Dahran

The Dahran Sands by Gerry Taylor

This is the seventeenth chapter [ex twenty two] of a novel about gay sex and present-day slavery.

Keywords: authority, control, gay, loyalty, slavery, punishment, retraining, sex, submission

This novel, The Dahran Sands, is the eighth novel in the Dahran series

If you are underage to read this kind of material or if it is unlawful for you to read such material where you live, please leave this webpage now.

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The Prison Doctor and The Changed Life [the first novel of this series] are now available as full novels in Adobe Acrobat format on http://www.geocities.com/gerrytaylor_78/

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Chapter 17 - The shopping bug

A canoe does not know who is king. When it turns over, everyone gets wet.

(Madagasy proverb)

The following day started well. Jess Tollman took me across the city to the Ministry of Finance and Tariq al-Akhri. Tariq was the same friendly jovial and joyful person as ever. We briefly touched upon some Bank matters and the question of reshuffling some tranches of the bonds that Dahra had bought through Deckams.

Tariq was considering going skiing in January for the first time. I advised against it. `Better the sand you know, than the snow you don't,' I said.

`Is that an English proverb, Jonathan? I don't know that one.'

No, Tariq, it is a brand new variant of Dahra's own Better the camel you own than the camel you don't.'

`Well, I'll think about that, Jonathan. Maybe I'll just go and look and just let the children try the skiing.'

Good idea, Tariq. Both feet on the ground at all times,' I quipped. But the real reason I am here is two-fold: an opal and a kiwifruit.'

`An opal and a kiwifruit?'

`We have found an opal at the mine that weights all of two thousand one hundred carats when polished.'

I saw that Tariq did not understand the weight as he was looking at his own opal ring on his signet finger.

`It is a pound in weight. It really is priceless because of its size. I would like to give it to His Excellency as a gift with a tray of the smaller opals about the size of strawberries which came from the same rock,' and I took from my pocket one of the small stones I had brought with me.

I handed it to Tariq who held it up to the light and its fire reflected around the room. I had an album of photographs of the large opal and of the smaller one, which I slipped across the table to Tariq.

`You know that the Sheik had the last four opals set as rings for his four principal wives?' he murmured as he leafed through the coloured photos.

`So I have heard. Is there something, he could do with an opal of this size apart from putting it in a museum or cutting it up into small ones? Can you find out and let me know?'

`Jonathan, I am sure the large opal can be put to some public use.'

He was handing me back the opal between his fingers. I held up my open hand, palm forward.

`My gift to you today, Tariq, because I need some advice on where to buy some land for a new farm.'

Tariq threw back his head and laughed as only he can do. He loves gifts be they large or small, and this opal obviously delighted him.

`Land, how many hectares?'

`I was thinking about four to five hundred or so. I want to grow kiwifruit and I am told I have everything I need. Heat, water, fertiliser, workforce, capital, expert advice on the plants. I don't have land free. I would also want it close to the Lemon Palace not up in Tarim or way down South.'

`Nothing comes to mind just at the moment, Jonathan, but again, let me enquire.'

`Thank you, Tariq. I shall make one enquiry at an agency where I have bought a small coast property. But nothing more than that.'

As we were speaking, one of Tariq's assistants came in and apologised for the interruption. They murmured to each other for almost a minute and Tariq seemed a little annoyed as he dismissed the assistant.

`My apologies, Jonathan, I was going to invite you to an early lunch but my Minister has ordered a video-call with my brother Abdou and Jean-Luc Donat in Geneva for twenty minutes' time. I am sorry. This will go on for at least an hour.'

`Tariq, I have some shopping and messages to do so there is no problem. I shall not delay you,' and on that note I took my leave.

Jess Tollman was waiting for me on foot in the shade of the portico of the Ministry of Finance and immediately came over as I exited.

I shall get the Rolls immediately, Boss. I had to put it in the underground car park.' He had gone quite red under his tan. I got a ticket for parking outside the Ministry, Boss. Sorry.'

`I'll have to think up a suitable punishment for that. Do you need money to get the car out?'

`No, Boss, it's free when you give your Master's name.'

`Go down and get the car.'

Slaves, even experienced ones like Jess, can be on edge when something untoward happens. I gave Jess my next destination when he came up with the Rolls.

`What about some Country and Western?'

`Yes, Boss, right away,' he said with a grin as he looked back at me in the rear-view mirror, knowing that he had been forgiven.

`And Jess...'

`Yes, Boss?'

`Make sure to put your name down with Ben for some night. I haven't put you through your paces for a while back.'

`Yes, Boss! Yes, sirree!' he replied with an ear-to-ear grin which I could see as he half-turned his head.

The Rolls dropped me off at the Slave Emporium of Shariff Khan and I went to spend an hour looking at new stock and supplies with Jess trailing around behind me instead of a PSA - one the house's personal sales assistants.

There was a new type of behind-the-back handcuffs and collar. I tested them on Jess.

`What do you think?'

`Any tighter, Boss, and my arms will come out of their sockets or else I'll choke.'

I released the ratchet and let him breathe properly again, and led him on the chastity belts section. I spent some time viewing them. I think Jess thought that I was thinking about him when I was doing do, because he blurted out.

`Boss, I'm really sorry about the parking ticket.'

Jess is always now very susceptible to punishment after being flogged once before for drinking and driving.

`Maybe a month in one of these little gadgets....would help concentrate the mind of a slave when parking a car. What do you think, Jess?'

`Yes, Boss, most definitely' and I think he breathed easier when we left that section.

As we passed by the clips section, I took up a little beauty of an alligator clip and looked at it and looked at Jess.

