Chapter Sixteen - "A Dance of Whips"

Some two Ahn later, Eder sits with the Captain and others from the caravans also resting overnight at The Silent Kajira. They have dined well on a rich stew of bosk and solid chunks of vegetables, mopping the thick gravy with pieces of sa-tarna bread ripped from the still-warm loaves brought by the serving girl attending solely to their table. Eder sips the chilled larma juice as the others drain bowls of paga, their intoxication increased by the reminiscence of shared history, overblown recollections of past battles and even more exaggerated accounts of those recent incidents for which there is no corroboration. To believe them. Eder muses, is to accept that each has personally slain every bandit on Gor at least twice, but such is the way of warriors in their cups... always has been, always will be.

Suddenly, as if at some unseen signal, the Hall quiets, some heads swivel in momentary confusion but soon all eyes are fixed on a scarlet curtain, hanging across an alcove to the side of the main serving counter. The hush grows deeper, an air of expectancy coalesces, becoming almost tangible. Not even a cough, a laugh, or the scraping of a mug or chair breaks the spell.

The curtain is pulled aside, a buzz of excitement, of sharply drawn breath... a slight figure covered head to foot in a cloak of the same hue as the curtain walks slowly to the centre of the Hall, to a circle of polished wood, empty of tables. The face is covered by the hood of the cloak as the figure slowly turns, scanning each table. Choosing that of Eder and the Captains the figure approaches. The cloak is thrown aside, fluttering to the floor, a small, perfectly proportioned kajira steps forward, clear of skin with smoky grey eyes, accentuated by kohl. The girl kneels, shaking raven tresses over her back and shoulders, she places her hands in front of her, wrists crossed and speaks in a richly textured, slightly husky voice.

"Masters, may a slave beg the use of a whip ?"

The Captain of Eder's caravan, laughs loudly and tosses his whip to the floor before the slave, his eyes fixed in admiration, he adjusts his seatto get a better view. The kajira whispers her thanks and draws her hands up her arms, her skin glows with vitality, her perfectly honed dancer's muscles ripple along her thighs and calves with every movement. She touches the tips of her fingers to her steel collar, arching her back, cat-like before bending low to take the whip in her teeth and crawling slowly to the centre of circle. Kneeling still, but stretching upright, she shakes the whip loose, snaking the coils along the floor, the feathered tip whispering over the deeply polished wooden blocks, which reflect her form like a mirror. She smiles to the Captain, moistening her lips with a slow, provocative movement of her tongue.

Rising fluently from her knees to her feet, she begins to spin the whip around her flying black hair, the lash sighs as it cuts the air, as her movements slow and the rotation decreases the whip begins to fall, spiralling round her body, wrapping her soft curves in a lover's caress. As the whip twines around her, a single beat on a tabor strikes up, the girl begins to tap her right foot on the floor... accepting the rhythm she sways, hips undulating, at first slowly, circling wider. Her knees bending slightly as the speed of her spin increases. She spins counter to the whip, it unwraps itself and begins to trail over the floor... she lifts the handle to her mouth, teasing at it with her tongue. Kissing, nibbling, sliding the tip between her fire-red lips. She throws back her head again sending waves of shining black hair in a fresh cascade over her back. The light from the fires and torches flashes from the metal collar and reflects in the sheen of perspiration which sheathes her skin, her breasts rising and falling rapidly, part from excitement and part from the need to regain breath and composure.

The drumbeat dies away as she stretches high on tiptoe, again arching her back throwing a silhouette, a series of shadows dancing on the plain white walls of the Hall. She languidly coils the whip in her right hand, her left hand sliding sensuous up from her thigh to her flank, pausing to stroke a nipple to full erection. Her left arm thrust out to the side she begins to rotate once more, faster and faster as the drums cuts in setting an increasing tempo.. her feet become a blur the whip is released to fall again over her body, entwining. Maintaining perfect balance she builds towards a crescendo the drum pounding a rapid tattoo .. it stops, she sinks to her knees, leaning forward her head to the floor, body heaving with exertion. All eyes are fixed to her, she does not look up but she feels it.... she knows it.

After a brief pause, a thin reedy note pierces the silence of the Hall, the girl lifts her head from the floor but other wise remains immobile as the pipe sounds a hypnotic repetitive pattern of notes. Snake-like the girl begins to ripple her body in time with the music, head and shoulders rotating, hips lifting and rolling... she flicks the whip over her shoulder and down her back, clasping the tip between her thighs, as it swings at the bottom of its arc, placing a hand onto the tip she slowly draws the plaited leather over her heat and onto her belly, still moving to the hypnotic pipe. Her rapid breathing and quiet moans are audible only to the nearer tables as her eyes glaze in her total abandonment to the touch of the whip, her movements quicken and slow as if in a trance as her awareness of the Hall seems to slip away.

Kneeling upright, resting back on her heels, she reaches for the tip of the whip again, she pulls the lash taut, one hand in front the other behind her back, drawing the whip back and forth, her hips thrusting, her thighs gripping and releasing the thicker leather towards the base of the lash. She lifts and pulls the lash ever harder against her skin....Her tongue flicks again over her lips, her moans increase in volume and sound deeper in her throat.... The pipe shrills, the girl screams "Oh, Masters.... Pleeeeeeaaaassseee...", her head is thrown back as her whole body seems to pulse in release. With a cry she throws the whip across the floor, and collapses into a tiny ball, hunched her arms clasped around her knees. The crowd remains silent, still expectant as the Captain rises and retrieves his whip.

He walks slowly to the girl and flicks the tip of the lash against her curving back. Instantly she snaps erect, thighs parted, head proud and held high. She feels the lash slipping over her skin and spins on her knees facing the Captain, her eyes flash defiance at him. The Captain glares at the girl.... raising his arm, he brings the whip down full force, the crack of the whip against skin reverberates around the silent Hall....the girl yelps and lowers her eyes.

The Captain growls " I will have respect, slave."

Head bowed, she responds " Yes, Master."

Grinning to himself, his eyes crinkling as he smiles, the Captain says "Go, slave."

She answers " Yes, Master. " and crawls on her belly to the foot of the stairs before kneeling.

The Captain re-coils his whip and tucks it into his belt, he returns to the table and tosses a silver Tarndisk to the side of his platter. He grins at Eder and the others

"Looks like I just got called away."

The Hall erupts, clapping and howling approbation, as the Captain walks towards the stairs, pausing only to take a firm hold on the slave's collar, he starts upward, she follows on all fours.