The Warrior Enchained

10

Dimly aware of some sense of movement, but movement less rapid than it had been, I awoke to the taste of meat broth in my mouth, coughed out some of it, then swallowed the rest. It was warm and tasty, but the presence of it in my stomach sent pains shooting through me, as though I hadn’t eaten anything in days. I moaned and gulped at the next swallow fed to me, but whoever was doing the feeding refused to be rushed. The sips came as slowly as the return of full consciousness, making it a long time before I lost most of the hollow feeling and was able to open my eyes and look around.

I was being fed by a woman who held me up with one arm, her free hand, holding a wooden bowl which came to my lips only slowly and deliberately. Her thoughts showed her to be undeniably female, but all I could see of the rest of her was her eyes and hands. Her body was covered by a long, full, light-brown robe, the hood of which also covered her hair. Most of her face was hidden by a thick cloth veil, leaving only her blue eyes and tanned forehead visible. Across her forehead a section of bronze chain could be seen, but whether it was secured to either side of her hood or circled her head entirely was impossible to tell. She made soothing, comforting noises at me while I looked at her, then finally let me finish the meat soup. With the soup gone she let me go, rose gracefully to her feet, and walked away. Sitting up alone was something of an effort, but it did let me look around more completely at where I was.

Above and around me was the striped material of a large square tent, holding off the glare of the very bright sun which could be seen through the missing front wall. I sat on hot, clean white sand, more of which could be seen outside, surrounding a relatively small area of grass and trees and cool looking blue water. It was hot in the tent, hot enough to make me sweat, and I wasn’t the only one. Five of the women who had been captured with me also sat or lay sweating on the sand, their hair and bodies filthy and mud-caked, their clothing torn and stained, their flesh marked with bruises. I looked down at myself and saw the same that I saw on them, then looked up again to join in the exchange of strengthless, hopeless glances. We were free of the orange-painted savages, but we were still a long way from anything that might be considered home.

A few minutes later six men entered, large, broad men wearing black haddinn on their tanned bodies. They wore nothing in the way of swordbelts or daggers, and around their necks gleamed bright bronze chains. I found myself shrinking back from the one who came to stand over me, and his mind was contemptuous as be crouched down and began pulling away the shreds of what clothing was left to me. My sounds of protest were joined by similar sounds coming from the other women, but none of the men paid any attention to them. We were all stripped naked in a matter of minutes, then each of us was lifted in the arms of a man and carried outside.

The sun was a blazing hot disc in the sky, too bright by far to be looked at directly. The man carrying me moved across the sand and away from the open tent, bearing left toward a pool of water separated from the main body of water, the others walking beside or behind us. It seemed that we were going to be allowed to bathe, and the pleasure brought by that prospect nearly drowned out the extreme embarrassment I felt over being carried around naked. There seemed to be few men around aside from those who carried us, but I still disliked the idea of being displayed so openly.

When we reached the pool of water I expected to be put down on the bank, but the expected failed to occur. The man carrying me stepped down and waded into the water, moving forward until the water was knee-deep on him. Only then did be put me down, and not to let me begin bathing. He held me by the arms and dunked me completely under the water, kept me under for a moment, then pulled me erect again. The water was only thigh deep when I stood up, but thigh deep is still deep enough to get you good and wet. I stood sputtering and wiping cool, life-giving water out of my eyes, and therefore failed to see where the small oblong of sandy, soapy material came from. I suspect it came from the man’s haddin, but the first I knew of it was the touch of it and his hand against my skin. I jumped and tried to move away, mortified that I was being bathed by someone else—and a man at that—but evasion wasn’t possible. Big fingers clamped around my arm, holding me where I was wanted, and the bathing proceeded according to the wishes of the man with the soap. His mind was still contemptuous; and he took considerable pleasure from the embarrassment he gave me.

By the time the baths were over, none of us were even hoping any longer that we’d been “saved” from the savages. Exactly what our positions were we didn’t yet know, but honored guests are rarely bathed all over by strange men, up to and including places usually considered intimate. I’d blushed and cried out, and tried to protect myself, but nothing had kept the big man in the black haddin from doing exactly as he pleased. I wasn’t the only one burning in furious embarrassment, but the other women kept their consternation to themselves, not even struggling with the men who bathed them. The one odd note in the entire thing was the complete lack of interest in all six of the men. They could have been bathing seetarr for all they seemed to care, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on the oddity. Two robed, veiled women carrying thick bundles came to stand on the bank of the pond, and their amusement at what was being done to us was too obvious to ignore.

