Dunes of Gor Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty: The Legacy Endures

Deep in the heart of the great Keep of Al-Quada-a-Dhum, the victorious warriors of House Shahzad assembled alongside the warriors recruited by the Steel Worlds. They waited with swords sheathed, forming lines either side of a long rug, solemn in the presence of an ornate curule chair, wreathed in purple and gold cloth – the seat that would now be occupied by the head of House Shahzad, as undisputed ruler of this region of the desert. 

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Daan’s face was impassive as he watched the former high ladies of the Landsraad as they were herded into the large courtyard of the Keep, encouraged by the whips and switches of Daan’s own kajirae. How eager his kajirae seemed to be, to herd the high born ladies through the iron bound gates. How distraught the ladies in turn seemed to be, now that they were stripped of their pretty footwear and fine gowns, clutching each other’s hands for moral support as they screamed to each lick of the lash on their bare skin.

“Quite a catch,” remarked Daan as he saw Pedram approach. Pedram nodded, gazing down from the high balustrade as he settled there beside his friend. 

“We did well. It would not have gone so well for us if the Sardaukar had joined with the Landsraad before they reached the gates. My scouts report they will be here within two days.”

“We will deal with them in turn,” remarked Daan as he pointed to one of the ladies who screamed in fury at a slave girl who had just struck her plump thigh with the switch. “That one is the Lady Meriame, or rather, once was the Lady Meriame. I confess I was somewhat besotted with her in my impetuous youth. My father arranged Reyhan for me, of course, and that in retrospect was a very wise decision on his part, but there was a time I tried to win Meriame’s hand in companionship. It wasn’t to be.”

“And now she is your slave,” said Pedram.

“I suppose. And yet, without Reyhan by my side, it all seems so… pointless now.”

“You really do love her,” said Pedram.

“I do. You only understand what you have lost when you have lost it. I would give all my kajirae to have Reyhan back. I swear by the Priest Kings I would even forsake the tender embraces of kajirae if they would just give me my Reyhan.”

“That is perhaps going a bit too far!’ said Pedram in surprise. “She can’t be that good in the furs, surely? She is a free woman!”

“True. She can’t compete with even the least skilled of my kajirae, but I love that woman. I would pay a high price to have her back.”

“The Sardaukar have her, or rather their captain. Maybe he will ransom her?”

“Or maybe he has already enslaved her.”

“You think that likely? Surely she is worth more now as a free hostage?”

“If she is a slave, if she has a brand, then she will soon no longer be the Reyhan I knew. A collar and a brand changes women irreversibly.”

“True. Often for the better, I feel. Would you keep her if she was a slave? You could take pleasure from her chained to your couch?” Pedram paused, a disturbing thought crossing his mind. “You wouldn’t do anything as foolish as freeing her from slavery, would you?”

“No. Of course not. I am not weak.” Daan gripped the balustrade in anguish. “Once a woman wears a brand, there is no going back from that.”

“Daan, we need to talk.” Pedram placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “In private.”

Daan gazed round, distracted now from the sight of the Landsraad women as their left ankles were being placed in coffle chains, much to their anguish and frequent wailing. “This sounds ominous all of a sudden, old friend.”

“We need to talk,” said Pedram again. “Your rooms, perhaps? We can drink ka-la-na and toast the victory.”

“And?” added Daan.

“We shall then talk of serious matters.”

Down below in the shaded courtyard, Laleh Sasani of Tor was screaming at Ella as the first girl walked towards her with a smug grin on her face.

“Stay away from me! Do you have any idea who I am, you little slut? I am Laleh Sasani! The Lady Reyhan is my sister! She will strip the skin from your flesh if you so much as look at me the wrong way! And…” Laleh suddenly screamed as the sharp switch came down hard on her left buttock, followed by her right buttock, followed by both naked thighs.

“You were saying, slut,” said Ella, emphasising the same word that Laleh had used on her.

“You whipped me!” Laleh had never been whipped before. She couldn’t believe how painful it was. 

“And I’ll whip you again unless you call me mistress.” Ella raised the switch.

“No! Please, no! Mistress!” cried Laleh, forgetting her high position for a moment, in fear that the switch might be used again. 

“Kneel!” barked Ella. “Har-ta, stupid slut!”

Quickly, Laleh knelt, and as she did so she noticed other kettle slaves of Al-Quada-a-Dhum were taking similar control of the other ladies of the Landsraad. There was a clinking of ankle chains all round her as the other former high ladies were forced to kneel before the delighted looking kajirae of the Keep. As she knelt, Laleh felt her ankle being drawn into a coffle with the Lady Meriame, and two other girls.

“You are part of a four girl coffle now, slave,” said Ella as she raised Laleh’s chin with the tip of her switch.

