Dunes of Gor Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven: The Mazad

Serafina could hear the crack of the whip on the auction block and the scream of a girl responding to it. She trembled where she kneeled on some sawdust inside a canvas tent erected to the rear of the Mazad courtyard where the twice weekly auctions were held. She was naked, and like the other girls waiting to be auctioned, she was hooded. Inside the foul smelling leather hood, which still had the taint of some other’ girl’s dried vomit, her breathing felt stale and muffled. The hood was loose and could easily be slipped off, but she feared doing so because a man would immediately whip her and then replace the hood. She felt soiled because ten ehn ago she had released some urine between her legs when the fear had grown too much for her. Other girls had done the same and now the space behind the auction block had the acidic smell of many girls wetting themselves. Flies buzzed around, attracted by the stench. 

Somewhere nearby would be her younger sister, Jaleesa, but as she was hooded, Serafina had no idea where in the line she might be. For all she knew Jaleesa was ahead of her or behind her, or perhaps even the girl be auctioned right now. As each auction ended, another girl was called by the number which was written on her right breast in a wax pen. She would be lifted up onto her feet, the hood removed and then the slaver would apply a wet sponge between her thighs if it looked like she had peed herself in fear. The girl would then be pushed up a small flight of wooden steps which would take her up onto the stage facing a market square now teeming with bidders and casual spectators. The stages was illuminated by burning torches set along both sides making the goods on display visible but also making it hard, if not impossible, for a girl to see the men who were bidding on her. If Ghadir was there in the crowd, with the long scarf of a Bedouin tribesman obscuring his collar and features, Serafina would not be able to see him.

She couldn’t think straight. Fear of being bought and enslaved turned her guts to a churning slow boil of anxiety. She felt she might actually throw up at any time without warning, and her mind was incapable of holding onto a single coherent thought. She felt like she had tunnel vision, that everything around her was a blurred out echo. She was going to be pushed up onto the auction block, put through her paces, and then men would bid on her.

Serafina felt like she was going to faint. A couple of girls actually had, and they had been doused with brackish water to wake them up. Her body was trembling from the tips of her toes to the chattering of her mouth. She could hardly breathe. 

“Number fifteen,” cried a man standing by the foot of the stairs. Was Serafina number fifteen? She didn’t know. She steeled herself for the touch of a hand that would pull her up but it didn’t come. Instead there was a startled cry somewhere to the left of her, and number fifteen was picked out from the line of girls. Serafina dug the nails of her fingers into the soft palms of her hands and cried under her hood. She wanted to go home, to be in bed, away from all of this. Number fifteen would now be led up the stairs and on to the auction block, the hood pulled from her head. She would see the inky darkness in front of her and smell the warm jasmine scented air of Tor as she would be prodded and coerced by the slaver’s whip.

Quarter of an ehn went by. 

“Number five,” said the man with the gruff voice and this time Serafina felt a hand lift her up by her left elbow. She jumped to the sudden touch, and within moments felt the stale leather hood pulled from her head. The slaver stood in front of her with a wet sponge and he began to clean between Serafina’s thighs, smelling the urine that she had released in fear. The girl saw now for the first time, the line of slaves kneeling either side of her, all hooded and their identities obscured. Like her they all had numbers written on their right breasts, but there was no way of telling which one, if any, was Jaleesa. She wasn’t familiar enough with her sister’s naked body to identify it when presented with a line of twenty or so naked women. And of course it was possible that Jaleesa had already been led out of the tent and put up for auction. Maybe even now she was kneeling in the purchase tent, a receipt tag clipped to her collar, waiting for her new master to claim her. That master would almost certainly be Ghadir, if Jaleesa had been the first on the block, for Ghadir would have had enough money to buy the girl. Whether he would still have funds to buy the second sister was another matter. But Serafina had no idea whether she was the first or second girl to be led out onto the auction block. One of these girls here might still be her sister. There was just no way of knowing.

Ghadir had 56 copper tarsks from the purses of the Shahzad sisters, and perhaps a tarsk or two entrusted to him by Daan Shahzad for small expenses while he was in the market place. Would it be enough to buy both girls? It had to be, for the alternative was unthinkable.

