Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/40367.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Highlander:_The_Series
  Relationship:
      Methos/Duncan_MacLeod
  Character:
      Methos, Duncan_MacLeod, Joe_Dawson
  Additional Tags:
      Highlander_-_Freeform, Slash, Alternate_Universe, Desert_romance
  Series:
      Part 1 of LOVE'S_FIERY_TEMPEST
  Stats:
      Published: 2001-05-20 Chapters: 12/? Words: 38533
****** LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST ARC 1: Journey Into The Sahara ******
by roryheadmav
Summary
     Methos is still reeling from a painful betrayal and the death of his
     wife. In order to forget his pain, he undertakes a perilous journey
     into the desert to escort the male concubine of a notorious emir. But
     there is more to this concubine than meets the eye.
Notes
     Let me begin by saying that this is NOT "Seduction of the Desert
     Prince", although it almost came so close to being a clone of the
     Krell's desert saga.
     LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST was originally meant to be my entry for "The
     Tempering Forge" contest on HLQC. However, when I saw that it was
     getting dangerously similar to "Desert Prince", I decided to take it
     out of the desert and changed the setting to Glenfinnan.
     Unfortunately, it obviously didn't work out in this different locale
     that I decided to scrap it altogether.
     Years later, I decided to post the mangled draft of TEMPEST at the
     request of my list sibs on the Highlander Mavericks (HLM) list. It
     was they who pointed out to me that the story was worth
     salvaging...IF it were returned to its original desert setting. I did
     so with much apprehension, fearing that I might end up making another
     clone of "Desert Prince."
     This NEW version of LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST is the result.
     There are four story arcs in this story. The first and second story
     arcs are finished and were previously hosted in HLQC. The third and
     fourth story arcs were posted exclusively in the HLM Yahoo Group.
     Because there is a demand for people to read the remaining arcs, I've
     decided to post them here. Please take note though that the final arc
     remains UNFINISHED. Thanks to certain nasty people in HL fandom, I've
     lost the interest and the drive to finish it.
     This story would not be possible if it were not for the members of
     HLM, who pushed, bribed and threatened me at pain of death, to
     rewrite this tale. Obviously, LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST is dedicated to
     all the members of HLM, particularly Mary (who gave me the means to
     finish this story as well as write other tales), Camimac (whose
     feedback proved valuable to the making of this story), Eng (for her
     patience and for housing my stories in HLQC), Sheeza, Annie, Jeanine,
     Janet, CTaylor, Daisy, Corky, Cyndy, Meave and so many, many others
     who never ceased in giving me encouragement and keeping my vision
     straight.
     I hope you enjoy my little desert yarn, even if unfinished. This may
     not be "Desert Prince", but I tried my darnedest to come up with a
     tale that has its lofty standards.
***** Chapter 1 *****
CHAPTER ONE
 
The sun was setting, casting a fiery glow upon the grassy knoll and the tiny
cross marking the grave on top of it. A lone figure stood before the grave -- a
young man with unruly, shoulder-length hair that was as black as night. He was
clad in a sleeveless shirt, trousers and riding boots. His red cloak fluttered
in the wind. Bending down, he laid a bunch of wild flowers on the grave.
        "It's not long enough," he whispered sadly. "For awhile, I thought we'd
be together forever, but it wasn't meant to be. You even made me forget the vow
I made. But the wheel has turned once again, and I must settle the unfinished
business I've neglected to attend to for the past twenty-five years. Forgive
me, my darling Alexa! Wherever you are, I hope you'll understand why I have to
break my promise to you."
        Behind him, a man cleared his throat. Turning, he saw the scribe who
had come to fetch him. He has a kind face, the face of a man you could trust
with your life and the secret of your Immortality. His hair and beard were
flecked with gray. In his hand, he held a cane. He was aware that the scribe
had lost both his legs in the wars and, now, uses wooden legs to replace the
limbs he had lost. But his infirmity didn't stop him from going where he liked.
Once a warrior, always a warrior.
        "We must be on our way, Methos," the scribe urged him. "The caravan
leaves in three months and you must see my Master before we depart."
        "Which master are you referring to?" the Immortal queried, his eyes
narrowing in suspicion. "Joseph, I am finding this very confusing. You told me
that your Master desires my services in leading the caravan through the desert,
to ensure the safety of his prized whore. If he needs me that badly, he could
afford to wait."
        "No, not THAT master," Joseph replied, the disdain obvious in his
voice. "I was talking about my TRUE master, him whom I serve at all times.
Forgive me, but it is not my place to explain. He will be the one to answer all
your questions. However, it is imperative that you speak with him in secrecy. I
believe he has...a boon...to ask of you."
        "Does he know that my services do not come cheap?"
        The scribe frowned at that question. It was against his better judgment
to approach this Immortal with that other, "unofficial" matter. Methos'
apparent greed only raised more doubts as to his worth to his Master.
Unfortunately, he had no choice but to fulfill the task that was given him.
However, he swore to himself that he will keep a close eye on this most ancient
of all Immortals.
        "Yes, he does," Joseph confirmed. "And he is willing to pay
handsomely."
        A grin quirked up the corners of the Immortal's lips. "If that's the
case, I accede to your desire for haste. Don't worry, Joseph! We shall make
it."
        Looking back at the grave, Methos blew a kiss. "Farewell, Alexa!"
        With long, confident strides, the Immortal went towards the scribe.
        Putting a hand on his shoulder, Methos declared, "Come, Joseph! We
shall ride!"
 
        It was way past midnight when their ship arrived in El Djezair. The
inhabitants of the port city were hushed in deep slumber. The two men
disembarked, leading their horses down the gangplank. With Methos' assist, the
scribe got on his chestnut mare. Fitted to the horse was a special saddle,
built for his specific needs.
        "This way," Joseph whispered in his ear, pointing to the heart of the
city.
        Methos frowned as he gazed in the opposite direction where a majestic
edifice of white marble stood. "I thought we're going to the Palace?" His white
Arabian stallion, Thanatos, fidgeted restlessly, aware of the unease in his
master.
        "No," the scribe replied. "Not there. That is the official residence of
my lord the Emir's esteemed friend, the Sultan. He has, in turn, allotted
different...lodgings...for my master that are specific to his duties."
        Though he was burning with curiosity, Methos chose not to pry and,
instead, followed the scribe into El Djezair. All his questions will be
answered in due time.
        The two men rode into the city, following a torturous route. Methos
knew the reason for this. Ever since they arrived, he could feel eyes watching
them. However, as Methos suspected, their pursuers were not content with just
watching them. Sure enough, as they turned at a street corner, hooded thugs
wielding scimitars immediately accosted them.
        "THIEVES!" Joseph shouted in alarm as his horse reared up.
        But then, as the ancient was about to unsheathe his Ivanhoe, a dark
shadow leaped from the rooftop, the sword in his hand flashing in the
moonlight. Before both men could even blink, pained cries escaped from the
robbers' lips as the shadow zipped between them. In that split second, Methos
had seen how their rescuer slashed each man down by swinging his blade in a
wide circle. The robbers didn't stand a chance against that deadly move. The
thugs fell dead to the ground.
        Methos was surprised to find that their rescuer was clad in the garb of
the infamous Japanese assassin, known as the ninja. From head to toe, he was
dressed entirely in black. His face, though hidden in shadow, was also covered
by a mask. But the ancient could feel his eyes upon him, measuring him. The
Immortal granted him that same intense perusal. This young man would be a
worthy adversary. However, if he were to fight this warrior, the only death
that the ancient could give him was a swift decapitation, for the assassin
before him was a member of his kind, although not yet born to life eternal.
        With a salute, their mysterious savior literally flew into the air and
vanished at the rooftops.
        Methos handed the reins to Joseph. "Take my horse! I'll catch up with
you!"
        Before the scribe could argue, the Immortal leaped to the roof as well.
Joseph's jaw dropped at the sight of the two men's extraordinary agility.
        On the rooftops, Methos pursued the assassin, leaping from building to
building, house to house. Anyone who would watch the two men from the highest
tower would think that they were flying. At certain points where the houses
were meters apart, they were actually gliding, their feet moving as if they
were walking on air.
        "Wait!" called Methos, seeing the distance between them increasing. "I
want to talk to you!"
        The assassin came to a halt, standing on the narrow edge of a stone
wall, his lithe figure silhouetted in the brightness of the full moon. Instead
of answering, he again gave the Immortal a snappy salute and jumped down. As he
stepped onto the wall, Methos saw the ninja disappear into the shadows of the
compound. As the ancient leaped down, he startled Joseph's horse that had just
entered through a small gate. Methos grabbed the reins, swiftly bringing the
animal under control.
        "You scared me half to death!" the scribe exclaimed as Methos helped
him down. It did not escape Joseph's notice that Thanatos, which tagged along
behind him, remained calm, a trait of a battle-ready steed.
        "The ninja!" Methos said breathlessly. "He's here!"
        "I don't think so. Wherever his home is, it is definitely not here.
This place is too well-guarded for anyone to get in or out."
        "You could make an exception of ninjas."
        Joseph gave the Immortal a meaningful smile. "I don't think we have
anything to worry about this particular ninja."
        "Why do you say that?"
        "Didn't he just save our lives? I've heard that he has been helping the
poor citizens of this city. He steals money from thieves and brigands, and
distributes it to the poor folk."
        Methos smiled wryly. "A hero, is he?" Ignoring Joseph's pointed glare,
he asked, "Where are we?"
        Earlier, he had a good view of the compound. A lavish garden surrounded
this rectangular edifice made of marble. Before it was a large courtyard. The
compound was enclosed by high stone walls. Judging from the yellowing of some
of the stones, it was obvious that the walls had been standing for a very long
time now and had new stones added only recently. Aside from the main doors in
front, the only other entrance to the building was a small wooden side door.
        "My Master would not have us go through the main doors," Joseph
whispered to him as he tapped on the door three times using the rusty ring. "He
wants your early arrival here kept a secret as much as possible."
        The Buzz hit Methos like a ton of falling bricks. Then, the door was
opened by a Black man in flowing desert garb. He was sporting an even darker
beard and a mustache. On his head, he wore a turban.
        "He waits for you," the man said. "Allah be praised that you have
finally arrived!"
        "This is Khassim," Joseph introduced the moor. "My Master's personal
bodyguard."
        "I have been ordered to protect the one you shall speak with." He then
parted his robe a bit to reveal his scimitar. "And I shall do so with my life."
        "Your Master will not come to harm at my hands," the Immortal swore to
him. "I have been hired to lead the caravan into the desert, and bring the
Emir's prized whore back to his realm."
        The moor's eyes narrowed at that word "whore." Turning to Joseph,
Khassim said, "Good thing that you arrived at this time. Kamir went to the
Palace to get the Emir's latest instructions. I suspect that we shall be
leaving tomorrow."
        Joseph nodded. "Then, we'll have all the privacy we need."
        Khassim waved the two men in. "Come! I will take you to him."
        Joseph quickly interrupted, "There is no need, Khassim. Just stand
watch, my friend. There are many eyes watching in the city tonight. And we need
to be warned of Kamir's arrival."
        Khassim simply nodded his head and strode off into the garden.
        As the two men walked on, Methos found himself disturbed by the
building's design. Covering a large area and only two storeys high, it
obviously housed many rooms. But the windows were too small, covered by
intricate latticework that it was impossible to see through.
        The minute they entered, the Immortal smelled the heady aroma of
perfume and incense. They went through a small corridor with closed rooms on
both sides. At the end of the hallway was a huge public bath. The floors were
tiled with marble. Steps led down into the scented pool. Lilies floated on the
water.
        "What is this place?" Methos couldn't help but ask. "It looks like a
harem."
        Joseph opened another small door. Glancing back at the Immortal, he
replied, "As a matter of fact, yes, it is."
        "For a royal whorehouse," Methos remarked, "there seems to be a lack of
activity."
        "My young Master...he is a power unto himself." The scribe said this
with obvious pride. "Since he came to El Djezair, he had all but taken complete
control of the harem, much to the chagrin of the Sultan. But the Sultan
eventually saw things his way."
        "I don't understand."
        Joseph laughed. "Before we came here, this harem was a war zone. The
concubines constantly bickered, or worse, fought among themselves as to who was
the Sultan's favorite. Just imagine it -- a household of very unhappy women all
enamored over one man. Even the Sultan himself was having difficulty
controlling them. What my Master did was to divide the women into groups,
allotting a specific day for each group to visit the Palace. Sometimes, he
changes the schedules depending upon the needs of the Sultan, but he always
makes certain that each woman gets to go to the palace, at least once a week.
This way, none of the women get neglected. Each gets to spend time with their
beloved Sultan. Since each of the women possesses...special skills, the
Sultan's always guaranteed a variety to keep him interested. Of course, my
young Master is adamant about assigning a day of rest for the women, like today
-- a day wherein they could just be themselves and forget their roles as royal
prostitutes. Even the Sultan benefits from this day of rest as well -- no
kingdom to worry about, no women to bother him with their petty rivalries."
        "But what about the days when the women are supposed to go to the
Palace?"
        "That is the best part," Joseph beamed. "My Master has discovered that
the concubines have other, more important, skills. Some are excellent weavers,
painters or pottery makers. Others are wonderful cooks. Many of the older
mistresses are healers. He thought it a shame that such great talents were
being  wasted. Without discussing it with anyone, my master opened the doors of
the harem to the poor citizens of El Djezair. He assigned specific tasks to the
women to make them productive, and especially to give them back that feeling of
self-worth. Those who excel in handicrafts taught the wives in the city. The
healers treated the sick, and passed on their knowledge to the young women. The
Sultan's oldest mistress taught little children how to read and told them
stories."
        "This is unprecedented!" Methos gaped at Joseph in shock. "How did the
Sultan react to this?"
        "At first, he was very angry. He even ordered that my Master be put to
the lash for his impertinence. En masse, the concubines went to the Palace and
spoke in my Master's defense, saying that they found pleasure and fulfillment
in serving the Sultan's subjects. Not only that, the people themselves have
expressed their joy that their great ruler had sent his beautiful wives to
alleviate some of their hardships and give them hope. The Sultan saw the import
of my Master's wisdom and ordered that he be released to oversee the running of
his estate while he is still in El Djezair."
        "You and Khassim speak very fondly of him," the Immortal commented,
before quickly adding, "for a whoremaster."
        "It's not just us. All the people who live within these walls love him.
He means a lot to everyone here. Even the Sultan has seen his great worth.
Unfortunately, the esteemed ruler could do nothing, since my Master is the
valued...servant...of his good friend, the Emir. The Emir is a very powerful
man among the desert tribes. The Sultan could not risk an all-out war with the
Bedouin over a servant."
        Methos said thoughtfully, "Is he truly that important to you?"
        "More than you know. Khassim is not the only one willing to die for
him." Joseph looked sharply at the Immortal. "I will not allow that he be hurt
in anyway, as well as the whore he is tasked to protect."
        The ancient grinned. "You have gotten my curiosity piqued, and it's not
just because of your mysterious master. My instincts are telling me that our
elusive friend, the ninja, is a member of this caravan. There is more to this
situation than meets the eye. If there is anything I love more than getting my
revenge, it's solving an intriguing mystery."
        "Revenge?" Joseph frowned.
        "That is my business, I'm afraid. Not yours." Methos clapped his hands
in eagerness. "Well, when do I meet this Master of yours?"
        They stopped before two large doors. "Perhaps sooner than you think."
        It was then that Methos felt it -- a faint vibration in the air, like
the gentle wind being elicited by a butterfly's flapping wings upon his face.
        Joseph flung the doors open for the Immortal. Methos saw that it was a
receiving chamber for important guests. There was a large chair on the dais, a
smaller seat at its right side. But Methos' eyes focused upon the figure
sitting on the steps.
        Like Khassim, the man was dressed in Arab garments. But from head to
toe, he was all in black. He wore a turban on his head, the tail covering his
face, that only his piercing dark eyes could be seen. The man had no idea that
he was a Pre-Immortal.
        "You could have used the chairs," the ancient suggested.
        The man was obviously taken aback by that statement. His head fell back
as he laughed, his voice a rich baritone. He then stood up with flawless grace.
        "Do you want to know the language of chairs?" the man asked him as he
went up the dais. Going towards the larger seat, he placed his left hand on the
armrest while laying his right elbow on the back. "It would be presumptuous of
me to sit in this chair since I am not the true master of this harem."
        "And the one on the right?" queried Methos.
        There was bitterness in the man's voice as he went behind the smaller
chair. "Just a cruel reminder of your actual place in the grand scheme of
things." He changed the subject. "But we're not here to talk about chairs."
        Methos cocked an eyebrow up. "What are we going to talk about exactly?"
        Disregarding his earlier statement, the man sat in the large chair. "I
need a teacher, and I was hoping you would be the one."
        The Immortal was confused by this statement. "Teach you what?"
        "The art of the sword."
        It was Methos' turn to be caught by surprise. "Why me? Why not
Khassim?"
        "Khassim's knowledge of the sword is very limited. I've had other
teachers. But it's still not enough. I want to learn from a Master and an
Immortal, like you, Methos."
        "I don't understand. You lead a very sheltered life. Why do you need to
learn swords work?"
        The man let out a wistful sigh. "Because I have no intention of living
the rest of my life like this. I have been denied my true destiny long enough."
        "And what is your 'true destiny'?"
        "That is no longer your concern," the man said curtly.
        "Where will I teach you?" asked Methos. "If you want me to teach you in
secret, it would be difficult in the desert. And you need a blade."
        "That won't be a problem. There are places in the desert where we could
spar in secrecy. I cannot keep a fixed schedule, however, on account of my
duties. When I find the time, which will usually be at night, I will ask Joseph
or Khassim to fetch you, or I shall do so myself. An hour or two would suffice.
I am a fast learner." The man paused. "As for a sword, you may think I have
none, but I do, though I do not carry it out in the open. The minute they see
me with a blade, they will confiscate it and have me flogged. I am not allowed
to bear a sword, you see." He gave a wry laugh. "I guess they're afraid that I
might hurt myself."
        "Do you want to do that?" Methos asked. "Hurt yourself?"
        "There was a time when I contemplated it," the man admitted. "But I
cannot fulfill my destiny if I'm dead now, can I? At this moment...well, I
think my Master and his...associates...should be concerned about my hurting
THEM more than anything else."
        A grin quirked up Methos' lips. "I love a cunning fellow! However,
there is something more to this...arrangement. Something I find...suspicious."
        With a quick nod to Joseph, the scribe came forward and handed his
Master a pouch, who then held it out to Methos. Taking it, the Immortal looked
inside and saw that it was filled with gold.
        "I intend to make it worth your while. Aside from  leading the caravan,
Methos, I am willing to pay you with gold for the lessons," the man stated
firmly. "Also, you may avail of the...services...provided here this evening. I
have heard you recently lost your beloved wife. A lonely man needs comforting
in a warm bed."
        At these words, three robed woman emerged from the shadows. The
torchlight seductively silhouetted their naked forms within their billowing
garments.
        Methos shook his head. "No. I need no women."
        There was silence as the man looked at him. Standing up, he said,
"Perhaps...you have other tastes. You seek variety this time around."
        Before the Immortal could answer  in the negative, the man gestured to
Joseph once more. "Take him to the special chamber."
        It seemed to Methos that the scribe knew what his Master was talking
about, "But, Master..."
        "He is a guest in this, our temporary home, Joseph," he answered
softly, with such weariness in his voice. "I want him entertained, to see
exactly what we could offer him." He bowed to the Immortal. "Please accept my
hospitality, Methos. So you could seriously consider my request."
        Before he could leave, Methos exclaimed. "Wait!" The man looked at him
curiously. "If I should decide to teach you, what should I call you? You
already know my name."
        "You want to know my name?" He thought for a moment. "You may just call
me 'Shinno'."
        "Shinno..." the ancient tested the name on his tongue. "The Japanese
word for 'prince'."
        Methos felt a gentle tug on his arm. Joseph stood at his side,
motioning to him that they should leave. The ancient was about to accord the
whoremaster a gracious bow, but he stopped when he saw that Shinno was gone,
the movement of the curtains marking his departure.
 
