Backstory 47 - Candy Time
With exception of Carla and Vula all that are not asleep go to tower posture as I enter the kennels, even Tutsu, as best she can in the confines of the punishment cage.
“Greetings Mistress.” Their voices almost in unison.
“Oh don’t do that, not in your kennels. It is Tay!” I said.
Hesitantly they return to former activities, some glance a Carla for guidance.
“Mistress … Tay you cannot blame us for you are a free – we have been conditioned to react so.” She said, herself showing a little uneasiness.
Vula looks at me with a half smile she is visibly shaking. I reach out to calm her and she rests her cheek against my arm, her eyes are watering.
It is true, if a Master or Mistress thought any kajira’s response was in any way slovenly or disrespectful the girl would receive severe punishment.
Diana is in the opposite corner her head lowered and shoulder down disgruntled – earlier I had her switched for not attending to soup that was simmering on the heath.
I cross to stand over her and run my finger through her hair “Shhhh ...”
She looks up sobbing, eyes wide and pleading forgiveness – she is going to say something and I place a finger across her lips “Shhhh …”
Taking a small piece of candy from my pouch I place it between her teeth, ruffle her hair and return to Carla
“Carla, comfort me.”
In the corner of the Kennels wrapped in Carla’s arms with Vula lying in the straw beside me I am watching the girl. The Inn Keeper wants her to spend time in here. I am uncertain if he doesn’t want me to get too attached to her or he is preparing her for sale.
I find it lonely and cold in my room when the girl is not present to pet and preen. It is comforting to have her sleep curled at the bottom of my furs. At times I bring her to my arms and have trained her fingers and lips in the touches and kisses that match my various moods.
I take enjoyment with the little thing as I watch her reactions to my stroking and playful toying with her body - she is a real cutie and a delight to play with.
I sit unobtrusively in the corner of the kennels, the slaves having relaxed to my presence, watching my little pet interact with the other slaves. There is a good natured teasing amongst them and one playfully demonstrates on the girl how she had served a Master in the alcoves the night before. The demonstration ends in a tickling fest of animated giggles, squeals.
The girl teaches them little rhythmic game. I notice that Tutsu, in the cage, is watching intently and wide eyed.
The girls sit in a circle and hum a tune slapping each others palms in rhythm with the tune and in increasingly complicated patterns. The rhythm increased until one girl looses the pattern, and leaves the circle. They start again until only one girl is left.
The girl looks up and seeing me smiling, scurries across to kneel at my feet. It is hard to believe those sparking and energetic eyes only a few weeks back were so frozen and lifeless.
“Harmmooor”
She never speaks. Communication, like a little child, is through a series moans, whimpers, yelps and growls. The girl has a charisma about her that draws you in and words seem redundant, her meaning is intuitively understood.
Taking a piece of candy from my pouch I offer it to her.
“Moarrr Moarrr” She shakes her head indignantly.
I laugh and pop the candy into my own mouth.
She frowns; eyes widen; eye browse rise in shock.
“Hyummm!?”
I laugh again and reach forward tweaking her nose.
Taking two pieces I give one to Carla and one to Vula then throw the pouch to the Girl who squeals in delight scurries back to the other slaves. They divide the spoils between them. The girl goes to the cage offering a share to Tutsu who regards her inquisitively saying something in the Barbarian language.
The girl cocks her head to one side hesitates a moment and offers the candy a second time. Tutsu petulantly snatches it and move back in the cage.
Backstory 48 - Scullary Girl
“Yelp!”
I suppress a laugh seeing the look on Otta’s face as once again the girl narrowly dodges his boot tip. I wonder if she is playing with him as she scampers about her scullery chores. She is playing a dangerous game for he is subdued with her now in comparison with other kitchen girls but can switch within a sleen breath.
The girl kneels at my feet brushing against my leg and emitting a chatter of whimpers and click.
Otta glares at me, refraining from the usual obscenities.
Ruffling her hair I slip her a little pastry.
“You will fatten it. Make it worthless.” chides Otta as he movers across to the pantry.