Serafina wore a slave collar now. She had cried when it had been placed and locked about her throat. Ghadir had told her this would happen, but assured her that when he purchased her, it would be swiftly removed. It felt strange that Serafina had to depend so much now on Ghadir’s help. He was the only man who could save them both from genuine slavery. The slaver walked Serafina briskly through the mouth of the tent and out into the small open space behind the Mazad auction platform. 

“What was your name?” asked the man as he freed her wrists. 

“Tupa,” said Serafina, tearfully. “I was called Tupa.” 

“We shall see. That will be down to the whims of your new master when he buys you. Tonight you are simply ‘five’. That is your name, and your only name. You will respond to it and no other. Who are you?”

“Five, Master,” said Serafina as she rubbed her sore wrists.

Serafina could hear the auctioneer speaking on the platform above her. It had a back screen of a frame with ornate curtains, through which she would emerge. 

“Stand still,” said the slaver’s assistant. He placed a small, ridiculous looking veil across Serafina’s lower face. It was a transparent wisp of silk and it hooked in place with tiny gilded chains around her ears. Through the veil her lips seemed mysterious and erotic. The man knew what its effect would be on the crowd. He also fastened a belly chain around her shapely hips, with several gilded coins dangling from it. Other than those items, and of course the bell anklet, Serafina was naked. “You will climb the steps, emerge through the curtains and walk towards the auctioneer,” said the man as he quickly brushed her hair, drawing out tangles and giving it some volume. “He will then tell you to walk to the front of the stage and present yourself to the men below. Stand at one edge of the front with a hand on your left hip and the weight of your body on the ball of the other foot. Gaze down at them and smile. If you do not smile you will be whipped. Then, on command, pirouette slowly and gracefully on the ball of that foot and walk along the front of the stage to take position at the other edge, again posing with one hand on your hip and a smile on your face. The auctioneer will be talking about you as you walk. He will tell you to lift your arms, crossing your wrists high above your head. He will tell you to turn slowly on the spot while in that position, showing off your raised breasts, your hips, your thighs, your ass. Keep smiling. Gaze down at where the men are bidding. You will not be able to make them out but they will see your eyes and they will be making eye contact with you. You will be ordered to your knees at some point. You will kneel in nadu and the auctioneer will tell you to lift your hands to your hair and play with it. Pout. Wiggle your breasts, gyrate boldly as you kneel. Then lean forward, palms on the decking, with your weight there, raise your ass, shake your head so that lovely mane falls around your shoulders. Then crawl to the very edge of the stage and look desperately down towards the men with undisguised need. They will reach out and touch you. Let them. Encourage them. Cry out piteously with need.”

Serafina looked pale and terrified as these things were explained to her.

“I… I don’t think I can…”

“If you prove reluctant at any of these things, the auctioneer will whip you in front of the crowd. His whip will hurt. Do not make him use it.”

Serafina was too stressed now to think clearly. She felt the man take hold of her again and push her up the short set of wooden steps

“Go! They are waiting for you. Up, girl, and then through the curtains. Do as you are told. If you fetch a low price, you will be whipped before you are delivered to your new Master.”

Serafina stumbled on the steps but then reached the curtains. She could hear men shouting on the other side, no doubt calling for the next girl. She felt faint again. Only this morning she had been lying on her soft bed amongst velvet cushions as slave girls brought her breakfast. And now this. She touched the steel collar about her throat and felt like throwing up. But then she was through the curtains, blinking up at the night sky, seeing the stage brightly lit by smouldering torches and lanterns. Beyond the platform was darkness, just the outline of a crowd that cheered as she emerged into view. Ghadir would be in that crowd, but she could not make him out, nor could she make out the features of any single man. There was stamping of feet and more cheering as she stumbled forwards, hearing the loud crack of a whip against the floor. The boards felt rough against her soft bare feet for she no longer wore her elegant slippers. As the whip cracked again, this time close to her feet, Serafina remembered to walk towards one edge of the stage, stand there with a hand on her hip, her weight on her right foot, pose and then turn again to walk across the front of the stage. She felt like she was deep underwater with the drone of the auctioneer detailing her assets to the crowd, nothing more than a hollow sound echoing from somewhere distant. She walked slowly, trying to smile, but felt a form of paralysis in her face muscles as she reached the other corner. She stood there, posing again, her hand once more on her hip. Bids were being called out, but it was just a dull echo. She heard the auctioneer say fifteen as a question. Again she fought back the need to be sick. There was a crack of the whip, hurrying her back, and another crack as she understood she was to kneel and crawl. She sobbed, raising her ass and putting her weight on her forearms. She crawled close to the front of the stage where hands reached up to stroke her hair, to touch her arms and shoulders. Somewhere distantly the auctioneer was talking to her but the words didn’t register.

