Derek stopped dead.
"This city reeks of sorcery," he snorted.
"You've been in the sun too long," exclaimed the young girl who halted at his side. Her breasts bounced once in tandem under the almost invisible halter-top. The nipples pressed against the gauzy fabric, the plumpness of each trembling breast visible at a glance, as if clothed in less than smoke. Her pantaloons were of the same sheer material. For a white woman, the swell of her buttocks was round and high and her freshly denuded pubes as much in evidence as her breasts.
Pedestrians continued flowing around them in the bazaar, dust rising at their feet.
Derek curled his fingers around the haft of his sword. "Do you see those two big oil jars outside the gate in that wall?"
The girl shook her pretty blonde head, exasperated. "You fear a couple of clay pots?"
"I've seen djinns sleep in jars as tall as those, Danai."
"This is civilization not some haunted jungle," she scolded him, her eyes lingering on the wall. "Anyway, there seems to be some sort of celebration going on back there. A party, or fete."
A guardsman in a turban leaned languidly in the heat against one of the jars, listening to Derek and Danai converse. A gnarled hand rested on the pommel of a scimitar thrust into the sand at his feet. He leered at the girl, not unlike every other herdsman and nomad in every other oasis and town.
He called to her: "You're welcome to join the party, milady. But your boy will have to remain outside."
Danai pleaded, "But he's my brother, let him in too. Please."
The man in the turban shook his head. He repeated his offer, addressing her by a lewd and common name. When Derek strode toward him he taunted, "Watch your step, boyo, the djinns haven't been fed yet today."
He jerked the scimitar from the sand and whirled it over his head. Before Derek reached the guardsman an authoritative voice rang out.
"Hold, hold!" The man doing the shouting stepped out from behind one of the oil jars, his immaculate tan robes swirling. "Put down that cleaver now, Al-Aziz. What is the meaning of this?"
"This superstitious heathen tried to attack me, lieutenant."
"Silence!" barked the other man.
While he and the guardsman yelled at one another Danai caught up to Derek, grabbed hold of his left wrist. She knew better than to grab him by his sword arm. After she stopped him she got between him and the men at the gate. A crowd gathered around to enjoy the comedy. The man in the tan robes waved them away. Al-Aziz spat in the dust and went back to lean against one of the huge jars. He muttered under his breath and looked everywhere but at Derek.
The lieutenant in charge bowed deeply out of respect to Danai, bringing his eyes level with her hairless mound. When he finally straightened up he said: "I am Nu'aym and ask you forgive the outburst. What can I do to make amends?"
In a matter of seconds Danai had wheedled an invitation from Nu'aym, who conducted them into the walled compound. Groups of people wandered the grounds and congregated around colorful open pavilions that served drinks. Flat-roofed mud buildings lined the streets of the desert city. Inside the compound stood a palace of cream-colored blue-veined marble. Towers reared onion-shaped domes into the sky. Nu'aym led them down a flagstone walk to a courtyard. Two bulky men with spears guarded a well overlooked by tall palms.
Water is more valuable than gold in the desert.
"Our Sheikh will doubtless be honored with the presence of you and," Nu'aym paused, "you say this is your brother?"
"I am Derek. My sister and I have traveled for many weeks from the hill country."
"Still your tongue, brother, lest our host think we're provincials."
"And would our host be correct?"
She became indignant, hands on her hips, back arched, buttocks clenched, breasts outthrust. "I am not the one clad in breeches."
"The evening air swelters like the kitchens of Hades at feeding time," Derek chided her. "Would you rather see me wrapped in my cloak, sweating like a horse?"
"Before we left the inn I urged you to wear those nice silk trousers I bought you in Pyr-Nekheb."
"But I have no fine boots into which to tuck those silk trousers you bought for me in Pyr-Nekheb." He had moccasins on his feet. "And besides, how could anyone guess you would invite yourself to a party?"
She glared at him like only a sister can. "You could at least have worn a proper shirt."
Derek spread his arms haplessly. He wore an open sleeveless garment that resembled a vest more than a shirt. A dagger and sword hung from his belt. "If truth be told I am not the one who is underdressed."
Nu'aym smiled indulgently, "Please, please, it pains me to see siblings quarrel."
"It pains me to see my sister dressed like a tart," Derek said with a jerk of his head at Danai's brief costume. Except for the slippers on her feet and bangles on her wrists she might as well be naked. "Might I remind you this is civilization, not a bathhouse."
