Dunes of Gor Chapter Six

Chapter 6: Ghadir

Ghadir heard the urgent jingling of slave bells long before he heard the cries of, “Ghadir! Wait! A moment of your time!”

He looked round, bemused, as two girls, clearly and unmistakeably kettle slaves on account of their bells jingling and the presence of slave ownership tags dangling from their left wrists, hurried as quickly as their walking chains permitted. He frowned. Ghadir was reasonably well known on the Street of Brands for he was a high slave, favoured by his master, Daan Shahzad, and therefore other slaves were reasonably deferential around him. He was even on polite speaking terms with a few slavers, for men often treat male slaves differently than they would do kajirae. The fact that two girls considered it acceptable to run after him, however, speaking his name loudly, displeased him.

He was a high slave. He was permitted a comfortable white robe. He was valued by his master. These kettle girls were clearly disrespecting him in public. There was something familiar about their voices though. He watched as they hurried along the dusty extremity of Brand Street from where the road met Shackle Avenue and Coffle Square in a ‘y’ intersection. Ghadir shortened the leash on the slave he was escorting to the fine establishment run by Muud Attar – the slaver of choice who had the contract to examine and prepare ownership papers for kajirae who were purchased by House Shahzad. Ghadir enjoyed the days when he would have to escort new girls through the city. It was always good to take some exercise and have an excuse to visit the market quarter of the city. Managing Daan Shahzad’s various affairs took up a lot of his time of course, for as the years went by, the head of the House entrusted him with more and more responsibilities. Ghadir had been born to the caste of scribes before he had been sold into slavery when his family couldn’t meet various debts. He had only been twelve years old at the time. He had just begun to take a keen interest in girls when the Debtor Bailiff came to take him away from his mother and father as part payment for their accrued loans. “Do not concern yourself with girls from now on,” his sad father had advised as he received the stamped papers cancelling part of the money he owed. “Girls will be forbidden to you now, my poor son. Forgive me.”

That was thirty years ago, and it was true that in the early years Ghadir had suffered the agonies of living an enforced chaste life. He had graduated from master to master until Daan Shahzad had purchased him for his house staff seven years ago. Since then he had demonstrated his value time after time. And in recent years, well, let it be said that Ghadir was no longer a virgin where girls were concerned. Occasionally his master made a gift to him of a girl for the night – every once in a while. But Ghadir still dreamed of much more than that. He dreamed of a time when he might no longer wear a collar, when he might click his fingers and send perfumed girls in wisps of silk running to his feet.

A man has to hold on to hope.

“Ghadir! Please wait!” 

Yes, the voices were familiar. And then it dawned on him. That was the voice of Serafina Shahzad, no less, and yet, the jingling of delicious slave bells was unmistakable. Intrigued, he stood where he was and told the slave at the end of his leash to be still. 

“What is this?” remarked Ghadir in wry amusement as he watched Serafina come to a halt in the dusty street, her bells settling, and her slave tag swishing from her wrist. “Why are two kettle girls interrupting my important errands for the Khuda? Away with you, kajirae, for I am busy and have no wish to be delayed.”

“Ghadir,” said the second girl who, now that Ghadir thought about it, sounded very much like the young Jaleesa Shahzad, but she too was delightfully belled and her wrist sported the same ownership tag as her sister. “Don’t go!”

“And how is it that two kajirae dare to address me by name, let alone know my name?” He reached his hand to a supple switch that he was permitted to wear at his belt. “Shall I strike your plump asses with my switch and send you scurrying away?”

“No! Please do not do that!” said Jaleesa quickly.

“You wouldn’t dare!” said Serafina angrily. Oh yes, thought Ghadir - it is definitely the older of the two mistresses with her airs and arrogances, even now that she is belled and tagged. 

So be it.

“And why not?” asked Ghadir.

“Surely you know who we are?” urged Jaleesa anxiously. “You recognise our voices, yes?” There was nothing else to recognise as both girls wore their shapeless black haiks and veils. Even their eyes only peeked out through a strip of lace gauze.

“There is something vaguely familiar about your voices, but I know of no kettle girls in this city, save the ones at the master’s house, and you are not any of them. So once again, be off, before your plump asses feel my switch.”

“My ass is not plump!” said a very indignant Serafina. “It is pretty and very well formed.”

Ghadir knew for a fact that this was actually true, for he had spied on the mistress from time to time as she bathed with her bath slaves. “Be that as it may, it will still feel my switch unless you hurry away,” said Ghadir. He was quite enjoying this now and made no effort to recognise who they might be.

“May we speak to you in private?” suggested Serafina. Quite obviously she didn’t want to identify herself in front of the haik-garbed slave girl. “I will then tell you my name.”

