Hunter: Warrior of Doridia (The Saga of Jon Hunter Book 1)

by Ronald Watkins

  As senior male heir of the household, this man before me bore the title Urak and sat on the Council of the High Caste. He looked pretty frail for the task.

  Lonnan suspected he was senile and out of touch with reality, unable to see the challenge of the upstart Zagos. Accordingly as I had given my fate into the hands of this man, I watched the Urak closely as he spoke.

  “Such bravery should not go unrecognized, Hunter,” he smiled benignly. “Certain gifts await you in your cubicle, small tokens of my appreciation. I also hereby promote you to Leader of Ten with the accompanying increases in privileges and pay. Your tenure of indenture is terminated forthwith.” The elderly man smiled, obviously pleased and tipped his head in respect towards me. “Welcome to my service as a Free Man, no longer in my debt.”

  I beamed. This was a good man.

  “Interesting,” he resumed, “interesting.” Then he stopped abruptly and simply stared past me into empty space, holding the position unchanged for several moments. “Yes, yes,” he finally resumed, “now where was I? Oh yes, you are promoted to Leader of Ten... or did I already speak of that? Yes, I think I must have, anyway you are so promoted.

  “Let’s see there is something else ... oh, yes, my daughter Shelba.” He pulled a scarlet cord beside him and after a short pause the Lady Shelba entered the study. The previous night I had missed the full effect of her haughty, cold beauty. She possessed the ripe figure of a grown woman, with smooth, radiant skin, blond waist length hair and frigid steel blue eyes. She made Tanah look like a little girl.

  The Lady glared scornfully at me and tossed her hair casually away from her brow. You’d have thought I was an enemy rather than someone who had just saved her life. She was a frigid, human statue of physical perfection utterly lacking in sexuality, an object to be possessed, used and despoiled. Not a woman at all, I thought, averting my eyes from her to her father. Tanah, though a child, was already more a woman than this facade would ever be. Zagos was welcome to her.

  “Shelba, I introduce Jon Hunter, the Seker in my service who saved your life at great risk to his own. You will greet him.”

  It was a command, not a request. The Urak’s voice became brittle as he spoke to her. In that moment I glimpsed the powerful man he must once have been in his youth and vitality. Their eyes locked in a combat of wills but the Lady Shelba relented, as she must. A Doridian father’s desire was absolute over his children until they married.

  Looking beyond me she said icily, “Greetings.” I wondered what in the world I had done besides save her.

  “Now thank him, Shelba,” Urak Rahdon commanded. After a short pause she spoke again, “I thank you ... Seker,” the last word heavy with sarcasm.

  “You are dismissed, daughter.”

  Lady Shelba lifted a brow, smiled slightly and with a condescending bow in my general direction, departed.

  “I too thank you a last time, Hunter. You have proven yourself a faithful and

  courageous Seker to the House of Rahdon. Perhaps we will speak again. You may leave.”

  8. THE PURCHASE OF A DAGGER

  Some days had passed since my meeting with the Urak Rahdon and it was now the time of the full moon. During this time Taslea observed a three day holiday as did most Doridian cities. Businesses which profited from the lunar crowds remained open and prospered. These included the taverns, the games and the slave markets which usually reserved their finest products for this time of the month.

  Koptos had asked me to accompany him as I was leaving the Seker’s quarters following the noon meal that first day of the full moon after my promotion to Leader of Ten. He was eager to assist me in spending some of the new coins bestowed upon me by my Urak. Well, I had helped spend more than a few of his. Ctesias had been detained in the Seker’s billet over some infraction involving a slave girl kept in his quarters passed the hour for her return.

  We wandered about the crowded streets like gawking visitors most of the afternoon until finally my companion spied an armorer who had remained within his shop though it was marked closed for the day. Koptos committed that the man had an excellent reputation as he nonchalantly pounded on the wooden door with the butt of his sword creating a racket that could have waked the entire street. In a short time a burly, snow haired man admitted us to an entry room crowded with fine cutting instruments, some even from the renowned smiths of Khashan in the distant mountains of the same name far to the south and west.

  The proprietor saw me eyeing a fine dagger from that city and with a flourish placed it on the counter before me. “Magnificent is it not?” he asked knowing perfectly well it was of the finest quality.

  Doridia was primitive in many ways but not in the quality of its cutlery. Reading glasses were common and medicine the equal of my world in the early twentieth century. Most major diseases were unknown with inoculations being readily available and physicians plentiful to all even members of the Low Caste. But for now I was occupied with the beautiful dagger which I balanced delicately in my hand. It was in swords and knives that Doridian craftsmen most excelled.

  “It is of Khashan as you can see from the seal on the butt of the handle,” he began, turning the dagger for me to observe the truthfulness of his statement. The seal of the mountain city was there.

  “The steel of Khashan is not virgin when it is sold to its first owner and it is for this reason that it is so finely tempered and of such superior quality,” the shopkeeper said convincingly.

