Tales of Thuria 2: The Return of Bêlit - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Temple of Sogg-Otha

Bêlit strained against the ropes that held her. They stretched a bit and in time she knew they would loosen enough for her to get out of them, but they were newly tied and had not stretched enough for her to make any real headway. Moreover, her attempts were detected by one of her captors who promptly used the haft of his spear across her naked backside. "Stop that," he chided.

"Dog," Bêlit responded angrily. "You will pay for that. Do you not understand who I am?"

The warrior who had struck her was the oldest of those who had captured her and seemed to be a figure of authority. He seemed quite unimpressed by her anger. "I know that you defiled the sacred pool, outlander. And for that you must die."

"I Bêlit, daughter of Derketa, and it is you who have defiled me. Release me or face death."

"If you are the daughter of the goddess of death then how is it that you are now our prisoner?"

"Fool, I am in mortal form. But that does not mean I will not be able to punish you and your people if I am angered."

"We will see," the older warrior replied after a bit of a pause. "If you are indeed the daughter of a goddess you will have no trouble escaping." With that he dropped back indicating that the conversation was finished. Fuming, but helpless, Bêlit trudged on.

A yard ahead of her Sonja wondered what the conversation had been about. She had understood none of it, but Bêlit's fury had come across quite clearly. "What was that about?" she asked quietly so as not to attract attention.

"The dogs mean to kill us because we defiled their sacred pool," Bêlit answered. "Probably in some sort of ritual otherwise they would have killed us already."

"Then there is still hope," Sonja said. "They may untie us before carrying out the ritual."

"And then what? We will still be dead." Bêlit spat.

"Perhaps we will be able to die on our feet like warriors," Haldur said. "At least that's something."

"Yes, it's something all right." Having once been "dead" she wasn't looking forward to it a second time.

The march along the riverbank lasted the rest of the day and then into night. Fortunately, the Moon rose early and provided enough light that the captives were able to make their way with only a little stumbling. "Cursed idiots, we're not bats," Sonja said as she went to her knees for the third time, almost causing Bêlit to fall over her and jerking cruelly on the rope that connected her to Haldur. Her clumsiness was rewarded by a spear-shaft across her back by one of their captors, none of whom seemed to have the slightest difficulty following the rough trail that paralleled the river.

Thoom! The sound came from ahead and Bêlit realized that it was the sound of a drum. Thoom! Thoom! The sound repeated itself every few heartbeats and got progressively louder as they moved toward the sound. And then out of the darkness loomed an even darker object. Silhouetted against the moonlit sky was a massive temple, so large that at first Bêlit thought it was a hill until she realized that it was far too symmetrical for a natural object. It was hundreds of feet high and rose in a series of terraces to a tall spire at its top. "The temple of Sogg-Otha," announced one of their captors. "It is there that you will meet your end."

---

Meanwhile back in Khemi

"He is almost dead, Master," Sukh reported.

"Did he say anything more?" Toth-Aloth asked.

During the first part of Yuf's interrogation the sorcerer had participated actively, but after getting only minimal results from the screaming former slave he had left further questioning up to Sukh and Ibari.

"Nothing he did not admit earlier," Master. "We know that he sold the queen to a couple of unknown buyers, but what they did with her we have no idea."

"There is another way to find her, but it will take some preparation," Toth-Aloth said. "I shall need some personal article of hers; perhaps a few strands of her hair."

"Itet and Ahset should have something of hers. They were her body servants."

"Find them, and do it with all haste," Toth-Aloth ordered. "There is no telling where she might be by now."

Sukh hurried from the room and Toth-Aloth returned to sipping his wine. After Bêlit's escape he and his entourage had continued to Khemi as it seemed the most obvious place that she and Yuf might have come; that and the fact that he possessed a palatial residence in the city. They hadn't found Bêlit, but they had found Yuf. The man who had engineered her escape had made the mistake of staying in Khemi. He had been found in one of the better inns enjoying his stolen wealth. It had been a simple matter to capture Yuf and install him in the dungeon where he had been subjected to brutal torture. Unfortunately, he hadn't the faintest idea who had purchased Bêlit or where they had taken her; and so now it was down to the dark arts.

Sukh returned a few moments later with the two body-servants in tow. Both as usual looked extremely nervous when in the presence of their master as indeed they might as they had been responsible for watching Bêlit when she had escaped. "Well?" he asked.

