Rachael Slave Of Emarukistan Ch 03

Story so far: Twenty-year-old Rachael has been a slave since birth. Unexpectedly she's granted her freedom, but she lacks the means to support herself. Consequently, she continues to work as a slave even after registering her manumission at the local temple. Rachael takes up an offer to work as a porter on a trading caravan with the promise of enough money at the end of the journey to support herself as a free woman. But prisoners being transported in the caravan escape and take Rachael with them. They flee into the hills where their leader, Lord Mustafa, has men and supplies waiting.

Chapter 3: Rachael and the Warrior

Eventually our slow climb along the rocky trail brings us to a deserted mine. It's here that I get confirmation of my earlier suspicions that Lord Mustafa's escape from Hassan's caravan was a carefully planned move. Three mercenaries are waiting for our party, along with a supply of food, clothing and weapons. The five mercenaries who escaped along with Mustafa and his two daughters promptly swap the assortment of clothing they seized from the caravan guards for some better garments. I'm ignored for the moment and I wait by the horses.

Even Mustafa's two daughters change into clothing more appropriate for the present terrain. We must be at least two leagues from where we left the road and we have climbed several hundred feet in the process. The fertile land of the plains surrounding the city have given way to the scrub and thin grass of these hills. Although we are a month or two from the dry season, the land around here is already looking parched. The last water I've seen was a small stream that we crossed at the foot of the ravine we have just climbed.

Mustafa is in deep conversation with the three men who were waiting for us. I can't hear what they are saying, but Mustafa is agitated as though something isn't going to plan.

"We'll need to camp here tonight," orders Mustafa to his men. "Jamal, escort the slave while she fetches more water. There are some buckets by the mine entrance."

Agh! Water carrying duty! My least favourite task. But arguing isn't going to do me any good, so I go to fetch a couple of buckets. They are large buckets formerly used in the mining operation to carry ore. Despite heavy use, they seem to be in reasonable condition. I check for any signs of holes and pick two that look watertight. Then I find a discarded mine prop that I can use as a yoke to carry the weight of the full buckets across my shoulders. It doesn't surprise me that the mercenary who is to escort me is the flute player who has been dogging my movements ever since we first met. At least I now know his name, Jamal.

"I don't normally need an escort to carry water," I say to him once we are out of sight of the camp.

"Out here you do," replies Jamal. "Dangerous beasts roam these hills... two legged and four legged varieties. Not that I've seen any sign of either so far."

I can only take Jamal at his word. I certainly haven't seen any sign of an animal bigger than a bird, and apart from the abandoned village and mine, no sign of human activity.

"You puzzle me, Rachael," says Jamal a short while later. "Why are you here? When we met in the temple I mistook you for the priest's secret bed warmer, but I discovered the next morning that you were there to register your manumission. You have been given your freedom, but you still dress and work as a slave."

"Freedom without the means to support yourself isn't freedom at all," I reply. "The merchant Hassan was paying me to be a porter in his caravan and he promised to set me free when he reached his destination."

"Hmm. I think you made a poor deal there. No money. No freedom. Ah look! You can see the city from here."

I look to where Jamal is pointing and I can make out clusters of buildings on the distant plain below. I've never seen my home from afar, so I can only take his word that I'm looking at the city in which I grew up.

"Do you know why everyone simply calls it 'the city' and never refers to it by its given name?" asks Jamal.

"Superstition," I reply. "An ancient djinn curse that is supposed to bring disaster upon anyone who utters the name of the city."

"I take it that you don't believe in the curse."

"I neither believe nor disbelieve in the curse. A slave must do as she is told. Since I was old enough to talk I have been forbidden from saying the city's name."

"But you know what the name is?" persists Jamal.

"Yes. I may be a slave, but while I was growing up my curiosity was the same as any free child."

"Which means you can read," deduces Jamal. "Since no sane person would speak the name, you must have read it."

"Hah! If you wanted to know if I can read, then you need only have asked. Yes, I can read. I can understand bits of several distant languages, and I can do sums. All necessary training for the work I had to do at Wadi-Halaf."

"So you can do more than carry water and haul passenger litters about?" asks Jamal.