Turning my nose up, I poke out my tongue in defiance before returning to processing the food. I’ll feed her what I want!
“Stupid bitch.” Otta mumble - I hear the pantry door opens and close. A quick glance across my shoulder and I slip the girl a slice of lama fruit gesturing to Diana and the other kitchen girl to share the remainder from the bowl on my bench.
“Quickly! He will switch you!”
Otta shows little mercy to his kitchen girls, especially Diana who receives the butt of his ill temper for the slightest mistake. Recently, since she has risen from last girl, it hasn’t always been unwarranted for I too have been angered by her increasing laziness.
By time Otta returns from the pantry all three girls are back at their chores, Diana guiltily wiping the stain of the Lama juice from her lips onto the back of her hand.
The girl works well and energetic at her chores scurrying about the public areas cleaning and gathering up after Paga girls whisked to the alcoves. also carrying out menial kitchen duties one of which she seems to take a strange interest in. All waste bones are boiled in a large caldron to extract the gelatine and make stock. The bones are then dried and packed in barrels to be collected for crushing into fertiliser. It is the girls job to dry the bones and pack the barrels.
With one exception, when the girl is not busy she kneel at my feet unless the musicians are playing – then she keels near the kitchen door listening and lightly tapping the rhythms on her thigh – she seems almost mesmerised by music.
Backstory #49 – dum tek tek tek dum tek ka
She had completed her chores but the girl is not in the kennels or my room?
Searching for her I venture into the public area. She is kneeling nadu fashion beside Rashk the tabor player – he is seemingly bemused and obviously conscious of her watching eyes as the group finish their segment and begin to rise for their break.
Rashk strokes the girl’s hair as he rises.
“dha” she gestures to the drum “dha” she repeats.
Rashk pauses and laughing take up the tabor and plays a short rhythm set for her.
“dha dhin dhin dhin dha dhin dhin dha” The girls seems to voice the rhythm
Rashk stares at the girl inquisitively – frowns and strikes the tabor with his right hand giving off a single beat of clear low tone.
“dum” he says
Hesitantly the girl says “d... d… dum” and looks at him plaintively
He nods and strikes the tabor again with the righthand but this time giving a single beat of a high crisp tone.
“tek”
She hesitantly repeats “t...tek”.
He smiles at her and nods. The girl’s eyes are full of excitement and she edges closer to Rashk
Once more he strikes the tabor with his left hand this time and the tone is sharp almost a click.
“ka” he looks at the girl inquisitively
“k ka … ka!” she says wide eyed and excited
“I. Humm I ….” He looks up at me the shock obvious on his face.
“I wonder …” and looked back to the girl.
He plays a short routine and nods to the girl
“dum tek ka tek tek dum tek tek tek ka” the girl recites rhythmically.
Rashk’s face lights up with a brilliant smile – “Yes!”
He plays a longer routine and the girl pick up the rhythm with her voicing then breaks to a counter rhythm.
Rashk complicates the beat and increases the tempo – the girl matches it adding clicks to her vocabulary and breaks into another counter again. Now she has the control and Rashk follows her and so for some quarter of an ahn the musician and kajira dual in within the rhythm, and counter rhythms until Rashk throws up his hands away from the tabor - rises from and leaves the platform a shaken and silent man.
The girl stunned by his leaving looks after him then seeing me hurries to tower by my side.
I am uncertain of the meaning of what I just witnessed and stand staring at the empty musician’s platform with its vacant instruments. Become conscious of slight tugging on my garment I look down into her frightened pleading eyes of the girl.
Not smiling, not knowing how to react I pensively ruffles hair and gently squelches the tip of her nose with my forefinger. Moving off, conscious of the girl healing me, a feeling grows in my gut that something has been lost … things will not be the same ever again.
Backstory #50 – What happens in the kitchen
No hair to ruffle, no gentle tug on my tunic, no chatter of clicks and moans, no perceived warmth of another’s presence by my side; a small pasty sits on the bench waiting. I chop onions ready vacant in my thought … alone.
Placing the knife back to the bench I brush a pottery bowl sending its ingredients across the floor at my feet.
