“Jalav, you are welcome indeed!” called Rogon, the Hirga war leader who had traversed the city ways with me. Not so tall as others was this Rogon, whose dark red hair fell past her thighs, yet her bright dark eyes had seen the end of all warriors who had sought to take her position as war leader. Quick and eager was her blade, as the blade of a war leader should be, and she grinned quite well as we came up to her. “Before returning to this place I have had messengers from those of our sisters about the dwelling,” said she. “All battle appears to be ended and the dwelling ours, yet none knew where to reach you with this word. I now see you were in search of the least of the males of this dwelling, and have found him.”
“Indeed,” I laughed, turning to gaze upon the High Seat as Rogon did, seeing the flush of anger upon his cheeks at her words. “Indeed did I go in search of this male, and now he is mine. As it is not yet time that he be put to use, I shall keep him here, out from under foot.”
I directed my warriors to place the male within an enclosure which was to be heavily guarded at all times, then turned my back upon his pleading protests and began a tour of the chamber with Rogon. As it had been when last I had been there, many of the enclosures contained females, a large number of them entirely unclothed. These females, down to the last of them, wept and trembled within the confines of the metal, cringing fearfully back when my gaze fell upon them. The cause of such great fear continued to elude me, for what warrior would be so low as to offer harm to so poor a thing as a city slave-woman? The males within the enclosures, all chained close to prevent attempts at escape, eyed me quite differently, for males find great pleasure in the sight of Jalav, They spoke no word concerning their position, yet their eyes moved about me hungrily, their tongues slowly wet their lips, their bodies stirred with a clank of chain, and their hands circled the obdurate metal refusing them freedom. Male slaves found little opportunity to see to their needs, yet would they find themselves well occupied when once my warriors found the time for pleasure. The slaves were well made, and sure to be deemed of interest.
One enclosure, containing four males, was of great interest to the war leader Jalav. Large were the males, two light-haired and light-eyed, one red-haired and light eyed, the fourth dark-haired yet not so dark as those of the villages I had so recently encountered. Broad of chest were the males, their arms well-muscled, their waists slim, their bodies deeply tanned, their stare direct and filled with interest, the heavy chains upon their wrists and ankles seeming lighter by cause of the unconcern of those who wore them. I examined them as overtly and with as little attention as I had examined the others, yet notwithstanding the fact that I had never seen them before, I knew them at once. All four wore black cloths wrapped about their loins, and all four showed, seemingly impressed within the flesh of their left shoulders, the stroke which stood for the male god Sigurr. The stroke, called letter by males, was one of those taught me by Lialt during our journey to Sigurr’s Peak. Black was the stroke upon the bodies of the males, the color of Sigurr, the color of agony well remembered. I turned from the males as their eyes burned into me, denying my hand the wish to reach for my sword hilt. Captives were the males and captives would they remain the while, for other matters needed attending to. When once all else had been seen to, Sigurr’s males might then be released. In the interim, they would not stray.
“See our fine collection of captives, war leader,” said Rogon, nodding to the bound males we now approached. “My warriors were anxious indeed to return to them, for soon their use will be ours.”
The warriors standing guard about the captives laughed softly at Rogon’s words, yet the captives themselves failed to share the amusement. The males pulled at the leather which bound them, attempting to break free, yet those bound by Midanna rarely find escape easily accomplished. And then I saw those I had never thought to see again, and I stopped to stare with a great delight filling me.
“We know not why the female failed to be enclosed with the others,” said Rogon, following my gaze to the two I stared upon. “She crept about behind these males, attempting to be one of them yet refusing to take sword in hand, and we knew not what was to be done with her. She is undoubtedly slave to him she lies beside.”
“I am slave to no man, you bare-breasted hussy!” snapped the female Karil, struggling uselessly in her bonds. She it was who had greeted my warriors and myself when first we had been brought to that chamber, she it was who had attempted to lure males into my purchase as slave, she it was who had brought me shame and pain when I had refused to acknowledge myself slave to her and the male she lay beside. He was the male called Bariose, the one who saw to male slaves as Karil saw to female. It had been his hand which held the lash when it had struck me with fire, and this the male recalled when his gaze met mine. Large was the male, and well used to the ordering about of other males and slaves, and yet that which he saw within my eyes caused him to lay totally unmoving in his bonds.
“There is now a thing to be done with the female,” said I, looking upon the indignation of her called Karil without expression. “And the male as well. Unbind their ankles and bring them before me.”
“At once, war leader,” acknowledged Rogon, gesturing warriors to my bidding as I turned and walked toward the center of the chamber. I knew not whether Mida would care for my taking revenge at that time, and yet, with all battle done, what better time might be found?
In no more than a moment were the male and female, freed of their ankle bonds, brought before me. I stood at the center of the large chamber, surrounded by the enclosures of slaves and the lines of warriors of the Midanna, and looked upon the darkhaired male and female with distaste.
“When last we met our positions were not quite the same,” I informed them, folding my arms beneath my life sign. “It was then your choice to accord me the treatment of a slave, denying me the right to stand before you with sword in hand, winning freedom or death in accordance with what skill I possessed. You, in turn, may be accorded the same treatment, for the choice has now become mine, and yet I shall not do so. I offer you the right to face me with swords—should you have the courage to do so.”
I looked upon the male Bariose as I spoke, knowing him the more likely of the two to accept my challenge. He returned my gaze directly enough, and yet his sneer of contempt, when it came, rang falsely.
“You think me backward enough to believe I would face only you?” he asked, pulling at the leather upon his wrists as he looked about him. “These others would cut me down when I bested you, giving me no opportunity to declare my victory.”
“True victory need not be declared,” said I above the angry mutter of the warriors within hearing, disallowing them the opportunity to take insult. “We are not like you, male, not like the folk of cities and villages. The concept of honor is well known to us, therefore would freedom be yours were you to best me. This, I believe, you know full well. Perhaps it would be best to have you face me against your will, then would you find it unnecessary to concern yourself with the matter of backwardness. Would such an arrangement be more to your liking?”