To
His Majesty the Great Uzgal Gashagr, Ruler of the Empire of Gashhur, Lord of
Mauhak, and Mightiest of the Horde. May
the contents of this package please you.
It was under your esteemed orders that I was dispatched to the Kingdom
of k’Tacha as an emissary, in order to better understand our neighbours and to
ascertain their weaknesses as well as their strengths. Contained herein is the journal of my days
spent in this land to the east of our mighty empire. I humbly hope that what I have discovered may
in some small way assist the growth and strengthening of our great land.
***
Right
from my very first arrival in the lands of k’Tacha, it became apparent that
their society differed considerably from our own…
I
alighted in the port city of Ahdada by a route most circuitous to aid my cover
as a Gashhur merchant noble who had spent many a year developing trade links in
Eridesh, and immediately upon setting foot on the docks my senses were
assaulted from all sides. The docks,
like our own, were awash with the smell of pitch, fish, and sewage as one would
expect in any busy port. In addition to
that, the renowned Ahdada spice market was open, and even though it was a
hundred rods[1]
or more from where I disembarked, the warm desert winds brought those pungent
scents to me, almost masking the more immediate odours of the bustling
harbour. None of this came as a surprise
to me, for it was not the first port I had visited in my life, nor the first
time I had been near a spice market.
What
did surprise me was the multitude and variety of businesses that operated in
the dark of night – though the port was so awash with burning braziers and
lanterns that I suspect even in an eclipse it would seem bright as day. While every port the world over will have
inns for weary sailors and merchants to rest their bodies and sate their
hungers, the port of Ahdada teemed with all manner of tents, booths, and other
ramshackle structures, their owners out front loudly hawking their trade to all
and sundry. Even when compared to the
heaving ports of Eridesh, Ahdada is something to be experienced. As I walked from the jetty and set out in
search of travel to the k’Tachan capital of Karnu I was offered more services
and items than I could observe, some of which I did not even recognise and some
of which, to my shame, I did.
That
the k’Tachans have a different view of the sexual act to ourselves is not news
to Your Majesty, but I feel that even Your Grace would be taken aback by the
openness with which workers of that trade offered themselves. If I may speak plainly, for I fear as this
journal goes on I will find it increasingly difficult to be circumspect without
obfuscating matters entirely, there were enough whores in the port of Ahdada to
keep an entire legion of soldiers entertained.
They showed no abashment at their trade, either, and seemed to have
adapted their sales patter well to cope with those who did not speak the language. Certainly, one would need to have lived one’s
entire life a hermit to not understand what was on sale. The variety, too! Females, males, young and old, slight and
gross, and even one woman who appeared to have lost both of her legs – either
by accident or design I would not wish to speculate – and who apparently used a
suspended harness as a means to…
I
apologise, My Lord, the image burned so brightly in my memory that to recall it
at all was to distract myself from the purpose of these writings. Your Grace, of course, does not need to read
the finer details of how these men and women plied their trade.
I
will confess that even a disciplined and experienced man as myself found it
difficult to make it from the portside to the main thoroughfare of the docks
district, and that by the time I had managed this it had long since become
necessary to rearrange my robes for the sake of decency. I add this detail only for comparison, for
the men of k’Tacha did not seem similarly inclined, and many could be observed
to be conversing with the various flesh peddlers or simply watching the display
acts with their lusts quite noticeably inflamed. Most at least kept themselves covered, if not
concealed, but there were numerous persons there who were not in the least
abashed about exposing their ardour to the cooler evening air, and walked
around with it for all to see. Not only was
this apparently so commonplace that it did not draw any comments but it would
seem that the majority of denizens of the docks did not even find such a thing
worth a raised eyebrow or second glance.
After
reaching the edge of the docks district, I was able to hire myself both
transport to Karnu and a local guide and bodyguard, the latter two being one
and the same – a grizzled man older than myself who both claimed and certainly
appeared to be the veteran of a number of wars.