He immediately said, `let me model it for you, Boss', and unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his uniform trousers, he very gently put the clip on his left nipple. His involuntary gasp as the teeth bit home was ample proof of its effectiveness. He was standing immobile as if any movement would cause pain. I lent forward and removed it. He gasped again.

`No driver of mine who is willing to test alligator clips needs one.'

`Definitely not, Boss. Thank you.'

`And will you forget about that parking ticket! Give it to Gianni to settle with the other accounts.'

`Yes, Boss, thank you.'

`Now, let's do some shopping. Go over there and get this or last month's brochure of everything you see. Make sure you have the first aid and infirmary one as well for Randy who wants something in elastic bandages.'

As Jess wandered off on a brochure hunt, a PSA attached himself to me out of nowhere and followed me at a discrete distance, a sales limpet, with a slave in tow, were I to need to try out any of the equipment now that my slave was elsewhere. Shariff Khan likes to operate his emporium as a one-to-one personal business without the shadow of a doubt!

In the late afternoon, I visited Masid al-Karif from whose agency I had purchased the burnt out shell of a seaside villa. One of the directors came bustling out when he heard my name being mentioned, but I asked again for Masid as I had dealt with him before.

The director was obsequiousness itself as I was ushered into Masid's smallish office and I smiled as he tried to clear his desk of plans and photos.

`Sir Jonathan, a pleasure to see you.'

I waited for the director to leave and he seemed reluctant to do so.

`I think your boss does not like to lose his commissions. Did you get a commission out of my last purchase?'

Yes, Sir Jonathan. I got the five percent the sales staff do. My wife was very pleased with the new car it bought her,' he said with a smile. How can I help you now?'

`My home is on the Western Road, I want to buy some extra land for farming.'

I smiled to myself as I saw Masid write on a pad what I first thought was a scribble and then I realised that he had written the Arabic equivalent of `l = f'. He had his own shorthand. He made no comment so I continued.

`Close to my home about four hundred to five hundred hectares.'

Masid nodded and turned to his computer screen. Tapped in some letters on a screen and sat back, half-turning the screen to me. Two to three seconds later three red dots appeared on the screen. There was more typing and I recognised the ribbon of the Western Road and the three red dots side by side which were obviously my two Palaces and the three attached farmlands.

`A minimum of four hundred hectares you said, Sir Jonathan?'

I nodded in fascination and suddenly blue plots of lands started to appear on the screen.

The entire country and land ownership is on computer and updated daily,' the estate agent murmured. What is showing at the moment are those areas equal to or in excess four hundred hectares.'

I pointed to two areas one on the far side of the Lime Palace further down the Western Road and the other beside the Lime Palace. Masid named off two of my neighbours. The neighboure beside the Aloe Palace lived there with his family. The farm beside the Lemon Palace was just that - a farm of six hundred hectares. It was owned by an absentee landlord in the capital city. It had no building on it other than some slave outhouses and was directly opposite the al-Siddih Palace. I had met the owner at some of my neighbours' parties and dinners though I had never been in his home. He was one of the neighbours who bought water from me.

`Would it be possible to find out if the property is for sale?'

`Certainly, Sir Jonathan. I can enquire. No name given at this point, of course. Do you have a price limit?'

`Not at the moment, just find out the facts.'

I noted more squiggles being made on the pad. I pointed out another blue spot further down the road and when Masid had mentioned the name of the owner, I knew immediately that it was too far away for my requirements. I pointed to the lands at the back of my Palaces, which on the screen were showing up in green. These I knew were effectively desert areas and hardly green.

`All the green areas are owned by His Excellency and the Council of State. Any land not used by an individual automatically reverts after five years to His Excellency or the Council.'

I smiled to myself and thought how simple Dahran law was in some of its aspects.

`I shall leave the thought with you, Masid. I have asked no other agency, other than raising the matter with a friend. Let me know what you find out. And again, if I buy, the commission is yours.'

Thank you, Sir Jonathan. It may take some days to make all the enquiries,' he said. I don't think my directors or the sales staff are going to be too pleased with losing their cut of the commission,' he said with a smile.

Two days later, as it turned out, the estate agent Masid al-Karif turned up trumps. The reason I had never seen my neighbour whose property adjoined mine on the Western Road except at the rare dinners with the other neighbours was that his eldest son was ill and dying of cancer and he did not attend many social functions. His farming business on the Western Road and elsewhere was being run by a manager -- a distant cousin.

For just under eleven million euro I acquired what was formerly the al-Kadir farm of six hundred and twenty five hectares. The name Kadir' was, I thought, a good omen as it meant green' in the local vernacular. It did not look green, though its plantations of date trees, as view from my property, did seem to flourish.

Unlike the neighbouring al-Shaad property which I had purchased some years previously and which lay directly between the Lemon Palace and the new al-Kadir farm, my neighbour's few slaves who worked it were to go to other farms and locations of their Master. And so it resulted that I acquired no new slaves with the property.

The al-Kadir farm was essentially one used for the production of dates which required only water and a minimum staffing of thirty or so slaves including two overseers who all lived in two outbuildings. When I did inspect these outbuildings, I thought they looked more like barracks.

The first thing I had done was to build an extension of the Long Mile Road as we call it from the Lemon Palace directly down in a straight line to the heart of the new acquisition and to upgrade the road from the outbuildings to the Western Road.

The second thing I did was to burn the two outbuildings where I thought that not even animals should have been housed. Within two days, Stan Mercer, my property Overseer had the burnt out shells cleared away and I had a contractor in building the first of two new slave out-buildings identical to those at the Lemon Palace. Cash on the nail ensures same-day service in Dahra.

