I fell asleep on the stone floor, still wondering how I came to be here and where these fierce, mountain tribesmen fitted into this weird puzzle of double-dealing twin informants.
I was wakened as the barred door came open with the sound of creaking hinges.
The two Rifs were inside the room and yanking me to my feet.
I could have taken them both, but it wasn’t time yet. I didn’t want to win a battle and lose the war.
“El Ahmid awaits you, pig,” the one snarled, shoving me out of the cell.
I was led back up the stairs and into a long room which in turn entered upon a room of rich draperies, incense, thick carpets and thick cushions casually strewn about.
At the far end I saw a man, wearing a traditional Arab headdress with open-necked shirt and riding breeches. He sat upon a bed of the cushions.
Beside him, feeding him olives and grapes, perched on her knees, was a girl, slim, narrow-waisted, wearing a diaphonous skirt and a bra, her midriff bare. Her nose was long and broadened at the base, her eyes a glistening black and her hair flowing loosely down her back. She was fascinating without being beautiful, her breasts swelling up from the bra in twin mounds of olive-skinned provocativeness.
The two Rifs with me bowed low, almost prostrating themselves before the man.
His face was long and angular with a high, broad forehead and a long, thin nose over finely molded, chiseled lips. It was an imperious face, arrogant, cruel and supremely confident. His eyes, dark and piercing, regarded me with disdain.
“Bow when you come before El Ahmid, son of a sow,” he hissed, his eyes boring into mine.
“I forget how,” I smiled.
I saw the sneer in his eyes change to anger. I shot a casual glance at the girl.
Her eyebrows were raised in astonishment. It was obvious that one didn’t give smart answers to El Ahmid.
He caught my glance and rose to his feet. He was tall, six feet, I judged.
“Bow!” he commanded, eyes glaring, one hand pointing to the door.
I knew what I was doing and I did it deliberately. I’d throw him off balance, open him up. It wouldn’t take much. He wasn’t used to anything but abject obedience.
“Go to hell,” I answered laconically.
He muttered an oath, reached down beneath one of the cushions and brought out a riding quirt. In two long steps he was before me, lashing out with the quirt.
I only moved my head to take the blow alongside my face. I felt the trickle of blood as the quirt bit sharply, painfully into the side of my face. I looked past him at the girl.
She was watching every move with eager interest.
He was standing with the quirt upraised, waiting for me to bow or receive another blow.
I bent my knees slightly, as though I were about to go down, and brought up a whistling right from behind my back. It cracked against his jaw like a rifle shot and he went crashing backward, sending cushions flying in all directions as he hit the floor.
The girl was at his side almost before he hit the floor, cradling his head in her lap, running her hands across his face. But her eyes were on me with a continuing astonishment, now tinged with something else, possibly respect.
The two Rifs had flung themselves at me and each one held an arm.
I didn’t try to pull away and stood casually, relaxed.
El Ahmid was up on one elbow, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.
The girl wiped it away, solicitously.
He angrily shook her off and got to his feet.
“Let him go,” he said to the two Rifs, who stepped back at once. “He shall die a thousand deaths for this,” he added.
I watched the girl move to his side as he sat down on the cushions again. She was more than just a servant girl in the way she hovered over him, attentive to his every need. She was in his special favor, and she wanted to stay that way. In the way she patted his cut lip with a soft cloth, I wondered if perhaps she was in love with him. No matter, really. She was more than enough involved, and an idea was rapidly taking shape inside my nasty little mind.
El Ahmid pushed her away as a commotion from behind me was heard and I turned to see two more Rifs bringing in Marina.
She had been stripped down to black bra and black bikini panties, and she was one damn beautiful woman, her long legs curving gently to the V of her abdomen, her breasts, larger and fuller than the Arab girl’s, thrusting out of the bra.
The Rifs pushed her forward, in front of El Ahmid.
I saw her cast an anguished glance at me as they went past, but mostly I watched El Ahmid and saw his eyes widen appreciatively.
He roamed up and down and across Marina’s tall, full figure, devouring her with his eyes, and I saw that he had her mentally in bed already.
I also saw the Berber girl watching him, her eyes narrowing. With the eternal female wisdom of her sex, she knew danger to her interests when she saw it.
The idea inside my head was gathering momentum fast.
El Ahmid had risen and walked around Marina, examining her from every side, as though he were about to purchase a thoroughbred.