***
The bodyguard’s name was Betepah,
and he was a native of Nhanr, far to the east of Eridesh and Dimashk. Emissary
Orbakh had selected the man for a number of reasons, not least of which was
that he had been the only guide who was both fully dressed and looked like he
belonged in battle rather than in a brothel.
The Nhanerian’s lack of zeal had also caught Orbakh’s eye, for while his
competitors were shoving each other out of the way to get the space to extol
their virtues to a potential customer, Betepah had been leaning against the
side of the building they were gathered outside and had barely spared the
emissary a glance. To the Gashhur, such
composed indifference suggested a quiet confidence in one’s own abilities,
rather than the insecurity unintentionally implied by those who tried to make a
show of themselves.
The Nhanerian veteran also spoke
excellent Eridian, and had a far better grasp of it than Orbakh did of
k’Tachan. Orbakh, of course, would have
preferred a guide who spoke the Gashhur tongue but there were few people
outside of the Gashhur Empire who spoke even a smattering of the guttural,
snarling language. Eridian, on the other
hand, had become something of a trade language for the whole area, and was
understood by educated or well-travelled individuals as far away as Chellu in
the north and Akaria in the south. As
well as the language having a relatively straightforward structure, the king of
Eridesh was keen on his nation exporting its many texts, essays, poems, and any
other form of the written word.
Betepah soon started to earn his
coin as a guide, advising his newest employer on the best transport for getting
to Karnu in both a reasonable amount of comfort and time. The road to the capital was well-travelled,
he said, and equally well-patrolled. As
such, attacks from bandits were almost unheard of, and even the local tribes
had over the years got up and moved rather than contend with the k’Tachan
legion indiscriminately devastating villages in retaliation for any and every
attack on merchants. The roads of
k’Tacha, it seemed, were impressively safe.
“Unlike Karnu itself,” commented
Betepah as he leaned back against the side canvas of their coach, his eyes
closed and his body swaying from side to side with each bump on the hard-pack
dirt road they travelled on.
“The capital is dangerous?” asked
Orbakh as he scribbled notes in his personal journal, from which he would later
write up a version more suited for his king.
“No more so than any other big
city,” replied the veteran, giving a lazy shrug of his scarred shoulders. From what Orbakh could see of his guide, just
about every part of the man had been struck by some bladed weapon or other over
the years. He estimated Betepah to be
perhaps a dozen years older than himself, and the man had either seen a great
number of battles, or just been very heavily involved in the very worst of a
handful. Either way, the veteran seemed
disinclined to discuss his military history, save that there had been a lot of
it. “They’re just scars,” he had said
when asked by Orbakh, and when pressed for details the man had simply given
another shrug, a gesture that the emissary was starting to realise he would be
seeing a lot of during their time together.
“I am from Gashhur, I have lived
in Eridesh, and I have travelled extensively.
If there’s one thing I have learned, no two cities are quite the
same.” Betepah opened one eye at the
emissary’s statement, and gave a lazy half-smile.
“True words, O Esteemed
Merchant. True words, indeed. Hm, perhaps I should say instead that Karnu
is no more dangerous than any other big city in k’Tacha. Not significantly more dangerous, at
least.” He opened both eyes and gazed
thoughtfully at the dust trail their covered cart was leaving in its wake. “Well… so long as you’re not a slave, or a
foreigner, or poor, or weak, or unable to defend yourself in a fight.”
“I think… I probably come under
two of those things,” replied Orbakh, doing his best to look apprehensive. In truth, as a Gashhur emissary he was more
than capable of defending himself against common street thugs and even against
moderately determined assassins, but he knew of precious few merchants who had
any idea as to what to do with a sword except sell it.
“And that is why you hired me,
yes? You see the other guides,
clamouring for your attention, pressing their bodies against you and hoping to
elicit some form of response. You think
‘I need a guide who can protect me, not one who can suck my cock’, yes?”
