Dunes of Gor Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty One: The Taste of Freedom

It was actually the small things that Ghadir really appreciated now. Things that other free men probably took for granted: things like sipping a small cup of black wine in a café, and being able to sit cross-legged at a table. He still wasn’t used to the lack of weight where a collar had once rested on his neck. For all of his adult life it had been there, barely noticeable due to familiarity, but now that it was gone, with only a few indented marks to indicate where it had once rested against his skin, he noticed its absence. 

The café was basically a heavy canvas tent that shaded its customers from the merciless midday sun. Inside, a number of large woven rugs, threadbare in places and heavily worn, covered the flat stones of the Hamada desert. Low tables were dotted about the place, and collared kajirae moved to and fro, offering black wine, plates of food and any additional service that might be required of them. The café was open to both men and women, but only men drank and ate here, for this was the Oasis of the Twenty Three palms – a place where once a week a large slave market gathered to serve the needs of the Tahari. Here, men of the cities met to trade with men of the desert. The Floating Market, as it was commonly known, attracted men from far and wide. A vast quantity of slave flesh passed through the market stalls and simple rugs that constituted the trading spaces of Bedouin nomads. Second only to the slave caravans of Tor, the Floating Market was often a safer and more anonymous place to trade slave girls who had perhaps been acquired illegally, or semi-legally. A girl who found herself on sale at the Floating Market had little chance to appeal for aid from a magistrate of Tor, or passing men who might share her Home Stone. Here she would simply be a girl in a collar, subject to the lash of her owner. 

It had been one of Daan Shahzad’s last acts before he died, to free the man who had served him so well over the years, and who had brought about a glorious victory against the Landsraad.

“You are a free man now, Ghadir,” he said as he pressed a pouch of coins into his hands, after freeing Ghadir of the collar. “And soon I will be a dead man.”

“Master….” Ghadir had said as he felt his neck free from slave steel for the first time in living memory.

“What will you do now? You have funds. You can choose your own path, your own destiny.”

“I do not know. I have always dreamt of this moment, but now, well, the possibilities seem confusing and endless.”

“Buy yourself a girl. There is ample money there. Find yourself a home. Live well. Make up for past years when you served men like me. I wish you well, Ghadir.”

“You will accept execution then?”

“I think so. Pedram has promised to make enquiries for Reyhan and Serafina. I have little hope that he will find them as anything but slaves, but he will do his best. Part of me died already when Reyhan was taken from me. I know in my heart she is no longer a free woman. It will be Javad’s revenge for what I did to his men. In truth, living without Reyhan would no longer feel like a life anyway. I failed her. I cannot live well, knowing that.”

“I wish you well, Master,” said Ghadir. “As masters go, you were kind to me. Rest easy in the cities of dust.”

In truth, Ghadir had got out of Al-Quada-a-Dhum just in time, for he learned soon after, as he packed the saddlebags of a kaiila, that Jaleesa Shahzad was to be invested as the new Head of the House. He feared what she might choose to do to him if he remained within the high walls of the fortress town, and so he rode out as quickly as he could, promising himself that he would never return to that place so long as Jaleesa ruled there. He imagined she might not be pleased with some of the things he had done, and also he feared that she might tell Daan, just before he was killed. All in all, it would be better to hide out among the desert villages and Kasbahs for a while. 

Of course, he still knew the location of Jaleesa’s slave papers in Tor. It was an amusing thought that he could ruin the girl at a stroke. But would he? Her father had treated him well these last few years, and he had granted Ghadir his freedom. Perhaps Ghadir should respect Daan Shahzad’s memory in this matter. Perhaps.

But then again, the papers were written such that whoever held them was Jaleesa’s master and owner. It was tempting. 

Ah well, thought Ghadir, a decision for another day. He wasn’t, after all, anywhere near Tor at present, and so the papers were nowhere near his reach.  