"We have this, Master," Itet said, going to her knees and presenting him with a hairbrush.

"And this," Ahset said, emulating her fellow slave and holding out a diaphanous garment. "She wore it the night she disappeared."

"Very good," Toth-Aloth said. "Now we need just one more thing; the blood of a virgin. And it seems to me that we have two possible candidates in the in the persons of the two servants who were supposed to watch over the captive queen."

"Master," Ahset whimpered. "It was not our fault. Yuf drugged our wine."

"So you say," Toth-Aloth replied, "but that matters not. She escaped while under your watch and you will atone for that by serving my magic."

"Ahh," Sukh muttered. "You pardon, Master, but...,"

"But what?" Toth-Aloth responded. Then his eyes narrowed in anger. "Do you mean to tell me...?

"Ahh," Suk stammered, "y..., yes master."

"What? Both of them?"

"It was not our fault, Master," Itet wailed. "We are but slaves."

"By Almighty Harakht," Totah-aloth cursed. "How many more of my servants have you tupped?

"Most," Sukh admitted, "but not all," he added hurriedly. "Ibebi enjoyed some of them."

"What about Herit?"

"Uhh, no," Sukh said, shaking his head.

"Tener? Deyet? Weret?"

Each suggestion received an apologetic shake of the head.

"So you are telling me that none of my female servants are untouched?" Toth-Aloth shouted. "None!" he continued, his voice rising to a scream. "I will have you all tortured to dea...," He paused, his choleric countenance suddenly calming. "Wait, you said that Yuf is not yet dead?"

"Not quite, Master," Sukh said quickly, "but I can deal with that immediately."

"No," Toth-Aloth said. "There do not seem to be any virgins immediately available, but the blood of a man dying in agony is probably a suitable substitute."

"I will make sure that he lives until needed," Sukh volunteered, backing toward the doorway.

"Do that," Toth-Aloth. "If he does die I can think of several suitable substitutes. "You two come with me," he ordered the two female slaves.

With a chorus of "Yes Masters," the two servants followed him to his quarters. Neatly arranged along one wall were several hundred stone jars; each marked with a mystical symbol.

"Let's see," he muttered: "The heart of a blue toad collected at midnight; one scale of a desert dragon; an ounce of powdered unicorn horn; distilled sap of the death camas; essence of harpy breath." He went on like this for several hundred heartbeats before he was finally satisfied with his selections. "Bring all of this," he ordered the two slaves. "And if you drop any I will add your skin to the ingredients."

He headed toward the lower levels of the palace, the two barefoot young women following. Four torchlit flights of stairs later they reached the room where Yuf was enjoying Toth-Aloth's hospitality. They could hear him before they saw him.

"Kill me," the former slave begged. "Kill me now."

"That will soon be arranged," Toth-Aloth said as he entered the room.

The makeshift prison stank of blood, vomit, sweat, and excrement; all of it quite unnecessary actually since Yuf had told them everything he knew within moments of being strapped to the rack, but they had to be sure and Ibebi quite liked his work. "Someone is going to have to clean this up," Toth-Aloth said, giving Itet and Ahset a knowing look.

"Yes, Master," they both squeaked.

Yuf was stretched out on a makeshift rack; simply a couple of large planks nailed together across two sawhorses. He had been securely roped to it and then Ibebi had been allowed to go to work on him. Ibebi had not used particularly sophisticated methods of torture; in fact he simply resorted to breaking Yuf's bones using an iron bar. He'd started with his legs and Yuf had immediately revealed all that he knew of Bêlit's whereabouts. Unfortunately for Yuf, Ibebi continued to question him just in case he was holding out and there was not much left of his mangled body. However, it would do for the purpose Toth-Aloth had in mind.

It took only a short time to arrange the various magical items he had brought with him. He placed them around the moaning Yuf in the shape of a star and then mixed the various powders and other ingredients together before sprinkling them on Yuf's body. He then took out his ceremonial dagger and using its point traced an arcane pattern on Yuf's chest. Stepping back he raised his hands and began to speak the ritualistic language of ancient Stygia. Then he raised the dagger high and plunged it into Yuf's chest.

Yuf did not even manage a scream as the last of his life force was ended, but it had the desired effect. Above his body the air coalesced into a gleaming disk that gradually expanded until it was several yards across and within the disk an image slowly took shape.