In any area of production, it is always best to have those engaged in it under slight but not undue pressure. It is the same with slaves. I had every kofila reduced by its two most unproductive slaves and these formed the backbone of the workforce of the new al-Kadir farm, clearing the whole area and putting down Stan's network of underground water-pipes which is the most difficult and heaviest of the farm work my slaves have to do.

I noticed the arrival of the seven slaves from the opal mine who had been at the mine, six of whom had been there for over five years. The seventh was John Finch, the American whom Greg had asked to be brought back.

I had earmarked John Finch to help Jens in the computer facility. In time, I intended to make each one of the other opan mine slaves the head of a kofila at the new al-Kadir farm after they had settled in for some weeks. They seemed to appreciate the change from the heat of the mine and the new work being given them. However, they were very nervous the first time they met me and I noticed that each one of them came to thank me for his dental treatment once it had been carried out.

The arrival of the Queen of Sheba herself could not have caused more preparations at the Lemon Palace. Pete Downings had the Palace spring-cleaned from solar panels to storage rooms and the cleaning slaves on each floor were doubled.

`Khalila bint Omar is only coming for a long weekend, Pete,' I said to allay his fears. Pete is always over-fearful when guests are concerned even to the oblivion of myself, the Master.

`Boss, it is a reflection not on me. It is a reflection on your entire household of slaves, on me, on Aziz, on the medical staff. On all of us!'

`Pete, don't exaggerate.'

`Boss, I am not. She's a woman. She'll be looking at everything and not only that. I have spoken with Aziz at the Lime Palace. She is the equivalent of a Law Lord, a Supreme Court Judge. She is famous in Dahra for her judgements.'

On that last point, certainly I could agree with a shiver.

As my Head of Household, you will go, of course, to collect her from the capital city and bring her back. Jess can drive you up and back, and let me know what you will be wearing. Jess will be in his greys. Remember local protocols. Always address her as Your Honour' and always stand at least two paces from her, and in the Rolls sit on the far-side jump seat.'

`Yes, Boss, including about twenty other things that Aziz has informed me of about her suite and how to serve her food.'

Clearly, Pete did not relish the thought of my guest arriving but I left him to his duties as he turned to two perspiring slaves cleaning windows.

Dahran protocol as I remembered from the time I was collected for a dinner at Tariq al-Akhri's home had required suitable deference to the guest. I had been collected by his own Head of Household and a chauffeur. I would do not less.

I had noticed that, since the sale of Olaf and Björn to me, Gustav had on the one hand a more relaxed mien and attitude. He appeared even content, but on the other hand, I could see that he was unsettled.

When he knocked on the door of my office at the Bank and stuck his head around just before our elevens', it was sufficient reason to accept his offer to go upstairs for Danish and a coffee in the restaurant.

We helped ourselves to the coffee and each took the pastry over to a side table overlooking the harbour and the sea in the distance.

Never one to beat around any bush, Gustav came to the point immediately.

`Jonathan, if I were to put in for a transfer would you give me a recommendation?'

The coffee was not hot, but it did go down the wrong way and I spluttered my shock into a paper napkin.

`Transfer? Recommendation? Of course, Gustav. But have you thought it out. You are here in Dahra almost thirty years. The place runs like clockwork because you run it. What are you thinking of applying for?'

For one horrible moment, I thought that he was going to apply for a job outside Deckams or even in Dahra. But no, his reply was as lucid and logical as his usual performance and work.

`I noticed there is a spot in Frankfurt and another one in Chicago on this month's list of vacancies.'

Yes, there was. Two of the partners were stepping down. One because of age, the other because of ill-health. Both positions were full partnership ones.

`Gustav, you will have my strongest recommendation for anything you want. But what about your home here? The slaves? Your way of life?'

`Jonathan, my way of life is a shambles. I love owning my slaves, but I can no longer do it. I have never been one to amass goods and chattels. I was under the illusion for so long that they were living with me as friends and companions, when in fact, I was enjoying their ownership. Now I want a change. It was your purchase of Olaf and Björn that really crystallised the idea for me. You are buying the al-Kadir farm. You will need more slaves to help with that. My remaining nineteen you can have. I don't know what to do with the Aloe Palace.'

I was sitting there looking down towards the harbour. I was numb inside. I was about to loose a good friend in Dahra. I could see Gustav's mind was set.

`Gustav, the recommendation you can count on. The Palace and the slaves I can buy from you - no giving here - at the prices you care to mention.'

We finished our Danish in silence and standing up after the coffee, Gustav extended me his hand and we shook.

It was the end of an era both in Dahran banking and at Deckams, and the sealing of a bargain, to boot, all rolled up into one. I always think it quite extraordinary that great events in our lives happen in the blinking of an eye, or in Gustav's case, over coffee and a Danish.

The following morning I found Aziz al-Aziz sitting already at my breakfast table. Always an early riser, he made as if to get up, and I indicated to him to stay put. I noted that he had refused breakfast as there was no cutlery in front of him. As Bob Conrad poured my coffee, the Head of Household came to the point immediately.

`Jonathan, we are going to have a sandstorm.'

I looked at him not understanding the statement. The weather for December had been very changeable alright, but the skies of the morning were totally clear and the final rays of a rising sun were changing from salmon pink to their normal golden yellow.

`A sandstorm?'

`Yes, a sandstorm. Sooner or later within the next weeks it will happen. I want you to give a general instruction that all slaves are not more than one minute's run from any of the Palaces.'

I looked at Aziz again not really understanding what he was saying.

`Jonathan, trust me. We are going to have a sandstorm. Anyone caught out in it can die very easily.'