        As the two men walked deeper into the harem, Methos commented, "I was
going to say 'yes'."
        "It doesn't matter," Joseph assured him. "Shinno is right. You are a
guest here. Even if you had answered 'no,' we couldn't allow your not seeing
the services we provide here."
        Methos laughed. "'Services'? You must mean prostitution."
        "I do not want to call it that exactly. But then again, in a way, that
is true." Joseph gazed disappointingly at the Immortal beside him. "But may I
remind you that the people here did not choose to be this way. Fate and
circumstances forced them to live like this." He looked knowingly at Methos.
"If I remember correctly, in your distant past, you were once a prostitute
yourself."
        "But there are always choices, Joseph. They could leave this kind of
life if they wanted to, like I have done."
        "If the master is a kind and loving one like the Sultan, I doubt that."
The scribe shook his head. "But not if they have a master like the Emir."
        Soon, they stopped before a small door.
        "Where are we, Joseph?" Methos' voice was suddenly hushed. "Who's in
there?"
        There was a sad, little smile on the scribe's face. "Only the best we
have to offer."
        When Joseph opened the door, the Immortal found himself inside a
beautiful chamber. A large fountain and a scented bath were constructed in one
corner. Another corner held a small library with an assortment of books and an
escritoire. Methos couldn't help but grimace as his eyes fell upon two racks,
filled with an assortment of devilish-looking devices and chains. He knew
immediately what they were used for.
        Noticing what caught the Immortal's eye. Joseph remarked, "The Sultan
is known for his perverse tastes."
        "I could see that."
        It was then that Methos saw the huge four-poster bed. With its great
size, he had no doubt that, at the most, six people could lie in it. But at
this moment, only one was lying on the bed, covered by a white sheet that was
tacked securely to the wooden frame. Whether it was female or male, the
Immortal could not tell from the dim torchlight. Judging from the coils of silk
around the four posts of the bed, Methos knew the person was tied.
        Turning to the scribe, the Immortal asked, "Don't tell me that this
is...""
        Going towards the bed, Joseph revealed, "The Emir's favorite. Born deaf
and dumb, but the flesh speaks more than words. However, under no circumstances
are you allowed to behold the face of the Emir's concubine, nor that of
Shinno's. That pleasure is reserved for the Emir alone."
        "The Emir may not like me bedding his prized whore," mused the
Immortal.
        "He will never know, I assure you. There are small tears on the sheet.
You may put your hands through them and examine and use my lord's concubine to
your heart's desire."
        For awhile, Methos could not move. Despite his hesitation, he slowly
raised his hand and slid it through the tear where he could discern a face.
        At once, his hand encountered a soft, smooth cheek. His fingers
caressed the bone, going down to the ear, tracing the shape. Then, Methos felt
silky hair that disappeared down that strong back.
        Releasing the strands, Methos' hand went over the neck, feeling a
distinct prominence over the throat.
        "He's a man!" the ancient exclaimed in shock.
        Joseph asked in dismay. "Is he not to your liking?"
        But as Methos' fingers cupped the other cheek, the man turned his face
to his open palm and pressed his lips to it in a most gentle kiss. He rubbed
his face against the Immortal's hand, like a puppy nuzzling on his master's
hand. Methos gasped as his middle finger was captured by pillowy soft lips and
the tip sucked on.
        As that talented mouth worked on his finger, Methos felt the tongue
lick the length. The lips moved.
        Please! Methos swore that was the word being formed on those lips.
PLEASE!
        Gently, the Immortal pulled his hand out of the man's mouth and through
the tear.
        Removing his clothing slowly, Methos answered the question Joseph had
asked him earlier. "We shall see."
        With a bow, the scribe retreated to the curtains in the far corner of
the room. Methos knew Joseph had not left yet and was keeping an eye on the
Emir's prized whore. But for now, this exquisite creature was his.
        When he had stripped, Methos climbed up on the bed, straddling the
writhing form. Finding two large tears, he reached both his hands through,
tracing the lines of the strong arms to the silken ties around his wrists.
Descending, his palms cupped the hard mounds of his chest, his fingers playing
with the sprinkling of soft down. When his hands found the tiny nipples, the
body beneath him twitched.
        Methos stretched out on the bed. His lips caressed the covered face,
smelling the delicious scent of apples, jasmine and incense. As he kissed the
man, his fingers played with the nipples, pulling and pinching them into
hardened nubs. Judging from the reactions he was eliciting from the body
beneath him, the whore had not expected to pleasure an experienced lover. And,
truly, Methos was a master at many things.
        Both men were aroused by the passions consuming them. Their cocks had
hardened, thrusting eagerly like a pair of swords in a duel, the fabric of the
sheet, the only thing keeping them at bay.
        As Methos' hips moved, his member found a tear between the man's legs.
With a twist of his body, he slipped his cock through the tear, his weeping tip
brushing against a thigh.
        Then, from behind the curtains, a concerned Joseph requested, "Please
be gentle with him, my friend."
        Recalling at last who he was bedding, Methos felt anger rise inside him
as the memories came flooding back. One dark night. The lord of the keep. A
little boy. A most painful betrayal. Methos gritted his teeth, wanting to get
even, to strike out. The man beneath him -- the favorite catamite of the lord's
best friend -- was an excellent target.
        In a rage, Methos gripped the opening in the sheet between his legs and
tore it wide open. The man gasped as his legs were forced wide apart. Then, a
pain-filled cry was wrenched from his throat as he was brutally penetrated. The
whore tried to pull away, but Methos crushed him in a bear hug. His left hand
felt a rough mark on the man's right shoulder.
        "What is happening?" Joseph declared as he emerged from his hiding
place. His eyes widened in shock, seeing the rough coupling of the two men.
Raising a hand to Methos, he pleaded, "No! Do not hurt him! Stop!"
        But Methos was beyond hearing. Freeing the silken ties, with fierce
strength, he yanked the man onto his lap, tearing the sheet from its moorings.
The whore screamed as he was impaled upon the Immortal's hard member. As Methos
continued his frenzied thrusts, the whore whimpered in pain, tears falling from
his eyes. The Immortal cursed the lights that had burned down, wanting to see
the face of the whore he was ravishing. Nevertheless, he still found those soft
lips, insinuating his tongue between them, raping the whore's mouth as he was
raping his channel below.
        With a grunt and a final thrust, Methos spilled his fluids into the
man. A vicious twist and he yanked himself out of the whore, tearing his flesh
even more. The man collapsed on the bed, sobbing, wrapping the torn sheet
around him.
        "You're right, Joseph," Methos sneered at the distraught scholar, who
was painfully making his way towards the figure on the bed. "He IS to my
liking."
        Tears were falling from Joseph's eyes as he sat down on the bed. He
gasped, seeing the flecks of blood on the sheets, when he pulled the young man
up and into his embrace.
        "Why did you hurt him?" Joseph demanded. "He only wanted to please
you!"
        "And he did please me!"
        At that moment, Khassim barged into the room. "What is going on? What's
the meaning of this?" The man's eyes widened, seeing the pitiful state of the
Emir's concubine. Snarling at Methos, he declared, "I shall have your head for
this!"
        Strong, desperate hands squeezed Joseph's arms tightly. He gazed down
at the young man in his embrace, who quickly shook his head and gave the
scribe's shoulders a frantic shake.
        Although his feelings warred against that silent command, Joseph
exclaimed, "Khassim, lay down your sword! Our Master...ordered...this."
        At first, Khassim hesitated. Then, the whore turned his head slightly.
Although much of his face was covered by the torn bed sheet, the moor could see
those sable eyes staring sharply at him. With a grunt of disapproval, Khassim
sheathed his sword.
        Donning his clothes, Methos told the scribe, "Tell your Master I will
teach him the art of the sword for ten pieces of gold each night, and, for my
silence over his clandestine lessons..." He pointed to the weeping young man.
"I want him for my bed every night during our journey through the desert, which
will be after our lessons." Bowing low, the Immortal declared, "I shall see
Shinno tomorrow evening then, Joseph."
        "Take him to his chamber, Khassim," Joseph requested. He hastily added,
"His safety is your responsibility."
        The moor would have glowered at the scribe if the whore had not given
him a much more menacing glare.
        As Methos strode out, he waved his hand dismissingly. "Do not bother to
rise." With a lascivious wink at the whore, he said, "I shall see you again, my
sweet."
        Methos did not bother to look back as Khassim closed the door behind
them. If he had, he would have seen dark eyes staring at him, burning with
fierce hatred.
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
 
CHAPTER TWO
 
        The cock had yet to crow, but the harem was already alive with a flurry
of activity as the caravan made preparations for its departure.
        A light sleeper, Methos had awaken immediately to the sound of neighing
horses in the courtyard. Swiftly donning traveling clothes, he grabbed his pack
and opened the door to find Joseph standing outside, about to knock. With him
was a stern-faced Indian with piercing black eyes. In his haste to get ready,
the ancient had not sensed the aura of Immortality surrounding this man.
        "This is the Emir's trusted adviser, Kamir," Joseph introduced him.
        Kamir pressed his two palms before his chest in the traditional
greeting of his homeland and bowed. "We came to awaken you, but I see that you
are ready." The Indian was pleased with Methos' preparedness. "Forgive me if I
was not here to welcome you upon your arrival last night. I went to the Palace
to get my lord's instructions for this journey. I shall brief you on the way."
        Smiling, the ancient replied, "Thank you. I need to know what the
Emir's plans for this journey are. I have crossed the Sahara many times, but it
would help to know if we shall be facing any dangers along the way."
        "And you shall get your answers later on."
        Nodding, Methos invited, "For now, let's inspect the caravan, shall
we?"
        In the next two hours, Methos was joined by Khassim, as Kamir and
Joseph went to see to the Emir's precious whore. Under their watchful eye and
stern command, the servants loaded the camels with supplies, covering them with
thick canvas as protection from sandstorms that they might encounter in the
desert. All of the camels had water skins secured to their saddles, and the
moor made certain that none of the casks had any leaks. Methos, on the other
hand, inspected all the horses, making sure that their fittings were not too
tight as to cause them discomfort during the long journey. The only comfortable
means of transport that they have was a special carriage which was allotted to
the Emir's precious concubine, but Methos doubted if it would get through the
trek without its wheels ending up buried in the sand.
        The ancient was about to check the carriage anyway when the sound of
weeping caught his ears.
        Noting Methos' curious frown, Khassim remarked, "The Sultan's wives and
mistresses...they weep over my Master's departure this morn."
        "They love him that much?" the ancient asked in surprise.
        "More than you know," the moor answered cryptically.
        Suddenly, Joseph appeared at the side door. "The Sultan!" he exclaimed
breathlessly. "He's here!"
        "Go on!" Khassim urged the Immortal. "I will take care of things here."
        Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Methos hurried into the
harem, with Joseph at his heels.
        Entering the receiving chamber, they beheld Kamir on his hands and
knees, bowing before the regal form of the Sultan. After giving obeisance to
this Moslem king, Kamir stood up, eyes still lowered to the floor and stepped
to the side.
        Then, Shinno himself came forward. The whoremaster was dressed all in
black once more, his face covered by the silk tail of his turban. His whole
form was in the proper reverential position. However, before he could kneel at
the ruler's feet, the Sultan held Shinno's shoulders in a firm grasp and willed
him to stand. To the astonishment of everyone, the Sultan drew the young man
close and embraced him. At first, Shinno hesitated, but the ruler whispered
something in his ear. Whatever it was the Sultan said to him, it caused the
whoremaster to raise his arms and return that loving hug. Ending the embrace,
the Sultan carefully peeled off the silk covering Shinno's face, opening it
part way that only he could fully see the young man's features. The Sultan then
leaned forward and bestowed a tender kiss upon Shinno's lips. A shocked gasp
issued from everyone's mouths. Even Methos found this whole scene surreal. For
the ruler to give this lowly whoremaster a kiss was not merely a sign of his
favor, but also that he treated Shinno as an equal.
        Still, Shinno remembered his true status. When the Sultan replaced the
silk over his face, he got down on his hands and knees and humbly kissed the
sandaled toes of the king. When he stood up, Shinno dared to look the ruler
straight in the eye.
        Instead of becoming angry at this insolence, the Sultan smiled and gave
the young man a small bow. In heavily accented English, he said, "May Allah go
with you!"
        To Methos' surprise, Shinno clenched his right hand into a fist, his
right arm bent at the elbow, lying parallel to his chest. With his left hand,
he gripped his fist. The whoremaster then bowed, the traditional greeting of a
Japanese warrior to his honored teacher or master.
        "Salaam, my lord!" Shinno said in all sincerity. "May Allah always
bless and protect you, your family and your kingdom!"
        At this farewell, the whoremaster took his place at Kamir's side.
Bowing three times to the Sultan, the two men turned on their heels and strode
towards the main doors. For a moment, Methos caught Shinno's eye, but the young
man did not acknowledge him.
        With a wave to Joseph, who hurried towards him, Methos followed the
whoremaster and the Emir's adviser. The ancient saw that the Sultan's
mistresses and harem servants had lined up along the corridor. All the women
had tears in their eyes as they granted Shinno gracious curtseys as he passed
by. The young man did not return their greeting, keeping his eyes lowered.
Apparently, he had already said his goodbyes. But Methos could see how
difficult it was for Shinno to restrain his emotions. The whoremaster obviously
held a deep love for these people.
        "How long did you live here?" Methos asked the scribe at his side.
        "Five months," Joseph answered in turn.
        The ancient lapsed into silence. Five months... A very short time. But
still sufficient enough to create a major impact upon the Sultan and his
kingdom. The Emir's whoremaster truly must be a very special man.
        Not wanting to prolong these painful farewells, Shinno quickened his
pace, moving ahead of a surprised and clearly displeased Kamir. Without saying
a single word to anyone, he all but ran into the courtyard, and climbed aboard
the carriage.
        Before getting into the carriage as well, Kamir called out to Methos,
"Lead us on, Horseman!" Seeing the scribe with the ancient, he waved, "Joseph!"
        "Wait!" Methos exclaimed to the scribe before he could go. "What about
the Emir's concubine?"
        It was Khassim who answered. "He is already inside the carriage. We
have been waiting for you while you were in audience with the Sultan."
        The question escaped Methos' lips before he even realized it. "Is...is
he all right?"
        Joseph's brows cocked up in surprise. Remembering what happened last
night, the scribe answered in anger, "Why should you care about him?" He then
limped inside the carriage and shut the door, pulling the curtains close.
        Methos gritted his teeth at Joseph's reply. With a snort, he got onto
his horse, Khassim doing the same beside him. Surveying the caravan, he saw
that all was in readiness. The two Immortals urged their horses forward, taking
their positions on either side of the royal carriage.
        Glancing at the shadows within, Methos pouted in seething anger. Joseph
was right. Why should he care about a whore?
        The ancient raised his hand. With a wave forward, he shouted, "LET'S
MOVE OUT!"
        At this command, the caravan embarked on their long journey -- going
through the dawn streets of El Djezair, out the city walls, heading for the
barren wasteland of the Sahara.
 
        The sun was high above their heads when Kamir descended from the
carriage. Taking the dappled mare, the Indian rode alongside Methos to brief
him on the journey ahead. It did not surprise the ancient to say the least when
Kamir told him that they would be avoiding many of the small towns along their
route. In fact, it was the Emir's strict order that they should keep to the
desert and mountain ranges along the way, and steer clear of any human contact.
        "It seems your Master is intent on making this journey as difficult as
possible," Methos commented. "So far, we're still in the fertile lands. But
once we reach the desert, I don't think his precious concubine could survive
the trek."
        "In truth, he is the real reason for this arduous route we shall be
taking," Kamir revealed to him. "The Emir has many enemies and they would stand
to gain a king's ransom if they're able to capture my Master's prized whore.
Thankfully, this route would take us to the territories of the Bedouin tribes
in friendly relations with the Emir. We should be safe."
        "That is, if the desert doesn't kill us first," the ancient said
thoughtfully.
        "Another thing that is not likely to happen. That is why he chose you.
Aside from your Horse Brothers, you know this region like the back of your
hand."
        "The Emir puts too much faith in me. It's been two centuries since I
last crossed the Sahara. If there's one thing I've learned about the desert is
that it's alive, the landscape never the same with every passage through it.
Important landmarks come and go. Wells and oases dry up. A hostile environment
for those who are unfamiliar with its territory."
        Kamir gave Methos a thoughtful glance. "You sound as if you are
concerned about the Emir's concubine."
        "Why shouldn't I be?" Methos answered back. "I do not want such a
precious cargo dying along the way. It would not look good for my reputation."
        The Indian laughed at that remark. "True! That is oh so true! But you
need not worry too much about this particular whore. In fact, he is not to be
underestimated."
        The ancient looked at Kamir curiously. "Why do you say that?"
        "The Emir's concubine is...there is no other word to describe
him...unique. He is surrounded by such a powerful aura of character and
goodness, which the Emir sought to corrupt. It was my Master's desire that he
learn all the sensual arts. For years, we have traveled all over the world. He
has been taught by the best courtesans, both male and female. However, although
his body has been used and used in so many ways possible, his soul remains
pure. His honor remains intact. It is this quality that has
attracted...allies...to his cause, friends who would not see such an innocent
sullied and broken. Good friends who would do anything to free him. We nearly
came close to losing him in Japan."
        "Well, he'd better think twice about escaping while I'm here," Methos
said firmly. "I do not tolerate disobedience or insolence in slaves."
        "Which is why the Emir specifically chose you above your Horse
Brothers," Kamir put in. "You have prior...experience...in these matters. My
Master is hoping that you could teach his whore a lesson or two."
        "Are you saying that he is allowing me to bed him?"
        "And beat him if there is a need for it. I have bedded the Emir's whore
on several occasions myself, and saw the necessity of pounding some sense into
him as well. As I have often heard during our travels -- 'Spare not the rod!'"
        Methos lapsed into deep thought, recalling how he had taken the Emir's
concubine last night. Unlike what Kamir had described, the whore had been
compliant. Even when he had raped him, the young man had meekly given him free
rein to use his flesh as he wished. This rebellious attitude was more apt to
the Emir's whoremaster, Shinno.
        Before he could ask who Kamir was referring to, the Indian had given
him a small bow, saying "I must see to my young charge in the carriage," and
rode off.
        A frown knitted Methos' brow. There was something not right. Indeed, a
mystery was afoot here, and he had every intention of solving it.
 
        It was late afternoon when the caravan arrived at their first stop -
- an oasis miles past the city of Djelfa.
        Under Kamir's stern command, the servants hastened to erect the large
tent that would serve as the temporary lodgings of the Emir's concubine, while
their Masters waited inside the carriage.
        Methos, who was supervising the unloading of some of the supplies with
Khassim, watched out of the corner of his eye as the servants raised the
circular tent. Instead of a simple opening in front, the tent had three large
flaps. The first two flaps were extended forward and secured with two posts and
ropes tied to pegs, that were hammered into the ground. The third length of
canvas was unrolled on top of these two flaps and kept in place by more ropes,
creating a makeshift portico. The true entrance to the tent itself, which was
at the end of the portico, was covered by another flap of canvas.
        As the ancient looked on, the carriage was wheeled very close to the
portico. Such was its construction that he could not see the people descending
from the carriage. Just as the driver urged his horses onward, serving women
hurried inside, bearing supplies and jars and a tub filled with water.
        An elbow nudged his side. Methos turned to find Khassim grinning at
him. "Come, my friend! There is nothing more to see."
        But just as the two Immortals were about to walk off to oversee the
rest of the caravan, angry voices issued from within the tent. Methos stopped
at once, recognizing the voices as belonging to Kamir and Shinno. Surprisingly,
the two men were not speaking in Arabic, but in Hindi. Before he could quickly
translate inside his head what they were arguing about, Shinno stormed outside,
an equally angry Kamir in hot pursuit. The adviser grabbed the young man's arm,
but Shinno shook it off. Again, Kamir snatched the whoremaster's arm.
        Rounding on the Indian, Shinno shouted, "We are not prisoners, Kamir,
to be kept locked up and under guard at all times! A breath of fresh air, a
short walk, a moment to be left alone... Is that too much to ask? Just take a
good look at where we are? Even a fool would think twice about escaping into
the inferno of the desert!"
        "But you are not a fool!" Kamir snapped back. "Kali only knows what
schemes are running through that pretty little head of yours!"
        The whoremaster burst into derisive laughter. "I am happy to hear that
you don't think me a fool, like your beloved lord, the Emir Zaid al-Bahir."
Shinno spat out the name with contempt. "A fool is he to let his prized whore
travel the world and let strangers pick off his sweet flesh, instead of him who
is the true master. What kind of fool is your Master, Kamir? Is he a dog who
loves to eat the scraps that fall to the floor from a feast? Is he the type who
prefers his manhood sheathed inside a channel that had been bruised and
battered and slickened by the fluids of others? Perhaps he is not much of a man
at all if he could not sow his own seed in the barren flesh of his precious
male whore!"
        Methos' eyes widened in shock as Kamir struck Shinno in the face,
causing the whoremaster to fall to the sand. He watched in horror as the
adviser pulled out the small whip tucked under his belt.
        Before the Indian could land a single blow upon the young man, the
ancient rushed forward and stopped the descent of that whip.
        "Kamir, no!" Methos cried. "It won't do you any good to mark him!"
        Grudgingly, Kamir lowered his arm. Pulling Methos aside, he hissed,
"You know that he is one of us, although not yet born to Immortality. He will
not have any marks on him, even if I have him flogged. For a Pre-Immortal, he
heals quickly and completely, as though he were already Immortal."
        "Even so, the Emir would not like having his lowly servants injured in
any way."
        "But he sorely tries my patience!"
        "Let me handle him, Kamir," Methos suggested. "Your Master trusts in my
ability to manage his affairs with regards to his precious concubine. I could
do the same with this little hothead." With a sly smile, he added, "Even
whoremasters need to be disciplined from time to time."
        There was a bewildered expression on Kamir's face. "Whoremaster? But he
is..."
        Khassim suddenly interrupted, "As Methos said, let him take care of
this, my lord. I trust that he could produce the results we desire."
        As the moor led him away, Kamir declared out loud, more for the
whoremaster's benefit than the ancient's, "If you should find it difficult to
control that arrogant little harlot, I could erect a whipping post for you
myself."
        Methos cocked an eyebrow up in surprise when a contemptuous voice
muttered, "Hah! You couldn't bring your cock to stand erect on your own, how
much more a whipping post!"
        So, Methos thought in amusement, Our little whoremaster is a whore
himself!
        Thankfully, Kamir did not hear that retort. When the two Immortals were
finally gone, the ancient focused his attention on the young man spitting out
blood a few feet away from him. The whoremaster had partially removed the tail
of his turban from his face. Though most of his face was still hidden, Methos
was gratified by the sight of full lips.
        Noting the Immortal's perusal, Shinno swiftly draped the length of
black silk over his face and neck. With deep brown eyes flashing daggers, he
demanded, "And what are you looking at?"
        "A fool," Methos replied casually, approaching him. "A very brave one,
but still a fool nonetheless."
        The ancient offered a hand to the young man. Shinno, however, ignored
it and got up on his own.
        With a snort, the whoremaster bent down and brushed the sand from his
clothes. "I would greatly appreciate it if Kamir would do us both a favor and
just stay out of my personal affairs."
        "He is just doing his duty, you know," Methos smiled broadly. Although
Shinno's trousers were rather loose, his position caused the fabric to be
stretched below the waist, revealing a nice, tight ass.
        "Well, it looks like he has passed on his responsibilities to you,
although after what you did last night, I seriously doubt if this is to my
liking. But at least, now, you could teach me the art of the sword without him
tailing us like a dog."
        "I, particularly, am very pleased with this present arrangement. I
personally do not mind following a tail as magnificent as yours."
        Blushing hotly, Shinno made to slap Methos, but the ancient grabbed his
wrist.
        "Let go of me!" Shinno exclaimed between gritted teeth as he tried to
pull his hand free.
        In a quick move, however, Methos twisted the younger man's arm behind
his back and jerked him close.
        "It would do you well, Shinno, to be on your best behavior when you're
around me," the ancient said in warning. "Unlike Kamir, I am not a very patient
man. I will not hesitate to punish you."
        "In case you've forgotten, I'm paying you to teach me. You do not
displease or hurt your employer."
        "Employer? My dear boy, you are my student. As your teacher, it is also
my duty to keep you in line. The way I see it, you've been pampered for far too
long. You need to be disciplined."
        "I'm not afraid -- of you or your threats!"
        "Oh, but you should!" Pressing his cheek close to the whoremaster's,
the black silk the only thing preventing the contact of skin against skin,
Methos whispered, "Do you know what I was called when I was still with the
Horsemen? I was Death, and you know why?"
        With a "Harrumph!", Shinno turned his face away, his whole body
stiffening. Haughtily, he declared, "I couldn't care less, but I think you're
still going to tell me anyway."
        Methos wanted to laugh at that retort, but willed himself not to.
"That's because I know an infinite number of ways to end a man's life -- swift
and painless, slow and agonizing... I know them all. I could even take the
credit for inventing many of these fiendish methods."
        "You can't kill me! The Emir will have your head!"
        "Of course, I couldn't do that! But I could torture you, and that has
always been my specialty. Torture that could lead to a most exquisite kind of
death, wherein one does not even have to give up his life."
        The whoremaster sneered at him, "Ooh! I'm shaking in my boots!"
        But Methos ignored the wisecrack. "Let's take, as an example, Kamir's
favorite -- flogging. I'm sure you've heard of people who find sexual
gratification when someone hurts them, whips them."
        "Well, I'm NOT one of them. I've never been a connoisseur of pain."
        "That's because the pain is all you feel. Why don't you look at it this
way?" Before the young man could argue, Methos had pushed him towards the palm
tree. "Let's imagine that this tree is a flogging post. Although
most...executioners...allow a prisoner to retain a modicum of propriety by
having his loins covered, I've always preferred a prisoner completely
naked...vulnerable. I would take his wrists and secure it to an iron ring above
his head. I would approach the prisoner, stand so close to him that anyone
would think I was hearing his confession. But in truth, I am fondling, stroking
his sex until it is as hard as an iron rod. To keep it in that state, I would
tie a leather cord at the base of his manroot. That gives the prisoner two
things to worry about -- the flogging and the intense desire for release."
        As he spoke, the ancient carefully raised Shinno's hands high above his
head. It pleased Methos immensely to see that the whoremaster remained in that
position, his hands gripping the tree trunk behind him. Truly he was caught in
the Immortal's spell.
        "Now that my prisoner is ready for me," Methos continued in low tones,
"I take my whip. My first few strokes are light and teasing, nothing more than
mere licks on his torso."
        Shinno gasped as the ancient tore his shirt open, baring his upper
body, but still he did not move, even when the Immortal cupped his chest.
        "The nipples are especially sensitive, the caresses of my lash causing
them to rise into taut little peaks. Aching to be touched. Yearning to be
punished." Methos flicked Shinno's tits with his fingertips, eliciting whimpers
from the whoremaster's lips with every brief stimulation. "But of course, I
cannot be gentle forever. After all, cruelty is expected of me, and in this
case, you have to be cruel to be kind. So, my hand tightens around the whip."
        Shinno nearly jumped in surprise when the ancient suddenly clapped his
hands, the sound like the sharp crack of a whip.
        "That first hard blow always catches my prisoner off-guard. But does he
feel pain? Oh, no! To his dismay, he discovers that the pain and pleasure have
become one, the bliss concentrated on his aching cock and bruised nipples. I
never let his manroot suffer the wrath of my lash, leaving it wanting for more.
His tits, however, are a different matter. I allow my lash to cut deeply into
those sensitive patches till they bleed, like cruel fingers squeezing them as a
child squeezes a cow's udders for its milk."
        As he said this, Methos squeezed Shinno's nipples, pulling and twisting
on the tight nubs. It surprised the ancient, to say the least, when, as the
young man before him moaned, milk spurted from the tips. He took the pearly
white drop on his fingertip and placed it inside his mouth, tasting the sweet
essence of the younger man. It pleased the Immortal even more when he felt the
whoremaster's erection brush against his thigh.
        Swiftly, the ancient spun Shinno around that he was now facing the
tree. "No more play. No more teasing. No more gentleness. Every stroke of the
lash creates bleeding welts, transforming the skin of his back into a canvas of
dark red crisscrossing lines. Now, there is excruciating pain. But,
surprisingly, there is pleasure as well."
        Methos gripped the young man's hips, his voice sinuous, willing both
their bodies into the graceful motions of copulation. "As the whip cuts through
his flesh, his body arches with every bite of the lash. To get his mind off the
whip's sting, he lets his nipples press against the post, every contact sending
signals of pleasure shooting down to his constricted groin. With graceful
undulations, he moves his hips, the length of his erect cock scraping against
the post. He yearns for release, but the blows continue to come. When I see
that he couldn't take any more, I remove the cord around his stiff manroot and
grip it tight, still denying him the desperate urge to spill his seed."
        Saying this, Methos freed Shinno's cock from within his trousers,
holding the shaft hard. The young man whimpered, lost in the ancient's
seductive narration.
        The Immortal couldn't suppress the smile that formed on his face.
Slowly, he raised his hand, saying at the same time, "He wants his release. He
is begging for it. It is agonizing and pure ecstasy at the same time. I turn
the whip in my hand, so that the handle is now facing forward. With one swift
motion...I RAM THE HILT STRAIGHT INTO HIS ASS!"
        Shinno squealed in surprise and pain when the ancient spanked him
fiercely on the butt. To his utter revulsion, he found himself spurting his
seed onto the bark of the palm tree.
        The stinging slap that Shinno bestowed upon his cheek did nothing to
stop the laughter from bubbling up Methos' throat. The little of Shinno's face
that was exposed revealed the dark red flush of his skin. Embarrassed and very
angry, the whoremaster stuffed his now flaccid sex within the confines of his
trousers, a barrage of multilingual expletives spilling from his mouth.
        As he stormed in the direction of the large tent, a giggling Methos
called after him, "It would be a great pleasure for me to teach you new tricks
with the sword, Shinno!"
        Shinno whirled around. Before Methos could duck, a rock hit him
squarely between the eyes. But still, he continued to roar with laughter.
        Like a petulant child, the whoremaster raised the silk a bit. "Beeeh!"
Shinno stuck his tongue out at the ancient.
        With righteous indignation, the young man marched inside his tent,
Methos' hearty laughter ringing in his ears.
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
 
