Slave of the Palace

Her name was now Kajira.

She couldn't remember her given name anymore, it had been that long. It didn't matter anyway. Not for a slave.

And she was a slave. Bound to obey everyone from the Sultan himself down to the lowliest of the low, but mainly the Sultan's many wives. It had been learned early on that she had a certain innate grace and so she was often called upon to serve drinks and food at the frequent parties the Sultan held. It was at one of these parties that her punishment was born.

"Fetch the wine and be quick, Kajira." The order was barked by one of the Sultan's wives on the fateful day. Kajira wasn't only expected to be swift but flawlessly graceful as well. She loaded the tray full of the exquisite crystal glasses, a wedding gift from a Highborn family from the South. Then she raised the flagon and poured the wine carefully, making sure not to spill a single drop. The golden liquid shimmered in the evening light, catching the last rays of the two suns and refracting rainbows on the walls. Kajira had no time to admire this phenomenon, however.

"Girl!" the head wife clapped her hands, and Kajira stood gracefully, bearing the tray aloft.

She was not unobserved. A man, one of the guests and a nobleman from the North, watched her closely. He admired her grace and her humility, but he also saw that she had spirit, and intelligence. When she wasn't employed serving the crowds or the wives, she could often be found in the nursery, reading to the tiny ones and teaching the older ones their letters and reading.

"Come here, Kajira!" one of the wives ordered, and Kajira glided over, despite her natural inclination to scurry. "Why are you so slow?" the woman demanded, a scowl marring her fine features.

Kajira bowed her head in mute apology and knelt, offering the tray up to the Highborn woman. She took a glass and waved Kajira away dismissively. "Useless creature."

The wives twittered and gossiped as they drank the sparkling wine, paying no heed to the kneeling slave. But the man, whose name was Amir, saw everything. He admired her figure and posture as she knelt, her bent head with its fiery hair, so different from the multitude of dark heads surrounding her. He knew that she suffered, for she was proud, for her difference from the other slaves, her red hair and pale eyes made her the recipient of the wives' anger.

"More!" one of the guests snapped his fingers imperiously and Kajira stood in one fluid motion, still balancing the tray above her head, this time filled with empty glasses.

Now, the second wife, although wed to the Sultan, had had her eyes upon Amir for quite some time, seeking a liaison. Although she had written him a missive asking for an assignation, no answer had been forthcoming. She glanced over at Amir and saw that his eyes were firmly fixed on Kajira as she walked gracefully towards the kitchen.

The second wife thought for a few moments before coming up with a plan. She would humiliate Kajira and disgrace her in Amir's eyes. She waited for the girl to come back from the kitchen. Sure enough, in a few moments Kajira appeared, bearing a tray full of glasses once more. When she approached, the second wife beckoned to the first wife. The first wife, ready for some tidbit of juicy gossip, came over readily. Just as the first wife reached the second wife, Kajira approached bearing her tray of glasses. With one swift and stealthy motion the second wife put out her slippered foot and tripped Kajira.

Down she came, helplessly, tray tumbling with all the drinks spilling, some of them over the first wife's gown.

"Clumsy fool! Look what you've done! Clean this mess at once!" the first wife shouted while the second wife smirked. Kajira knelt and began to gingerly pick up the shards of broken glass and setting them on the tray.

"Faster, you fool!" the first wife's features were nearly unrecognizable with fury. Kajria's hands moved in a blur, then she gasped, a drop of ruby forming on her finger.

"Serves you right, you stupid wretch." The second wife gloated.

"Stop." The commanding voice of Amir called out loudly.

The first and second wives and Kajira looked up, startled. "Have a servant boy sweep the glass up. It is far too dangerous to pick up by hand." Amir ordered.

"But the stupid girl dropped the tray and spilled wine all over my new dress!" the first wife pouted, trying to regain her composure.

"I don't care if one thousand of your dresses were ruined." Amir said, his voice dangerously soft. "Kajira is wounded."

"She will be punished, wife. Fear not." A voice boomed out in the background, and instantly all knees were bent for the Sultan entered.

Tall and spare, with a narrow, hawklike face, he surveyed the scene.

Kajira knelt, cradling her injured hand. Amir crouched beside her, offering his handkerchief to bind her injury. The Sultan scowled. "Leave her." He commanded.