  “Those are tavern tales, old man,” scoffed Koptos, “old man” being a term of respect in Doridia. “I know what of I speak, Seker,” the man said pulling himself fully erect. “I would not lie to two such as you, Sekers of the Great House of Rahdon. I too, long ago, was in the service of the father of the fine Urak of Rahdon and to this day bear special feelings for all those in his service.

  “I know for a fact whereof I speak as I have personally witnessed the making of just such a weapon as this.” He paused waiting for our encouragement before continuing. We had nothing better to do than listen to stories told by an old man and so we encouraged the proprietor to tell his tale, sitting ourselves comfortably in leather stools. Koptos winked at me with a grin on his face as the man began.

  “I was young in those days, younger even than you two,” the shopkeeper began. “I was not yet in the employ of your illustrious Urak’s father, electing instead to see some of the land and so I signed on with a merchant to work as a man at arms for a season or two. It was at the end of my final year with the caravans that we were admitted to the mountain city of Khashan.

  “Caravans are only rarely allowed within its walls, for the people of that distant mountain fortress wish to remain apart and untouched by outsiders. They export fine weapons and thus secure all the luxuries and necessities which they cannot produce for themselves. The making of weapons is a closely guarded secret and no outsiders are ever permitted near the foundries and none are allowed to contact the smiths. They are a proud and secretive people, particularity distrustful of outsiders. Hardly the place for a lusty young Seker.

  “After a few days I grew restless within the confines of the city walls and with the permission of my merchant who had little need of me in the city, I left and traveled along a short paved road which wandered through a narrow, extensively cultivated valley. Flat land is at a premium in the mountains and all of it is used for farming if at all fertile. I found the farmers to be excited at seeing a distant Seker and I passed several days among them swapping stories of other places for my lodging and the occasional use of a farm wench.

  “But within a few days I again grew restless with the simple farmers and I knew that I must soon return to the city. My caravan would depart shortly and I had no wish to miss its departure and spend a full winter in this high and desolate place. With idle interest and in order to test my skill and strength, I climbed a massive ridge which passed along the back rampart of Khashan, thinking to spend the night on top and look upon the city from a high vantage point bef
ore returning. The climbing was arduous but I was young and fit and made it with relative ease. The view from atop the ridge was well worth the climb I thought during the daylight. Before me stretched the Central Valley of Khashan and the massive stone city itself. Behind me facing eastward was a great smooth plain, arid, uninhabited and forbidding.

  “I spent the night tightly bundled in my robe and cursed my foolhardiness at remaining near the plain during the long, windy, frigid night. I slept fitfully and finally, unable to sleep at all, came completely awake in the hours before dawn. Waiting for the sun to rise so that I could begin my descent in safety, I heard the sounds of people climbing and in patience awaited them.

  “A short distance from me two men, one free, the other slave, stepped upon the plain. I watched in interest since they were carrying objects with them as if they were prepared to carry on some work. At a rustic foundry constructed of rough stones the slave set about building a hot fire into which he fed coal. The slave worked the bellows furiously and I supposed that it was for this reason he had come on the journey. I was interested in their purpose as the secretive nature of these people had made me more curious than usual and for this reason I remained concealed from them.

  “Soon the Free Man, a smith, removed a fine dagger and began heating it in the coals. In time it grew red hot and periodically the smith removed it, holding it to the still darkened sky to gaze upon it. He was intent with his work and the slave occupied by his with the bellows.

  “At last the sun which was an unusual red-gold color broke over the clear plain and in moments stood upon the land at a distance, not as yet risen sufficiently to reach its usual hue. It was a peculiar color even for the rising sun and quite distinct from any I had seen anywhere else in my travels. The smith labored feverishly now and then suddenly removed the dagger from the coals. Walking behind the slave who continued in his labors he held the dagger before him towards the rising sun.

  “The red hot steel cooled rapidly in the frigid air, its color changing as it did. Remarkably, the blade changed to the exact color of the rising sun resting now upon the distant horizon across the endless plain. The colors were identical, a perfect match of golden red when before the blade cooled further, the smith without warning plunged the dagger into the back of the sweating slave. The poor creature shrieked as he fell to the ground and thrashed about but he died in a short time. The dagger remained within his body as the smith gathered his equipment for the return trip back down.

  “Before departing, he pulled the dagger from the body, and wiping it clean, began walking towards me. He passed within an arm’s reach of my place of concealment but did not see me. As he passed, he stopped and once again removed the knife now tempered with the blood of the slave and holding it before him spoke.”

  At this point the shopkeeper stopped.

  “But go on,” I cried, “what did he say?”

  The old man relished the moment, then continued. “The smith said, ‘It is perfect,’ and with that left the ridge. And thus it is said the steel of Khashan is tempered in human blood and is not virgin when it is first sold.

  “I departed the next day with my caravan but I now knew the secret of the fine steel of Khashan. I retained a smith and in time produced blades in the same manner although the rising sun here is not of the same hue as on the plain above Khashan.”

  I was shocked at this but remained silent. It sounded pretty calloused.

  “I was forced to discontinue the practice, however,” both Koptos and I nodded our heads in understanding but I was soon to learn for different reasons. “Not because my quality was poor but rather because it was much too expensive a technique. Adding the price of the dead slave to each blade forced the price of my daggers up exorbitantly and I could not sell them. They were not really of Khashan, you see.”