“Why should I be interested in your name, kettle girl? If you have something to say, you can say it here and now.”

Serafina looked at the haik-covered slave girl and fumed. The slut would hear every word!

“Please, please, in private, just a few words…”

Serafina and Jaleesa squealed as Ghadir’s response was to simply turn round, take up the slack of the leash again, and head further down Brand Street with his girl in tow behind.

“Wait! Wait!” They hurried, taking quick, short steps, hobbled by the walking ribbons. They could not let Ghadir leave. He was their only hope. “You know us!”

“I do not think I do,” said Ghadir as he paused, trying not to let them see him laugh silently. “I do not associate with kettle girls. I find them plain looking at best.”

“I am not plain looking!” said an indignant Serafina. “I am considered very pretty.”

“As am I,” added Jaleesa quickly.

“Hmm.” Ghadir rubbed his chin in thought. “I shall take your word for it as I am a kind fellow at heart, but even so, the matter is of little interest. Be off now, kettle slaves, for slave curfew fast approaches.”

He turned once again, with another hidden smile, and continued down the road.

“Wait! Wait!” Again Serafina and Jaleesa struggled to keep up, almost stumbling because of their ankle ribbons. “Let us at least speak our names, even if we must do so in public.”

“Very well.” Ghadir paused again and motioned for the slave on his leash to be still. “Say what you wish to say.”

Serafina lowered her voice and whispered, “I am Serafina Shahzad and this is my sister, Jaleesa.”

“What is that?” said Ghadir as he furrowed his brow. “I cannot hear these furtive whispers of yours. Speak up girl!”

“OH!” A frustrated Serafina stamped her foot in annoyance, jingling those slave bells again.

“I am Serafina Shahzad! And this is my sister, Jaleesa.”

“Impossible,” said Ghadir, dismissing the extravagant claims out of hand. “The daughters of Daan Shahzad do not scamper around in slave bells, neither are they owned by…” he reached for the metal tag dangling from Serafina’s wrist and read the words there, “the Narenj café. What perfidious kettle slaves you are. Do you think I was born yesterday? Why, I can hear the jingling of your slave anklets as we speak.”

“But it is I, Jaleesa Shahzad!” cried Jaleesa.

“And I am Serafina Shahzad,” added Serafina.

“Impossible. Perhaps I should whip your plump bottoms back to the café now?”

“It is not a plump bottom!” cried Serafina. “Wait! I can prove who I am!”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“This morning you, as always, were instructed to knot our walking ribbons with your personal signature knot. If you would but kneel down, ever so slightly raise my skirts in a modest fashion and inspect the knots around my ankles, you will recognise your own knot work.”

“Ah! Now I see the joke you play. You seek to trick Ghadir of House Shahzad to kneel at the feet of a kettle girl and gaze longingly at her ankles! Well, that ruse will not work on me. You will not get to hurry away, laughing, boasting of how you made me kneel before you. Time then to use my switch on your bottoms and hurry you back to the Narenj!”

“No! No!” Serafina squealed in alarm as Ghadir removed the switch from his belt. “You do not have to kneel! I can lie down on the ground and then you can crouch to inspect my ankle!”

“Hmm.” Ghadir stayed his hand. “Perhaps if you were to lie on your bellies, wrists crossed behind you, legs spread as far as you are able, in typical binding positions, then, maybe, just maybe, I will crouch down and check these knots you speak of.”

“On our bellies! Wrists crossed! Legs spread!” said Serafina in outrage. “Never!”

“As you wish. Time then to drive you both squealing to the slave pens of the Narenj.” He lifted his switch in warning.

“No! No! See, I am lying on my belly now,” said Serafina with alarm as she dropped to the ground and adopted the common slave binding position. Her sister did the same.

“Better,” said Ghadir as he crouched on his hind quarters. With the tip of the switch he lifted back the combined haik and folds of gowns, drawing them further up Serafina’s legs until her lower calves were fully exposed. He sighed with contentment at the sight of those lovely calves. 

“This is too much!” cried Serafina. “You only need look at my ankles!”

“Quiet, kettle girl!” snapped Ghadir as he struck a sharp red stripe across her left calf. The girl cried out but was then quiet. Slowly, taking his time, Ghadir touched the lovely ankle, ran his fingers up the shapely calf, turned the ankle slightly, and then studied the knot close up. It was of course his own work, but then he already knew that.

“Well?” demanded Serafina. “Oh!” she whimpered as Ghadir stroked the inside of her calf with his fingers as he continued to study the knot.

“I am looking carefully,” said Ghadir. “Be still. My knots have many complexities and while this knot may superficially resemble my signature knot there are details that must be inspected.” He stroked her inner calf again and saw the way her body trembled.

