The lone rider followed the small stream through the narrow canyon. The sun was high and reflected off the steep granite walls, turning the canyon into an oven. The only relief came from the small stream which wended through the canyon. The rider stopped and walked his mount to the stream. They both dipped their heads into the cooling water. Ariston had been riding for several days and had more hard days of riding ahead.
He patted his horse’s neck and said, “A few more days and we’ll be down in the lowlands. It won’t be cooler but it will be easier.” He hopped onto the steed’s back and they set off down the trail again.
A noise alerted the lone rider. His stallion heard it as well and stopped, head up, ears forward, tense and ready to fly. Two riders broke from behind some scrubby trees just ahead, holding aloft blades which glinted evilly in the bright sun and yelling blood curdling oaths. His horse, tired from the long ride, had no hope of outrunning the attackers. He pulled his sword from his belt and prepared to meet the riders. The horse, wise to the ways of war, danced under him prepared to jump or fly as his master commanded.
The riders split at the last moment, one to each side of Ariston hoping to both attack at the same moment so that he could parry but one blow. His steed danced toward the stream, forcing one rider to swerve or break his mount’s legs on the stream bed rocks. Ariston raised his sword at the last second parrying a vicious cut by the second rider as he swept past. The first rider turned quickly and aimed at Ariston’s back but again his stallion saved him by kicking violently at the horse behind. The rider was almost unseated as the horse stumbled from the kick. Ariston turned his horse and swung wildly at the nearly unseated rider. His sword found the man, cutting deeply into his arm, severing tendons, muscles, and arteries. The rider dropped his sword screaming in pain as his horse bolted.
Ariston heard the second rider and turned in time to parry a thrust in sixth, the attacker’s sword partially slicing thru his thick leather jerkin. The bandit’s sword caught in the laces of Ariston’s jerkin pulling him slightly off balance. Ariston buffeted the man with his fist as their horses danced away from each other. Righting himself, the bandit scowled at Ariston and challenged him, “Yield, and you will live.”
“I’ll piss on your grave, thief,” Ariston answered.
The rider shouted, “Die then, fool,” as he spurred forward, his sword raised and slashing toward Ariston’s head. Their blades rang in the mountain air, flashing as they beat, thrust, and parried.
The rider was very good but Ariston was better. Sweat trickled into Ariston’s eyes and his grip began to loosen as the sweat ran down his arm. Tired, and now worried, the rider made a small mistake; just a fraction of an error, but it was enough. The rider’s blade turned in his sweat slickened hand and in a quick counter, Ariston’s blade slid past the guard and flicked at the tendons in the man’s wrist, severing them. The sword dropped from the bandit’s useless hand. Ariston slashed viciously at the thief’s head which leapt from his body. The headless corpse tumbled from the horse, landing on the dusty trail, blood coagulating the dust into a muddy puddle around the dispatched thief.
Ariston looked for the other rider. The second thief was trying to stanch the red flow from his arm. Already he was swaying in his saddle. His face was wan and pale from the loss of his life blood now staining pants, saddle and horse. The rider raised his head alerted by the cessation of sounds. Realizing his peril, he booted his horse into a gallop. Ariston followed, blood lust in his eyes. The chase was quickly over. As Ariston neared, the rider pitched forward and tumbled from the horse landing on the rocks of the streambed.
Ariston rode up and stopped over the man. The thief lay on the rocks, his head split open like a ripe melon. Breathing deeply, Ariston collected himself. He jumped from his steed and dunked his head in the chilly stream to clear it. He searched the thief but found nothing of value. Ariston collected his horse and grabbed the reins of the other horse. Walking back he soothed the thief’s horse and tied the reins of his booty to his own horse. He looked into the sky and smiled at what he saw. Leaving the thieves to the vultures, already circling overhead, Ariston turned and rode on, leading his captured horses toward Bashram.