When I was finally released I waded to the bank, cleaner in body but not happier in mind. The two robed women had spread cloths on the bank, and it was to these cloths that we were directed. We were handed other cloths to dry our hair with, and it quickly became apparent why we didn’t need to dry our bodies. Within minutes the sun itself had dried us, and was already beginning to take the dampness from our hair. We were given wooden combs to see to the tangles, then we were given dark brown robes and leather sandals, all without a word being spoken. The silence bothered me, but I didn’t break it; the minds of the women told me they would not have answered even if spoken to. A wall held their emotions tightly in place, and they worked quickly to get the job over and done with.

When we all wore sandals and robes, one of the veiled women led us toward a large tent while the other stayed behind to gather up the wet, used cloths. The men had disappeared while we were drying ourselves, but they hadn’t gone in the same direction in which we were being led. The tent we were taken to was blue and white striped, square and high, and divided inside into many small rooms. The entrance curtain parted to show us a small area entirely bung about with while silk, the same covering the ground, but we weren’t allowed immediate entrance. Our sandals had to be taken off and left beside the entrance, then we were able to follow our guide to the right, deeper into the tent. Findra, the blond tripper, walked close beside me, her mind upset and unhappy, but she hadn’t said any more than the rest of us had.

Our final destination was a room of white silk somewhere in the heart of the tent. Our guide led us into it and waved her hand, indicating that we were to stand where we were. She herself stood to one side away from us, her mind held purposely blank, her body held relaxed but ready. I didn’t know what she was ready for, and I was sure I didn’t want to find out. The four Rimilian women with me knew more than I did about what was going on, and the misery in their minds told a good deal of the story. They were trying to hold back on their fear, but it increased in each of them despite everything they could do.

The mystery was solved for me in a shorter time than I had expected. We had been in the room for no more than ten or fifteen minutes, nervous but enjoying the strangely cooler temperature, when a man suddenly appeared from behind one of the silk hangings. He wore white robes over his massive frame, a white veil over his features, and sandals on his feet. Around his waist was a swordbelt, from which hung a sword to the left and a long, terrible-looking dagger to the right, and his mind reacted very little when he looked at us. The veiled woman immediately knelt when she saw him, putting her fists to her forehead as she bowed. The newcomer ignored the gesture as he looked at us, then slowly came forward to the woman nearest him. He crouched in front of her and removed her ankle bands, then stood straight and moved to the next woman in line. In another five minutes the bands—of whatever number—were gone from all of us, and the man moved back to a place where he could look us over again.

“Remove the robes,” he suddenly ordered, his voice fiat and authoritative. My first thought was to refuse and then demand release, but the waves of fear coming from the other women almost knocked me over. This was not a man to refuse or argue with, their minds said, and they made me believe it as much as they did. I fumbled and pulled at the robe I wore, aware that Findra was doing just as the rest of us were even though she hadn’t understood the command. In seconds we were as bare as we’d been in the bath, but the man in front of us wasn’t as unaffected as the men in black haddinn had been. He examined each of us in turn with his blue eyes, his mind and body humming with approval and pleasure, his amusement clear when he saw the blush covering me. Maybe it was the blush, but his eyes rested on me longer than they did on any of the others, his interest evident and totally unconcealed. I know I blushed deeper then, increasing his amusement, and was almost relieved when he spoke again.

“Kneel before me,” he commanded, expecting and getting instant obedience. We knelt on the white silk floor and looked up at him, our fear so strong it must have blazed from our eyes. “It is good you obey so promptly,” he said, nodding his bead as he looked from one to the other of us. “You are now bedinn of our tribe, bound to obey us in all things. Should we feel you do not obey promptly and properly, we will see you taught the lesson of failure. All men here are hizah to you, save for those who wear the mark of bedin themselves. You will be taught the proper manner by those who have been bedin longer than you. Learn quickly, for their lessons are not as sharp as those from hizahh. Bedin, attend me.”

He had gestured toward the robed and veiled woman who knelt to one side, and she quickly stripped off the robe, rose to her feet, and hurried to kneel again in front of the man who had called her. She was naked under the robe she had worn, her veil secured to her long blond hair, the slender bronze chain previously visible only across her forehead now clearly banding her brow and the entire top of her head. Once she was on her knees, she bent forward with her forehead to the silken floor, her arms place gracefully behind her and crossed at the wrists, her mind quivering with fear even as she fought to relax her body. The man stared down at her a moment, vaguely dissatisfied with something, then abruptly pulled a leather string from his swordbelt and crouched to tie her wrists behind her. I thought for a minute that the tying was some sort of ritual, not actually meant to hold her, but her mind winced at the tightness of her bonds, proving they were no mere frill or technicality. When she was bound tight she raised her head from the floor, kissed the man’s hand and whispered, “Hizah, I beg to be allowed the honor of serving you.”

The man straightened and gestured her erect without answering her, then looked at us again.

“You will remain here till another comes to guide you,” he said, then turned and left with the veiled woman close on his heels. As soon as the curtain had settled, we were as completely alone as it’s possible to be in the midst of a campful of strangers.

