The Forbidden Tablets

The Queen turned back to face me. "You knew that," she said firmly, "but you evidently didn't know that the coins had to have the image of the current king or queen on them. Two of the coins were old, and the Bedouin King is young." She paused. Her voice became almost bitter. "That was your first mistake."

She pointed her finger at me and said sternly, "Your second mistake was assuming that just because a man is an amoral pig he is also disloyal. The Shaman came to me as soon as you approached him in an attempt to buy his visions with money and the promise of sex."

She looked down at the ground. "He wanted me to know," she said slowly, "that his visions of the coming end of my reign were true visions and that he had not succumbed to the offer of Amira's body."

She laughed. It was not a laugh of joy or happiness, but of resignation. "If Amira had not already come to me with the golden coins, I might have believed it was actually her, but..." She let her voice trail off.

Her voice suddenly became loud and harsh. "Then," she almost growled out, "the village assassin came to me with a tablet sealed with Amira's seal. Again, just because he is an outcast, it does not mean he is not loyal. I knew then that whoever was behind all this was very, very clever, and very, very ruthless."

She snapped around and looked at a group of court scribes gathered near the army officers. "I took the tablet to the chief scribe and asked him if he could tell me which scribe had written it. At first he said that it was not possible to tell because each scribe is taught to make the same exact marks. But I insisted he look at the tablet. He studied it for but a brief moment and then said with confidence, 'None of my scribes wrote this.' He then pointed to the marks and said, 'You see here where it gives your name as the one to be killed. Whoever wrote this used the common marks for queen, not the royal marks which are used only when referring to you.'"

She spun back and stood so that she was nearly touching my face with hers. "I knew then," she said sadly, "who was behind all of this. I asked Amira if she had ever put her seal on one of your tablets. She told me how you tricked her into giving you her seal on an unwritten tablet. She thought you had cleared the clay, but instead you filled it in with instructions to the assassin. Unfortunately for you, you haven't had enough experience with the marks to know that there is a difference between queen and Queen."

She stepped back slightly and continued in a more normal tone of voice. "You have named your own punishment," she said firmly. "I make only two modifications to what you have proclaimed. The flogging will be with a whip of cords rather than the leather normally used. And you will not be banished naked. In fact, you will not be banished at all. Instead you will be taken naked to the Shaman's house and will be tied to the post outside his door where sacrificial animals are tied in the days before our yearly sacrifice. He will take you as his slave but shall treat you as his wife."

Her voice dropped slightly as she told me, "And you shall treat him as your husband and willingly give your body to him as often as he desires."

A smile came to her face as she finished with, "But since our precious Shaman needs his afternoon time for quiet meditation, each afternoon, you will stand outside the Shaman's door, naked except for your collar and tie yourself to his post. Should any ask you why you are there, you will reply, 'Because I betrayed my Queen, Zara, and my future Queen, Amira, and am now no better than the lowest animal.' You will do that until that statement is no longer true. After that you will not have to tie yourself to the post, but you will still stand naked at the Shaman's door each afternoon."

She then turned and walked back to her throne. As she walked away, she said loudly, "Let the punishment begin."

Tablet Five

The two brothers holding my arms pulled even tighter. It felt like I was going to be torn apart. Then the first blow fell. Leather would have cut my skin. Knotted cords would have bruised so badly that the flesh would bleed. Plain cords inflicted no less pain, but they were less likely to reduce my back to bloody flesh.

I screamed with the first blow and danced in place. As the second blow fell, I tried to pull away. The brother holding the whip behind me said something and two soldiers ran up and knelt on one knee in front of me. They each removed a leather strap from their bootlaces and wrapped it several times around my ankle and the ankle of the brother holding my arm. When my brothers pulled their legs back and once again pulled on my arms, I was held tightly in a naked X.

"The count is two," a loud voice said from behind me. Then the whip fell again. Once again I screamed, but I could no longer dance on my feet or try to pull away. All I could do was scream, "No, No, No!"

By the tenth blow, I could no longer form words. My screams merged together into one long, continuous sound.