Five days later, Ariston was riding through the blue-tiled Great Gate of Bashram. Full sized lions, golden against the brilliant blue tiles along the city walls which soared five men’s height above the plain, stared down at the rider, their great jaws open, warning strangers of the might of the lords of Bashram and the wealth of the city which could build such large and beautiful walls. Ariston smiled at the display. ‘I must avail myself of a fair share of this wealth,’ he thought.
Bashram sat along two great caravan routes. Caravans carrying goods from the East, North, South, and West, all traveled through Bashram. The people of Bashram were accustomed to strange sights, and barely noticed a lone dusty rider as he trotted to the Street of the Inns.
Ariston’s first business was to hire a room for himself and fill his belly with meat and good beer.
His second business, after satisfying his stomach, was to sell off the two captured horses, his compensation for nearly having been skewered by the thieves. His pouch jingled brightly as he left the barn of the horse merchant. The price he got would provide for his needs until he settled himself in his new home.
His third business brought a great smile to his face. He cleansed himself in the ritual baths of the Temple Square of Bashram. Refreshed, with the dust of the trail washed from him, he gaily walked to the Great Temple of Ashtar.
Standing before the Temple, Ariston looked up at the carvings adoring the walls: A woman worshipping a phallus, lovers tangled together in serpentine displays of worship of pleasure, and scenes of wild abandon to the Goddess of Pleasure. At the door of the Temple of Ashtar a priestess greeted him. “Sojourner, welcome to the Temple of the Goddess. How may we serve you?”
“Disciple of the Goddess, why do you hail me, sojourner?” he asked.
“It is so that you are a traveler and stranger to Bashram. The Goddess informs me,” the Priestess said with a wry smile.
Ariston glanced around recalling his recent adventures meeting the Goddess herself. The hair on his nape rose with the remembrance and wondering if the Goddess was watching him at this moment. But the thought quickly passed. Glancing down, he realized his garb was that of the Northern people, made for cold winters and rain, whereas all around him the People of Bashram wore loose white robes to allow the cooling air to circulate. He would need new clothes quickly of he had any hope of blending into his new home. “Of course,” he said. “I wish to worship the Goddess with a devotee.”
“Come,” the priestess intoned and entered the Temple. The inside was alight from a course of windows high on the wall. The Temple was long and narrow with small alcoves along both sides. They had fine drapes which could be dropped to close off the alcoves from the main room. Sitting in many of the alcoves were women dressed in the robes of Ashtar. His head on a swivel, Ariston tried to look both ways as they walked into the temple.
The Priestess smiled as Ariston’s eyes tried to see everywhere at once and said, “Chose the devotee of Ashtar you wish. She will accept your gift to the Goddess and worship with you as the Goddess of Pleasure has taught.” She motioned him forward and Ariston took halting steps down the tiled floor.
So many women, tall and short, some smiling seductively, some with faces lowered coquettishly, but all watching to see whom he would chose. Half way along the great room, Ariston’s vision came to rest on a woman, a beautiful sylph with the dark hair and smoldering eyes of the south. Ariston was entranced. His steps faltered as he stared at this vision. Her face was turned down chastely, but her eyes bored into his, burning his soul and setting a fire in his loins.
The Priestess saw the fire burning in the air between the two and said, “I see you have made your choice.”
Ariston turned and looked at the priestess as if to argue, since he had not had the opportunity to see all of the women. She simply smiled a knowing smile and Ariston knew she was right. “Reverend One, I accept your wisdom,” he said. He turned toward the alcove where the woman lounged on soft carpets and pillows. As he approached, her face turned up, boldly, daring him to come take her.
“Votary of the Goddess. I come to worship,” he said in the ritual greeting.
“The Goddess accepts you,” she responded in the ritual way. “Will you make offering to the Goddess?”
Ariston pulled a small gold coin from his purse and held it out. She rose, still holding his eyes with hers, and stopped in front of him. His breath caught in his throat. Without looking down, her hand found, then caressed his, taking the coin from his nerveless fingers.