CHAPTER THREE
 
        Night had fallen on the oasis. After sharing an evening repast with
Kamir and Khassim in the adviser's tent, where they had discussed any potential
problems and dangers they might encounter on their route, Methos decided to
take a stroll around the camp. It was not because he wanted to be certain that
all was well, which it was with all the servants and guards resting in their
tents, except for the two who stood before the concubine's lodgings. The next
shift will come after two hours. The reason why he dilly dallied was because he
wanted to be ready for his lesson with Shinno. As the hours wore on, however,
there was no indication that this particular service of him was needed this
night. There was only silence at the large tent. Joseph had not been seen all
day. Methos suspected that the whoremaster was still very angry with him. Such
a shame! He was so looking forward to another evening with the Emir's precious
whore.
        Rather than wait any longer, the ancient went straight to his tent,
where a tub of clean water waited for him. After a quick bath, Methos collapsed
onto the soft cushions and immediately fell asleep.
        Exhausted as he was, he did not sense the shadow that was creeping
outside his tent. Neither did he hear the soft tearing sound of the canvas as
it was being slit open. Methos was lost in a blissful dream of two masked
whores driving him insane with their sexual expertise. One of the whores was a
stubborn little minx who rebelled against his sadistic desires.
        "Come here, Shinno!" Methos mumbled in his sleep, oblivious to the tall
figure in black who was glaring down at him. "I will not tolerate disobedience!
Now, raise your garments that I may give your luscious backside a good
paddling!"
        WHACK!
        Methos cried out in pain, as he woke up with a start. He would have sat
up at once if his bruised bum had not been given three more solid blows.
Instead, he rolled over onto his side, only to find himself alone, and the cold
night air blowing through the slit of his tent.
        Swiftly, the ancient got dressed, ignoring the pain in his backside. As
he emerged through the cut opening of his tent, his eyes immediately focused
upon the figure standing on top of a sand dune, illumined by the light of the
moon. It was the ninja! Methos knew, that behind that mask, the assassin was
grinning at him. Sure enough, the ninja slapped his butt, mocking the ancient.
Giving the Immortal that snappy salute, he leaped down from the dune and out of
sight.
        "I'm going to get you for this, you bastard!" the ancient muttered
under his breath as he secured his Ivanhoe at his back.
        The Immortal was about to give chase when he almost collided with
Joseph, who appeared from behind one of the camels.
        "Methos!" the scribe exclaimed in surprise. "Just the man I was looking
for!"
        However, Methos snarled, "GET OUT OF MY WAY!", and pushed past him.
        Joseph scratched his head quizzically as he looked at the departing
figure. "What's the matter with him?"
        As swift as the wind, Methos raced up the dune, his feet barely
touching the sand. Reaching the top, he saw that the ninja had already reached
the bottom and was running across the desert. Rather than slide along the side
of the dune, the ancient jumped off from the top, his legs kicking out as he
glided down. Using that same technique, Methos pursued the assassin, like a
rock skipping above water, the distance closing between them.
        Suddenly, the ninja whirled around, his arm sweeping in a wide arc.
Something flashed in the moonlight, bearing down on the Immortal. The ancient
barely got out of the way as shurikens whizzed past him, the sharp throwing
stars hitting the sand hard. Methos thought he heard a frustrated growl from
his prey ahead of him.
        "It's not going to work!" Methos shouted. "It's going to take more than
that to kill me!"
        Undaunted, the assassin pressed onward, scrambling up and over the sand
dune. But the ancient was determined to catch his prey. Reaching the foot of
the dune, Methos took a deep breath, concentrating hard, willing his body to
become as light as a feather. Then, he leaped into the air and let the desert
wind carry him over the dune.
        "There is no escape for you now!" the Immortal laughed as he began to
descend.
        However, instead of his quarry, Methos saw two men standing in the wadi
below. It was too late to check his fall. As he bore down on them, the ancient
closed his eyes and braced himself for impact. Methos landed, and landed
hard...right on top of one of the men.
        Before the ancient could get his wits together, furious fists pounded
at his skull and a very familiar voice roared, "GET OFF ME, YOU FILTHY SON OF A
DONKEY!"
        With his head ringing from those blows, Methos somehow managed to grab
those flailing fists and yelled back, "IF YOU DON'T STOP HITTING ME, I'LL DECK
YOU A GOOD ONE, SHINNO!"
        Strong hands hauled the ancient to his feet. He glowered darkly at
Khassim, who was giggling heartily. Shrugging off the moor's hands, Methos
brushed the sand from his clothes. Seeing that the Immortal was all right,
Khassim went to Shinno's aid. As he stood up, the whoremaster's eyes fell upon
what looked like dark lines on the seat of Methos' trousers, illuminated by the
flickering light of the torches Khassim had tied to the palm trees.
        "What happened to you?" Shinno asked curiously.
        "That damned ninja whacked me in the butt while I was sleeping!" Methos
declared furiously. It dismayed him to hear his voice coming out as a whine.
        To his greater chagrin, Shinno burst into laughter. "I couldn't have
done it better myself!"
        The ancient whirled around and glared at the young man. "Do you want me
to lay you over my lap and give you a good walloping with a paddle?"
        "You'd like that, won't you! Because you're a pervert!"
        Khassim raised his hands, finding himself in an uncomfortable position
as arbiter. "Now, now, gentlemen! Let's calm down! No one's hurt. Everything is
just fine!"
        "Everything will be fine once I get my hands on that ninja's scrawny
neck!" Methos retorted in a fury.
        "There are no ninjas here, you old fool!" yelled Shinno. "Only you
stampeding all over the place and crushing innocent bystanders. You've probably
just imagined that bloody ninja."
        The ancient showed the black stripes on his butt once more to the two
men. "Does this look like something I just imagined?"
        "You're Immortal!" the whoremaster countered. "Your smelly ass will
survive!"
        "But that ninja definitely won't, once I find him!"
        Shinno breathed in exasperation. "Would you forget about that damned
ninja? You've already wasted too much time getting here, not to mention
babbling like an idiot. Didn't Joseph tell you that I needed you right now?"
        Methos remembered the scribe he had nearly bumped into while in pursuit
of the ninja. Grudgingly, he admitted, "Joseph never got the chance to tell
me."
        "I guessed as much, because you were too damned busy chasing shadows."
Shinno stood with his feet wide apart, right hand on his waist and head cocked
to the side as he scowled at the ancient. "This is not what I pay you for."
        Methos found himself staring at the young man before him. As usual,
Shinno was dressed in desert garb. This time, however, he opted for a lighter
shade of brown. His face was still covered by a silk scarf. But Methos could
see those beautiful brown eyes, the gaze as sharp as daggers. The Immortal
could swear Shinno would kill him with those piercing eyes alone if it were in
his power to do so. But then again, the slim, curved blade in his hand would be
sufficient enough to do the job.
        "A katana!" Methos blurted out in surprise, recognizing that sword.
        "Yes," Shinno affirmed, caressing the ivory, dragon's head hilt with
his long, graceful fingers. "It IS a katana."  Tilting his head, he asked, "I
suppose you're wondering how I came by such a fine blade."
        "I must admit the thought has crossed my mind."
        "I came by this sword during my...travels." There was such sadness in
Shinno's voice. "It was a gift to me by a samurai. His name was Hideo Koto."
        Methos cocked an eyebrow up. "For...services...rendered perhaps?"
        Shinno's eyes flashed with anger. "You have the gall to make such a
remark! Hideo was a good man, an HONORABLE man. If he had the chance, he would
have freed me."
        "Freed you from what?"
        "From...from Hell!" was Shinno's cryptic reply.
        "What happened to him?"
        "Hideo had displeased the friend of the Shogun. The Shogun could not
allow his subjects to dishonor his guests by...by protecting...a gaijin and
a..."
        At once, the young man turned his face away, but Methos already saw the
tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't have to guess what his new student was
to the Shogun's "friend".
        So, Methos mused, the fact confirmed, our whoremaster is indeed a whore
himself.
        "The Shogun told my senseithat he had brought dishonor to his and his
family's name, after he discovered how Hideo and his friends tried to help me
escape." Softly, Shinno added, "Hideo was ordered to commit seppuku."
        "Ritual suicide." The Immortal shook his head in sorrow. "Death before
dishonor. Shinno, I beg your forgiveness. I did not mean to make you remember
the pains of the past."
        "The past will always haunt me, unless I break the chains binding me to
it. That was why Hideo taught me how to use the katana. Before he died, Hideo
gave me his sword. 'Break the chains with this sword,' he said. 'Seek your true
destiny. Find a new teacher to take my place.'"
        "And you have found one," said Methos firmly. "However, I am not a very
patient man. You must show me that you are willing to learn."
        "Do not worry, Methos," Shinno assured him. The Immortal could swear
the man was grinning under his scarf. "You'll find that I'm a fast learner."
        "Maybe you should remove your scarf," suggested Methos. "So you could
see better."
        The whoremaster laughed at that remark. "Shrewd, Methos! Very shrewd! I
could see perfectly. You don't have anything to worry about, except your neck.
Though you are my new teacher, Hideo Koto and his friends still taught me a
thing or two about the sword. Even Khassim here as well." He fell silent.
Wickedly, Shinno continued, "Maybe you should keep something in mind. It is the
Emir's wish that my face be covered. He said that...the beauty of my face...is
for his enjoyment alone. Which is just as well, for I am fiercely protective of
my anonymity. If you should desire to see my face, Khassim will not hesitate to
geld you. Do I make myself clear?"
        "Perfectly," Methos nodded his head. Unsheathing his Ivanhoe, he
declared, "Let me test your skills then."
 
        The two men sparred for several hours. True to his claim, Shinno was
indeed proficient in the Eastern sword styles. He was also a very quick
learner, displaying excellent adaptability. He could easily find a way out of a
potentially fatal move. Methos was constantly kept on his toes, finding himself
many times on the defensive. And something troubled him as well.
        Shinno acts like he's familiar with my fight style, the Immortal
observed. But that's impossible!
        Then, there's the manner by which the man fought. The whoremaster moved
with ruthlessness and cunning, and anger, there's no denying that.
        The way he's determined to pound me into the dirt, Methos mused, it's
obvious Shinno hates me. But why?
        If there's one thing Methos knew, however, one should never let anger
and hatred cloud the mind during a sword fight. Plus, the Immortal still has an
edge over the younger man, namely centuries of experience in battle.
        When Shinno attempted a hacking blow, the Immortal blocked it with his
own blade. With a sweep of his foot, he kicked Shinno's legs from under him.
Caught off balance, the young man fell to the ground. Before he could get up,
the point of Methos' Ivanhoe was at his throat.
        "First lesson you should always remember," Methos declared, breathing
hard. "Never allow yourself to get carried away by your emotions. It might
prove disastrous." He raised the point towards Shinno's face, playing with the
soft silk over his face.
        "Shinno?" Khassim asked in concern, pulling out his scimitar.
        But the whoremaster waved him back. "I'm fine, Khassim. Methos is
right. I...lost...myself for a moment there." Methos raised a hand to his
student. Shinno, however, did not take the offered assistance and got to his
feet on his own. "I think we've had enough for this night. Joseph will give you
your gold." Slowly, he commented, "I believe you would like to avail of
the...services...of Little Whore again tonight."
        "Little Whore?" Methos asked curiously.
        "That's what the Emir calls his...his favorite catamite." The seething
rage in Shinno's tone of voice was apparent to Methos. "An offensive name,
don't you think?"
        "What is there to take offense about? After all, he is a whore."
        "Yes!" Shinno hissed in fury. "And you treated him like the whore that
he is. Joseph told me everything that has happened between the two of you last
night."
        "Joseph doesn't know how to keep his eyes and his mouth shut. I don't
think it's any of your concern!"
        "When it's rape, I make it my concern!" Shinno took a deep breath,
trying to control himself. "I thought you would be different. I guess I was
wrong. If I had known, I would never have agreed to this arrangement."
        "Why should you care about a concubine?" asked Methos in sarcasm.
"Doesn't the gold you pay me come from the selling of flesh?"
        The whoremaster shook his head. "For an Immortal who has lived on this
Earth for centuries, you know so little."
        "Oh, I know a lot more than you think. I was once a whore myself, and I
have known men of your ilk. You say you care, but you fill your coffers with
gold paid for lost innocence and sated lust. You're just a hypocrite!"
        "If that is how you think of me, then so be it," said Shinno in
finality. "But the greater hypocrite is the man who claims to have experienced
and survived the pains of prostitution, and yet uses a whore like a piece of
meat, just like the people he had serviced in the past." Picking up his sword,
he pointed it angrily at the Immortal. "Methos, a warning for you. Contrary to
what you believe, I DO care very deeply for the people under me, Sanchi
especially."
        "Sanchi?" queried Methos.
        "That is Little Whore's real name. He has suffered so much at the hands
of the Emir. I will not see you do the same to him. It was my decision to keep
his identity concealed under veils and in darkness, like me. It's unfortunate
that the Emir had placed his mark on him. When he is free, no one will know
what he was, except for Joseph, Khassim and I."
        "And the Emir," Methos quickly added.
        "Yes," agreed Shinno. "That's why, when I've freed Sanchi, so will the
Emir fall to my blade. You, Methos, will die too, if you persist in finding out
what he looks like."
        The Immortal laughed mockingly. "As if you could succeed where
countless other Immortals have tried and failed."
        "This is not an idle threat." With much ceremony, Shinno sheathed his
sword. "Treat Sanchi well, Methos. He has a good heart, only desiring to please
you. Do not take advantage of this by hurting him. If you were a whore before,
you should know how you would want a paying customer to treat you."
        Before Methos could utter a retort, a dust devil suddenly swirled
around them. When the wind subsided and the sand settled down, Shinno and
Khassim had disappeared.
 
        Methos gritted his teeth as he stormed back to camp. Shinno's parting
words to him continued to ring in his ears.
        "How dare he speak to me that way!" the Immortal fumed under his
breath. "HOW DARE HE!"
        Reaching the camp, Methos strode into the concubine's tent, shoving the
flap aside. As he expected, there was only a single brazier, casting a dim glow
on the young man who was reading a book by its light. Noticing the ancient out
of the corner of his eye, Sanchi let the veil cover his face and stood up.
Methos felt his breath catch in his throat when he beheld the concubine's
graceful masculinity silhouetted under his gossamer robes by the torch light.
        As Sanchi slowly went towards him, Shinno's words returned to him. "If
you were a whore before, you should know how you would want a paying customer
to treat you."
        The young man must have seen the feral gleam in Methos' eyes because he
stopped dead in his tracks. It was the Immortal who closed the gap between
them.
        Grabbing Sanchi's shoulders, Methos snarled, "No one tells me how I
should treat my bed mates! NO ONE!"
        Suddenly, the Immortal found himself flipped through the air. As he
fell to the ground, the wind was knocked out of him. Gazing up in surprise,
Methos saw Sanchi standing above him, legs apart, his entire posture defensive.
        "You!" he exclaimed. "You did this?"
        The concubine was taken aback. For a moment, he hesitated, not knowing
whether he should help the Immortal up or flee. Methos took advantage of
Sanchi's indecision. Swiftly getting to his feet, he tackled the young man,
slamming him hard against the center post. Sanchi struggled to free himself
from Methos' grasp, pounding on his chest and kicking out, but the Immortal had
him trapped.
        "Yes! That's it!" Methos cried as the man in his arms tried in vain to
break free. "Fight! I love a fighter! It only makes the experience more
exciting!"
        Whirling the young man around, the Immortal removed his belt and
secured Sanchi's wrists to the center post, making him bend over. With the
concubine helpless, Methos forced himself upon Sanchi, taking him brutally.
Except for the whimper of pain at the first thrust, the young man kept his
mouth shut, stifling the cries rising up his throat. Defeated, he gave the
Immortal free rein to abuse his body. And Methos did just that.
        Riled up by Shinno's words, Methos vented all his anger and
frustrations on Sanchi. He raped him, not just at the post, but everywhere he
could lay the poor concubine's body over. Methos treated him like a piece of
meat, taking advantage of his Immortal stamina to ruthlessly ravish the young
man. But throughout the plundering of his tender flesh, not once did Sanchi
utter a sound.
        Dawn saw the two men lying on the woven mat and blankets. Spent, Methos
pulled his softening member out of the concubine's battered body. As the
Immortal lay back on the pillows, he watched as Sanchi slowly sat up and fixed
his bloodstained robes, as well as the veil over his head. The young man limped
towards the small table. Taking the basin, he filled it with water from the
pitcher. He then slung a clean piece of cloth over his arm and, basin in his
hands, he went back towards the ancient.
        Laying the basin on the mat, Sanchi dipped the cloth in the water and
wrung it. To Methos' surprise, the young man knelt at his side and began
washing his face.
        Gripping the man's wrist, Methos queried, "Why are you doing this?"
        Gently, Sanchi pried the Immortal's fingers loose and continued
cleansing Methos' face and body.
        "If you think this is going to change things between us," Methos began,
"you're wrong. I'll do anything I like with you. Not even Shinno is going to
stop me."
        At that remark, the concubine stopped what he was doing, breathing in
deeply. Methos could see the anger the young man was suppressing in the way his
right hand gripped the cloth.
        The Immortal smiled in amusement. "Kamir told me you were rebellious,
Sanchi. Do you also fight your Master, the Emir? You have nothing more to lose,
you know."
        At this remark, Sanchi hurled the cloth furiously at the far corner of
the tent. As the cloth hit the canvas, there was a strangled cry as the
concubine realized what he had just done.
        "Sanchi," the young man heard the Immortal mutter his name ominously.
"I will not tolerate rebellion and disobedience. Lie down."
        Hearing this, the concubine buried his face in his hands, shaking his
head frantically.
        "I said, LIE DOWN!"
        Knowing it was futile to fight back, Sanchi did as he was told.
Weeping, he lay back on the mat, pulling his robe up to his waist, and spread
his long legs. His trembling hands gripped the hem of the veil tightly, yanking
it down over his face.
        "I have no interest in seeing your face," said Methos as his fingers
pulled the sleeve off Sanchi's left shoulder, yanking it down that his firm
chest was bared. Nipping the turgid nipple between his lips caused the younger
man to shudder all over.
        Positioning himself between the concubine's legs, the Immortal flicked
his tongue over the sensitive nubs. "Don't take this personally, Sanchi,"
Methos murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I really do not treat my lovers
like the way I've been treating you. It's just that...well, it's your
misfortune that you happen to be the Emir's precious catamite. You're just the
first step on the road to my vengeance."
        At these words, Sanchi gasped in shock. Then, in despair, he turned his
face away, the tears wetting his veil.
        "It's such a pity you can't speak," said the Immortal, clucking his
tongue. "You could tell the Emir that I'm coming for him, as well as his good
friend, the Lord of the Keep."
        As Methos thrust into the young man, he didn't notice that Sanchi had
become still. If he had only pulled back the veil, the Immortal would have seen
the smoldering anger and revulsion on the concubine's face.
 
