For a moment she was paralyzed with fear and amazement. Then the man in front turned gestured, and his companions lunged forward.
The few women that fought were quickly subdued. Women scattered and ran, and the men roared laughter and cried out in a strange language. When one of them grabbed hold of a young concubine, and laughingly began tearing her clothes, Zahira suddenly broke from her trance.
She launched herself shrieking at the bent back of the brute, throwing her scarf over his head to blind him as she hung on to his shoulders. When he roared and threw her off, struggling his way out of the cloth, she started punching and clawing him in the face. She got in a couple of good hits before he could push her off, and she saw his nose was bleeding even as she sprawled backwards on the floor.
Dizzily she tried to get up, as the man advanced on her. He had a huge red beard and his nose was crooked and dripping blood. His face was a grimace of rage and hatred. Dread suddenly filled the girl and she suddenly realized what was probably about to happen.
The red-bearded man reached down and grabbed her by the foot, and she screamed piercingly, twisting and kicking out as he roughly dragged her over the cold marble.
Suddenly, another, blonde man came up behind him and hit him in the head with the butt of an axe. The brute crumpled and the smaller man kicked him away with a heavy boot. Then he peered down at Zahira, cocking his head to the side as though thinking hard.
She held her hands up in a helpless warding gesture as this new man reached for her.
He grabbed her roughly and she kicked and screamed, but surprisingly he didn't tear at her clothes or hold her down. Instead, he lifted her as easily as if she was a sack of rice, and threw her over his shoulder. He shouted something then, making a broad gesture at the room. Several of the men picked themselves up, abandoning the women and started to leave. One or two carried women with them.
Then to her surprise, her captor swatted her hard on the behind. “Be quiet!” He said, and she realized he'd spoken in her language. She snapped her mouth shut, afraid of what might happen if she continued to cry out, closing her eyes to the violence around her.
Tears rolled and fell down her face as the man carried her off, jolting her roughly.
….
She was kept alone amongst barrels and chests in the tiny cargo space of a boat for what must have been several days. She could hear nothing but the creak and groan of the ship and occasional thumps from above, and passed most of the time sleeping.
An adolescent boy opened the hatch twice a day and tossed her food and skins of water. The girl would cower, holding the thin, damp blanket to shield her face. He never spoke to her, and she waited until he disappeared before scrambling to eat the bread and cheese he threw.
After seemingly endless days – she had a visitor.
She couldn't see well, but as he approached she could tell it was her abductor himself. She crouched on the floor shielding her face and hoping he would go away. Or at least that he would be quick doing whatever he was going to do.
He stomped closer, and stood over her. After a moment when nothing happened, she opened her eyes to peer at him over the cloth.
“What is your name?” He asked simply. He had a deep, commanding voice and spoke her language with a heavy accent. She could understand him well enough, but was too frightened to answer right away.
“Your name, girl!” He hissed, bending over her.
Now she could see him better in the dim light. Up close, he was strangely attractive. He was about as opposite to the men at home as you could imagine – large, lean and muscular, with long, wheat-colored hair loosely tied back. Strands of hair had fallen free and hung over his face. His jaw was lined with stubble. He looked angry, but there was also curiosity there.
“Z -Zahira,” she stuttered, cowering.
“You are one of Al-Masad's wives?”
She
The few women that fought were quickly subdued. Women scattered and ran, and the men roared laughter and cried out in a strange language. When one of them grabbed hold of a young concubine, and laughingly began tearing her clothes, Zahira suddenly broke from her trance.
She launched herself shrieking at the bent back of the brute, throwing her scarf over his head to blind him as she hung on to his shoulders. When he roared and threw her off, struggling his way out of the cloth, she started punching and clawing him in the face. She got in a couple of good hits before he could push her off, and she saw his nose was bleeding even as she sprawled backwards on the floor.
Dizzily she tried to get up, as the man advanced on her. He had a huge red beard and his nose was crooked and dripping blood. His face was a grimace of rage and hatred. Dread suddenly filled the girl and she suddenly realized what was probably about to happen.
The red-bearded man reached down and grabbed her by the foot, and she screamed piercingly, twisting and kicking out as he roughly dragged her over the cold marble.
Suddenly, another, blonde man came up behind him and hit him in the head with the butt of an axe. The brute crumpled and the smaller man kicked him away with a heavy boot. Then he peered down at Zahira, cocking his head to the side as though thinking hard.
She held her hands up in a helpless warding gesture as this new man reached for her.
He grabbed her roughly and she kicked and screamed, but surprisingly he didn't tear at her clothes or hold her down. Instead, he lifted her as easily as if she was a sack of rice, and threw her over his shoulder. He shouted something then, making a broad gesture at the room. Several of the men picked themselves up, abandoning the women and started to leave. One or two carried women with them.
Then to her surprise, her captor swatted her hard on the behind. “Be quiet!” He said, and she realized he'd spoken in her language. She snapped her mouth shut, afraid of what might happen if she continued to cry out, closing her eyes to the violence around her.
Tears rolled and fell down her face as the man carried her off, jolting her roughly.
….
She was kept alone amongst barrels and chests in the tiny cargo space of a boat for what must have been several days. She could hear nothing but the creak and groan of the ship and occasional thumps from above, and passed most of the time sleeping.
An adolescent boy opened the hatch twice a day and tossed her food and skins of water. The girl would cower, holding the thin, damp blanket to shield her face. He never spoke to her, and she waited until he disappeared before scrambling to eat the bread and cheese he threw.
After seemingly endless days – she had a visitor.
She couldn't see well, but as he approached she could tell it was her abductor himself. She crouched on the floor shielding her face and hoping he would go away. Or at least that he would be quick doing whatever he was going to do.
He stomped closer, and stood over her. After a moment when nothing happened, she opened her eyes to peer at him over the cloth.
“What is your name?” He asked simply. He had a deep, commanding voice and spoke her language with a heavy accent. She could understand him well enough, but was too frightened to answer right away.
“Your name, girl!” He hissed, bending over her.
Now she could see him better in the dim light. Up close, he was strangely attractive. He was about as opposite to the men at home as you could imagine – large, lean and muscular, with long, wheat-colored hair loosely tied back. Strands of hair had fallen free and hung over his face. His jaw was lined with stubble. He looked angry, but there was also curiosity there.
“Z -Zahira,” she stuttered, cowering.
“You are one of Al-Masad's wives?”
She
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