Blog : Master Kep and his slave

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7/21/2022 3:05 am

Master Kep and his slave

This offering of a story is yours to critique, this is a simple second draft of this story, yet your feedback would be most welcome.

Master Kep and his slave.

Amateur writers note: This tale is from a lifestyle called Gorean, set in a mythical harsh land where Masters rule supreme and slaves are worth only the value they bring at market. I hope you enjoy.
Master Kep and his slave

Master Tagrin walked into the Oasis Red Rock’s palm tavern, scanning the patrons from the open doorway as the sun danced on the sands at his feet. Master Tagrin was young slave master from the Tahri Desert, resplendent in freshly pressed Haik the traditional robe of the desert tribesman and sits next to his old friend. He unbinds his Agal cord about his head, holding is new Kaffiyeh headwear perfectly in place. His dark ebony hair tumbles down past his shoulders brushing his lightly scruffy cheeks. He is a lovely specimen of manhood in his fluid movements and winning smile. Most of the serving slaves and guests of the palm tavern stare at the young master as he moves to his seat.

“Ranclor, it is good to see you, my dear friend.” He says to a man sitting over his three footed bowl of ka-la-na wine. The heavily bearded man a few years Master Tagrin’s senior, still wearing his tightly bound Kaffiyeh at the table with his expertly tied Agal cord, and not so pressed Haik looks up to see his friend join him.
“Eh Tagrin,” the man replies by way of greeting, “What has you smiling so wide, my friend? My purse is not so heavy today that you can take it from me?”

Laughing, Master Tagrin replies, “My friend, how many times must I have told you, ‘Wear a smile and have friends; wear a scowl and have wrinkles.’ ”, he says good naturedly, slapping his friend jovially on the back. He continues, “Here, let me fill that empty cup for you. I see you are trying to divine your future from the bottom of that bowl. I will share with you my wealth for my past luck has been lucrative.” He says as he raises his hand to the very young naked slave pouring ka-la-na from a wide mouth picture into a three footed bowl a few tables away.

The serving slaves long brown hair is pulled back into a woven strand running down the center of the slaves back, leaving only a few carefully placed wild strands running from his scalp to caress his golden cheeks and stroking his full ripe lips. A flash of light from the bright polished silver collar around the thin neck captures the brightness of the sun streaming in from a window nearby, reflecting the light back to the walls is brilliant streaks. A small tinkling sound is emitted from the silver shackles that adorn his wrists and ankles which are festooned with finely spun silver threaded jewelry and expensive inlaid stones that augments the lithe supple body of the swift moving slave. The hobble chain glides and weaves between the slave's ankles as if it were an extension of the slave's body. The legs sweep before and behind him as he moves in a dancing motion that stirs more than the bowls of ka-la-na wine.

The slave rises from his serving to the master as he bows respectfully before moving on. The master had set a coin next to the bowl and the slave mid bow makes the coin disappear so quickly that it would be considered magic if a man were not watching closely enough. And watch the patrons did. The slave moved its body with the supple grace and fluid movements to match the rhythm of the stringed czehar being plucked by another naked and equally festooned bound slave atop the small center dais. Only a subtle difference in expensively adorned stone color is all that sets the two young slaves apart. They both must have cost the tavern owner as much as the tavern itself, but it ensured the owner was repaid in riches far outstretching the expensive price of the ka-la-na coveted wine.

Ranclor licked his lips and looked on to the serving slave and watched the subtle dancing as the slave moved to the table. A second three footed bowl was produced from recesses unknown, and not witnessed to appear as if by magic. Master Ranclor looked closely at the slave searching for the coin it had so deftly collected, trying to divine where the naked slave stored the byproduct of his labors.

