I have never seen a river
TALES OF A DESERT SLAVE CHAPTER 3
by Moon (daria.galicia)
Silvered in the light of the three moons the caravan reached a convergence of three tracks. The road had become more rocky with each pasang with shrubs and grasses interspersed. They halted, the drovers and tenders along with the few guards riding the length calling all to dismount. The slave scrambled to her knees and pulled back the curtain of the kurdah, peering out and catching the attention of one of the burly guards, a Guard of the Dunes no less, one of the Salt Ubars’ whose dark eyes would slowly travel over what could be seen of her and she in return gave him a smile under her eyes, for after all was she not kajira!? When suddenly her owner shouted as he sat high in the red leather of his kaiila saddle
“GET BACK INSIDE” and rode off along the line disappearing in a swirl of dust. The girl sighed heavily and leaned back on her cushions, it had been soo long, soo long since she had seen that look, the look that told her she was desired. Her new owner had fed her well, at every rest stop, at every encampment but apart from the occasional jesting with her and the fact he was constantly busy with other merchants and his business and suchlike had made no attempt to claim her for his and now her enforced imprisonment within the kurdah had given her time for reflection. She let her hands run the length of her body, over the slightly rounded belly, and the now not so bony hips and turning to one side let them slide softly over a thigh and her high, well rounded bottom, as she fell back she caressed her breasts, full and firm once again and aching for a masters touch…a mouth. Moaning, she tossed and turned as semi-dreaming the masters that had claimed her appeared , the Khan, the Khan of her people, for she was Tajuk slave born and for whom as a young girl she was trained to dance, serve and become desirous for and how that night he had made her kajira. The Kavars who had raided, killed, enslaved and dispersed the tribe and them sorely using her before selling her on. And him, her beloved master whom she lived to serve, and in that moment her heart and slave belly ached for him and her loss.
“CLIMB DOWN” it was the harsh voice of her owner and she crawled out and slipped to the unforgiving stony ground at his feet, kneeling, head lowered in anticipation of some punishment , kissing his feet now and truthfully she felt to beg for the whip if only to remind her of who and what she was and not for its pain, but for its proof of her domination, that she was owned, and wholly, and was going to be mastered.
“Remove the slave djelleba, and wear this” he flung the black haik at her and standing she hurridly did so, she could see his eyes on her as she pulled the haik over her head and her nakedness, and peered through the small, black lace screen at him. “Lift the hem” he bent and placed a chain on her, one with a bell a light walking chain that would tether her ankles.
“We will camp here for some days, I have trading to do, make the camp”, and with that he turned briskly placing the key in his pouch as he did so walking to his other kaiilas, the ones that carried his goods, and to the the drovers who tended them. The slave made the tent in a shelter trench of which many were scattered about, she glanced about for there were no buildings and would ask where the well was sited and carefully she would step down the crumbling steps filling some botas and returning to start the fire, not one person looked upon her now, dressed in the haik of the Tahari.
“So girl, where so you think we are headed?” he enquired of her as he spooned their frugal pot of sa-tarna meal and dates into two bowls.
“My Master, I have visited Tor just once with my former Master but this was not the route we took, so I am confused, I have heard much but know nothing other than the desert Master”.
He smiled and nodded as he spooned the last into his mouth. “Well, the road to the right would take us to Tor to the left many, many pasangs and much danger to Turia, oh speaking of Turia, I have just purchased some silk from some Turian merchants. You may remove the haik to eat” and he passed her the second bowl. So the slave sat there naked and shivering somewhat even though they were next to the fire for the night had truly descended upon them now and ate as she bid and she puzzled on his words.
“Well, the middle road which we will take will lead us to the river port of Kasra” the slave looked up.
“I have never seen a river Master!” her eyes wide now with anticipation “oh its a slow, meandering one, the Lower Fayeen, not a notable river to speak of but there the merchants do ship their goods far and wide and I have a goodly amount of pressed dates and salt pillars thats for sure! Ibn Saran does not have them all and I even have found me some silk, oh and I almost forgot, a Tahari slave, that cost me nothing and might be seen as an exotic by some furthur North, course we will have to have you scrubbed clean, have that wild hair washed and combed and have you perfumed, might make you more sellable” he chuckled and tapped the side of his nose and grinned at her. she would have delighted in the fact he was in a better mood now but his last words unsettled her.
“I have heard there are Masters in the North who live in dark caves and are covered in hair and smell of bosk fat Master, is this true?” she would reply most earnestly with wide and questioning eyes for the thought of them had filled her with horror and the merchant nearly choked on the verr milk he was drinking spitting it about and all over her… tears of laughter running down his cheeks as he slapped his thigh.
“Slave, you amuse me….”
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