Several hours later, as the afternoon turned to evening, I heard the sound of Fogrim's door opening. I went to see him.
"About time!" I stepped into the room. Where have you been all day? I have been trying to find you."
Fogrim had unchained his slaves. They were all down on their elbows and knees, their cheeks brushing as they licked his feet in gratitude – and delight at his return. He reached down and stroked Ninli’s hair. She raised her head and licked his palm.
Yura, his Shang girl, was absent.
"I am sorry to have been detained for so long," he opened a bottle and poured out oil over his slave's backs. It gleamed where it hit, running down their sides and pooling along their spines. "I had not expected matters to take so long," he said, smiling. There was a peace to him that I had not seen since we at his farm. "You should fetch your girls. We must celebrate!"
"Celebrate?" One of his Shemite girls crawled to me and started unlacing my boot. I pushed her away. "What for? Where’s Yura – she didn’t escape, did she?"
"We must celebrate because I have earned us the blessings of the gods! Our trespasses have been forgiven!”
"Forgiven?"
"Yes!" He squatted and stroked his blonde’s face, the one who had pleased me that morning. She looked up at him with adoring eyes and rubbed her breasts against his arm. "We angered the Mi-Go with our machinations in the forest, and we broke an idol of Yoga in our fight."
"The Mi-Go are not gods, Fogrim."
"But they have the power of gods. And without the favor of Yog, we would be at their mercy."
On the floor, his slave girls were giggling and oiling each other.
"So – what? You lit some candles and made an offering?"
"I went to the Yog temple and gave them all my gold, and-"
"What!"
Fogrim pulled Ninli onto his lap. The Shemite beauty locked her ankles around his back. She nibbled on his neck, breasts pressed against his chest.
"I gave them all my gold. All 18 pieces.”
"Fogrim you shouldn't have-"
“Also, I sacrificed Yura.”
My blood ran cold.
“You – you what?!”
“It was a good ceremony. I would have asked you to join, but I know you are not fond of such things. Then, the priests ate her and read her bones in the fire."
I went numb.
The blonde rubbed herself against his legs like a cat. A Bharaji girl cooed and sucked his toes. Not one of the females reacted to the news of Yura. Later, when I looked back on this day, it was this indifference to her murder that disturbed me as much as the act. To them, this was an unremarkable fate.
It was unremarkable to everyone.
"It is alright, friend. There is much about Hyperborea you have yet to learn. In such days as these, I will be your shield."
Slowly, the shame of what I had done came home to me. Here I was, running through this world like some sort of cowboy - a vagabond with gold. Of course, I had gold - I was not paying the cost.
"Let me at least, at least cover your loss-"
"No! A sacrifice without loss has no meaning!" He pulled Ninli to lie beside him on the bed. The blonde and the second Shemite pushed their way between his knees, shoulder to shoulder, and began pulling down his pants. They squealed at the sight of his erect penis. The blonde held the other girl’s hair aside, as the second Shemite took his penis into her mouth.
"Above all else, my friend, we need the blessings of the gods if we are to control our lives. Do not forget that we are alive only at their pleasure! Should it further their purpose, all this land would be aflame, broken and melting for a thousand years. As it has been, and still is, in places on this world.”
Ninli gasped as he shoved his fingers between her thighs and into her vagina.
“What is it that you wish to speak of? I know that look of seriousness about you."
"It-it is nothing now."
"No, tell me, Brother."
"The Servants are sending a caravan to Aymund."
He lost his smile.
"I cannot stop you," his tone seemed deflated, "from angering the gods again. But I would ask if, between brothers, you would abandon this quest before you enrage them yet again. Are there not great powers involved in their doings?"
"Yes."
"Then, as any Hyperborean goes," he took a jug of wine from beside the bed and poured it down the necks and backs of the girls between his thighs, "do not anger them. Trust in the power of the gods, Gerard. Only that, not these foolish quests, are how men may live safe in this world."
In my mind's eye, I saw Yura's face.
"I'm sorry I’ve been selfish, Fogrim. Let’s go to your friend’s farm and see your son. I’m looking forward to meeting him."
He brightened at that, like a patient teacher who has finally seen the slowest pupil grasp the lesson at hand.