“Girls clean this up!”
She does not scamper across the floor to complete her chore.
“Girl!?”
I go to investigate and see her hastily stuffing something under the bench in the bone processing area.
“What have you there!?” I demand.
The girl, on her knees, yelped is surprise and cowers back from me before towering her eyes wide and fearful.
Feeling beneath the bench and my fingers brush against cloth a small parcel wrapped in rep cloth.
“What is this?” I looked at the girl – she had never hidden anything from me before, why now and why is she so frightened?
With a slight moan of despair she lowered her head to the floor and edged towards me.
The parcel contained bones – just worthless bones – her treasure. The treasure she hides from me her Mistress is a collection of worthless bones!?
The girl is at my feet sobbing, kissing and stroking my ankle
I kick her violently sending her sprawling across the floor and fling the bones into the barrel. The girl wailed her hands groping at the air as if to pull them back.
Taking the leather quirt from my belt - I thrash her, I hit her, and again, and again howling and screaming and thrashing. Anger that erupts within me is overwhelming … It flow from my inner core uncontrollable unfathomable.
A firm but gentle hand grasped my wrists. “Enough, Enough.” A smoothing voice says and I turned sobbing into the chest of Otta who steadies me stiffly in one arm.
“Take it to the kennels” he commands the girl moans and screams in pain as she is raised to her feet.
My sobbing was uncontrollable, not until much later did I question why, of all people Otta ………
That night I lay sleepless on my furs not understanding my anger, I reson that it was a reaction to the girl’s secret, a realisation that she had hidden something from me but it was more than that, it was deep, deep within me.
Un able to sleep I go and sort through the barrel and retrieve what of the bones I can, wrap them in the rep cloth and leave them of the bench top.
Next morning Otta leers at me relishing in my depression “So the little She-Urt cook is human after all” yet within his goading I sense a glimmer of understanding.
And now I chop vegetables again in an empty space; a lonely place.
The girl seldom comes to me as before and when she does she kneels quietly, a little apart and without touching.
Unless commanded, she lives with the other slaves in the kennels and does not frequent my room.
Backstory #51 –The Sistrum Jangles
Constantly wary of the guardsmen, I now move about the inn both private and public areas even venturing out, in robes of concealment, for short trips about the city. Never telling Otta until I return.
I now sit unobtrusively in the corner of the public area sipping on a fruit juice sizeably splashed, unknown to the Inn Keeper, his best sul paga.
Fingering the fine etchings that embellish the delicate goblet from which I drink, I observe through the flicker of thaliana oil lamps, the custom of the evening. A fat merchant converses with wild gestations to two local stall holder, lesser brothers of his caste and Thurock the Slaver. A number of sailors, a face stripped free woman and her companion. This free woman seems to have many and varying companions her reputation is well known as is her source of income. There is the cosmopolitan cast of regulars along with the splattering of new faces serviced by a bevy of sumptuous provocative and available paga girls.
Within some alcoves base shadows animate against walls and upon silken curtains, the occasional orgasmic grunts and screams that are heard above the gregarious raucous of the room are ignored. Carla kneels, with her glistening with perspiration, kneels nadu fashion panting within dance ring. Tutsu slops water on to the dance sand from the wooden bowl as she passes it to Carla …...
On the musicians platform the girl kneel nadu beside Rashk chatting with her inevitable clicks and moan marking off some beat using hand gestures. The musicians encourage the girl seeming to ignore her slave condition and their free status. Sometimes they playing little routines to demonstrate something yet never is she aloud to touch the instruments.
My curiosity is aroused when Harcnus the kalika player walks across to the Inn Keeper and converses with him. The Inn Keeper shakes his head rejecting what ever is being proposed but Harcnus is determined and persists, eventually the Inn Keeper wearily nods approval.
My interest becomes more concentrated when on returning to the platform Hacnus give the girl an order and she gleefully disappear to the kitchen returning enhs later with her little parcel of bones. Kneeling this time nadu near the centre of the platform to the side of the czehar and facing the customers. She lays out the rep cloth and arranges the bone does something to her feet.