“What did he say?” Findra whispered almost immediately, her voice shaky. “Where are we and what’s going to happen to us?”

I shrugged and translated what the man had said, ending with, “Hizah translates roughly as, ‘Lord of one’s every breath’ or ‘Shaper of one’s destiny.’ Bedin means nothing less than slave, and that’s what’s been done to us. We’ve been made their slaves.”

Findra’s mind tried to reject the concept, but she was a good deal more practical than that. She settled back on her heels and closed her eyes, then searched inside herself for acceptance of the situation. She, like the other four women with us, was trying to adjust to something she’d never considered having to adjust to, something that came as a considerable shock. I could feel the shock they felt, that and their attempts at adjustment, but couldn’t reach the necessary level for adjustment in my own mind. I wrapped my arms around myself, hearing again how glibly I’d spoken of being made a slave; the words were right and the tone was proper, but the requisite acceptance to go along with them just wasn’t where it should be.

Some of the women were whispering to one another, so when I detected the approach of a mind I gestured them to silence. A veiled woman slipped into the room, possibly the same one we’d left at the pool, but it was almost impossible to tell. Her mind read just the same as the mind of the woman who had followed the man out, except for the lack of active fear. Our robes were gestured to, showing that we were to bring them with us, and then we were hurried out of the tent.

After putting on our sandals and slipping into our robes, we followed our new guide to a smaller, plainer tent close to the center of the camp. A brown cloth covered the entrance of this tent, and after taking off our sandals again we followed our new guide inside. Behind the hanging was a single-room tent, the cloth of the walls and floor a plain brown. Women sat or lay all over the tent, one or two sleeping, the rest either tending to chores like sewing or polishing, or seeing to their own bodies. They all tensed when we entered—even the sleepers stirring in sudden discomfort—but seeing who we were put them at ease again. They were all blond, veiled and completely naked, and all wore small-linked bronze bands around their heads.

“Fold your robes and lay them there,” our guide said, pointing to a neat pile of robes of various browns before slipping out of her own robe. “When you leave this tent, you are to wear robes of the darkest brown, for you have not yet been favored. When you have finished, I will instruct you further.”

“Why do they all wear veils and nothing of clothing?” I asked, taking off my robe reluctantly. I didn’t like the idea of sitting or walking around in nothing at all, but it seemed to be the prevailing style there.

“It is the wish of our hizahh,” the woman answered, watching the robe-folding with a critical eye. “Lay the robes gently but firmly, so that they will neither crease nor slide from the others. Should any portion of our tent be found in disarray, we will all face the lesson.”

Her tone was so ominous I wouldn’t have had to pass on the emotions behind it even if I’d intended to. After I translated for Findra we all took care finishing up with the robes, then followed the woman to a corner of the tent where we could sit down.

“At darkness, all hizahh in the camp will see you veiled and banded,” the woman said, looking around at us. “These things you must remember above all others: no word may be spoken in the presence of hizahh, save at their command, and all bedinn must kneel immediately in the presence of hizahh. Should either of these rules be broken, you will immediately face the lesson for failure.”

“What does such a lesson consist of?” one of the women asked, her voice hesitant but the intention to know firm in her mind. We had to know, even if we didn’t want to.

“The girl who fails is whipped,” the woman whispered.

“The pain is so great one is unable to breathe beneath it, the lash so cruel one’s flesh is cut to nothing by it. And yet, this is not the greatest fear of the lesson. The greatest fear is that one may be whipped many times and sent to the bedin tent to heal—or one may be whipped to death upon the instant. It is impossible for one to know beforehand, for all proceeds at the whim of the hizah. We are nothing, and easily replaced. You yourselves, all of you, cost far less than a simple pack seetar, and will not be treated as well as the beast save you are chosen to bear young to the hizahh. To be chosen so is highly unlikely, for this tribe boasts many child-bearers born to it, none of whom have been bedin. They are kept far from the eyes of all, and never is a bedin allowed in their presence. Our service is solely for the use of hizahh, our lives theirs to direct forever.”

A shudder passed through me at the finality of that statement, a shudder that wasn’t felt by myself alone. But the present situation was something I couldn’t seem to come to terms with under any circumstances, real or not, caring or not. I just wanted to turn away and ignore it all, all the while telling myself that doing that couldn’t really cause my death. My world had never been that way, and I didn’t want it to be that way now.

“And—what of the last of us, the girl Alsim,” one of the women asked, her mind sick with fear over what answer she would get. “I have not seen her since we awoke, and none has mentioned her. Has she also been made—bedin—or has she somehow escaped our lot?”

