Dunes of Gor Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: The Hour Draws Near

“NO! Out of the question! Unthinkable! How dare you!” Serafina reacted angrily as Ghadir concluded his polite explanation of what he had in mind to ensure the sisters didn’t boil him alive in tharlarion oil after he had helped them. “Your suggestion gravely insults me, slave! I do not require your help! Jaleesa does not require your help!” She stamped her foot with a jingle of erotic slave bells. “We are resourceful and clever free women of high caste! We will do without your aid! And be sure that when we are safely back home, we will have you soundly whipped for your impertinence! Twelve lashes with the snake! And I will watch each and every one! And then a confinement in the Box where you can sit until you have learned the errors of your ways and you howl for mercy, begging me to free you.” She stamped her foot again with another exciting jingle of slave bells. Men of Tor, many of them at least, associated that particular sound with the promise of the availability of a delicious slave, and as an almost Pavlovian reaction, most men of Tor felt stirrings at the sound of those bells. Ghadir smiled, feeling his manhood grow each time this small slip of a girl jingled her slave anklet in explosive fury. Oh to enjoy that sweet bottom and those sure to be delightful breasts. To turn her on his knee and spank her into submission. But he was but a slave himself and the delights of women were forbidden to him unless his master decreed otherwise.

“A thousand and one apologies for offending you, gentle Mistress,” said Ghadir. “I await your many punishments in a state of perpetual dread, and already am regretting my hasty words.”

“Too late! It will be the Snake for you, Ghadir! And then the Box!”

“Indeed,” he said, agreeing with his Mistress. “Just as soon as you return home.”

“Yes! Just as soon as I return home! Which will be very soon! Very soon indeed! Come, sister, we will not listen to this slave’s insulting suggestions any longer. Let us leave him and resolve matters ourselves.”

Ghadir enjoyed the sound of two sets of ankle bells jingling as the sisters took quick short steps back the way they came. Najina looked up at the high slave with concern, her eyes fluttering soft eyelashes through the lace gauze of her haik. “Master, you will be terribly punished now. I fear for you.”

“Perhaps,” said Ghadir with no obvious trace of concern. “Or perhaps not. When a man plays for high stakes he must sometimes risk much. Let us walk slowly towards the fine slaving establishment of Muud Attar, taking our time, for who knows whether those delicious slave bells we hear now may soon return, scampering along the dusty road.”

“The audacity of that slave!” remarked Serafina as she led her troubled sister back along the length of Brand Street, back towards the al Jassah gate. “How dare he speak to us like that! How dare he even suggest what he did! I will make him suffer! Oh, how I will make him suffer! Twelve lashes of the Snake, did I say? No, make it sixteen!” 

Jingle

Jingle

Jingle

“Oh, how I hate these bells!” She shook her foot in frustration, but it just jingled all the more.

“But sister, what are we going to do? It will soon be slave curfew time, and we still cannot get home!” said Jaleesa in a quavering voice.

“Nonsense. It is time to put this ridiculous charade to an end. We will simply present ourselves to the guard again and tell him that despite these slave bells, and this offensive tag of ownership, proclaiming us to be the property of the Narenj café – ridiculous - we are in fact free women of good breeding, and we will tell him in no uncertain terms to let us pass.”

“Will he do that?”

“But of course! We are free women! Woe betide a man who seeks to stand in our way!”

“You again,” said the guard as he leaned against his spear. He watched the two sisters as they approached in what he supposed was their walking chains. The bells jingled and the ownership tags dangled from their left wrists. “It is slave curfew in almost half an ahn. You should be making your way back to your pens by now.”

“There is something we must tell you,” said Serafina as she stood there.

“And what is that, copper tarsk kettle slave of low worth?”

“We are not kettle slaves!”

“Silk slaves then,” said the guard. “Though why then are you not dancing in the sand or pleasing customers in a curtained alcove? Your café surely does not waste its silk slaves by sending them on common errands?”

