Dunes of Gor Chapter Four

Chapter Four:  A girlish lark!

Serafina was flush with the overconfidence of cosseted, privileged youth, feeling sure that nothing truly bad could ever happen to her. Compared to many of the women she knew in Tor, Serafina had a stubborn and rebellious streak to her personality. She resented the daunting social etiquette that placed such strict conditions on her life. She resented her lack of freedom and sometimes wished she had been born a man.

Well, not really. Why would she want to be a man? Ugh! All hairy and loud. No, she couldn’t really imagine herself as a man. She enjoyed being a woman, soft and pretty, but she wanted the freedoms that a man enjoyed. That was it. Soon she would be free companioned, probably to some man she had no feelings for, and her life would be even stricter. Free companionship meant she would have to be the dutiful companion of a man who could then control every aspect of her waking life from morning to midnight. All the more reason then, to live a little before the jaws of her eventual fate clamped inexorably closed. 

“Are you really, really sure about this?” asked Jaleesa as she hung back from the arch that led into the courtyard at the back of the café. 

“Yes,” sighed Serafina. Really, her sister was such a timid urt at times. “I’m really, really, really sure about this.” She clutched the small brass key in her right hand as she held her sister’s hand with her left. “Don’t be such a startled verr. Stolen ka-la-na tastes even better than bought ka-la-na!” she said brightly. There was an erotic jingle of bells from her left ankle as she shifted her weight on the dusty side street.

Actually, now that she thought about it, wearing the bells was quite exciting in a ‘breaking the rules kind of way’. It made her a rebel! She wouldn’t be the first free woman of course who had taken to the streets of Tor in such a scandalous fashion for a lark, nor would she be the last. In their private residences, slaves wore very little, but on the streets they were expected to wear the black haik that free women wore. Only the sound of the bells would tell them apart. 

“Come on. The coast is clear. Just walk slowly as if we belong here.”

“Well, we can’t exactly walk quickly, can we?” said Jaleesa, referring of course to the regulation length ribbons that tied their ankles together to ensure a graceful feminine stride of short paces. 

“True. Short, graceful steps it is then.” Serafina held her head up high, proudly, in perhaps a very un-slave like way.

The girls crossed over the forbidden threshold, feeling a thrill of doing something naughty as they walked towards the open doorway of the storage room. The slave bells jingled sensuously with each step they took, drowning out the far more modest virgin bells of the un-companioned free woman, that they wore beneath the snug fitting snap-lock slave clasps on their left ankles. They were part way across the courtyard when a genuine slave, this time dressed only in baggy diaphanous chalwar pants, cut low on the midriff and gathered tightly at the ankles, emerged from the back door of the café. She looked tired and her hair was a mess. As the sisters paused, not wishing to draw attention to themselves, the slave leant against a timber beam and ran her fingers through her long black hair. There were traces of sand on her elbows, knees and forearms, suggesting she had been gyrating and moving sinuously for the pleasure of men in one of the sand pits around which low tables were set. A woman performing in one of these sand pits would be close enough that a customer could reach out and fondle and stroke her as she moved. 

Serafina was fascinated at the sight of the slave. She reeked of sensuality in a way that scared the young Shahzad girl. This was a woman who was experienced with men, whose life was devoted to pleasing men, and who knew nothing of the social graces that Serafina endured. What must it be like to be collared and to run to the sand pit when called? To perform salaciously to the click of a man’s fingers? To be sent to a curtained alcove to lie there, waiting for the touch of a hungry master? Serafina couldn’t even begin to imagine. But of course the girl was very different from her. Serafina was a high caste girl with a respectable future ahead of her. This other girl, this slave, well, she was little more than an animal, with sleek thighs and voluptuous breasts, bred for the touch of a man.

“What are you looking at, plain kettle girl?” said the slave as she rested for a while. Obviously she was an expensive pleasure slave that served in the café and she naturally enough assumed that any girls wearing black haiks, coming and going from the compound on menial errands, were probably just cheap kettle girls, easily bought for ten copper tarsks a time.  

“Serafina” whispered Jaleesa in concern. “We can’t just stand here.” She tugged at Serafina’s hand, breaking her sister’s daze. They ignored the curious stare of the café slave and walked with graceful measured steps to the open door of the storage building. Serafina squeezed the small brass key hard against her palm. She felt a sense of excitement growing as she entered the cool, dark interior of the out building. Here, away from the hot baking sun, she saw barrels, crates, and more importantly, several boxes of bottles.