Toth-Aloth found himself viewing a moonlit jungle clearing behind which reared the pagoda-shape of an enormous temple. "I know that place," he announced, "by reputation if nothing else. It is the temple of Sogg-Otha and it is a place of pure evil. And I see that our missing queen has gotten herself into a spot of trouble."

"Who are those with her, Master?" Ibebi asked.

"I know not, but I surmise that they are the fools who purchased her. However, that does not concern me. It appears that our uncooperative queen is about to become the centre of some barbaric ritual."

---

Meanwhile Back at the Temple

"Spot of trouble," was not quite the way that Bêlit would have described her current predicament. She and her companions had been marched toward the temple and then up what seemed like an endless series of steps toward the top. As they proceeded another drum joined the first, and then another. Thoom! Thoom! Thoom! Drums began to sound on every side and then a flame flared up atop the temple as a brazier was lit. It was joined by several more until they were walking between a line of fire. From out of the darkness came hundreds of dark-skinned warriors along with many women and children. They lined both sides of the stairway all the way to the top.

"You'd think they at least could have waited until daylight," Sonja complained. Bêlit certainly agreed, but their captors weren't listening. The three captives were hustled to the top where they were dragged toward a large altar.

"Let us go you dogs," Bêlit shouted. But her cries were ignored as she and her two companions were muscled toward the altar. It was easily large enough for the three of them and despite their ferocious struggles each was taken in turn and stretched over it, their wrists and ankles secured to iron rings embedded in the stone so that they lay side by side, Haldur in the middle with Bêlit and Sonja flanking him to the left and right.

The drums increased in tempo and more fuel was thrown on the braziers surrounding the top of the temple. As the flames leaped higher the warrior who had commanded those who had captured them stepped forward. The captives had since learned that he was called Ghamud and was some sort of priest-king among the people who had captured them. He was now wearing a robe consisting of hundreds of feathers taken from exotic jungle birds. On his head was a tall hat decorated with still more feathers and ornamented with gold and ivory. However, it was the ancient knife he carried that caught their attention. Its obsidian blade gleamed brightly in the firelight.

"I see your goddess has not come to help you," the warrior said, addressing his words to Bêlit, "and now your blood and that of your companions will serve the great god Damballah." He turned to the huge crowd surrounding the top of the temple. "People of the Yorulla. These white-skinned intruders have violated the sacred pool and therefore must pay in blood for their and they must pay now." He turned back toward the altar and raised the blood over Haldur's chest. "Die, infidel," he cried.

"No you don't," Sonja grunted. Somehow the redhead had managed to get one leg free and she brought it up, striking Ghamud in the wrist. The blade clattered to the top of the stone altar and shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Ahh!" Ghamud shrieked. "The redheaded bitch has destroyed the sacred blade. I will cut you open and slowly draw out your entrails for that." He seized another knife from one of the warriors who had helped tie Sonja and the others to the altar. It was no obsidian blade, but it would do to cut the blasphemous bitch open. "Hold her," he ordered. But just at that moment the air above the altar shimmered and a moon-like disc slowly appeared. Ghamud stared at it in surprise and fear as it gradually widened to reveal the cruel features of a robed figure wearing a tall hat flared at the top and studded with jewels.

Ghamud stepped back from this apparition. "Damballah!" he screamed. "Damballah has come."

Bêlit saw it quite differently. "Toth-Aloth," she muttered. For an instant her stomach knotted in fear and then she realized that she was only looking at some sort of magical projection of the Stygian sorcerer. But that meant she had been found and she struggled to escape from her bonds.

By chance a shard of the shattered obsidian blade had fallen close to Sonja's hand. With a bit of effort she was able to get her fingers around it and with more effort still, use it to cut through the ropes binding her wrist. It was only a matter of a few heartbeats to cut through the rest of the ropes and then go to work on those binding Bêlit and Haldur.

She worked as quickly as she could, but she needn't have worried. The image of Toth-Aloth had increased in size until it was as large as the top of the temple. Every member of the Yorulla who saw it went instantly to their knees, bowing their face to the stone of the temple. Freed, the three adventurers dashed down the side of the temple, darting between the rows of prostrate worshipers. They got to the bottom just in time. The projection of Toth-Aloth began to fade and it would only be a matter of time before one of the Yorulla raised his eyes and then raised the alarm.