Master Tagrin eyed the slave with open lust, as naked as the slave who served the resplendent master. The slave knelt closely and began to pour yet allowed its eyes to slowly move to the face of the Master, a hunger burned in the eyes that would take more than Master Tagrin to extinguish. The Master noted the slave was careful never to look Master Tagrin in the eyes, for the insult to the master would have been great. The slave stopped just short, a skill that belayed his worth. The bowl filled, the slave rose again, and bowed to the Master, a deep and fully committed bow that left the slave very vulnerable and exposed, adding to the kindled fire.

Master Tagrin had set down two small coins before the slave had arrived, and as the slave moved to fill the second bowl, Master Tagrin noticed the coins were gone. The Smile on Master Tagrin’s face increased, and a color filled the cheeks adding to his polished and handsome visage beneath the small mat of whiskers.

Master Ranclor never took his eyes from the slave as he rose and bowed. The master searched the naked form for the hiding place the slave used to hold the collected coins, “It is a trick.” Master Tagrin said with a hearty laugh at his bewildered friend drawing his attention away from the retreating slave. “Here take my hand, my friend, and I will show you.” The master extended his hand expectantly with a broad smile and an eagerness to share. Master Ranclor took the hand and shook it, then began to pull away in confusion. In the center of his palm was a coin, and Master Ranclor turned his palm to his unbelieving eyes.

Master Tagrin continued to laugh, as he then shook his own, still extended hand, and four more coins fell to the table. The young master leaned back with his collected three footed bowl and drank deeply of the dry and arid wine.

Master Ranclor picked up the coins, examining them. “Did you come by your most recent wealth selling the oaf of a northern slave from your kennels? Is that what has you so happy?”

Setting down the bowl with evident mirth still sparkling the bright eyes, the master continued, “Not at all my friend, in fact that brute of a northern wastes had lightened my purse a considerable amount, so much so I toyed with the idea of selling him at cost just to be rid of the hulking mass of worthless slave flesh.” Chuckling the Master collected the coins from his friend and began to set them between his fingers, illustrating the trick used by the slave, and setting the fifth into his palm, extending his hand to shake a second time, again depositing a single coin in Master Ranclor’s hand.

A wide smile finally creases the older masters face, as understanding dawns on the once taciturn man. The master plays with the coin for a while as they continue to speak, placing the coin between his fingers between either hand.

“Then this newfound wealth is from the rest of your chattels to sell at the master’s summit in Tor? I understand a new well was discovered?” The master attempted to drink from the bowl with the coins stashed between his fingers. Succeeded in spilling only a small amount to the table.

“Were that it was that easy of a tale.” Said the handsome Master with a contented, “I know it has been many a season since you last attended the slave moot.” The master was referring to the slave guild gathering of the Tahari. The guild gathers seasonally to ensure the trade with the north is coordinated and planned. Many times, over the several years one trading group or another conceive to pull a scam on the dim-witted northerners that ultimately takes far more than it gives to our desert nomad brethren. Master Tagrin continues, “I have been going these past two years, and decided to take part in the slave games. I entered the same northern mastiff you mentioned to see if he could bring in some coin…” Pausing briefly to shake his head, allowing his dark strands to flow about his face like a liquid caress. “Alas he failed utterly, and my purse was so much the lighter as a result.”

Master Ranclor was fully engaged now, having received yet a second cup of the coveted wine, and the light jingle of the slave who’s mere presence was enough of a distraction. “Yet you are jovial, after having lost so much coin?”

Master Tagrin, having set his three footed bowl carefully back down again, replied heartily, “Indeed for it is what came after the elimination that set my purse to overflowing. On this day the sweltering heat of the Tahari's blazing sun near the Four Palms oasis of fresh clear water, had the collective masters bantering loudly about the extensive training of their slaves in hard labor, so sought after by the traders of the north. Each boasted the merits of their training programs and the slaves it produced to the others. As the Ka-la-na flowed freely, wagers were made, and I found myself with funds insufficient to cover my boasts.”