“So much ka-la-na,” she whispered in delight. “They’ll never miss a bottle!” She handed her sister the small brass key. “Take this for me, put it safely in one of your pockets beneath your haik and keep a sharp look out. I’m going to find a good bottle. We don’t want any old vinegar from Turia.”

“Don’t take too long,” said Jaleesa as she clenched the brass key in her left hand. “Someone might come.”

Serafina worked quickly, peering into the open topped boxes, lifting bottle after bottle in search of the perfect vintage. She licked her lips under her veils, under the dark haik garment, thinking how wonderful it would be tonight when they could secretly drink in their rooms together.

The voluminous folds of the haik were cumbersome and Serafina wished she could just remove it, but to do that would be too risky. 

“Quick, hide!” said Jaleesa suddenly in a loud whisper. The girls moved as quickly as they could with their hobbling arrangement in place around their ankles, concealing themselves behind a stack of crates as a man then entered the storeroom. There had been a flurry of chiming bells, oh so sensual sounding, as the flustered sisters had concealed themselves. Now they didn’t dare move for fear of the bells ringing again.

“Hold perfectly still like a tiny petrified urt,” whispered Serafina. “Not a twitch!”

The man scratched his head as if unsure. Perhaps he had heard some lovely jingling, or perhaps he had imagined it? It was a beautiful sexy sound, synonymous with beautiful dusky slaves, and it had definitely come from this direction. He moved about the storeroom, gazing to the left and right. Nothing seemed to be amiss. “Is anyone here?” he asked. 

“He came out of the café backdoor,” whispered Jaleesa as she squeezed herself next to her sister. “I think he heard us jingling.”

“Is there a kajira here? Did I hear the lovely soft bells of a kajira?” The man wore a knee length robe of heavy white cloth with long sleeves and a fez on his head. He walked carefully between some of the barrels, peering to his left and right. “Come out, come out, pretty little kajira. I know you’re in here.”

“He’s going to find us!” whispered Jaleesa in fear. “He’s going to be very angry when he finds us here. We shouldn’t be here. And we’re wearing bells! He will know we’re wearing bells!”

“Be quiet,” hissed Serafina. The sisters had hidden themselves in the tightest space behind a tall stack of crates right at the back of the storeroom. With luck the man would not check that far back. They just had to remain still and quiet, a while longer.

“Adhul? What are you doing in there,” called out another male voice from the courtyard. “I need help with the cart.”

“I thought I heard a kajira,” said Adhul. “They’re always shirking, these copper tarsk kettle girls. Lazy girls, they are. They think I don’t know their hiding spaces.” He continued poking around behind some crates in the middle of the storeroom. “Well, I know them all!”

“Never mind the kettle girls,” said the voice outside. “I need to unload the wagon. Come here. Help me.”

Reluctantly, Adhul took one last look around the gloomy interior and then he retreated back out through the doorway into the courtyard beyond. 

“That was close,” gasped Jaleesa. “We would have been in a lot of trouble. Two free women lurking inside here with slave bells on their ankles? What would he have thought! He would have had harsh words for us.”

Serafina snorted in derision. “We’re too clever for clumsy men like him. Didn’t I say we’d be fine? Perhaps one day we will be talented jewel thieves who sneak across the rooftops of Tor at night, plucking fabulous treasures from the boudoirs of high born women! I shall wear a long sleeved thief’s tunic of brushed grey silk and cute ankle boots and grey hose to match and I shall be known as the Grey Shadow!” She moved her ankle a little because of cramp and heard the jingle of slave bells again. “These slave bells are actually quite irritating after a while.”

“Hush!” said Jaleesa. “Don’t jingle so!”

“I’m sorry. My foot is going to sleep, squeezed in like this.” The sisters remained still again, fearing that the man might be close enough outside to have heard the bells a second time, but no one stirred or spoke. 

Then, glancing at one another for reassurance, and giggling slightly at their close call, the sisters rose slowly from their hiding space and began to move quietly across the storeroom floor.

Quietly, or so they thought.

Jingle

Jingle

Jingle

“Ohh!” it was sooo frustrating! Serafina stood stock still, motioning her sister to do the same. She hadn’t considered that the very same jingling of bells that would make passers-by think of them both as harmless slave girls in haiks, would also be a liability when it came time to sneak out.