He let his words hang on the morning air.

I had the Heads of Household and Stables called and gave the general instruction.

Forewarned by one of Food's slaves on point duty on the Lemon Palace roof, I was at the top of the veranda steps as the Rolls swept into the courtyard and pulled up smoothly and smartly.

Jess, the driver, was out in a flash to open the right passenger door and hold it as her Honour Khalila bint Omar descended dressed in a pale yellow suit, a white scarf loosely draped over her hair and low-heeled black shoes.

It is quite amazing what the eye can take in within a split second. She was smiling and as Pete Downings, also smiling, got out the other side of the Rolls, we approached each other. It would appear that they had hit it off.

`Your Honour, welcome to the Lemon Palace and my home.'

Please, Sir Jonathan, this weekend it is Khalila' and I am delighted to have accepted your invitation. I have been so looking forward to it. Thank you for sending your Head of Household to meet me,' and she half-turned in Pete's direction. `It is an old Dahran custom and you honour me.'

Then you must call me Jonathan' as well.'

As we were speaking Food and Drink, in their knee-length chitons and braided cinctures had gone to the boot of the Rolls and were extracting what appeared to be three suitcases. It had been decided that all indoor slaves at the Palace for the duration of this visit would be wearing clothes, as if in the city centre, out of deference to her Honour.

It was late afternoon and the sunset promised to be spectacular. It always appears to be better and clearer in deserts areas which I put down to the purity and clarity of the desert air. Though it can appear at times astonishing in the capital city itself, in the desert, the range of colours and the nuances of shade, changing by the minute, have to be seen to be believed.

As we walked into the foyer of the Palace, I could see that my guest was at her ease.

`I have heard so much of your modern Palaces and how you have blended the modern with the traditional Dahran.'

The small talk was fluid and easy. Any small reservation I might have had was made disappear. Those of Pete Downings appeared to have gone entirely. I noticed him leave us and signal to Ben, my secretary, to follow him.

We sipped some juice in the study, her Honour taking a tomato-juice and I, lime-juice.

`Khalila, there is no set schedule for you for the weekend. We normally eat here from seven onwards when the medical staff and any guests join me. I have a guest here from London also this weekend -- he works at our head office, and another -- a former teacher of mine at my alma mater, my old school. But your time is your own. I would like to show you the cactus gardens in morning light, if you allow me.'

`My pleasure, Jonathan.'

Pete Downings came back in and waited for a lull in the conversation to catch my eye.

`Perhaps, Master, her honour would like to relax after her journey and, before dinner, as I have suggested to her on our drive back, a walk in the water-gardens at sunset.'

`Khalila?'

`A splendid idea, Jonathan. Thank you, Peter.'

A Dahran judge thanking a slave, I thought to myself. And one named Peter? Pete Downings was definitely blushing at the use of his full name.

As her Honour left the study, I noticed Pete nod to Ben Trant who followed them some paces behind with half a dozen or so slave files in the crook of his arm.

Some twenty minutes later as I was finishing off the signing of correspondence which Gianni Centini, my assistant secretary, kept supplying me with as if on a conveyor belt, Pete stood in the study doorway and I beckoned him in.

`Well, Peter?'

He blushed again and smiled.

`Her idea, Boss.'

`I'm sure. Is everything alright so far?'

`Yes, Boss, and everything will be fine. She is a real lady to deal with and quite different to the picture I had of her from you and Aziz.'

`Or is it that you know how to handle women, Pete?'

That as well, Boss,' he said with a grin. We also solved one outstanding issue and that was the companion for a night. When I said that all guests were told of the availability of a companion for a night, she said simply, Tall, blond and handsome, and around thirty, Peter. I'm a widow so I want someone who knows about sex and has a good sex drive.' I think I must have appeared shocked that she was so frank. Because she started to laugh and said, I didn't mean you, Peter.' Any ice that may have been there disappeared at that point.'

`So who have you chosen for her?'

`Boss, she chose herself from the files we brought up. Vitali Belov on the first night and Bryce Sands for the following day.'

Vitali, I could understand, he is blond and handsome, and although Khalila would not have known it, a very good and delicate lover. Bryce Sands was a surprise, but then again, maybe not. He is the ultimate heterosexual, like Stan Mercer, who only turns to his companion because it is the Palace rule. I noticed that she had looked for not only beauty but experience; men rather than boys.

`Bryce? Why Bryce?'

`She saw that he was a widower, and Boss, you must admit he is handsome.'

`Okay, Pete, get on with it. Make sure than none of them utter a word to any other slave about time spent with our guest.'

I had also made sure that any of the slaves like Al Vine, the mercenary, who would be at the Lime Palace anyway, and Daniel and James the two missionaries who had been sentenced in Her Honour's court were moved to the Lime Palace for the three days, and ordered to stay there.

I even moved Stan Mercer to the Lime on the pretext that I wanted a complete inventory check. That pretext in Stan's case was to save embarrassment to a slave whom I dearly love and who has been the foundation of part of my fortune through his discovery of water on the farms. Stan's once and only outburst in court had cost him a lifetime of slavery. Though it was many years previously, I could not risk any chance reoccurrence with another judge.

It pays to be safe rather than sorry.

I finished signing the correspondence of one folder, which Gianni Centini had left on my desk, all but for the last letter where I saw that my surname under the signature line had been misspelled as `Mmartin'. I drew a circle around it and handed it back without comment to Gianni, holding out my hand for the other folder in his hand, which if true to form, would be the various bills to be paid and which would have been initialled by Stan Mercer.

The second folder was not handed to me, but rather a first letter from it, which I saw was the corrected version of the one I had just marked with a circle. As I took it, I saw Gianni, look back over his shoulder at Ben, my secretary, who gave him a nod.