By the twentieth blow, I no longer pulled against my brothers. Evidently my body realized that it could not escape.

Even my voice had left me before they finally reached forty plus one. If my brothers had not been holding me, I would have collapsed to the ground. I looked up at where my sisters were seated. I expected to see Amira's gloating face. Instead she was crying. Her head was tilted forward and her tears were dropping to her lap.

I vaguely felt myself being lifted. The leather which bound my ankles to my brothers was removed. A different leather took its place, tied as tight or even tighter. I was now on my back. My arms were being pulled down and leather straps were being used to tie my hands tightly together.

It was not until the donkey began to buck and kick that I realized where I was. I was on the back of a jackass with my legs spread wide and my sex visible to all. "You have to keep your hands still," a stern voice said. "If you don't, he will buck you off and you will end up under him. You could even get thrown completely off and trampled if he gets out of control."

The donkey began to move. I didn't know who was leading it, but they were walking very slowly as I was led around the open area at the place of judgement. No one in the crowd had anything to throw, but news of my punishment would spread quickly and the people of the streets would have time to hurriedly gather their eggs and fruit and manure.

I was wrong. Many of the commoners had come prepared. Rotting fruit and excrement is hard to carry, but rotten eggs carry easily in a scarf or bag as long as you are careful. I don't know what was worse, the pain as the egg hit my body or the smell which immediately engulfed me.

It was like being stoned with soft stones. The eggs broke when they struck my skin, but they still hurt. I screamed as someone made a direct hit on my breast. Then I realized that some of the eggs were landing more softly, but directly on my stomach. The women were lobbing the eggs up high so they would come directly down on my body. I wondered why they would do that. My question was soon answered when one egg hit directly between my legs.

My scream was more of surprise than pain, but the crowd cheered anyway. We were now moving out of the place of judgement onto the main street. Most of the homes were at most one story with an area on the roof to seek relief from the heat at night or bathe during the day. The shops along main street, however, were two stories with the shopkeepers living upstairs. The areas on the roofs of these buildings were high above my head and I could see faces leaning over the parapets and smiling. In their hands they held fruit so rotten it barely held together. The fruit was made even more foul smelling by mixing it with the deposits from the chamber pots found in the water closets on those roofs. There was no real pain as the noxious mixture splatted against my stomach or even when it hit between my legs, but I screamed none-the-less.

We turned onto the first street. There were only nine streets in our village. When you counted the nine cross streets that meant a total of eighteen streets through which I would be paraded twice. A blob of manure hit me on my neck. A small portion splashed into my mouth. I struggled to spit it out and finally did, but I could not rid my mouth of the taste. From that point on, I did not scream- at least not with my mouth open.

I heard one of the accompanying soldiers cry out "Not allowed!" I looked toward his voice and saw a young man drop a stone onto the ground. With my brothers guarding me, at least I would be spared that pain. We turned at the end of the street and went back to the main street. There was less thrown at me now, but it appears that many had held back their eggs for my return trip. The thudding of the eggs against my filth-covered body was almost continuous. I don't know if I was becoming numb or the layer of filth helped protect me from the impact, but the eggs seemed to hurt much less than they did while I was leaving the place of judgement.

I shortly lost track of where we were. We could be on the fifth street or the tenth. Perhaps my mind no longer cared. Someone made a direct hit to my face with a particularly noxious mixture of filth and I vomited over the side of the donkey. One of the soldiers shouted something and the woman leading the donkey stopped. The rain of filth and eggs also stopped. The soldier stepped up alongside me and wiped the filth from my eyes. He poured water across my face to clear my eyes and nose. He then offered me some to drink.

"It is best to rinse your mouth first, then drink," he said softly.

I did as he instructed and spit out the first mouthful of water. I then drank several mouthfuls before he pulled the water skin back and shouted out, "Resume."