"She's injured." Amir stood up. He was a couple of inches taller than the Sultan, and darkly handsome. He bowed to the Sultan. "May I look after her?"

"She is a servant. Let a servant tend to her." The Sultan ordered, turning towards the first wife. "What happened, dearest of my heart?"

The second wife, sensing an opportunity, said, "Kajira spilled wine all over my Lady. I think it was intentional, as the girl is clearly jealous of my Lady's beauty and grace."

"Is this true?" the Sultan asked the first wife.

"Yes, heart of my heart." She said, a little tear forming in her eye. It was a trick she had learned as a girl, crying on command.

"Then she will be punished, and today!" the Sultan boomed. "Take her away to the courtyard. Have her stripped."

"No!" Amir said and there was a murmur of surprise from the crowd. "She was tripped. I saw it with my own eyes."

"Tripped?" Second wife's eyes were wide.

"Yes, you put your foot out and caused her to fall."

"This is a dangerous accusation, Amir." The Sultan said softly. "Are you certain you wish to continue?"

"Yes, Sultan. Kajira is innocent."

"And you say that nothing like this tripping occurred?" the Sultan turned towards the second wife.

"Nothing like that happened. The stupid girl was merely being clumsy." The second wife vowed.

The Sultan turned towards Amir. "Are you accusing my wives of lying?"

"Yes, I am." Amir said. The murmur of the crowd escalated to a buzz.

"I am certain that you would wish to retract that statement, friend." The Sultan said, dangerously.

Amir looked the shorter man in the eyes. "I would not."

There was a collective gasp. The two wives looked on, mouths agape. Kajira cradled her injured hand and said nothing.

"You know, my friend," the Sultan said, studying Amir's face, "I could have you executed for such a thing."

"I know. But you will not, being a man of reason and sense." Amir rejoined.

"Nonetheless. You need to be punished as well, for disrespect." He thought for a moment. "I require that you punish Kajira."

"What?!" Amir's face went ashen.

"She is to be publicly strapped for her transgression. You will administer the strapping or I shall have you beheaded. And do not think that you can go easy on her, for if she isn't sufficiently marked I will have her punished all over again."

"This is insanity!" Amir said, stepping forward towards the Sultan. In an instant he was surrounded by three burly palace guards, all wielding drawn swords of wicked, gleaming sharpness.

"Your choice, friend." The Sultan smirked.

"You wouldn't behead me." Amir spoke confidently.

The Sultan put his head to one side and considered for a moment. "Yes, you are right. I won't have you beheaded."

The crowd let out a collective sigh of relief. Until.

"I'll behead Kajira instead, if you don't agree to giving her the strapping."

"You can't do this!" Amir protested.

"He is the Sultan. He can do as he pleases." The second wife chimed in, maliciously.

"Do you agree? Or shall I call for the Executioner?"

Amir ran his hand through his hair. "You give me no choice."

"Excellent. Let us walk down to the courtyard together." The Sultan took one of his wives on each arm and inclined his head. Amir followed, with a heavy heart.

***

In the courtyard an apparatus had been set up. Much like a sawhorse but with padding on its back and a series of leather and chain restraints at the legs. It was on a raised dais in the center, giving everyone an excellent view. Amir viewed the thing for a long moment then turned towards the Sultan.

"Punish me, instead." He insisted, softly.

"What! And let Kajira get off?" the Sultan kissed each wife on the cheek and turned towards Amir. "Besides, nobody wants to see you punished, Amir. Fetch the girl!"

In a moment the crowd parted to let the guard holding Kajira through. The girl shivered with apprehension, goosebumps visible on her body. She was wearing a thin cotton chemise and nothing else. The guard jerked her by the arm up onto the platform, where she stood, facing the crowd, eyes down. Amir watched this, heart sinking.

The Sultan smiled hawkishly at Amir and gestured towards the dais. "My guest." He said, motioning that Amir should mount the platform. Amir did so, slowly. "The ceremonial stripping, now." The Sultan reminded him. Amir turned towards Kajira.

"My apologies." He murmured before leaning forwards and ripping the chemise off of her body in one quick motion. Instantly her hands flew to her breasts and sex, concealing herself as best as she could. The crowd began to clap and shout.

