[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 87
gold . . . Shit! He could expect the worst. It must be the Sultan himself they
were waiting for.
There were two great, carved wooden doors at the far end of the room. These
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
now opened, swinging back to the other side, and through them walked
someone in a scarlet burnoose, wearing a black mask of cloth of Chin and
black leather boots. The person was flanked by two Nubian slave eunuchs who
carried no weapons. Their skin was oiled until it shone, and they each wore
only a black loincloth. If this one in the scarlet burnoose was the Sultan, he
sure as hell had kinky tastes -- and the Jasmine Lady Casca had seen in the
streets must be very, very close to him; it was his clothing she had copied.
The one in the scarlet burnoose stopped just short of Casca and the three
women. The two Nubian eunuchs stepped forward and loosened the burnoose,
pulled it back, and slipped it from the shoulders of the one in the mask. The
slaves bowed in deep abjection, turned and marched back through the doors
which were then closed and barred. The sound of the heavy wooden bar falling
in place echoed like very distant thunder in the room, and the one who had
just come in now walked to the table, selected a knife, and approached Casca.
It was not, of course, the Sultan, but a perfectly nude woman who smelled of
jasmine. She leaned across the bound Casca, the tips of her breasts brushing
provocatively against the hair of his chest, and tested the ropes that
held him to the table. Then she took the knife, holding it in the odd way she
had in the street, and carved a single Arabic letter on the flesh of his
forearm.
"So . . ." she said. "We begin . . ."
* * *
What they did to him he tried to erase from his mind, and after the pain had
become totally unbearable it seemed that he had no mind left. There was only
pain. And his screams. All the years of conditioning as a soldier, all the
courage to bear pain, all that went for naught. And they deliberately
prolonged his agony, working slowly . . . slowly . . . slowly.
There came a time when the pain had become so great that it went beyond
feeling. He no longer felt it. The nerves had been shocked beyond their
endurance . . . or . . . that strange healing power in his body was in
balance with what they were doing to him. The four women had overreached
themselves. In their desire to make him suffer the greatest length of time
they had unwittingly slowed their torture to the point that his healing power
was taking over. Besides, it was obvious that the three women in the white
gowns were turned on sexually by his suffering, and they were taking every
opportunity now to bump into each other, to rub close to each other. They
wanted sex with one another.
The Jasmine Lady, though, was not so easy to decipher. It was his body she
rubbed her naked flesh against, not the three other women. In fact, she kept a
distance between herself and them. From time to time she amused herself by
leaning over him and cutting more letters in his bloody forearm. So far he
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 88
could make out no word that made sense, but each time she leaned across him
those pendulous breasts, the nipples puckered and hardened, came closer and
closer to him, once even brushing across his lips as he lay screaming.
Now, with the pain no longer blinding his mind, he did not have to scream, but
he continued to do so while something formed slowly in his mind.
Something -- it was not yet a plan. But the healing power was bringing
his thinking back into play.
There was no hope that the other women in the harem might help, though most of
them plainly found what the gang of four were doing so repulsive that they
refused to watch. Early on the young slave, Ruth, had thrown up. Later some of
the harem women followed suit.
What was strange was the silence. Except for his screams there was no human
sound. When he slowed his screams and made them sound as if he were getting
weaker and weaker, he could hear the breathing of the women with the knives,
could, it seemed, even hear the faint whisper of sound the burning torches on
Page 61
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the wall made.
The Jasmine Lady bent over him again, and suddenly he had the plan . . .
* * *
Casca waited for his chance. The next time she came over him, breasts hanging
mockingly just above his face, the gleaming knife in her right hand catching
the light, razor-sharp edge held in that flat, odd way that made the knife
seem an extension of her hand -- or the single deadly steel claw of a beast --
he tried to gauge the angles involved, to time the right moment to act. But
the effort was almost more than he could manage. By now the pain, though
beyond actual feeling, was in some dark region of his brain affecting his
thinking and vision. He felt that he was going mad. He fought the silent storm
in his brain, knowing that he might be just seconds from unconsciousness.
Then . . .
She halted her movement.
To taunt him.
Casca lunged.
Threw his head upward all that he could move.
He had only inches to work with, but that was enough; the end of her pendulous
breast was in his wide-stretched mouth. Immediately he bit down, bit with all
his strength. She screamed. Blood spurted, momentarily blinding his left eye.
This close he had no depth perception with the single eye, so he had to guess
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 89
for the timing of the strike with his fingers as her wrist with the knife
jerked down. He was off. Only by a little, but off. Desperately he curled his
fingertips inward, felt the sharp edge of the knife, and, though he cut as
much of his own flesh as he did the silk rope when he forced the blade back,
he made the slash. He was now free from the forearm to the fingers.
Immediately he swept his arm in the only arc possible to him, hoping that
his fingers would reach the burning lamp. They did. With room to spare. The
lamp upset. The hot oil it had held flamed up, lighted by the wick, and the
burning oil fired the cloth of Chin on the table where he was bound.
Now, if he could only ignite his ropes . . .
Clawing with his fingers on the returning sweep of his arm, he did manage to
grab the burning cloth and jerk it toward him. He did not wait to see if the
oil that spilled on the ropes would burn them through.
He had other things to do. Just as his arm made the return arc, he released
the bloody bit of her breast and at the same time got her wrist with his
fingers. He had correctly guessed that she would jerk back, and with a rolling
motion of his finger grip, he broke the knife free from her grasp and had it
in his hand. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 87
gold . . . Shit! He could expect the worst. It must be the Sultan himself they
were waiting for.