Tablet Six

I still didn't know where I was, but we turned around only five more times before we came to a stop in front of the army barracks. I knew what would happen next. I was the one who had ordered it. I had not said who was supposed to clean me up, and I was surprised when a group of prostitutes untied the leather holding me on the ass and walked / carried me over to the large trough normally used by the soldiers to wash themselves at the end of the day. They had already done so and the water was slick and murky.

Luckily, I had time to take a deep breath before they dropped me into the trough and pushed my head under the water. The women used old rags and several rough sponges to clean the filth from my body. Then they pulled me out of the water and pulled me over to the low rail the soldiers used to tie their horses. Using the leather that had bound me to the donkey, they tied my wrists wide apart so that my breasts were pulled tight against the rail. Then they added additional ties between my elbows and shoulders so that I was unable to pull away from the rail even a little. Once I was firmly secured, they began to wipe my body with a scented oil.

"This ointment contains special herbs from secret places in the desert." one of them whispered. "We use a little of it when we need to be more enthusiastic for our patrons." She giggled softly and added, "But this is more than any one of us would use in a year."

As she was whispering, I could feel her hands sliding between my legs and into my slit as she pushed a large glob of the thick oil into my cunt. She also filled my ass crack with the oil and then pushed some of it through my rosebud with her finger. I didn't intend to do so, but I moaned as she did so and pushed back against her finger and she pumped it in and out pushing more and more of the thick oil inside me.

"By morning," she whispered to me, "you will be known as a whore of whores."

I didn't know what she meant, but as the women walked away I could feel a fire building from deep within me. Several of the men came out of the barracks to stand around me. The fire was overwhelming my body and my mind. I couldn't help myself.

"Fuck me!" I screamed. "I need you to fuck me!"

I continued to scream "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!" as man after man plunged into me from behind. I even continued my chant when one of the soldiers chose my rear opening rather than my cunt. I only quit crying out when one of them pushed his prick into my mouth. I suckled him like I was a yearling calf, and all the while I suckled, my head was bobbing up and down his shaft as I was driven forward and back by the man pounding himself into my ass.

I don't know how many men were in the barracks, but each of them had me at least twice before they went inside to sleep, leaving me alone in the darkness. Several other men, perhaps not even soldiers, made use of me through the night as I continued to moan, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

Near dawn two women, most likely prostitutes, stopped by. One of them laughed lightly and said, "This will remove the effects of the oils." She laughed again and then added, "But you might not like it."

She pushed something into my mouth that tasted like the wild garlic which grows down by the river. She also pushed something into my cunt and ass. Whatever she put in my cunt immediately began quelling the fires which were burning within me. But what she put in my ass began fires of its own. She had figged me!

The ginger root soon warmed and began to exude its oils which burned like fire within me. I was screaming once again, but now I was screaming for help. The women laughed and ran off into the grayness of first light.

One of the soldiers, I think he was part of the night watch, came running to my cries. "My ass!, My ass!," I cried out. "Take it out of my ass!"

He smiled at me and said, "If it comes out, something else will go in."

"Anything," I cried back. "Anything, just pull it out!"

He stepped around behind me and pulled the carved root out of my ass. He then reached into my cunt and pulled out a similar root. His hands were now on my back and I could feel him lining himself up with my asshole.

He slammed himself forward, but my sphincter was closed tight from the ginger root. "How can you be tight as a virgin after taking on so many men through the night?" he asked loudly.

He grunted and pushed harder. I was amazed that I had any voice left, but my screams filled the dawn as he drove himself into me. I was no longer shouting, "Fuck me!" Instead I was screaming, "Stop! Please stop! Please, Please, Stop!"

Two guards were standing in front of me laughing, but they were pointing not at me, rather they were pointing at my ravisher. They whooped with laughter as he suddenly screamed out, "She's a demon! I'm on fire."

He pulled out from me with a loud pop and stood dancing up and down and holding his prick and balls.

"It's not the root, goat brain," one of the guards called out. "It's the oils in the root."

The other guard laughed and added, "Only a fool would put his prick in a recently figged asshole."

The both continued to laugh as the man stood at the trough and tried desperately to wash the fire out of his crotch.