As she turned and walked to the altar Ariston felt the breath whoosh from his lungs. He shook his head, clearing it as if from a dream. He watched as the girl knelt before the Altar of Ashtar and placed the offering at the foot of her statue. She invoked the intercession of the Divine Prostitute to bring pleasure to the worshippers. Ariston felt a faint breeze waft through the temple. He looked around but could see nothing to explain the breeze.
The girl had risen and caught his eyes again and once again, he was enraptured by her. She stopped before him and asked, “Will you join me?”
“Yes.”
She took his hand and led him to the alcove where she had been. She released the curtain, closing them into their own world, lined with soft carpets, pillows, and tapestries displaying the pleasures of the Goddess. The tapestries were filled with men and women engaged in every conceivable position and combination. Ariston saw three men with a woman, lovers in every position imaginable, and all worshipping Ashtar. It was a textbook of love hanging on the walls. The scenes had a second purpose, arousing the man and increasing his pleasure and only an aroused man can please a woman.
The woman lay back on the soft pillows and beckoned, “Come. Come worship with me.”
He joined her as her arms circled his neck, pulling his lips to hers. They kissed, passionately, their bodies coming together. Ariston felt her soft skin and wished to feel more. He quickly threw his clothes off even as they kissed until his body was afire with passion.
The votary of Ashtar knew only too well the signs and knew this one was ready for her. Reaching down, she took his full ready staff and led it to the goal. She rubbed it against her, then seated it into her cavern of pleasure. Ariston completed the joining with one great push. The girl sighed as he filled her, “Yes,” she moaned, seeking the complete pleasure the Goddess promises.
Ariston pulled back and thrust into the girl, setting a rhythm slow and deep. She responded to his every move, meeting his every thrust, and drawing him into her deeper still. This was a girl who knew how to bring pleasure to herself and her partner. In short order, Ariston felt the pressure building in his loins. His pace quickened, the girl matching him, faster and faster, until the girl cried out under him. Her cavern of delights pulsed around his staff drawing forth his own explosion. “Argh,” he cried out as he emptied himself into the girl, then collapsed onto the soft carpets of the alcove.
The girl cooed in his ear, her hands lovingly caressed his chest. “Thank you,” she said, “for taking me to the heights promised by the Goddess.”
“The pleasure was mine,” he said. Ariston was taken by the girl and her ready ways with pleasure. “Can I worship with you again?” he asked.
“Come next year,” she said, “and I will gladly worship the Goddess with you.” She smiled at the consternation evident on his face. “For the rest of the year my duty is to my husband, only this one day each year is my duty to my own pleasure as the Goddess has taught. Every woman in the city must serve the Goddess once each year. If they are lucky, a man will choose them their first day. If they are unlucky, they must stay until they are chosen to serve the Goddess. I have heard of husbands who have bribed strangers to come to the temple and choose their wife, afraid that she will never return. I have been lucky; a man has always chosen me on the first day.”
Ariston said, “I am not surprised.”
The girl smiled at his compliment. “Well stranger, I know my husband always feels so after I return from the Temple. He will work me hard this eve when I return home.”
“Lucky man,” he said. Ariston roused himself and quickly dressed.
The girl donned her robe. As Ariston prepared to leave, she said, “Next year.”
He smiled, “I will mark the day.”
She laughed, a sound like the silvery tinkle of tiny bells.
Ariston bowed to the Goddess before he left the temple.
From the temple, Ariston went to the Jeweler’s Street. He had loosened several of the medium sized stones from the necklace given him by Princess Yasminde and carried them in his pouch. He picked the most prosperous looking shop. Upon entering, he set a stone on the table.
The owner took one look at the jewel, then looked up at Ariston. “Where was this stolen from?”
“Is that how men of the city talk?” Ariston asked gruffly. “I have killed men for less,” he said, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.
The man held up his hand, “Stranger, I did not mean you stole it. Only, one cannot imagine this great stone did not belong to someone.”
Ariston released his sword. “It does belong to someone; me.”