  And with that he announced the price.

  Of course I purchased the dagger, eagerly pulling coins from my pouch. The shopkeeper smiled broadly and urged we return some day. As we left the shop I asked Koptos if he believed the story the old man had told us.

  “Who can know? He is old and perhaps it is true. You see how easily and eagerly you paid his outrageous price. Let us go. I wish to see the selling of the slave girls and if we hurry we can arrive in time to inspect them first hand.”

  I fingered the tip of my new dagger as, we headed towards the slave marketplace. I wondered if it had taken a life in its creation.

  ###

  It was late afternoon as we pressed through the crowded streets towards the market square located at the foot of the Great Tower of the Council of the High Caste, the highest in the city.

  Slaves were sold in many places throughout the city but this was the scene of some of the more popular sales especially during the festival of the full moon, according to Koptos. This would be a public auction open to anyone who wished to buy or perhaps merely to view the sale. Privilege sales were often held for wealthy purchasers of the High Caste.

  Slave auctions were also held at random throughout the city at any time of the month. Any disgruntled owner could put his slave up for bid if he chose at almost any location and at any time. However, the finest slaves were usually reserved for this period of the month and sales were held in nearly all the market places.

  As we strode into the square I saw a raised platform from which the slaves would be auctioned. The sale would not begin until later, but for now all prospective buyers could inspect the goods first hand.

  We went to the slave area and gained admittance by showing gold. Paupers were not allowed inside since they would come for the opportunity to fondle the women. If you were unknown to the doorman, you showed gold.

  Approximately forty women and five men were to be sold. Koptos told me that this would be the largest sale held that day in the city. None of the women to be sold were new to slavery and nearly all had been auctioned previously. Totally new slaves were unusual and looked upon as a nuisance. The experienced young slaves would compel the highest prices. I told Koptos that I thought the newest to slavery or youngest would bring the highest prices.

  “Men look upon new slaves much as they do virgins,” he remarked smiling. “After you are the first to possess them there is nothing ahead but hard work in teaching them how to please. Most men prefer, in both their lovers and their slaves, a woman of experience. For this reason the youthful women who are already well trained in every aspect of their slavery and are most beautiful will command the highest prices.” That made even better sense.

  The slaves we saw stood erect in a single row beneath a colorful canopy of gold and crimson, concealed from unwanted onlookers by the plank board auctioning platform. All were naked and glistened with a fine oil that enhanced their figures. All tried to look their best especially when a wealthy buyer cast his gaze upon them. Better to be the slave to a man of wealth than slave to a man of lesser means. It was, I decided, not all that different from many marriages.

  The prospective buyers freely handled the women as they moved down the line examining each in turn. Hands covered breasts, thighs and rumps to check for firmness, the form and figure of each carefully appraised.

  The men were purchased purely as beasts of burden. Few of them were sold and those who were tended to be very stout. I probably had been captured rather than slain in the forest because of my stature. If I had been a runt the guards would not have bothered with me. That seemed pretty basic but then I was discovering that Doridia as a whole was pretty basic.

  Women or at least a pair of them could do most of the work a man performed. They offered the advantage of providing additional service still later in the evening. Then too, they were just plain more attractive to watch. I supposed that if women were doing the buying young men would have been in as much demand as the young comely female slaves were.

  Koptos worked his way down the line while I remained off to one side. Groping the women was not my idea of a good time. I watched an obese, sweaty merchant spend some time with a p
etite, raven headed youthful girl uncertain of his decision. The owner of the slave showed himself and quickly appraising the situation ordered the girl to accompany the prospective buyer to a nearby alcove. Few would purchase untested goods if the price was to be high. The sweaty merchant returned the girl shortly and came back twice again to reexamine her.

  Trumpets outside announced the beginning of the auction. Chimes within sounded and the inspection was complete. We returned to the crowded market place.

  Hawkers and vendors of all description sold snacks and edibles mingling freely among the throng gathered to bid or view the bidding for the slaves. We pushed our way through the crowd and situated ourselves at the front of the platform. Koptos had no intention of purchasing a slave. Instead, he bought some roasted, salted nuts and shared them with me. He liked a good show.

  The delay was not long and just before dusk, the first string of five girls was brought to the platform for sale. If they felt awkward or ill at ease, it did not show. One by one they paraded before the audience as the auctioneer shouted their desirable features, the audience shouting back obscene comments. Riffraff might be excluded from the inspection but there was no way to keep them out of a public auction.

  All of the slaves were sold that day. The obese merchant I had watched earlier paid one gold piece for the young girl he had tested in the alcove, the highest price paid that day for a single slave. I thought she must have been very satisfying earlier. The cheapest slave, a woman in her forties intended for child care in some home, sold for the least, ten copper coins.

  The final slaves were sold by torchlight and from the looks of them were the least attractive. The auction ended as final darkness descended. Koptos and I went about the city and concluded our evening’s festivities.

  Later, in the blackness of my cubicle, I was unable to sleep, recalling repeatedly the auction of the slaves.