The violent jangle of the brass sistrum cross members vibrating across it vertical sounding bars attracts the attention of the custom and an the ambient laughter and chatter seems to subside into a mild sense of curiosity.
Backstory 51 - Kari e yara laybis! (The girl is a bitch!)
The lone tabor commenced pattering out an unfamiliar repetitive beat fast and consistent. The larger base tabor comes in underneath highlighting the up beat, shaping and dividing time, building and conveying and undercurrent of feeling to the rhythm. A rhythm that is strange; unfamiliar yet pervasive. The whole Inn falls the silent, the Merchant stopped his gesturing; the free woman instinctively pins her veil.
Next the czehar adds a melody its twang enhancing attributes of the rhythm adding flow, shape to the music with an the is an underlying aggression building within the beat - an aggression that is made sinister by the persistence of the sistrum vibrations and so the crescendo builds. The kalika joins a counter melody This is heart stopping; heart throbbing music which stops abruptly only the leaving the kalka to hold the strangely mesmerizing melody.
I hear a puzzled voice, Carla's voice “you can dance to that?’
“Oh but you can.” Mutter Tutsu who now kneels beside me.
trrrrrrrrrrek trrrrrrrrek trrrrrrrrrrrrek rek rek
The noise is wrenching loud and a rumbles as travels across the listeners as they try to source it origins.
“Oh no! Oh no!” Moans Tutsu,
In the centre of the platform kneels, nadu fashion, the girl. In her right hand she holds two small rib bones. A larger bone locked firmly between thumb and index finger the smaller held loosely between and the middle fingers. She vibrates them against each other through the rhythmic twisting of her wrist.
The rasping sound became rhythmic, vibrant and alive. The musicians seemed as much in awe as the listeners. The tabors take up the rhythm; the rhythm increases increased faster and faster. It speaks of a primeval urge to dance; to survive; to court; to hunt – it is a rhythm of warriors and yet it builds with the aggression of repetition.
It is fast, it is furious.
With a nod from Hacnus the girl rises to her feet dropping the bone she stands tall haughty and aloof. She bringing her arms rigidly to her side – she is magnificent tall, proud and erect. She starts pounding the platform with the ball of her feet taking the rhythm defiance.
Tutsu gasps “… no not here. Not on Gor.”
“What is it girl?” I demand.
She was pale and trembling.
“Tis the dance of the Celts Mistress … it is its….” Her voice fades as the sound of pounding feet gains another dimension. I realise the girl is wear bone toes rings that click against the wooden floor of the platform.
The girl erupts into a series of six high angular kick the rest of her body erect and un-moving as she moves to wards the front of platform and still the incessant beat continues boring into my very soul - the girls feet move faster and faster.
This is neither the voluptuous dance of the pleasure slave nor the frenzied excitement of the bonded tribal maids for the North.
This dance; this step dance of the Celts is a dance of warriors. It is a dance to insight the warrior within us all; it is a dance of pride and defiance. The girl posture is high erect and proud – defiant of all before her, and that rhythm goes on and on. She defies the leather, defies her tortured body, defies her very bondage.
Otta takes up a whip and moves forward but the Inn Keeper holds him back.
This is a demand of freedom; an incomprehensible freedom.
I look at the paga girls, I look at Carla their eyes are bright and energised.
The custom is enthralled never had they been challenged is such away; never had they been equalled and commanded by a mere slave.
There is a stirring anger a growing intensity; an anger being drawn from them by this dance of steps. If the women of the Celts are such as this, the warriors are to be feared and admired. For Gor has seen little of their like
Suddenly the girl topples collapsing to the floor – she struggle to nadu exhausted and perspiring, once again submitting her body but, few would truly believe her spirit, to the judgement of her Masters.
All is silent, the musicians cease playing, only the sound of the panting kajira on the musician’s platform can be heard.
Leather is struck three times and then another and another as the Inn explodes with the excitement and applause.
“Kari e yara laybis” proudly shout one in admiration
“Aii, Aii” replied others
“Jai a keh'ra greshak tahem jula!” shouted another
The girl sinks to the floor in a faint.
