When she had gone, the three maidens went to work on Sharon. In spite of her protests they disrobed her, bathed her with soft fleecy cloths, massaged her body with pungent, vitalizing oils, lacquered her nails and completed the job of anointing her with subtle perfumes and threading a wreath of fresh flowers into her waving, shoulder-length hair.
The three girls chattered among themselves as they brought clothes to her — rich, clinging silk robes that buckled with a diamond clasp at the waist and fell in billowing folds to the floor.
One of them knelt and fitted small jeweled slippers on her feet and they all stood back like artisans examining their work and stared at her with proud, possessive admiration.
“Please, girls,” Sharon said, “I appreciate all this, but I’d much rather have a little information. What did Tana mean by saying I’d do for one night? She acted as if I were going to be killed tomorrow.”
“But you are,” one of the girl giggled. “Surely you know that.”
Sharon felt a chill tremor run down her spine.
“What do you mean?” she cried. She shook her head distractedly, as the three girls continued to regard her with curious eyes. “I— I — can’t die now,” she said desperately. “There’s a young man. He’s in trouble. I’ve got to help him. Can’t you girls help me get out of here? Won’t you please?”
“We can do nothing,” one of the girls said. She regarded Sharon with sad, solemn eyes and turned away slowly. “You must die tomorrow. That is the custom. The Caliph, Zinidad, will spend only one night with a girl. The next day she must die so that no other man will ever again possess her. We can do nothing to help you.”
“But I’ve got to get away,” Sharon said frantically. She stood up from the couch and desperately paced the length of the room. “I just can’t die now.” The door opened and Tana entered. “You look lovely,” she murmured. “You are worthy of the great honor in store for you. You will come with me now. The Caliph is waiting your arrival with eagerness.”
“He can keep right on waiting,” Sharon said hotly. “I’m not going.”
She backed against a wall, her breasts heaving with anger. “You can tell your exalted tub of lard that he’s just out of luck. I’m not going to him and he can’t make me.”
Tana’s classic features were expressionless as she stepped to the wall and gently tapped a small gong. The clear note of the bell had hardly rippled away to silence before the door opened and two giant blacks appeared. Their huge faces were without expression as they regarded Tana.
She indicated Sharon with a nod of her head.
“Take her to the Caliph’s private quarters. He is awaiting her,” she murmured.
The blacks inclined their heads submissively and then moved toward Sharon. The girl backed away, her small fists clenched desperately.
The blacks moved stolidly toward her and she suddenly realized the futility of resistance. Her shoulders slumped wearily and she leaned tiredly against the wall.
“What’s the use,” she said bitterly and walked toward the giant Nubians.
Their faces were expressionless as they took her arms in their great hands and led her from the room...
The Caliph’s private boudoir was a magnificent affair, discreetly illuminated by scented candles, perfumed by pots of fragrant incense and dominated by a vast circular bed covered with soft shimmering silk and adorned by the fat, sprawling figure of the Caliph.
Sharon was led across the rug-draped, shining marble floor to the side of the great bed. They released her arms then, bowed ceremoniously to the Caliph and backed from the room, making low obeisances every few feet.
The door closed behind them, and Sharon heard a bolt sliding into place with a sound of finality.
The Caliph opened his little eyes and peered at her. He was attired in a loose white cloak that looked like a Roman toga; and his face seemed almost lost in folds of flesh as he smiled slowly and sensually at her.
“Come to me, my child,” he said. Sharon crossed her arms. Her small jaw was set.
“I will not,” she said distinctly.
The Caliph looked at her in injured surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said,” Sharon said firmly. “I was brought here by force, against my will. This is far as I go. If you try anything I’ll scratch your eyes out.”
The Caliph squirmed slightly. His fat, moon-like face wore an almost comic expression of bewilderment.
“You must not talk that way,” he said, “Remember I am the Caliph. My words are law.”
“Not with me they aren’t,” Sharon said grimly.
The Caliph heaved himself laboriously up on one elbow and regarded her with petulant surprise.
“May Allah protect us,” he sighed, “from disobedient women.”
“You’re just too accustomed to having your own way,” Sharon said. “Who gave you the right to order women around as if they were slaves?”
“But,” the Caliph said, genuinely astonished, “what else are they?”
Sharon stamped her small foot in exasperation. She was becoming increasingly annoyed with the dictatorial old lecher.
“You’re just like all men,” she said hotly. “You think because you are women’s physical superior that it gives you a divine right to dominate them mentally and spiritually. A woman is the equal of any man, anywhere, anytime. In fact they have more brains and skill than the average man. Where I came from women have fought for their rights and have proven themselves in all fields to be the equal of any male.”
The Caliph shook his head ominously.
“Those are dangerous words,” he said. What would happen to civilization if all women began thinking as you do?”
“What have men done by themselves,” Sharon said, “other than wage wars and establish elaborate harem systems?”
Zinidad scratched his round head moodily.
“What have women done in this place you come from? Have they improved things?”
“Well,” Sharon said, hesitating, “they haven’t gotten everything straightened out yet, but they’re on the right trail. We still have wars; but,” she added defensively, “even in war women are proving themselves the equal of man. They can fly planes as well as any man.”
“Fly planes?” Zinidad said wonderingly. “What are planes?”
“One of the inventions of my land,” Sharon explained, “is a machine that flies through the air, miles above the ground, faster than any bird. It has revolutionized commerce, warfare and civilization.”
Zinidad laughed delightedly.
“What a sport that must be,” he cried. “Tell me more about these marvelous things.” He smiled and wagged a plump finger playfully. “I know there is no truth in what you speak, but it amuses me to hear you tell of such wonderful things.” He patted the edge of his silken bed. “Sit here beside me and tell me more of these fables.”
Sharon sat down gingerly. She hoped that she had gotten the Caliph’s mind off his original intentions, but she was ready to move quickly if she were wrong.
She sighed with relief when the Caliph lay back and closed his eyes, a peaceful smile on his face. “Tell me your fables,” he murmured.
“All right,” Sharon said...
She talked for almost an hour, telling the Caliph of the world of the future, until finally she noticed that his eyes had closed and his breathing had become heavy and regular. Sharon stopped speaking and watched the slumbering figure. Finally the Caliph began to snore, loudly and rythmically.
“Just like a man,” Sharon thought disgustedly.
She realized then that she was tired. She thought of Drake but she knew there was nothing she could do to help him until the following day. She rose softly from the bed, careful not to disturb the Caliph and lay down on one of the thick, soft skins that decorated the marble floor. The room was warm and the heavy skin was luxuriously comfortable under her tired body.