Servant of the Gods (5 page)

He might, though, be able to spare her some of what was to come. The thought of seeing her bright spirit broken, that calm pride beaten, sickened him.

He brushed back her thick golden hair.

“If I could purchase you,” he said, doubting she understood.

Blue eyes looked up at him as she traced the line of his beard, the shape of his mouth with her fingers.

Haltingly, clearly considering each word carefully, she replied, softly, “I wouldn’t want to be your slave, my lord Khai.”

So she understood.

In her eyes, he could see the reason for that hesitation and he shared it. He wouldn’t have her bow down to him, either. He wouldn’t be the one to see that pride humbled by him as it and she must to show he was the master of his household.

It eased his heart somewhat to know she felt the same. In those unusual eyes, he saw understanding and knew she’d said it for that reason, too, so he could let it go.

And her.

The slave market was everything Eres had dreaded, except hotter, drier and more demeaning than she could possibly have imagined. Nothing could prepare a free person for the prospect of slavery. It just wasn’t possible. To know one’s life was now at the mercy of another’s whim, to be used and possibly thrown away…a thing, like cattle or sheep.

First, they stripped her of even the simple shift, leaving her utterly naked. Nudity didn’t bother her much, but the rough, indifferent handling did as they washed her and put new chains on her before thrusting her into a cage with a dozen others.

The first time any among those dozen touched her with anything less than indifference she beat him bloody as a warning to the others, her eyes marking them all.

After a time the slave-master clothed her even more roughly than Khai’s had. The shift they gave her was of the coarsest linen, harsh to the skin. Not that it mattered.

They led her out to a platform. The iron shackles and chains on her wrists rang a little, the weight heavy on her wrists. She kept her gaze unfocused, indifferent…suffered the affront of being eyed like a cow at the market. There was little except indignity she could expect from this moment onward, she knew.

Khai watched from the periphery of the crowd as they led her out, the Master of Slaves standing beside him.

Her lovely face was still, her eyes slightly averted, her gaze turned inward. That golden hair – so unusual here – streamed in the breeze. The rough cloth didn’t conceal the strength in her arms, nor diminish the beauty of her high breasts or shapely legs. Her pride hadn’t slackened by one finger, but she wasn’t obvious about it, merely watchful, guarded.

“You say she’s a warrior…?” Uro, the Master of Slaves, asked, to Khai’s nod.

Uro walked toward her, eyeing the girl.

The muscles were good, in keeping with the commander’s claim, he observed, stepping around her.

Not that the commander, chosen by King Narmer himself, wouldn’t be honest. The King did not choose wrongly and Khai had proven himself in the field of battle as an able Commander. Some said he might be General Akhom’s chosen successor, when the time came.

She wasn’t particularly tall; she was of nearly a height with him.

He ran his hand over one smoothly muscled arm, observed the numerous scars on it, ran another over the solid muscles of her flank, eyed the firm muscles in her thighs, her calves. She didn’t flinch, not even a muscle.

“She does appear quite strong.”

Others gathered, for the slave was unusual. Uro had expected it. It wasn’t often that slaves came among them with hair the color of Ra’s sun shining and eyes the color of Nut’s sky.

Khai watched the crowd swell.

To his alarm, the Grand Vizier, Kamenwati, was among them. Cousin to King Narmer, he was reputed to be a wizard. Other whispers said the magic he practiced was dark. In any and all circumstances, however, he was a man to be wary of, a cruel man who thought he hid his nature from others but as his cousin had the ear of the King.

“Let us test this,” the Master of Slaves said, gathering the harness for her swords in his hands. “These are hers, you say?”

Khai nodded.

The blades were as unusual as she was. Khai might have sold the one but would never have been able to sell the other. If he hadn’t seen it in use, he would never have understood it.

With a gesture, the Master of Slaves summoned more guards and another slave…then gave them his instructions.

It was as he commanded.

Eres suffered the impersonal touches, and waited.

Then she was led to a ring, little more than a waist-high plastered mud brick wall encircling a thick wooden post that stood in the middle. An iron ring was set in the post. Clearly it was meant for securing livestock. Around the ring were a dozen guards, all armed.

Puzzled, she waited as one of the guards removed the shackles from her wrists.

To her amazement, her swords were planted in the middle of the ring as was another single curved sword. Another slave was set loose within the ring. Within seconds his instructions were clear… He ran for the sword.

It was a race…a game…

Eres, too, ran, dove, rolled and caught up her swords. She tumbled away from the first slash by her opponent. Brought up her shortsword to defend. Then it was thrust and parry, shield and cover, attack… He was a poor warrior, his technique little but hack and slash, but he was strong. The glory of clean battle took over, the feel of her muscles moving, of her swords in her hands…a brief taste of freedom. The shock of his swords striking hers set her hands to singing, she felt his sword try to pierce the metal shield she wove around herself.

And Eres laughed, with pure delight.

Though it might be her last time, she could fight once again…face the challenge of besting another’s skill…or their lack…

Watching, that laugh caught Khai by surprise even as he watched that deadly and lovely dance. She was beautiful, fluid, graceful, using the entire ring to her advantage, ducking and darting away from her opponent’s clumsy attacks. His eyes went to her face. There was no hate in her expression, no fear or desperation, simply the pleasure of the challenge…and his heart was lost although he didn’t know it…

It was obvious they hadn’t chosen the other slave for his skill with a sword so she toyed with him, taunted him, leaving openings for him, and then blocking them. A skilled warrior couldn’t miss it, and Khai didn’t.

