Duwan stepped close. The slaves stood, heads hanging, panting. The lacy curtains were pushed aside and he saw a female half-reclining on luxurious cushions. She wore a garment unlike any he'd seen, a thing of smooth and gossamer construction that showed the shape of her, the swelling of her bud point emphasized by a circular pattern of lace.
"Who are you?" the female asked, in a soft, inviting voice.
"I am Duwan."
"She is to be addressed as High Mistress," Jai hissed.
"Please!"
"Forgive me, High Mistress," Duwan said. His only desire now was to get back to the inn, rest, and then start his journey to the north. "I am a wanderer, strange to your city and your ways."
"So, Duwan," the High Mistress said. "I have not seen such sword play since my father was a young one. You will present yourself at my residence at the time of the evening meal." She tossed a ring toward him, and Duwan caught it in the air. "Present this to my guard." The curtains closed and, after a soft command, the chair moved off at a trot.
"We must flee now," Jai said. "For that was the daughter of Farko, himself. She will find you out, master. Let us not even return to the inn, but make our way to the gate and put a night's distance behind us."
"I am tired," Duwan said.
"If you stay and do not obey her orders she will have the entire guard out looking for you," Jai said. "If you go to her, she will see through your stories of travel to the southwest, for she has access to all information as the High Master's daughter."
Perhaps it was only pride that formed Duwan's decision. He was young, and he'd held his own with one of the Devourers' finest swordsmen, and he was convinced that had the swords not been padded, had he used both his weapons, he would have killed Captain Hata. Perhaps it was just that he did not feel like running, that he was weary. He led the way to the inn, washed himself, brushed his rather soiled clothing, and, as Du sank beyond the western walls of the city he followed Jai's directions, walking into a section of the city enclosed by a separate, interior wall, into a place of wide, lush gardens and stone mansions with painted decorations that provided unexpected color amid the uniform grayness of the city. Uniformed guardsmen flanked the gate leading to one of the more impressive mansions. He showed his left hand, on which the High Mistress' ring gleamed, and was admitted. He was escorted by two guards to an ironbound, high, thick door and then he stepped into brightly lit luxury.
Bowing, smiling slave girls guided him down a long hallway whose walls were decorated with carved and painted things of considerable beauty. Another great door was opened by a male slave. The room beyond was large enough to be spacious, small enough to be cozy, and there, at its center, reclining on brightly colored, fur-covered cushions, was the High Mistress. Before her was a table laden with dishes that sent a variety of odors into the air of the room. She motioned Duwan to come forward, indicated that he was to sit beside her. Her gown was even more revealing than her apparel of the afternoon. It seemed to float near her rather than bind her, and through the gossamer thinness of it he could see that she was either naturally dark or that she exposed herself to the rays of Du. Her long, shapely legs were positioned attractively. Her bud point was enchantingly visible through one single thickness of the material. Her eyes, he noticed, were the red of the molten rock in the land of the fires.
"Your earlier efforts, have I trust, left you with an appetite?"
"Yes, High Mistress."
She waved one graceful hand. "Here in privacy we waive the formalities. You may call me Elnice."
"Thank you," Duwan said.
"Your weapons show great care, but your apparel—" She reached out and fingered the crude cloth of his tunic.
"I am but a wanderer, High Mistress." At her frown he smiled and said,
"A wanderer, Elnice."
"A body as well formed as yours should be adorned," she said. She clapped her hands and two pong females scurried from behind hanging material. She gave orders in the language of the Devourers. Within minutes, the females were back, carrying fine garments.
"Your kindness is great," Duwan said. "Where shall I go to change."
"Go? Are you so modest?" She smiled. "Help him," she ordered, and Duwan was pulled gently but insistently from the couch by the two females who, gigglingly, began to divest him of his clothing. He saw the flame red eyes narrow as his powerful chest was exposed. He felt his face grow hot as his lower garment was removed and he stood, naked, with the flame red eyes sweeping him. Then a kilt of soft, comfortable material was fastened at his waist and a loose, luxuriously made tunic pulled over his head. Elnice clapped her hands again and the two females began to serve. There was fruit and flesh and various dishes of green things and, of course, dishes made from the staple of the Devourer diet, the nuts of the tall grass.
"The meat is special," Elnice said, as Duwan refused a serving. He looked at it in doubt, wondering if it was the flesh of a Drinker young one.
"My own hunters range far," she said. "This is the flesh of a grass eater and it is brought to me from far beyond the plain of Arutan. Do you have an aversion to eating flesh?"
"I do," Duwan said. "In my wanderings I have acquired odd tastes." She shrugged, and the motion gave her upper body so much grace that Duwan felt a flush of pleasure.
"Then drink to new friends," Elnice said, lifting a cup. Duwan raised his own cup. The contents smelled like the fruit juice he'd once tried, and as the female drank deeply he did the same. The taste was fruity, but there was a tang, a tartness, that he'd never experienced.
He did well by the food, for he was hungry, and the cooked dishes of green things and the bread made from the grass nut were delicious.
"Tell me now of your travels," Elnice ordered, although her voice was soft and sweet.
To be safe, Duwan stuck to the truth, telling of the north, of the vast tracts of trees—he'd learned enough not to call them tall brothers—of the snows and the frozen lakes. His detailed account seemed to bore the female, so he paused.
"How do you like our city so far?" Elnice asked, arching her back, smiling at him.
"I am overwhelmed by the numbers," he said, "and by the odors of the streets." He smiled. The fruit juice, he was finding, tasted better with each glass. A female stood behind him and filled his glass each time he emptied it.
"Do you not find it beautiful?"
He cued himself from her little frown. He was finding her to be quite transparent. If it was a compliment she wanted… "I find, in this room, great beauty," he said.
"Do you?" she asked. "Is it my furniture, my works of art?"
"If I may be so bold, it is you," he said.
"Ah." She rose, came to take his hand. "Come, then." The room seem to roll as Duwan arose. She put her arm around his waist, pressed her soft, female flank against his, guided him through a doorway into a chamber which seemed, to Duwan's eyes—and there seemed to be just a little something wrong with his eyes—to be nothing much more than a huge, luxurious, covered bed.
"Since you know beauty," she whispered, releasing him and stepping away. Duwan's eyes went wide as, in one graceful motion, she denuded herself, leaving the gown heaped on the floor. "Make yourself comfortable," she told him, guiding him toward the bed, pushing him down. He felt a bit odd, so he allowed this, and sat there leaning against a pile of cushions as she stepped back, and began to do things with her body that seemed almost impossible. She moved in sensuous waves, arms striking poses that showed her at her best, hips undulating. As she danced she made a low, humming sound and her fiery eyes never left his. One of the serving females came in, left a pitcher of the tangy fruit juice on a table beside the bed and, to cover his confusion, Duwan drank deeply. He was wondering what was happening to him, for he felt his body as he'd never felt it before, felt his bud point swelling.