Sunbaked sandstone streets warmed the underside of Maximus' bare feet as they walked through the city. In front of him, Ouralia trudged forward through the surging throngs of people. In one hand she held a leather cord, the other end knotted around his neck in a tight loop. In the other, she held a leather riding crop which she kept unwaveringly at her side. Behind him, Maximus could feel the cold gaze of two of Ouralia's elite guard. They flanked behind him one with her crossbow, the other with her blunted mace at the ready.
Stepping out of the current of people onto a enclosed wooden patio, they briefly stopped. Around him, Maximus saw beautiful young people of all genders dressed in colorful scanty dancers' clothes lounging on sedans and vibrant floor rugs. Some of them made eyes at passing nobles and officers while others sipped from long-stemmed glasses. In one corner he saw a rectangular iron cage where a woman with a penis was being stroked off by a long-haired blonde woman dressed now only in her robin's egg blue thong. Every one of them wore a wide band of gold around their neck with thin gilded chains connecting them to heavy square posts.
Ouralia jerked his leash and broke his slack jawed gaze as their party neared an iron door. It stood three-hundred four centicubits high with an eye slit and carvings of inquiring eyes in various sizes all over it. Maximus felt something in his gut grow heavy and had to look away from the door.
Undeterred, Ouralia jerked him forward once more before rapping on the door with her knuckles.
The eye slit slid open with a grinding metallic sound. A pair of large, beady green eyes filled the space as a shrill voice beckoned from beyond.
"Who dares to speak to Mistress Rai Khafra?" they asked.
Ouralia straightened her back, puffed out her chest, and cleared her throat.
"It is I, Captain Ouralia of the Sorority of Mortas. I've brought your mistress good stock and believe he would be of value in the games."
Maximus swore he saw her flexing.
With a echoing clank the eye slit quickly slid shut. The door opened smoothly as a hunched man with beady green eyes greeted them apologetically.
"Mistress Ouralia, forgive our lack of courtesy. We only received of your great victory on against the western invaders."
He bowed at the hip with his left hand parallel to his body. Whoever was his mistress had taken great care to dress him in subtle layers that concealed his mail shirt beneath. Despite his hunch, Maximus noticed the way his hand hovered toward the knife belt at his waist. From it hung a long stiletto that rode against his hosen clad thigh and a duelist's short sword that failed to announce its presence to the world with its dulled silver pommel and black leather grip.
Cold air surged forward as Maximus' party walked into the sandstone hall. The floors had been uniformly carpeted in short, red fabric that spoke more to the wealth of its owner than the practicality of the flooring. Adorning the walls were paintings of a red headed woman with curious eyes and a heart shaped mouth dressed in various leather and steel outfits. In each of them, she had people of all genders in various stages of undress kneeling at her feet. Some wore collars with leashes attached that converged into a coil of leather in her hand; others were outfitted with human sized horse tack, lashed into teams of six or eight that attached to her chariot; and others still clutched onto her with awesome lust in their eyes as if they looked upon a divine being.
What drew Maximus' eyes more than the depictions of leathery sex games was the woman's eyes. They were of no human sort that Maximus had ever seen. Almost completely yellow, save for a piercing red pupil and a pair of matching red rings. Even from the canvas and oil, it called to him.
The hunched man led them down the hallway to a cross intersection. On his left, Maximus saw a shallow amphitheater where the red-headed woman sat in a sunken plush couch, watching a pair of dancing people on a smooth stone stage. Her arms were sprawled on the floor behind her, clutching to a burly woman with short blue hair and a petite ginger woman on either seated to either side of her.
Their party walked down a circular staircase that gave everyone in the sunken couch ample opportunity to get an eyeful of them. The hunched man scampered forward and out front of their party like he was trained to do so.