***** Chapter 4 *****
 
CHAPTER FOUR
 
        The caravan continued on its way. Methos noticed that his days had
begun to follow a fixed routine. Mornings were spent leading the caravan
through the desert. This was accompanied by invigorating, yet often
infuriating, verbal sparring with Shinno. The man had a mouth that Methos was
sorely tempted to wash AND scrub out with soap and lye. It's not because of his
colorful curses. Shinno had a way of hitting him where it hurts the most -- his
heart and his conscience. Thankfully though, he was up to the challenge, his
only regret that the little fantasy scene at the oasis was never repeated.
        His nights, on the other hand, after conferences with Kamir, involved
lessons with the whoremaster, followed by, to him, great bouts of sex with
Sanchi. On the evenings that Shinno was unavailable, he spent it talking to the
members of the caravan, trying to determine the identity of the mysterious
ninja. His suspicion remained strong that the ninja was traveling with the
caravan.
        Since he had revealed his true intentions, Sanchi had become compliant,
enduring Methos' abuse with silent fortitude. Afterwards, the concubine would
patiently clean up the traces of their coupling from the older man's body.
There were times, as he watched Sanchi, Methos regretted what he was doing to
the young man. Many times, he would find himself gently caressing the hint of a
high cheekbone under the concubine's veil. At his touch, Sanchi would stiffen
instinctively. Though he was burning with curiosity, Methos stifled the urge to
touch the younger man's face again.
        Such docility was not a characteristic of Shinno, although he never
broached the topic of the concubine to the ancient again. Apparently, that
warning he had given Methos at the wadi was sufficient enough. With every
passing day, however, it was obvious to Methos that the whoremaster's anger and
hatred towards him grew, especially if, during the previous night, the Immortal
had been brutal with Sanchi. Shinno would become more vicious with his attacks,
but Methos would always bring him back to his senses with a hard blow or a
painful wrenching away of his katana. But it became difficult with each passing
day that Shinno's skills improved. Skills that reminded him more and more of
the ninja.
        This night was no exception. This time, lessons were held within the
vault of a dried up well. Shinno was exceptionally aggressive. To Methos, it
seemed like the man was determined to kill him. To his dismay, judging from the
expression on Joseph and Khassim's faces, the whoremaster's two confidants were
just as interested to see Shinno succeed.
        For once, Methos broke his own rule -- he lost his temper. When Shinno
thrust his blade at the Immortal's neck, Methos stepped to the side and grabbed
the katana with his bare hand, the sharp edge cutting his palm. Yanking it out
of the surprised man's grasp and letting it drop to the ground, Methos let his
bleeding hand fly out, slapping Shinno hard on the face. The blow was so strong
that it knocked the whoremaster to the ground. As Shinno lay panting for breath
at his feet, the Immortal felt a sense of satisfaction, seeing the bloodstain
on the scarf. There was a hint of fear in those beautiful brown eyes, though
rage still burned fiercely.
        What is Sanchi to you, Shinno? Methos asked inside his mind. Are you
brothers? Lovers? Why the need to guard your identities so fiercely?
        Unconsciously, Methos had raised his Ivanhoe, the tip teasing the silk
over his student's face.
        "Keep your blade away from my face!" Shinno snarled at him.
        "Perhaps I should touch you with my hand instead," the Immortal
suggested.
        Revolted, the whoremaster declared, "Your hand is bleeding."
        At these words, Methos raised his palm. As Shinno watched, tiny
lightning bolts streaked across the cut and healed the wound right before his
eyes. The Immortal wiped the blood off with his handkerchief.
        Seeing the stunned expression on the younger man's face, Methos asked
smugly, "What blood?" Squatting down before Shinno, he remarked, "I am
intrigued with you, Shinno." His student started to inch away, but Methos
grabbed his wrist. "It seems I haven't demanded enough from you."
        Shinno didn't miss the innuendo in those words. Furiously, he yanked
his hand out of the Immortal's grasp and got to his feet.
        "Do not push me, Methos!" Shinno hissed in his face. "I have already
given you everything I have to offer! EVERYTHING!"
        As Methos stood up, he met his student's fierce gaze with his own.
"Everything? I think not. If you want me to remain your teacher, I want more
from you."
        The Immortal watched as the man before him stiffened at that remark,
the disgust and fury shining in his eyes. Then, Shinno lowered his gaze, his
hands clenched tightly into fists.
        In a controlled tone, he asked softly. "How would you want me, Old One?
On my knees or on my back?"
        "Any position would do. I don't care. As long as all these garments
come off." Methos' fingers brushed over the silk scarf. "Including this."
        "Have you no fear?" the younger man asked him in disbelief. "If you
persist in this foolishness, do you know what Khassim could do to you?"
        Methos looked meaningfully at the moor. "He would die before he could
ever lay his sword on me."
        "I'm not afraid of him!" Khassim said strongly as he unsheathed his
sword. "I'd rather die than see him touch you!"
        "Cripple though I am," Joseph added, "I will fight for you as well!"
        However, seeing the seriousness on the Immortal's face, Shinno replied
in weary resignation, "Khassim, Joseph, I want you to leave us alone."
        "No!" the moor argued vehemently. "I will not leave you here with him!
I will save you!"
        Shinno sighed. "There is nothing left of me to save. I lost everything
a long, long time ago. I will not lose both of you too." Turning to the scribe,
he asked, "Joseph? You understand, don't you? Please take Khassim with you."
        Grudgingly, Joseph answered, "I understand. Though it's difficult for
me to accept, I understand perfectly." Laying a hand on Khassim's shoulder, he
urged, "Come with me, my friend."
        "But Joseph, we can't leave Shinno here, not with him!"
        "Shinno knows what he's doing. He'll be fine," the scribe assured the
moor. Gazing sadly at his young master, he added, "He's a survivor. Allah will
protect him."
        For awhile, Khassim was adamant about staying, refusing to budge.
        "Khassim, I'm begging you!" said Shinno earnestly. "I must do this. I
need Methos for my teacher. There's no other way. Please, my dear friend! I
will not have you see me in...in his..."
        Shinno couldn't finish what he was going to say, casting his eyes down
instead.
        Feeling Joseph tugging at his arm once more, the moor, at last,
reluctantly allowed the scribe to lead him away.
        When the two men were gone, Shinno's hands reluctantly went up to the
silk around his face.
        "No!" said Methos, stopping him. "There is no need for that. You may
keep your precious anonymity. Your breeches would be enough."
        Obediently, Shinno removed the ties of his breeches and let it fall
down his long, graceful legs. He then stepped out of the garment. His loose
shirt concealed his genitals from Methos' view.
        "Now, get down on your knees."
        Following Methos' command, the whoremaster said solemnly, "Before you
take me, let me tell you that I do this only for Sanchi. Through hand signs, he
told me everything. He said that you harbor hatred specifically towards the
Lord of the Keep. What did this Lord do to you?"
        "It's a long, boring story. Suffice to say that he accused me falsely,
and he was at such a tender age even. Although I fled from the Lord's homeland,
I've been keeping in touch with reliable sources as to his...activities. I've
learned that he's been dealing with evil Immortals and unscrupulous foreigners
like your Master, the Emir Zaid al-Bahir. When the opportunity presented itself
for me to lead the Emir's caravan and protect his precious whore, I did not
think twice. This was the beginning of the vengeance I had been waiting for for
the past twenty-five years."
        "Then why do you hurt Sanchi, Methos? Whatever it is the lord did to
you, Sanchi is innocent. He does not deserve your anger and your vengeance."
        "You ask why I hurt him?" Methos declared. "Haven't you ever thought
that, aside from the lord and his good friend the Emir, you are the cause, you
are the reason why I take my anger out on Sanchi?"
        Shinno shook his head in bewilderment. "I...I don't understand."
        "YOU HATE ME, SHINNO!" The Immortal stated outright. "You hate me just
as much as I hate the Lord of the Keep, and I want to know why!"
        "I...I don't hate you! Why should I hate you?"
        "Don't lie to me! I see it in your eyes! Sometime in the past, you've
known me. It's obvious because you're familiar with my sword style. I don't
know what I've done to you, but it's enough to drive you to want to learn the
skills necessary to kill me. You even went so far as to get me for a teacher so
you could learn my style and take my head later on!"
        "I will not deny it!" Shinno retorted. "I DO HATE YOU, METHOS! I want
you dead! For the way you've been hurting Sanchi and, most of all, for the way
you've betrayed me!"
        "I betrayed you?" queried Methos. "Maybe you should help me refresh my
memory."
        "All will be revealed in due time, I assure you." Shinno sat on his
haunches, his head raised in defiance. "Well, Old One, now that our hidden
motives are exposed, what next?"
        Methos circled the whoremaster like a hawk. "I could kill you before
you take my head. But I won't do that. I've always loved a challenge, Shinno,
and you are an intriguing adversary. I WILL continue to teach you. When that
time comes and we should face each other in battle, we shall see who shall
remain standing. However..."
        The Immortal loved the way those lovely brown eyes narrowed in
suspicion.
        Continuing, Methos said, "This time, if you want to learn everything,
and I do mean EVERYTHING, from me, you must be willing to pay much more than
you have already given me." Bending down, he raised Shinno's shirt slightly to
reveal the golden mounds of his buttocks. Rubbing his hand over the smooth
skin, he muttered, "I'm sure you know what I mean."
        Shinno swallowed hard and then nodded his head. "Agreed! However, I ask
that you spare Sanchi your anger and hatred towards the lord, the Emir and I.
If it's rape you want, you may do so with me. I can take it. Do whatever you
want with me, but please, PLEASE DO NOT hurt Sanchi! Promise me this!"
        "I promise," Methos replied simply.
        At first, the whoremaster looked at the older man, gauging his
sincerity. But Methos' face was unreadable. Shinno closed his eyes as the
Immortal's hands slid under his sweat-drenched shirt, playing with the small
nubs. Those tormenting fingers fluttered down towards his belly and crotch. He
bit his lower lip as Methos' hands enveloped his cock, stroking him gently.
        "Kamir is right. You need to be tamed, my student," the Immortal
whispered in his ear. "And raping you is not the way to do it. I am a Master,
Shinno, not just with the sword." Giving the young man's member a squeeze, he
added, "I think you will enjoy the things I will teach you."
        "No! Never!" said Shinno sharply, pulling Methos' hands off his cock.
But the Immortal gripped his hips and bent him over that his rump was raised
high in the air.
        "I want you burning with desire for me, Shinno," Methos muttered,
positioning himself on top of his student, spreading his thighs wide apart. "I
will have you know that the man you hate is the only man who could ever give
you pleasure."
        At these words, the Immortal slipped a slender finger inside the
younger man. Shinno gasped, his channel constricting instinctively to block the
invader. But Methos was patient, waiting until he felt the pressure ease.
Gently, the ancient inserted two more fingers inside, stretching the tiny
opening. Shinno tried to keep silent, but the Immortal's tender ministrations
have greatly aroused him. To his dismay, a yearning whimper escaped his lips as
the older man withdrew his fingers. That sweet sound brought a smile to Methos'
lips.
        Seeing that his student was ready for him, Methos eased the head of his
cock just...a bit...inside...
        Shinno screamed in pain, tears streaming from his eyes.
        Feeling the whoremaster tense up, the Immortal embraced him
comfortingly. "Easy, Shinno! Breathe!"
        Resigned to his fate, Shinno surrendered himself to Methos, taking long
deep breaths, while the older man penetrated him. When the tip of Methos' cock
brushed his sensitive spot, Shinno cried out once more, but this time, in
pleasure.
        Breaching Shinno fully, the Immortal began to move his hips, slowly at
first, then faster and faster. The whoremaster trembled all over, lost in the
passions the older man aroused in him. When Methos once again took his aching
cock in his hands, Shinno tried to squirm away, but only succeeded in thrusting
his hips upwards, impaling himself deeply on the Immortal's hard organ.
        Weeping, Shinno begged, "Please stop! No more!" But Methos did not heed
his cries, determined to give his student pleasure.
        Consumed by the flames of desire, the two men moved as one, primal
animals longing for release, but dreaded the inevitability of its coming. Their
orgasm was explosive. Methos screamed as he spurted his fluids deep inside his
student. As he ejaculated, he squeezed the younger man's organ, milking it of
its copious essence. Unable to hold both their weights, Shinno collapsed on the
floor, the scarf falling from his face. Weakened by the intensity of their
coupling, he could only manage to press his tear-filled face to his arm.
        When his cock had softened, Methos eased himself out of Shinno. Seeing
the blood flowing from the blossom of the young man's rose opening, the
Immortal took out his handkerchief and wiped it away. Hearing Shinno's sobs,
Methos laid his kerchief on the floor, leaned down and kissed the bared cheek.
The whoremaster whimpered, pressing the scarf over his face.
        "That was wonderful!" he breathed in his student's ear. "Thank you."
        Putting on his breeches, Methos stood up and secured the buckle of his
belt. As he made his way towards the rope ladder leading back up to the
surface, the young man's voice stopped him.
        "Sanchi," Shinno said, his voice shaking.
        Methos looked at his student in surprise. "Of course I have need of
Sanchi's services tonight! We did have an arrangement, remember?"
        The whoremaster stared at him in shock, not believing what he just
heard. "Don't tell me you could still...?" Shinno asked hopefully. "You...you
won't hurt him."
        "My dear Shinno! I'll do whatever I want with him."
         "But...but you promised!"
        Not looking at Shinno, the Immortal replied icily, "I lied. I am
Methos. No one tells me what to do."
 
        In his haste to reach his tent, Sanchi all but stumbled through the
opening. The sight of the man lounging against the cushions stopped him cold.
        "You're late," Methos declared as he rose from the mat, walking towards
the concubine.
        Sanchi gasped as the Immortal grabbed his hair, pulling his veiled head
back.
        "I don't like to be kept waiting," Methos muttered ominously.
        Before cock crow, the Immortal left the tent, and a young man weeping
on the mat, his body raped and bleeding. It took several minutes after Methos'
departure before Sanchi could move. Slowly, he eased himself up to a sitting
position, wincing in pain.
        From his torn garments, he produced a handkerchief, already stained
with blood. Gingerly, he wiped the blood and semen away from his rump and
between his thighs. Disgusted by the traces of his defilement, his strokes
became hard and fast, but he knew he could never be clean.
        For a long moment, he just sat there, panting for breath, trying to
calm his nerves. Slowly, he removed his veil. With a furious swipe of the
fabric, he wiped away the tears from his face. Staring at the dying embers of
the brazier, his jaw hardened, letting the rage fill him.
        "I won't cry!" Shinno swore under his breath. "I won't cry, certainly
not over a bastard like you, Methos!"
 
        Methos rode in stoic silence, ignoring the fierce glares that Joseph
and Khassim granted him. It was all too apparent to him that the two men were
aware of what he had done to Sanchi last night. In truth, he couldn't care less
about what they thought of him. He had long since gone deaf to the opinions of
others and the calls of his conscience.
        At that thought, the image of a frail, but beautiful, woman filled his
mind. The memory of his loving wife pinched at his heart.
        "This is wrong, Methos, and you know that." The ancient could hear the
reproach in Alexa's words.
        "I have to do this, Alexa," he answered the vision. "I've waited too
long."
        "He's just a child. What does a child know of betrayal?"
        "That was twenty-five years ago. He's a grown man now."
        Alexa shook her head in sorrow. "I hope you don't regret this, Methos.
For your sake..."
        As his wife faded from his memory, Methos muttered firmly, "I know I
won't."
        "Are you asleep, you old fool?" a hate-filled voice suddenly said
beside him. "Maybe I should give you a wallop on that loathsome facial
protuberance you call a nose. Better yet, I think it would be best if I put you
out of your misery right now and lop of your head."
        Methos' eyes flashed in anger as he looked at the masked figure who
somehow managed to sneak up beside him. Like him, Shinno was riding an Arabian
stallion, but the younger man's steed was jet black in color. He wasn't at all
surprised to find that the horse was well-trained, probably by Shinno's hands.
If there's anything he recognized at first glance, it's a powerful war steed.
        "Don't push me, Shinno," the ancient warned him. "I'm not in a good
mood."
        "Is that so? If that's the case, you must always remind me when you're
in a foul temper. After last night, I will not let you lay a single finger on
Sanchi ever again."
        "SHINNO!" Kamir called out from the carriage that had halted a few
meters behind them. "I turn my back for a few minutes and you're up to your old
tricks! Get back here this instant!"
        "Will I never have a single moment's peace!" exclaimed the whoremaster
in exasperation.
        Before he could leave, Methos grabbed his arm. "Do you think you can
stop me? Watch yourself, Shinno. You wouldn't want me to vent my rage on you."
        As the ancient looked into the younger man's eyes, he was stunned by
the anguish he saw in them. Such was the effect that those deep brown orbs had
on him that he found himself releasing the whoremaster's arm.
        "What do you intend to do to me, Methos?" Shinno asked him, each word
reflecting his deep hurt. "Don't you know that there is nothing you can do to
damage me even further?"
        The whoremaster got down from his horse, handing the reins to the
Immortal. His steps were slow and heavy as he went back to the carriage. Just
as he reached the door, Kamir yanked him inside. Methos winced, hearing the
sharp whacks of that whip. Although Kamir's curses were audible, there were no
cries of pain from Shinno. When all was silent, the soft sounds of weeping
reached his ears.
        In answer to the question inside his mind, Joseph said, "That's Sanchi.
He could never bear seeing Shinno being hurt." The scribe gave the ancient a
meaningful glance. "In the same way, it breaks Shinno's heart when Sanchi's
been abused."
        "Are you telling me it's my fault?" Methos asked in irritation.
        Khassim spoke up, "Only you could answer that question. But I will tell
you this. I've never seen Shinno or Sanchi as unhappy as they are now. Then
again, I doubt if you even care about the feelings of two whores."
        At once, Alexa's words returned to him. "For your sake, Methos, I hope
you don't regret this."
        The ancient gazed at the two men. In all firmness, he said, "You're
right, Khassim. I don't care one bit about a pair of whores."
 
        Noon saw the caravan temporarily camped beside a hill near Ain-Sefra.
Still sulking, Methos chose to stay away from the group of travelers, sitting
with his back to a date palm. As he gazed up at the majestic peaks of the Atlas
Mountains, he willed his mind to go blank, assuming a meditative trance.
       With his surroundings blocked out, the ancient did not notice Kamir
emerge from the tent, dragging a young man with him. Before he could vocally
contradict the adviser's wishes, he reeled back from the fierce slap on his
cheek. Kamir forced the young man to straighten up, thrusting a tray of food in
his arms. He then gestured angrily in the direction of Methos. With a weary
sigh of resignation, he headed out to obey the adviser's command.
        Methos snapped out of his trance when a shadow blocked out the sun's
rays. Opening his eyes, the first thought that crossed his mind was that he was
looking at an angel.
        A young man stood before him, bearing a tray in his hands. The
djellabah he wore barely concealed the firm body within. The ancient could see
the lines of that lithe form as a dark silhouette in the sunlight. His long
brown hair reached down to his buttocks, fluttering in the light breeze behind
him. However, when his eyes focused on that face, Methos was immediately
dismayed. Except for his cocoa brown eyes, the lower half of his face was
covered by a scarf.
        "Take it away!" the ancient said crossly. "I need nothing from you,
Shinno!"
        Beneath his mask, Shinno's jaw hardened. "Why? Do you think that I
would poison you? I'll just be wasting excellent rat killer on you."
        "We're wasting both our time, young master of whores. Leave me be!"
        "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is to grovel before you. This
is Kamir's idea. He thinks that I must...make amends...for my and Sanchi's
appalling behavior to you these past few days."
        "And would you do that? Apologize, I mean."
        Shinno's desert brown eyes were as sharp as a scimitar's blade. "I
think you know me better than that." He held out the tray impatiently. "Here!
Take it! I want this loathsome task over and done with!"
        "Is it loathsome for you to serve and honor your teacher?"
        "Only at night, or any time that I need your instruction, would I
consider you my teacher. I owe you no respect outside of that period. I see no
need to respect a man that finds pleasure in rape."
        Methos' head snapped up to glare at the whoremaster's face. Whatever
retort he had, he left it unsaid. Instead, a mocking grin formed on his lips.
        "Kamir is right," he said, his voice oozing with disdain. "I do need an
apology from you, and the best way for you to do it is to serve me. Very well,
Shinno! Start groveling!"
        The whoremaster's grip tightened on the tray, his knuckles turning
white from the strain. Shinno closed his eyes, again, that resigned sigh
issuing from his lips. With tempered grace, he slowly sank to his knees, laying
the tray on the sand beside Methos.
        "What is your pleasure, my Lord?" he asked in the proper reverence.
With a wave of his hand, Shinno gestured to the food on the tray. "We have
bread, dates, dried meat and camel's milk. What do you desire?"
        "The bread will do," Methos answered.
        But as the whoremaster held out the bun to him on the palm of his hand,
the ancient readily added, "Feed me."
        Again, for a brief moment, that sharp glance. Lowering his gaze, Shinno
pinched off a piece of bread between his fingertips, offering it before the
Immortal's face.
        Methos paused, gazing at the young man before him. However, what was
visible on Shinno's face was devoid of emotion or expression. Just that bland
submissiveness. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Methos hated seeing it in
this proud whoremaster.
        The ancient's lips parted and Shinno placed the tidbit on his tongue.
Methos tried to trap the younger man's fingers in his mouth, but Shinno quickly
pulled his hand back. With every piece of bread that was offered, the game
continued, the whoremaster winning with every evasive move. In the end, as it
was common among losers, it was the Immortal who lost his patience. As the
whoremaster was about to pick up a date, Methos grabbed his wrist.
        The suddenness of the ancient's action caught Shinno by surprise.
Startlement cross the whoremaster's features, as well as fear. Methos hated
that sign of vulnerability even more.
        "What is it you like, my Lord?" Shinno asked, a slight tremor in his
voice. With his free hand, he reached out for the cup. "May I offer you some
milk?"
        Before the young man could take it, the Immortal swept the cup from the
tray. Shinno's jaw dropped, seeing the milk spill onto the sand.
        "What have you done?" the whoremaster gasped out in shock. "Do you know
what you've done?"
        The answer that Methos had was never able to escape his lips for a
stern Kamir strode towards them. The adviser's eyes focused on the fallen cup
and, especially, the firm grip that the ancient had on Shinno's wrist.
        "Has this whore displeased you again, Methos?" Kamir queried, his voice
dripping with menace. "Shinno, what kind of mischief have you been up to?"
        "He did nothing," Methos spoke up. "Both of us were reaching for the
cup, but I knocked it over."
        "That's not what it looked like to me." Turning to Shinno, he ordered,
"You! Go and fetch a fresh cup from the tent! Perhaps I should start treating
you as the servant and whore that you truly are."
        The whoremaster hastened to get to his feet, but Methos kept his hand
on the young man's wrist. "There is no need. Shinno is quite capable of
providing for my needs." Saying this, the ancient parted Shinno's robes to
reveal his firm chest.
        A grin quirked up Kamir's lips. "Yes, I forgot all about that. We give
him a special drug to make him capable of producing such a sweet fluid. Perhaps
I shall have a treat myself later on."
        As the Emir's adviser burst into laughter, Methos saw that the
whoremaster's head was lowered, his hands gripping his knees. He could tell how
humiliated the young man was to have this induced quirk of his anatomy exposed
in such a manner. Then, to the ancient's shock, Kamir swatted Shinno painfully
on the back of his head.
        "Be good, rebellious whore!" the adviser declared in warning. "Please
the Horseman as you would the Emir. I shall deal with you later." At these
words, Kamir left them alone.
        For a moment, the two men didn't speak. Then, in a voice hoarse with
pain, Shinno muttered, "Do what you will with me, Methos."
        Methos wanted to do what Shinno ordered him -- to take him as he had
Sanchi, to dominate, to hurt. But the vulnerability in the young man now kept
those dark urges in check. Instead, he took the whoremaster gently in his arms.
Tenderly, he pressed his face to Shinno's nipple and began to feed. At that
contact, the Immortal felt the young man stiffen, anticipating the pain.
Instead, Methos gave him comfort, concentrated on the hands rubbing at that
stiff back and the tender lapping of his lips and tongue upon those tits. The
ancient drank and drank, intoxicated by the sweet essence of the whoremaster.
So he was surprised when he felt arms wrap around him, like a mother holding
her child in her embrace. This was followed by a drop of something warm and wet
upon his cheek.
        Above him, Methos heard Shinno whisper, "I...I cannot apologize. You
cannot make me beg for your forgiveness. But...but...I don't want either of us
to be hurt anymore."
        "It won't change things even if you did," the ancient answered. "I
cannot be turned from my path."
        Methos felt his blood run cold as Alexa's words were thrown back at
him. "For your sake, Methos, I hope you don't regret this path that you have
chosen."
 