They rushed back the way they had come, but halfway there they found that their boat had been hauled along the river and was now tied to the branch of a tree that overhung the river. They quickly untied it, and taking advantage of the fact that the stream now flowed in the direction they wanted to go they poled the boat into the centre of the stream and floated off into the night.

---

Meanwhile somewhere else and not yet related to this story

Anya had to admit that events had not quite gone the way she had planned them. In fact nothing in the last two years had gone her way. First there had been her aborted attempt to leave her pampered life in her father's palace in Luxor. That had ended with mixed results as she had been "rescued" by the Cimmerian barbarian who called himself Conan. But not before she had lost her virginity to Thomak Tharn; the desert chieftain who had taken her as his woman. She had resisted Conan's efforts to return her to her father; attempting to escape every chance she got. But many perilous adventures later she had come to accept that the barbarian was right; even becoming his lover on the return trip to Luxor. Alas, that love affair had lasted only the length of the journey. Conan had left with his thousand Stygian imperials and she had been left to explain to her very angry father why she was no longer a suitable candidate for a dynastic marriage.

That explanation had not gone well. For the first time in her life her father had taken a hand in disciplining her. He had ordered two of his servants to bend her over a divan and had administered a through thrashing to her curvaceous backside. She had not been able to sit down for two days after that, but even worse her father had had taken away all of her privileges, restricting her to her quarters and placing a permanent guard on her. Because male warders could not be trusted he had hired a Khorajan mercenary; a blonde she-wolf called Fhalla. The two of them could not have been more different. Anya, was dark-haired and sloe-eyed, with the dark tint to her skin typical of the Stygian ruling class. She had also lived a life of privilege and seldom had she lifted anything heavier than a wine glass. Fhalla by contrast was a blonde, blue-eyed, fair-skinned, sword-wielding savage. She also knew very little of Stygian ways and spoke only her own language or the common tongue. In other words, she was the perfect watch-dog so far as Anya's father was concerned.

And now events had gotten even worse. Tainted as she was, her father could not arrange a marriage to a noble family, but he had no intention of supporting a daughter who was of no future value to him, so he had arranged something with one of his old friends.

"Karbukef, old friend. It is so good to see you," Namrut of Sukhmet said as he entered the palatial reception room of Anya's father's home.

Anya's father rose in greeting. "Namrut, it has been a long time. I trust you made the journey from Sukhmet safely."

"As safe as might be expected. I hired extra guards seeing as I was travelling with my wives."

"Ah yes," Karbukef smiled. "Let us eat and drink and then we can discuss the matter of my daughter."

Anya was not present for this meeting, but she was soon made aware of it when Fhalla entered her room. As usual she did not bother to have herself announced nor did she use the proper form of address when a servant spoke to her mistress. "Your father desires your presence."

Anya glared at her. As usual Fhalla was dressed like a barbarian. She wore a sleeveless black leather vest laced up the front and matching leather trousers. A leather strap crossed her breasts to connect to a belt to which was strapped a sword and dagger. Leather cuffs encircled her wrists and she wore black leather boots. She was every inch a warrior and Anya had to admit to herself that she was quite striking, especially with her thick gold hair falling to her shoulders.

"Very well," Anya responded. "I will attend him shortly."

"Now!" Fhalla said.

"But I need to dress properly," Anya protested. She was wearing only a brief halter framed by a silver filigree and a similarly brief covering over her loins. Now that she was allowed to use the pool only for her morning and evening bath, she dressed as lightly as she could to deal with the excessive heat common to everyday life.

"Come as you are," Fhalla ordered. "I don't expect you'll be needing much clothing."

"Vulgar bitch," Anya retorted. "I'll bet you've never known a real man."

"I've known a man such as you've never dreamed of," Fhalla sneered. "A black-haired warrior worth ten of any you've ever tupped."

"Bla..., blacked-haired...," Anya stammered. "Who was he? Tell me!"

"Conan of Cimmeria," Fhalla said smugly. Her expression changed. "Now what's the matter? You look as if you swallowed a pepper."

"You..., you slut," raged Anya. She charged toward Fhalla, but the mercenary easily avoided her clumsy attack and twisted her arm painfully behind her back.

"Well, well; who would have guessed," Fhalla said. "That damned northerner certainly gets around. But enough of this. I think your father has important news for you." Still holding Anya's arm she propelled her toward the door.