The happy master continued, “Yet through it all, I noted the master from Tor, Master Kep. We had met the season prior. A dark, strong, dour looking man who sat with his arms crossed and his ears fixed on the banter. Yet he did not join the revelry. He drank and listened, but rarely spoke.” Leaning back, engaged in his story, “Looking him over, and perhaps speaking with the loosened tongue of the heady wine, I inquired if he had slaves to offer for the Slave Games. All heads turned to hear the reply from the taciturn Master from Tor.”

A slight frown creased the face of the storyteller, as he paused before continuing, “The other Masters knew of the single slave that traveled with Master Kep, as a lovely blond headed boy, resplendent in its very simple white silk and tight bands of silver metal gleaming on its neck, writs, and ankles. Naked, except for the breechcloth, the slave raised the temperature of the Tahri sun. The passing of the slave from one chore to the next would turn even the most brutish head of Master and slave.”

The narrator assumed a darker visage and his eyes cast off to a distance not able to be measured. “Though owned by Master Kep, the slave was known by all to be a quiet, sullen, distant slave that did not leave its master's home often and did not work with the other Tahari slaves of the Oasis, as I am sure his fair skin and fairer hair would not withstand the Thari exposure. Such was his soft nature.”

Shaking off the distant tone of voice and focusing his vision to his companion, Master Tagrin enjoined, “When one of the other masters wished to make jest of Master Kep, he started by asking if the pretty desert flower was good at anything? The sharp Tahari nomad Master simply shook his head. Other Masters took up the jest and jeering as they asked, ‘Could he run fast?’ ‘Work long hours?’ ‘Lift heavy loads?’”

Master Tagrin’s grin reappeared, and said, “To each question, Master Kep simply raised his head shook it, and then finally replied, ‘I do not praise my slave, I do not compliment my slave. I order, and my slave Finn, and he simply performs. To do any less would earn him a whipping.’ To which the Master from Tor again fell silent to the continued banter and jest of the other Masters.”

Excitement captured Master Tagrins voice as he said, “All the masters jest took on a new air, and a new wager was cast with the assembled masters. That the winner of the slave contest would be granted a boon, a promise, that the one who brought their master glory would have the honor of one wish to be granted by the slave owner. Each master agreed, for they knew in their hearts, that each slave, no matter which one it was, would ask for one wish, their freedom. So, the greatest of the slaves would be in turn the greatest loss to the boasting Master.”

Master Tagrin paused and drank deeply, while ordering more wine from the sparling vision of ka-la-na bearer.

“So, you wagered even more? The contest took place?” Said Master Ranclor, gesturing impatiently for the story to continue, as Master Tagrin had hoped.

Setting the bowl aside and pulling his gaze from the glittering boy, the master continued, “Yes, my friend, more Wagers were cast, and each bet on the prowess of their own able slave to win the day, and the Masters presumed each to try to win their proposed freedom. Gold was tossed into pots like sand being cast over the embers of a dying fire, for the slave to win, would also grant the winning pot for the Master of the gold.”

The storyteller took up the narration again, “Each Master selected the best slave to compete, and crowds gathered in the morning light to witness this rare and costly contest. All Masters walked their slaves on a lead to the starting position of the contest layed out on the sands across a wide vista. The contest was built in several parts. One built his part of Strength, another on endurance, and still another on cleverness. Many slaves rarely get past the first to advance to the second. This is where my beast was eliminated, and my purse drained.”

Even as he spoke, Master Tagrin grinned a fool's grin for his loss, “Quietly Master Kep walked forward with his silent slave Finn. His shoulders were not the widest, his flanks not the strongest, nor his length the tallest, or even the most clever looking, yet his golden hair captured the morning Tahari sun. He turned the heads of each Master, and the loud banter of the worthless slave pitted against the bulk and might of the stronger more fit and healthy-looking slaves had all laughing at the shimmering haired boy.”

The master continued, “As I am sure you have heard the rules of the contest are simple, compete in each event as quickly as possible, and progress to the next event until you were the first to cross the finish line. Each Master was to watch over the event for judge and witness of each event before progressing to the next.