“She remained with the savages,” the woman answered heavily, her eyes filled with pity above her veil. “The hizahh attempted to buy her as well, yet the savages wished to retain one female for their own use. Her suffering will not continue overlong, sister, for the savages do not care for the captives they take. She will soon die from lack of food and the continued use of the stupor drug, therefore must you take heart and rejoice in her coming freedom.”

“Freedom,” the woman sobbed, then buried her face in her hands. She felt the loss of one very close, more than a friend, most likely a blood relative. The women nearest her put their arms around her shoulders, attempting to soothe and comfort, but the woman was crying harder and harder, rapidly reaching the point of hysteria. I caught a flash of fear from the veiled woman as she glanced at the tent entrance just before adding her own whispered comments of warning; apparently the hizahh disliked having undue noise coming from the bedin tent. The others immediately began urging the crying woman to calm herself, but some grief transcends personal danger. A long set of memory-emotions rolled across the woman’s mind, telling me more clearly than words that the missing girl was the woman’s daughter, and my wavering uncertainty firmed itself into immediate resolve. The woman couldn’t help herself, but I could help her.

When I knelt in front of the crying woman and took her face in my hands, the women to either side of her drew somewhat away in startlement, undecided as to whether or not to interfere in whatever I was going to do. I ignored the other women and gave my complete attention to the one in front of me, the one who so keenly felt the torment her daughter would be forced to endure before death brought her freedom from it. I gently blended in and shared the loss with her, letting the grief tear at me the way it tore at her, tasting the sourness of helplessness with her. The woman’s sobs stopped abruptly as her eyes opened wide, her mind fearful before the peace touched her. The pain and loss were still there—as they should be—but the peace softened the colors of her grief until they were brown and gray with age—and bearable. Distance makes all pain more bearable, but attaining that distance is pain in itself. I’d shortened the distance for her and eased the pain, but not before sharing the taste of it to show her I understood. She understood too, and her arms went around my neck as she cried softly against me, gratitude filling her not so much for the peace I’d given her, as for the way in which I’d shared her grief.

Our guide and teacher didn’t understand what had gone on between the crying woman and myself, but she didn’t much care, either. She waited impatiently for the crying to ease off, then continued with our lessons. I got the impression that she was in danger of being blamed for anything we newcomers did wrong, and I later discovered I wasn’t far wrong. It wasn’t usual for anyone but the bedin concerned to be blamed for any one incident, but the thought could occur to a hizah and thereafter it would become usual. We were taught how to kneel, how to bow with our fists pressed to our foreheads, how to put our wrists behind us for binding when a hizah indicated desire for us, and how to offer ourselves in the most acceptable manner. It was a very depressing time, most especially when I remembered the instruction I’d once been given by Tammad on the very same subject. He’d been fooling around at the time and enjoying himself with a joke at my expense, but there was no fooling around or joking involved that time. If we didn’t learn how to do everything to the best of our ability, our lives might not continue on very long. One of the women made the mistake of asking our teacher’s name, and the answer made us all even more depressed. Our teacher had no name, nor did any of the other women who were bedinn. They were addressed only as bedin, forbidden to address each other by any other name, forbidden even to think of themselves in any other manner. They wore veils at all times to emphasize this lack of individuality, and the hizahh bothered telling them apart only for purposes of punishment. It made no difference to a hizah which bedin served him, as long as he was satisfied in all particulars. I was given to understand that things might be more difficult for me as I was the only dark-haired female among them, and was told I’d be wise to learn the lessons better than anyone else—just to be on the safe side. I was sure the woman was right—but I didn’t know if I could do it.

When we’d learned our lessons well enough to partially satisfy our teacher, we were given something to eat. The something was no more than the thick cereal-grain Loddar had made me eat, but we were instructed to offer our thanks as though we’d been served a feast. After having been starved by the savages for what must have been days, we were really in no shape to eat anything more substantial, but that wasn’t why we didn’t share the thick meat stew the other women ate. We would be kept on the cereal until the hizahh directed otherwise, or forever if they didn’t direct otherwise. None of the women there would dare oppose the men in the least matter, and the subject of what we ate was far from least. Blue eyes watched us from above veils with very little sympathy evident; they’d been through the same themselves and they’d survived. Whether or not we did the same was up to us.

We were drilled again after we cleaned up from our meal, then we were allowed to rest. The tent wasn’t as hot as the sun outside, but it was still hot enough to drain away the strength we’d managed to recapture. We sat down in one corner of the tent, away from the other women who occupied it, and it wasn’t until five or ten minutes had passed that I noticed how quiet it was. None of the women in the tent spoke to one another unless it was necessary, and then they said their piece as quickly and softly as possible. Their minds were like so many closed doors, locked tight to keep themselves safe within. They didn’t dare live without permission, their life-breath itself only a gift from others. It was a horrible way to exist, a matter of living only in the strictest sense of the word. Was life itself so precious that it was worth all that?