“Are you staying in our city?” the merchant asked. He was wondering if this barbarian intended to flee as soon as he got his money. The merchant wanted to make sure he could get his money back if the jewel was found to be stolen. A great stone like this, well, the word would travel fast.
“Yes, I intend to live here.” Pointing to the stone, “I will use this to find a house. I tire of the hard ground as a bed.”
This eased the mind of the merchant. He proposed a price. Ariston, familiar with the art of the bargain, loved by his people as well, and knowing the value of the stone from his days of acquiring money in less reputable ways, picked up the stone. “I will go to another shop where the owner knows something of gems.”
“Wait, kind sir,” the shopkeeper said. “Perhaps I have not set a good price. Let me weigh the stone. Maybe I have misjudged.”
Ariston set the stone back down. The jeweler got out his scale and weighed the stone. He held it up to the light, letting the sun show him the brilliant color and clarity. The gem flashed a thousand lights. “It is perfect,” he said under his breath, then realized he had jeopardized his bargaining position, “for how small it is.”
Ariston smiled, letting the man know he had the upper hand. “Now kind sir, make me a fair offer and I will let you have it without taking it to other shops. Would you like to see what others’ bid on this stone?”
The poor man quickly thought of that. The scarcity, the rarity of such a stone, would bring a bidding war assuredly. He didn’t want that. He looked at the stone again. To have such a beautiful stone when no one else did; that was worth a premium. He had to keep this stranger from taking the stone elsewhere. “One thousand gold coins,” he said.
Ariston considered the offer. It was more than fair. He started to pick up the stone. The shopkeeper flinched, but did not up his offer. Ariston put the stone back, “Deal.” The jeweler sighed, brought forth his pouch, and counted out the coins.
Ariston bowed his way out the door, smiling and waving. The jeweler crowed over his gem. Smiling, Ariston took the next stone from his pouch. ‘Four more to sell,’ he thought as he picked the next biggest shop on the street.
Ariston’s pouch was bulging as he walked to the merchant’s quarter, where the houses of the great merchants were. He selected an inn that looked to serve the prosperous and went in. It was already busy. He took a seat and ordered beer and lamb. Ariston watched the goings and comings, listened to the conversations around him, and tried to blend in.
Sometime later, three beers by Ariston’s reckoning, several men came in and sat at one table. He could tell by their raiment they were wealthy men. After they had their beers and were laughing with each other, Ariston rose. “Esteemed sirs.”
They looked up to see a barbarian. Dismissively, one said, “What would you with us, barbarian.”
“I would knock your head against the wall for your foul manners,” Ariston said.
The man made as to reach for his knife, but saw Ariston’s hand already on the hilt of his sword. The man paused. His companion took his hand off his knife. “Wait. Perhaps we have been uncharitable.” The tension subsided. “How may we be of service?” the merchant asked.
Ariston returned his courtesy. “I am new to the city. I wish to buy a house. Here, in this quarter.”
The merchant smiled. “Sir, the houses in this quarter can be quite expensive.”
“How much?” Ariston asked.
The merchant smugly said, “Well, did not Aziel just sell his for eight thousand gold pieces.” He saw that the stranger did not appear at all fazed by that number. Surprised, as the stranger held his eye. “Um, well, let me see. My uncle, Tarik the silk merchant, has retired. His house could be purchased for five thousand gold pieces.”
“I would see this house,” Ariston said.
The merchant stood, “I am Rousoul. I will show you.” He led Ariston through the streets. He came to a stout door in a high wall. He took a key and opened the door. Inside was a typical house of the city. Square, it had only two stout doors in high walls and no windows to allow a thief entrance. All rooms opened to the central garden which had a fountain.
“Why do you try to cheat a stranger?” Ariston asked. “Five thousand, for this humble house?”
“Sir, I would include all the furnishings or that amount. The house has three slaves so that your every want could be met. But, some of the couches are old. Perhaps I have been too thoughtful of my uncle. You understand, I do want to do what is best for him, but perhaps I have not been fair to a stranger to our city. Let me see, he does want to sell… Sir, I can let you have it for four.”