With exception of Carla and Vula all that are not asleep go to tower posture as I enter the kennels, even Tutsu, as best she can in the confines of the punishment cage.
“Greetings Mistress.” Their voices almost in unison.
“Oh don’t do that, not in your kennels. It is Tay!” I said.
Hesitantly they return to former activities, some glance a Carla for guidance.
“Mistress … Tay you cannot blame us for you are a free – we have been conditioned to react so.” She said, herself showing a little uneasiness.
Vula looks at me with a half smile she is visibly shaking. I reach out to calm her and she rests her cheek against my arm, her eyes are watering.
It is true, if a Master or Mistress thought any kajira’s response was in any way slovenly or disrespectful the girl would receive severe punishment.
Diana is in the opposite corner her head lowered and shoulder down disgruntled – earlier I had her switched for not attending to soup that was simmering on the heath.
I cross to stand over her and run my finger through her hair “Shhhh ...”
She looks up sobbing, eyes wide and pleading forgiveness – she is going to say something and I place a finger across her lips “Shhhh …”
Taking a small piece of candy from my pouch I place it between her teeth, ruffle her hair and return to Carla
“Carla, comfort me.”
In the corner of the Kennels wrapped in Carla’s arms with Vula lying in the straw beside me I am watching the girl. The Inn Keeper wants her to spend time in here. I am uncertain if he doesn’t want me to get too attached to her or he is preparing her for sale.
I find it lonely and cold in my room when the girl is not present to pet and preen. It is comforting to have her sleep curled at the bottom of my furs. At times I bring her to my arms and have trained her fingers and lips in the touches and kisses that match my various moods.
I take enjoyment with the little thing as I watch her reactions to my stroking and playful toying with her body - she is a real cutie and a delight to play with.
I sit unobtrusively in the corner of the kennels, the slaves having relaxed to my presence, watching my little pet interact with the other slaves. There is a good natured teasing amongst them and one playfully demonstrates on the girl how she had served a Master in the alcoves the night before. The demonstration ends in a tickling fest of animated giggles, squeals.
The girl teaches them little rhythmic game. I notice that Tutsu, in the cage, is watching intently and wide eyed.
The girls sit in a circle and hum a tune slapping each others palms in rhythm with the tune and in increasingly complicated patterns. The rhythm increased until one girl looses the pattern, and leaves the circle. They start again until only one girl is left.
The girl looks up and seeing me smiling, scurries across to kneel at my feet. It is hard to believe those sparking and energetic eyes only a few weeks back were so frozen and lifeless.
“Harmmooor”
She never speaks. Communication, like a little child, is through a series moans, whimpers, yelps and growls. The girl has a charisma about her that draws you in and words seem redundant, her meaning is intuitively understood.
Taking a piece of candy from my pouch I offer it to her.
“Moarrr Moarrr” She shakes her head indignantly.
I laugh and pop the candy into my own mouth.
She frowns; eyes widen; eye browse rise in shock.
“Hyummm!?”
I laugh again and reach forward tweaking her nose.
Taking two pieces I give one to Carla and one to Vula then throw the pouch to the Girl who squeals in delight scurries back to the other slaves. They divide the spoils between them. The girl goes to the cage offering a share to Tutsu who regards her inquisitively saying something in the Barbarian language.
The girl cocks her head to one side hesitates a moment and offers the candy a second time. Tutsu petulantly snatches it and move back in the cage.
Backstory 48 - Scullary Girl
“Yelp!”
I suppress a laugh seeing the look on Otta’s face as once again the girl narrowly dodges his boot tip. I wonder if she is playing with him as she scampers about her scullery chores. She is playing a dangerous game for he is subdued with her now in comparison with other kitchen girls but can switch within a sleen breath.
The girl kneels at my feet brushing against my leg and emitting a chatter of whimpers and click.
Otta glares at me, refraining from the usual obscenities.
Ruffling her hair I slip her a little pastry.
“You will fatten it. Make it worthless.” chides Otta as he movers across to the pantry.
Turning my nose up, I poke out my tongue in defiance before returning to processing the food. I’ll feed her what I want!