Master,' Gianni said swallowing, Master...'

`Yes?' I said mystified as to what was being enacted.

`Master, I am no longer afraid of you,' was the reply and I could not help but burst out laughing.

`Afraid of me? Not afraid of me? What is going on, Gianni?'

Ben Trant had come over from where he was in the study and put his hand over Gianni's shoulder.

Ever since the moment I arrived here, Master,' Gianni said, I have been afraid of you, that you were going to have me retrained or later I feared that you would put me through the compounds where I knew I could never last a day let alone five weeks. I was afraid then that you would take me from Ben or not be pleased with my work, that is why, at Ben's suggestion, I put in today, the wrong letter for your signature. And you did not even rebuke me for the mistake, but simply marked it for correction.'

`It was a typing error, Gianni, nothing more. I am not going to send you to the compounds for a typing error, maybe for two typing errors, but not for one.'

Gianni's eyes opened wide and he let out a gasp. Ben's hand on his shoulder gripped him tightly and held him in place.

`Gianni, the Master is only joking. He would have to send me first to the compounds for retraining as I am the one responsible for your work.'

Gianni did not took too sure, so I beckoned him close and kissed him on the lips and I whispered to him `if I were you, Gianni, I would be more afraid of Ben who has to punish you if you do wrong. Ben, when did you last punish Gianni for not doing his work properly?'

`Master, I have never had to punish him. Never.'

I slipped my hand under Gianni's chiton and let his balls rest in my hand.

`Are you afraid now, Gianni? Remember your balls are in my hand,' I said as I stroked the underneath of this sand-rock hard penis with my thumbnail.

`No, Master.'

`Why not?'

`Because, because...Master, I love you,' and he closed his eyes as he said it.

I looked at Ben who was smiling.

`Open your eyes, Gianni. Put your name down on the list for some night and both you and Ben can show me how much you both love me. And Ben, you better have learned a new technique or two.'

`Yes, Master.'

It was a pity to release his young balls from my hand, but other matters would not sit as easily or as quietly as his balls.

`Now, Gianni, let us finish the signing of the cheques and correspondence. We have visitors,' and I released his balls and took the second folder from his hand.

Our formal dinner that evening was most civilised with Khalila bint Omar as the guest of honour. Flavio in the kitchens had outdone himself. For an Italian, he does have a love of French cuisine and presented us with as a starter with rilettes de saumon fumé et écrivesses -- a melt-in-the-mouth confit of salmon and crayfish. I noticed that Bob Conrad again had a single serving slave, each clad in a white knee-length chiton with cincture, for each person at the table. Sevil, my sommelier was hovering with refills of wine, water and a selection of fruit juices.

Yves Fournier as usual when he is at the table had chosen the wines, a task which I readily assign to him, and was sticking to Bordeaux wines for the evening with a fine Bonnet for the white and a superb Beychevelle for the red.

As the fish starter was removed, we were treated to a demi-tasse of smoked chicken and spring onion velouté, a small bowl of silken soup, such was its delicate taste to the lips.

When Flavio does formal, he does it right. The electric light had been switched off and the light of two candelabras on the table and that from four others around the dining room was the only illumination.

The filleted slices of loin of lamb -- côtes d'agneau rôti - caused a lull in the conversation as their morel and tarragon filling complemented the Palace's own basil and roast garlic potatoes with winter vegetables in mint sauce, all surrounded by a light gravy of jus au rosemarin.

When Khalila commented on the flavour of the lamb and asked was dinner always as formal which might have been interpreted as rude in other settings, but the gesture of her hands showed her appreciation. It was Miraldo Coelho who really broke any ice by quipping, `Oh, no, your honour, we don't get gravy every evening!'

A crème brulée with a truffle and raspberry coulis was the crowning dessert.

Once evening falls, if there is the slightest wind from the west in over the desert, the scents of the Palace gardens are very much in evidence, and as we sat on the veranda for tea and petits fours after the dinner, the mildest of breezes did its magic and we might as well have been in the heart of the water-gardens.

I noticed that quite early on in the evening Budd Chavez excused himself for the night, no doubt anxiously wanting to meet his Terry Peoples again.

Khalila bint Omar was not drinking alcohol -- a personal preference she had said, nothing to do with local custom -- and once having sipped Bob Conrad's famous lime-juice, she stayed on it for the night. When I had met Khalila in her official capacity, I had witnessed her dangerous side. In this private setting I found her -- engaging, intuitive, attentive to the conversation, utterly polite, and very knowledgeable on a variety of issues.

She and Graham Hodson, my former teacher, discussed social welfare policies at length, as the rest of us nursed our snifters of Armagnac, and we listened in surprise at the joint level of understanding of a topic of no particular interest to the other listeners, a common occurrence when experts on a topic are exchanging views, until the specific absence of social welfare in the Dahran political scene was touched upon.

`Everyone works in Dahra? No need for social welfare?' Graham had queried.

`Apart from pensions for a very small percentage of elderly citizens and widows, yes, ours is a thriving economy with guest-workers being needed for many tasks. It is a question of honour and dignity to work,' Khalila had replied.

This was a point of view close to my own heart and belief.

`Yes, give a person, free or slave a job; a roof over their head and food, and they have a minimum of honour, respect and dignity.'

Khalila smiled.

`Far be it from me to correct my host on a matter of Dahran law, but while the free person can have that honour, respect and dignity, technically the slave as a Master's or a Mistress's property cannot, no more than this glass can have dignity. The concept is western. When we have something of property, we should certainly care for it, and in one sense, respect it by not breaking it, but we do not honour it or give it dignity.'