“Your bells are jingling!” snapped Serafina to her sister.

“No, it’s YOUR bells, sister,” said Jaleesa. 

“We should remove them. The men might be somewhere outside. We don’t want them to see us sneaking out of the storeroom. Give me the key.” She watched Jaleesa place her hand deep beneath her haik and search for the pocket with the key. She searched and searched and then searched some more. “What is it? Will you hurry up,” said Serafina anxiously. “We should get moving.”

Jaleesa began twisting about, digging deeper in her gowns under the haik, a look of concern on her face.

“What? What are you doing?”

“The key…” Jaleesa looked up in concern. “There is a hole in my pocket. It must have dropped out somewhere in here.”

“What? Well, go look for it!” Serafina glanced around the gloomy storeroom. There wasn’t a lot of light and the floor was packed with goods. It was like a maze. “Where did you go?”

“Well, we ran about looking for a hiding space…” moaned Jaleesa.

Jingle

Jingle 

Jingle

“Quiet!” said Serafina in an urgent whisper. “Your bells are jingling!”

“I know,” moaned Jaleesa, “They do that when I try and look for the key…”

“Well find it! Quickly!” Serafina gazed at the open doorway, worrying that the man might be back at any moment. 

Jingle

Jingle

Jingle

“You sound like a slave!” said Serafina anxiously. She herself hurried over to a small narrow window looking out into the courtyard. A sensuous chiming of the most erotic slave bells copied her every step. “Oh no!”

“What is it?” asked Jaleesa, anxiously, as she looked around in the gloom, not seeing any hint of brass. 

“They’re going to be closing up the side gate in a few ehn! The only way out will be through the café then!” 

“We can’t go out through the café!” said Jaleesa, panic rising inside her.

Jingle

Jingle

Jingle

“Of course we can’t pass through the café!” said Serafina. “That is out of the question. We need to get out through the side gate. But they will be closing and locking it in a few ehn!”

Both girls were now sounding like the most delicious of slaves each and every time they moved. It would be impossible to conduct a thorough search without attracting some attention from the bells.

“We’ve got to leave now!” said Serafina. “The men have just stepped outside to fetch something. But when they come back they’re going to lock up!”

“But what about the key?” Cried Jaleesa. “The key to our slave bells!”

“We have no time to look. Listen! Follow me, walk carefully, don’t look at anyone, especially not men, and just get out onto the side street before we attract any attention.”

Two haik clad slave girls seemed to cross the courtyard, taking short, beautiful steps, their ankles tethered deliciously. They were half way across when one of the men passed back through the archway with the last of the loads. He nodded at the apparent slaves in their haiks, hearing the beautiful chiming. “Off out on your chores?” he asked as she saw them freeze.

“Yes… Master,” said Jaleesa in a nervous voice. 

“Be sure to be back within three ahn, to be locked into your pens,” he said. The girls took another couple of melodic steps towards the open archway before the man suddenly said, “wait!”

They both froze, hearts beating.

“Show me your left wrists. Quickly now, you lazy copper tarsk kettle girls!”

Serafina and Jaleesa reluctantly raised their slim left wrists, the black fabric of the sleeves sliding down their forearms sufficiently to expose those wrists.

“I thought as much.” The man shook his head and picked out of a crate two wrist cuffs. Each cuff had a single chain link on it, attached to which was a slim piece of rectangular metal. Engraved on the metal on one side were the words ‘Property of the Narenj café,’ and ‘Enquire about my services,’ on the other side. 

“Oh!” gasped Serafina as one of the two wrist cuffs was quickly snap locked around her left wrist. The single chain link meant it wasn’t possible for her fingers to grasp the metal strip. Instead it hung freely from her wrist, protruding from the sleeve of her haik. In Tor where cheap kettle slaves routinely walked the streets doing chores, it was common for a café to place such an identifying mark, clearly visible, which could be inspected by guardsmen, or potential customers, since the collar of a girl would not be visible until she returned to her café pen for the night and removed the haik. 

“Oh!” gasped Jaleesa as she too had a slave cuff snapped about her left wrist. 

“In case you dawdle past slave curfew,” he said. “You will soon be whipped back here by guardsmen in quick order.”

“Oh!” moaned Serafina as she gazed in dismay at the slim piece of metal that swung loosely on its single chain link from the metal cuff.

“Now you may go. Do your chores but be back at the Narenj in three ahn! No later!”