The Palace Pt. 01

The last wall featured exquisite lattice panels. The ones on the edges were solid constructions, while closer to the centre they became lighter, and more delicate. Most astonishing of all - I could see no purpose whatsoever for all these lattices. Mere decoration? Or was this room meant, at one time, to communicate with the next chamber?

The door opened, and Sartag returned, this time accompanied by the most unusual man I had ever seen. Round, fat and bald - that was my first impression. He was short, and quite fat, so that he was shaped like a ball with feet. His head was entirely hairless, save for his eyebrows and eyelashes.

He was dressed in costly silks, but his choice of colors - bright yellow and lime green - only made him appear more ludicrous. The newcomer nodded to Sartag, who sketched him a bow, and then left us alone.

The little round man gestured to the mats.

- "Let us be comfortable." he said. His voice was high and thin, like a little girl's - or a little boy's. I had never seen one before, but I concluded that this was a eunuch - that he had been castrated while still quite young.

I managed to control my reaction, and show no surprise, or disgust. In fact, what I really felt at that moment was fascination.

Many people believe that the Palace employs eunuchs to guard the women's quarters, because the Emperor does not trust male guards around his concubines, or because he jealously guards the virginity of his many daughters. These girls are valuable prizes, to be awarded to foreign Princes and valued allies.

In fact, however, eunuchs can be trusted with the Emperor's most vital, most secret business, for one simple reason: they cannot overthrow him. No eunuch would be tolerated as a ruler. They could not begin their own dynasty.

Ambitious fathers sometimes castrate their sons, hoping to gain. If their enucleated son wins employment at the Palace, they may acquire influence and power which could benefit their family. It is also a viable career path for fourth or fifth sons.

- "You are Carrach, the son of Batir, the merchant?" he said.

- "At your service." I replied.

- "Thank you. Could you please describe for me the nature of your father's business?"

- "He was a trader. Almonds, and pistachios, for the most part. Occasionally dried fruit, as well. Apricots, dates."

- "I see." The eunuch glanced at the writing implements, but did not reach for them.

- "May I ask why I am here? And who you are, Sir?" I said. I did not wish to appear rude, but I was more than curious at this point.

- "My name is Opkor. You may refer to me as 'Master Opkor'. You are here to be interviewed." The round man said all of this in his high-pitched, little girl's voice. But his tone said quite clearly that I would learn nothing more from him at present. He paused, to let that sink in. Then he asked his next question.

"What is your occupation?"

- "I am a tutor, to the sons of merchants. I also function as a clerk."

- "How many people live in your household?"

- "My father, and one servant, female."

- "Do you have family?"

I explained about the deaths of my brothers. He showed not the slightest hint of sympathy, nor did he offer even the most hackneyed phrases of condolence. Opkor had a dozen more questions. I tried to decipher his purpose, to understand why he was asking these things, but the eunuch moved on at a brisk pace, leaving no time for reflection. Also, his face was devoid of expression; it was impossible to read.

- "Stand, please." he instructed me. "Walk to the chest there, and sit upon it."

I had no idea why Opkor would want me to do these things. He had me walk across the room, bend over to pick up a cushion, remove my shoes and then immediately put them back on again. I did these things without protest. After all - I was in the Palace!

But as I performed for Opkor, I became aware of a strange feeling, like an itch between my shoulder blades: I felt as though I was being watched.

Not just Opkor. His scrutiny was disinterested. It seemed to me that someone else was watching, and that how I carried out the eunuch's instructions mattered very much indeed.

Then he asked me to sit, and to read aloud from a scroll. It was a poem by Dologe, verses that were familiar to me. I read with expression, enjoying it. Opkor stopped me after six lines, and had me read from another scroll. This one was unfamiliar to me. It was a chronicle from the reign of our Emperor, Zoer, but several decades old, already. I read it, stumbling only once, when a complex sentence continued longer than it should have.

- "You may stop." said Opkor. He offered no reason. He gave me no new instructions. He sat there, calmly, unmoving. So I did the same. My head was bursting with questions, but I knew very well that he would not answer them, so I remained silent.

We sat there for perhaps half a turn of the glass.

Then the door opened. It was Sartag, but he stepped inside only to hold the door open.

And she entered.