“Slave?!” cried Laleh in shock. 

“Yes, slave. That is what you will be shortly. Metal workers have been summoned and that pretty thigh of yours will soon have a brand. Collars will swiftly follow.”

“There must be some mistake!” cried Laleh in stunned dismay. “I am a woman of the Landsraad! Ransom me!”

“There will be no ransom,” said Ella. “You are all going to be branded, collared and sold in the Oasis of the Twenty Three Palms, like the common sluts you are. No mention will be made of your former pedigree, you will simply be clumsy, untrained slaves, and I suspect you will sell cheaply, for you look worthless to me.”

In shock, the Lady Meriame fainted, to the accompaniment of a sharp scream of terror from the Lady Laleh Sasani. 

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“This was to have been a balcony seating area for Reyhan to enjoy the fresh breeze, funnelled through some stone structures north of here,” said Daan as he led Pedram onto an ornate balcony screened by tarn wire and decorated with many exotic plants and trees, all placed in pots or carefully sculpted beds of soil. A water irrigation feature kept the soil moist at all times and a thin mist of water periodically blew over the green leaves, fanned by foot pedal pumps operated by slaves on a lower level. 

“She would have liked it,” said Pedram as he set a black bottle of vintage ka-la-na down on the low table overlooking the gardens below.

“That is for us?” said Daan. He had been prepared to call for a slave to serve wine, but Pedram had brought his own. As Daan watched, the man wiped some dust from the neck of the bottle.

“It is.”

“I recognise the vintage. I also know of the times and circumstances when it has been served before.” His eyes narrowed and he was no longer smiling. “You serve me the black bottle…”

“I am sorry,” said Pedram as he sat down and produced two goblets. “I truly am.”

“When was this decided?” Daan sat opposite his friend and leaned back, looking out over the stepped gardens of Al-Quada-a-Dhum, as if for the last time.

“We talked for many hours, that day, after you left the Kasbah,” said Pedram. He slit the cap away from the bottle and extracted the cork smoothly. “You were right, of course, they had to support you with armed men. We could not lose this place so soon after being given it by the Emir. No one was prepared to pay for more than eight hundred lances through. But in the end that was sufficient. Your slave, Ghadir, came up with a good plan.” Pedram poured two goblets of the scented red wine, made from rare grapes that grew on only one estate.

“I meant, when the decision was taken to kill me?” asked Daan. He didn’t take his eyes from his friend.

“This pains me, Daan. It truly does. You took a blade for me once. If there was any other way…”

“How did you vote?”

“For you, of course. But the decision is made, and the Sleen agreed with it. This is the only way.”

“It is not the only way.”

“We are not going to fight the Sardaukar. The Landsraad, yes, but not the Sardaukar. We would not win.”

“When did the Steel Worlds ever grow so timid?” sneered Daan. “They are just men! Men bleed and men die.”

“We can keep Al-Quada-a-Dhum without fighting the Sardaukar. We have already spoken to them and, through them, the Emir. The Emir cannot call them off. They want revenge. They want your head.”

“Then let them come and take it, or try to at least. My men will remain loyal.”

“All eighty five of them who are still able to fight? Your other, more recent recruits will not stand with you against the Sardaukar. And then your eighty five men will die and the result will be the same. And your great house will fall and be trampled into the footnotes of history. I’m offering you an opportunity to preserve your house for future generations. Listen to me. We have spoken with the Emir. We have pointed out to him that the might of the Landsraad has been broken, and for now at least he stands as the sole power of any significance in Tor, and through the regions that Tor controls. He can, at a stroke, rid himself of houses that have been a thorn in his side for decades, and he can ensure that the Landsraad can never grow strong enough to threaten him ever again. He has that opportunity, and he should not squander it. He has his Sardaukar, and he can rebuild the social strata of Tor in such a way that no combination of powers can ever hold him to account.”

“Except for the Steel Worlds,” said Daan.

“Except for the Steel Worlds,” said Pedram with a smile, “but we of course will be his friends. Why would we not? We shall be such wonderful friends to the Emir…” he leaned back and offered Daan a goblet. “He has been made to see that we have done him a great favour. He is free of the shackles of the tradition of the Landsraad that previously has always forced him to set factions against one another. United, the Landsraad was always a worrying threat to the Emir, but now he can crush it completely. But for this he cannot squander his Sardaukar in pointless disputes in the desert. So…”

“He can call off his Sardaukar? I doubt it.”

“No he cannot. Unless we give the Sardaukar what they demand. Your head. And then they will be satisfied. And then they will return to Tor. And then there will be peace. It is the only way. I am sorry, Daan. The Sleen, himself, has decided. You played too wild a hand. You are unreliable. You do not follow convention or protocols. You do not consult with us before you act. We have had to clean up your mess. The Sleen, is not happy with you. Your death has been ordered. But it will be a good death. It will not be a knife in the dark, or the whisper of a blade in the shadows.”