At the crack of the whip the slaves rushed to the first event. One of strength, The Miller from the border region of the thick dessert, had a jumbled pile of heavy logs near the starting line, and the contest was to have five of the heavy logs lifted, and carried to the Mill wagon, and stacked in the vacant mill yard neatly ready for cutting. A self-serving task, but a worthy contest to begin the event.

The rules of the contest declared that any untidy logs dropped would have to be carried back to the starting point and brought back to the temporary mill yard again. Masters are wise in gaining free labor from not only their own slaves.

With a Tremendous Bellow of triumph came in a roar that shook the sands at their feet. This first place went to a Mamba owned by a master from Oasis of Farad by the name of Yill-E as he ran forward to the next challenge at the head of the pack.

My worthless slave lost his footing and dropped two logs and was forced to return with his log to the beginning. He had lost much time and was not within the first five to complete the opening game. My disappointment was great, but fifth in place, taking the last open position to continue the games was Master Kep’s slave Finn who managed to drag the last log into place a moment before the sixth.

I witnessed something in his eye, something new and unique that I had not seen in another slave serving its master. I still do not think I could describe it. As I emptied my purse to honor my debt, I seized on the idea to wager on the golden slave. The odds were high, and my coin was sure to be lost, but I wagered the last of my purse on the slave.

The next event served the Tavern Master, and he ruthlessly conducted the next task, which was to move water from the Oasis and fill several large barrels set next to the Tavern doors. The caveat to this specific event? The slave could not use a bucket, cup, or Ladle. Slaves used silks, and Rep Cloth to soak up the water and run with it, dripping and streaming all the way to the barrels.

By the time the slaves reached their assigned barrel trying to wring out the cloths, the water was mostly gone, and only drops fell to the barrels bottom.

Many Masters jeered and bellowed and drank deeply from their tankards supplied by the willing tavern keeper, as they watched the futile efforts of the slaves. The noise proved to be overwhelming to some of the slaves as they lost heart in the daunting task. Racing to and from the water's edge to the tall empty barrels. Yet one single slave did not toss his feet Pell Mell before him in an attempt to be the quickest. Instead, the golden slave ran in to the small bog area of the placid water taking up the milk reeds. Breaking many of the largest milk reeds off, Finn tied them together into a bundle, then rushing into the water, the slave filled the now hollow reeds up to the top while holding a soaked repcloth yet hiding the reeds at his side, tucked into his silks to appear as if they were of no concern. The slave rushed quickly without running to the barrels. Along the way the slave collected a very large rock from the sands, and first dropped the rock into the Barrel, then emptied the full reeds of water into the Barrel, hiding them again at his side quickly.

Many times, the slave repeated this, and Many Rocks and Reeds full of water were placed into the barrel, and Finn was the first to fill it to the top. The rocks having taken up the largest volume of the barrel.

With an incoherent scream that made all the spectators and participants jump, the Mamba finished third. Qualifying the slave from Oasis of Farad to advance.

Having finished the first task, the slave Finn moved quickly to the next event. The Master Tanner had many fresh hides laid out on the sand, and pumice stones next to each hide. The slaves, as quickly as they could, were to remove the Fat and Grease by pressing the pumice stones into the back side of the hide until the skin was literally scrapped clean. A dirty, smelly, unpleasant job at the best of times. Yet in the unrelenting heat of the desert sun, it was made doubly unpleasant with a rank odor that rose from the sun kissed hides.

Finn had lifted the stone and began to press into the hide, but his technique was poor, and his arms sagged under the heavy strain. He finished third, but this lofty gain was only accomplished because of his great head start ahead of all the other slaves having filled their barrels slowly.

The next event was hosted by the master smithy. He had set out pickaxes and baskets next to large red boulders. The goal of this contest was to break the large red rocks into fist size chunks, fill two baskets, and carry them to the Forge Hut.