"Now mount her on the horse." The Sultan said, face enigmatic. The wives smirked as Kajira was hoisted up and laid, face down, on the apparatus. Legs spread wide, arms stretched out in front, she was buckled securely to the 'horse' and couldn't move. A guard handed Amir a small rubber wedge and he lifted the girl's hips and slid it beneath her, forcing her bottom up and out, presenting the perfect target for the strap.

In this position the entirety of her sex and anus were visible to the crowd, and she was all too aware of that fact. She struggled vainly to close her legs but knew it was hopeless, and so she laid there, helplessly exposed to the strap and to the eyes of the crowd. And Amir.

For a moment he allowed himself to gaze on her body but then remembered the task at hand. The guard handed him a leather strap, well-worn, and about two finger thicknesses wide. He gripped it, and waited for the Sultan's proclamation.

"Fifty strokes." The Sultan cried, and there was a delighted murmur through the crowd. The second wife leaned close to the Sultan and whispered in his ear.

"I correct myself. Seventy five strokes!" the Sultan called out, and the second wife smirked.

"Sultan, I implore you..." Amir turned towards the Sultan and addressed him. "That is too harsh. She's but a girl..."

"A girl who angered and embarrassed my wives. Seventy five strokes, unless by your argument you'd prefer to make it one hundred?"

"Yes, Sultan." Amir said, turning grimly back to the naked, spread girl. He could see her thighs trembling visibly and he ran one hand down her back and leaned forward, whispering in her ear, "Be brave, my darling." Before raising the strap and stepping back.

TTTTTHHHHHHHWWWWWWAAAAPPPPPP! The first stroke came down directly across her buttocks, bisecting them with a thick, livid red weal. She screamed and struggled, knowing that this was the beginning of a very long, hard strapping.

Amir worked hard, bringing the strap flashing down across her bottom and thighs. He knew that the poor girl must be in agony but what choice did he have? She wriggled and screamed and the crowd chatted and occasionally laughed or clapped.

Thirty...forty. At fifty strokes Amir stopped, sweating. He knew that he had to do a proper job of the punishment or that Kajira would have to endure another strapping. Her bottom was a tapestry of red welts and blooming purple bruises and Amir turned towards the Sultan "My grace, I respectfully beg to let the punishment stand as it is."

The Sultan looked up from chatting with his wives and scowled. "Seventy five strokes were called for and seventy five will be given. Unless you're too tired and would like someone else to take over..." he indicated a burly guard who looked only too eager to take Amir's place.

"No, I'll continue." Amir said, studying poor Kajira's posterior for anyplace to strap that wasn't already hopelessly marked. Raising the strap he brought it down across her lower thighs, and she screamed. For several strokes she had to endure her tender thighs being strapped, and she begged and pleaded to be released, but Amir kept grimly on with his task. He turned to the Sultan but the other man shook his head and Amir sighed.

Sixty strokes...seventy. Only five more to go.

"Wait!" the sultan called, and Amir turned, heart lightening. Surely the Sultan would be satisfied now?

But the Sultan stood and addressed the crowd.

"My good people. Thank you for attending this punishment. I think that the last five strokes should be the kiss of the whip...don't you?" and he stood back, gesturing towards the sobbing Kajira.

There was a roar from the crowd, who all began to clap in unison. Clap...Clap...Clap. The verdict was unanimous.

"Fetch the single tail whip!" The Sultan ordered, and Amir gasped.

"I beg you to reconsider, my grace..." he implored, but the Sultan was unmoved.

"She disgraced my wives. She must be made an example of."

In moments the whip was brought, a wicked looking instrument, indeed. With a heavy heart Amir took it from its case and raised it. He was an expert at wielding the awful thing, from his time taming horses in the South. He raised it and gave it a trial flick, the crack audible throughout the audience. Some people gasped, some laughed.

Kajira cried.

He leaned close to her for a brief moment, murmuring, "Courage. I will make this quick."

Then, without warning, he raised his arm and the whip unfurled in a motion almost too quick for the eye to see, arcing through the air with a thin whistle to connect with Kajira's poor, punished bottom.

"AIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" she screamed, feeling the razor sharp kiss of the whip. Amir continued grimly, making sure to take aim at the least marked portions of her spread buttocks. Again, he raised his arm, the motion graceful and almost balletic. Then the wicked whip whistled through the air again to strike Kajira with a sliding motion, placing a needle thin red welt across the blooming bruises. She screamed, pushed almost past her breaking point.