“Stupid bitch.” Otta mumble - I hear the pantry door opens and close. A quick glance across my shoulder and I slip the girl a slice of lama fruit gesturing to Diana and the other kitchen girl to share the remainder from the bowl on my bench.
“Quickly! He will switch you!”
Otta shows little mercy to his kitchen girls, especially Diana who receives the butt of his ill temper for the slightest mistake. Recently, since she has risen from last girl, it hasn’t always been unwarranted for I too have been angered by her increasing laziness.
By time Otta returns from the pantry all three girls are back at their chores, Diana guiltily wiping the stain of the Lama juice from her lips onto the back of her hand.
The girl works well and energetic at her chores scurrying about the public areas cleaning and gathering up after Paga girls whisked to the alcoves. also carrying out menial kitchen duties one of which she seems to take a strange interest in. All waste bones are boiled in a large caldron to extract the gelatine and make stock. The bones are then dried and packed in barrels to be collected for crushing into fertiliser. It is the girls job to dry the bones and pack the barrels.
With one exception, when the girl is not busy she kneel at my feet unless the musicians are playing – then she keels near the kitchen door listening and lightly tapping the rhythms on her thigh – she seems almost mesmerised by music.
Backstory #49 – dum tek tek tek dum tek ka
She had completed her chores but the girl is not in the kennels or my room?
Searching for her I venture into the public area. She is kneeling nadu fashion beside Rashk the tabor player – he is seemingly bemused and obviously conscious of her watching eyes as the group finish their segment and begin to rise for their break.
Rashk strokes the girl’s hair as he rises.
“dha” she gestures to the drum “dha” she repeats.
Rashk pauses and laughing take up the tabor and plays a short rhythm set for her.
“dha dhin dhin dhin dha dhin dhin dha” The girls seems to voice the rhythm
Rashk stares at the girl inquisitively – frowns and strikes the tabor with his right hand giving off a single beat of clear low tone.
“dum” he says
Hesitantly the girl says “d... d… dum” and looks at him plaintively
He nods and strikes the tabor again with the righthand but this time giving a single beat of a high crisp tone.
“tek”
She hesitantly repeats “t...tek”.
He smiles at her and nods. The girl’s eyes are full of excitement and she edges closer to Rashk
Once more he strikes the tabor with his left hand this time and the tone is sharp almost a click.
“ka” he looks at the girl inquisitively
“k ka … ka!” she says wide eyed and excited
“I. Humm I ….” He looks up at me the shock obvious on his face.
“I wonder …” and looked back to the girl.
He plays a short routine and nods to the girl
“dum tek ka tek tek dum tek tek tek ka” the girl recites rhythmically.
Rashk’s face lights up with a brilliant smile – “Yes!”
He plays a longer routine and the girl pick up the rhythm with her voicing then breaks to a counter rhythm.
Rashk complicates the beat and increases the tempo – the girl matches it adding clicks to her vocabulary and breaks into another counter again. Now she has the control and Rashk follows her and so for some quarter of an ahn the musician and kajira dual in within the rhythm, and counter rhythms until Rashk throws up his hands away from the tabor - rises from and leaves the platform a shaken and silent man.
The girl stunned by his leaving looks after him then seeing me hurries to tower by my side.
I am uncertain of the meaning of what I just witnessed and stand staring at the empty musician’s platform with its vacant instruments. Become conscious of slight tugging on my garment I look down into her frightened pleading eyes of the girl.
Not smiling, not knowing how to react I pensively ruffles hair and gently squelches the tip of her nose with my forefinger. Moving off, conscious of the girl healing me, a feeling grows in my gut that something has been lost … things will not be the same ever again.
Backstory #50 – What happens in the kitchen
No hair to ruffle, no gentle tug on my tunic, no chatter of clicks and moans, no perceived warmth of another’s presence by my side; a small pasty sits on the bench waiting. I chop onions ready vacant in my thought … alone.
Placing the knife back to the bench I brush a pottery bowl sending its ingredients across the floor at my feet.
“Girls clean this up!”