“How long do you think it’ll be before we’re found?” Findra whispered from the place she’d chosen beside me. “If that girl told you you’d have trouble because of your dark hair, III probably have the same trouble because of my dark eyes. And what happens if one of them talks to me when you’re not there to translate? If they take too long finding us, I might not be around anymore.”

I turned my head to look at her thin, pretty face, seeing the true depth of her anxiety no place but in her mind. Inwardly she was crying for Hannas, begging him to hurry, missing him desperately and greatly fearful in his absence. Her feelings weren’t something she was willing to admit out loud, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t experiencing them.

“You don’t think they wild find us,” she said, her large brown eyes examining my face. “If they don’t find us we’re as good as dead, but you won’t even let yourself hope. Do you think you’re better off here?”

“The term ‘better off’ doesn’t apply anywhere on this planet,” I answered, looking away from her again. “And you’re right—I don’t think they have the faintest chance of finding us. Do you remember all that rain while the savages had us? And how long was it before they even knew we were gone? And how far did we come across all that sand? They’d have to use magic to find us—or very sophisticated technology—and they don’t have either. Just what is it that you see worth hoping for?”

“There’s always something worth hoping for;” she muttered, turning completely away from me. “They’re not like Centran or Alderanean men, and I’m betting they find us. The hard part’ll be holding on until they do. Maybe if you look hard enough, you’ll also find something to hold onto.”

She lay down on her side and began clearing her mind for sleep, confident that if she waited long enough she’d be saved. I followed her example about lying down, but didn’t bother with the search she’d suggested. The only rescue I could find interest in hoping for was rescue by my own people, and that was even more unlikely than being found by Tammad’s group. I didn’t know what I would do in that captivity, but hoping for rescue wouldn’t be part of it.

Surprisingly enough, we were allowed to sleep undisturbed for quite some time before quiet bustle awoke us. The veiled women were moving around the tent lighting candles, straightening up, and preparing another meal. We were given a pot, water, dried cereal grain and a cooking stand tripod affair with fire-ledge and pot-ring raised two feet from the floor—and told to prepare our own meal. After the meal we all helped in the clean-up, then stood by while our teacher inspected our efforts. She passed them without finding fault, but didn’t miss the opportunity to tell us that the men might not feel the same if they inspected. If our efforts were found to be unsatisfactory, the only thing we could do would be to suffer our punishment and swear to do better next time.

Darkness had fallen by the time we were sent for by the hizahh. We were the only ones left in the tent when the two big men in black haddinn and bronze neck chains entered and motioned to us to follow them, and one of the women was so nervous she almost knelt and bowed to the men before realizing her mistake. We’d been told these unveiled men were bedinn too, male slaves who were used to do the jobs women weren’t strong enough to do. The men were all members of other tribes who had been found guilty of serious crimes. When a tribe decreed a man among them guilty, they stripped the man of his veil and possessions, castrated him, then sold him to another tribe as a slave. That explained their strange lack of interest in us when they’d bathed us; they were no longer capable of feeling interest. If I’d noticed that their bronze neck-chains had been permanently closed around their necks with tools, I might have understood what they were a good deal sooner.

After putting on brown robes and stopping for our sandals, we were led back to the tent we’d been in earlier that day. The air outside was almost cold, so cold we shivered in our robes until we were inside again. The darkness outside had been lit by torches, but the tents were lit by slim candles standing in ornate holders. We were met at the tent entrance by one of the veiled women in a light brown robe, then led deep inside once our sandals were off. I was used to walking barefoot on that planet, but walking on the soft white silk made me feel strange, as though it was a brand new experience. I didn’t particularly care for the feeling, but I wasn’t able to rid myself of it until we stepped through hangings into the presence of hizahh.

The white robed and veiled men lay at their ease all over the floor, served by their slaves who moved unobtrusively among them. The female bedinn all wore their robes as they served, their minds carefully considering every move they made, their suppressed fear so thick it filled the tent like a noxious vapor, transmitting itself to our group of newcomers. We entered hesitantly, in a bunch, clutching our robes to our middles as the attention of the veiled men came to us, appalled to discover that we’d been deserted by our guide. We stood alone in front of all those eyes, not knowing what to do, suddenly having forgotten everything we’d been taught.

“Why must new bedinn always be so graceless?” one of the men said, looking us over with less than approval. “Are all men save ourselves incapable of training females? Even the youngest of my daughters has attained more presence than they.”

“They will learn, Kadrar,” another laughed, glancing at the first man who had spoken. “Should our bedinn come to us already trained, where would be the pleasure in teaching them to serve? Bedinn, step forward before us and remove your robes.”

