The crowd roared, and the drummers rattled off a fast tattoo, then stopped abruptly and started a slow and steady, gently rolling beat, accentuated by the bells and cymbals. The crowd fell silent as the beaded curtain at the back of the main stage parted, revealing the backlit silhouette of a tall, slender, beautifully proportioned woman in a sheer, transparent gown.
She moved sinuously in the backlight, swaying slowly to the beat, tantalizing the audience with the silhouette of her body showing through the gown, then she stepped into the light, and Sorak caught his breath. She was breathtakingly beautiful, a young half-elf girl with long, dark, silver-streaked hair almost to her waist; a heart-shaped face with slanted, dark eyes; delicately arched eyebrows; high, pronounced cheekbones; full lips and a slightly pointed chin. Her body was slender yet curvaceous, with a slim and narrow waist and long, exquisite legs. The other dancers had all been greeted with raucous shouts and cheers when they came on, but Cricket’s entrance brought utter silence as the men watched, mesmerized.
“That’s the star attraction,” Tajik said softly.
Unlike the other girls, who writhed provocatively and assumed seductive poses in time to the music, Cricket danced. Her muscular control was impressive as she undulated her upper body in time to the music, her belly rippling like the surface of a gently flowing stream and her arms stretched over her head moving languidly, like the wings of a graceful bird. Slowly, the musicians picked up the tempo and she began to whirl, bumping and twisting her hips in time to the beat, moving on tiptoe as she twirled and spun. She sank down slowly into a perfect split, her upper body swaying, bending over first to touch one leg and then the other. Then she twisted on the floor and crouched upon her knees, slowly bending backward until she touched the floor with the back of her head, her arms raised over her chest and intertwining like snakes coupling as her hips rose and fell rhythmically. It was beautiful, sensuous, and blatantly erotic.
“Worth the wait, eh?” Tajik said with a grin. Sorak glanced over at him and saw Ryana watching him curiously.
“I… uh… have never seen anyone dance like that,” said Sorak.
“Nor have I,” Ryana said in a neutral tone. “She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” said Sorak, turning back toward the stage, “she is.”
Cricket slowly raised herself up and got to her feet, and the gown fell away from her as if removed by unseen hands. Somehow, she managed to shrug free of it without ever appearing to remove it, allowing it to slowly slip down her body until it was bunched at her feet. Gracefully, she stepped out of it, now dressed only in the smallest of girdles and a halter consisting of thongs and two tiny pieces of lizardskin. She wore a thin silver chain around her waist and another around her left ankle, with a tiny silver bell hanging from it. Around her thigh, she wore a lizardskin garter with a small pouch sewn into it, only large enough for one coin at a time.
As the men crowded the stage, holding out their coins, she pirouetted toward each of them, stopping and undulating her stomach muscles as she put one leg forward, bent slightly at the knee, her bare foot arched gracefully with only the toes touching the floor, and the men would slip their coins into the garter pouch. A few of them tried to run their hands up her leg, or kiss it, but she twisted away adroitly, snatching up the coins with her hand as she spun away, then turning back toward them and smiling with a slight shake of her head.
Sorak glanced at some of the other dancers. Some of the women were gazing at her with obvious envy or resentment. Others watched her with open and undisguised lust. And those were just the women. She drove the men absolutely wild. Half a dozen were carried out as they tried to climb up on the stage, and the rest were shoving and elbowing each other, trying to get closer.
“She’s pulling out all the stops tonight,” said Tajik, shaking his head as he watched her dance. “If she doesn’t watch out, she’ll start a riot.”
The music reached a crescendo, though it was barely audible in the roar, and with a graceful flourish, Cricket finished and curtsied low, bowing to the crowd. Coins rained upon the stage. The overworked bouncers moved in to restore order, pushing the crowd back.
“A round of drinks for everyone, courtesy of the Desert Damsel!” the dwarf shouted, and he looked relived as everyone immediately surged toward the bar.
Cricket started picking up the coins. As she crouched by the lip of the stage, a hand snaked out and grabbed her by the wrist.
“How about a private dance, my lovely?” a powerfully built mercenary said.
“I do not perform private dances,” Cricket replied. “Please, let go.”
“Come on, now, I’ve already paid for the room.”
“Then ask one of the other girls,” said Cricket. “Now let me go.”
“You’re the one I want,” the mercenary insisted. “Now get down here.” And he yanked her right off the stage onto the floor.
At once, two bouncers moved in, but without letting go of Cricket’s wrist, the mercenary kicked out at the first one, breaking his knee, and smashed the second one in the jaw. Both men went down, the first one screaming with pain, the second unconscious.
Sorak started to rise from his stool, but felt Tajik’s hand on him. “Keep out of it,” the ferry captain said. “Turin pays these men well for their pains, and they know their business.”
Indeed, they seemed to, for even as Tajik spoke, Sorak saw three more bouncers move in, this time with three-foot agafari fighting sticks.
The brawny mercenary knew his business, too. He released Cricket, shoving her against the stage behind him and turned to meet the bouncers. As the first one came in with an overhanded blow of the fighting stick, the mercenary took it on crossed forearms, catching it on the muscle rather than bone, and then deftly wrenched the stick out of the bouncer’s grasp while kicking him in the groin. Without pause, he pivoted, sidestepped a blow from the second bouncer, and cracked the stick against the side of his head.
As the second bouncer went down, the mercenary quickly dropped to the floor and swept the third bouncer’s legs out from under him. He, too, fell, and the mercenary brought the heel of his booted foot down hard on the man’s throat, collapsing his larynx and trachea. The bouncer made a horrible gargling sound and thrashed several times, then choked on his own blood.
Moving swiftly and smoothly, the big mercenary got back to his feet, snatching up the third bouncer’s fighting stick as well, so that he now had one in each hand. Cricket tried to crawl away, but he saw her and hooked a stool with his foot, sending it crashing against the stage, just missing her. She cried out and stayed huddled where she was. Two more bouncers moved in, and by now the crowd had gathered round, watching and cheering the combatants.
The fighting sticks whirled in the mercenary’s hands as he met the two remaining bouncers and, moments later, both were lying senseless and bleeding on the floor.
The crowed cheered, and the mercenary dropped the sticks and turned back to Cricket. He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet.
Sorak got up off his stool, shaking off Tajik’s hand, and Ryana rose beside him.
“I’d say I’ve earned a lot more than just a private dance,” the big mercenary said. And as he turned to drag her upstairs, he found Kieran blocking his way, standing there with his arms folded across his chest.
Sorak paused, holding out his arm in front of Ryana. The crowd fell silent.
“You’re in my way,” the big mercenary said to Kieran.