“Protocols and convention be damned. I am not going to fall on my sword for the Steel Worlds or anyone else. You can come for me and I will meet you with a sword in my hand.” He raised the goblet and drank some of the wine. It was delicious, of course, but then that was the point – one last fine vintage to savour before the end.

“It will be an honourable execution, Daan. As your friend I will administer the killing stroke. It will be quick, painless and with honour. Your body will not be defiled. I promise you that. You will be buried in your family crypt.”

“No.”

Pedram sighed and tapped his fingers on the balustrade. “You cannot stand without us. You know that. The game is over. Listen to the concessions I have won for you. Your House will remain. Your daughter, Jaleesa, will inherit House Shahzad. She will rule over Al-Quada-a-Dhum, and in time she will have children and those children shall bear your name. There will always be a Shahzad ruling this place. I promise you that. I swear it. Your legacy will remain. I personally insisted on it, as a condition of the peace. Your story is at an end now, Daan, but you can make things, such that Jaleesa will inherit everything.”

“Jaleesa has been promised to Hassan, the Kavar.”

“And again, Daan, I have acted on your behalf, because I am your friend. Jaleesa will be spared the companionship price. Her cousin Aleah will take her place. Aleah will be companioned to Hassan now that her parents are of no more consequence. Hassan doesn’t mind. We are paying him well as compensation, and to him one Landsraad companion is much the same as another. He has agreed. Jaleesa will rule over Al-Quada-a-Dhum, and Aleah will pay the companionship price to deliver Kavar children in the desert. I have done this for you, Daan. It wasn’t easy.” 

“We could have beaten the Sardaukar and won everything.”

“No. It was never going to happen. The Council will not permit it.”

“You are cowards! You call yourselves Kur, but all you do is hide in your Kasbahs, dreaming of the day when somehow, without risking anything, you will win Gor! That day will never come! You are children! Worse than children! At least children will fight!” Daan stood up. “I take the risks, yes, but I win great victories in doing so!”

“The matter has been decided. Do not make us come for you. Our men already occupy the Keep. Take the honourable path, for Jaleesa’s sake. Let her rule here. Let your House remain. I am truly sorry. Will you not drink with me in memory of our times together?” He indicated the black bottle. The black bottle that always signified an impending execution. 

“I took a blade for you once, Pedram of Tor.”

“I know. And I would do the same for you but there is not a single blade now. There are thousands. Think of Jaleesa. I will watch over her. I promise. I swear on my blood and on the salt we have shared between us. I will look after her as if she is my own child. She will be House Shahzad. And House Shahzad will hold Al-Quada-a-Dhum. Take what I’m offering. You will die, regardless. This way is better.”

“Would you meet me with steel, Pedram of Tor? If I drew steel on you now?”

“No. I would permit the killing stroke, as you wish, for you took a blade for me once. But it will change nothing. The Sardaukar demand your head. No one can stop them unless they have it. This is how it has to be.”

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The heavy brass doors to the great hall of Al-Quada-a-Dhum swung open, pulled fast by warriors either side. The Head of House Shahzad entered the ancient stone chamber to the sound of trumpets, and to a man, every person in that hall rose in acknowledgment as Jaleesa Shahzad, the, now undisputed, head of House Shahzad, barely nineteen years old, walked slowly down the strip of ornate woven rug towards the raised dais with the curule chair on which purple and gold cloth had been laid for her dead father. 

Behind her hood and veils she was holding back the tears; tears for her lost mother and sister, tears for her father who half an ahn ago had submitted to a beheading at the edge of Pedram’s sword, to win her a future. And now she walked alone, but for her handmaidens – five demure kajirae who held the long silken train of her ceremonial gown that stretched fifteen feet in her wake. 

Beneath her hijab she could feel the collar still; the collar that lay locked about her throat; a collar for which she still had no key; a collar whose presence she could not reveal to anyone here. Somewhere in a safe or cabinet in Tor there were a set of papers proclaiming her a slave, but for now those papers would remain sealed, with a stamp of red wax, offering no threat to her immediate future. But like the steel slave collar, the papers existed, and might one day threaten her very existence. Until then however, she was House Shahzad, and Lady of all she now surveyed.

As one, the banner men raised their sword blades as Jaleesa sat down on her raised curule chair and regarded them with a tilt of her head. As one they proclaimed her as Khudara of Al-Quada-a-Dhum.

“Ta-Sardar-Gor!” shouted the voices in unison. “Hail Khudara! Hail, House Shahzad!”