Slowly, hesitantly, we moved into the midst of the men, then opened our robes and let them fall to the silk at our feet. The minds around us began to hum so suddenly that I closed my eyes, embarrassed and frightened, wishing I could turn and run out of there. I didn’t need to guess what those men were feeling, I could feel it myself, that sudden desire accompanied by the knowledge that nothing could stop them from satisfying that desire. It’s a feeling a woman has reason to fear, a feeling that turns her helpless with humiliation when she sees it. If she can feel it instead of just seeing it, it becomes ten times worse.

“Ah, I see we have a shy flower,” a male voice came, accompanied by a few chuckles. “Perhaps it will be necessary to deny her a robe entirely until the foolishness is forgotten.”

“See how she darkens yet further at the suggestion,” another laughed as the amusement spread around the tent. “I believe the shade goes well with her coloring. Let us not discourage it.”

“You may do with her as you wish when she serves you, Simlal!” snapped the one previously called Kadrar, the only one among them not amused. “Investing new bedinn bores me, and I would have it done with as soon as possible! Continue now, Kednin.”

“Very well, Kadrar,” the one called Kednin sighed, and I knew him as the one who had spoken to us earlier in the day. “We will complete the investiture as quickly as possible so that you may take a bedin to ease your temper. Perhaps you would care to take one now, and forgo the boredom you so clearly see in store for you? In view of your great need, we will be pleased to excuse you from the proceedings.”

“An excellent suggestion,” the one named Kadrar said, and I opened my eyes to see him rising to his feet. He gestured to the nearest bedin and then turned and strode out through the silken hangings, his white robes billowing behind him, a sickly frightened girl hurrying in his wake. The man was pleased to be getting out of there, but not half as pleased as the rest were to see him gone.

“An excellent suggestion indeed,” the veiled Kednin commented once the other man had left, and the rest laughed their agreement. “Now we may continue undisturbed. Approach me, bedin, and kneel before me.”

Kednin had pointed to the first of us on his right, and the woman, after a trembling hesitation, walked to him slowly and knelt down as ordered. The man’s mind was pleased as his eyes moved over the woman, but all he did was affix a veil to her hair to hide her face and band her brow with bronze-colored links. After that she was sent back to the line and another woman was appointed to take her place. One by one every one of us went, and the last one to go was me. Since I hadn’t been standing at the end of the line, I couldn’t help wondering why I’d been singled out like that.

“And for our last and newest bedin we have the shy flower,” Kednin said when I’d knelt before him, his eyes intense above his veil. His hands brought the last veil to my face, and then the last bronze-colored band to my head. The veil was heavier than I’d expected and the band lighter, and somehow there was no difficulty in keeping either one in place. When it was all done I was ready to stand up and go back to the line, but Kednin had other ideas.

“I would see what you have learned, bedin,” he said, his eyes still on me. “First bow to me, then place your wrists behind you.”

I hesitated longer than the first woman on line had, longer than was really wise, but there was something in the man’s mind I didn’t like. When I felt the beginnings of his annoyance start I quickly did as he’d ordered, but was still caught unprepared when I suddenly felt my wrists being tied with leather.

“Have you never been bound so, bedin?” he chuckled, amused by the way I struggled against the leather. “I, unlike my brother, find great amusement in investing new bedinn. They find their new state difficult to accept till it has been taught them in a proper manner.”

“Unbind me!” I snapped, furious to the point of not caring what they wanted. “Unbind me and return my clothing! I am a free woman and will not be treated so!”

“Ah, the spirit of a free woman,” he said, a smile of pleased anticipation in his voice. “I see I was correct in believing the foolishness of rebellion would most easily be drawn from our shy flower. You are mistaken in believing yourself a free woman, bedin, and this will be proven to you.”

His hands flew out and grasped me by the forearms before I could get to my feet as I was trying to do, holding me in place before him as someone else came up behind me. Drawing back away from his grip proved impossible, just as impossible as avoiding the man behind me. The second man pulled my head back by the hair, moved the veil aside, then forced a wad of cloth into my mouth just as I opened it to scream. The scream turned into a gurgle then died altogether as a strip of leather was tied around the wadding to hold it in place. After that the veil was replaced, my hair was released, and the second man stepped back.

“I see that there are tears in your lovely green eyes, bedin.” The man still holding my forearms chuckled. “Possibly the tears stem from the manner in which you have just been treated. If this is so do not regret them, for they have enabled you to learn the first of your lessons: no bedin may speak in the presence of hizahh, save at their command, and then only in the prescribed manner. For this, the time of your learning, you will only be mildly punished. Should the misconduct be repeated, your tongue will be removed.”

The shock struck me motionless between his hands, the shock transmitted by the other women lined up behind me and the stronger shock of knowing he spoke with utter conviction. His statement hadn’t been a threat, it had been a solemn promise, a vow he had made—and kept—in the past. I shook my head, denying that that could be happening to me, trying to deny everything he’d said, and luckily he misinterpreted the gesture.