“I perhaps would not have put it
in quite such terms,” said Orbakh after clearing his throat, “but the message
is the same.”
“Yes. And then you see me, and you think ‘that
fellow looks like he has seen battle, he looks confident, I will hire him to
protect and guide my flabby merchant arse,’ yes?” Orbakh let out a small chuckle; he had
forgotten the mannerisms of mercenaries.
“Again, not quite the same
wording I was thinking.”
“Yes. And if you want your cock sucked,” Betepah
leaned forward abruptly, and the emissary found himself involuntarily leaning
away, “then just say. I know many fine
whore pits in Karnu.” The Nhanerian
grinned broadly, displaying a mouth with a surprisingly full set of teeth for a
war veteran, even if several of them were made of gold. Orbakh cleared his throat again.
“In Gashhur, sex is something we
keep much to ourselves. There is no
shame in lust, but it is not something we display in public. Even in Eridesh the women keep themselves covered
and while the men will flirt there is at least a certain discretion to it. But here in k’Tacha…”
“Whores fuck in the street,”
finished Betepah, leaning back again.
“Not your words, yes?” Orbakh
laughed. “In k’Tacha,” the guide continued,
“fucking for money is seen as an acceptable occupation for anyone born free, so
long as they are not noble. The nobles…
they do it for free. You will see a
noble woman, she finds a freeman she likes the look of, she will go up to him
and ask if he wants her cunt.” Another
shrug, then “It is a fool who says no, even if the woman is not so young or as
beautiful as she once was. Women have
the power here, yes?”
“I had heard as much,” replied
Orbakh. “You have your priestesses-“
“Our official whores,”
interrupted Betepah.
“- your queen,” continued Orbakh,
grinning.
“Our head whore.”
“Is such a statement not treason
here?” Orbakh, amused though he was by
the mercenary’s attitude, still found himself surprised to hear a man speak of
his regent in such a way. Betepah just
shrugged again.
“You are going to report me to
the militia at the next stop, yes? You
will say ‘hey you, militia man, this old bastard here says your queen is a
whore!’, yes?” Orbakh opened his mouth
to reply, but his guide continued, “They will not care. If you are lucky, they will tell you to fuck
off. If not so lucky, they will hit you
with the butts of their spears, then tell you to fuck off.”
“The militia do not care for the
law?”
“They care for peace and
quiet. If the law gives them an excuse
to stick their spear into something, or stick their spear into something, then they care about the law. Otherwise, not so much.”
“Interesting,” was all Orbakh
could think of to say.
***
My
journey to the capital was uneventful yet informative. My guide had many interesting things to say
on the matter of both discipline and patriotism amongst the k’Tachan militia,
none of which displayed them kindly.
While I suspect the core of the k’Tachan army to be somewhat different,
it would appear that the common soldiery are little more than barely-organised
rabble, who have little interest in anything grander than their own lives.
The
towns we passed through on the road to Karnu differed greatly from the port
city of Ahdada, as one would expect, but still they offered insight into the
society of this land. Every settlement
had a temple or a shrine to their principal goddess, Nzerdune, and even those
that were little more than an inn by the road at least had an altar for votive
offerings to their goddess. It would
seem that the priestesses of k’Tacha wield considerable influence throughout
their lands.
***
The other
ubiquitous feature of k’Tachan townships that Orbakh discovered was
prostitution. Anywhere larger than a
village had at least one brothel, and they did not visit a single inn where the
serving girls were not prepared to have sex in exchange for coin. It seemed that in k’Tachan society, people
were no more prepared to go without sex than they were food or drink.
Orbakh
realised he would have to take advantage of the ready availability of
opportunities to fornicate before too long, but he sought to resist the urge
for as long as he could. Though he might
be in the nation under pretence of being a merchant, he had a very real mission
to undertake and one from which he would prefer a minimum of distractions. Besides which, he had a wife and family back
home in Gashhur, even if he had not seen them for a few years due to the
travelling needs of his job as emissary.
