?” Serafina shrugged again and paused by a rockery where an elegant fountain trickled water around the garden. “He was just a man. I enjoy teasing men and disappointing them. He was weak – he deserved that.”

“Not all men are weak.”

“No… not all men…” Serafina paused awhile by a low wall that overlooked the olive grove below. A team of slaves were working hard in the heat of the early afternoon, picking the crop under the watchful eye of two overseers and a man who occupied the role of the Slave Master of the House of Shahzad: a tall, tanned, heavily muscled man called Saijid. This afternoon he was stripped to the waist, wearing just a pair of white pantaloons, sweat glistening on his bronzed skin as he directed the slaves with words of encouragement or sometimes the crack of a whip. He had oiled ringlets of dark black hair and a closely cropped beard and as she did each and every day, Serafina found herself staring avidly at the man. He was employed by her father, Daan Shahzad - a man who held the important title of Khuda, within Tor. Saijid had been on the estate for three years in the capacity of Slave Master. Most of the slaves in his coffle were girls, as the labour of picking olives did not require the manual strength of men. The male slaves toiled much harder elsewhere. Each girl was clad in a clean, short, white tunic of simple cotton. They wore their hair bound with ribbons in a single long tail so that it would not interfere with their work. Their bare limbs were golden brown from working every day in the sun and they looked beautiful.

“You’re watching Saijid again, sister…”

“So?” Serafina blushed a little. “So what?”

“I think you like him.”

“He’s just common born. No caste to speak of.”

“But you like him, yes?”

“Of course not!” Serafina played with a long lock of her hair that dangled down the side of her face, peeking out audaciously from her modest hijab. Like her sister she wore layers of head covering and a modest veil over the lower half of her features. Their father insisted his daughters should be decently dressed when speaking to anyone not of the family.

The sisters were dressed in similar clothes. Each girl wore a chalwar: baggy pantaloons, loose fitting in the waist and billowing at the ankle; gathered at the waist and ankle by pretty ribbon ties. They also each wore a choli: a bare midriff fitted blouse and over that a Gallabiya: a full length dress of expensive silk that reached to just below their wrists and ankles. The Gallabiya was loosely belted at the hips with a broad sash, and over the dress was worn yet another garment: a Thobe Al Nasha-ar: a large, somewhat sheer rectangular piece of fabric, with a vertical centre panel down the front of the garment that boasted particularly heavy embroidery. The arm openings on the sleeves were very large. Since they were walking outside they had exchanged their soft house slippers for half boots.

Serafina was 21 years old and her sister Jaleesa had just turned 19. They were both of an age to be interested in men.

“He is strong,” said Serafina quietly.

“Yes, I imagine he is.” Jaleesa watched the Slave Master uncoil his whip and drag it along the ground close to a slave girl who was working slower than her sisters. She took the subtle hint and redoubled her efforts, working quicker now.

As the sisters watched, a very pretty slave girl called Najina approached Saijid. From this distance neither girl could hear what was being said, but the girl was obviously a favourite of the man. They stood there, flirting for a moment, and then the handsome Saijid laughed and slapped the girl playfully on her ass. She squealed, but obviously enjoyed the attention.

“Look at that slut,” said Serafina angrily. “She should be working, not flirting with Saijid!”

“She has been working. Look.” Jaleesa pointed to the three heavily laden baskets of olives that stood nearby. Most of the other girls had so far only managed to collect two.

“Not hard enough. Come.” Serafina passed through an archway in the wall and descended the gentle slope to the olive grove below. Jaleesa followed, knowing that her sister had a foul mood from time to time when it came to pretty slaves who flirted with Saijid.

“Gracious Ladies.” Saijid bowed politely in greeting as the young daughters of his employer approached. Every slave girl immediately stopped whatever she was doing and knelt quickly instead, knees together of course, and heads bowed low.

“Saijid Akbar: Master of Slaves.” Serafina held out her right hand with the tips of her fingers lifted slightly towards the Slave Master. As a man holding managerial rank and position in the Shahzad employ, he was permitted to lightly touch the tips of Serafina’s fingers with his closed lips. He did so carefully, knowing that if he dared anything as brazen as parting his lips when he kissed the girl’s fingers he would have his lips cut from his face as punishment. He lowered Serafina’s hand as soon as he had offered greeting. “May the thousand blessings of the desert spirits be upon you, most gracious Lady.”

“And may they watch over and guide you too, Saijid Akbar.”

Having greeted the eldest daughter first, as was customary, Saijid also took the tips of Jaleesa’s fingers to his closed lips too.

“Who is that slave?” Serafina gestured in the direction of the pretty, long legged girl.

“Her name is Najina, oh most blessed lady.”

“Najina.” Serafina spoke the name as if it was something distasteful. “She jostled me this morning after breakfast. I am not pleased.”

Saijid frowned. He knew Serafina’s moods and knew how angry she could be for no apparent reason. “Then tonight the girl will go without food and she shall sleep without a blanket in her pen.”

“Not good enough.” Serafina glared at the girl, who of course had done no such thing as bump into her earlier that day. The girl however knew better than to argue with the Mistress. “Place her in the punishment Box for the remainder of the day.”

Saijid began to protest. “Gracious Lady, that surely is not…”

“Are you in dispute with me, Saijid Akbar? Do you oppose my will in this matter?”

“No, of course not, but the girl is young and the Box is a punishment reserved for…”

“The Box. All day and now all night since you think the sanctity of my person to be a trivial matter, Saijid Akbar.”

“As you command it, oh merciful Lady, so shall it be done.” He bowed again as Serafina gathered up her skirts and walked away.

Saijid looked at the trembling slave girl. He was not happy. The box was a cramped and black container that lay in the direct heat of the sun. A slave placed inside the box could not stand but could only crouch in growing discomfort as the hours slowly ticked by. The temperature inside the box was extreme and he had known slaves to pass out before night fell. Any slave who remained in it until morning was usually too sore to work again for the next couple of days. It was a harsh punishment and usually reserved for the most obstinate of slaves. Few slaves ever caused offence a second time after 24 hours in the box.

“I’m sorry, little one,” he said as he stroked her head. “When the Mistress isn’t around I shall try to bring you water.”

The girl nodded but knew that the next 18 hours were going to be painful.