The sharp whip across her shoulders did register, and then it was as if her ears popped. She screamed from the pain and heard his voice call out a second time, “Knees, I said! On your knees, slut!”

She knelt at the front of the stage in nadu, crying, trying to hold a smile on her face as the men now paused forward to reach up and grip her breasts and thrust their hands between her thighs. The whip cracked again when she seemed stiff and unresponsive and again she screamed. “Tease them,” hissed the auctioneer. Instinct took over and she gyrated her upper body, flaunting her breasts, reaching up with her hands, thrusting her breasts forward to be touched and played with. 

Her left wrist was seized by a man and she was pulled down onto her belly. She leaned over the edge of the stage and felt rough lips force hers apart with a savage kiss. She felt the rough stubble and sour paga breath of a man who had been drinking. She felt a hand knot itself in her hair as she was then turned and rolled on to her back. Hands played with her breasts as she lay there.

And then the hands left her and there was a crack of the whip again. Somewhere she heard the number thirty spoken as a question. The whip brought her back onto her feet and the auctioneer was now behind her, turning her body to face the crowd. His hands caressed her thighs and hip. Those hands moved to lift her breasts, cupping them, and then stroke her nipples. A hand dipped between her thighs and made her squirm and cry out, much to the delight of the men below.

She heard the number forty spoken as a question.

Forty! It was more than her assessment price. Ghadir had 56 copper tarsks! Serafina had no idea whether she was the first to be auctioned or whether her sister had already been sold, but the bid was now forty copper tarsks.

“Dance,” cried the auctioneer, and she danced as the whip cracked to the left of her feet and then the right and then left again. Serafina did not know what she was doing, but she danced instinctively, untrained, but with desperate abandon on that rough wooden floor. 

She heard the words Forty five as a question.

And then as she threw her head back and raised her arms, crossing her wrists above her dark mane of hair, she heard the words fifty as a question.

Fifty copper tarsks! Her eyes were wild with fright. Men were prepared to pay fifty copper tarsks for her!

No! Now it was fifty five! She was almost at Ghadir’s maximum. And still she was being made to perform on the block. The whip cracked across her thighs as she slowed, prompting her to run several steps to the front of the stage and pose there again. And with each step the slave bells jingled, the gilded chain about her hips clinked, and her hair flew about her shoulders like a curtain of silk.

There was just one tarsk left and then Ghadir would not be able to bid again. 

Serafina was held in the grasp of the auctioneer as he called out to the crowd. He thrust her body to the left and the right, showing off in particular the girl’s firm, ripe breasts. Would the honourable masters not wish to bid a single tarsk more? Look at this girl! Imagine the delights they might have when she crawls to their feet!

But no, the crowd it seems had reached their limit. No one was prepared to pay more than fifty five tarsks.

“So be it! Girl five is sold to the Master in…” the man squinted and was told by an assistant down below who had won, “the master in the fourth row for fifty five tarsks!” He threw Serafina to the boards where she lay, trembling in fear, not knowing whether Ghadir had bought her or not. Someone out there in the torch lit darkness had. She scratched at the boards with her nails, feeling heat between her legs where the auctioneer had aroused her with his hands. She had been sold. No matter who had won her in the end, even if it was Ghadir, she had legally been sold on the raised boards of a slave auction. 

“Crawl to the side steps, girl,” said the Auctioneer. “Do not rise. We are through with you now.”