Then after allowing for a suitable period of time to pass, Ghadir remarked, “Mistress! It is you! But, what are you doing flaunting yourself here in such a fashion. You wear slave bells! And you are tagged as the property of the Narenj café!”

“At last,” sighed Serafina as her identity was proved. She got back up on her feet and dusted down her haik. “I am not pleased with you Ghadir! You touched me repeatedly!”

“I thought you were a kettle girl, Mistress. A thousand and one apologies. You surely understand my confusion? You wear slave bells and you repeatedly jingled them.”

“I can’t help that!” said Serafina. “The bells jingle with the slightest movement! I hardly dare breathe for fear of setting them off.”

“It is how they are designed,” agreed Ghadir. Already his mind was racing with certain possibilities, for it was obvious to him just what the sisters required from him now. “It is not my place to enquire why you are as brazen as you have been to bell yourselves and to wear the ownership tags of the Narenj café, but with your permission, Mistress, I have been ordered to take this girl, Najina, to have her slave papers completed, on your father’s orders. So I shall bid you farewell”

Najina?” Serafina stared in alarm at the haik covered girl. This was the same Najina who had recently been purchased and who only yesterday had been placed in the Punishment Box on Serafina’s orders. The girl’s eyes were hidden beneath the lace gauze of her haik, but Serafina felt sure the girl was studying her newly revealed Mistress and judging her with the resentment she must feel for the punishment she received. “You will forget everything you have seen and heard today, girl,” snapped Serafina. “Or you will be whipped!”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Najina. She knew only too well who had ordered her to be confined to the box. 

“Ghadir, the truth is we have, through a series of incidents that are none of your business, lost the key to these bells and cannot remove them. Furthermore, and you must not tell father of this, we found ourselves lost in the vicinity of the Narenj café and were mistaken for two of their kettle girls. Ridiculous! We now have the ownership tags of the Narenj securely locked to our wrists.”

“Unfortunate indeed, Mistress,” remarked Ghadir.

“It has been a miserable afternoon,” said Jaleesa. “All we want to do now is go home and rid ourselves of these slaver locks. Then we shall take our ease in the perfumed waters of our baths, to be gently scrubbed by the house kajirae.”

“I can see the merit in all of that,” agreed Ghadir. 

“But we cannot pass through the al Jassah gate while we are mistaken for kajirae!” wailed Jaleesa. “Please help us. They will permit us through in your company. They know you bring kajirae back and forth.”

“Of course,” said Ghadir with a smile. “It shall be done, Mistress. Soon this awful shame will be behind you, and your father need never know of it.”

“Oh thank you, Ghadir,” said Jaleesa warmly.

“But…” Ghadir now hesitated. “I understand the reality of this situation. I am not naive.”

“What do you mean?” asked Serafina.

“Your reputation would be in tatters, Mistress, if any of this ever became public knowledge. I would never speak of your shame of course, but I know you will not trust me.” He held his hand up to silence the inevitable protests and assurances from the girls. “Obviously you will deny this, but the truth is I will be an inconvenience to you once you are safely home. You cannot risk me ever speaking, even by accident, and so something awful will happen to me a day or so later. Perhaps I will be found beheaded by a loyal guard, or perhaps poison will be slipped into my food. I fear I will last no more than another day or two.”

The girls began to babble quickly, assuring Ghadir they would never arrange such a thing. Never.

“Oh come now, sweet mistresses, my life is worth nothing to you, but your reputations are worth everything. It will be a silent knife in the back, perhaps? Or the wire garrotte of a master strangler from the shadow city of Kalik-Shah? Or perhaps my body will be found half devoured by sleen?”

Again the girls babbled quickly, assuring him they knew no master stranglers from the shadow city of Kalik-Shah, nor did they feel comfortable around the family sleen pens. 

“A drowning accident, perhaps? My body weighted down and bound by men loyal to you? There are so many ways you might rid yourselves of a simple slave.”

“We’re not going to kill you!” cried Jaleesa. “Are we sister?” she turned to Serafina who was considering some things.

“What? Oh? No… certainly not. No.” she seemed startled, having been considering things. 

“I dare not involve myself,” said Ghadir sorrowfully. “Not without some firm assurances that you would never seek to harm me afterwards.”

“We gladly give you those assurances,” said Serafina quickly. “You have the word of a daughter of the House of Shahzad.”

“An impressive assurance indeed,” said Ghadir with a smile, “and as a foundation for our mutual trust going forward, it is not an assurance I would in any way take lightly, but I have an idea of my own that might be more practical.”

“Whatever,” said Serafina dismissively as her ankle bells jingled again. “Just hurry.”

“Yes, whatever will reassure you, Ghadir,” said Jaleesa.

“Well then, my lovely mistresses, as slave curfew hour draws very near, let me suggest something…”