You will be paid well, and you will learn much in the bargain.”
“Thank you,” Sorak said. “I appreciate the advice.”
“When you see him, tell him Drom of Urik sends his regards. Most likely, he’ll not remember me. I am not a memorable man.”
“I will be sure to pass on your regards,” said Sorak.
Drom nodded, suddenly looking depressed. “Thank you for the drinks, friend,” he said. “And for the conversation. Sometimes, it is good to remember the old glory days.” He belched. “And sometimes, not so good.” He turned to Ryana and bowed, unsteadily. “My lady…”
Sorak watched him stagger off.
“He used to be a good man,” said Tajik as he watched Drom weave away into the crowd. “But drink has got the better of him. He fought in over a dozen wars, and now he guards the construction of a bridge in a small village stuck out in the middle of nowhere. Think on that, my friend. The trade of mercenary can be rewarding for a young man with some skill, but do not remain in it too long.”
The music stopped and the dwarf took the stage again, raising his arms for silence. “I know what you’ve all been waiting for!” he shouted. “The time has come! The Desert Damsel proudly presents… the lovely, the incomparable… Cricket!”
The crowd roared, and the drummers rattled off a fast tattoo, then stopped abruptly and started a slow and steady, gently rolling beat, accentuated by the bells and cymbals. The crowd fell silent as the beaded curtain at the back of the main stage parted, revealing the backlit silhouette of a tall, slender, beautifully proportioned woman in a sheer, transparent gown.
She moved sinuously in the backlight, swaying slowly to the beat, tantalizing the audience with the silhouette of her body showing through the gown, then she stepped into the light, and Sorak caught his breath. She was breathtakingly beautiful, a young half-elf girl with long, dark, silver-streaked hair almost to her waist; a heart-shaped face with slanted, dark eyes; delicately arched eyebrows; high, pronounced cheekbones; full lips and a slightly pointed chin. Her body was slender yet curvaceous, with a slim and narrow waist and long, exquisite legs. The other dancers had all been greeted with raucous shouts and cheers when they came on, but Cricket’s entrance brought utter silence as the men watched, mesmerized.
“That’s the star attraction,” Tajik said softly.
Unlike the other girls, who writhed provocatively and assumed seductive poses in time to the music, Cricket danced. Her muscular control was impressive as she undulated her upper body in time to the music, her belly rippling like the surface of a gently flowing stream and her arms stretched over her head moving languidly, like the wings of a graceful bird. Slowly, the musicians picked up the tempo and she began to whirl, bumping and twisting her hips in time to the beat, moving on tiptoe as she twirled and spun. She sank down slowly into a perfect split, her upper body swaying, bending over first to touch one leg and then the other. Then she twisted on the floor and crouched upon her knees, slowly bending backward until she touched the floor with the back of her head, her arms raised over her chest and intertwining like snakes coupling as her hips rose and fell rhythmically. It was beautiful, sensuous, and blatantly erotic.
“Worth the wait, eh?” Tajik said with a grin. Sorak glanced over at him and saw Ryana watching him curiously.
“I… uh… have never seen anyone dance like that,” said Sorak.
“Nor have I,” Ryana said in a neutral tone. “She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” said Sorak, turning back toward the stage, “she is.”
Cricket slowly raised herself up and got to her feet, and the gown fell away from her as if removed by unseen hands. Somehow, she managed to shrug free of it without ever appearing to remove it, allowing it to slowly slip down her body until it was bunched at her feet. Gracefully, she stepped out of it, now dressed only in the smallest of girdles and a halter consisting of thongs and two tiny pieces of lizardskin. She wore a thin silver chain around her waist and another around her left ankle, with a tiny silver bell hanging from it. Around her thigh, she wore a lizardskin garter with a small pouch sewn into it, only large enough for one coin at a time.
As the men crowded the stage, holding out their coins, she pirouetted toward each of them, stopping and undulating her stomach muscles as she put one leg forward, bent slightly at the knee, her bare foot arched gracefully with only the toes touching the floor, and the men would slip their coins into the garter pouch. A few of them tried to run their hands up her leg, or kiss it, but she twisted away adroitly, snatching up the coins with her hand as she spun away, then turning back toward them and smiling with a slight shake of her head.
Sorak glanced at some of the other dancers. Some of the women were gazing at her with obvious envy or resentment. Others watched her with open and undisguised lust. And those were just the women. She drove the men absolutely wild. Half a dozen were carried out as they tried to climb up on the stage, and the rest were shoving and elbowing each other, trying to get closer.
“She’s pulling out all the stops tonight,” said Tajik, shaking his head as he watched her dance. “If she doesn’t watch out, she’ll start a riot.”
The music reached a crescendo, though it was barely audible in the roar, and with a graceful flourish, Cricket finished and curtsied low, bowing to the crowd. Coins rained upon the stage. The overworked bouncers moved in to restore order, pushing the crowd back.
“A round of drinks for everyone, courtesy of the Desert Damsel!” the dwarf shouted, and he looked relived as everyone immediately surged toward the bar.
Cricket started picking up