"Take a woman," he grabbed the second Shemite who was wiping the wine on her face on to his testicles and then licking it off them. "Take a woman, throw her to the floor, and enjoy her."
The blonde stopped and looked up at me, eyes gleaming.
"I’m not feeling too well. Some other time.”
He gave no answer and began enjoying his slaves.
***
I left the inn and made my way out into Ebugal’s night.
Lanterns hung outside shops. I felt the warm heat of a clay oven furnace, a huge baker pulling a tray of steaming loaves from it. A woman with a basket haggled with a street seller, dried, plucked birds hanging from his stall tied in bundles. A street magician entertained a crowd by making silver coins disappear as if into thin air. The crowd 'oohed' and 'aahed,' missing the magician's accomplice as he jostled them and picked their pockets.
"Wine, Master?"
A petite Shang girl stood outside a bar. She was dressed only in bronze anklets and armlets, a collar set with large crystals around her throat. She balanced an amphora against her hip as she poured out wine into a mug and held it out to me. Behind her and inside the bar, a man picked up a similarly garbed slave and threw her on to a table. Men cheered as he climbed on top of her and began riding the girl.
"The first cup is free, Master!" the Shang waved it in front of me, smiling.
All I saw in her face was Yura.
I walked past the bar.
Further down, I came upon an alley packed with men. They were cheering and waving little slips of parchment in the air. I stopped and tried to look past them, but they’d formed a thick wall of sweaty excitement and cheap wine. Beyond them, I could hear the crunch of bone breaking. The audience cheered (and booed).
I squeezed my way through past drunk men and puddles of urine.
In the center of the crowd was a cleared area. A square had been drawn in white chalk on the street floor. Outside the square, on one end, was a wooden table. A pair of bruisers carrying clubs and knives stood on either side of it. Seated at the table, a pair of bookies took bets from men pushing past each other, brandishing bronze and silver coins.
Across the square from the bookies were three wicker cages. Squeezed into each, crouching and clutching the wicker bars, was a slave girl. One was a pale blonde with ice-blue eyes. Another was a mixed-blooded girl who seemed part Bharaji. The last was a tanned, long-legged brunette. She twisted inside her cage like a snake.
Inside the chalk square stood two bare-chested men. Both were bled from cuts on their faces. A third man lay still on the ground in a pool of blood. His arm was broken with the bone poking out.
The larger bare-chested was wearing a leather harness over his face. He snarled and lunged at the smaller man. Small Man was too slow and took the blow right in the gut. He doubled over and spat up blood. The crowd cheered.
Leather Head grabbed Small Man and punched him again and again in the gut. Finally, he pushed the man to the ground and stomped on his throat. There was a loud cracking noise.
Leather Head roared.
Men jumped and cheered, waving their betting slips. There was a mad rush for the bookies table. The three caged girls clapped through the bars and called out to Leather Head. Their voices trembled – I remembered Haley’s words; we worship men like you, to keep us safe from men like him.
Leather Head drew a jagged, stone blade and crouched over the corpse. He cut below the rib cage, slipping the blade in. An attendant with an iron pot came running up. I watched as Leather Head worked with the ease of far too much practice, as he cut out his victim’s liver. He tossed it into the attendant’s pot, went to the second corpse, and harvested its liver as well. Only after he was done did were the corpses dragged away. They were hauled to the back of the alley and tossed on a pile of dead men.
"Who will take their chances,” A man stepped into the square, his arms held out wide, “Against Morgo the Maneater? Who would dare to take his head and claim his earnings, now at ten gold and one of these lovely, fresh, pleasure pets?”
Ten gold and girl. Those men had died for less treasure than I had in my pouch.
“No one?” the man’s eyes scanned the crowd.
“Perhaps a lesser opponent then, for one of you lesser man?”
The crowd booed. Morgo grinned and looked over to the long-legged brunette. I could see now that she had large, green eyes. She looked about 18.
He mimed cutting out her liver.
“Sure,” I said in English, stepping forward. I grabbed a man’s cup of wine and downed it. “I’ll fight this motherfucker.”
The crowd fell silent, and the announcer stared at me. He looked over to the bookies, one shrugged, and the other made a face.
"I bet you don’t need no translator,” I said to Morgo in English, removing my sword belt and placing it just outside the square.