One particular inn had made it very difficult for him, with the serving
girl inviting both him and Betepah to examine just how moist her nethers were
for them both. Thankfully, having her
offer translated by Betepah – though he’d have understood the general gist even
had his ears been plugged – somewhat lessened the impact. The mercenary had seemed to understand some
of Orbakh’s discomfort and had removed temptation from his path by passing the
girl a couple of coins and taking her off to a side room. None of which did anything to calm the
painfully hard erection he had under the table, but it did at least give him
some mental breathing space before they resumed their travels.
“Is no shame
in it,” commented Betepah after the two had ridden in silence for some miles
beyond that in, “everyone wants to fuck, yes?”
“It is not the
Gashurr way,” replied Orbakh.
“The Gashhur
do not fuck? How do you make little
Gashhur?” the guide’s tone was playful, and even in the gloom Orbakh could see
the smirk on his face, from the gleam off his golden teeth.
“In the dark,
with our eyes closed.” Orbakh found the
mercernary’s flippancy all too infectious.
“Ah, at least
you have a sense of humour in Gashhur, even if you find sex so distasteful!”
“Not
distasteful,” said Orbakh, absent-mindedly rubbing his temples – the date wine
at the inn had been far too drinkable, and he was starting to regret imbibing
quite so much of it. “We consider it to
be a private act between two people.”
“Just
two? So tame, so boring. Sex is like food – an intimate meal for two
is nice, but a feast with all of your friends is better, yes?”
“Is it the
same in Nhanr? Is Gashhur really the
only nation to be reserved about fornication?”
“I have not
seen my homeland in over three decades, my friend. But when last I was there, young women of
wealthy families would be sent away to schools where they would be taught how
to pleasure their future husbands, and themselves.”
“Really?”
replied Orbakh, his eyes widening at a variety of mental images.
“Truth,” said
the veteran, “I began my military career working as a guard at one such
school.” His grin was so broad that Orbakh
could see the man’s back teeth.
“Tell me
more,” insisted the emissary, leaning forward eagerly.
“Ah, it was a
happy time. I was barely an adult myself
and I thought that the guard duty would be easy but boring. I was wrong on both of these.”
“It was
difficult?” enquired Orbakh, puzzled.
“In a sense,
yes. You see, these girls were keen to
practice what they were taught. Mostly,
the practiced what they could on each other.
The school’s mistresses did not disapprove of this, they saw it as a
healthy way to release the tension that built up. But now imagine you are me. You stand on duty, yes? You stand there, watching attractive girls
just a summer or two younger than yourself.
Watching them being taught about sex and sexual pleasure, watching them
run around in between lessons,” he paused and licked his lips, “watching them
in the dormitories at nights, when they let out the tension of the day.” Opposite him, Orbakh cleared his throat and
shifted slightly on the cushion he sat upon.
“You remember being that young, yes?
When it seemed that even the wind changing direction would…” the guide gestured
with one hand, “cause your breeches to tighten.
Now imagine you are surrounded by lust-filled girls who are busy
learning the best way to fuck a man.”
Orbakh blinked, and then nodded.
He was imagining it, and was finding it helped if he leaned forward a
bit more.
“Guard duty
when you’re, ah, standing to attention?”
“Ha, yes! Truth, my friend, truth. In one hand I held my staff – they did not
think guards around young women should have bladed weapons, yes? – and in the
other hand I tried to hide my other staff.”
“Did you get
into trouble?”
“Not in the
sense you are thinking, but of a sort, yes.”
Betepah grinned massively again, and Orbakh laughed before gesturing for
the man to continue his tale.
“Sometimes, not so easy to hide my arousal. Sometimes, a girl would notice. Sometimes, that girl would like what she
saw. Sometimes, I helped them put their
theory into practice. Other times, they
would tease me, touching and kissing each other, making me watch but staying
too far away for me to do any more.” He
sighed, then chuckled quietly to himself.