She does not scamper across the floor to complete her chore.
“Girl!?”
I go to investigate and see her hastily stuffing something under the bench in the bone processing area.
“What have you there!?” I demand.
The girl, on her knees, yelped is surprise and cowers back from me before towering her eyes wide and fearful.
Feeling beneath the bench and my fingers brush against cloth a small parcel wrapped in rep cloth.
“What is this?” I looked at the girl – she had never hidden anything from me before, why now and why is she so frightened?
With a slight moan of despair she lowered her head to the floor and edged towards me.
The parcel contained bones – just worthless bones – her treasure. The treasure she hides from me her Mistress is a collection of worthless bones!?
The girl is at my feet sobbing, kissing and stroking my ankle
I kick her violently sending her sprawling across the floor and fling the bones into the barrel. The girl wailed her hands groping at the air as if to pull them back.
Taking the leather quirt from my belt - I thrash her, I hit her, and again, and again howling and screaming and thrashing. Anger that erupts within me is overwhelming … It flow from my inner core uncontrollable unfathomable.
A firm but gentle hand grasped my wrists. “Enough, Enough.” A smoothing voice says and I turned sobbing into the chest of Otta who steadies me stiffly in one arm.
“Take it to the kennels” he commands the girl moans and screams in pain as she is raised to her feet.
My sobbing was uncontrollable, not until much later did I question why, of all people Otta ………
That night I lay sleepless on my furs not understanding my anger, I reson that it was a reaction to the girl’s secret, a realisation that she had hidden something from me but it was more than that, it was deep, deep within me.
Un able to sleep I go and sort through the barrel and retrieve what of the bones I can, wrap them in the rep cloth and leave them of the bench top.
Next morning Otta leers at me relishing in my depression “So the little She-Urt cook is human after all” yet within his goading I sense a glimmer of understanding.
And now I chop vegetables again in an empty space; a lonely place.
The girl seldom comes to me as before and when she does she kneels quietly, a little apart and without touching.
Unless commanded, she lives with the other slaves in the kennels and does not frequent my room.
Backstory #51 –The Sistrum Jangles
Constantly wary of the guardsmen, I now move about the inn both private and public areas even venturing out, in robes of concealment, for short trips about the city. Never telling Otta until I return.
I now sit unobtrusively in the corner of the public area sipping on a fruit juice sizeably splashed, unknown to the Inn Keeper, his best sul paga.
Fingering the fine etchings that embellish the delicate goblet from which I drink, I observe through the flicker of thaliana oil lamps, the custom of the evening. A fat merchant converses with wild gestations to two local stall holder, lesser brothers of his caste and Thurock the Slaver. A number of sailors, a face stripped free woman and her companion. This free woman seems to have many and varying companions her reputation is well known as is her source of income. There is the cosmopolitan cast of regulars along with the splattering of new faces serviced by a bevy of sumptuous provocative and available paga girls.
Within some alcoves base shadows animate against walls and upon silken curtains, the occasional orgasmic grunts and screams that are heard above the gregarious raucous of the room are ignored. Carla kneels, with her glistening with perspiration, kneels nadu fashion panting within dance ring. Tutsu slops water on to the dance sand from the wooden bowl as she passes it to Carla …...
On the musicians platform the girl kneel nadu beside Rashk chatting with her inevitable clicks and moan marking off some beat using hand gestures. The musicians encourage the girl seeming to ignore her slave condition and their free status. Sometimes they playing little routines to demonstrate something yet never is she aloud to touch the instruments.
My curiosity is aroused when Harcnus the kalika player walks across to the Inn Keeper and converses with him. The Inn Keeper shakes his head rejecting what ever is being proposed but Harcnus is determined and persists, eventually the Inn Keeper wearily nods approval.
My interest becomes more concentrated when on returning to the platform Hacnus give the girl an order and she gleefully disappear to the kitchen returning enhs later with her little parcel of bones. Kneeling this time nadu near the centre of the platform to the side of the czehar and facing the customers. She lays out the rep cloth and arranges the bone does something to her feet.