“We are not silk slaves either! We are both free women of good standing in this city! You are to let us pass immediately!”

Ten ehn later both girls were sobbing, tears staining their cheeks beneath their flustered veils. The sharp blows from the guard’s whip had hurt horribly! The brute had delivered the blows first to Serafina who cried piteously, for the guard felt she deserved them the most for the way she had spoken, and then to her sister, for being her accomplice. The guard had not raised their haiks or gowns for fear of offending free women in the vicinity who would not wish to look on naked slave girls. He had simply stood them on tiptoes against the wall and tied their wrists each to a whipping ring. He had then laid about their haunches with the whip, making them squirm and cry out from each blow. 

They stumbled back the way they had come, weeping some more.

“I will have that man dismissed from his position!” cried Serafina as she blubbered some more. “How dare he!”

“It hurts,” wailed Jaleesa. 

There were now just 25 ehn remaining until slave curfew.

“Imagine how it would have hurt if we had been naked!” sobbed Jaleesa.

“It doesn’t bear thinking of,” agreed Serafina. 

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Ghadir had paused for a while beside a favourite stall of his that sold spiced pastries and bak-la-va. For the girl, Najina, he bought a small piece of bak-la-va which he gave her. He watched as she thanked him, kissing his hand through her veil, which was a bit of a pointless kiss really, and then lifted the sticky, honey soaked treat under that veil to eat it.

“Eat slowly. Make it last,” Ghadir said. 

“Yes, Master,” she said as she began to suck on the piece and taste it fully.

For himself, Ghadir bought a small spiced pastry which he was very fond of. He broke off a small piece which he would save for the girl, and began eating the rest. The stall owner liked Ghadir, for despite the fact the man was a slave, Ghadir had given the stall owner some useful business tips in the past. Part of Ghadir’s power and influence in the Shahzad household derived from the fact that he kept his ear to the ground and learned of many things going on in the ancient city of Tor. If he heard of a shortage of honey coming up, for example, he would inform the stall owner and tell him where cheap supplies might be bought before the prices were raised. If he heard of a coffle of under-priced girls being brought into the city through the southern Slave Gate, he would tell Muud, the slaver, and suggest he hurried on down there to snap up the long legged beauties before the Bedouin tribesmen realised their mistake. These sorts of things meant he was often greeted warmly on Brand Street. Ghadir was always deferential to free men, and they understood the nature of his slavery was such that he spared his family from suffering the fate of debtors unable to pay back what they owed. They respected the sacrifices Ghadir had made by being sold to settle some of the debts, even though Ghadir never had any choice in the matter.

Ghadir felt some sympathy for Najina as her tale was similar to his own. Only three weeks ago she had been free, but her family owed money to the House of Shahzad. A common practice in Tor was to put up a daughter as collateral and security against a loan. In fact, it was often hard to secure a loan if you didn’t have an available daughter. The value of the daughter did not have to match the value of the loan of course – few daughters would ever be that valuable - but the daughter formed part of the loan contract and would be forfeit if the maturity date for repayment was reached and funds were not forthcoming. Najina had been party to a default, and her father and mother had watched in despair as their second eldest daughter had followed their third eldest daughter, some years ago, into slavery. Now the focus for any further loans would fall on their eldest daughter, and it would be her turn to feel afraid. 

“Do you think the mistresses have reached their home yet, Master?” Asked Najina as she licked her fingers.

“I think it unlikely,” said Ghadir as he ate a little more of his pastry. He was in no hurry to reach the slave house of Muud. Time enough to loiter a while longer.

“But it is almost time for slave curfew?” said Najina.

“So it is,” said Ghadir with a smile. “Woe betide unaccompanied kettle girls still on the streets when the curfew bell rings.”

“What will happen to them then?” she asked. She hoped it was something awful.