        He sat quietly in his tent, staring blankly at the brazier before him,
as the servant girl ran the brush through his hair. He was supposed to have
another lesson with the ancient Immortal tonight, but chose at the last minute
not to. He couldn't bear to be with him, not after what happened earlier. There
was a desperate need to focus, to center himself. More than anything else, he
didn't want to be made to feel like a plaything.
        However, this momentary respite was to be denied him, noticing Kamir's
approach out of the corner of his eye.
        "Leave us," Kamir ordered the servant away. The girl did as she was
commanded.
        He felt the adviser's lustful gaze boring into him. The thin robes he
wore were a flimsy protection against its heat.
        "I have to hand it to Methos," Kamir remarked. "I haven't seen you
this...compliant...in quite some time. We should have sent for him long before
and spared us the agony of your rebellious attitude."
        Eager hands disrobed him, trembling fingers running all over his skin.
He did not broach any protest as he was laid on the soft pillows. He closed his
eyes, hoping to block out the sight of that leering face above him. But it did
nothing to keep him from feeling that cruel mouth suckling at his breasts or
the thrust of a large cock within his nether region.
        "You are so beautiful, do you know that?" Kamir whispered in his ear.
        He tried to draw his mind away from the coupling, anywhere except the
here and now. However, what his traitorous mind focused on was a scene by a
date palm -- an ancient Immortal suckling at his nipple, running a comforting
hand on his back. It was not something he wanted to remember.
        Thankfully, he was drawn out of that memory by a warm gush within him.
Kamir was never able to hold himself for long. Better to concentrate on the
fluid spurting inside him, that flaccid sex trying desperately to regain its
imposing stature as it scraped along his bruised flesh.
        He didn't want to hear those hateful words. "I cannot be turned from my
path."
        He wished for tomorrow to come -- another day for him to plot his
revenge against the people who have tormented him. Against the one man who, in
a single night, changed his destiny.
        But for now, he didn't want to think about Methos. He didn't want to
sleep at all. He knew that if he did, the tears would come. And he didn't want
to cry again.
 
        "Where is Shinno?" Methos asked Joseph, who was sharing Khassim's tent
that night. "I thought we shall be having sword lessons this eve."
        "Not tonight," the scribe replied, shaking his head. "Both he and
Sanchi are with Kamir."
        The ancient snorted. "Greedy bastard, isn't he? Not even thinking about
sharing."
        "I think he got that idea from you," said Joseph in sarcasm.
        The ancient ignored that comment. "I've been meaning to ask you this
for quite some time. What is going on between Shinno and Sanchi? Why is Shinno
so protective of him aside from the obvious that he is the Emir's prized
whore?"
        "Haven't you guessed it yet? They are brothers, Methos. Twins, to be
exact." Joseph gave the Immortal a bow. "Good night, Horseman. I hope you have
a pleasant sleep tonight."
        As the scribe walked away, the Immortal found himself staring at the
concubine's tent. Brothers...twins...that explains a lot of things. But it
brought with it other questions as well. And there was something that trouble
him deeply.
        That tender moment he had shared with Shinno...how did that happen?
Inwardly, he cursed himself for succumbing to that impulse for comfort and
tenderness. He had only felt that way with Alexa. Why now, and with the object
of his revenge?
        In a way, there was something about Shinno that reminded him of his
late wife. Same also for Sanchi. It was a dangerous kind of emotion, something
that could steer him away from his course.
        "I...I cannot apologize. You cannot make me beg for your forgiveness."
Now, that was the kind of response he expected from the proud whoremaster. What
he had said next, however, caught him off-guard. "But...but...I don't want
either of us to be hurt anymore." That, and the tear that fell upon his cheek.
        There was something in the young man that brought out that side of him
that still believed in goodness. It was a weakness that he couldn't allow to
surface once more.
        Better that he remember who he truly was -- a Horseman, the one man the
Emir counted on to tame his precious whores.
        But why did Methos suddenly find this task so distasteful to him?
 
***** Chapter 5 *****
 
CHAPTER FIVE
 
        Methos stood on top of a hill, looking out at the wide expanse of
desert that the caravan was about to face -- the Great Western 'Irq, one of the
great 'uruq or dune chains of the Sahara. At the camp below him, everyone was
busy refilling the water skins from the well for the difficult journey ahead.
If they leave in a few hours, by his estimation, they would reach the first
oasis at the desert's edge by night fall.
        As he surveyed the area, a lone figure caught the ancient's eye. Shinno
was hunched over a patch of esparto grassland, a basket at his side. The basket
itself was already filled with long needle grass. Curiosity getting the better
of him, Methos trudged down the hillside and headed for the whoremaster.
        Engrossed with what he was doing, Shinno did not notice the Immortal's
approach until his shadow fell upon him. The young man turned abruptly, but
just as quickly went back to what he was doing.
        "Oh! It's only you," Shinno said, unable to hide his contempt.
        "Why? Were you expecting someone else?" Methos asked.
        "Joseph...Khassim...anyone amiable. Except you and Kamir."
        "Am I not good company for you?"
        "No, and Sanchi agrees with me wholeheartedly."
        Ignoring the whoremaster's obvious desire for him to leave, Methos
plopped down before him. He watched in amusement as Shinno's thick brows
knitted in a frown, while he shielded what he was making with his cloak.
        "You know, I missed you and your brother last night," the ancient
remarked casually.
        That caused the younger man to raise his head, confusion written on his
face. "Brother?" But he quickly covered up, "Uh...Sanchi and I
were...servicing...Kamir." Shinno scowled at the Immortal. "Thank you for
reminding him."
        "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
        "Please don't act so concerned, you hypocrite," Shinno exclaimed dryly.
"You're just disappointed because you weren't able to get your filthy hands on
us."
        Again, those words hit its mark. Methos queried softly, "Do you think
it's beyond me to show concern for someone?"
        "Why shouldn't I think this way?" the whoremaster snapped back. "You
haven't shown me any reason to believe otherwise. Frankly, I don't know how
your wife managed to put up with you."
        Methos gaped at the younger man in surprise, hearing that last.
Shinno's frown turned into a menacing scowl, noting the Immortal's stare.
        "WHAT?" Shinno declared in irritation.
        "What 'what'?"
        "You're staring at me, and I don't like it. You look like a fish out of
water -- all eyes and gaping mouth. Then again, fish don't have noses as large
as yours."
        The ancient almost laughed at the way the whoremaster described him. He
scratched his head sheepishly and grinned. "Forgive me. What you said
earlier...it's what Alexa always says to me: 'I don't know how I manage to put
up with you.'"
        "Humph!" Shinno snorted as he went back to his little chore. "Poor
woman! She must have been a martyr, living with someone like you."
        "On the contrary," Methos interrupted, "I loved her very much. I never
did anything to cause her grief." Deep sorrow crossed the Immortal's features.
"When she died, my heart died with her."
        For a moment, there was silence. Shinno commented softly, "Loss -
- whether it be through Death's doing or something else -- is always
devastating. Enough to even change your life completely."
        "It looks like we have something in common."
        "We are alike in two things only -- the hate and the desire for
revenge," the whoremaster retorted in great anger. "But unlike you, I do not
vent my frustrations out on the innocent."
        "Shinno," the ancient began in irritation, "is it always this difficult
to have a civil conversation with you?"
        "I choose who I should be civil with, and you are not one of them."
        "Perhaps I should go to Sanchi right now. He's a much better companion
than you."
        "That's because he can't talk." Shinno's hands began to move furiously,
ripping and tugging on the grass on his lap. "All he could do is whimper and
cry and shake his head when men rape him. There is no need to beg for mercy
when you are on your hands and knees or on your back, a cock being rammed
inside you. They just take you again...and again...and again..."
        The young man pulled at a grass with all his might, a gasp escaping his
lips as the sharp edge cut his palm. It was then that Methos got a good look at
his hands. Shinno's hands were bleeding from small cuts caused by the blades of
grass.
        "Your hands are bleeding!" he exclaimed, taking the whoremaster's right
hand.
        Shinno, however, pulled it back. "Don't touch me!"
        Undaunted, the Immortal grabbed both hands and held them in a fierce
grip so that the younger man could not yank them away. Turning them over,
Methos grimaced, seeing the damage.
        "What the hell are you doing anyway?" the ancient declared, pulling a
bottle of salve from the medicine pouch strapped to his belt.
        Shinno winced as Methos applied the healing salve on the cuts.
Reluctantly, he admitted, "Sanchi and I are making sandals for the guards and
servants. The desert is not a good place to be wearing boots."
        Methos at last noticed the pairs of sandals stacked at the young man's
side.
        "Are Sanchi's hands in the same pitiful state as yours?" the ancient
wrapped Shinno's hands in bandages.
        "I don't know. Maybe not. Sanchi has always been more careful than me."
        When he had finished bandaging Shinno's hands, Methos made to stand.
"Let me be the judge of that."
        "NO!" Shinno tugged on his burnoose so hard that Methos plopped back
down on his rump. Seeing the older man's quizzical expression, he hastily
stammered, "No, you can't see him!"
        "And why not?"
        "Because...because...no one is allowed to see Sanchi during the day."
        "Is that so? Then why are the servants going in and out of the tent if
it's not allowed?"
        "Because...because...Kamir forbids it!"
        "Kamir himself told me that it is the Emir's command that I personally
see to the...special needs...of his concubine."
        "Well, he doesn't need you now."
        "The Emir also said that I could bed him anytime I wish."
        "Is that what Immortality does to men -- transforms them into walking
cocks and bullocks? If that's the case, I forbid you to see him! Why don't you
just stick it up a camel's ass?"
        Methos looked the whoremaster straight in the eye. "Shinno, what are
you hiding from me?"
        "I'm not hiding anything!" Shinno answered defensively. But the ancient
could see that the young man's pupils were dilated with fear. "What have I got
to hide in the first place?"
        "That's what I want to know." The Immortal gave him a meaningful
glance. "You know, I find it highly suspicious that I never see you and Sanchi
together. It's always you in the morning and during sword lessons, and Sanchi
at night. But never at the same time."
        "It's because my duties require me to be abroad during the day.
Sanchi's duties are, obviously, at night."
        "But you don't share the same tent."
        "Of course we do. Haven't you seen me going in and out of the tent? At
night..." Shinno pouted. "I don't think you'd want me there."
        "On the contrary, I like a good menage a trois, just the same as Kamir.
You could join us, if you want to."
        "If I were there, you'll never live to see the sunrise, and I don't
want Sanchi further traumatized with your headless carcass on his mat. Besides,
I prefer the company of Joseph and Khassim to yours."
        Methos winked at the whoremaster. "Why, Shinno!  I never thought you
liked a menage a trois as well, and with such a variety -- a moor and a
cripple!"
        "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF MY FRIENDS THAT WAY!" was the young man's
outraged exclamation.
        Shinno reached for a sandal beside him, about to whack the ancient on
the face with it.
        However, the sandal was literally torn from his grasp. The two men's
eyes were wide with shock, seeing the sandal pierced through and through by an
arrow embedded in the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, the ancient saw
another oncoming projectile. Covering Shinno with his own body, Methos pushed
the young man out of the way, the arrow missing them by a few inches. Turning,
they saw a running figure in the distance, darting through the grass and
heading for the corn field.
        "Get back to the tent!" Methos ordered the startled whoremaster.
        "Methos, but..."
        "GET BACK TO THE TENT NOW!"
        Without saying another word, the ancient raced after the assassin. In
his haste, he did not notice the sharp glint in Shinno's eye.
        Methos swiftly ran through the long grass, keeping his eyes focused on
the assassin as he neared the corn field. The Immortal knew that once the man
entered the field, he would lose him. He quickened his pace, unsheathing his
sword at the same time.
        "HALT!" he shouted. "STOP RIGHT THERE!"
        That produced the desired effect. The assassin whirled around to face
the ancient, scimitar in hand. At once, the two men fought, their blades
flashing in the bright sunlight. Methos was an excellent swordsman, but when
your adversary was desperate to escape and to live, his movements became
unpredictable. Killing the man was not an option. The Immortal had to find out
who he was targeting and who his master was. However, as they battled, it
became obvious to Methos what this man's order was -- to kill or be killed.
        Still, Methos demanded, "You don't have to die! Tell me! Were you
ordered to kill the Emir's whore? Who is your master?"
        But the man would not answer, pressing onwards with ferocious strokes.
Methos had no choice. As he parried the assassin's blows and swipes, the
ancient let the dagger he had hidden in his left sleeve slide into his left
hand. However, as he took a step back to deliver the killing blow, he slipped
on a loose rock and fell to the ground. With a ululating cry, the assassin
raised his sword.
        Then, the man's cry was cut off abruptly. Methos rolled out of the way
as the assassin fell to the ground -- two shurikens buried at his nape.
        "Methos!" the ancient heard Khassim call out. The moor appeared
breathlessly at his side. "Are you all right? What happened?"
        "An assassin," Methos answered. "I was talking to Shinno when he fired
an arrow at us. "It's obvious that our little whoremaster was the target."
        Joseph then came forward. "I don't recognize the colors of his garb.
Whoever hired him made certain that his identity could not be traced."
        "He's not the only assassin running around. The ninja..." the Immortal
pointed to the shurikens. "He saved my life."
        "At least we have an ally," put in the scribe.
        "But a questionable one. I can't be too trusting of him until I know
who he is and what his motives are."
        "Personally, I don't care about his identity." To Methos' shock, the
moor pulled out the shurikens and thrust a dagger through the wound.
        "What do you think you're doing?" demanded Methos.
        "Protecting the one person we could trust," Khassim answered simply.
"Believe us, Methos, but this...ninja...has proven time and again that he is of
no danger to Shinno and Sanchi. In fact, the greatest danger is the assassin
walking amongst us, guarding the two concubines with the tenacity of a dog."
        "You speak of Kamir." Methos nodded in approval. "Yes. I've known for
quite some time that he is thuggee. I've seen the slender cord hidden in the
pouch under his belt when he pulled out his whip."
        Joseph affirmed, "He is the one who requires close watching."
        Sure enough, the object of their discussion suddenly yelled, "WHERE DO
YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? COME BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE WHORE!"
        To the surprise of the three men, the robed figure of the Emir's
concubine squeezed his way through to peer at the body of the assassin.
        This was the first time that Methos saw Sanchi in the daylight, and he
was astounded by the young man's resemblance to Shinno -- from his deep brown
eyes, his long, silky brown hair that reached to his rump, to his lithe figure.
He would've sworn that it was the whoremaster who was standing in their midst,
when he caught the cloaked form of Shinno standing beside the carriage in the
distance, looking at the angry figure of the Emir's adviser who was storming
towards them.
        "Go with Joseph, Little Prince, before Kamir vents his anger upon you,"
Khassim said gently, squeezing the concubine's hands in reassurance. "Methos
and I shall take care of everything here."
        For a moment, Sanchi's eyes locked with the ancient's. Was that concern
reflected in the whore's eyes? Before he could get a word in to the concubine,
Joseph led him away. Methos saw how Kamir grabbed the young man's arm and
pulled him back to camp.
        "I'll expect to hear a report from you later on, Methos," the Emir's
adviser called out to the ancient, who merely waved in reply.
        As he and Khassim got down to take care of the assassin's body, Methos'
mind replayed the events that took place earlier. It was while they were
checking the body for any clues as to his identity that the ancient's attention
was focused once more on the wound on the assassin's nape from which the moor's
dagger protruded. Casting surreptitious glances at the Immortal beside him,
Methos' observations proved true.
        Khassim had no pouch nor pockets in which to conceal the shurikens he
had confiscated. In fact, the sharp throwing stars were no longer in his
possession.
        "Go with Joseph, Little Prince," the moor had told Sanchi while giving
the whore's hands a gentle squeeze.
        Methos clearly remembered those hands as they peeked out momentarily
from the long sleeves of his robe.
        Sanchi's hands were wrapped in bandages.
 
        After giving Joseph a message for Shinno that he will be unable to
teach the whoremaster this eve, Methos went straight to Kamir's tent to discuss
about the assassin.
        "There's something not right about what happened earlier," the ancient
remarked as he sipped his wine. "If these are enemies of the Emir, what do they
hope to gain by killing his concubine?"
        "It has been known that, among the Bedouins," the Kamir began sagely,
"wars start over the littlest of things. Everyone knows just how valuable this
particular whore is to the Emir."
        "Just 'how valuable' is this whore anyway to Zaid al-Bahir? And I'm not
talking about the great expense he put into having his concubine trained by the
best whores in the world."
        "I'm afraid it is the Emir who could only answer your questions. IF he
will answer them..."
        Methos shook his head. "I don't know. There are just too many questions
surrounding the Emir's whore. I do not want to go into a situation as blind as
a bat. This...assassin...we have no clues whatsoever as to his identity. His
master could be the chieftain of any of the nomadic tribes in the desert. We
also have bandits that we may have to contend with. We're not too sure about
the people on this caravan as well. This is very difficult, Kamir. If I'm to
protect the Emir's concubine, I need to know what we're up against. Most
importantly, who this whore really is?"
        Kamir paused for a moment. With a deep breath, he answered, "I am not
at liberty to divulge information about the Emir's whore. But I could tell you
about the desert tribes in greater depth. Would that be sufficient?"
        It was obvious to the ancient that the adviser was avoiding any
discussions about Sanchi. There was also the matter that Kamir always referred
to the Emir's whore in the singular, never the plural. As if he were talking
about only one man. If he were to get any straight answers, it would probably
be from Joseph or Khassim, but then again, neither would be inclined to divulge
secrets. He could ask Shinno himself. However...
        No, thought Methos. Better take it a step at a time. Protecting the
Emir's whores should be my priority. As Shinno said, the answers will be
revealed in due time.
        The ancient smiled at Kamir and nodded, "Yes, I think that would be
sufficient." For now.
 