`Khalila, Dahran law is so very interesting and I shall never argue with you on it,' I replied with a smile.

As I was speaking, Sevil was filling up her Honour's glass with a top-up of lime-juice. Khalila raised a finger just as Sevil was stopping and she nodded her head slightly at him by way of acknowledgement.

`You acknowledge the service of this slave, Khalila, I see. Do slaves in Dahran law have any rights at all?'

`In simple terms, no. However, there is one historical provision, something akin to a precedent in western law, which the courts accept as a type of right for slaves, and that is if the slave takes refuge in a court of law, or in a mosque, and asks for sanctuary from a Master or Mistress who is about to kill him, the court seeks a new owner for the slave.'

Khalila must have seen my surprise. I had first heard of a slave's sanctuary from a neighbour and from Frank Kovacs who ran away to arrive on my doorstep, but I had not known of the function of the court in the matter.

`The court seeks a new owner as the old Master by attempting to kill the slave is effectively saying that the slave has no further use to him. The slave may be of use to a new owner.'

`Very enlightened and very thrifty as well, Khalila.'

Gustav Ahlson caught my eye and indicated that he was going to withdraw and as he did, Khalila bint Omar also started to rise. I noted that Pete Downings was immediately at the dining-room door to accompany her to her suite. Only when we walked out of the dining room, did I see that four household slaves were posted discretely. Pete had his own security rota in place for his guest.

The medical staff having bid their adieus, I saw myself on my own and went into the kitchens to see Flavio. I did not have to say anything just open my arms wide and give him a hug. There must have been at least thirty slaves in the kitchens between serving and kitchen slave proper. At times, words are superfluous and a good gesture is worth a thousand of them. I ruffled his lover Marko's short black hair and gave him a wink and nodded to the rest.

Khalila's words echoed in my mind -- no honour, no respect, no dignity, mere property. Well, Dahran law is fine in theory, but to get the best out of my slaves, I prefer to give them the leeway of my respect for their work and if they find honour and dignity in that, well so be it.

For the slaves who do not really know me, fear is a good substitute for all the other companion virtues and a soft voice is always best accompanied by a long camel-cane.

The following morning, Khalila and I wandered through the now five acres of cactus gardens, followed as we were by their four gardeners in suitable shorts. The early morning light brings out the best in cacti and succulents to my mind and while the hot midday sun might show some of the flowering cacti to best colour advantage, I always feel that the true beauty of the plants is to be seen before the early morning dew has fully lifted.

Pete Downings had provided Basili and Igor with two large coloured umbrellas, and they gave us shade as if we were two Persian pashas.

I was surprised at how knowledgeable Khalila was and when she did not know a species, she waited until its name was supplied. One of the advantages of the smaller types like the Coryphanta, or the Euphoribia obesa, the Gingham golf ball, though not a typical cactus, they can be laid out in patterns, two of which, a half-moon and a scimitar, caused Khalila to stop and pass comment on the design.

I looked back to Georgi and Dieter, who are in charge of the cacti, and asked who had done them, and Dieter came forward and lowering his large bulk down, went on his knees beside me.

`A very hard-working slave as you can see. Originally from Germany.'

Khalila surprised me by speaking in German to the slave still on his knees, who got up on being told to, and then saying a word of praise to him and pointing to a yellow flowering Parodia aureispina, she asked him its name which Dieter gave immediately.

`I thought, Khalila, that you had been educated in Paris?' I said.

`I was, but my husband had been to Heidelberg before Paris and loved to speak German for its precision and accuracy. I am fascinated with the education of your slaves, Jonathan. Peter tells me that all take Arabic and English each day as well as working.'

`They take the classes only until they become proficient.'

`Well, it obviously does not stop at language.'

`I suppose not. Here in the gardens, I always give the plants their correct and full names and tell the gardeners. The same in the kitchens with Flavio, my cook. Proper title and names for the dishes. Is it not best to know what precisely you are cooking or planting?' I asked rhetorically with a smile, and gave Dieter an approving slap on his wide shoulder as he resumed his proper and respectful place behind us.

As we walked along, I told Khalila of my conversation with Tariq al-Akhri about the massive opal and its companion opals which had been found in the mine, and how I wanted to give it to the Sheik for some public purpose.

`You have not heard back from Tariq?'

`No, not yet. It is just a short time ago that I spoke to him about it.'

`The Sheik lives very simply. He believes that all he has is merely held in trust for the tribes. Though you may think of us, Jonathan, as a Dahran people, we are still essentially a nation of tribes. Do not be deceived by the Sheik's Palaces, he would be just as at home in a tent.'

`I sent him four opals some time ago and he gave them to his four wives.'

`Yes, I heard that. You will also have heard that each of the four is from the four most important tribes. Family duty and tribal diplomacy all wrapped into one! Let me think about your opals.'

`I shall show them to you back at the Palace.'

We were just at the far end of the cactus gardens and I told Khalila of my recent purchase of the al-Kadir farm next door and my plans for it.

`Interesting. I met the family many years ago. They were originally in shipping and fishing. I have heard that Mohamed al-Kadir, who himself is now elderly, has a son dying of cancer. But tell me, why have you not asked for the Sheik's favour?'

`The Sheik's favour? I don't understand.'

All land in Dahra if not owned specifically is vested in the Sheik. We call it the Sheik's favour'. All the lands and deserts south and west of you are the Sheik's favour. He can grant any piece of land to anyone who can put it to good use.'

`This is news to me. I have always bought what I have.'

