Archive for April 11th, 2019

Lazy slave, I might be selling you

Thursday, April 11th, 2019

Oasis of the Three Moons

TALES OF A DESERT SLAVE CHAPTER 2

The lumbering tharlarion swayed beneath her, rocking the pathetic slaves little body into slumber, Occasionally she would wake, blinking her eyes and sip water from the bota, placed nearby for her but the gentle undulation of the huge beast would send the exhausted slave back to sleep once more. Dreams overcame her, The merchant would cock an ear as they rode, her whimpers reaching him. He thought he might sell her for use as a pot slave for she was skinny indeed and truly not worth the effort but he had made a promise, he was a man of honour after all and with that in mind would lift her from the tharlarion and feed her gruel and dates in some attempt to keep her alive. He was disappointed for the last of villagers had ransacked the mans’ house before they had left and this was all they had left, the dying man having told him to take all if he would save his slave.

She, meanwhile, was tortured by dreams, dreams of running and hiding in the rocks of the dunes as they raided her Masters home, and them taking all the fine things she had so lovingly cared for, even their verr which she had tried so hard to feed and keep alive. And it was then she had realized she might die here, all alone. She saw the Zads circling silent and menacing above her, their huge wings casting a dark shadow and she swat at the sting flies as she dragged herself back to the empty house and to what she thought was her slow death and curled up in the corner of the now empty house until he had come, he who would save her!

They were now in an Oasis, a large one, and she sat up, gripping the straps that encircled the beast beneath her for they were entering a square with an Inn and she smiled for she knew from past experience that here she might be well fed and have the opportunity to bathe as she could hardly look at the man who brought her here, ashamed of what she had become. And so it was, he pulled her down and gave her to a woman” feed her well, have her bathe and clothe her in something more becoming than those rags then put her to work as payment” he barked at her “its been a long journey and I have affairs to see too” And it was here they stayed for many days for it would seem the Salt Merchant was trading, she rarely saw him and she was put to work in their kitchens where she would glance out the window to an auction block and on one day she saw him talking there with a slaver, and she would wonder…

There were writings on some wood nailed up on the block, she couldn’t read the cursive Tahari script even though her former master had tried to teach her drawing them beautifully in the sands and he would laugh fondly at her endeavours but she was always distracted by his presence and she would tease her master’s eyes to her thighs with a flex of her supple, tanned legs and now she cursed herself for not learning them. The work was hard in the kitchens, big pots to be scrubbed and cleaned and to be carried to and from the fires, and always the mistress over her shoulder, her voice shrill and loud in her ears. Never had she been put to work so harshly and her little body ached, ached not only from the work but also for what she once was, she reasoned that after all she was still alive right? and her body and skills worthy of the attention of any master. She had been trained well, even though she did not always realize that was so. And she reminded herself, she had never been trained those years past to be a lazy slave.

All the same she fell to the floor sobbing into her hands as she wondered if this was to be her life when suddenly she felt fingers grabbing at her collar on the back of her neck and yanking her to her feet “Lazy slave, I might be selling you” it was the familiar voice of the master who had saved her and chuckling he threw her over his shoulder as he made his way out of the hot kitchen. “no need to cry kajira, I will not be leaving you here, I made an oath remember?” and with that they left the Inn and into the courtyard where he pushed her up and into a kurdah, atop a sand kaiila, the kurdah covered completely with layers of white rep cloth, to reflect the sun, with the exception of the front, which was closed with a center-opening curtain, also of white rep-cloth. She pulled back the curtain as she sat on a silk cushion and watched as the master stood in his much larger and heavily laden kaiilas’ stirrups and pulled his burnoose over his head and with the wind carrying the pleasing sound of caravan bells she knew then that they were in for a long journey and eventually catching them up they joined the long, slow moving line that moved into the red sliding sands and northward.