Dodging, spinning, Eres took the other with one solid smash of her sword-hilt to his head. The man fell. She had no need to kill him, not for mere sport. She didn’t and wouldn’t kill, save in honest battle.

To her shock, she suddenly found herself once more back in the slave market, surrounded by watchers bidding for her. Their voices were excited.

It wasn’t merely physical strength but her skill, her agility and speed, that enthralled the potential buyers, the Master of Slaves noted, pleased, and that made her the warrior she was.

“She’ll fetch a high price, my Lord Commander,” he said, softly to Khai.

From his place near the ring the Grand Vizier Kamenwati examined the slave girl. She whirled like a dust storm while the men and women around the ring watched her dance on the edge of death, their expressions avid. His magic felt the excitement build…the thrill, the danger, the chance of seeing blood darkening the air; their energy flooded through and into him. Something dark fluttered inside him. It fed on that energy, on that thrill, on that dark joy that blossomed within the observers like bloody lotuses.

The slave-master nodded.

A gate opened with a creak.

Eres turned her head.

This next man was much bigger, broader in the chest even than Khai, his upper arms as big as hams, but the muscles in his belly weren’t as defined. He charged at her like a bull.

She smiled and went to meet him, then turned away from his charge, letting him waste his energy.

Here was a different kind of joy. It wasn’t the berserker rage that took her on the field of battle but the feel of her muscles moving, the clash and ring of good steel. It was the sharp excitement of evading the blade a half inch from evisceration or the slight nick as she turned the sword, the thrill of living at the edge of one’s abilities, although this small battle was only a fraction of what she was capable of but still…

A bull, this one had no horns to protect his head as she spun away once again and let him ram his thick head into the low wall that made up the ring. He stumbled, staggered, and went down.

Khai watched and waited.

There was little else he could do. This was why he’d brought her here, to be sold as a slave to the highest bidder. He had coin but not enough. Not for this. Not enough for her. He’d known the bidding would be high.

Seeing the avid look in the eyes around him, it would be very high indeed. As he’d intended. He would see that she was valued, if he could..

Raising her head, Eres looked around, saw dozens of strange faces and only one known.

Khai.

That was dangerous, though. More for him than for her. She was nothing here, only an object to be sold.

By the clothing of those around her she recognized people of power and influence. Instantly she recognized the danger…not just to herself but Khai, who’d been kind when he hadn’t needed to be. She understood power, had watched it applied both well and badly, and politics, and had watched that applied, both well and badly also. She didn’t know these waters and so she tread carefully. A wrong look…

Very briefly, their gazes touched – hers and Khai’s.

She met no other look however briefly, knowing it would be disrespectful, too forward for a slave but she watched them all from the corners of her eyes. If she were very lucky, she might be purchased as a guard, even a bodyguard. Some here might also want her body, but less so now, knowing as they did that she had, could and would kill…

Some few, though…had darker desires. That knowledge sent a shiver through her soul.

There was one whose gaze gave her that chill.

His eyes were so dark they were very nearly black, the pupil nearly indistinguishable from the iris. His mouth thin, his beard trimmed so squarely and perfectly she feared for his body slave. Tall, he was well-built, if becoming slightly loose and fleshy in the belly – a man who indulged all his whims too well. He was getting a little soft, but only in body. There was no sign of softness in his eyes at all; they were as black and hard as a snake’s. His features were almost unnaturally pretty, too smooth, too expressionless, as if they were a mask he hid behind.

By his clothes and jewelry she knew him to be a rich and a powerful man. By the look in his eyes, she knew him to be a cruel one.

Those eyes never left her, examining her as dispassionately as if she were a prize mare.

To Khai’s dismay the bidding began in earnest. His stomach tightened as the price rose higher than even he’d expected, although those bids fell away in favor of those of the Grand Vizier.

His heart went cold. It seemed he’d done his job too well.

There were few who would dare challenge Kamenwati. Those who did often found they’d lost both favor in the King’s court and in luck. Nor could Khai challenge him. It was clear Kamenwati desired her.

Resolutely, Khai turned away. There was nothing he could do now as he had neither the coin nor the favor to buy her. He should have claimed her as his own when he’d had the chance.

He couldn’t watch as she was led away.

Kamenwati’s slave-master was very displeased and Oman didn’t bother to hide it as he and his lord waited for the girl to be brought to them.

“It will take an age to break her,” Oman complained.

If ever. There was a look in those peculiar eyes that even he recognized and he shivered at the thought of what it would take to do so – only the lower level of the house, the Master’s private domain, would succeed there.

Without looking at the man – Kamenwati didn’t deign to look at servants or slaves, nor did they dare to look at him directly, the punishment was…severe – Kamenwati spoke.

“I don’t want her broken,” he said, folding his arms across his chest, smiling slightly. “At the moment. I have…other…plans for her.”

Oman hid his shudder.

The slave was brought before them. Lord Kamenwati studied her.

Kamenwati noted that she was quite pretty, her fairness alien but intriguing. He, too, noted the pride, the strength of character in her.

That was intriguing as well. When her usefulness had diminished, he would have the pleasure of seeing that pride, that strength, broken, and discovering the many other ways she could and would serve him. He would have her on her knees before him, looking up at him and begging to serve him, calling him Master…in time.

For the moment, though, she was a novelty, an entertainment such as no other in Thebes possessed.

 He remembered the avidity of those who’d watched her fight. The hunger in them. Their darker urges, the desire to watch blood spilled.  All of which he’d soaked up like a sponge, energizing him.

It was no surprise to Eres to find the rich man with the hard eyes was her new master.