"Yes. I can cook, sew, wash and dry laundry, and repair things. That's as well as entertaining men by dancing, reciting stories or attending to their sexual needs."

"You would make someone a good wife," muses Jamal.

His response completely throws me and I resort the time-honoured tradition of a slave saying nothing unless asked a direct question. It was foolish of me to let my guard down and engage in a normal conversation with this man. Fortunately I'm saved from further awkwardness as we've reached the stream where we intend to fill the buckets.

Finding a place where the water is deep enough to fill the buckets proves difficult. It's not helped by Jamal deciding my tits and arse need attention... several times. I wish he would either treat me as a slave or as a free woman, rather than something in between. Eventually we find a pool surrounded by a muddy embankment. I quickly fill the buckets but stand motionless when I look at the muddy bank.

"Jamal," I say quietly, breaking the golden rule about a slave never referring to a free man by his given name. "The men who joined us at the mine were wearing sandals, yes?"

"Um. Yes. We all are," replies Jamal not seeming to notice my disrespectful act.

"Then who do these boot prints belong to?"

"We need to get back to the others," says Jamal after briefly studying the several sets of boot prints in the mud.

I attach the water buckets to my makeshift yoke and promptly follow Jamal. I've cleaned enough boots belonging to the warriors of the eastern tribes to identify the boot-prints in the mud as belonging to a Chaldean warrior. It's the wrong season for the merchant caravans from the distant east to venture this far west, so any Chaldean warriors in the area are unlikely to be guarding a caravan. No self-respecting local would hire a Chaldean warrior, who are generally regarded as unreliable barbarians. That means these warriors are probably up to no good.

We make our way back up the ravine. I try to move as quietly as possible, but two heavy buckets have a mind of their own. Despite our situation, Jamal doesn't let me abandon the buckets. Jamal keeps a good watch on our surroundings. What he would be capable of doing if we were attacked is open to question. When we near the mine he has me wait out of sight while he moves closer to investigate. A few minutes later he returns to where I am waiting.

"Stay hidden in the mine until I come for you," says Jamal. "There are three Chaldean warriors trying to negotiate something with Lord Mustafa, but neither group speaks the other's language. I'm not sure what is going on, but be prepared for trouble."

"I can speak some Chaldean," I say.

I'm not sure volunteering to get involved in something which could end in a fight is the wisest thing to do, but I've made my choice.

"Um... OK... Well, leave the water in the mine entrance and come with me," says Jamal.

At first Jamal has me wait at a distance, but close enough that I can hear what is being said by the Chaldean warriors. There's no point in getting me involved if I can't understand what they are saying.

"They say the men who were waiting for us here have stolen their food supplies," I whisper to Jamal. "They want it back. Along with the heads of the men who stole it."

Jamal leads me forward to where Lord Mustafa and one of his men are doing their best to communicate with the Chaldean warriors.

"This slave speaks some Chaldean," says Jamal. "She says these warriors want their food supplies back and the heads of the men who stole it."

Mustafa turns towards the mercenaries whom we met here today. They obviously heard what Jamal said, although I suspect they knew why the Chaldean warriors are here.

"We acquired the food supplies honestly," says one of the men drawing his sword. "We bought the food in Ashtarak."

There's a deathly silence from Mustafa and his men. The mercenary has spoken the forbidden name of our city. If there is any truth to the djinn curse then this man is doomed. Of course, the Chaldean warriors care nothing about the djinn curse, and they draw their weapons in response. Four more Chaldean warriors appear from hiding and a battle breaks out. Jamal drags me away from the fray, and he has me wait with Mustafa's two daughters in the relative safety of the mine entrance. Jamal returns to the fight, only to arrive as the two sides seem ready to call a truce. The three mercenaries who stole the food lie dead on the ground. The Chaldean warriors outnumber Mustafa's remaining force, but they seem content to leave with their food supplies without further bloodshed. Mustafa is injured, as are two of his men. Fighting on could only have one outcome. Fortunately common sense prevails and Mustafa agrees to a truce.