Eventually, his travelling brought him to the Oasis of the Twenty Three palms. A pretty kajira with red lips and long dark hair came to his table and asked whether he required more black wine. Ghadir caressed her flanks and marvelled that he was now able to do this without fear of the whip. As a free man, all these kajirae were available to him now for a tarsk bit or two. After all those years of frustration, not daring to touch a woman sexually without the permission (rarely given) of his master, the change was now astounding. He had so much to make up for. He began by paying an extra tarsk bit and taking this girl, with his fist in her hair, to a curtained off booth in the tent where he put her to use on her belly. 

Freedom tasted even better to a man when he was able to use a girl as he wished. He took his time with her, for he was in no hurry. When eventually he released her and threw her back the tiny piece of red silk she had worn, he basked in the knowledge that each day from now on could be like this. 

“This is such a wonderful world,” Ghadir thought, “if you are a free man, that is.” It was possible, he supposed, that it was also a wonderful world if you happened to be a female slave. Certainly, the girl he had left behind, clutching her little shred of silk back to her hips, seemed content from her use in the curtained alcove. She had cried out piteously enough as Ghadir had used her. And the way she had clung to him after her orgasm, mewling and sighing. He had never seen a free woman seem that happy before. Afterwards he had spent a little time with the girl, talking to her in a way he had not done when he had been a slave. 

“Do you remember a time when you were once free?” he asked her.

“Only as a very distant memory, Master,” she had said, nuzzling his chest and sighing. “It was so long ago. I barely remember my name back then.”

“Were you happier than you are now, when you were free?” he asked.

“Oh no, Master. Certainly not. I was very unhappy as a free woman! I remember that much at least. I was frustrated, miserable, in conflict with my own emotions. I despised slaves, I was jealous of other free women, and I resented men for not wanting me.”

“I’m sure they wanted you,” said Ghadir pleasantly as she stroked her curves. “You are really quite desirable, you know.”

“Men did not know that when I was bundled up in my heavy robes and veils. They had eyes only for slave girls.”

“And now?” enquired Ghadir.

“Now they have eyes for me, Master, and the free women hate me for it.” She laughed softly. “If I tell you something, Master, can I do so, speaking my mind without fear of being beaten for it?”

“I suppose so.”

“I take secret pleasure from knowing that free women are jealous of me when they see me. Because I remember how secretly jealous I was of the slaves in their skimpy little tunics and silks as Masters summoned them to their feet with a click of their fingers. So yes, I know how free women feel. And why they now despise me.”

“So you are happy in your collar?”

“I am at this very moment,” she purred.

Yes, thought Ghadir. Perhaps women too can be happy on this wonderful planet. 

Leaving the vicinity of the small tented café, Ghadir paused beside a food stall where he purchased a honey pastry – another pleasure that had never been afforded to him before. Just simple things, such as the freedom to buy a pastry and eat it at will. He had never imagined it might feel so good. He walked on, admiring the many sales areas, most of which were a variety of colourful rugs with simple striped awnings erected above the rugs to protect the merchandise from the worst of the midday sun. And what merchandise was on offer! Everywhere he looked, Ghadir saw the most beautiful girls, naked, save for their steel collars, occasional ankle bells, and perhaps a few simple scraps of cloth or silk. The girls looked at him as he passed, and many of them were urged or trained to reach out to him with their empty hands, sometimes clasped in slave steel, crying out piteously to be bought. When he passed by, not even acknowledging their pleas, disgruntled slave dealers would tap the thighs of the girls with the coiled lash, prompting them to move more attractively when the next man passed by. 

What a world, thought Ghadir again. This is the way life should be – a man relishing his freedom, and women in their natural place, on their knees and in chains. How good freedom feels and tastes. He bit another piece of his pastry and savoured the sweetness of the thick honey. 

Nearby a couple of men – quite obviously strangers to the desert – were examining and discussing the merits of the last two women on a chain coffle that had previously held four slaves. By chance Ghadir overheard a little of their conversation as he strolled past, eating his pastry.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” said the first man, “but the Oasis of the Twenty Three Palms only has twenty one palms in it.”

“I hadn’t noticed that,” replied the second man, “but now that you mention it…” he gazed around counting. “Yes, twenty one only. Strange.”