Her hair was artfully piled up, atop her head, yet it was so long that it also flowed down her back. It was held in place by a silver circlet, and by braided red cord, wrapped in gold wire. Her earrings were massive pieces of ivory, shaped like a lion's teeth. Her necklace - well, there was enough gold and gemstones there to buy all of Wool Street.

Her eyebrows had been painstakingly shaped, and her lashes brushed to an amazing degree. Her lips were painted, deep carmine.

I was most scandalized by her dress. It was blue, and yellow, as I recall, but so light ... it clung to her curves, and suggested that she was wearing nothing beneath it. A woman would not have dared to wear such clothing in public - anywhere except the Palace.

Even as I scrambled to my feet, and looked into those eyes again, I knew that this was my Lady of the Palanquin. But more than that: I realized then who she was.

I bowed.

She stopped two feet away, and looked me over. Sartag closed the door, but remained inside. Only then did the Lady speak.

- "Amazing!" she breathed. She reached out one hand, and touched my chin. She kept her eyes on my face, examining my nose, my eyes, my ears. I was suddenly glad that she did not look lower, because I felt myself growing hard. That was the impact this woman had - on everyone, if the stories were true.

"Incredible." she murmured. Even her voice was sultry, leading my thoughts instantly to bedchambers, to stripping off that dress, uncoiling the silken masses of her hair ... I tried to school my features, to let none of this sudden lust show. Those large, bright brown eyes were hypnotic. Her lips were lush, moist, and slightly parted.

- "I agree." said Opkor. "It is uncanny."

The Lady released my chin, to touch my hair. "He will need a haircut. And some dye. It should be a shade darker." She walked around, examining me from every angle. "A manicure. That ink on his fingers has to go."

Opkor nodded. Sartag merely frowned. I was beginning to believe that that was his habitual expression. I stood quietly, with my hands clasped before me, hoping to cover my raging erection.

At one point she leaned against me. I swear, I felt the slight pressure of her breast against my shoulder. It was intoxicating. Had she done it purposely? Surely she could not be unaware of what she was doing.

- "Do it." she said, to Opkor. Then with one last look at me, and a fleeting smile, she was gone. Sartag followed her out.

The eunuch gave me a moment to resume breathing. He made no mention of my obvious condition.

- "You will be staying at the Palace for a time." he said. "You will be paid three times what you would earn tutoring. We will also provide more suitable clothing."

- "What are my duties?" I asked.

- "You will be informed, in due time. Be patient. Be quiet. Watch, and learn." said Opkor.

- "My Father?"

- "We can send him your wages, if you wish. Come - I will show you to your room."

My room turned out to be a sleeping cubicle. But it was enough for now, because I had a great deal to think about. Because I knew who the Lady of the Palanquin was.

Her name was Yasina.

*****

In the 15th year of his reign, Emperor Zoer was widely respected as a warrior, and as a lawmaker. He had three wives, half a dozen healthy sons, and even more daughters. Then a minor governor from Nedia, one Bulkan, sent his daughter to the Emperor as a gift.

She was attractive enough, they say, that Zoer immediately took her as a concubine. Yasina gave birth to a son, Bishkur, nine months later. All of the sources agree, that if Yasina was lovely before her pregnancy, she became incomparably beautiful afterwards.

Yasina became the Emperor's favorite. Visitors to the Palace, awed by her beauty, desired her. One Prince promised his allegiance if he could have her, for a single night. Another offered 1,000 camels for her hand in marriage.

General Ryop, victorious in battle, had the temerity to ask for Yasina as his reward. His presumption cost him his head. Zoer decided to marry Yasina himself. There was a problem, though: he already had three wives. His youngest, Darilla, conveniently fell ill and died.

Despite the whispers of his court, and against the advice of his councillors, Zoer went ahead and married his favorite concubine. He even brought her father, Bulkan, to the Palace, and made him Chamberlain. Court officials quickly learned that it would be beneficial to their careers - and their health - to be on good terms with Yasina and her father.

As the years went by, Yasina grew ever more beautiful, and ever more influential. When Zoer's second wife passed away, he did not re-marry. Bulkan of Nedia also died - of a natural cause - but this did nothing to interfere with her hold on the old Emperor's affections.

