The male wept in truth then, his fists clenched tight as his head lowered to his knees, his shoulders rounded and shaking, his body racked by sobs. I had not envisioned such an end when I had given my commands concerning him, and I stood a moment studying him, sipping my daru, before giving voice to my thoughts.
“I see your punishment has been truly fitting, male,” I said at last, finding little sympathy within me which might have softened the words. “To use pleasure to achieve one’s ends is dishonorable and merits failure and punishment. Had you sought to give no more than pleasure, you would have received the same, and likely your freedom as well; as you sought only baseness in use, so have you received only baseness. Rarely is an open hand shown to a stranger by Midanna; should that open hand be spurned and spat upon, it will not be offered a second time.”
“And yet, wenches may use their bodies to secure what they desire!” rasped the male, his voice rough yet with the moisture which covered his cheeks, his head raising though he continued to avert his eyes. “They prance before a man and lure him, graciously allow him their use, then wheedle and demand all he is able to provide and more! Why should not men do the same? You warrior wenches take what you will as men would; for what reason may I not use my body to obtain what I desire?”
“What privileges a warrior has she has earned,” I replied, seeing in the slave the same lack of reason typical of all males. “You now reap what wrongful use of your body has earned you, just as wrongful use of a sword would earn for a warrior her enemy’s point in her belly. For what reason do you bemoan your lot, a lot which was earned, when a warrior does not?”
“A wench with a sword asks for a point in her belly,” muttered the male, wiping at his face with a forearm as he rose slowly to his feet to face me. “I did not ask to be done as I have been, I only sought a path to freedom. To be free is the right of a man.”
“To seek an honorable end through dishonorable means sullies the purpose as well as the seeker,” I returned, gesturing my loss of patience with the fool of a male. “Many seek to avoid the path they find themselves upon through their own actions, yet to no avail. You must walk your path till you have learned what place you walk through your own efforts, male, and then, perhaps, you will find a branching. You may return now to Aysayn with my reply.”
Annoyed, I began to turn from him then, but he reached for my arm, halting me before I had taken more than half a step.
“Perhaps I have already found a branching,” said he, and his gaze no longer avoided mine. “First I shall have what has so long been denied me, and then will I be accompanied by a well-used, black-haired wench beyond the gates of this accursed city. None will think to stop or question me as I command all others, and once I have attained my freedom, I will allow you the opportunity to earn your own. For now, however, I will allow only one thing.”
The male then began to pull me toward him, his intentions unmistakable, his courage clearly bolstered by the fact we were alone and my sword was out of reach. He was scarcely larger than I, yet were his shoulders broader by far, his strength the strength of a male with a female, his determination and need adding the push of desperation. Clearly the male anticipated victory in his efforts, and if I had not already been taught the usefulness of unarmed combat by the Sigurri, surely would he have had his victory; however, Chaldrin had not spent his breath in vain.
Though my left hand held a cup of daru and the male’s fingers held that arm, I was able to drop the cup, thrust my arm forward out of his grip, and then bring the elbow back with strength into his middle. Shocked, surprise was barely born upon his features before lack of air bent him double, and then I turned and brought my knee up sharply under his chin, straightening him once more and overstraightening him. Flat to the floor cloth was the male thrown, upon his back, much in the same position he had thought to have me. Pain brought his knees up somewhat as he rolled to his side, and dazedly he touched a finger to the blood on his lip.
“The war leader who commands all others is not so easily bested, male,” I said, distastefully. “Raise yourself to your feet now, and take to Aysayn the reply you were given.”
“But—I do not understand!” the male blurted, shock widening his eyes. “You will not call your warriors and have me thrown in chains and lashed? You will not take up your sword and spill my blood? Why do you fail to do so?”
“Because I shall not allow you to escape your punishment,” I replied, watching as he struggled to regain his feet. “Should you learn from that punishment and eventually regain your freedom, we will speak then of swords and of spilling blood, but never of chains and the lash. Now, take yourself from here.”
“I do not understand,” muttered the male, putting his hand through his hair and attempting to straighten himself as he made unsteadily for the door. “I do not understand now, nor do I expect to understand.”
With a final look of strangely composed expressions the male at last left to do my bidding, allowing me to retrieve the cup which had fallen to the floor cloth. Not far from the cup were the remains of the spilled daru, turning the blue of the floor cloth black, clearly showing the bounds of the spill. Less clearly defined were my reasons for having allowed the male to live, for the ways of the Midanna give the life of an attacker to she who is attacked, hers to take if she is able. Had I wished it, my dagger might have slid beneath the chin of the male as easily as my knee, perhaps even more easily, and yet I had not done him so. The true reasons for my having withheld death were not within my grasp, and I frowned as I went to pour more daru. Clearly I had spent too long a time among males, for much of their thoughtless foolishness had come to color my own doings.
The time was not long before the males began arriving. First to be heard was the sound of voices raised in disagreement, and then the doors to my chamber were thrown wide to allow the entrance of Galiose, Ceralt, Lialt, and Telion, with Aysayn, Mehrayn, Chaldrin, and S’Heernoh behind them. Galiose seemed greatly vexed, his walk an indignant stride, his grimace a declaration of his displeasure with the world about him. His dark eyes quickly found me where I sat at ease upon the floor cloth, beneath the bottom step of the platform which held the seat once used by the High Seat, my back against the tread of the bottommost step, my left leg drawn up so that my arm might rest upon it. His anger quickly brought him forward, and he halted perhaps two paces from where I sat.
“The foot of a man’s throne is the proper place for you, wench, yet not in such an insolent pose,” said he in a growl, putting fists to hips as he glared down at me. “Is this the manner in which your word upon our safety is kept? By denying us the possession of our swords? By denying us the presence of those brought with us?”
“You are guests within this dwelling, and guests have no need of weapons for their safety,” said I with a shrug, answering that part of his speech which held meaning for me. “To say that weapons are indeed required is to say your host is without honor, her word untrustworthy. As for the balance of your males, I have no knowledge of them.”