Night lay on the temple complex like a silk blanket. Beyond the tall walls, the desert wind whispered the secrets of the sands to the small settlement, but here silence reigned.
It crept through halls and passages and echoed around courtyards. It lurked in black corners like a predator lying in wait for its prey. It swallowed the tiniest sound alive.
Orra preferred the place at night. It was stifling during the day, both from the heat and from the press of bodies. Priests, servants and supplicants rubbed shoulders -- literally, on the days of the High Sun. Even hushed, their voices battered against the walls and ceilings until Orra sometimes felt she might suffocate.
But at night it was empty. Orra could roam the halls, losing herself inside her mind, letting her fingers trail along the cool stones. Her only companions as she made her way through the dark were the soft sounds of feet padding on the bare flags.
Many priests and acolytes served the temple of the High Sun, but when darkness fell the others all returned to their homes. The Great Temple went silent. The lesser buildings were closed, their glowstones locked away.
Only Orra stayed behind. As the sole priestess of the Sightless One, this was her home.
The Sightless One's temple was a small shrine, away from the larger structures that were devoted to the High Sun worship. During the day, unhindered by her blindness, Orra swept its floors, tended its flowers and petted the temple cats. When the occasional pilgrim arrived she conducted the rites.
At one time, the Sightless One had been a force in the Empire. Its priests and priestesses knew and kept the secrets of society, from the lowest members to the very highest. They witnessed treaties and marriages. They mediated disputes. They guarded treasures.
Those days were long past, though, and Orra and her temple were tolerated only as long as they didn't interfere with the worship of the High Sun.
This suited Orra. All she wanted, all she'd ever wanted, was a place where her blindness didn't make her an outcast, or a burden on the people around her.
But at night the entire complex was hers, and hers alone. The heavy gates were closed and barred. The guards patrolled until sunset, then they left the grounds in the care of the temple cats. They retreated into the guardhouse and the high towers that marked the corners of the sheer walls. They drank and talked like guards did everywhere, then they slept.
Sometimes they fucked, depending on who was on duty.
Orra liked those nights the best. She knew the secret passageways beneath the structures and inside the walls. She understood which corners held the deepest shadows.
She had no need to worry about the temple cats. By day, they came to sleep in the coolness of her shrine. When darkness fell, they wandered around in their nighttime forms, great tawny shapes prowling the corners and passages. When she woke in the morning, more often than not one would be curled up on her cot, once again a small, soft cat.
So Orra would lie in wait, hoping to hear the sounds of her favourites, like a cat hunting for its prey.
There was Yari, the grizzled Under-Captain, who had an appetite for young men. She'd raise her kilt and tell them to lick her, then she'd lower herself onto her knees and order them to take her from behind. Sometimes she'd suck them off. Sometimes she'd have two at once.
There was Gont, who was a huge man. In her mind, he had a large beard and hairy legs, heavy with muscle. He seduced the female guards, but they rarely came back for seconds. For all his bulk, he was a selfish and disappointing lover. Still, Orra enjoyed hearing his gravelly voice and feverish grunts as he reached climax.
Turo and Tano were brothers, and their skills were undeniable. So was their lust. They seduced and fucked everyone they could, and always together. Turo had a flask that seemed to make anyone willing to submit.
Afterwards Orra would return to her cot in the small chamber at the rear of her temple and replay what she'd heard. She used her fingers to make the visions come to life, or one of the wooden phalluses that she had in a range of sizes, and that fit a range of moods. Sometimes she used two, if she'd been listening to the brothers.
She was looking forward to tonight. She'd heard Gont's heavy boots patrolling the small stretch between the tall tower and the stand of orange trees. She hoped he was paired with someone new -- that petite girl she'd heard sign up the other week, or the Under-Captain who'd been sent here to share Yari's duties.
Avilia, that was her name. She had an accent that spoke of growing up in the Dumran Mountains -- a hard, no-nonsense people who made some of the toughest mercenaries. But sometimes Orra could hear a trace of sensuality buried deep. She hoped that Avilia would be paired with Turo and Tano one night. She'd already played out that scene for herself in her cot, riding up and down on two wooden shafts.
But for tonight she'd settle for listening to Avilia and Gont.
Standing motionless by the entrance to her small temple, she relaxed her mind and let her ears tell her everything. A temple cat sharpening its claws on an orange tree. The cry of a nightbird. The scratching of a beetle in the sand. The ghost of the evening wind.
She heard Gont making his way to the guardhouse. The tap of his spear on the flagstones. The low whistle that told Orra that he was looking forward to his night. She was too. Her fingers slipped inside her pocket and traced the outline of a wooden phallus, the one she'd named after the big man.
But then she also heard two pairs of feet walking side by side. Turo and Tano, inseparable as always, but not speaking.
Much fainter, the steps of another pair of feet. Feet that Orra didn't know. Lighter than Gont's, and lighter with the spear too. Avilia, most likely.
Feeling a knot of eagerness in her stomach Orra turned back into her temple. Her feet brought her to the sanctum. Her hands brushed aside the heavy curtain, and her fingers found the ring that lifted the trapdoor.
Silently she pulled the wooden board down over her head, and silently she descended the steps. There was no reason to be quiet, of course. Orra just preferred it that way.
Her fingers glided lightly over the wall, feeling the cold stone that was such a sharp contrast with the desert heat. Force of habit kept her mind counting the steps, the turns, the branches, until she paused by an alcove.
A short staircase brought her higher, and as she climbed she heard voices. Gont's low growl. Turo and Tano, laughing and cajoling. And another voice, a woman. "Very well then, pass the flask."
It was Avilia, Orra realised, and a thrill ran through her. She felt herself become excited just at the idea of listening to this strange woman having sex. Of course there was no guarantee she would, but Orra had spent enough nights listening to know how persuasive the men around her could be.
And how persuasive the drink in Turo's flask was.
Orra was surprised how soon he'd brought it out. Normally he'd have waited until Gont fell asleep, so that he could be certain that his victim would be his and his brother's to share.
The new Under-Captain drank -- carefully, Orra thought -- then the flask seemed to go back to Turo. "Strong stuff."
The young man gave a laugh. "You barely touched it, Captain! Come, have some more."
Gont gave a rumble of agreement. "Your first night alone in charge, boss. You deserve to celebrate."
"Very well." Avilia didn't sound reluctant, and the sounds of her drinking were drowned out by cheers from the men.
She's going to be out of control in a bit!
Orra thought with growing excitement.
Will she take them all on?
The idea was as intoxicating as whatever was in Turo's flask.
There was a scraping sound. Avilia rising. "Here," she said, "you have some."
Gont's laugh rumbled out like a storm over the desert. "Sure, why not?"