Once the Chaldean warriors have left, we make Lord Mustafa and the two injured mercenaries as comfortable as possible in the shade of the mine entrance. Some of the water I carried is used to bathe their wounds. None of the injured men are in a fit state to travel and without medical attention they could still die of their wounds. We have access to water, but only enough food for a few days.

"Jamal," says Mustafa. "Take the two horses and move as quickly as you can. Go with the slave and my daughters back to the city. Send help to us here as soon as you can. With the women gone, we can perhaps make the food last a week."

It's a plan made of desperation. Jamal could undoubtedly travel faster alone. But leaving me and Mustafa's daughters behind would only place more strain on the food supplies. As it is, we are being expected to forage for our own food on the journey, although that shouldn't be a problem once we reach the plains.

The scorching heat of mid-afternoon isn't the best time to start on our journey, but we don't have the luxury of waiting. We walk the horses down the ravine until we reach the place where we abandoned the litter. We mount the horses, Jamal and I on one, and Mustafa's daughters sharing the other. I'm not sure why Jamal wants me riding in front of him until I realise that it gives him an opportunity to fondle my tits.

"If you want to fuck me, you only need to pick a shady spot and you'll find me willing enough," I say.

"What about Dania and Phoebe?" replies Jamal, indicating Mustafa's daughters.

"They can watch if they like. Or are you wanting to fuck them too?"

"Hmm... all in good time," muses Jamal, still contenting himself with massaging my tits.

We retrace our route to the abandoned village where we stayed last night. There's about another hour of daylight, but this is the most logical place to stop for the night. When we return to the house where the mercenaries slept we discover a few items of food which got overlooked when we departed this morning. It's not much of a meal and I get less than my fair share, but nobody is interested in listening to the complaints of a slave.

"We depart a dawn," says Jamal as Dania and Phoebe prepare for bed.

"Is the slave sleeping in here?" asks Phoebe. "Isn't the stable more suitable for the likes of her."

"Rachael is going to keep me warm in bed," replies Jamal. "Unless you would like the privilege."

The hesitation in Phoebe's refusal suggests that she isn't totally adverse to the idea. But with her sister in the room, her sense of moral superiority wins the day.

I remove my loin cloth and lie on the straw mattress that Jamal has chosen for our bed. He doesn't need much foreplay before his cock is rock hard and teasing my cunt. Nor is he interested in keeping our sexual games quiet. I'm not sure if he's trying to attract the interest of Dania and Phoebe or if he's trying to embarrass them. Either way, I get my innards filled with a good solid rod and I'm having my first orgasm in next to no time.

Despite the need for an early start, Jamal and I continue our romp for the best part of an hour. At one stage I notice both Dania and Phoebe watching us from their bed, and who knows what the two of them are doing under the curtain they are using as a blanket. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that they are used to being in the proximity of wild sexual activity. Lord Mustafa has very exotic tastes when it comes to sex, and they must surely have known of his dungeon in their house. For all I know, they actively participated in some of his games.

Finally we all fall asleep only to be woken an hour or so before dawn by the sound of voices coming from outside. My immediate thought is that they are the Chaldean warriors, but the voices we hear are speaking our local language. Jamal gets us to hide while he goes to investigate. Fortunately the men we hear don't bother searching the village and quickly move on.

"Hassan must have sent word of Lord Mustafa's escape back to the city. That was a mounted patrol of the city guard. They must have ridden all night to reach here by now. Gather your things while I fetch the horses. We need to put some distance between us as quickly as possible."

"I thought my father wanted you to fetch help," says Dania. "What's wrong with getting those men to help?"

"I don't think they are the sort of help Lord Mustafa had in mind," replies Jamal. "They didn't search the village, which suggests that they are just an advance party. More patrols will be following to do a more thorough search. We need to get out of here if you want to help your father."

We mount the horses and take a cross-country route towards the city. We ride at a canter when the terrain permits, but it is a lot slower travelling this way compared to the road. We ride all day, apart from occasionally stopping to water the horses, and collecting a few berries for ourselves. By mid-afternoon we can see the city buildings on the horizon. Our route takes us around several farms before Jamal decides we should travel the rest of the way along the road. By early evening we have reached the city gates.