Second wife smiled smugly and the Sultan applauded. "Well done, three more, Amir."

Again the whip was raised, and again it let fly, Amir's expert touch marking Kajira in yet another spot. The poor girl sobbed in her bondage, spent from the near-constant struggling she had been doing her entire punishment.

Two more times, with precision, Amir struck the girl, this time across her back. If the whip perhaps cracked more lightly against her skin the audience didn't notice.

Finally, it was done. Amir stepped back grimly and bowed. The crowd went wild, having had an excellent show. Kajira lay limply across the apparatus, crying softly.

"May I release her now, Sultan?" Amir asked, gesturing towards the still helpless girl.

"No. Let her lay there a while and ponder upon her clumsiness. Let us away to drink some more!" And the Sultan stood, flanked by his wives, and led the way back inside to where the food lay temptingly on the platters and the golden wine sparkled in the decanters.

Amir, however, stayed behind, waiting until every guest had disappeared into the palace. Then, he gently laid his hand on Kajira's back, carefully avoiding the two last whip marks. "Shhhh, little one. You took your punishment well."

Kajira looked up at him with her tearstained face. Quietly she said, "Thank you, my Lord."

Amir was stunned. "Why are you thanking me?" he asked, hand stilled.

"You are the only one in the court who has ever shown me any kindness." She replied, simply. "May I kiss your hand?"

Slowly, he lowered his hand to her lips, and she kissed it fervently, the hand that had just finished punishing her. Amir allowed this for a few moments, then made up his mind. "Kajira, I am not a wealthy man, but I have some gold put aside. I am going to ask the Sultan if I may purchase you."

"Oh, my Lord!" Kajira hiccupped softly, trying to still her crying.

"You will be my personal slave, and I will care for you unlike the people in the court. You will want for nothing." Amir said softly, stroking the girl's bright hair.

"Oh, my Lord..." Kajira's tears started anew, but this time they were tears of joy. Amir went back inside and the Sultan greeted him, taking both his hands and beaming.

"That was a magnificent job, Amir. Myself, my wives and guests are most pleased. I would gift you with something from the palace for your performance." He gestured expansively towards the tables. "A gold pitcher, perhaps? Or some rubies?"

Amir stood tall and looked the Sultan directly in the eyes. "I wish for a slave, my Lord."

"A slave? Such a paltry reward but you shall have on this very day." He clapped his hands and the steward stepped forward. "Bring all the most beautiful slaves here for my friend to choose from."

"I choose Kajira." Amir said softly.

"Kajira!" The Sultan said incredulously. "That clumsy fool!"

"I shall train her to my specifications." Amir retorted.

The Sultan shook his head slowly. "Of course you may have her, but take something else as well." He turned towards the steward and whispered something in his ear. The man left the room and the Sultan turned back towards Amir. "You are a strange man, my friend."

"I have my reasons." Amir said, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Ah, here we are." The Sultan took an intricately carved wooden box from the steward's hands and turned towards Amir. "Open it."

Inside nestled an exquisite collar, silver filigree studded with milky, fiery opals.

"It's too much." Amir said, shutting the box.

"Nonsense. I haven't had such entertainment for a long time, and my wives are very happy as well. Take it, it's yours."

Amir nodded and accepted the box. "May I take my slave as well, my Lord?"

"Certainly. I'll have her released from the horse." He clapped his hands and the steward approached again.

"Release that slave from the horse and give her to Amir."

"Yes, Sire."

Amir bowed his head in thanks, and the Sultan clapped him on the back heartily. "Train her well, the fair skinned fool."

"I shall."

And with that, Amir left the palace and went to the courtyard where Kajira was being lifted off the horse. He went to her quickly, knowing that the girl wouldn't be able to stand after such an arduous ordeal. Sure enough, upon being set down she immediately sunk to her knees in front of Amir. After covering her nakedness with his cloak, he bent down and lifted her into his arms, careful not to touch her wounds.

"Come, little one. I shall have you tended to." And he carried her to his waiting carriage. His home wasn't far and once there he tended to her bruises and the wicked whipmarks himself, rubbing healing ointment into them with gentle fingers.

Thus began Kajira's journey as slave to Amir.