`Yes, I know. My original training in law was property law and I am always interested in who is buying what in Dahra. Your purchases have been wise and prudent ones of existing developed properties, not of fallow land or desert sands. When the Sheik's favour is granted it must be put to use within five years, or it becomes the Sheik's favour again. There is no reason why you could not ask for the Sheik's favour to the west and south outside the tree lines you have growing. You would have to do something with the land, which would be almost useless to anyone else as they would have no road access to it.'

I was looking at Khalila and thought that she was trying to tell me something.

`Who would be able to tell me what property in the Sheik's favour is available to be requested, Khalila?'

She smiled and said, Allow me this small service. It has nothing to do with the law or influencing judgements or anything like that. It is nothing more than looking up the computerised registers, like looking up the telephone directory, and seeing what is available. I shall send the results to Karim al-Kibbe, who if you want can prepare the petition of the Sheik's favour'.

`I wouldn't want it to appear that I was buying the Sheik's favour by then giving him the opals.'

`Hmm, no, you wouldn't want that. As I say, let me think about the opals.'

Despite the protection of the umbrellas, the morning was warming up.

`Khalila, it is beginning to get hot. Let me walk you back to the Palace.'

As we walked back towards the Palace -- I even saw that Pete Downings had two sand buggies manned at a discrete distance were they to be needed -- Khalila seemed pensive for some moments then said, `Jonathan, I hope I don't annoy you, were I to make a request.'

`Not at all. How can I be of service?'

`The request is part-personal, part-curiosity, but also partly connected with my public duties.'

`Khalila, under any of these headings I could hardly refuse, and even if you did not have a reason, again, how could I refuse a guest in my home?'

`In the recent history of Dahra, we have never been subject to the type of invasion which occurred from those ill-led mercenaries.'

For all her small and petite stature, there was most certainly a dangerous side to Khalila bint Omar, though one could never say that to her as a guest or vent any suspicion of it. Her visit to my home was a private one, but even a high ranking official can subtly call into play the powers of office whether diplomatically or not. I wondered where Khalila was leading and had not long to wait in finding out.

`Forty two criminal mercenaries escaped execution by a legal whisker and you have them securely contained at your mine facility located in the Seventh Desert. I understand that one has been brought back here to your Palaces.'

I wondered if there were any secrets at all in Dahra. Had someone spoken out of school or by accident? I doubted there was a spy, in the loosest sense of the word, in my Palaces. But thinking of Dahra and its satellite surveillance systems, I am sure that criminals in the Dahran penal system are red-tagged and red-dotted on police and security maps with their compulsory GPS ankle bracelets.

`Yes, Khalila, I had one of the slaves brought back here.'

I had not referred to Al Vine either as a criminal which he was in Dahran law, or as a mercenary which he had been in the murky world of hireable former military personnel and private armies waiting for another war or skirmish.

`His name is Al Vine.'

`Yes, I know. May I see him?'

`Indeed, I'll have him called. He works at the Lime Palace' and I pointed at the Palace in the distance up the Long Mile Road as we call it. I clicked my fingers and Pete Downings was at my side.

`Take a buggy to the Lime Palace and have Al Vine run back here at the double.'

We strolled across the courtyard over to the water-garden opposite the end of the Lemon Palace which occupies all of fifty five thousand square feet and, due to the ingenuity of Stan Mercer and his team and the abundant labour of the garden slaves, is quite an impressive sight of fountains and waterways, of rolling, cascading and still waters, and of the lush green water lilies which abound given heat and fertiliser in their aquatic environment.

We sat down under a pergola close to a cascading sequence of overflowing bowls of differing heights and sizes. The rays of the sun were playing with the water droplets in the air, and every so often, the eye would be pleasured with a miniature split-second rainbow refraction.

Khalila's request, if the truth be told, left me slightly uneasy. I had deliberately sent all judge-related slaves to the Lime Palace. And now she had asked not just for any one slave, but one whom she had jointly sentenced to slavery in my ownership.

We talked of things small and incidental, an upsurge of graffiti writing -- three cases in the past year in the capital city -- a record by Dahran standards; the opening of the new wing of a hotel in the capital city - that I knew of as Deckhams had financed it; a new business course with a minor in international law at the university. It was as if there was a reticence to talk of important and substantial matters -- the defence of the Sheikdom from intruders, the security of the State from criminals.

The arrival back of Pete Downings saved the search for further conversation saving topics.

`Master, the slave is on his way now. I came on ahead to inform you.'

As he spoke, Al Vine sprinted from the direction of the road and across the first of the lawn gardens surrounding the water-garden. He ran to a stop, dropped to his knees and made a full obéisance before myself and Khalila. A wisp of steaming perspiration was rising from his back as I said Up', and the slave went to display' with his hands clasped behind his neck. If he was fazed at being in the presence of a woman, he did not show it and his eyes had not met mine and were now fixed in the middle distance aimed somewhere above my head. If he had recognised Khalila from his day in court, neither did he show that recognition.

I turned my head and inclined it towards Khalila, and nodded to her as words were superfluous.

Wisps of steam where rising from the slave. His musculature was perfect, skin without a blemish, a deep all-over tan and in his nakedness, all visible body hair with the exception of his damp axilla hairs very nicely barbered.

With a flick of my head I indicated to Pete Downings to draw back which he did.

Khalila was looking at the slave whose only vestige of covering in his nudity was a gold necklace, and as I side-glanced at her, I realised with a modicum of trepidation that in some seconds she had changed from being my guest to being a judge of the sheikdom. There was something intangible, yet very present, in her demeanour, something dark and terrible which the authority of her office gave her.