“I can perhaps satisfy your curiosity in that regard,” remarked Ghadir. Another pleasure of freedom was the ability to converse with other free men as an equal at last. “Originally, when this oasis was given its name there were twenty two such palms, but many years ago one of the palms succumbed to disease and had to be cut down.”

“That still seems to leave a discrepancy of a single palm tree,” said the first man as he regarded Ghadir with a smile. “My name is Mikos, and this is my travelling companion, Daffyd.” 

“A pleasure to meet you both. I am Ghadir. The answer to your question is simple enough. The twenty third upright palm alludes to the stiff male member that appears without warning when a master gazes at the beautiful slaves on display in the market place. So, twenty two upright palms, and another stiff palm trunk springing from the loins of the man himself.”

Mikos chuckled. “I imagine there are many stiff palms here today then. Some of these girls are truly gorgeous, and I travel far and wide to purchase them. Daffyd here,” he clasped his companion on the shoulder, “is looking to invest in kajirae too. Until recently I was on the Black Coast, but moved inland and found myself in Tor. But I heard of this market and thought to see it for myself.”

“Then you have come to the right place,” said Ghadir. “The prices here are better than in Tor, and the quality of the stock matches all but the best of the auction houses in that great city.” His eyes narrowed as he observed properly the two girls on the four ankle chain coffle arrangement. He knew them both of course. And they, seeing him, knew him too. Frightened, they both shrank back in their chains.

“I’m particularly interested in this one,” said Mikos as he pointed to a plump hipped girl on the left of the chain arrangement.

“She was once called Meriame,” said Ghadir. He knew both their faces of course, for free women rarely bothered to veil themselves in front of slaves. The idea of doing so would be preposterous. It would be like choosing to veil yourself if a verr gazed at you from its pen. Slaves were animals. There was no need to conceal a woman’s face from their view. “And the other girl was once called Laleh. Isn’t that right, kajirae?”

“Please, Master,” cried Laleh as she held out her hands, empty, palms facing him. “Please buy us. Please free us! I can’t even begin to describe what has been done to us since…”

“Quiet!” snapped Daffyd. “Did we invite you to speak?”

The girls both fell silent, but their eyes implored Ghadir for help, for they recognised him too.

“How do you know them?” enquired Daffyd.

“Oh, I saw them both during a previous employment, many weeks ago.” Ghadir knelt down in the sand and turned Laleh’s hip to examine the kef brand on her thigh. It looked beautiful on her, as did the steel collar. He then examined Meriame the same way, tracing his fingers over her brand, making her body tremble as he held her tightly with his other hand. “They are exquisite stock. I can understand your interest in them.”

“Especially this one,” said Mikos, of Meriame. 

“I’m rather interested in her too,” added Daffyd. “I hope we’re not going to argue over the little slut?”

“With the number of slaves on offer in this market, that would be unfortunate if we both had our eye on the same one,” suggested Mikos. “Rock, paper and scissors, perhaps?”

“Or I could simply make a larger offer for Meriame?” suggested Daffyd.

While the men discussed who might buy that slave, Ghadir knelt down again beside Laleh and stroked her thigh. “I often saw you when you came visiting your sister,” he said, watching her reaction as she felt herself being touched and caressed. “You were all so audacious in front of slaves. Like we didn’t matter.”

“You didn’t,” she said quickly, flushing as Ghadir’s hand turned to her inner thigh.

“And now it is you who wears a collar, not me. Have you been used much since you were enslaved?”

“Yes.” Her face reddened “Often. We all have.”

“Good. I would not wish to have the soft caresses of a clumsy free woman in my furs at night. Rather, I would have a girl who already understands what it is to lie in the arms of a man.”

“You are going to buy me?” She looked up, partly frightened, partly hopeful.

“I am considering the matter.”

“You could ransom me, once you have bought me,” she cried.

Ghadir laughed at that. “I think not. Your companion is dead, or so I understand, and your properties therefore default to a distant cousin somewhere. I doubt he would relish the prospect of paying money so that you might be free to reclaim what he now owns. Besides, only a fool frees a slave.”