“It was a good job. Truth, a very good job.” The two men sat in quiet contemplation for
some moments, Betepah leaning back against the side of the cart’s canvas with
his hands behind his head, while Orbakh continued to lean forward in moderate
discomfort.
“Do you miss
Nhanr?” Orbakh asked at last.
“I miss
getting my dick sucked by sixteen year old girls,” replied Betepah, grinning
and closing his eyes.
***
It
was three days and nights travel from the k’Tachan coast to its capital, though
the pace was hardly pressed. The citizens of the Empire are friendly and
welcoming of strangers even when they are foreign. My guide also acted as my translator, for
though I know a passable amount of their tongue, I found it best to feign
ignorance. When he was not available and
I had to pretend to speak in slow, hesitant k’Tachan, I found no trace of
annoyance in those with whom I conversed, and they seemed only too happy to
help me out if I acted uncertain of a word.
They
are a very expressive and tactile people, something which on occasion became
distracting due to their tendency to wear little more than a loincloth or a
simple apron when they were not working.
I do not think our soldiers would have any issues with being resented or
even resisted by the people of this land, for none that I met seemed interested
in their queen, and more than one professed to not being able to remember her
name. It seems that the ordinary people
of k’Tacha, like their militia, do not care about anything beyond their own
lives and homes. If they had a foreign
ruler on the throne of k’Tacha, would they care or even notice?
***
“You have made
arrangements, yes?” Betepah asked as the
great north gate of Karnu – visible from some miles back – finally came close
enough for them to be able to see the details.
“Pardon?” Close enough, too, to notice the numerous
archers stationed atop the gate itself and along the high walls that flanked
it.
“Arrangements. You have spoken to the Merchant Guild,
yes?” When Orbakh just stared at him
blankly, Betepah sighed, “I see. Not
registered. Well, that is first thing to
do, yes? Speak to the Guild, register as
merchant in Karnu, then you will be able to trade and set up business
contacts.”
“What happens
if I don’t register? We have no guild in
Gashhur, nor is there one in Eridesh.”
“With no
licence, nobody honest will trade with you.
You can still trade with criminals,” his nonchalant tone passed no judgement
on that potential path, “but if the City Guard find you doing this, they make
you regret it. But not nearly as much as
the Guild make you regret it, yes?”
“What level of
regret are we talking about? Fines? Imprisonment?”
“First, they
cut out your tongue so you cannot haggle anymore.” Orbakh raised his eyebrows. “Then they break your fingers so you cannot
count coin anymore.”
“I see,” said
Orbakh, swallowing.
“That is for
first offence,” continued Betepah, “For second offence, they remove your
genitals and make you eat them, then they leave you in street to bleed to
death. Merchant Guild, they do not fuck
about.”
“I see,”
repeated Orbakh, “All things considered, I agree that a licence would be a good
idea.”
“Truth,”
replied Betepah, grinning.
“Is there
anything else I need to be aware of before I start business?”
“Most guards
can be bribed, unless they are a captain.
Do not try to bribe a captain if you like walking.”
“Walking?”
“Most people
with broken knees, they not walk so good.”
“Aha. And how can I identify a captain?”
“Is easy. If you try to bribe them and they break your
knees, then they are captain.” The guard
grinned again, while Orbakh sighed.
“Your level of
helpfulness varies quite a lot, Betepah.”
“Relax,
friend! You with me, I see you
safe. Anyone tries to break your knees,
I break theirs first.” The gate’s shadow
loomed over them, the massive structure blocking out the sun when they were
still hundreds of yards away. With the
sun still in the sky behind the capital city, the smaller access gates that
were cut into one door of the true gate were open, and through the still
sizeable portal Orbakh could see and smell the vibrant
city of Karnu.