Morgo the Maneater grinned and looked me up and down. He cracked his giant knuckles and stepped forward.
"A barbarian-tongued outlander fancies his chances!" Said the announcer. "Will you wager against his chances? What sport, if any, will this fool give our champion? One round, one round, who will bet against us that he’ll last a whole round?"
“Two rounds!” someone yelled.
“Two rounds!” the announcer pointed to him. “Double the odds, double the winnings! Does anyone else think he’ll survive as long?”
The crowd began placing bets. The blonde and the blended girl looked at me and laughed. The green-eyed brunette clutched the bars and pressed her face between them, her eyes placing her life in my hands.
Morgo roared and charged.
I sidestepped, dropping down and sweeping his leg. It was like slamming into a wall. My leg exploded in pain, but the giant went down, hands forward in the dirt. The crowd gasped as I stood and kicked Morgo in the knee, again and again.
"I’ll give you odds 3 to 1 he’s dead by Round 3!”
There was a rush for the bookies table.
Morgo caught my leg and yanked me down. A giant hand grabbed my head and smashed my face into the dirt. White-hot pain flashed through my face, and my ears began ringing.
Before I could get up, Morgo picked me up and threw me across the square.
I flailed in the air; the crowd stared and rushed back as I crashed down among them. Someone howled, and beer spilled over my face. My head struck dirt, and the world spun. Around me, men were cheering and cursing, yelling at me.
I sat up and looked over to the green-eyed brunette. I couldn’t hear her above the yelling, but I heard her eyes.
“Out of my way,” I stood and staggered back into the square. A group of men cheered. “Let’s go, motherfucker!”
Morgo came at me again, but this time I came at him.
I was faster – there are no slow swordsmen, they’re dead – I ducked behind his guard and punched him in the throat. The impact was so hard I thought I felt his spine.
Morgo howled and fell back, clutching his throat, choking. He screamed, and saliva flew as he wheezed for air.
I grabbed a handful of sand and smeared it into his eyes.
“No!”
“Yes!”
“That’s not right!”
“Look at that fat bastard scream!”
The crowd roared. Morgo staggered back, howling and clawing at his face. The bookies and the announcer exchanged knowing glances. One of the guards at the bookies’ table drew a dagger and threw it into the square.
Blinking through red eyes, Morgo saw the dagger.
I tackled him as he went for it. He kicked me in the head; I almost blacked out. I let go, and he was up. He grabbed the dagger and turned to face me.
He took a swing, and I sidestepped. Another and I darted back. His eyes were clearing; I had to act fast.
On his third swipe, I caught his wrist. He tried to yank his hand free – while I punched him in the groin.
He folded like a switchblade. I twisted the dagger out of his hand and kicked his head. He went down in the sand.
I looked around; the crowd was stunned. The announcer’s jaw had dropped. The green-eyed brunette looked delighted, the smile she gave me wiped away the pain in my face.
"Finish him!" Said a hook-nosed man in the crowd. "I want my money, finish him!"
Others began yelling for the same.
I looked down at Morgo. He tried to push himself up but failed. He bent back into a fetal position and wheezed.
"No," I said in English. "I won’t. I'm not like you." I turned my back on Morgo and started walking out of the square.
I knew it wasn’t over.
Morgo leaped to his feet and pounced. I used his momentum to throw him onto his back.
"There is no meeting you people halfway!" I twisted his arm until he screamed. "You can't learn, can you?" I yelled at the crowd, this time in Low Hyperborean. "You can't change! That's why this is all you'll ever have! Your ancestors were kings, but you are just slaves!"
The crowds' mood changed. Men began to murmur, and their eyes became hard.
I broke Morgo’s arm. The snap of bone rang out in the night. The man howled like an animal as I dropped his arm. It fell at an unnatural angle over his chest. There were a few cheers, but many more boos.
"Finish him, you worthless dog!" Hook-nose stamped his foot, his fists clenched. "I bet good coin on you!"
"You bet good coin on the odds," I put my sword belt back on. "And he didn’t last a round. I snapped my fingers at the bookies. "I'll take my winnings now."
The guards stepped forward, hands on their weapons.
"While he lives, you get nothing, Outlander," the announcer’s eyes became slits.