"Let me go you Khorajan harpy," Anya shouted.

"I will, if you promise to behave."

"All right, just stop breaking my arm."

Together they proceeded through hr father's opulent palace, Fhalla following just behind Anya until they reached the reception room. A richly dressed man, a merchant from his clothing, was sitting with her father. He looked her way as they entered. "Ah, Karbukef," he smiled, "this must be the wayward daughter. She really is quite beautiful. Too bad she has been spoiled; I do so enjoy taking them their first time."

"I am not merchandise and I will not be spoken of as such," Anya spat.

"I see she still has spirit," Namrut said. "That is good; I will take much pleasure in taming her."

"You will take her, then?" Karbukef said eagerly.

"Oh yes, she will fit in nicely with my other wives. I have not had a new one for several years."

"Father, what is this?" Anya interrupted. "What agreement have you made?"

"I've given you to Namrut," Karbukef answered. "Considering how you've lowered your value, it is the best arrangement I could make."

"Father," Anya protested. "I'm not a camel. You just can't sell me to this old man."

"You gave away any right to your future when you ran away with that desert bandit. You are fortunate that Namrut has consented to take you off my hands."

"No, you can't," Anya whimpered. She tried to back out of the room, but Fhalla caught her.

"You brought this on yourself," Karbukef said. "And now you've insulted one of my oldest friends."

"Indeed she has," Namrut said. "But she is young and beautiful and clearly used to having her way. Have no fear old friend I will break her."

"No, you can't," Anya said, struggling to escape.

"Enough of this," her father ordered. "Take her back to her quarters. Tomorrow she goes with Namrut."

"What of the other one?" Namrut asked as Fhalla escorted a still protesting Anya from the room.

"Her?" Karbukef answered. "She is a free woman. A barbarian from Khoraja."

"A free woman?" Namrut asked. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"With Anya gone I have no use for her. I can sell you her contract if you wish."

"Done," Namrut said. "I will collect them both tomorrow."

---

Tomorrow came much too soon so far as Anya was concerned. She had spent the night fuming and fretting over the day's events. Not only was she to get no say in the arrangements of her marriage, but she was to be loaded off to some middle-aged merchant for some sort of business considerations. But there was no avoiding it. Early in the morning an escort arrived to take her to Namrut. The her surprise, and Fhalla's even greater amazement, her father told Fhalla that she was to go with Anya. "You work for Namrut now. Go with my daughter and work something out with him."

"That was not our agreement," Fhalla protested. "I was hired into your service."

"You were hired to watch my daughter," Karbukef corrected. "And as I no longer have a daughter you are no longer needed."

"Then pay me off and I'll be gone," Fhalla demanded.

"I think not," Karbukef replied. He had backed himself up with several of his household guards, two of which were carrying crossbows. "Namrut will pay you now."

"He had better," Fhalla warned. "Or I'm coming back."

"Save your threats, barbarian," Karbukef sneered. "They will avail you nothing."

Frustrated Fhalla stalked off, following Anya and her escort. As befitted her status Anya was carried on a veiled litter shielded from the eyes of any they might encounter while Fhalla and the escort marched alongside.

They marched through the town and found Namrut's caravan already assembled and ready to move. Anya's litter was set down and she was transferred to the back of a camel. In short order they moved off and seven days later they entered the southern Stygian city of Sukhmet. They made surprisingly good time; encountering none of the many obstacles that might have slowed their passage. They went straightway to Namrut's palace where Anya was escorted to the most secluded part of the palace; Namrut's harem, right next to his luxurious quarters. All this time Fhalla had accompanied Anya, riding along with the caravan guard, but as she attempted to enter the harem with Anya she was stopped. "No weapons past this point, barbarian," the huge eunuch guarding the outer door of the harem said.

"But I go with Anya," Fhalla replied.

"Not armed you don't. Surrender your sword and other weapons and you will be permitted to enter the harem."

"But I'm not part of the harem," Fhalla explained.

"Then you don't go in," the eunuch said, crossing his arms.

Fhalla considered kicking him in the balls; realized that he didn't have any balls; and then considered that wasn't the way to go anyway. She had worked out a new contract with Namrut; one in which she would continue her role as Anya's watchdog. She was having second thoughts about that, however. For one thing babysitting a spoiled merchant princess was incredibly boring; and secondly she could not help feeling that there was something more to Karbukef handing her contract over to Namrut. Something just did not feel right.

