beautiful: lithe, muscular young people who had performed sexual gymnastics of increasingly bewildering complexity.
Audience participation had been encouraged: both guests and servants had been drawn into the entertainers' antics. There had been several games: the master of ceremonies had urged guests with agile tongues to attempt to excite the clitoris of a haughty-looking Amazon he called The Ice Queen, and a queue of men and women had come to kneel before her throne and bury their faces between her spread thighs. In another competition, waitresses had been lined up and instructed to remain still while a team of clowns inserted vibrating dildos into their vaginas; the winner had been the waitress whose tray had rattled least, and her prizes had been the dildo and a seat at the top table.
The acts had become more and more convoluted. As the waiters had cleared the tables, and the guests had begun to improvise their own tableaux of interlocking bodies, the master of ceremonies had announced a lion-taming act. Six flame-haired gymnasts, their bodies painted with leopard 's spots, had been put through their sexual paces as the music rose to a crescendo.
The orgy had paused when the music had suddenly ceased. And the master of ceremonies had announced the climactic act of the evening: a human sacrifice. He had asked the audience for a volunteer: he wanted a young woman, he had said, who would be flogged into insensibility and then ritually stabbed. And then he had looked straight towards Jem.
Safe now in her bed, Jem still shuddered as she remembered the chill that had gripped her heart at that moment. Have they discovered me, she had thought wildly. Do they know I'm a spy? Are they really going to execute me?
But the master of ceremonies had merely been looking towards the Master for approval to continue; having received a nod from Headman, his eyes had started to rove across the audience. There had been volunteers: women had shrieked, torn off the remains of their gaudy gowns, and scrambled forwards. The master of ceremonies had ignored them. He - Jem was sure now that he was a man - had stalked among the silent guests, searching out the shrinking violets, the youngest, prettiest women with downcast eyes and shivering limbs. He had wanted, it seemed, only a truly unwilling victim. He had stopped in front of a cowering beauty; and had grasped a handful of her long blonde curls.
She had started to protest only when two muscular youths had started to chain her to the wooden frame that had been wheeled into the centre of the hall. By the time she was spreadeagled, her feet barely touching the floor and her arms stretched above her head, her sobs had been the only sounds that could be heard in the electric silence. The executioner, a huge man with muscles that rippled beneath his oiled ebony skin, had then made his entrance. His face had been concealed behind a black mask, and in his hand he had carried a snake of black leather.
For ten minutes, while the blonde writhed desperately in her chains, the executioner demonstrated his skill with the whip. He had cracked it back and forth above his head, each report as deafening as a gunshot and each echoed by a yelp from his prospective victim. He had used the whip as a lasso, and had plucked bottles from the hands of in- e briated revellers. He hkd flicked the whip with such accuracy that he had extinguished cigarettes with its tip.
Each demonstration had drawn cheers and applause from the audience, and the clamour had quietened only when the masked giant had at last positioned himself at the side of the wooden frame. He had waited until the entire audience had remembered his deadly intention; he had waited until, once again, the only sounds in the hall had been the sobs and pleas of the blonde captive. Then he had raised the whip and struck.
The girl had screamed; several people in the audience had screamed too. But as far as Jem had been able to see, the girl's body had not
Audience participation had been encouraged: both guests and servants had been drawn into the entertainers' antics. There had been several games: the master of ceremonies had urged guests with agile tongues to attempt to excite the clitoris of a haughty-looking Amazon he called The Ice Queen, and a queue of men and women had come to kneel before her throne and bury their faces between her spread thighs. In another competition, waitresses had been lined up and instructed to remain still while a team of clowns inserted vibrating dildos into their vaginas; the winner had been the waitress whose tray had rattled least, and her prizes had been the dildo and a seat at the top table.
The acts had become more and more convoluted. As the waiters had cleared the tables, and the guests had begun to improvise their own tableaux of interlocking bodies, the master of ceremonies had announced a lion-taming act. Six flame-haired gymnasts, their bodies painted with leopard 's spots, had been put through their sexual paces as the music rose to a crescendo.
The orgy had paused when the music had suddenly ceased. And the master of ceremonies had announced the climactic act of the evening: a human sacrifice. He had asked the audience for a volunteer: he wanted a young woman, he had said, who would be flogged into insensibility and then ritually stabbed. And then he had looked straight towards Jem.
Safe now in her bed, Jem still shuddered as she remembered the chill that had gripped her heart at that moment. Have they discovered me, she had thought wildly. Do they know I'm a spy? Are they really going to execute me?
But the master of ceremonies had merely been looking towards the Master for approval to continue; having received a nod from Headman, his eyes had started to rove across the audience. There had been volunteers: women had shrieked, torn off the remains of their gaudy gowns, and scrambled forwards. The master of ceremonies had ignored them. He - Jem was sure now that he was a man - had stalked among the silent guests, searching out the shrinking violets, the youngest, prettiest women with downcast eyes and shivering limbs. He had wanted, it seemed, only a truly unwilling victim. He had stopped in front of a cowering beauty; and had grasped a handful of her long blonde curls.
She had started to protest only when two muscular youths had started to chain her to the wooden frame that had been wheeled into the centre of the hall. By the time she was spreadeagled, her feet barely touching the floor and her arms stretched above her head, her sobs had been the only sounds that could be heard in the electric silence. The executioner, a huge man with muscles that rippled beneath his oiled ebony skin, had then made his entrance. His face had been concealed behind a black mask, and in his hand he had carried a snake of black leather.
For ten minutes, while the blonde writhed desperately in her chains, the executioner demonstrated his skill with the whip. He had cracked it back and forth above his head, each report as deafening as a gunshot and each echoed by a yelp from his prospective victim. He had used the whip as a lasso, and had plucked bottles from the hands of in- e briated revellers. He hkd flicked the whip with such accuracy that he had extinguished cigarettes with its tip.
Each demonstration had drawn cheers and applause from the audience, and the clamour had quietened only when the masked giant had at last positioned himself at the side of the wooden frame. He had waited until the entire audience had remembered his deadly intention; he had waited until, once again, the only sounds in the hall had been the sobs and pleas of the blonde captive. Then he had raised the whip and struck.
The girl had screamed; several people in the audience had screamed too. But as far as Jem had been able to see, the girl's body had not
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