I looked at the brunette. The tall girl had an elegant, oval face. Her long, brown hair fell past her shoulders. Her skin was well-tanned: she may have been a farm slave – or a farmer’s daughter.
"Keep the gold then. But I'm taking the girl." I went to the cages.
Both guards drew their weapons and came at me, one from the left the other from the right. I drew my sword and turned to face them.
They did not rush: each man looked to the other, and the unspoken language of experience passed between them. They kept their distance while moving to flank me. The crowd cheered again.
"Kill him!" Someone yelled. "Kill him!" A chant began.
One guard passed in front of Morgo: the giant grabbed his leg and yanked him off balance. The guard cried out, and the other looked away from me for a moment.
You live or die in a moment in this world. I leaped forward and shoved my sword through his chest. He spat blood and clutched at the blade, stunned. I twisted my sword and tore it out, blood sprayed as he fell.
The other jerked his leg free from Morgo, snarling. I charged him: his street thug skills were no match for brutal sword work. I parried his club, punched him in the nose, then cut his belly open down the center. He fell, clutching at his intestines as they spilled out.
"The fight is fixed!" I yelled. "They stole your money!"
Some rushed for the table, yelling angrily. Others defended the bookies. Men shoved each other, and punches were thrown. Knives came out, and a man cried out as he was stabbed in the belly. The slave girls began screaming.
The fight became a free for all. The bookies' table was knocked over, and gold and silver coins spilled into the dirt. Men pounced on them, grabbing what they could.
Others went to the slave cages and broke them open. The blonde screamed as she was hauled out, one man holding her arms and another her legs. The blended girl pleaded as she was taken out and flung to the ground. One man held her down while another pulled down his pants and forced her legs apart.
"No!" The brunette shrank back in her cage as several men crowded around it.
"Not that one, you sons of bitchers," I pointed my sword at them, blood dripping from it.
The men backed away.
I went to the cage and cut the leather strips that held it shut. The brunette looked up at me like I was an angel sent from heaven.
"Out," I grabbed her by her hair.
She climbed out and knelt before me. With the cut leather strips, I tied her wrists behind her back and made a leash for her.
"Come," I tugged on it.
"Yes, Master!" she had an Armanean accent.
We left as the fight raged on, and the other slave girls began moaning.
***
I found a brothel some distance away. It was a grand, three-story building with balconies and large, red drapes hung from open windows. I could women crying out from inside.
"You can't bring her," said a guard standing outside, pointing to my brunette.
"I'll fuck who I want."
"Not here, you won't."
A woman howled as she orgasmed.
"How much to get in?"
"20 silver."
"Here's a gold," I held up the coin, "but I'm bringing her.
The guard took the coin and pointed to the darkened entrance.
I entered, my naked slave following after me.
It was dim inside the brothel. Covered braziers of black iron lit a large, central atrium that was open to the stars. Each floor was an open gallery; doors lined them. About half the doors were open. From behind the shut doors came the crack of whips, the cries of chained women, and the smack of flesh on flesh. Men leaned against the gallery railings or sat at small tables in the atrium’s courtyard. They sipped wine brought by girls wearing only black chokers and tiny bells in their hair.
I went to the nearest open door.
Inside was a small, cozy room about 12-foot square. Thick, red curtains hung across the walls. On a low table in one corner were neatly arranged chains, cuffs, and collars. Some were soft leather pieces. Others were heavy, were made of rough metal.
On the table in the other corner, was a series of whips of increasing cruelty, several canes, and all the rope, leather, and silk one could ever want. There was even a large jar filled with oil.
In the center of the room was a bed with iron rings set around it. Lying naked on the bed was a petite, tanned blonde chained at the ankle. She immediately knelt, knees apart, wrists crossed behind her head as she bared her breasts at me.
"I am yours, Master!" She said.
I unfastened her ankle.
"Go," I pointed. "And shut the door behind you."
The brothel girl raised an eyebrow.
"Go!"
She jumped to her feet and scrambled out of the room.
"Get on the bed."
"Yes, Master," the green-eyed beauty climbed onto the bed. She knelt, facing me, with her head down and her knees apart.
I took some black silk from the side table and gagged her with it. I untied the leash, and I enjoyed her soft, warm throat between my hands.
