Panduv did not linger. She did not know how much time she might have. She began at once to bend and unbend, to stretch and coil and brace herself. Flying into a series of slow cartwheels, she remembered a beating at Hanassor, at childhood’s end.
At length, she paused for breath, shaking her shorn hair from her face. And saw all the many rows of doorways about the court fat-full of holy-girls gaping at her, in astonishment. While, on a stair at the precinct’s west end, the mistress stood, chewing on a confection, her hard eyes intent.
Panduv grinned, and gave to her the reckless flamboyant salute of the stadium.
“Did they tell you my conditions?”
The mistress said nothing, but after a long stare, she returned up to her apartment, and drew the curtain over with a jangle of its brass-bracelet rings.
None came to usher Panduv back into prison, nor to chastise her.
As for the food, she must make do, eating a modicum, but clearing her plates into the lidded jar, then bearing it to the repository for waste matter. If she ate, or seemed to eat, she might earn alternative foodstuff, especially when they saw she did not after all “plumpen.” Panduv lowered herself like a black snake, lifted her feet high, and stalked over the yard on her hands.
By day, when not on duty on the couches over at the temple side of the precinct, the girls would loll about the inner courtyard. Most of them rose late, particularly after a day of service, and the heat of noon generally sent them to a second sleep indoors. Sometimes they employed themselves with sewing, the stringing of beads, or in elaborately arranging their hair. Bowls of candies were continually brought them by the five or six girl children already dedicated; when of age, they, too, were destined for Cah.
In the evening when the temperature lessened, just before the last meal, crickets whirred in the shrubs and the bushes over the wall. The shadows of birds crossed the yard, and the holy-girls often became animated. They lent each other jewelry, put flowers into their coiffures, chattered. They even compared their patrons disparagingly. Cah valued the male ability to give pleasure and so, since this talent was usually absent, her harlots were at liberty to complain. Zastis was the best and worst. The men were in such a hurry, but lust inherent in all and ultimately able to fulfill itself, if perhaps only at the tenth customer.
Panduv, accustomed to the female talk of the stadium-girls’ hall, and that in limited quantity, was offended by these costive dialogues.
Nevertheless, she went on with her exercise about the yard, aware that the harlots watched her, openly or under their lids, sullen yet fascinated. In a universe where men were imposed, like the weather, a woman who exhibited the masculine qualities of physical freedom and strength, arrogance and swagger, was an object of awe.
There was one girl whom it suited to be big. Though among the heaviest in the precinct, her large body was firm and she moved with complete gracefulness, looking light as down. Her skin had a luster on it, her huge eyes, on the rare occasions you might meet them, were intelligent. But for two side-plaits ending each in a brass bell, denoting Cah’s service, she wore her hair in a beautiful rippling cloud. She was called Selleb.
Selleb was not idle, like the others. In a room beneath the mistress’ apartment was a loom with posts, and here she worked away with her feet and her smooth arms, weaving cloth for the temple’s winter garments.
Nor, seeing the black leopard enter the loom-chamber, did Selleb stop weaving.
Panduv stood close to Selleb and touched the shining cloud.
“What tresses. The slaver who cut off my hair would have been wild for these.”
“When I was brought here,” said Selleb placidly, still tending the loom, “my father shore me, too.”
“Were you sorry to come to this place?”
“No,” said Selleb, “I was starved, at my father’s farm. I was born a fleshy child, so they thought they could feed me on crusts and air. My belly was always cramped from hunger.”
“Well, you’ve mended that,” said Panduv, and slipped her lean hand down Selleb’s succulent shoulder.
Selleb continued to weave.
“But this food,” said Panduv, “isn’t what I need. You see, I’m as skinny as ever.”
Selleb smiled, but said nothing.
Panduv raised her brows.
“Meat,” said Panduv, “and fruit.”
“Every ten days,” said Selleb, “there’s a dish of meat for us. Fresh fruit may be bought, but the best way is to ask a patron who is regular with you.”
“Being too thin to please,” said Panduv cryptically, “I have as yet no patrons. You, however, delicious one, must have many who prefer your mattress.”
Selleb smiled again.
Panduv ran her arm about Selleb’s waist, or at least as far as her arm would reach. Leaning to Selleb’s ear, Panduv whispered, “But I must have more meat, too. Is there a chance—something from the altars. I’ll have it raw if I must.”
“There is a chance, Panoov,” said Selleb; she rearranged the Zakorian’s name better than the others who had learned it. “Is there to be a return for helping you?”
“I hesitate.”
Selleb laughed softly.
Panduv said, “In Alisaar, I learnt several arts of love. I might teach them to you, if you were agreeable. You could then bring them to your service of Cah, to increase your enjoyment and that of your patrons, and so invite the goddess’ approval.”
The mistress entered the cell of the High Priest and kneeled on the floor, puffing. He sat imperious in his chair until she had got the breath to say: “Leave to speak. High One.”
“Do so.”
“High One, you may recall an unworthy woman I, in my inferior fashion, chose for the mattresses of Cah.”
“The black Zakr.”
“As you say, High One. There’s some difficulty.” The High One waited. The mistress labored, finding her kneeling posture also difficult. “She seems to eat, but never gains weight. Probably she is throwing out her food, or voiding it. In the normal way I’d discipline the girl and force her to swallow her meals before me. But she has been a dancer in Alisaar. It seems she knows tricks for the carnal act and has imparted them to the girls, or to one at least, so that the patrons receive benefit. It’s talked of. What shall I do. High One?”
The High Priest pressed his fingers to his shaven chin and looked long and blackly at the wheezing brothel-keeper of Cah.
He spoke.
“Nowhere, woman, in the creed of the goddess, is it suggested that either partner should gain pleasure but in the usual way. The sophistries of Alisaars are their own. Certainly, you chose poorly among the slaves. This Palmv isn’t docile, and forgets the proper place of the female. She can’t do any good with the girls. I believe we must be rid of her. At the new moon, we’ll sell her for menial work in the port.”
The mistress bowed, rose, was breathless.
“One further matter,” said the High Priest. “A Watcher is coming from the capital. There’s nothing here that may not be seen and reported on to the Mother Temple. But he will arrive before Zastis is done. Make sure your charges are groomed and at their best, he may want use of some of them.”
Among the girls of Cah, once the news of the Watcher had been given them, there began some excitement. Such a priest was of importance, but often young—since the traveling required of him might be taxing. He went about from place to place, inspecting the fanes of the goddess, seeing the rituals were correctly kept, and the other temple business, such as slaughtering and usury, properly in hand. Revenues were sent from all the towns and larger villages of Iscah to the Mother Temple in Iscah’s capital, but it was a haphazard affair. The land was not known for its riches, one did not expect too much blood from a stone.