If there were ever a case of a mongoose looking at a hapless snake this was it. There was a coiled spring somewhere in the air that could be unleashed at will. There was the whiff of power and looking at Al Vine, I saw that he had sensed it as well.

The perspiration, which had been steaming off him after his hard run, was now reduced to two lines of sweat running from his arm-pits and down each side of his chest. A single bead of sweat on either side of his body as clear a tell-tale sign of anxiety, or even fear, as ever there was.

`You were Al Vine, were you not?'

Khalila's voice was quiet, but in its quietness, it carried.

Surprised at being addressed by my guest and not by me, I saw Al fluster as he replied, `Yes, s..., I mean, Yes, ma'am,' as he focused his eyes over the head of Khalila.

`You are still known here as Al Vine?'

`Yes, ma'am,' and Al glanced over at me and then away very quickly.

`Why are you not at the secure facility where the other criminals are?'

`Ma'am, my Master brought me to work here, ma'am.'

`Which is a lot easier than working in the temperatures of the Seventh Desert, I am sure.'

It was not a question and I caught myself pursing my lips, as a frightened Al Vine, gave a cautious non-committal, `Ma'am' of reply.

`Do you deserve to be here?'

`Ma'am, I only deserve what my Master wishes to give me or what my Master wishes to take from me. I am here to serve my Master any way he wishes, ma'am.'

I thought the reply was a good and safe one.

Khalila was quiet for a moment and then said `Have you thought of escaping from Dahra?'

That I thought was a clever question. It would damn the slave if he said yes' and show him to be a liar, if he said no'.

`Ma'am, not since coming to the Lime Palace. At the mine, I thought of getting out of that place and out of the heat every day, ma'am.'

`And why not since coming here? Is life that easy here as a slave?'

`Ma'am, my Master has given me an important job here. He has given me a gold necklace for being an obedient slave. He has given me a companion and someone to help me in my work, ma'am. And also I know I cannot escape, ma'am,' and he looked down at the ankle bracelet.

Al was breathing deeply.

`Ma'am, life here was not easy at the beginning as it was new. I have lost my other life, my wife, my kids. My wife has married again to a good person and I am happy for her and my kids. Now my life is to serve my Master and in many ways that is easy to do here. I am learning Arabic every day, ma'am, and I am happy with my life here, ma'am. It is different and at times difficult, but I am content and happy, ma'am.'

Khalila looked at the slave.

`But not sorry or remorseful for having invaded this country?'

`Ma'am, I did not even know the country existed until two weeks before we landed. No disrespect, ma'am, but it was just another job, ma'am.'

`For which you are going to pay until the day you die. And you're content and happy about that?'

`Ma'am, I cannot change the past. Now, I am what I am. I am here to serve my Master whom I respect and obey in every way, ma'am.'

I looked at Khalila and saw again the severe nature of her office revealing itself in her countenance. Her country had been invaded. She had punished the invaders and had she and the other judge had their way, this conversation would not have taken place, as all forty two surviving mercenary invaders would have been dispatched by scimitar the morning following their trial.

`And as a slave, what do you now fear the most?'

`Ma'am, I would fear what would follow the death of my Master.'

Now that I thought to myself was a good answer and one that every one of my slaves should give. For with my death in their mind, total uncertainty as to their futures would follow.

The slave's last reply hung in the air. The dribbles of sweat from under his arms had dried such is the power of the Dahran climate even in the early afternoons.

`Do you want the slave returned to the mine for security's sake?' I asked Khalila.

Though I was not looking at Al Vine, I sensed him shiver at the question.

Khalila was a trifle slow in answering.

`No, Jonathan, I think security is fine in this slave's case if his obedient attitude is to be fully believed, though with slaves it is my long experience that you can never completely tell. I just wish to be as sure that the security of the other forty one trained mercenaries poses no threat to the nation.'

`Nothing further with this slave?'

Nothing further, Jonathan. Thank you for summoning him,' and addressing Al Vine directly, she said make sure that you are utterly obedient to your Master at all times. A Dahran court will not allow you to live a second time,' and with a wave of her hand, she dismissed my slave.

I did not see Khalila bint Omar for the rest of the day and it was not until just before dinner that I had the opportunity to have Ben Trant take the opals from the Palace safe to show them to her.

`Ah, Jonathan, I see your problem. I have never seen such size or magnificence. Their beauty alone deserves a solution worthy both of your generosity and of Dahra. As I say, let me think about it.'

Khalila bint Omar's stay at the Lemon Palace was that of a perfect guest. She might hardly have been there for the minimal upset she had caused. Pete Downings was smiling any time I saw him. I saw Vitali Belov, who had been her night companion on the first night, in the distance, with a sunny expression and none the worse for wear. So, I felt that things might not have been anyway close to the disaster that Pete had presaged.

On the Sunday morning very early she returned to the capital city for a late morning sitting of the courts, I saw her off from the Lemon Palace. Jess would take her back in the Rolls and Aziz al-Aziz, my Head of Household at the Lime Palace, had offered to accompany her back the previous evening at dinner -- an offer that she readily accepted. She surprised Pete Downings by giving him a box of local coloured marzipans, If I may Jonathan...' on the veranda steps, One for you' she said to Pete, `and one for each of the slaves who have looked after me so well on your Master's behalf.'

Pete was clearly bursting with pride.

`It has been my privilege, your Honour, to serve you on behalf of my Master. I can only hope that you will return soon, so that we can be of service to you again.'

I took my leave of Khalila. I think she genuinely enjoyed her weekend. The Rolls would be back in two hours to bring me in to the Bank. It looked as if it would be a scorcher of a day, as indeed it turned out to be. The weather for late December was most unsettled.

End of Chapter 17

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