        His meeting with Kamir took almost the whole night, a most unproductive
one, in Methos' opinion. The Emir's adviser only told him what he already knew
-- that if the nomads or bandits didn't kill them first, the desert certainly
will.
        However, it wasn't that which kept the ancient awake. It was thoughts
of Shinno and Sanchi.
        Methos had come close to believing that Shinno and Sanchi were one and
the same person. Those bandages should've been proof enough. But then, the
Immortal suddenly remembered that Shinno had been standing beside the carriage.
There was the other matter that Sanchi had also been making sandals inside his
tent. If he had suffered similar wounds on his hands same as Shinno, that would
also explain the bandages. In addition, there was the ninja and the missing
shurikens, mind-boggling puzzles that could give a 5,000-year old Immortal a
headache.
       Methos heard the soft rustle of the tent's flap opening behind him.
        "I'm sorry but I really don't want to be disturbed right now," he said
as he turned around to look at his visitor, only to find his jaw dropping in
pleasant surprise. "Sanchi?"
        The young man shook his head. "No, it's me, Methos." Shinno had changed
into a gauzy robe, like what his brother wears. But the fabric was much thinner
that the whoremaster was practically naked. The lower half of Shinno's face was
covered by a silk scarf.
        "Shinno, if this is about sword lessons..." Methos began wearily.
        "No, it's not about that." Reluctantly, the whoremaster admitted,
"Sanchi...and I...we just wanted to find out if you're all right."
        "It's going to take more than an arrow to kill me."
        "Sanchi told me that I should..." Shinno took a deep breath. "Thank
you, Methos, for protecting me from the assassin earlier."
        "Just doing my job, Shinno. Just doing my job."
        "Is...is there anything I can do for you?"
        "If you're thinking about sex, it's your lucky day. I'm not in the mood
right now because of this headache. Maybe some other time."
        However, instead of leaving, the young man walked around the Immortal
and knelt down behind him. He was shocked when gentle fingers began to massage
his temples. Instinctively, his back stiffened.
        "Relax, will you?" Shinno declared in mild exasperation. "I'm not going
to bite you. Come on! Lie down."
        Before Methos could protest, he felt the whoremaster's hands upon his
shoulders, urging him to lay his head on his lap. The ancient just found
himself obeying, even settling down in a comfortable position.
        "That didn't hurt now, did it?" the young man asked, a teasing tone in
his voice.
        As Shinno massaged his forehead and temples, Methos stared into those
playful brown eyes that were, for once, shining with happiness and mischief.
Looking into Shinno's orbs brought a painful twinge in his heart. Those pretty
puppy dog eyes...it reminded him so much of another person who had once graced
and cursed his life. A child.
        "Methos, is something wrong?" he heard the whoremaster query. "You're
frowning again."
        "Sorry," the ancient apologized sincerely. "I was just thinking."
        "You should stop thinking too much. It seems Immortality is not much of
a cure for wrinkles."
        Surprised at that joke, Methos laughed at that remark.
        "Now, that's much better," Shinno declared, continuing with the
massage.
        The Immortal gazed thoughtfully at the young man above him. "Why can't
we always be like this, Shinno?"
        It was the whoremaster's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"
        "Talking...not quarreling."
        Silence. Shinno said softly, "This is just a temporary respite, and you
know it. Nothing's going to change between us."
        "Is it because of Sanchi? What I did to him...and to you?"
        "That's part of the reason. But then again, what could we do? We're
whores after all. We live with rape. Besides, I don't think you would want us
to be anything else but that."
        "If I didn't want you to have a better life, I would never have agreed
to give you sword lessons."
        "Let's not kid ourselves, Methos. We both know what our true motives
are -- vengeance against the people who have brought us pain in the past."
        "Yes, but it could be a stepping stone to the future."
        "But what kind of future -- good or bad?"
        "Who knows? Whatever it is..." Methos gave Shinno a wink. "...At least,
we'll both have our revenge."
        In an echo of Alexa's ghostly words to him, Shinno answered, "Let's
just hope we don't live to regret it." Breathing in deeply, he said, "I'd
better go." He then became serious. "A word of warning, Methos. The
assassin..."
        "What about the assassin?"
        "I was not the target. It was you he wanted to kill."
        Methos was stunned by this revelation. "How do you know?"
        "Believe me, Methos, I just know." Shinno reached into the pocket of
his robe and pulled out what looked like a rope. He tossed it to the ancient.
"Here! Sanchi made this for you. He thought it would help keep your hair in
place."
        The Immortal took the object and saw that it was an ornamental tie with
beads and feathers used to braid long hair with.
        "Thank you," said Methos, putting as much weight into those two words
as possible.
        "It's nothing," Shinno shrugged. "Just a simple token. Nothing to make
a big deal over. After this, things are going to go back to the way they were
anyway."
        "What if it doesn't?"
        "It will. I know you, Methos."
        "Just the same, thank you, Shinno...for saving my life."
        The whoremaster started at that last. With a snort, Shinno retorted,
"Believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was save your life!" The young man
came to a dead halt, realizing what he just said.
        Grinning, Methos advised, "Be careful when you use your shurikens!
Those things are sharp. I don't want your hands getting cut."
        "I think you're mistaken, Old One. I'm not the ninja."
        "Did I say that you were the ninja?"
        Shinno did not know what to say, realizing that he had been caught.
        "This is a very good thing, you know. I could begin teaching you
advance techniques, especially since you know martial arts so well." The
ancient also reassured him, "Don't worry! Your secret is safe with me."
        "That's what I'm afraid of," the young man muttered under his breath,
groaning.
        "Oh, and I still owe you for the spanking you gave me nights before!"
Methos quickly remembered. "Remind me to give you a good thrashing before
lessons."
        Shinno glared at the Immortal. "That's the LAST thing you're going to
do to me!" Saying this, he stormed out of the tent.
        Methos burst into laughter. As he settled down to sleep, he breathed in
relief. That was one mystery solved.
***** Chapter 6 *****
 
CHAPTER SIX
 
        "Are you insane? I'm not climbing up there! It weaves worse than a
drunk! The damned thing might fall with me in it! Why can't I just ride my
horse?"
        Methos was trying in vain to hold back his laughter, seeing Shinno
arguing with an equally fuming Kamir. The object of the whoremaster's dubious
attention was the conveyance the adviser had ordered the servants to construct
on top of a camel. The ancient had to agree with Shinno's assessment. The
rickety structure looked like it would collapse at any minute. It certainly
would not be able to hold three people inside it. Then, there's also the poor
camel to consider. A stubborn, irritable creature to begin with, the camel
looked like it was ready to bolt from the two noisy humans.
        Turning to an equally amused Khassim, the ancient asked, "Is Kamir
serious about the three of them riding that thing?"
        "Actually, it's only he and Shinno who will be riding it," the moor
answered. Gesturing to another conveyance behind him, he said, "Joseph and
Sanchi are already settled in." As Methos granted it a critical eye, Khassim
beamed, "I designed it myself."
        "At least that looks stable enough to me. Why doesn't Kamir allow
Shinno to ride his horse? There's no way that he could escape from us."
        A grin formed on Khassim's face. "You only say that because you haven't
seen how Shinno rides. He's a natural horseman and trainer of steeds. Kamir
would be a fool to trust him with a horse. That's how he nearly escaped in
Japan. You saw Denko. He was just a sickly colt when Shinno begged Hideo Koto
to give it to him. Look at him now -- a fierce war steed, with the speed of its
namesake, the lightning bolt."
        "Well," Methos began, snickering at the hilarious sight of a
struggling, protesting Shinno being hauled bodily through the window of the
conveyance, "better Denko than that thing."
        At the urging of the scribe, the driver moved the second conveyance
towards the two Immortals. Joseph slid the window open, a rosy glow on his
cheeks.
        "I am willing to bet five pieces of gold that Kamir's transport will
last four hours in the desert," the scribe declared, his voice a bit slurred.
        "Four hours?" Khassim sputtered out. "That's like admitting you're
Kamir's lackey, because you believe in his fiendish contraptions."
        Joseph ignored the comment. "If he believes in the design of his mode
of transport, I see no reason why I should doubt him. After all, he is the
Emir's adviser."
        "Who doesn't know a single thing about the desert! Ah, let the simoom
come and it will blow off said mode of transport from the camel's back before
we could even blink!" Khassim eyed the scribe with suspicion. "Joseph, have you
been brewing your vile concoctions again?"
        "Concoctions?" Methos asked curiously.
        The moor explained, "Unlike other scholars who have lofty ambitions for
higher education and knowledge, our friend Joseph here dreams of having his own
tavern someday, wherein he could serve exotic drinks that he himself created."
        "That is not a bad thing," the ancient commented.
        "But his concoctions are potent stuff. You'd better not be giving
Sanchi a cupful of your fiendish brew..."
        "Cupful?" Joseph exclaimed. "He already consumed a whole bottle! Our
precious concubine is sleeping like a baby."
        Before Khassim could scold the scribe, Joseph slid the window shut.
        "Allah, why did you surround me with imbeciles!" the moor raised his
hands to the heavens.
        "Relax, Khassim!" Methos reassured his fellow Immortal. "I'm sure
Sanchi will be fine. It's Shinno I'm worried about." A wicked grin quirked up a
corner of his mouth. "But since we're in a betting mood, let me throw in a
wager as well. I say that Kamir's conveyance won't last more than an hour in
the desert."
        Noting the smugness in the ancient's words, Khassim remarked, "You seem
pretty sure of yourself."
        Methos stole a glance at the conveyance, wherein Shinno's booted feet
dangled out the window. "Let's just say I have a nose for impending
catastrophe."
 
        True to his prediction, disaster struck at exactly thirty seven minutes
into the desert. The driver was negotiating the camel up a sand dune when the
beast slipped and started to slide down. Although the camel was able to get its
footing, that sudden jostling caused the conveyance to topple over its side.
Methos and Khassim watched in horror as Shinno flew out the window. Kamir, on
the other hand, remained trapped inside the conveyance as it rolled down the
dune.
        The two Immortals brought their steeds alongside Kamir, who all but
stumbled out of the makeshift transport.
        "Forget about me! I'm all right!" the Indian exclaimed, waving a hand
in dismissal. "See to Shinno!"
        "I'll go!" Methos patted Khassim's shoulder and headed off in the
direction where the whoremaster took a swan dive. When he arrived at the spot,
however, the sight that greeted him caused him to burst into hearty laughter.
        Shinno had landed on a smaller sand dune. But his landing had not been
a good one. The whoremaster had fallen head first into the dune that his whole
head was buried in the sand. To Methos, Shinno looked like an ostrich in silk,
that luscious rump raised high in the air.
        "Shinno, Shinno, Shinno! Oh, the mess you get into!" the ancient
exclaimed, clucking his tongue, as he got down from Thanatos. Even his trusty
steed was snickering. Methos patted that upraised buttock several times,
eliciting a menacing growl from the trapped young man. "You know, I just
realized how advantageous your current predicament is for me. I could finally
get the retribution that is due me." Saying this, the ancient gave Shinno a
fierce wallop in the buttocks. The whoremaster howled in pain and outrage.
        As Methos giggled once more, he said, "Naaah! I prefer to have you on
my lap when I lay the strap to you." While he dug the whoremaster out, he did
not notice that a sizeable crowd had gathered on top of the dune, watching the
proceedings. With a pop, Methos got Shinno freed, who hastily covered his
flushed face with the tail of his turban, which was tilted askew on his head.
        The comical appearance of the poor young man caused everyone to erupt
into gales of laughter.
        Shinno stared in increasing horror and shame at the people laughing at
him. At once, it brought back painful memories of the past -- when he was sent
away from his homeland, his kin jeering and laughing at him, calling the little
boy that he once was "Little Whore! Little Whore!" Already accustomed to being
accorded with respect and deference, the young man found this humiliation too
much to bear.
        Expecting the whoremaster to let loose with vile expletives, Methos was
shocked to stunned silence when Shinno buried his face in his hands and broke
into heartwrenching sobs. Everyone immediately lapsed into silence, seeing the
weeping young man.
        Getting down to his knees before the crying figure, the ancient
whispered, "Shinno..."
        "Leave me alone!" Shinno exclaimed, his whole body hitching from the
force of his sobs. "I don't want to be laughed at!"
        Methos gestured to everyone to walk away. The servants and guards
hastened to obey, disturbed at the sight of their beloved concubine crying like
a child.
        "What is happening down there?" the Immortal heard Kamir demand above
him. "What's wrong with Shinno?"
        "Not now, Kamir," Methos growled in warning. "You and the caravan go
ahead! I'll take care of Shinno."
        "Are you sure you can handle him?" the Emir's adviser queried. "He
might escape from you."
        "Believe me, Kamir, the last thing he has on his mind right now is to
escape. Please! Leave us alone for a few minutes."
        Kamir gave the ancient a dubious, almost hostile, glance for a moment.
Then, with a resigned shrug, he walked away, shouting to the servants, "Move
out!"
        When they were finally alone, Methos whistled to his horse, who trotted
to their side. The Immortal carefully lifted the weeping young man and seated
him, side saddle, on his steed. Methos himself got on behind Shinno, his arms
on either side of the distraught whoremaster. Taking the reins, he clicked his
tongue and urged the stallion to move onwards.
        In the next few hours or so, Methos lagged a distance behind the
caravan, talking nonsense stuff, waiting patiently for Shinno to calm down. At
some point during their ride, the whoremaster had lain his head on the
Immortal's chest, his tears wetting Methos' shirt. Eventually, Shinno's sobs
were nothing more than soft hiccups.
        "I want to go down, please." The young man's voice was hoarse from his
crying.
        Without saying a word, Methos brought his horse to a halt. Shinno slid
down from the saddle and walked a short distance away. He then plopped down and
stared out into the desert. Following him, the ancient sat down beside the
whoremaster.
        "What happened back there, Shinno?" Methos queried softly.
        "A moment of weakness. The laughter...it brought back very painful
memories," Shinno replied, his voice bitter. "It should never have happened. I
swore to myself I would never cry again."
        "I'm sorry," the ancient put in. "It was my fault for laughing at you."
        "I should've gotten used to it by now. They always laugh...whenever
they take me. I thought I had hardened my heart to the humiliation."
        "This is a different situation, Shinno. They were not jeering you. They
just found it amusing...your position in the sand."
        "I know that, but... I don't want people laughing at me. I've been
laughed and jeered at all my life. I don't like it."
        "Well, this is the last time," Methos swore to the young man. "I won't
laugh at you ever again."
        "Don't make promises you can't keep, Old One," said Shinno, unable to
hide the deep hurt in his voice. "Whether it be your laughter, your hatred,
your...lust, you will always find a way to hurt my feelings. I've had enough of
the tears that fall from my eyes because of you."
        "There is no reason for you to weep because of me."
        "How could you be so sure? Have you looked inside your heart? Tell me,
Methos. Do you not remember people whom you have caused tears to fall from
their eyes?"
        Methos fell silent. He did remember Alexa crying in anger when he had
told her about his desire for revenge. Then, there was the child with the sweet
doe eyes...
        Stealing a quick glance at the young man at his side, Methos found
himself wondering why Shinno reminded him so much of that loving child. Before
the whoremaster could pull away, the ancient embraced him tenderly.
        "You're right," he admitted to the whoremaster. "I have given pain to
the people I have loved and to so many others."
        "And you enjoyed it, didn't you?"
        "With some of them, yes."
        "Including me and Sanchi."
        The Immortal couldn't reply at first. Seeing that there was no use
denying it, he whispered, "Yes."
        "Do you want to hurt me now?"
        "NO!"
        Shinno shook his head. "Maybe not now. Maybe later." The whoremaster
broke away from the ancient's embrace. "Let's go!"
        Methos watched as Shinno got on Thanatos. The young man's back was
straight, head cocked up proudly. But Methos could see the turmoil in his brown
eyes. With a sigh, the ancient went towards the stallion and got on the saddle
behind Shinno. The caravan was already gone from sight, but their tracks were
visible in the sand.
        "Don't hurry, Methos," the whoremaster requested. "For once, let me
find some peace in the desert."
        Although he knew that no peace could be found for the young man except
when he was finally free, Methos acquiesced, "Take all the time you need. I
won't rush you."
        In the next hour or two, the ancient led the horse on a simple walk.
Shinno had removed his turban, leaving only the scarf around his face, his long
brown hair fluttering in the breeze.
        Suddenly, Methos noticed Shinno fidgeting in his seat. Before he could
ask if the young man wanted to take a little rest, the whoremaster had loosened
his trousers enough that it fell around his thighs, leaving his rump bared.
        "Shinno..." Methos exclaimed in surprise.
        "I know you want this, Old One. You may take me. Just this once, let it
not be rape."
        Swallowing hard, the ancient freed his aching cock from within his
trousers. Bending the whoremaster forward a bit, he plunged his member into the
tight channel. As the two men moved, their thighs tightening on the horse's
slick sides, Thanatos thought it was a silent command for him to go on a faster
pace. That graceful lope only helped the Immortal in driving himself deeper and
deeper into the young man. When he came, he saw stars twinkling before his
eyes. Shinno himself spurted his fluids onto Methos' tight grip around his
cock.
        When it was over, the ancient willed the young man to turn around in
the saddle to face him. Shinno wiped the sweat from Methos' brow.
        "Are you thirsty, Methos?" the whoremaster asked, baring his milk-laden
chest.
        Methos did not have to answer. He simply bent down and enveloped that
taut nipple with his lips, taking a long draught of the sweet essence within.
        But then, the Immortal raised his head to gaze at the young man. "I
want to kiss you, Shinno."
        "But you can't...my face..."
        "I swear I won't look, and I want to give you a little drink as well."
        Saying this, Methos lowered his face once more to the whoremaster's tit
and suckled deeply. Despite his hesitation, Shinno removed the scarf from his
face. True to his word, as the Immortal lifted his head, his eyes were closed,
lips pursed in readiness.
        Taking the ancient's trembling hands, Shinno laid Methos' fingertips on
his face. When their lips met, sweet milk flooded inside his mouth that he
gasped in surprise at the taste of his own essence. They kissed long and hard,
neither man opening their eyes.
        Unknown to Shinno, however, Methos was trying to memorize every inch of
his face with his fingertips -- the shape of those full lips, the height of
those cheekbones, the shape of his nose, the length of his lashes.
        When at last they parted, the Immortal kept his eyes shut until the
whoremaster told him that he was ready. When he opened his eyes at last, he saw
Shinno peering at him, tears misting his brown orbs.
        "You're right, Methos," said Shinno with deepest regret. "Why couldn't
we always be like this?"
 
        It was night fall when the two men arrived at the caravan.
        Bowing graciously, Shinno said, "Thank you, Methos, for a nice time."
        Methos bent down and, taking the whoremaster's hand, bestowed a kiss
upon the young man's fingertips. "Lessons tomorrow evening then."
        "Yes, please." At these words, Shinno headed straight for his tent.
        Unknown to the two men, a pair of dark eyes observed their every move,
glinting with hatred and malevolence.
 
***** Chapter 7 *****
 
CHAPTER SEVEN
 
        In contrast to the heat of the mornings, the desert night was cool, the
breeze lifting Methos' cloak behind him like a flag. The heavens above him were
dotted with twinkling stars, the moon like a silver cookie with a piece chewed
off. It was a beautiful night, thought Methos. A wonderful evening for
sparring.
        As he made his way down the dune, the ancient was surprised by the
sight that greeted him below.
        There was a large circular patch of gravel, the outer edges lighted by
luminous crystals. Propped on opposite ends of the circle were what looked to
Methos like makeshift racks. Standing in the center of the circle was Shinno,
but this time, the whoremaster was dressed in the clothes of a ninja, his long
hair plaited in a single braid down his back, the curled end teasing his rump.
To the ancient's even greater surprise, Joseph and Khassim were nowhere to be
found.
        Going towards the young man, he asked, "Aren't you going to get into
trouble for not bringing your chaperones with you?"
        "I thought the Emir entrusted my welfare into your hands?" Shinno
queried in turn. "I guess that legally makes you my chaperone, unless..."
        "Unless what?"
        "Unless you give me good cause not to trust you."
        "That's all in the past now," Methos said firmly.
        "Is it?" There was doubt in the whoremaster's eyes. "How could I be
sure?"
        A smile formed on the ancient's face. "Take it a day at a time. You'll
see the difference." Methos' eyes fell upon the weapons on the racks. "What's
this?"
        "I thought perhaps you might like to put my skills to the test." Shinno
gestured to the weapons. "In the five years I've spent in China then Japan,
I've learned to use all of these. I have a lot to thank my teachers -- May
Ling-Shen and Hideo Koto. They never thought of me as a slave and a whore. They
believed, that if I learned martial arts, I could use it to return to the right
path and fulfill my destiny. I still believe, however, that my training is
lacking."
        "But you have learned so much in such a short period time." Methos
grinned mischievously. "Let's make this more interesting. Remember that I still
owe you a little spanking." The ancient nearly burst into laughter at the sight
of the dark scowl in Shinno's eyes. "I'll tell you what. If you are able to
defeat me, I won't spank you."
        "Does this mean if I win, I could spank you again?" queried the
whoremaster slyly.
        "No, your prize is that you won't get your sweet little ass bruised."
        "I don't like it," Shinno declared like a petulant child. "If I win, I
want to whack your butt too."
        The laughter, at last, bubbled out of him. "As if you could spank me!
Very well then, Shinno. Let's see what you can do."
        Before Shinno could move, Methos snatched from the rack the naginata, a
long wooden staff with a five foot blade affixed to the other end. With a
fierce war cry, he charged at the stunned young man. The whoremaster, however,
quickly recovered from his initial surprise. The ancient grinned as Shinno
blocked the oncoming thrust with his own bladed staff.
        "Very good!" the Immortal praised his student. "Let's see how you
handle this!"
        Freeing his naginata, Methos let loose with a flurry of swift twirls
and thrusts. But Shinno was up to the challenge, blocking and parrying each
swipe at him. When the ancient attempted a blow to the legs, the younger man
did a graceful backward somersault, landing on his feet, at once assuming an
offensive posture. This time, it was Shinno who lunged at his teacher with
thrusts, which Methos successfully evaded with a series of somersaults of his
own. At the last thrust, Methos leaped through the air, flying high above
Shinno's head. The whoremaster whirled around, hoping to catch the ancient with
a cut to the belly. However, as he descended, Methos twirled the naginata in
his hands, catching Shinno's weapon. With a strong jerk, he yanked the naginata
out of his student's grasp.
        Weaponless, Shinno broke into a run, heading for the rack. His hand
closed around the san-setsu-kon, a staff composed of three wooden sections
linked together by short chains. Surprisingly, the weapon Methos chose instead
was its much shorter variant, the nunchaku. Shinno let the sticks of the san-
setsu-kon fly, hoping to down the ancient with a well-placed strike. The
ancient did not make any countermoves, simply ducking from each swipe of the
wooden flail, with one stick of the nunchaku held in his right hand while the
other was tucked under his armpit. Losing his patience, Shinno put all his
force into throwing the first two sections of the san-setsu-kon, the point
aimed at Methos' belly. In the blink of an eye, Methos stepped to the side and
released the second stick of the nunchaku from his armpit, their weapons
clacking at the impact. As Shinno pulled his weapon back, this caused the chain
of the Immortal's nunchaku to coil around the san-setsu-kon. Before the
whoremaster knew what was happening, Methos had total control of his weapon,
the ancient's hand gripping the other end, while the third section of the staff
was flying towards his head. Shinno barely got out of the way as he floated
upwards.
        "Oh, no!" Methos laughed breathlessly. "You're not going anywhere,
child."
        With a sweeping motion, the ancient threw a pair of bo-shuriken, or
throwing daggers, at the young man above him. Shinno was able to duck from the
first, but the second sliced through the tie of his hair, causing the braid to
unravel.
        "So, you want to play rough, huh?" the whoremaster declared,
unsheathing his katana, as he descended.
        "Shinno," Methos began, pulling out his own Ivanhoe, "I wouldn't want
it any other way."
        The minute his student's toe touched the ground, their blades met in a
loud clash.
        Anyone watching the two men at that point would think they were
dancing. Both moved effortlessly -- legs kicking out, graceful bodies evading
potentially fatal strikes with sinuous ease. Methos was particularly enthralled
as he observed Shinno's every move. He had no doubt that he had learned his
martial arts lessons well. Now that his identity as the mysterious ninja was
revealed, the whoremaster did not hold anything back. Only a few refinements
and acquiring additional skills, plus the matter of discipline and controlling
his temper, Shinno would become a formidable adversary. Looking at that firm
body and that lovely silky brown hair fluttering behind him, Methos mused that
his student was probably the most beautiful adversary he had ever faced.
        The ancient found himself getting distracted by the movements of those
glossy tresses. The hair teased and caressed his face, that he could catch the
pleasing scent of lavender. However, as those silken strands coiled around his
face, the tips tickling his eyes, he gasped as he felt something sharp nick his
cheek. Methos' hand went up to his face and, as he wiped his cheek, it came
away bloody.
        "I hope I didn't cut you too deeply, Old One," Shinno declared smugly,
two hands on the hilt of his katana, his hair fluttering behind him.
        "Very sly, child," said Methos, truly impressed. "Using your hair as a
distraction."
        "If you hadn't removed the tie of my braid, I would have shown you how
I use my hair like a whip. I'd like to think of it as 'anything goes' martial
arts."
        "Oh, is that right? Well, I know a thing or two from that school as
well."
        The two men then raised their swords above their heads at the same
time. With fierce battle cries, they charged at each other, ready to deliver
the disabling blow. However, before Shinno could bring his sword down, Methos
made a sudden step back, freeing his scabbard with his left hand. With the
scabbard, he knocked the whoremaster's katana out of his hand. Dropping his
Ivanhoe, the ancient grabbed a fistful of the young man's hair and pulled. With
a surprised cry, Shinno started to fall backwards. Grabbing him by the waist,
Methos spun his student around that, as he dropped to his right knee, Shinno
landed right on top of his left thigh.
        "I guess this means I win," Methos exclaimed, his hold tightening on
his scabbard.
        Shinno howled in pain and fury as the Immortal gave his luscious behind
ten sharp whacks with his sheath. Releasing him abruptly, the whoremaster sat
on his haunches, rubbing his bruised backside. There was a resentful glower in
his eyes.
        "That's not fair!" the young man complained. "I only gave you four
whacks that night!"
        "I didn't keep count," answered Methos. "I was too busy crying out.
Maybe I should give you a few more."
        Shinno's eyes were wide with fear. "You're not doing that to me again!"
Saying this, the whoremaster got to his feet and leaped into the air, using the
desert wind to carry him over the dunes.
        At once, Methos gave chase. The two men floated above the desert, their
feet barely touching the sand below. They looked like beautiful birds, their
hands raised to their sides, their hair fluttering behind them. Before Shinno
could disappear behind a dune, Methos reached out and grabbed him by the waist.
Laughing, the two men fell to the ground, rolling down the side of the dune.
When they came to a halt at the base, Shinno was flat on his back, Methos on
top of him. With the dune behind them, they were nothing more than dark shadows
to each other's eyes.
        "May I make love to you?" Methos asked the young man beneath him, his
fingers teasing the mask covering his face.
        "I thought the Emir gave you permission to bed me anytime you wished?"
queried Shinno.
        "I thought he meant Sanchi."
        The whoremaster peeled the mask from his face. "He meant both of us."
        At these words, the two men divested each other of their clothing until
they both lay naked on the sand. Eagerly, Methos explored every inch of
Shinno's shadowed face with his fingertips, memorizing the exquisite details of
his eyes, nose and lips. Hugging the younger man to him, the ancient devoured
Shinno's face, plundering it with his mouth and tongue. The whoremaster opened
his mouth to the Immortal, letting Methos probe his moist depths with his
tongue. He even nipped playfully on that tongue. As Methos kissed every inch of
his student's face, his hands explored the firm, beautiful body beneath him,
rubbing the firm back, going no lower than the waist. Pushing the whoremaster
down, the ancient let his fingers move to the broad chest, finding those tiny
peaks that never failed to give him such delight. Shinno groaned as Methos
nipped at his tits. With a feeble cry of bliss, the young man pressed the
ancient close to him, urging him to suckle hard on his nipple. His hand even
went down to his chest to squeeze the taut peak, spurting delicious fluid into
Methos' mouth.
        With shocking aggressiveness, Shinno pushed the Immortal off him that
it was Methos who was now on his back. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his
head to the ancient's burgeoning erection and took it in his mouth. Methos
moaned as the whoremaster swallowed his entire length, those strong muscles of
his throat squeezing the shaft. Unable to control himself, he ejaculated into
Shinno's mouth, the young man hungrily suckling the ancient's seed just as he
had suckled on his nipple.
        "My turn!" whispered Methos.
        Exchanging places, the Immortal laid the whoremaster once more on his
back, propping those long, shapely limbs over his shoulders. Taking some of the
semen that had dribbled down the corner of Shinno's mouth, he coated his cock
with it. Shinno howled in pleasure as Methos sheathed his aching rod inside
him, gripping his student's erect cock at the same time. As he thrust into the
young man, he stroked and squeezed the impressive erection in his hand, driving
them both to the precipice of desire. When they came, it felt like fireworks
exploding around them. Methos was very pleased when he felt his student's seed
splatter on his belly. Leaning down again, it did not surprise him to find that
Shinno's chest was wet with sweat and spilled milk.
        Before the last of the waves of bliss could subside, Shinno got to his
hands and knees. It was a clear invitation that Methos couldn't refuse. In the
next few minutes, the ancient had mounted the younger man, a fierce stallion
pumping into a graceful mare, as he showered kisses on the rough mark on the
whoremaster's right shoulder blade. Methos knew that he was causing Shinno pain
with every slap of his hefty bullocks onto that bruised rump. But the cries
that issued from the whoremaster's lips were not pain-filled ones. Soon, they
completely surrendered to the pleasure, howling their ecstasy into the desert
night that silenced the cries of the jackals in the distance.
 