“They will be whipped along the street, back towards the Narenj café where they will be presented as recalcitrant slaves, loitering out longer than they should.”

“But they are not really slaves, Master. They do not have brands or collars, and beneath their haiks they wear the gowns of a free woman?”

“True. All this will be revealed when they are stripped for punishment. I suppose they will be believed then when they claim to be free, but imagine what will happen next. A thorough assessment will have to be made of course; their bodies will have to be examined and checked against the café records for each one of their slaves. Perhaps a mistake had been made in the lack of branding. Be sure that the investigation and examination will be lengthy and time consuming.”

“And humiliating for the mistresses, Master?”

“Oh yes, that too.” Said Ghadir as he ruffled the top of her haik.

“And then?”

“Well, it will be late by the time the examinations are complete. It will be dark outside. The market gate will be closed by night fall. The quadrants are more or less sealed off then, mostly to secure the richer ones from thieves and cutthroats living in the lesser ones. The sisters will possibly be placed in slave pens until morning when the matter will be resolved.”

“Slave pens, Master? But they are free women!”

“There is nowhere else in a café to place them, and it would be more dangerous for them to be left out on the streets after dark, alone and without an escort.”

“Oh, yes.” Najina smiled, thinking of that.

“Then I suppose in the morning they would be fed along with the actual kettle slaves. They would perhaps be given bowls of food rather than being expected to feed from the common kettle girl trough. But who knows? Maybe the men at the café might find it amusing to make the high born ladies gobble at the troughs with the other slaves.”

“They would surely rather go hungry than eat, then?”

“To be sure, but the crack of whips on those pert little bottoms would quickly tell them to gobble away with the other girls. Then, faces and hair smeared with slave gruel of a lumpy and distasteful consistency, they would probably be hosed down and given back their garments. By now word would have circulated amongst the staff and customers of the café, not to mention the guardsmen who had brought them back, as to the situation the daughters of Daan Shahzad had found themselves in. That great House would quickly become a laughing stock in Tor. Word might even reach my Master before the girls are eventually marched back home. Certainly the guardsmen will give a full recounting of the situation to the head of the House. The shame will be considerable. There would be significant punishments for each of the girls, I suspect.”

“Oh.” Najina liked the sound of that. “All this awaits if they have not yet been able to pass through the al Jassah gate?”

“Indeed, my precious little one. Indeed. Their shame will be total and absolute. They will be worthless for the purpose of an advantageous free companionship going forward. What respectable man of Tor would wish to take a woman who had worn slave bells as a free companion? They will almost certainly be placed under strict Purdah by the Master – confined for many years to a small suite of rooms, forbidden to socialise with anyone outside the Purdah chambers, where they will only be able to gaze with forlorn expressions through the gauze covered windows that look out onto the outside world. They will live lives of solitude and contemplation, deprived of sophisticated luxuries, being made to offer humble prayers throughout the day for their sins, and even the kajirae who bring them food and attend to their bathing and dressing in the mornings may be bold enough to take liberties with their mistresses, for the isolated rooms of the Purdah do not have whips in place. The Mistresses would rarely see their father – maybe once every six months, if that - and therefore any complaints they might have relating to their slaves might go unrecorded. A Mistress, surrounded by three handmaidens who do not especially fear her now that she is out of favour with her father, might take considerable liberties with her dignity. Perhaps they might talk about her openly, mocking her while they attend to her bath and dressing. Maybe they might even withhold meals until she kneels before them naked and asks to be fed. Who knows? You hear elaborate and fanciful stories of shamed mistresses placed in Purdah by their estranged fathers and you wonder if some of them are true. The Mistresses are often left to fend for themselves in their narrow suites of rooms that become their entire world. They will have to endure the subtle marks of disrespect from the slaves attending them, many of whom will work in concert together to further remind the mistress of her absolute humiliation.”

“I would like to be one of the slaves in attendance in the chambers of Purdah,” suggested Najina.