“I am pleased to see you attempt to assure me that the error will not be repeated.” He laughed. “It is gratifying to know the lesson was as effective as I wished it to be, yet the punishment will be completed to reinforce your memory of the lesson. A bedin with her tongue removed is a bedin unable to give full pleasure to a man.”

The others laughed heartily at the joke, their minds pleased at the way the lesson was going. They enjoyed this part of acquiring new slaves as much as they enjoyed the slaves themselves. I would have preferred being furious at the attitude, but too much fear was hammering at me, mine as well as everyone else’s. The veiled bedinn knelt in their robes behind their hizahh, relieved to be temporarily ignored, but not foolish enough to believe it would last very long.

“You tremble,” the man in front of me observed, with pleasure. “A bedin is never so lovely as when she kneels trembling before one. Bedinn were born to tremble.”

His eyes blazed hot above his veil, his desire so close to me I felt smothered in it. It rolled at me in waves from his mind, making me dizzy and ill, until I cringed back against his hands. He laughed at my reaction, enjoying it and letting it feed his desire, sharing it with the other men in the tent.

Most of them were leaning forward, eager to get on with whatever was to happen next, and Kednin wasn’t about to make them wait long.

“It is also required of a bedin that she speak longingly of her desire to serve,” Kednin said, his voice almost a purr. “As you are currently unable to speak in any manner, you must show your eagerness to please your hizahh without words. Do you feel yourself able to do this?”

Numbly I shook my head again, slowly, almost pleadingly, knowing he hadn’t been expecting any answer but a negative. I could almost see the grin behind his veil, could hear the soft laughter in his throat, could feel the deep amusement from the others. They were going to do something to me, I knew they were, but my wrists strained as futilely against the leather as my throat strained to utter a scream.

“You are unable to show your desire to please,” Kednin nodded, a false commiseration in his voice. “Under such restrictive circumstances, it will then be necessary for your hizahh to assist you. We would not wish you to be thought unwilling. Bedinn.”

Two of the robed and veiled women ran to him when he called, kneeling to either side of me and bowing with their fists pressed to their foreheads. Their minds were unsurprised at the summons and their fright was minimal, showing the entire thing had been well planned. My own fright, unvoiced, was evident only in the increased trembling in my body.

“Your sisters now stand by to be of aid to you, bedin,” Kednin said, releasing my arms as the two robed women straightened from their bow. I immediately tried to back away from the man and get to my feet, but the women turned as one and took hold of my bound arms, keeping me in place. I writhed in their grip, still on my knees, turning my head from side to side to beg them with my eyes. Please let me go, I tried to ask, please let me get away from him, but their eyes were hooded and uncompromising, their minds not even sympathetic. They moved closer to me to get better leverage, obedience to their hizah their only concern, their movement underscoring Kednin’s chuckle.

“Ah, I see you anxiously beseech their aid,” he said, his eyes unmoving from me, his mind knowing the truth his tongue ignored. “It bodes well for your future servitude that you are able to ask the aid of sisters who are clothed while you kneel naked before your hizah. I feel sure they will provide the assistance you so earnestly desire.”

Then he laughed aloud, unable to contain his mirth any longer in the face of the burning red suddenly covering my body. It was bad enough being unclothed when everyone around you was the same; the shame of being naked among clothed people was more than I could stand. The difference I’d managed to forget had been pointed out for just that reason, to shame me, but I couldn’t keep from reacting just the way Kednin wanted me to. I closed my eyes and tried to bend forward, toward my knees, but the two bedinn holding my arms refused to allow it.

“Now do I truly see how eager you are to serve me, lovely bedin,” Kednin’s voice came as I nearly choked on a sob. “You wish the waiting to be over, and so it shall be.”

His hands touched me then, causing my eyes to fly open even though it was just my ribs he touched. The women on either side of me shifted their grips, one hand still on my arm, the other hand pressing into my back, forcing my upper torso forward toward the veiled man. I was being offered to the man whose blue eyes burned so brightly above a white veil, a man who didn’t refuse the invitation. His hands slid from my ribs to my breasts, touching me as though he owned me, touching me as though I alone offered myself. I wanted to die of shame, being thrust at a man like that, but I couldn’t even scream.

Before they were through with me, I learned how much it was possible to go through without dying of shame. Kednin touched me all over, slowly, caressingly, the two bedinn keeping me from drawing back and refusing his touch, their hands kept carefully out of his way but always there. It wasn’t long before those smaller hands were on my knees, drawing my thighs as wide as possible, offering the hizah a clear avenue for the continuance of his exploration. I had no doubt that he would take the avenue, but when he did a number of other hizahh rose from their places and came to crouch closer, to more easily see my reaction. As miserable as I felt I was sure there would be no reaction—other than an increase in my misery—but I hadn’t counted on all those extra minds and the dimly understood way the barbarian had bewitched my body.