        Methos trudged back to camp, a rosy glow on his cheeks. The coupling
that he and Shinno had... He had to admit, it still wasn't enough for him. But
the whoremaster had reminded him, as he was getting dressed, that there was
still Sanchi back in the tent.
        "It would make me very happy if you would please him as you had just
pleased me," Shinno whispered before he disappeared into the desert, leaving a
faint kiss on the ancient's lips.
        Despite his still active libido, Methos was hesitant to go to the
Emir's prized concubine, pausing before the tent. He knew that he had hurt
Sanchi in the past. Could he stifle that urge to hurt? That desire for revenge?
        "It would make me very happy if you would please him as you had just
pleased me." Shinno's parting words to him were like a breath of lavender in
the breeze.
        With a deep breath, Methos strode inside the tent. Sanchi was seated on
a cushion, brushing his long hair by the dim light of the brazier. The fire of
the lamp cast a reddish glow upon his tresses. Seeing him, the young man halted
as well. Methos could detect the fear and the tension in the concubine's form.
        With a gracious bow, the ancient made the same request he had asked
Shinno earlier, "Sanchi, may I make love to you?"
        Methos' eyes widened in surprise and delight when Sanchi eagerly ran
into his arms in a flurry of silk and satin.
        As they both sank down on the beddings, Methos savored the pleasing
scent of lavender in the concubine's hair.
 
***** Chapter 8 *****
 
CHAPTER EIGHT
 
        "Ah, this heat!" Khassim complained out loud as he plopped down under
the lean-to beside the ancient. "Truly this is hell!"
        The caravan decided to make camp temporarily in a wadi. However,
because there were only a few date palms in the area, they were at the mercy of
the scorching heat of the desert sun. The only people living in relative
comfort were Kamir, Shinno and Sanchi, who were sheltered in a small tent. As
Methos surveyed his surroundings, he could see the bones of cattle and other
creatures drying on the sand.
        "That's the desert for you," said Methos, brushing his hair from his
eyes that had come loose from his braid. "Don't worry! We won't stay too long
here. Just waiting for the others to finish their noon meal, and then we shall
go."
        "Thank heavens!" Joseph suddenly interrupted. The scribe was carrying a
small stool, which he sat on. "I don't think I could survive in this inferno."
        Methos smiled thoughtfully. "You know? I've been wondering about you
two, how you came to be involved in this little journey."
        "What is there to say?" shrugged Khassim. "Surely my life is not as
interesting as yours."
        "All life is interesting to me. Come now, Khassim! I want to hear your
story."
        The moor sighed. "I was the personal bodyguard of my lord, the Emir
Boadim al-Deneb. Although he has diplomatic relations with Emir Zaid al-Bahir,
my Master has no great love for him. It was al-Deneb's domain that the caravan
first went to. My Master became very close to the two concubines and he was
totally against the Emir's plans for them. Having served the al-Deneb family
for centuries, Boadim gave me the command that would take me away from my home
for twenty years -- to serve and protect, with my life if necessary, the Emir's
concubines."
        Methos frowned at that last remark. "Twenty years? Just how old were
Shinno and Sanchi at that time?"
        "They were but children, Methos. Only ten years old -- their innocence
taken at such a tender age."
        A chill went up the ancient's spine. He had thought that the two
concubines were around the age of sixteen when they had...their first
experience. But not this. At ten years, they were practically babies by his
standards, true innocents. It was a miracle that both emerged with their sanity
intact.
        Probably reading his mind, Khassim said, "Boadim did not want to see
such vulnerable children broken. You know, we nearly lost Sanchi, after the
Emir had him branded with his mark. Sanchi was very ill when he arrived at my
Master's Palace. With patience and love, my Master saved him, but Sanchi never
spoke a single word after that. In contrast, Boadim saw the strength and
determination to survive in Shinno. Unlike his meek twin, Shinno refused to be
branded. My Master knew that it would be Shinno who will break the chains that
shackle them. I also saw the potential in the child. Although my Master had
also advised me on this, I had already decided to teach Shinno what I know of
swordsmanship. It was difficult. Kamir always watches the concubines with eyes
of a hawk. But I always found a way to sneak lessons to him. Shinno was a fast
learner. Soon, I had taught him everything I know. I could only thank Allah
that we had met other teachers during our travels."
        "You're talking about Hideo Koto and May Ling Shen."
        "So Shinno told you about them." The moor gave his fellow Immortal a
meaningful look. "It seems to me you and Shinno have gotten close these past
few days."
        There was a dreamy smile on Methos' face. "Yes, it seems I have, and
with Sanchi as well."
        "That's what I was afraid of," Joseph muttered under his breath.
        "What did you say?" The ancient couldn't hide his dismay at the
scribe's retort.
        "Let me be blunt. What kind of game are you playing with the
concubines? First, you treat them like dirt. Now, you are...friends. I don't
trust you, Methos. If you hurt them in any way..."
        "I swore to myself that I will never hurt them again."
        Joseph shook his head. "How I wish I could be sure of that!"
        Methos lowered his gaze. "As much as your mistrust pains me, I
understand. I would probably react the same as you if I had read the details of
my life."
        The scribe's head snapped to the side as he looked at the Immortal in
startlement. "What..."
        Instead of answering, Methos grabbed Joseph's left hand. Tattooed on
his left wrist was a circle with a trefoil in the center.
        "What is that mark?" Khassim asked curiously.
        "Our friend Joseph here is a member of a secret society known as the
Watchers," the ancient explained, grinning at the scribe's discomfiture. "They
watch and chronicle the lives of Immortals."
        The moor glowered menacingly at Joseph. "Are you saying we have a spy
in our midst?"
        "No, not exactly. They only watch us, but they're not allowed to
interfere."
        "How do you know this?" Joseph demanded. "You're not supposed to know
about us."
        In reply, Methos raised his own hand, revealing a similar tattoo on his
wrist.
        The scribe's jaw dropped. "You're a Watcher?"
        "I WAS one. It's a perfect place to hide. Ironically, it was my duty to
watch and record my own life. Forgive me, Joseph, but if you've read my
chronicles, I took the liberty of making a few deletions as well as
embellishments."
        Joseph snorted. "Now, I'm even more convinced that you're not to be
trusted."
        "But what about you?" queried Khassim. "How could I be sure that I
could trust you?"
        "You've known me for a long time, Khassim. Have I given you any reason
to doubt me? True, I am a Watcher. I was tasked to watch Kamir. But after the
terrible things I've seen, what they've done to Shinno and Sanchi, it has
become my moral obligation to help the twins in any way I can."
        Methos put in, "You do know that is interfering."
        "I don't think so. I'm certainly not interfering with Kamir's
business...as much as I want to cut off his head myself."
        "But you would be interfering in the lives of two other Immortals."
        "Now why would I want to mess up your lives?" Joseph stopped at once,
realizing who exactly the ancient was referring to. "Surely you don't mean the
two concubines!"
        It was Khassim who nodded. "Yes, but they haven't been born to
Immortality yet."
        "Oh my lord!" the scribe exclaimed in shock. "Why do things have a way
of getting so complicated?"
        "It's not that complicated actually," said the ancient. "All we have to
do is continue what we're doing now -- we watch over the concubines. I will
still teach Shinno the sword. Hideo Koto was right in saying that it is this
that will help free them."
        "However, I need to throw Khassim's question to me at you. How could we
be sure that we could trust you?"
        Methos answered simply. "You'd be a fool if you don't. Since you watch,
why don't you observe my actions? After all, actions speak louder than words."
        Before Joseph could say something else, delighted giggles interrupted
him. The three men turned as one to find Sanchi standing outside the tent. The
concubine was avidly watching a dung beetle that was rolling away a ball of
manure.
        The ancient shook his head, unable to stifle his laughter. "I never
thought I'd see the day that someone would be so happy watching a dung beetle
cart off a ball of shit."
        "Well, don't look now," gestured Khassim in a mixture of amusement and
disgust, "But it looks like Sanchi is driving said beetle in our direction."
        Sure enough, Sanchi was prodding the confused insect to go their way
with sprite little leaps and impatient nudges of his toe. The Emir's concubine
had even raised the hem of his robe a bit with his fingertips.
        "Sanchi!" Methos warned. "If that...thing...that beetle is carrying
came from Kamir's ass, we don't want it here!"
        Giggling, Sanchi let the poor beetle go on its merry way. He then went
towards the three men, plopping down on his butt behind the ancient. Khassim
and Joseph looked on in amazement as the young man started replaiting Methos'
hair.
        "By the way, Joseph," the Immortal turned to the scribe, "would you
happen to have an extra journal with you and a quill?"
        Joseph looked at the ancient curiously. "Why do you need them for?"
        Methos gave a casual shrug, causing his hair to come undone. Sanchi
grunted in disapproval, tapping the older man hard at the top of his head.
        "Sorry about that, Sanchi," the ancient said in apology, to which the
concubine snorted in reply. Turning to the scribe, he answered, "I thought I'd
update my memoirs."
        "I'll bring them to your tent later." Joseph gazed at the young man who
was busy fixing the Immortal's braid. "Sanchi, may I ask you something?"
        The Emir's whore hummed in assent.
        "Are...are you happy?"
        Both Joseph and Khassim were surprised by the concubine's answer.
Sanchi lovingly embraced Methos, laying his chin on top of the Immortal's head,
his lovely brown eyes twinkling.
 
        "You seem to be very happy these past few days, Little Prince," Kamir
whispered in Shinno's ear, trailing a finger along the whoremaster's sweat-
sheened flanks. "Any particular reason?"
        "Why?" Shinno asked in turn. "Is it also forbidden for me to experience
happiness?"
        "If the reason for it is forbidden."
        "The Emir gave permission for other men to bed me. Am I to blame for
finding pleasure in the arms of another man than in the embrace of the Emir and
his trusted adviser?"
        In a flash, Kamir dug his fingers hard into Shinno's cheeks, forcing
the young man to face him. "Yes," he hissed, "if that man happens to be
Methos."
        Shinno spat back, "Then tell your Master not to be so free with his
permissions. From your own mouth came the Emir's command for him to bed me, to
tame me, if I heard right."
        "But this does not include stealing your...affections...away from the
Emir."
        "I never had any affection for Zaid al-Bahir right from the beginning.
Why don't you just admit, Kamir, that you don't want to share your precious
Little Whore with someone else."
        There was a brief flash as Kamir pulled out his silken cord and wrapped
it around Shinno's throat, slowly strangling the young man.
        "I should kill you right now!" the adviser declared in fury.
        "Then do it!" the whoremaster gasped out, just as angry. "Do me this
one kindness, Kamir! Put me out of my misery!"
        For a moment, the cord tightened, cutting off all air. Suddenly, Kamir
released him. Shinno turned onto his side, panting and choking.
        "Do you think he feels something for you?" the Indian sneered at him.
"He is just like his Horse Brothers. He is using you as the whore that you are.
Don't delude yourself into thinking that he loves you. He could never love you,
especially when he finds out who you truly are."
        Shinno gave the Immortal a sharp glance. "I hate you! I hate all of you
for destroying my life!"
        "I won't take all the credit for that. You and I know damned well that
you are mostly to blame for what happened to you -- you and that Horseman."
Kamir got down on one knee and looked the young man straight in the eye. "I
only want to spare you the heartache, Shinno. I don't want to see you hurting
like this. You know I'm the only man who could give you happiness. Just say
that you love me, or that you could bring yourself to love me, and I will free
you from this Hell."
        "And how do you intend to do that -- kill Methos? The Emir? Tempting
offer, Kamir. But I could never love you." Shinno said bitterly, "I don't even
know how it feels to love anymore."
        "Oh, but you do! It's that tiny spark of happiness you feel whenever
you're with Methos. Watch yourself, my sweet Little Whore. If there is one
thing that I cannot stand, it's a rival for your heart."
        Shinno stood up and, with measured slowness, donned his robes, wrapping
the silk scarf over his face. "You have nothing to fear about this rival, for
it is I who shall kill him."
        Saying this, the whoremaster strode outside the tent, hoping to get
away from the loathsome presence of the Emir's adviser. He squinted his eyes at
the bright sun.
        Methos was forced to delay their departure after he heard that one of
the female servants was suffering from labor pains. Shinno himself had gone to
see her, a frail woman, bearing herbs that would help build up her strength. He
could tell from the look on the ancient's face that he feared she might not
survive the childbirth.
        Although he was concerned for her, Shinno had to admit that he was
thankful for the delay. He was not looking forward to returning to Zaid al-
Bahir's realm too soon.
        The whoremaster's mind returned to the conversation he had with the
Emir's adviser. He always knew that Kamir was dangerous, but now that his
obsession towards him was revealed, it became clear just how great a danger he
truly was. He would kill Methos; there wasn't any doubt of that. And he had no
intention of seeing that lovesick fool steal away the vengeance he had longed
for.
        However, the question was does he still crave revenge? Shinno couldn't
deny that, during these past few days, he began to feel something towards the
ancient. An emotion he never thought he would feel again. He wondered if this
feeling was shared by the ancient.
        "I swear I will never hurt you again," Methos had told him. A promise
he had kept. So far.
        The doubt still persisted. A tiny voice inside his heart, however,
urged him to believe. How he wished that he could believe!
        Shinno was brought out of his musings by a soft clicking at his feet.
Looking down, he saw a lizard peering up at him. For a moment, the whoremaster
and the reptile just stared at each other.
        Remembering that he had a small piece of bread in his pouch, Shinno
took it out and started waving it before the lizard's beady black eyes. "Here
you go, boy! I know you're hungry! Come on! Take it!"
        The reptile hesitated. Then, it snatched the bread out of the young
man's hand. As Shinno looked on in astonishment, frills puffed out of the
lizard's neck. Standing on its two hind legs, the reptile broke into a run,
piece of bread hanging from his mouth.
        "Hey! Where are you going?" cried Shinno. "Wait! Come back!"
        Hitching up his robe, the whoremaster gave chase. Around and around the
camp, Shinno pursued the frilled lizard, laughing as he did so. Engrossed in
the chase, the young man did not realize that some of the servants and guards
had walked out of their tents to watch the Emir's concubine running after a
lizard.
        Suddenly, the reptile came to a full stop. Shinno did the same. As they
stared at each other once more, the lizard let the piece of bread fall from its
mouth.
        "Oh, I'm so sorry!" the young man said in sincere apology. "You're very
hungry and yet I ran after you." He picked up the bread again and offered it to
the lizard. "Go ahead! Take it, little one! I swear I won't chase you this
time."
        For a minute, the reptile looked into Shinno's eyes. In the blink of an
eye, it grabbed the bread again. With a few angry clicking noises, the lizard
ambled away.
        Someone started to clap and laugh behind him. Whirling around, Shinno
saw Methos approaching.
        "I thought I'd seen everything," the ancient declared. "First, it's
Sanchi with his dung beetle. Now, it's you and a frilled lizard. What is it
between you twins and animals anyway?"
        If he wasn't wearing a veil, Methos would've seen the deep blush on the
whoremaster's cheeks. "We've led a sheltered life -- Sanchi and I. These
animals...they are new to us."
        "But do you have to scare the poor creatures to their graves?"
        Not knowing what else to say, Shinno whispered, "I'm sorry."
        Methos simply shrugged it off. "No, it's all right. It just pleases me
to see you two so happy."
        Taking Shinno's hand, he led the young man to the lean-to and urged him
to sit down. From within his pouch, the ancient pulled out a length of
ornamental rope he had made from esparto grass, beads, crystals and feathers.
Shinno was awe-struck as Methos let him hold it for a minute. The whoremaster
saw that the crystals were luminous stones.
        "Is...is this for me?"
        Methos grinned. "What do you think?"
        Sitting behind Shinno, Methos started to braid the younger man's hair
with it, coiling it into a loose bun at the back of his head.
        "Methos?"
        "Yes, Shinno?"
        "I...uh...I have to ask. You...you won't hurt me?"
        The ancient said in mild exasperation. "Are we back to that again?"
        "I just want to be sure. For Sanchi's sake...and for me..."
        Methos' answer took Shinno's breath away. The ancient gave him a loving
embrace. Kissing the crown of Shinno's head, he then laid his chin on top.
        "You have my word, Shinno," Methos whispered. "You and Sanchi have
nothing to fear from me."
 
***** Chapter 9 *****
 
CHAPTER NINE
 
        An anguished cry pierced the desert night air. This was followed by
Kamir's angry shout as a robed figure hurried out of the large tent, bearing a
small bundle in his hands. Running past the sleeping camels, he made his way
towards the servant's area, entering one of the tents.
        Methos was bent between the legs of the pregnant female servant
Liamina, his right hand massaging her swollen abdomen. Khassim had the woman
supported on his lap, while another servant, her friend Tamar, held her hand.
Joseph was busy boiling water.
        The ancient noticed Shinno's entrance out of the corner of his eye. In
answer to the whoremaster's unspoken question, he said, "It's not good. She's
too weak to push the baby out. I might have to cut her and pull the child out
myself. If only I had the instruments..."
        Shinno sat down beside the Immortal and opened his precious bundle.
"Would these help?"
        Methos stared in surprise at the fine knives and surgical instruments.
There were also needles and silk threads. Glass vials contained a variety of
herbal concoctions.
        Raising three vials one by one, Shinno described the uses of each to
the ancient. "This one induces contractions, but given her condition, I think
this will do more harm than good. You could probably use this one. It's a pain
reliever. This last one controls bleeding."
        "Where did you get all these, Shinno?" queried Methos, never expecting
such a medical cornucopia in the whoremaster's possession.
        "While we were in France," the young man explained, "I met a healer
named Grace Chantelle. She...uh...helps the ladies in the brothel occasionally.
Grace taught me a few things about medicine and healing, and she gave me this."
        Methos readily suggested, "Then perhaps you could assist me. We must
get the baby out. If we delay this any further, we might lose both of them."
        "Yes," said Shinno eagerly, happy to be able to do something useful for
a change. "I would like that very much."
        Khassim and Joseph looked on in awe as the two men worked. After
boiling the instruments in water, Shinno handed them over to Methos. He then
gave Liamina a sip of the pain reliever, so that the ancient could cut a wider
opening. Just as Methos made the incision, the woman cried out as a contraction
came on.
        "That's it," the Immortal urged her. "Push! Push hard!"
        Liamina closed her eyes, sweat trickling from her brow, as she pushed.
At once, the baby's head popped out. Gently pressing on her abdomen, Shinno
pushed the baby down while Methos eased it out. Emerging, the baby let out a
lusty cry.
        Cutting the infant's umbilical cord, the ancient declared with pride,
"You have a beautiful baby girl," laying the baby in her mother's arms.
Although still very weak, Liamina pressed the child to her breast, to give her
those first few precious drops of milk. To their dismay, however, the baby
pulled away, wailing, shaking her little fists.
        Tamar squeezed her friend's breast and shook her head. "She doesn't
have any milk."
        There was a moment's hesitation in the whoremaster. From within the
pocket of his robes, he produced a vial filled with an amber fluid. "Let her
drink this, Tamar, three times a day. It should induce the milk to flow. But it
might take two to four days before her breasts could actually produce milk."
        "What are we going to do in the meantime?" asked Joseph.
        "We certainly cannot give this baby camel's milk."
        Khassim added, "And none of the women are wet nurses."
        "I've heard there's a small settlement not far from here," Methos put
in. "I could go there and buy a goat."
        Shinno, who had been strangely silent during their exchange, said
softly, "There's no need." He raised his hands to the child. "Give her to me."
        Methos knew immediately what the young man was intending to do.
"Shinno..."
        "Methos, you know that...this...was done to me to satisfy the depraved
desires of the Emir. Let me use it to save this child."
        The ancient nodded. Turning to the two women, he requested, "Shinno is
right. The child would thrive with him in the meantime. Trust him, Liamina."
        "I have no reason not to trust my young Master." Liamina lifted her
daughter to the Immortal, who took the wailing baby in his arms and handed it
to the whoremaster.
        As everyone looked on, Shinno brushed his long hair aside. He let the
sleeve of his robe dip from his left shoulder, baring his chest. With stunned
silence, they watched as the young man let the baby suckle from his breast.
        Tears misted the eyes of the two women, shocked by this induced
capability in their master.
        "Our beloved Prince..." Tamar said hesitantly. "What did they do to
you?"
        "It's the drug." Joseph was the one who replied. "The Emir and his
adviser have been forcing him to take it, especially when they intend to bed
him. They've tapered the dose so that although he produces milk, his chest does
not swell up."
        Hugging the baby, Shinno whispered, "Forgive me. I...I guess I must
disgust you."
        "No, my lord," Liamina reassured him. "We feel anger towards the men
who would commit such depravities upon your person. But, in a way, I am also
thankful to them."
        "Why do you say that?" Khassim asked curiously.
        "You see, they did it to a good man," the servant explained. "A man who
does not hesitate to nurse the child of his sick serving woman, and feels no
shame in doing so. Neither does he abhor having a slave's baby feed at his
breast. A master, an emir would never do this for a slave."
        "Liamina, I am not a master," Shinno reminded her. "I am a slave just
like you."
        With a smile, the woman, however, countered, "No, dear Master. You are
an angel that Allah had sent down from Heaven to help us."
 