Tired and beleaguered from all of his efforts, the slave Finn stumbled to this next event, when he passed the Mamba Yill-E already swinging his massive arms, shoved the smaller slave to the sands as he bellowed and screamed with each blow of his Pickaxe felling to the stones with Jarring force and accuracy. His sounds rose above even the jeering and negative shouts of the Masters.

Taking up the pickaxe, the slave Finn swung and chipped and broke apart the heavy stones with the big axe as quickly as possible, but by the time he finally placed both baskets in the Forge Hut, he was again the third to stumble out.

The assembled Masters pointed and laughed at the golden-haired boy, but the slave persisted, and did not waver or flinch under the heavy scrutiny of the well lubricated, Masters.

The final event was hosted by the Master Merchant. His goal was to have the slaves collect two coconuts, one in each hand, then run across the finish line with them and drop them into a basket. The twist? The slave could not climb the tree to pull down the coconuts.

By the time Finn reached the trees, he stood before the grunting, sweating, leaping slaves as they tried in vain to reach the heights of the great trees to steal the heavy pendulous nuts dangling so high above their heads. Of the two slaves that made it to the tree before slave Finn, had the contestants wielding large sticks or heavy stones by tossed them into the air. Many times, the hulking Mamba tried throwing its heavy body against the trees to shake the high nuts loose.

By this late hour the tone of the master's jeering and shouting began to change. The insults and negative comments were hurled at the three slaves as they grunted and groaned, heaved and pushed. Some Masters told the slaves they were worthless, and could not win, other master's told them the task was too hard, and to let it be. Still other master's jeered at the wasted effort and wasted time, as none of them could achieve the goal.

It was not long after these negative comments were being bellowed by the Masters, that one of slaves stopped, and fell to the sand at the base of one tree, heaving and panting, but defeated. Only the Mamba, Yill-E and the Slave Finn remained on the field. The Mamba hurled his great bulk again and again into the tree, each time the impact was greater than the time before. And though the dried leaves and husks fell from the treetop, no nuts fell to be won as a prize.

Finn turned and sought his Master. Having collected its breath, and its wits, slave Finn moved to the Feet of his Master kneeling with its head lowered and its hands palms up raised above his golden head. The slave requested the master's ever ready, and present Whip without saying a word. Equally silent, the Master Kep removed the whip and handed it to the slave, intrigued. Holding up two fingers, the slave received, at the request of Master Kep, a second Whip.

Finn tied the two tips of the Whips together, and stepping away from everyone, began to swing the double whip above his head, then aiming at the base of the tree until the practice allowed the slave to strike the tree with increasing accuracy.

Stepping back to the Base of the Tree, the slave began to swing the whips, but this time, the whip was released UP into the air, directly at the heavy nuts set high in the leafy fronds. The Jeering and disconsolate voices rose and the Masters took to calling the diminutive slave names and bellowing that he would never win, that he should give up, and sit down with the other failed slave. But the determined golden haired the slave remained at the task.

It was therefore a very long before the efforts of Finn bore fruit, or in this case, Nut. The Heavy swinging end of the whip finally wrapped itself around the top of the nut, and with a mighty tug, that lifted Finn from his feet, he was rewarded by a Heavy Thud to the ground. The first of the two Coconuts needed to win the event.

The Mamba, quick to seize the opportunity, rushed to the tired slave Finn, and collected the Coconut, and though the slave, knocking the golden-haired boy to the sand, as it dashed to the finish line. Before the slave could react to the theft. The Mamba was halfway to his goal, and Finn fell back to his knees, and watched.

The Masters denouncement of Finn for his laziness and carelessness were hurled through the air like blows at the tired slave. He had lost his Master the fruits of his labor. The Masters jeered that the whip should be turned on the slave, instead of the treetop.