There were two great, carved wooden doors at the far end of the room. These
Page 60
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
now opened, swinging back to the other side, and through them walked
someone in a scarlet burnoose, wearing a black mask of cloth of Chin and
black leather boots. The person was flanked by two Nubian slave eunuchs who
carried no weapons. Their skin was oiled until it shone, and they each wore
only a black loincloth. If this one in the scarlet burnoose was the Sultan, he
sure as hell had kinky tastes -- and the Jasmine Lady Casca had seen in the
streets must be very, very close to him; it was his clothing she had copied.
The one in the scarlet burnoose stopped just short of Casca and the three
women. The two Nubian eunuchs stepped forward and loosened the burnoose,
pulled it back, and slipped it from the shoulders of the one in the mask. The
slaves bowed in deep abjection, turned and marched back through the doors
which were then closed and barred. The sound of the heavy wooden bar falling
in place echoed like very distant thunder in the room, and the one who had
just come in now walked to the table, selected a knife, and approached Casca.
It was not, of course, the Sultan, but a perfectly nude woman who smelled of
jasmine. She leaned across the bound Casca, the tips of her breasts brushing
provocatively against the hair of his chest, and tested the ropes that
held him to the table. Then she took the knife, holding it in the odd way she
had in the street, and carved a single Arabic letter on the flesh of his
forearm.
"So . . ." she said. "We begin . . ."
* * *
What they did to him he tried to erase from his mind, and after the pain had
become totally unbearable it seemed that he had no mind left. There was only
pain. And his screams. All the years of conditioning as a soldier, all the
courage to bear pain, all that went for naught. And they deliberately
prolonged his agony, working slowly . . . slowly . . . slowly.
There came a time when the pain had become so great that it went beyond
feeling. He no longer felt it. The nerves had been shocked beyond their
endurance . . . or . . . that strange healing power in his body was in
balance with what they were doing to him. The four women had overreached
themselves. In their desire to make him suffer the greatest length of time
they had unwittingly slowed their torture to the point that his healing power
was taking over. Besides, it was obvious that the three women in the white
gowns were turned on sexually by his suffering, and they were taking every
opportunity now to bump into each other, to rub close to each other. They
wanted sex with one another.
The Jasmine Lady, though, was not so easy to decipher. It was his body she
rubbed her naked flesh against, not the three other women. In fact, she kept a
distance between herself and them. From time to time she amused herself by
leaning over him and cutting more letters in his bloody forearm. So far he
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 88
could make out no word that made sense, but each time she leaned across him
those pendulous breasts, the nipples puckered and hardened, came closer and
closer to him, once even brushing across his lips as he lay screaming.
Now, with the pain no longer blinding his mind, he did not have to scream, but
he continued to do so while something formed slowly in his mind.
Something -- it was not yet a plan. But the healing power was bringing
his thinking back into play.
There was no hope that the other women in the harem might help, though most of
them plainly found what the gang of four were doing so repulsive that they
refused to watch. Early on the young slave, Ruth, had thrown up. Later some of
the harem women followed suit.
What was strange was the silence. Except for his screams there was no human
sound. When he slowed his screams and made them sound as if he were getting
weaker and weaker, he could hear the breathing of the women with the knives,
could, it seemed, even hear the faint whisper of sound the burning torches on
Page 61
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the wall made.
The Jasmine Lady bent over him again, and suddenly he had the plan . . .
* * *
Casca waited for his chance. The next time she came over him, breasts hanging
mockingly just above his face, the gleaming knife in her right hand catching
the light, razor-sharp edge held in that flat, odd way that made the knife
seem an extension of her hand -- or the single deadly steel claw of a beast --
he tried to gauge the angles involved, to time the right moment to act. But
the effort was almost more than he could manage. By now the pain, though
beyond actual feeling, was in some dark region of his brain affecting his
thinking and vision. He felt that he was going mad. He fought the silent storm
in his brain, knowing that he might be just seconds from unconsciousness.
Then . . .
She halted her movement.
To taunt him.
Casca lunged.
Threw his head upward all that he could move.
He had only inches to work with, but that was enough; the end of her pendulous
breast was in his wide-stretched mouth. Immediately he bit down, bit with all
his strength. She screamed. Blood spurted, momentarily blinding his left eye.
This close he had no depth perception with the single eye, so he had to guess
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Page 89
for the timing of the strike with his fingers as her wrist with the knife
jerked down. He was off. Only by a little, but off. Desperately he curled his
fingertips inward, felt the sharp edge of the knife, and, though he cut as
much of his own flesh as he did the silk rope when he forced the blade back,
he made the slash. He was now free from the forearm to the fingers.
Immediately he swept his arm in the only arc possible to him, hoping that
his fingers would reach the burning lamp. They did. With room to spare. The
lamp upset. The hot oil it had held flamed up, lighted by the wick, and the
burning oil fired the cloth of Chin on the table where he was bound.
Now, if he could only ignite his ropes . . .
Clawing with his fingers on the returning sweep of his arm, he did manage to
grab the burning cloth and jerk it toward him. He did not wait to see if the
oil that spilled on the ropes would burn them through.
He had other things to do. Just as his arm made the return arc, he released
the bloody bit of her breast and at the same time got her wrist with his
fingers. He had correctly guessed that she would jerk back, and with a rolling
motion of his finger grip, he broke the knife free from her grasp and had it
in his hand. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]