Tablet Seven

A soft voice spoke next to me. It was one of the village prostitutes. "Time to get you cleaned up," she said gently as she began to untie the leather which bound me to the rail.

I had trouble standing up once I was free. My muscles were cramped and sore. My whole body was sore.

"If you fight us," the woman said, "we will have the guards tie you up again."

I looked at her and nodded. There was no fight left in me.

"Spread you legs," she said firmly, "and hold your arms out to your sides."

Two of the other women began smearing a foul-smelling cream all over my body.

"This will hurt a bit," she said, "but it is the easiest way to remove the hair from your body."

I whimpered as the cream attacked my skin. It was like when I had been burned by the sun, only many times greater. Somehow I didn't scream. Maybe I was screamed out. After what seemed like a third of the watch, someone poured a bucket of cold water over my head and the women began wiping off the cream with coarse rags.

I looked down at my body. It was obvious that all of my body hair was gone. It looked like at least the top layer of my skin was also gone.

"The removal of hair from your body is because you have become a slave wife," the head prostitute said. A slave wife was the lowest a woman could be in our culture. It was lower even that the lowest of prostitutes.

"The removal of hair from your head is because your former life is now totally lost to you," she added as one of the women began to hack away at my hair with a sharp razor. Once my hair was cut down almost to my scalp, a bucket of hot water was brought out and placed at my feet. Another of the women dipped a small brush into the water and began to move it rapidly against a cake of soft soap of some sort. She then began to lather that soap across my head.

A free woman of some sort stepped forward with a bright, shiny razor. "Don't move or I may cut you," she said brusquely. Then she started shaving my head.

When she was finished, she ran her fingers over my eyebrows and said, "I would have removed these too, but the Queen is feeling merciful."

"I'm not," the head prostitute said as she personally smeared some of the foul-smelling cream on my now bald head. She smiled cruely as she carefully smeared the cream through my eyebrows. My screaming voice returned as the cream ate into my scalp. After several minutes, she used a small wooden stick that was shaped like a razor to remove all the cream from my head. The stick also removed my eyebrows and any little hairs on my head which the razor had missed.

"I would rather have you in my parlor," a female voice said from behind me, "but this will have to do."

She then instructed me to stand still and began painting my lips and face with the paints which were normally worn by the village prostitutes. Once my face was dry, she started on my body with henna ink and a small brush. Soon the words which I had declared- traitor, treason, and slut- were written in various sizes all over my body. I couldn't see what she had painted, but I had no doubt that the words were also on my face.

"Now," the head prostitute said firmly, "we take you to the Shaman."

He was standing in front of his house waiting for us when the procession of women brought me to his door. "Tie her to the post as she foretold," he said firmly. "And then leave," he added much more softly.

I stood at the post weeping. The Shaman had affixed a bronze mirror to the post so I could see every detail of my body. The prostitute's face paint was such that my tears ran down my cheeks without disturbing the thick white coating that covered my face. The bright red around my mouth went beyond the edges of my lips and formed a silly-looking smile even when my mouth was slightly down. Across my forehead in the same red as my lips was the word, "Traitor." Across my chest, just above my breasts, it said in big letters, "Treason." On my stomach in even bigger letters it proclaimed, "Slut." After last night, maybe I am. I chose those three words for Amira's body, but now I know that they apply truly to me. I am a traitor; I have committed treason; and I am a slut.

"What do you see in the mirror?" the Shaman asked.

"Myself," I replied. "A slut and a traitor."

"Which is your new name?" he asked.

"Both" I replied dejectedly.

"Neither," he answered flatly. "Your new name is Redeemed."

"How can that be my name?" I said bitterly.

"As the husband of a slave wife, I have the right to give her a new name," he replied. "I choose to call you Redeemed, for you will redeem yourself and become a precious part of this tribe."

"How?"

"It has been many generations since this tribe has had a female Shaman," he continued. "Perhaps that is because females are no longer taught to read and cannot study the ancient tablets." His chuckle became a raspy cough, "And what female would be willing to live with, and study under, a randy old goat such as myself?"