Collecting his wits, the slave Finn returned to the task. After great effort, a second success loomed ahead of the slave. He had looped the heavy whip end around a second nut. The Mamba witnessed this turn of events, and moved closer to the much smaller slave, ready to steel the nut when it would be pulled. Finn stepped directly under the tree and stood, not moving, then turned to stare at the Mamba. The huge slave looked up to the nut high above his head, but Finn watched the Big dark-skinned man not moving.

After a long minute, the Mamba looked down, and saw that Finn was holding the end of the whip out to the Big Dark thief. Knowing he was no match for the size and strength, he instead offered the proffered prize to the big man.

The assembled masters, seeing this betrayal by his slave to his Master in such a public display, turned their unkind jeers to Master Kep. They derided the Master for his lack of training, his slaves lack of devotion, his disrespect to the owner. Yet, like his slave, the Master from Tor folded his arms before his ample chest and watched the event before him uttering no words in rebuke.

Yill-E then rushed forward with another of the great nerve shaking bellows, the Mamba grabbed the end of the whip and hurled the smaller slave from his feet to the hot sands several feet away. The large slave then pulled with all his strength down from the end of the whip. The Nut came free easily, and it hurtled to the ground and struck the Mamba in the forehead, felling the great dark-skinned man to the ground.

All the masters fell silent, with wide eyes and wider mouths, finally silent.

Slave Finn rose from the sands, collected the nut and quickly walked across the finish line to deposit the first of the two required coconuts into the basket.

In a silence that was deafening, the thin small slave returned to the base of the tree, the slave collected the fallen whip, and with a now practiced hand, sent the whip end flying into the treetop, and quickly returning with the last nut.

Calmly the slave placed the nut in the basket, then moving to his master's feet, lowered itself to the sands, kneeling upright with its back straight and its hands palm upwards atop both knees. The contest was over, Finn the silent slave had won.

When all the cheering finish and the slave was finally addressed to ask what his wish would be, he did not reply. Master Kep stepped forward and gestured to the slave to answer, and the slave simply lowered his head and pointed at each ear, tapping lightly.

Master Kep turned to the assembled master's and silent slaves and spoke in a voice that carried to all, "This slave does not require Praise, this slave does not run fast. This slave does not work long hours, and this slave does not lift heavy loads, any more than any of the other slaves. All praise, jeering, or discontented words fall on the deaf ears of Finn, my worthy slave."

With that Master Kep turned and lifted the whip from the grasp of the silent and deaf slave. Coiling it, and returning his to his belt, handing the second back to its owner.

"Finn could not be dissuaded by your negative words and could not be cowed by the bellowing of the Mamba who will sleep the night for his foolishness in the hot sands. For those that are deaf to the negative words of Man are listening to the gestures of kindness." Stroking the head of the slave, the Master turned to Finn, "He has told me what his one wish is, the wish that is to be granted by all of us foolish master's who believe we have it within us and our dominion to grant any wish to those subjugated to us. He wishes from this august company in its infinite power to give the low slave his hearing back." And with this statement, only the light snoring of the Mamba could be heard in the short distance away. Master and slave rose and silently walked away.

Master Ranclor chuckles softly, shaking his head at the story, “I would have liked to have witnessed this myself. As I am sure your purse now attests to the truth of your claim. Such a slave would benefit any master of the Tahari.”

The two sat without speaking for a time and listened to the soft musing and watched the silky dance of the slave boy. Until finally Master Ranclor said with an odd tilt to his head, “I wish you had not taught me the slaves magic trick, it has taken a bit of the glow from the lovely slave's mystique, but alas, all good things pass...”

“…And all bad have its day.” Master Tagrin finished the old Tahari saying while draining the last of his ka-la-na. Pulling from his purse a few more coins and setting them to the edge of the table. The lovely slave appeared at Master Tagrin’s side, and the coins that once stood at hand are now missing. The master, never losing his smile, takes a lead from his side, and connects it to the collar of the slave. Together they both rise, the slave lifting from the table the masters Agal cord and Kaffiyeh headwear before the lead could go taught, and both move to the back of the tavern through the doors in the back.

-fin


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