I stripped, climbed onto the bed, and pushed her head down beside my hip. My arm snaked around her throat, locking her in place. Bent over, her large bubble-shaped behind was well bared, the buttocks parted. Her labia protruded abundantly.
I slapped her behind, hard. Her buttocks quivered, and she jerked, grunting into her gag. Red marks faded on her buttocks. I smacked her again, harder. She screamed into the gag and tried to break free, but I held her steady.
"Learn your place, Slave," I smacked her again.
I took my time with her. I lost track of how many times I smacked her behind, but that is hardly important in these matters. I enjoyed the softness of her skin, how it became uniformly warm and heated wherever my hand fell, the way her cries moved from pain into pleasure.
I parted her buttocks and looked down at her labia. They dripped with her juices – she was quite ready for a cock. I spat on the fleshy folds and ran my fingers up and down them. She shuddered, clenching her toes.
"You have a large clit, slut. It should be pierced and lined with little rings."
I smacked her on her clit, and she jumped and moaned.
I let her up and removed her gag. It came away wet with saliva; her face was flushed.
I pushed her head down to my penis. She opened her mouth and took it in, I thrust my penis in as far as it would go, but she did not gag. I eased off, and she began pumping, her long hair tickling my skin. I was hard, and she seemed quite hungry; her mouth made delicious noises as her lips ran up and down the shaft.
I slipped the gag cloth around her throat, twisting it till it was tight. Then, I tightened it a bit further. She began choking and trying to pull away. I pushed her head back down over my cock and pinched her nose shut. I held her like that for 15 long seconds before letting her go.
She jerked her head up and sat back on her heels, gasping for breath, her breasts heaving as she gasped. They were perky, well-formed, the nipples light brown. Her face was red, mucus strings hung from her lips and dripped onto her chin.
I gripped her by her throat and pushed her head back down again.
I choked her three more times before I finally came. She buried her head in my crotch as I spurted. When I was done, she carefully pulled her head free and opened her mouth to show me.
Inside the sea of light gray, the tip of her tongue rose out. She moved it in a little circle through the semen.
"Swallow, Slave."
She obeyed.
I took the iron shackle that had held the previous girl's ankle and fitted it on the green-eyed beauty. Then, I untied her wrists and lay back with her. She threw an arm and a leg over me, burying her head in my chest. Her hair was soft against my chin.
"Are you a bred slave, or were you once free?"
"I was free once, master," she stroked my chest.
"Then, what is your name?"
She looked up at me, surprise in her big eyes. "Whatever master wants it to be." She kissed my neck.
"No, what will you before? When you were still free?"
"My old name was Olivana, Master."
"How old are you, Olivana?"
"18."
"How did you become a slave?"
"I am from Armanea, master," Olivana propped her chin on my chest. "One day, Darfuri pirates came and raided our village. A pirate found me hiding in a ditch and dragged me out. I was stripped and lined up with the other women of enslaveable age. They killed the ones they did not like, and took the rest of us onto their boat."
"How many did they kill?"
“Two. Eighteen of us they took."
10 percent. 10 to 15 percent of female captives assessed for slavery are put to death because their captors don’t find them attractive enough. This is why there are no unattractive Hyperborean women – even the plainest would turn heads back in the 21st Century. All those deemed less attractive were dead.
"And did they break you on the voyage back?"
"Yes," her mood seemed to darken.
"How many survived that?"
"Only 14, master."
"The Darfuri are cruel masters, but I am glad they caught you." I groped her thigh. "You are excellent meat. What a waste it would've been if you were still free!"
She giggled and kissed my chest.
“Master, I have a question, if it pleases you.”
“What, Slave?”
“You risked your life to win me. The men who choose to fight are drunk – or desperate. You are neither. Why did you think I was worth fighting Morgo for?”
“You’re not. But you were worth saving.”
“I do not understand, Master.”
“Someone died because of me. I can’t make that right – but I feel a bit better after saving you.”
Her face looked concerned.
“I am sorry, Master. Was it a friend?”
“A slave girl.”
Concern became confusion.
“Was she wasted? Did you lose the carcass?”
“Wow. Um, no, that's not the point. A life, all human life is-" I paused and read my audience. "Fine, yes, she was wasted.”
“I hope I am a good replacement for her,” she stroked my chest.