"You weapons," the eunuch prompted.

"Very well," Fhalla muttered. She removed her sword and dagger and handed them to him.

"And the one in your boot?"

Fhalla sighed, pulling the dagger free.

"Excellent," the eunuch smiled. He swung the door open. "You may enter."

Fhalla stepped across the threshold and into the harem. It consisted of a large suite of rooms, a necessity considering the number of wives Namut possessed. He had brought four of the youngest with him on his visit to Luxor but had left an equal number at home. Now he had added a ninth in the person of Anya. Unfamiliar with the layout she stopped and looked about her.

The room she was in seemed strangely deserted except for four eunuch guards. They were all armed with scimitars and Fhalla suddenly felt quite naked without her weapons. However, she decided to make the best of it. "Where is Anya?" she asked.

"Nowhere that matters to you," one of them answered. As one they moved toward her.

If they expected that their numbers and the fact that each of them was twice Fhalla's size would make capturing her easy they got a rude awakening. Although taken by surprise Fhalla acted immediately, ducking beneath the outstretched arms of the eunuch closest to her and driving her booted foot into the groin of another. She used her elbow on a third and then spun away from the clutching hands of the fourth.

"By Ishtar," she shouted, "you'll not take me that easily." Seizing a heavy marble vase she slammed it into the side of the head the second attacker. He toppled to the floor and she took advantage of the opportunity to grab his sword. Backing toward the door she faced her attackers. "Who wants to die first?" she challenged.

Faced with an armed and obviously deadly adversary the remaining three eunuchs kept their distance, reluctant to come within range of her blade; but fate came to their aid. The door suddenly opened behind Fhalla as the eunuch who had been guarding it burst into the room. It slammed into her back, knocking her off-balance and only the fact that her opponents wanted her alive kept them from killing her. One of them grabbed her wrist and twisted the sword from her grasp while the others grabbed her other arm helped force her to her knees.

They held her there while one of them applied a restraint used on uncooperative slaves. It consisted of a single bar that was secured to each of her arms just above the elbows with the bar running behind her back. She was then hauled to her feet and stood panting from the effort of attempting to escape and quivering with rage. "How dare you do this?" she seethed. "I am not a concubine, I am a free woman."

"Not any more you are not." The statement came from Namrut, who had just entered the room. "I paid Karbukef for you and now you belong to me."

"I was not his to sell," Fhalla grunted, straining at her shackles.

"You are a northern barbarian living in our land," Namrut replied. "I can do what I want with you. And I have been taken with you from the first moment I laid eyes on you. You are so very different." He moved toward her as he spoke and Fhalla flinched backward as he lifted her hair and let it trail through his fingers. "Such a marvelous colour," Namrut mused. "None of my other concubines have anything like it."

"I am not your concubine," Fhalla rasped, between clenched teeth.

"Oh but you are," Namrut grinned. "And I shall enjoy taming your wild nature." He switched his attention to the eunuchs holding her. "Bring her," he ordered.

Fhalla was hauled after the merchant as he moved deeper into the harem finally reaching a large room where several other women were waiting, including Anya. "So he has you too, barbarian," Anya twittered. "Now you will learn what it means to be a slave."

"Silence," Namrut ordered, "or I will have you take her place." He stepped back from Fhalla. "Put her on her knees," he commanded.

The two eunuchs holding Fhalla pushed her down so that she was kneeling on a cushioned stool, placing her at a convenient height for what Namrut was about to do. "Remove her boots," he said and then as the order was carried out he stepped close to her holding a razor edged knife to the laces of her vest. "Now let's see what I paid for," he continued.

One after the other he cut through each of the laces allowing the pressure of Fhalla's breasts to force open the garment. High, full, and beautifully rounded, her pink-tipped breasts were fully revealed. "You Stygian bastard," Fhalla gasped. "You'll pay for that."

"I can see it will take a bit of time to tame you," Namrut commented. "But I shall very much enjoy doing so." He put away his knife and placed his hands over each of her breasts, lifting each one slightly as if appraising their weight. "Lovely," he said. "As firm as ripe peaches." He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples and smiled with satisfaction when the pink buds stiffened beneath his touch. "So quick to respond. Perhaps you will not be so hard to train after all."

"I will cut off your hand for that," Fhalla cried, struggling to get free, an action that simply drew Namrut's eyes to the movement of her breasts.