Unfortunately we can't simply walk up to the gates and demand entry. At least, not without having to answer some very awkward questions. At this time of day there's no prospect of sneaking past the guards while they are distracted by the flow of traffic.

"How are we going to get inside the city?" asks Phoebe.

"I know a way in that smugglers use," says Jamal. "But it isn't a route that you two can use without standing out like a sore thumb. And we don't want too many people noticing our arrival."

"What do you mean?" asks Dania.

"The route takes us through a slave brothel. A free woman would be spotted in seconds and questions asked."

I've never been inside one of the numerous brothels where slave women are rented out by the hour. Almost any sexual service can be bought and it's one of the worst places a slave could end up. I had visions of being sold to one of them when Lady Gülnihal finally persuaded my father to dispose of his slave offspring.

"Don't free women ever rent a slave in a brothel?" asks Dania.

"Yes. They do. But not in this one. It's strictly male clientele only."

"So what do we do?" asks Phoebe.

"We disguise ourselves as slaves," replies Dania. "We've done that before when we wanted to see what father was up to in his dungeon."

"Um. Yes, but that was inside our own house surrounded by people we know," says Phoebe.

But Jamal and Dania seem wedded to the idea. I could point out a couple of problems with this plan but I'm not sure my opinion would be welcome. Jamal solve my dilemma for me.

"What do you think, Rachael? Could Dania and Phoebe pass for slaves?"

"They'll need collars. What do you propose to do about the slave shoulder tattoo?" I reply.

"I can go on ahead, collect a couple of collars and return here," says Jamal. "But the tattoo will be trickier to solve."

"I can light a fire and prepare some burnt sticks," I offer. "I can draw the marks on Lady Dania's and Lady Phoebe's shoulders. It won't pass close inspection, but it might get us through the brothel.

It's alarming how quickly our plan is put into action. Dania and Phoebe aren't shy about stripping off their clothes and they wait patiently while I draw the standard slave marks on the rear of their right shoulders. When I consider their arrogant attitude when we first departed the city, I find this transformation surprising. Jamal returns as I'm finishing my work and places the slave collars around the two women's necks. Everything now depends on whether Dania and Phoebe can be convincing as slaves, or whether their privileged upbringing will be our undoing.

By now it is well past dusk and the city gates will have been locked for the night. But like any walled city there are secret ways to get in and out. In this case Jamal knows of a tunnel which starts in the cellar of a derelict farm, burrows under the wall, and emerges in the cellar of the brothel on the other side. Judging by the sturdy walls, and the lack of cobwebs, this tunnel must be used frequently.

We emerge into the cellar and squeeze past the large beer barrel hiding the tunnel entrance. The raucous noise from upstairs suggests the brothel is busy tonight. Jamal signals us to follow him upstairs. Everybody is having a lot of fun and nobody pays any attention to us. Only the brothel keeper guarding the front door questions our presence. I presume he's accustomed to people exiting the brothel who never entered it by the front door. Jamal pays him some coins, which must be the toll for using the tunnel. The brothel keeper seems satisfied and we are allowed to depart.

Dania and Phoebe were clearly expecting us to stop at an out of the way place so that they can put on their clothes and resume their normal identities.

"What's going on, Jamal?" asks Dania when it becomes clear that he has no intention of stopping.

"We couldn't risk my backpack being searched, so I hid your clothes at the derelict farm. Don't worry, as long as you keep up your disguise you will both be safe."

I don't recall this being part of the plan, but a lot of the detail was glossed over in our haste to get inside the city. Dania and Phoebe seem uneasy about continuing their disguise, but they don't have any other option. Jamal stops at a large building with a sign by the front door saying "Halls of Valhalla". I'm not sure why the owner of any building this far south would want a name associated with the myths of distant lands to the north, but that's what the sign says, with translations in several languages underneath.

Despite the late hour, the door is soon opened. Jamal confers with the man who answered the door. We are too far away for us to hear what is being said. Jamal then beckons us forward. The architecture inside of the building is mainly wooden panels mounted on decorative frames. The artwork reminds me of the inside of the temple where I registered my manumission document. However, this is no temple. The corridors are well lit but there's no sound of activity. Clearly this isn't a place of entertainment.