All characters involved in sexual activities in this story are over the age of 18.
3: City state of Uruk (in modern day Iraq): 3000BC
Bhavini and Hano
Gentle waves lapped happily against the prow of the ship as it made its lazy way upriver from the sea. Bhavini was grateful for the relative calm of the river in comparison to the open ocean, where the rolling waves had made her feel constantly nauseous. She was much happier with her feet on dry land which was something that had been very rare in their three month journey from her homeland in The Indus. Since then they had been travelling ever westwards, sailing into the setting sun, heading for The Land of the Two Rivers and the wonders that awaited her there.
She stood up near the prow of the ship, hanging on to one of the sail ropes and watching the rest of the world pass her by, every day a new sight and wonder to behold. Back at home, the whole world had been green, or some shade of brown, the lush jungle foliage surrounding her humble village hemming them in from the world around them. But here, everything was vast and open. A thin strip of lush green fields hemmed the river on either side, filled with all manner of crops and trees, people like ants in the distance moving amongst them. But beyond the fields stretched the dry, endless arid expanse of the high desert, a solid yellow sea of unmoving sand.
But they were not alone on the river, her view was constantly blocked by the sails of other ships and smaller boats sailing up and down the mighty Eurphrates, bringing goods from all across the open world. Every now and then the captain of the ship would call or wave a greeting to another sailor, who would reply in kind. Bhavini was still too unfamiliar with the local dialect, and especially the regional mannerisms of the sailor's speech to understand what they were saying, but it was all very exotic and exciting.
She was doubly excited because she had gathered that today was finally the day that they would reach their destination, after three long months of travel they would finally be arriving at the town of Uruk. Although she was told that it was actually much bigger and grander than the town she had grown up in and was more accurately described by this strange new and interesting word 'city'. She craned her neck out above the balustrade of the boat, hoping to catch a glimpse of the distant stone and mud-brick homes that she had heard so much about.
Since her childhood she had known of the land between rivers, her father was an influential and successful trader in spices, the primary export of her homeland. She had grown up hearing of the magnificence and everlasting grandeur of the city of Uruk. She had longed to go there one day and see so many people all living in one place, see the buildings as tall as ten grown men, but mostly, she wanted to learn the ways of The Writers.
She was familiar with some of the basic inscriptions that her father's scribes made on the pots and clay tags of produce that were regularly shipped out. But she had heard that in Uruk, wise people had developed a fascinating new way of making words permanent, capturing them forever on clay tablets. The whole idea of being able to not only be able to record what people said, but also to be able to 'read' those words days, weeks, even months and years later astounded her. She knew that she wanted to learn this new and powerful craft.
As she had grown into womanhood, Bhavini became more and more familiar with the pictographic diagrams and little scripts which the traders used on their produce. As she had grown, so had her understanding of how one mark could mean one sound, and put next to another, which meant a different sound, came together to mean a whole word.
Now she was 18 years old. She was fully grown, in fact well past marital age, at least by most people's standards. But as the third daughter of a rich merchant, she had her uses beyond marriage, and so her father had finally seen a way to both fulfil her wishes to travel and make her useful to the family in the bargain. And so she had been shipped off, along with the rest of the cargo sailing to distant Uruk, there to learn the art of wordcraft from a learned teacher of such things. Bhavini couldn't be happier with the arrangement.
Her sisters had mocked her cruelly when the news had come through, telling her that she must be too ugly to even be worth marrying off to some fat son of a trading partner of her father. But Bhavini had rolled her eyes and let the teasing go unheeded, she knew very well that her older sisters were only cruel because they themselves in fact were married off to two of father's corpulent but rich business associates.
In fact Bhavini had a very secure and satisfied self image. She was certainly still young and was considered by many to be quite a beauty. She was slim and well built, with long caramel-tanned limbs and clever dainty fingers. Her hair, which was tied back in a ponytail, was long and so dark that it almost appeared silvery in the high blazing sun. She had large deep brown, intelligent eyes, framed by long dark lashes. Her nose was pronounced and high-boned, as were her wide cheekbones. She had a wide knowing smile and she knew that many of the young boys, and even some of the girls that had laboured in her old home estate had often thrown her a look or two, yearning for something that they would never achieve.
- - -
Finally, after standing and staring out at this new world that they were traversing for the better part of the morning, their destination finally hoved into view. As they rounded a bend in the river, the massive stone and brick metropolis of Uruk took Bhavini's breath away. There were more buildings here than she had ever seen in her entire life, all mostly formed out of stacked yellow-grey bricks in the same blocky interlocking patterns. It was like some massive hive of insects, sprawling out across the landscape, and at its centre the massive stone built ziggurat palace of the rulers. Nearly every wall and rooftop that she could see was covered in lush growing vines, grasses and flowers, giving the whole place a vibrant blanket of colour and life.
The air was filled with the sounds of people shouting and calling to each other in many different strange foreign languages, also with the ever-present smoky-foetid stink of the city. The ship she was riding in finally sailed up to a massive free open dock where many other boats and ships of all different designs were also moored up. Immediately men jumped down from the deck and began unloading the precious cargo, and Bhavini saw several other men in long pale robes, carrying simple slates of clay, framed in wooden tablets. As the bales and boxes were unloaded these men moved between them, making small marks on their clay slated with a little wooden marker. These must be the remarkable Writers that Bhavini had come to study under.
Bhavini's heart was hammering now with excitement and trepidation, she hadn't known what to expect when entering Uruk for the first time, and the entire experience of sensations had somewhat overwhelmed her. But she was also eager to get off this wretched boat and get her feet onto solid land once again. She gathered her meagre possessions in a satchel from the cabin she had been stowed in and made her way up on deck once more before descending the gangplank, awaiting whatever or whoever she would meet there.
For a moment or two she seemed to be completely ignored by most people, and she merely had to step around large burly men carrying heavy bundles. She made her way gingerly towards the end of the long stone pier where she could make out a collection of more well-dressed people standing. She had been told to look out for a slave who bore the mark of The Writers, usually signified by a brand on the back of the hand in the shape of a snake. Upon reaching the group, most of them also ignored her, but one young-ish looking man in a long yellow tunic stepped up towards her.