“You were freed,” she replied. Her blush grew deeper now and she cried out as Ghadir did something that aroused her.

“I think the saying refers to female slaves. But I could be wrong. Lie on your back and part your thighs.”

“Please, no!” she wept.

“Will I have to ask for you to be whipped?”

Laleh did as she was told and she squirmed then on the rug, gasping, her fingers fluttering in the sand in sharp slave response as Ghadir tested how she might respond to a more intimate touch.

“I see you are not responding as a free woman anymore,” he said as he withdrew his wet fingers. 

“What you did to me…” she cried. 

“Slut!” said Meriame, sharply, to Laleh. She drew back on the chain, disgusted with what she had just seen. Presumably when Laleh had been used before, it had not been in the presence of her friend.

“I notice you have not begged me to buy you,” said Ghadir. “I should perhaps draw that to the attention of your current master. I am sure he would be interested in how frigid you seem to be in front of customers.”

“Buy me, master!” begged Laleh suddenly, terrified of what might be done to her if she had been discovered to not be fully abetting and aiding her sale. “Please buy Laleh, Master! Laleh begs your collar!”

“Better, I suppose. But I do not think you are truly sincere.” He rose back to his feet. “Are you the owner of these slaves?” he asked of the slaver dealer who sat nearby, watching some kaiila being led around a circle, on display.

Suddenly, fearful that Ghadir might say something about her, Laleh began licking and kissing his sandaled feet, raising her lips then to his calves, begging piteously to be bought.

“Can I help?” enquired the slaver. “Is there a problem with either girl?”

“No, it is nothing,” said Ghadir with a smile. “Your slave is suddenly very attentive and eager to be purchased.”

“Good,” remarked the slaver as he turned his attention back to the prancing kaiila. His whip hand was not raised. 

“How are you getting on?” enquired Ghadir of the two men as they went through the motions of rock-paper-scissors – a game that meant nothing to Ghadir. 

“Not well. We seem to be matching each other’s hand gestures.” They both chose rock at the same time. Mikos sighed in exasperation.

“I have no idea what it is you are doing, but I wish you well in it. You have decided to buy Meriame, then?”

“I think so,” said Mikos. “She will look good, matched with my other slave.”

“Or matched with mine,” suggested Daffyd.

“And I think I have perhaps found a girl of interest too,” remarked Ghadir as he lifted Laleh up by her hair. She winced as she turned her about, running his hands across her rump and her breasts. He then turned her back to face him again.

“Are you capable of giving me pleasure, slave?”

“Yes, Master, I am,” sobbed Laleh. 

“Are you a hot little slut, eager to please?”

She gazed at the slaver who owned her. The man was now taking an interest as a possible sale loomed. “I’m…” her voice grew hoarse, “I’m a hot little slut who oils quickly and is eager to please my master…”

Ghadir smiled and then turned to address the slaver. He crouched down beside him, and the serious haggling over the girl’s price began in earnest. Twenty ehn later - for serious haggling over a slave girl in the Tahari often involves the vendor providing, as a courtesy, hot tea and honeyed cakes while numbers are discussed - Ghadir found himself owning his first ever slave. He attached a length of binding fibre to the girl’s collar ring (he had that included in the price) and he then secured her wrists behind her back with a second piece. 

“Who am I?” he asked.

“My Master,” said Laleh as she shuffled forward in response to a sharp tug on her leash.

“And who are you?”

“A slave, Master.” She paused. “Do I have a name?”

“Yes. I give you the name, Laleh, but it is a slave name now. Very different from when you were free. Your life is going to be quite hard for a while, Laleh. I have no fixed abode, and I aim to travel considerably for a while. There is so much I want to see and do. You will have much work to do during the day, and even more demanding responsibilities in the evening when I retire for the night. Disappoint me in any way, and I shall apply the whip without hesitation.”

Laleh trembled and kissed Ghadir’s hand as he offered it to her. 

“It will be pleasant indeed, to have a former free woman of the mighty Landsraad in helpless bondage” And with that Ghadir tugged on the girl’s leash and smiled as she stumbled and then followed him, gazing back one last time at Meriame in the distance.