“I am sure you would,” said Ghadir with a laugh. "Here, my precious little one, have a small piece of spiced pastry.”

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“What now?” sobbed Jaleesa. “Look – the man who tolls the slave curfew bell is even now finishing his supper and will soon pick up that blunt instrument to strike the great bells. I am scared, sister!”

“I too am very scared,” admitted Serafina.

Jingle 

Jingle

Jingle

“There may still be time,” said Jaleesa suddenly, with some determination in her voice.

“What?” Serafina felt Jaleesa’s hand on her wrist.

“I have listened to you as a dutiful younger sister should, Serafina, but you have brought us to this condition and none of your ideas have helped us in the slightest. I say we must hurry back to find Ghadir while we can. His conditions are humiliating, but they are preferable to what may happen to us in a quarter of an ahn. I do not wish to be whipped back to the Narenj café because of your stupidity!”

“But you heard his demands, sister,” said Serafina. “We cannot possibly…”

“What we cannot possibly do is spend a night in the slave pens of the Narenj. Foolish sister. I am taking charge now. We go and seek Ghadir and you will apologise to him. We will give him what he asks and he will get us home without anyone in the Narenj, or anyone in the city guard, or most importantly, our father knowing what we have done.”

“But…”

“No buts! If necessary I go to Ghadir alone and leave you to your stupidity.”

“No, wait! We must stick together,” said Serafina.

“Then follow me. Quick now, for we only have a handful of ehn left before the curfew bells ring.”

The girls hurried and were in luck that Ghadir and the slave girl on his leash had taken their time to reach the slave house. The sisters hurried to where he stood eating a spiced pastry.

“Mistresses,” said Ghadir in solemn reverence. “How goes your day?”

“Ghadir, please, I may have spoken harsh words to you earlier,” began Serafina as her sister nudged her. “None of them reflected my true feelings.”

“You are the Mistress,” reflected Ghadir politely. “You may speak to a mere slave as you wish.”

“Yes, but please, we do need your help. The curfew bells are about to ring! Please, please, we don’t know what else to do!”

“Hmm.” Ghadir stroked his chin as if surprised by this sudden change of heart on the part of his mistresses. “You recall perhaps the conditions I feel are necessary to ensure I am not afterwards dipped in a pot of boiling tharlarion oil?”

“Yes, yes, they are demeaning, but we agree to them. We can’t remain here after curfew.”

“Remind me of the conditions, dear Mistress,” said Ghadir with a warm smile.

“Please Ghadir, I can’t speak the words… this is humiliating for me…”

“Of course. I understand how difficult it must be for you, gentle Mistress. Let me repeat the words then myself and spare you the discomfort. As I said before, I am taking Najina to have her slave papers completed and for her ownership to be registered within the city of Tor. It is what I am tasked to do routinely whenever your father purchases a new slave. But the slave house offers many other services. One of the more basic, and certainly the cheapest, is a professional valuation of a girl. Often when men take ownership of a girl, they have no real idea of her worth. Market rates vary considerably, and sometimes even minor defects such as a birth scar here, or a blemish there, can adversely affect her price. For a mere copper tarsk most slavers will carry out a basic assessment of a girl’s market value and worth. What I propose is I present the two of you as newly enslaved women, and pay for a valuation. It is a very basic assessment, nothing more. But these valuations will be documented with identifying details such as your finger and thumb prints and I will keep these documents, placing them with a person I trust. This person, if a sufficient passage of time occurs without him hearing from me, will make the slave assessment public, and all will know that you once attended a slave house, anonymously perhaps, in secret, as a girlish lark, curious as to what your block prices might be.”

Serafina sobbed.

“So long as I live a long and healthy life, none of this will ever be known. It shall remain our secret, mistresses. Well? Do you accept?”

“Yes,” whispered Jaleesa.

“Yes,” whispered Serafina. 

And so the fateful die was suddenly cast.