“Two thousand.”
“My uncle! He would never forgive me. Thirty eight hundred and I will bless you as a good man,” Rousoul said.
“Three thousand,” Ariston countered.
“Ah, my Uncle would be undone. Thirty five hundred,” Rousoul said, tears coming to his eyes.
“Done,” Ariston answered. “Come in the morning and I will have the gold for you.” Even though Ariston had the coins in his sack he did not wish to show this merchant exactly how much he did have.
Rousoul smiled. “I bless you in my uncle’s name and will return tomorrow. The slaves are two women and a eunuch. Jasmin is the older, Alara the younger and Sadik is the eunuch.” He clapped his hands and the three appeared, kneeling before them. “This is your new master. He has purchased this house. Show him his room.” Handing over the keys, Rousoul said, “Tomorrow.” Sadik followed him out, locking the great door behind the merchant as he left.
Jasmin rose, “This way, Master.” She showed him a splendid room, open to the best view of the garden with a great soft couch and many carpets. “Do you need anything?”
Ariston looked about him unsure whether he would like this life. Too soft, he mused. He had craved a little softness in contrast to the many hard years he had lived, but this much? “Not tonight.” The two women bowed themselves out.
Ariston wandered around the house until the lamps were burning low. He went back to his room, stripped out of his clothes, and laid on the couch. He wondered what this new civilized life would portend. He had never lived a civilized life before. But it held no terrors for one such as him. He stretched, sighed, and laid on the couch looking out into the cool garden.
He was aware of a noise, soft steps, and looked through slited lids ready to pounce from the soft couch. What he saw was the younger girl, Alara, coming towards him. He opened his eyes and lifted his head, surprise made his gasp. Alara was coming across the garden completely naked except for a rude necklace made of simple colored stones.
The girl stopped on the threshold of his room not entering where not invited as was proper for servants, but her body, her posture, her very being screamed, Take me!
Ariston sat on the side of the couch surveying the girl. He smiled to himself, familiar as he was with the ways of women. So, this one wants to ingratiate herself to the new master, or perhaps she simply wants to worship pleasure with the Goddess. Either way, Ariston would welcome it for she was a fine looking young woman. "Come in," he said. Alara entered to stand just inches from him. Her body was free of blemishes, her breasts were firm cones standing upon her chest, her belly flat and firm and her pudenda was yet bare but was already wet and the lips were reddened with the blood of arousal and stood out, enticing Ariston to enter that portal with his staff. He guessed that the last master had inducted her into womanhood for this girl was no weeping virgin.
Ariston grabbed her hand and pulled her, willing, down to the couch. The girl fell atop Ariston, her hand wrapping around his staff, squeezing and fondling it as she bent down to take it in her mouth. Surprised he fell back onto the couch, enjoying the exquisite pleasure of her mouth, hands, lips, and tongue on his staff. 'Oh Ishtar,' he thought, 'she is already a devotee of the Goddess of Love.'
It had been long on the trail since Ariston had been with the Princess, and even though he had once worshipped in the Temple, Ariston was more than eager as the girl sucked and licked at his manly shaft. It did not take long for him to be aware he was soon going to be one with the Goddess. Alara, too, could tell this barbarian giant, her new master, would soon spend. She sucked harder and quickened her hands stroking his staff when she felt it surge and expand, then it filled her mouth with his seed, splash after splash of his male cream filled her even as she swallowed as fast as she could. A few rivulets leaked from the corners of her lips as the flow stopped. The girl let it fall from her mouth, taking a deep gasp of air, glad she would not be drowned by this barbarians copious spunk.
She stood a little wobbly, and asked, "Does the Master require anything else?"
Ariston's estimate of civilization immediately grew. This might be quite wonderful, he thought. "That is all," he said as the girl bowed herself off to her quarters. He quickly fell asleep, dreaming of this new life ahead.
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