By the time I met her - that day of the Palanquin - Yasina was in her mid 30s, at least. Her influence, people said, was waning. She was still so beautiful that men would kill for her, but the Emperor was ageing. Zoer was no longer dominated by his lust, and had begun to consider the succession.

Well, now I could testify firsthand that she was still incredibly attractive. And somehow, I had become involved in her plans. I did not sleep well. I worried about Father, Minika, and myself.

Sartag woke the next morning. I had to wear the hood again, and he conducted me downstairs, and deeper into the Palace. I could feel the humidity as we approached the baths. Sartag led me into a private bath.

The room was perhaps thirty feet by twenty feet. There were two bathing pools - one hot, one cool - both fed by pipes coming through the exterior wall. All of the walls were beautifully tiled, primarily in blue and white.

To my surprise, a woman entered. She was young, and short - only a few inches over five feet - and wore a black shift which left her shoulders bare. It only covered her to the knees, so that I could see her lower legs and sandaled feet. To my even greater surprise, she was Roxoni: dark, reddish hair, olive skin, high cheekbones, and dark, almond-shaped eyes.

- "This is Nanka." said Sartag. "She is the Empress' personal maid. Do exactly as she instructs you. I will return for you when you are done."

He left me alone with her. She was attractive, for a Roxoni. But I was unimpressed, having seen her mistress the day before. Nanka also had that disconcerting Roxoni habit of maintaining a completely expressionless face.

- "Sturrip." she said, with her heavy accent.

- "Do you mean 'strip'?" I asked. "With you here?" I was nonplussed. Only my mother and Minika had ever seen me naked. But Nanka simply pointed at my clothes.

I decided then and there that I would not be embarrassed in front of a Roxoni slave. Besides, as my Father often said, the best way to get along is to go along. I was not going to get out of the Palace and safely home until I had done whatever it was Yasina wanted of me. And right now that meant stripping for her maid.

Nanka was very matter-of-fact about my nudity. She handed me soap, and indicated the hot bath. I washed thoroughly, scrubbing everywhere. But when I made to climb out of the bath, Nanka shook her head, and pointed at the water.

- "Again." she said.

Even after I had washed a second time, Nanka insisted on examining parts of me for herself. No, not those parts. She scrubbed the soles of my feet, and my scalp, before sending me back into the pool to rinse.

She had me sit in the cooler bath, for quite a long time. Then she treated me to a manicure and a pedicure, experiences which were entirely new to me. I had no idea that they could be so sensuous. Perhaps the effect was heightened by having an attractive young woman kneeling before me. But I vowed to myself, then, that if I ever became wealthy, my manicures and pedicures would be more frequent.

Nanka shaved my face, and then trimmed my hair, and dyed it. While she waited for the dye to take, she also tried to scrub the accumulated ink from my fingertips. She wasn't gentle: the woman damn near skinned me, but still couldn't get it all. The marks from years of study and scribing are not so easily erased.

As I watched her work, I wondered how many of Yasina's secrets this woman knew.

Sartag returned to collect me. He noted the haircut and dye, but didn't comment. He simply handed me the hood, and a set of new clothing, a loose shirt and trousers made of silk. They were the most luxurious garments I had ever worn.

- "Thank you." I said, to Nanka, but the Roxoni gathered up the last of her implements and left the room without acknowledging me.

Sartag took me back to the second floor. We were still in the Hall of the Blue Floors, as I thought of it. He brought me into a different room. It was close to where we had been before, I thought, even though my sense of direction was clouded by the hood.

He left me in a luxurious bedchamber. The bed was enormous, and sumptuous: it had silk sheets, brightly coloured cushions, and sheer draperies. There was a proper chair, and a writing table, with several scrolls atop it. There were also sitting mats, chests along the walls, and even a looking-glass.

I was able to see myself in it.

A very different person looked back at me. I saw someone a little younger, a little ... precious? If a merchant's son looked like this, he would be bullied unmercifully, and the Gods help him if he found himself in an alley in one of the rougher districts of the city. Was this how clerks dressed in the Palace?

This chamber resembled the first room I had been in. There was a collection of lattice-work on one wall, while two more were covered by paintings. This time it was a jungle scene, with exotic birds and mythological creatures, and a half-naked youth pursuing a half-naked female through the trees.