I gripped her neck and brushed her hair from her face. I studied her skin: it was smooth, clear, perfect. Her green eyes were flecked with hazel. I felt the warmth of her breath on my chest.
“Master?”
“You will be a replacement for her. I am going to give you as a gift.”
She lost her smile.
“Yes, Master,” she averted her eyes.
“A slave suffers what she must,” I said. It was a common adage.
“Of course, Master,” she began to sob.
“Why are you crying?”
She did not speak. I felt warm tears on my chest.
“Slave, you will answer.”
“When I fell slave,” her voice trembled, “I wanted to die. I obeyed and pleasured the man who seized me, so he unchained me to swab the deck. One day, I found the strength to jump and drown myself.”
I sat up on one elbow; this was not a conversation I had expected.
“That would have been a good death,” I said. If a woman kills herself rather than be enslaved, she dies with the respect of a free woman.
“As I was about to jump, a vision came to me of a man with a chain. He put the chain around my throat,” her hand went to her neck, “and I felt a great peace come upon me. I knew he was my master. It was a vision from the dreams of Azathoth. A vision of what the Blind Idiot God would bring to bear.”
Azathoth! Hyperboreans believe the universe is a dream of his, and when he wakes, everything will end. He is worshiped most in Armanea – where they pray he rises from slumber. I doubted the slave girl had had a vision from a god… But that had never stopped anyone in this world.
“You are that man, Master! I am yours. It is fated by Azathoth! Gift me if you must, but the powers will send me back to you, and I will always crave your chain around my -”
“Enough,” I slapped her.
She winced and looked down.
“I am sorry, Master. I have spoken unslavishly.”
“You won’t again. I’m not going to tell you what I think about your gods because I know how little good that does. But understand this; you are nothing more than I prize I won, and a gift to be given. You would be dead now if not for me, but the man you’ll kneel for may kill you tomorrow – whether or not he finds you pleasing Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
There was silence between us.
“Thank you for not beating me, Master,” she said at last, “May I show my thanks?”
“You may.”
Olivana took the cloth I had choked her with and used it to blindfold herself.
“What’s this?” I stroked her hair.
She got on her hands and knees and brushed her lips against my chest. Her hands found and felt their way along my thighs. The girl's head moved down till her chin stroked against my penis. One hand wrapped around the shaft, and the other gripped my hip.
She stuck her tongue out and found the tip. She spat on the head, testing again with her tongue to see if she’d hit it. Then she spat again and moved her hand up, covering her fingers in spit as she lubricated the head.
Her mouth came down over my penis: warm, wet, the tongue stroking. Her hand began pumping.
She began a variant of the Morning Lotus sex dance. First eight, slow pumps with her hand and mouth, then pausing to lift her mouth away and then to lick the shaft up and down. She rubbed the head against her cheek, then did another eight, slow, pumps before licking again.
Then ten slow, and she pulled her mouth off slowly and tilting her head all the way back. Heavy strings of mucus quivered from her lips and plastered against her chin and throat.
I took the slut by her hair and turned her around.
She quickly put her hands and elbows down flat against the bed, pressing her face and breasts against the sheets. She was up on her knees, her behind raised and bared; the legs parted. The labia called out to me, fleshy and thick.
“Nnnh!” she moaned as I entered her.
I gripped her thighs and started. Her flesh smacked against mine, and she continued moaning. I pushed in deep, harder each time. She bit the sheets and howled into them.
I held her still as I came, filling her with large spurts.
“Master!” She pressed her forehead against the sheets, “Thank you, Master!”
I pulled free, semen dripping down her thigh. I took her hands and bound them behind her back and tied a bit between her teeth. Then, I lay back with the blindfolded slave, her warm, sweaty body on mine.
“You are a good, hot, cunt,” I whispered into her ear. “And just what I needed.”
She melted against me, quiet, blissful. In the neighboring room, a girl screamed in delight. I lay there for perhaps as much as an hour before finally getting up. I removed her bit and blindfold and re-leashed her.
“Where are we going now, Master?” she beamed at me.
“To gift you.”
I took her out of the room. The slave I had evicted was still standing there. She quickly bowed her head.
I spat on the floor and remained standing.
She stole a quick look at me, then got down on her hands and knees and licked up my saliva. Only then did I leave.