"So defiant, and so beautiful," Namrut said. "I think it is time to show you just how helpless you are."

A few yards away, Anya watched with a mixture of glee and fear as her former watchdog was utterly humiliated. Was this what Namrut had planned for her? So far he had not touched her, but given what he was doing to Fhalla could her own debasement be far away? I've got to find a way to escape, she thought, before it's too late.

But meanwhile she could only watch as Namrut used his knife to remove the rest of Fhalla's clothing. He finished with her vest, cutting though its shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. Then he went to work on her leather breeches, slicing them from the waist to the bottom of each leg and then ripping what was left of them away. She was wearing nothing underneath, but Namrut stepped back as his lascivious gaze descended upon her loins. "Oh, that will not do, she must be shaved. Take her to the baths and see that she is properly prepared."

"You'll not do anything to me," Fhalla protested, but she was helpless as the eunuchs on either side of her dragged her from the room and down a corridor into a much larger room in the centre of which was a large pool. Several older women were hovering around the pool engaged in various domestic tasks. They lined up as the eunuchs brought the struggling Fhalla into the room.

"She is to be washed and properly groomed," one of the eunuchs said. "Do it immediately, our master awaits."

Fhalla objected violently, but her strength was not up to overcoming the determination of the female servants, they dragged her to the pool and ducked her under several times until she understood the futility of resisting. Then they gave her a thorough scrubbing, washing the desert dust from her hair and skin and finally moving her to the edge of the pool where they pinned her down and proceeded to remove the coarse fleece from her loins.

They also removed hair from other parts of her body a task that required two of the eunuchs to help hold her down so that the shackles binding her arms could be temporarily removed. Finally, cleansed, shaved, groomed, and perfumed she was shackled once again and returned to the main room of the harem where Namrut awaited her.

He was lounging on a pile of cushions surrounded by his harem. Front and centre and on her knees was Anya, who was in the process of peeling him a grape, and obviously worried that she might be asked to do a bit more than that to satisfy her master. "Magnificent," Namrut exclaimed as Fhalla was marched into the room. "Who would have thought that she would clean up so well. I see that my judgement was not in error." He got to his feet as Fhalla was brought over to him. Naked and helpless, she still continued to struggle, but as before she could not escape the grip of her captors.

"Over there, I think," Namrut said, motioning to a cushioned bench. "What I want to do will take some time and I want her completely helpless."

The eunuchs seemed to have done this before. They moved Fhalla to the bench, and positioned her over it, supporting her torso while centering her backside in the middle of the bench. With her body arched provocatively due to the way her arms were shackled, she could only look up helplessly as Namrut moved toward her. "Now," her master proclaimed, "let's see if you are as pleasurable as I think you are."

Fhalla tried to raise her feet to kick him, but the eunuchs were expecting that. While one of them held her arms two others each took an ankle and spread her legs. "I have waited a while for this," Namrut proclaimed as he removed his robes, "and I am more than ready." While the eunuchs held the furiously struggling Fhalla he positioned himself between her legs and then took her.

"Uhhn!" Namrut might have been more than ready, but Fhalla wasn't. The merchant prince was not particularly well-endowed compared to some lovers Fhalla had experienced, but they had been lovers, not rapists, and she had given herself to them willingly. This was hardly the case as Namrut forced himself into her.

"You are well worth the struggle," Namrut grunted. He thrust hard, penetrating her as deeply as he could and then thrusting some more. Fhalla struggled to escape, but her frenzied efforts merely spurred Namrut on. "I will break you, my lovely. Soon you will beg me for this."

"I..., will..., kill..., you." Fhalla gasped.

Namrut laughed. "Fight all you want, my lovely. I am enjoying the struggle." He thrust even deeper causing Fhalla to cry out in pain and rage.

Fhalls's body quivered under the assault, her perfect breasts describing erotic circles that Namrut could not resist. Her took each one into his mouth and bit down until she screamed, marking her smooth skin with his teeth. In short he did everything he could to add to his sadistic pleasure and to hurt his helpless victim. When he finished Fhalla was so exhausted from her fruitless struggles that she could barely move.

"Take her away," Namrut ordered. "And keep a close watch on her." He turned away from Fhalla and looked at Anya. "And now, my rebellious rose, it is your turn."

Continued in Chapter 6...

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