The violent jangle of the brass sistrum cross members vibrating across it vertical sounding bars attracts the attention of the custom and an the ambient laughter and chatter seems to subside into a mild sense of curiosity.
Backstory 51 - Kari e yara laybis! (The girl is a bitch!)
The lone tabor commenced pattering out an unfamiliar repetitive beat fast and consistent. The larger base tabor comes in underneath highlighting the up beat, shaping and dividing time, building and conveying and undercurrent of feeling to the rhythm. A rhythm that is strange; unfamiliar yet pervasive. The whole Inn falls the silent, the Merchant stopped his gesturing; the free woman instinctively pins her veil.
Next the czehar adds a melody its twang enhancing attributes of the rhythm adding flow, shape to the music with an the is an underlying aggression building within the beat - an aggression that is made sinister by the persistence of the sistrum vibrations and so the crescendo builds. The kalika joins a counter melody This is heart stopping; heart throbbing music which stops abruptly only the leaving the kalka to hold the strangely mesmerizing melody.
I hear a puzzled voice, Carla's voice “you can dance to that?’
“Oh but you can.” Mutter Tutsu who now kneels beside me.
trrrrrrrrrrek trrrrrrrrek trrrrrrrrrrrrek rek rek
The noise is wrenching loud and a rumbles as travels across the listeners as they try to source it origins.
“Oh no! Oh no!” Moans Tutsu,
In the centre of the platform kneels, nadu fashion, the girl. In her right hand she holds two small rib bones. A larger bone locked firmly between thumb and index finger the smaller held loosely between and the middle fingers. She vibrates them against each other through the rhythmic twisting of her wrist.
The rasping sound became rhythmic, vibrant and alive. The musicians seemed as much in awe as the listeners. The tabors take up the rhythm; the rhythm increases increased faster and faster. It speaks of a primeval urge to dance; to survive; to court; to hunt – it is a rhythm of warriors and yet it builds with the aggression of repetition.
It is fast, it is furious.
With a nod from Hacnus the girl rises to her feet dropping the bone she stands tall haughty and aloof. She bringing her arms rigidly to her side – she is magnificent tall, proud and erect. She starts pounding the platform with the ball of her feet taking the rhythm defiance.
Tutsu gasps “… no not here. Not on Gor.”
“What is it girl?” I demand.
She was pale and trembling.
“Tis the dance of the Celts Mistress … it is its….” Her voice fades as the sound of pounding feet gains another dimension. I realise the girl is wear bone toes rings that click against the wooden floor of the platform.
The girl erupts into a series of six high angular kick the rest of her body erect and un-moving as she moves to wards the front of platform and still the incessant beat continues boring into my very soul - the girls feet move faster and faster.
This is neither the voluptuous dance of the pleasure slave nor the frenzied excitement of the bonded tribal maids for the North.
This dance; this step dance of the Celts is a dance of warriors. It is a dance to insight the warrior within us all; it is a dance of pride and defiance. The girl posture is high erect and proud – defiant of all before her, and that rhythm goes on and on. She defies the leather, defies her tortured body, defies her very bondage.
Otta takes up a whip and moves forward but the Inn Keeper holds him back.
This is a demand of freedom; an incomprehensible freedom.
I look at the paga girls, I look at Carla their eyes are bright and energised.
The custom is enthralled never had they been challenged is such away; never had they been equalled and commanded by a mere slave.
There is a stirring anger a growing intensity; an anger being drawn from them by this dance of steps. If the women of the Celts are such as this, the warriors are to be feared and admired. For Gor has seen little of their like
Suddenly the girl topples collapsing to the floor – she struggle to nadu exhausted and perspiring, once again submitting her body but, few would truly believe her spirit, to the judgement of her Masters.
All is silent, the musicians cease playing, only the sound of the panting kajira on the musician’s platform can be heard.
Leather is struck three times and then another and another as the Inn explodes with the excitement and applause.
“Kari e yara laybis” proudly shout one in admiration
“Aii, Aii” replied others
“Jai a keh'ra greshak tahem jula!” shouted another
The girl sinks to the floor in a faint.
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