Security and insecurity

The serpents

Men were the only targets. There were three of them, against the whole male population of the land. They were immune to swords, scimitars, cannonballs, ammunition of all sorts, and they were prescient in battle. They anticipated every attack a minute ahead of time. It was as though they were in tune with the army’s every thought.

The Sultan and the Sultana and their battle council were using every tactic they had learned of. Every Arabian battle manual had been used. Indian, Chinese, Egyptian, Persian and Nubian battle manuals were consulted, and their battle formations and strategies were adapted to suit the needs of the hour. Nothing worked.

They called them the serpent sisters. There was a small percentage of women in the army, but they were shown more leniency. Unless they repeatedly attacked the sisters, they were disarmed and spared. It appeared that the sisters wouldn’t harm women. Men were a different matter.

Men suffered every indignity and every measure of brutal death when faced with the sisters. The sisters flicked their wrists and decapitated men. Their hatred for the male human beings was a marvel to watch, were it not so horrifying. One battalion had been body slammed by one of the sisters with disastrous results. Every single individual in the battalion had been either completely or partially crushed to a pulp like ripe grapes when crushed between the thumb and forefinger. Some had stayed alive with their organs and appendages having been crushed to a pulp, witnessing their own death in excruciating horror. Several soldiers had somehow launched attacks from towers and obelisks on the sisters, and had found themselves in the sudden vicinity of the multitude of serpents that adorned each sister’s head. The next moment they had simply been swallowed whole by these serpents, as if they never had existed. It was a magical if horrifying sight, to see a whole man swallowed by a tiny black serpent that was no larger than his penis. But it was common sight in these battles.

 ***

Younos

They had goat cheese, figs, olives, warm toasted wheat cakes, grilled lamb, a delicious cactus curry, and rare spices from Mesopotamia to flavor everything. They even had dates and imported lychees for dessert, along with a sweet wine that was reminiscent of their village. It was a feast fit for the royal family. Younos grinned viewing the feast, and wondered how much money his sister really made.

Hypatia enjoyed having family with her, now that her dastardly husband had joined the realm of Hades. She had wondered whether he had been banished to most painful depths of Tartarus as recompense for a life ill lived. She wasn’t thinking of him now though. She tried to minimize how often she recalled her dastardly deceased husband. Why ruin a lovely meal thinking of beasts! She was instead simply enjoying the company of her brother.

She actually enjoyed seeing her brother stuff his face. He was her little brother after all. She wondered what had gone wrong with him. He was talented at reading people, and almost as shrewd as her, and yet money fled from him, and he was always looking for loans. She wondered if he had a gambling addiction, or some other more heinous addiction.

“Younos,” she said, sipping some wine, and watching him wolf down a wheat cake with grilled lamb and goat cheese stuffed in it, “why are you always short of dinars?”

It was a sensitive topic, but she had to broach it. If not for the topic of money, she was glad for her brother’s company. He was the one person she could confide in. She was too shrewd to confide everything to even him, and suspected that he kept many secrets from her as well, but he was her only family.

His face took on a sly look. She could see his eyes darting, as he employed his imagination. She sighed. She would be hearing more lies.

***

 Mediha

Mediha sighed. Rawer hadn’t come, and neither had he sent a message. She waited in the designated spot for an hour. He was worth waiting for.

The itsy bitsy princes she was supposed to consort with were more delicate than her. She was sure she could snap their necks in unarmed combat within the first five minutes.

Rawer was the one she craved, but he hadn’t come. Something was wrong. She tried to reason it out. Their last session had been lovely, and he had not changed one bit. It was true that he had been suspicious that someone had witnessed their lovemaking. She had suspected as much herself, as though some part of her knew that she had heard something strange. Still it was only a feeling.

Rawer didn’t come. Instead a tall Nubian woman came. She was as bodacious a woman as the princess had ever seen. She stood six feet tall, and was voluptuousness herself in the person. She had a lovely face that somehow reminded the princess of royalty. A nose that was both broad and sharp at the same time. Her skin was a few shades lighter than Rawer’s, and was the color of a Ghaf* tree.

Her jet black hair was wavy and well oiled and was tied in a thick plait that was bound by what appeared to be silver bands and threads. The plait fell well beyond her buttocks.

She had breasts that were the envy of women everywhere, whose shape was in no way compromised by the sheer audaciousness of their size. It is as if her breasts were issuing a challenge - best me if you can. She wore a gold white linen gown that hugged her person. Her buttocks showed steatopygia to a certain degree, and evoked lust even in the princess. She had a narrow waist and hips that were broad to the correct proportion, as if she had been designed by a sculptor who was looking to titillate his audience.

Princess Mediha felt that if ever there was a time that she could become a lover of women as well, this was that time. But she also felt irrationally jealous. There was no doubting the fact that this girl was Nubian. She must be connected to Rawer in some way, or else he wouldn’t have trusted with as sensitive a secret as his tryst with the princess. All these considerations were secondary however. Primarily, Mediha was very disappointed, because she really wanted Rawer’s cock. Seeing this woman made her even more acutely aware of her disappointment for some reason, as thought it were this woman’s fault.

“Who are you?” she said, in as peremptory a tone as she could manage, given the formidable presence of the Nubian girl.

“I have a message from Rawer,” the girl said, insolent enough to ignore a royal question.

The girl was using their private code. The code that she and Rawer used in case they were overheard. Every third word was Arabic, every third was Nubian and the final third was Mesopotamian spoken backwards. Words at prime numbers were always backwards Nubian, to break the pattern and make it even more difficult to decode. This girl had mastered their code, and that made the princess livid. She was too proud to openly show her jealousy though.

“You have a name, girl?” she said, determined not to cede control.

The girl gave her a dismissive stare, as if that wasn’t important. She gave her name though.

“People know me as Tuya,” she said. “Now the message. Rawer says that this is too dangerous. Someone tried to blackmail him about your friendship with him, but he has silenced that threat. He will send further word soon.”

“When?” asked Mediha, hating the fact that she had to rely on this Nubian woman for information.

The woman batted her eyelashes while rolling her eyes, as though she were the royal and Mediha a commoner.

“Whenever he thinks it fit,” she said, and whirled around and marched off into the darkness.

Mediha glared at her luscious buttocks, and wondered if she should punish this insolent girl. Then she wondered when she would see Rawer’s cock again, and returned to her desperately horny state. She needed his cock.

* The Ghaf tree - or prosopis cineraria, is an arid climate tree that also grows in the Saudi Arabian deserts. Whether the people of ancient Arabia called it this, or whether it even grew back then, is something I haven’t been able to figure out.