She made a face. "My brother joys in tormenting me."
Nu'aym wrenched his eyes away from the vertical crease in her mound long enough to placate Derek. "The Sheikh will be overcome with her charm. She definitely is the most beautiful woman at our fete."
"She's not a woman, she's a girl masquerading as one."
Danai's eyes flashed daggers at Derek.
Nu'aym clucked his tongue and returned his gaze to the flesh jiggling in the girl's abbreviated clothing. "I must beg to disagree, your sister is the envy of every woman here."
Derek was well aware of the stares Danai caused, from women and men alike. "Our mother would writhe in her grave if she could see her daughter tonight."
"Mother's last wish was for me to marry well. How many suitors would I attract dressed like a milkmaid fresh from the farm?"
Nu'aym laughed, hooded eyes studying the intriguing shape of Danai's exposed labial folds. "Your sister speaks the truth. And, like you yourself said, the sweltering heat discourages too much clothing. But I've misplaced my courtesy. You two must be thirsty after a long day's ride, no?"
He clapped his hands and a slave carrying a tray hurried to him. They took goblets and the slave filled them from a perspiring clay jug. Nu'aym made a toast: "To the great Sheikh Saif al Din."
"Who is he?" Danai asked innocently.
"Why he is the one hosting this sumptuous banquet, lovely one," Nu'aym said. "This delicious vintage and yonder tables of food are furnished by his largesse."
"Saif al Din is the richest man in the East," Derek said between gulps of wine. He gestured with his empty cup and immediately the slave refilled it.
"Dare I say he is the richest man in the known world, Derek," amended Nu'aym. "Many visitors have traveled from afar to attend tonight's fete to show their respect."
"Does he have a wife?" Danai wanted to know.
Nu'aym seemed caught off guard by the question.
"My sister is a shameless gold digger."
She glared at Derek.
"He has many wives," Nu'aym said gently.
"And harems full of concubines," teased Derek.
Danai clutched at the sleeve of Nu'aym's tan robe. "I apologize for my brother's rudeness."
Nu'aym maintained his neutral smile.
Derek's words bristled with irritation, "Are you ashamed of me, Danai?"
"Only your manners. Try to act civilized. It's bad enough how you're dressed."
"You're one to talk the way you're dressed, or rather undressed. I am clad like the simple soldier I am."
"I am not surprised you're a fighting man," said Nu'aym. "May I ask which unit you are attached to?"
"Conrad's Elite First Regiment."
Nu'aym obviously knew the Regiment recently fought insurgents in the East, allies of Saif al Din. Yet Nu'aym gave a deferential nod to Derek. "Impressive credentials, Conrad's mercenaries have seen some thankless campaigns."
A murmur rippled through the passersby around them and cut their conversation short.
Nu'aym turned to Danai. "The Sheikh now joins us."
A large man in a burnoose emerged from the palace. A black agal of woven goat hair secured a ghutra on his head, it billowed around his shoulders when he moved. He carried himself regally, the master of all he surveyed. At his side strolled a tall woman with a dusky complexion and long straight hair the color of ink. From a thin gold chain around her hips hung a rectangle of white cloth in lieu of a loincloth. The silk parted when she walked, Derek made note that her pubic mound was as bare as Danai's. Her breasts were contained by a pair of brass cups, both overflowing with flesh. Jewels sparkled around the woman's neck, above one elbow was a gold armlet shaped like an asp. A black diamond the size of a peach pit glittered at the man's throat. It outshined all the jewelry that adorned the woman on his arm.
He worked his way through the throng, speaking to friends and nodding at acquaintances. His beard parted in a smile when his gaze fell upon Danai. He marched right over to the blonde girl. The woman with olive skin had to lengthen her step to keep up. Derek thought she appeared displeased with the turn of events whereas Danai seemed ecstatic. She almost wilted when the man stepped up to her and inclined his head.
He never took his eyes off Danai's crotch as he spoke out of the side of his mouth: "Nu'aym, I must insist you introduce me to your marvelous young companion."
A sardonic smile curved Derek's lips when he saw that Nu'aym could bow and scrape with the best of them. "Delighted, sire. May I present the lovely Danai?"
The dark-haired woman folded her arms under the golden cups covering her breasts and said archly, "I do not recall her name on any of the invitations, Sheikh."
"She is my guest," Nu'aym hastened to explain.
