Rethnar called out to his men, and they began the next phase of the slaves’ training. One of his subcommanders quickly selected two men and two women. The warriors stripped the men naked, then staked them, legs spread wide apart, on the ground. The ropes stretched their limbs as much as possible to prevent the slightest movement. At the same time, other warriors herded the remaining slaves even closer together, still on their knees, so they could see the torture. All must watch and none could turn away or close their eyes.
Warriors knelt next to each bound victim. Rethnar nodded and his men began, using their knives to slice into their captives, or fist — sized stones to break or crush their flesh. The helpless men cried out in terror even before the first cut or blow. When the actual torture began, shrieks of pain rebounded off the mud walls. The torture must be drawn out, so that the victims suffered as much as possible for as long as they could endure.
Their fate would serve as an example to those forced to watch. A few spectators trembled uncontrollably in their fear, others cried in grief, but most just stared in shock. Anyone who turned away or closed his eyes received a blow from the flat of a sword.
At the same time other warriors attended to the women. A cart, one used by the villagers to display fruits or vegetables, now served another purpose. Their simple shifts ripped from their bodies, they found themselves side by side, bent backward across the cart and held down by laughing warriors, while the first group of grinning Alur Meriki lined up to take their pleasure. Both women would be raped into near insensibility, then cut to pieces, a practice that always instilled the proper amount of terror in newly captured women.
The process wouldn’t take long. Afterward there would be no resistance. The new slaves would learn the lesson their new masters intended: obey every command instantly, suffer any abuse, or face even worse punishment. The Alur Meriki had few problems with their slaves, male or female. Death by slow torture for the slightest offense, real or imagined, made for an effective deterrent that kept slaves docile while their masters worked them to death.
Thutmose — sin turned back to Rethnar and saw his subcommander pushing aside his undergarment. He’d be the first to take one, or both of the women. “Don’t let them die too soon, Rethnar.”
The rising screams of the victims drowned out Rethnar’s reply.
Thutmose — sin turned his horse and rode out of the village, three guards still accompanying him. This time he inspected the neighboring farms, studying the farmhouses, fields, and even the endless irrigation that carried water to the crops. No warrior would ever stoop to farming, but Thutmose — sin wanted to know how this village had grown so large, how so many could be fed from these fields. The answer eluded him, however, and by the time he returned, Rethnar’s lesson had ended. The four bodies, now covered with flies, lay sprawled where they had died. Silence filled the marketplace. Obey-ing their new masters, the slaves kept silent. They’d learned the first lesson.
He dismounted, then stepped past the bodies to where the villagers knelt, their gaze fixed on the victims as they’d been ordered. A few had glanced at the Alur Meriki leader as he approached, but one brief look at his unsmiling face, and they turned their eyes back to the grisly tableau in front of them. Ignoring the men and children, he examined the women’s faces. Three or four looked comely enough.
“Bring them out for me,” he ordered his bodyguards. They grabbed those he indicated, pulling them to their feet, out of the crowd of kneeling bodies. It took only moments to rip off their garments and force them to their knees in the dirt.
These looked to be the prettiest of the lot, though Thutmose — sin knew that tears and terror could change a woman’s face. Two women, their bodies shaking, cried softly, bitter tears that would soon pass. Eyes could only hold so much water, after all. The other two just looked at him, fear and shock already fading into hopelessness.
Thutmose — sin examined each in turn, grasping their hair and pulling their faces upward. The two he chose looked older, about sixteen or seventeen seasons. He liked them at that age, when they’d learned enough about how to satisfy a man. They would please him, he knew. After what they’d seen today, they’d be frantic in their efforts to give him pleasure.
Rethnar walked over. “The lesson is ended, Thutmose — sin. Should we begin dividing the spoils? The men are eager to take the rest of the women.”
Thutmose — sin glanced at the sun, still high in the afternoon sky. “No, not until darkness. Put the slaves to work. Anything we don’t want is to be destroyed. If it can burn, I want it carried here and set afire. Everything, including the fence, the wagons, tools, clothing, everything. Smash whatever can’t be burned. Then tomorrow, have the slaves knock down every house. When the dirt — eaters return, they must fi nd nothing of value. And before you begin the march back to camp, burn all the fields as well. Everything, every animal, is to be destroyed.”
Thutmose — sin looked around at the houses surrounding him. “This village grew too large and prosperous. These dirt — eaters must be taught not to build such places again. And when you begin the journey home, load the slaves with as much as they can carry. Let only the strongest survive to reach our camp.”
Rethnar smiled. “I’ll teach them. Then you go back to the council?”
“Yes. Tomorrow I’ll take fifty men and return to my father. I’ll bring the choicest wine and women for him. If you like, send ten of your own men with gifts for your grandfather.” Rethnar’s grandfather sat on the council as well.
“Grandfather will be pleased.”
“You’ve done well, Rethnar. I’ll speak of you to my father and the council.”
It would take Rethnar close to three weeks to rejoin the clan, burdened with so many slaves and goods. And the number of slaves would increase, as Rethnar’s men visited the farmhouses they’d bypassed in their rush to the village.
Thutmose — sin mounted his horse, then turned to his guards. “Bring my women to the river.” He guided the animal through the lane, until he again reached the water’s edge. First he would see to his horse, then wash himself in the Tigris. The two women would also bathe, so that they wouldn’t bring the village stink to his bed tonight.
As he dove into the cool and cleansing water, he thought about what he’d accomplished. They’d taken much booty and slaves, and a large village would be destroyed as a lesson to the dirt — eaters. The health and power of the Alur Meriki would be greatly increased. The capture of a few hundred more slaves would have made the raid more successful, but nothing could be done about that. All in all, everything had gone well. His father and the council would be pleased.
Eleven years later, near the headwaters of the Tigris…
Thutmose — sin rode slowly through the scattered huts until he reached the edge of the bluff. From this height he observed the chilled waters of the Tigris, sparkling in the sunlight and fresh from their birth — mountains, stretching all the way to the distant northern horizon. Directly beneath the hilltop, a caravan of men and animals had begun the difficult crossing to the eastern bank.
This caravan would prove far mightier than the watery obstacle nature had placed in its path. The people of the steppes, the Alur Meriki, traveled wherever they chose and nothing stood in their path. They dominated all the peoples of the world, just as Thutmose — sin dominated them.
He was their king, and he ruled the world.
In his thirty — fifth season, the leader of the Alur Meriki stood as strong and powerful as in his youth, with not a trace of fat on his tall, muscu-lar frame. Around his neck hung a copper — linked chain with a three — inch gold medallion identifying the Alur Meriki leader. Unlike his followers, he wore no other jewelry or rings to show his importance or his conquests.
The medallion proclaimed his power-only the strongest and most capable ever earned the right to wear it.
Thutmose — sin regarded the scene beneath him with satisfaction. The clan extended in a wide and crooked line for nearly four miles, a snake-like procession that sent a long plume of reddish dust into the still air.
Four hundred warriors shepherded them along, helping the wagons get through places where the earth turned to soft sand, keeping the flocks of sheep, goats, and cattle moving, and occasionally dismounting to add their own muscles to those of the weary animals that struggled over the rough ground. The caravan traveled slowly, but it never stopped.
The column consisted of horses, oxen, wagons, stock animals, women, children, old men, and slaves, in roughly that order of importance.