Kednin’s invasion began as tearful outrage to my senses, an invasion that would have to be endured because it couldn’t be escaped. I cringed inwardly against expected pain, wondering how long I could endure it, but shockingly there was no pain, only a slowly demanding sensation of expectation, I suppose it would have to be called. I didn’t understand the sensation, but before I could begin to analyze it there were many minds very close around me, all of them filled with desire or arousal or both. The men who had come closer were feeling desire and beginning to feel arousal; the women who held me could no longer fight the sensation of burning in their own bodies at the sight of my body being touched; Kednin, my chief tormentor, had been radiating desire steadily from the time he first began with me. It was very much like the low, faraway drone of chanting voices that refused to stop, that refused to keep from growing louder and steadier. The beat of the chanting pushed at me, taking me up in its rhythm, forcing me to move in its flow. I couldn’t quite make out the words of the chant, but then I realized there were no words, nothing but movement and feeling and fire.

The movement had already begun when the feeling broke through my awareness. I moved to the urging of Kednin’s fingers, my body fighting the hands and leather that held me, but not to escape. I needed to get closer to the man before me, needed more than the scant touch he allowed me, needed to do something about the growing fire inside me. The fire was spreading, forcing me to writhe in its flames, building a moan that could not escape my lips. My breathing had grown so heavy I felt suffocated by the gag, but not even a whimper would come through.

“You appear to be aroused, lovely bedin,” Kednin murmured, his eyes boring into me, his free hand coming to my breast. “Can it mean that you, the shyest of flowers, wish to serve me here, before all these others? Will the shame not touch you more deeply to do such a thing?”

His words rang in my head, showing me all the eyes intent on my degradation, their owners waiting like birds of carrion to feast on their victim. I didn’t want to be their victim, I only wanted escape, but want usually comes in a poor second to need. My need had been brought to the surface and was destroying me, but before I died I had to make a final effort. Still writhing, still straining toward him, I shook my head fiercely to show that I preferred death to degradation.

“Ah, you will not feel shamed!” He laughed, deliberately misinterpreting my gesture. His mind knew the truth, and I knew he was punishing me for it. “What a lovely, obedient bedin you are, to think only of the service due me. Very well, my lovely, you may serve me here.”

He gestured to the two veiled women, and suddenly I was thrust to my side and then to my back. My knees and legs hurt from having been knelt so long, but the ache became insignificant. The hizah Kednin rose to his feet and stood above me, towering to the tent top, looking down at me from behind his veil. The two robed females held my ankles, one on each side of him, their hands keeping my struggles to a minimum, and then he was bending over me, his hands on my thighs, his body getting closer. I would have screamed as he entered me, from fury if nothing else; the shame was so great I thought I couldn’t bear it, but it was destined to grow greater. He not only took me, he forced me to respond, and through the waves of weakness I could feel the laughter of derision from all the men who watched. I cried as Kednin made himself indisputable hizah to me, but the tears were as useless as tears always are.

After that the other women were used, but my horrible example served them well. They submitted to binding with total deference, then did their best to seem cooperative and enthusiastic. Most of the men chose bedinn who were already broken in, and the balance of the new bedinn were allowed the comfort of being one among many. I lay on the floor where I had been left, my ankles bound after my service, my body placed at the feet of the hizah who had taken me. I finally knew that the entire episode had been contrived to make the other women more pliable, but the knowledge didn’t do anything to ease the wretchedness I felt. I lay on a silken floor at the feet of a stranger who had shamed me utterly, bound helplessly at his direction, gagged and used, endlessly reluctant to do more than breathe for fear of attracting attention to myself. The veil covering my face felt more than ludicrous, considering the nakedness of the rest of me; the chain around my brow had grown in weight, taking me down to the ground with the massiveness of its symbolism. I had been taught I was no more than one of the herd, marked with symbols of possession impossible to deny: the veil and head chain might be easily removed—if the wearer dared. But I wouldn’t have dared, even if I’d been free to do so, for fear of another lesson of the sort which I’d been given. Death itself was fearsome enough and painful death even more so, but far worse than those was the possibility of unending shame and humiliation, heaped upon me before the eyes of others. I wanted to withdraw myself from everything around me, the soft cries of bedinn and the louder misery of their minds, the satisfied grunts of hizahh and the smirking pleasure of their inner selves, but I simply didn’t dare. Another lack of proper response would bring further punishment, and I couldn’t face that. So I lay there and watched the women of Tammad’s city being used by strangers, their minds crying piteously for rescue, my own mind as distant as possible while still being near. I couldn’t bring myself to cry to anyone the way they were doing, and that made it all unbelievably worse.