Sartag returned, with Nanka, who wore a bright yellow shawl over the same immodest clothing I had seen her in before. Behind her, Yasina entered, shrugging off a cloak.

The Emperor's wife was dressed even more immodestly than her servant. She wore a dress of two colors: black, and something I can only describe as flesh-colored. Her hair was loose, hanging down her back. I realized then that the mass of hair I had seen piled atop her head the other day must have been artificial - extensions of some kind.

- "Stay there." she commanded. "Face the mirror." As I obeyed, she came to stand beside me.

"Amazing." she breathed. Yasina was examining me, but I was definitely more interested in studying her. That dress was positively indecent. The parts of it that were flesh-colored suggested nudity. It clung to her body, and seemed to reveal the top halves of her sizeable breasts, the swell of her stomach, and the curve of her hips.

"Nanka, you did a wonderful job. I'm impressed. There's still ink on his fingers, though - will that come off?" Nanka must have nodded, but I didn't see it. "Fine - you can leave us now."

Yasina and I were alone. In a bedchamber. My imagination was running through the jungle, half-naked. The Empress had a half-smile - a smirk, almost - on her face. She must have known exactly what I was thinking. How could she not? Dressed like that, with her bright eyes and perfect skin ... Yasina knew exactly what effect she had on men.

She pulled one of the lattices back, and slid a screen aside, then did the same with a second lattice. She gestured to me, that I should join her.

- "Look." she commanded. I did. We could see into the next room. I recognized the painting on the far wall: it was the procession, leading to a durbar. This was the room that Sartag had first brought me to.

"Yes." said Yasina. "I watched your interview with Opkor. Now - be still. Not a word."

Moments later, three men entered the room. One was a palace guardsman. The second was elderly, with a long beard trailing down his chest. He appeared to be a venerable scholar. Was that what I would look like, one day?

But as the third man entered, a veil was lifted from my eyes. I realized, in that moment, why I was here.

He was more a youth, really. And his fingertips were not stained with ink. Other than that, we were nearly identical. I had been brought to the Palace to be this young man's double. My lips formed the syllables of his name. Bishkur. Her son.

Yasina must have been watching for my reaction. She reached out - in a single, smooth gesture - and placed her finger against my lips, enjoining me to silence.

- "Watch." she whispered. I could feel her breath on my ear.

Bishkur was taking his lessons. His tutor was a bit pompous, but Bishkur was unfailingly courteous and respectful towards his old teacher. His answers showed intelligence, but he spoke in more measured tones than I would. His sentences were spare, shorn of superfluous adjectives. There was sometimes a brief hesitation between phrases, as if he was selecting his words carefully.

He sat very still. He did not twitch, or fidget, or scratch an itch. After a while, his immobility became noticeable - and a trifle odd. He was also economic in his movements. Rarely did he waste a motion, or move without purpose.

Bishkur always made eye-contact with his tutor before speaking. He was polite, intelligent, and showed remarkable self-control. Yet ... there was something ... just a little off. The young man was on the verge of effeminacy. There was nothing overt, no single behavior I could point to. But that was my impression. And it would be the impression of others, too.

I felt Yasina's breath on my ear again. She was closer to me than before.

The young man I was watching was Yasina's son. We were very nearly of the same age. That meant that Yasina was, plainly, almost old enough to be my mother. Yet her breath at my ear, the close proximity of her awe-inspiring body ... I felt myself growing hard.

Then I felt her moving closer, and the pressure of her breast on my shoulder was no fleeting sensation. It was real, and thoroughly arousing, and I swelled even harder, until the tip of my penis made contact with the lattice-work.

- "Watch." she breathed, again.

Yasina's hand touched my hip, and stayed there. I could feel the warmth of her hand, and it seemed incredibly smooth, through the silk. Then her fingers slid across the front of my trousers, and she could not mistake the tightness of the material, or the tent I was making of the loose silk.

- "Watch." she repeated.

Her fingers found the drawstring, and tugged at it. My pants were undone, but they did not fall, because they hanging atop my iron-hard penis. Then she reached inside, and took hold of me.

I almost swooned. It was decidedly bizarre, to be watching a young man, who resembled me almost like a twin, while his mother had her hand in my pants. Whatever shame I felt did nothing to abate my erection. The loose trousers slid down to my knees.