        After ensuring that Liamina was well, Methos stepped out of the tent,
feeling elated.
        An angel. That was what the woman described Shinno to be. After
witnessing what the young man had done, he had no doubt of it. Shinno's great
capacity for unconditional kindness and generosity revealed an indomitable
spirit of goodness. It certainly didn't surprise him how much the Emir wanted
to break him. If he were the man he was before, he would've shared the same
impulses with the Emir. There was nothing more appealing, and satisfying in the
end, than to see the ruin of an innocent. IF he were the man he was before...
        But if he wasn't, what was he doing in this God-forsaken place?
        "You...you won't hurt me?" Shinno had asked him earlier. Methos had
promised that he wouldn't.
        So what will happen now to the promise he had made to himself twenty-
five years ago?
        Methos didn't want to lie to himself. The desire for revenge was still
strong, and Shinno remained the perfect tool for his vengeance.
        The ancient Immortal gazed up into the stars. He was caught between a
rock and a hard place. How could he fulfill one promise without breaking the
other?
        Angry voices brought Methos out of his musings, recognizing the arguers
immediately as Kamir and Shinno. At once, Methos remembered that the
whoremaster had earlier left the servants' quarters with little Zumillah,
intending to keep Liamina's daughter in his safekeeping until her mother could
take care of her. Fearing for Shinno, the Immortal hurried in the direction of
the voices.
        Just as he neared the concubine's tent, Methos stopped dead in his
tracks, eyes wide in horror as he beheld Shinno falling to the ground, baby in
his arms. Kamir towered above the young man with whip still raised, ready to
bring it down upon the helpless whoremaster and the child.
        Before he realized that he was doing it, Methos was running towards
them. Going between Shinno and the adviser, he grabbed the whip before it could
fall.
        "Methos!" Kamir exclaimed in surprise. "Damn you, Horseman! Let go of
my hand! I will not allow that you interfere this time!"
        "Would you willfully harm a child?" the ancient demanded in return.
        "I told this whore to return the child to its mother. It is not his
task to play wet nurse to the infant of a slave."
        "I suppose it is his duty to play wet nurse to perverted emirs and
their advisers, is that it?"
        Kamir snatched his whip back. "Do not play the hypocrite, Methos. You
yourself have had your pleasure from the Emir's concubine."
        "I won't deny that," said Methos firmly, "but it's obvious to me that
you resent this. Why? Am I to blame for your Master's permissiveness to have
other men bed his whores? Can I help it if I'm a much better lover compared to
Zaid al-Bahir or you?"
        Furious, Kamir made to hit the ancient with the whip. Before the
adviser could even blink, Methos' Ivanhoe was at his throat.
        "Kamir, get your brain to return to its proper position in your head
instead of between your legs," the ancient advised in all seriousness. "Shinno
has taken it upon himself to care for a servant's child, a generous move that
has endeared him to all in this caravan. If you should hurt him grievously,
what's to stop them from helping the Emir's precious whore to escape or, worse,
use this as a stepping stone to a full rebellion? Think, Kamir! You stand to
lose a lot not only for yourself, but also for your Master, if you dare to harm
him."
        The Emir's adviser hesitated for a moment. Grudgingly, he lowered his
hand, letting the whip slap against his thigh. "I will heed your advice for
now, Horseman. But I must warn you. Continue to coddle this obstinate whore and
he will strike like a viper."
        "And like I told you, I can handle him." Methos laid a reassuring hand
on his shoulder. "Kamir, leave this to me. Trust me."
        Kamir, however, shrugged the ancient's hand off. Snorting, he said, "I
doubt if I could trust you any longer," and stormed off in the direction of the
circular tent.
        As he glanced down, Methos saw the whoremaster's fallen veil. He picked
it up and dropped to one knee before Shinno. The young man cowered from him,
Zumillah pressed close to his face, both to protect the crying child and his
identity.
        "Turn around," Methos told the whoremaster, showing him the veil.
        Shinno meekly obeyed, letting the Immortal coil the veil loosely over
the lower half of his face. Methos grimaced, seeing a hint of a dusky bruise on
a high cheekbone.
        "Are you all right?" the ancient asked in concern. "Did he hurt you?"
        The young man shook his head. "You came just in time. He nearly came
close to hitting the baby when he struck me in the face."
        "Where's Sanchi? I don't like the idea of leaving him alone with Kamir
when he's in a foul temper."
        "I'm sure he's fine. When I left Kamir earlier to help you with
Liamina, he was already very angry with me. So I asked Khassim and Joseph to
take Sanchi into their tent and protect him."
        "Good idea! As for you, don't tell me you were heading back to your
tent despite the fact that you know Kamir will be waiting for you there!"
        Shinno made a helpless shrug. "I have nowhere else to go."
        Methos exhaled in mild exasperation. Taking the whoremaster's hand, he
said, "Come on! You two are going to stay with me tonight."
        He then led the younger man to his tent, urging him inside as he raised
the flap for him. Shinno entered, pausing at the entrance so that the ancient
could light the brazier. As light filled the tent, the whoremaster's eyes fell
upon the leather bound journal, charcoal pencils, a quill and a bottle of ink
lying on the cushion.
        "Why do you need those?" Shinno asked curiously. "Planning to keep a
journal?"
        Methos replied, "That is for me to know and you to find out."
        Shinno scowled darkly at the ancient, but before he could utter a
retort, a cushion flew above his head as Methos struggled to create a semblance
of order in his tent. With a smirk, he commented, "For the oldest of Immortals,
you don't know anything about housework, do you?"
        Whatever the Immortal was going to say never escaped from his mouth as
the whoremaster thrust Zumillah into his arms. As he looked on, Shinno went
about setting the tent to rights. He unrolled the mats to their full length.
Taking the blankets, Shinno strode towards the opening and shook the sand out.
Going back inside, his eyes fell upon the ancient's boots.
        "Take off your shoes," he ordered. Taking Zumillah once more, Shinno
slapped a wash cloth at Methos' chest. A smile formed on the ancient's lips, as
he obeyed the unspoken command for him to bathe.
        When he had finished his bath a few minutes later, Methos entered the
main tent to find Shinno sound asleep on the mat, the infant suckling quietly
on his chest. It pleased him to find that the young man had left a space for
him on the mat.
        For a moment, Methos found himself staring at the journal. However, the
enticing image of the whoremaster asleep on his mat was a temptation he found
irresistible. Besides, he was very tired himself, and what was the best way to
fall into blissful slumber than with the young man he cared deeply for. There
was no reason to deny it any longer.
        Getting down on his hands and knees, Methos carefully crept towards
Shinno and lay down that they were face to face. The ancient stared at the
whoremaster for a long time, mesmerized by the sight of those long, curled
lashes and a hint of a cheekbone above the silk veil. Slowly, he raised his
hand, fingers trembling, aching to pull down that veil and behold at last the
face of the younger man. Before he could touch the silk, Methos closed his
hand. Instead, he laid his arm on that trim waist.
        Shinno's eyes fluttered open, sharp and alert. However, seeing that it
was the Immortal, those brown eyes softened, shining with a warm glow. With a
pleasant sigh, the whoremaster cuddled close to the older man, the now sleeping
baby between them.
        Methos bestowed a tender kiss upon Shinno's brow. For now, he had kept
his promise. But still the question remained -- how long could he continue to
be a prisoner of two vows? He did not want to think, to be afraid of what
tomorrow could bring. For now, his world was at peace. No thoughts of revenge.
No memories of betrayal. Just the stillness and contentment. And the trust of a
sleeping young man and a child.
 
***** Chapter 10 *****
 
CHAPTER TEN
 
       "What...are...you...doing?"
        Methos was standing with his legs apart, arms crossed over his chest.
His brow had formed a sinister arch, lips pursed in a pout.
        The object of his displeasure was seated under a date palm, trying
desperately to look innocent.
        Sanchi had Zumillah propped on his lap, wrapped in swaddling clothes.
However, one little arm was free. With the concubine's gleeful assist, the baby
had a kodachi throwing dart clenched in her tiny fist. Sanchi was holding a
similar weapon in his other hand. The ancient had caught the concubine playing
"swords" with the infant.
        "Sanchi, hand them over," Methos ordered sternly, raising a gesturing
hand, palms up, to the younger man. "Zumillah is still too young to be playing
'Queen of Swords'. Hasn't anyone ever told you not to let children play with
sharp objects?"
        Grumbling to himself, Sanchi handed the darts over.
        The ancient grimaced at the sight of those sharp points. He raised a
finger to poke at the tip, all the while scolding, "I swear, Sanchi, sometimes
you have the mind of a child. Why can't you be more like Shinno -- level-
headed, responsible..."
        But as Methos pressed on the point, the length of the dart suddenly
gave way. Holding the tip, he bent the dart left and right. Rubber. A harmless
toy painted to look like a fiercesome weapon.
        Methos slowly turned to Sanchi, growling menacingly. With a wave and a
giggle, the concubine picked up the baby and made a quick getaway.
        "SANCHI!" the Immortal cried out as he went after the mischievous
whore.
        In his haste, Methos did not notice the figure weaving right into his
path. Before he knew what was happening, the ancient plowed into Shinno. Sanchi
stopped at once, gasping in shock, as the two men collided.
        As he got to his feet, Methos started waving the fake darts right in
Shinno's face. "Is this your idea? I thought Sanchi was the immature one. But
you're much worse. Where did you get these things anyway, Shinno? These are not
good toys for a child, much more a baby girl. There's already too much violence
in this world. Should you even begin to foster these tendencies at such a very
early age?" He looked suspiciously at the young man before him. "Shinno, are
you drunk? ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"
        Shinno had stood up, his whole body wobbling, as he fixed the turban on
his head. Furious as he was, Methos grabbed the whoremaster by the shoulders.
Sanchi turned as white as a sheet when the ancient gave Shinno a kiss, the mask
the only barrier between their lips. The concubine winced as Shinno decked the
Immortal a good one, that the ancient fell to the ground, his head hitting a
small rock. Brushing the sand from his clothes, the whoremaster sauntered away.
        Methos tried to make sense of where he was, but his head was whirling
and there was an annoying ringing in his ears. Opening his eyes brought a wave
of nausea that he snapped them shut again. Before he did so, he had caught a
glimpse of three shadowy figures peering down at him.
        "Is he dead? Is he dead?" a voice whom he recognized as Shinno's asked
near his right.
        There was a snort. In his gritty voice, Joseph replied, "He's Immortal.
No Immortal ever died from just one punch."
        At once, a baby started to cry, only making his headache worse.
        "Go on, Little Prince, and take care of the child," he heard Khassim
advise. "We'll see to your ancient friend."
        There was another snort. "And he's supposed to be the world's oldest
Immortal? I never saw such a clumsy fool in my life. He's a disgrace to all
Immortals."
        As he was being helped up, Methos blubbered, "Clumsy? Me, clumsy? I was
caught off guard. Damn it! Bloody drunk as he was, he should consider himself
lucky that I still gave him a kiss."
        "Drunk?" Khassim queried. Dizzy as he was, the ancient did not notice
the moor give Joseph a smoldering glare. "Don't worry, my friend! If I had
known, I would have given Shinno a scolding."
        But Methos shook their hands away. "Don't bother! I'll give Shinno a
hiding myself!"
        "You're not well," the scribe argued. "Why don't you sit for awhile and
just let Immortal healing do its work?"
        "No! I want to get my hands on that drunken whoremaster! Now, get your
hands off me!"
        Saying this, Methos yanked his arms loose and wobbled off in the
direction that Shinno had taken. He had just turned at the corner of one tent
when another wave of dizziness hit him. Pausing for a moment, he leaned against
the post, waiting for the dizziness to subside. When he opened his eyes, he
jumped in surprise, as Kamir suddenly appeared before him.
        "Good lord, Kamir! Don't do that!" Methos declared, rubbing his chest.
"My heart almost stopped!"
        The Emir's adviser gave the ancient a polite bow. "Forgive me for
startling you like this."
        "Is there something you wish to speak with me about? Unfortunately,
this is a very bad time. There's a certain whoremaster that I would like to get
my hands on."
        "Whoremaster?" Kamir asked quizzically. "These past few weeks, your
words still continue to confuse me. Who are you talking about?"
        "I'm talking about Shinno. Damn him! He punched me in the face. I was
scolding his brother Sanchi earlier for letting the child Zumillah play with a
dangerous-looking toy. I was telling Shinno about it -- and he was drunk out of
his mind -- when he just hit me."
        "Shinno? Sanchi?"
        "Don't play mind games with me, Kamir! My head is not up to any
puzzles. You know who I'm talking about. Shinno, the whoremaster, is the twin
brother of Sanchi, the Emir's prized whore."
        Silence. Then, the adviser remarked, "I see that there is a
little...deception...going on around here. Don't think I didn't warn you. I
told you that little minx is a sly one."
        "What the hell are you talking about?"
        "I cannot answer it now. Besides, the reason why I came here is to
invite you to a small feast in my tent this evening." Kamir smiled at the
ancient. "I wanted to show you that there is no bad blood between us, and I am
preparing something truly special tonight. I insist that you come. I assure you
all your questions will be answered this eve."
        "Yes, I'll be there," Methos confirmed, granting the adviser a gracious
bow, though the movement caused his head to spin again.
        As Kamir walked away, the Immortal continued on his little search for
the whoremaster. Sure enough, he heard furious voices coming from the servant's
area. With slow, measured steps, Methos found himself standing behind the
camels, looking at the two figures fighting before a tent.
        Shinno had his head meekly bowed, unable to look at Sanchi who was
gesturing angrily with his hands. As the ancient watched, the concubine reached
inside the whoremaster's shirt and pulled out a wine bottle. Angrily, Sanchi
broke the bottle against the post, eliciting a pinched cry from Shinno. For a
moment, Methos thought that the whoremaster was going to charge at the
concubine. However, Sanchi's hand flew out, delivering a ringing slap to
Shinno's cheek. Grabbing his arm, Sanchi yanked the whoremaster inside the
tent.
        Methos stood in stunned silence. He was oblivious to the fact that the
camel beside him was chewing contemplatively on his burnoose, as his mind
brought him back to specific incidents of the past few weeks.
        "Sanchi was branded with the Emir's mark," Khassim had told him. "But
Shinno strongly refused to have the same done to him."
        Methos' mind returned to that night in the desert when he had made
wonderful love to the twin concubines. His eyes flew wide in shock, the
realization hitting him with the force of a sandstorm.
        "Sanchi was branded."
        The ancient recalled kissing both whores in one particular spot on
their bodies. BOTH had rough scars, obviously a brand, on their right shoulder
blades.
        Now, there was the argument he had unwittingly stumbled upon. Before
the twins entered the tent, Methos had heard an angry exclamation. Only two
words, but he heard them clearly.
        "DRUNKEN FOOL!"
        Two words. Two angry words that were issued from the furious lips of
the Emir's "mute" concubine, Sanchi.
 
***** Chapter 11 *****
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN
 
        Before night fell, the caravan made camp in a small oasis that was
frequented by desert nomads for its well.
        Methos walked around the camp to see if all was fine. He even visited
Liamina, who was happily nursing little Zumillah for the first time. The
ancient wandered around, checking everything, even the animals.
        However, this meticulousness was merely a front to hide his unease. For
some reason, Methos was not looking forward to Kamir's little feast. Having
trusted his instincts for a long, long time, there was a disturbing feeling in
his gut that this was a harbinger for something terrible that would happen.
        But then, stronger than his apprehensions was the desire to get
answers. Since this morning, Methos had been replaying in his mind the scene
that he had stumbled upon. True, he had been dazed from that punch and when the
back of his head had struck that rock when he fell. But there wasn't any doubt
in his mind that it was Sanchi who had spoken. Then, there was the matter of
the Emir's brand.
        The ancient's mind was a-whirl with questions. Are Shinno and Sanchi
indeed twins, or, as he originally suspected, are they one and the same person?
If they are one person, then who was the other man he saw when the two whores
were seemingly together? Just who are these "twins"?
        Which was why, despite his fears, Methos found himself standing outside
Kamir's tent. He could sense the Emir's adviser inside. There was no turning
back. Taking a deep breath, Methos entered the tent.
        Kamir was waiting for him inside. He stood up, a warm smile on his
face, seeing the ancient. He took Methos' hands and shook them. "Welcome to my
humble tent, Methos!" The Indian gestured to the sumptuous food on the low
table. "Come, my friend! Join me for dinner."
        In the next two hours, the two men ate and engaged in idle chat, while
one of the female slaves served them. For awhile, Methos felt his fears ease a
bit. Maybe he was wrong about Kamir, that he wasn't planning anything sinister.
Then again, he was also concerned that his questions would remain unanswered.
Still, they have a long way to go before they reach the Emir's realm, enough
time for him to get his answers.
        As the night wore on, although their meal was finished, the wine
continued to flow. Although known for his temperance, the ancient could not
decline, fearing that he might offend the Emir's right hand man. Strangely,
however, Methos did not feel drunk. But he was suffused by a heat that was
close to becoming unbearable. Worse, that warmth was concentrated on the
sensitive regions of his body, specifically his groin. Judging from the
expression on the adviser's face, Methos could see that the wine was having the
same effect on Kamir.
        The adviser whispered something in the serving girl's ear. With a bow,
she hurried outside the tent.
        "Now, that we're alone," Kamir declared, lounging against the cushions,
"let's get down to business."
        "And what business is that?" Methos asked in turn.
        "You know what I mean -- the Emir's concubine."
        "Which whore are you referring to?"
        "Are we back to that again? Never mind. You'll get the answer to that
question soon enough." The adviser went straight to the point. "Methos, I want
to know what your feelings are for the Emir's whore."
        "Feelings? I have no feelings for him except the desire to bed him,"
the ancient skillfully lied, keeping his face devoid of all expression. "He is
exquisite. He was trained very well."
        "Are you certain that is all? You seem protective of him last night."
        "Isn't it my duty to protect him? As much as I understand your desire
to discipline him, I don't think the Emir would approve of having his prized
concubine marked in any way."
        "To protect him... Yes, that is one of your duties. Your other duty I
believe is to tame him, am I right?"
        Methos eyed Kamir with suspicion, wondering where this line of
questioning was going to. "Yes, that is true."
        "So," the adviser began, "have you fulfilled this duty?"
        The ancient's heart thudded rapidly in his chest. "I believe I have.
You've seen how meek he is in my presence."
        A sly grin formed on Kamir's face as he raised his hand. "Very well!
Here's your chance to prove your claim."
        Methos whirled around to find the robed form of the Emir's whore behind
him. The young man's brown doe eyes were wide in startlement, not expecting to
find the ancient in Kamir's tent. For once, Methos was at a loss. He did not
know who this young man standing before him was.
        In his confusion, the ancient blurted out, "Sanchi? Shinno? Who..."
        "Yes, that's a good question," Kamir remarked as he got to his feet.
"WHO ARE YOU?"
        Suddenly, the adviser reached out and grabbed the young man's arm.
        "LET GO OF ME!" the concubine exclaimed, struggling to jerk his arm
free.
        With a powerful wrenching motion, Kamir shoved the young man onto the
mat. Methos watched in shocked, helpless silence as the Indian tore the robe to
shreds, leaving the concubine naked and trembling in terror. But what stunned
the ancient the most was the sight of the brand on the young man's shoulder.
Three words in flowing Arabic script seared onto his skin. "Prince of Whores."
        "SHINNO!" Methos gasped out.
        "Yes, this is Shinno...AND Sanchi, if I heard you right," Kamir
confirmed. "I don't know what game you've been playing, Little Whore, but you
should never have trusted a drunken idiot of a servant to act as if there were
two of you in existence." Brutally, the Indian pushed the whoremaster into the
ancient's arms. "Show me, Methos! Show me that you have tamed him! I have
promised you a feast! Let us both partake of the beautiful flesh of this whore!
Besides..." Kamir grinned lasciviously. "He needs to be punished for this
deception."
        Tears welled up in Shinno's lovely eyes as he looked up at Methos. Eyes
that so reminded him of a child in a keep. "Methos, no! I could explain
everything, but not here, not now."
        "I don't understand. Why..."
        "You promised you wouldn't hurt me!" Shinno begged the ancient.
"Please! You promised me!"
        Promises again. What was he going to do, the ancient thought in panic.
Two promises... Which was he going to choose?
        Kamir, however, took the choice from him. In sheer ferocity, the Indian
grabbed Shinno back. Pushing the younger man down on the mat, Kamir straddled
him and forced his legs wide apart. To Methos' horror, the adviser pulled out a
dagger, positioning the sharp tip at the whore's opening.
        "KAMIR, NO!" the ancient cried.
        "Your choice, Methos!" Kamir's eyes shone with an insane light. "Either
you take him first or I will."
        Methos gritted his teeth, hands clenched in fists at his sides.
Steeling himself for the disgusting task before him, he took two steps forward,
laying a heavy hand on the Indian's shoulder. Methos was revolted by the leer
on the adviser's face as he relinquished his position to the older Immortal.
Jaw hardening, he peeled off his clothes one by one.
        When the ancient lay on top of him, Shinno shook his head. "No, Methos!
You promised! I trusted you!"
        That vulnerability caused anger to rise in the ancient's heart. His
hand flew out, viciously slapping the whoremaster in the face.
        "Fight me, Shinno!" Methos hissed in the young man's ear, so that Kamir
would not hear what he was saying. "Damn it! I didn't teach you this! Remember
what Hideo Koto taught you! Fight me, damn you! FIGHT!"
        However, Shinno burst into tears. Gripping the veil tightly over his
face, the concubine parted his legs in complete submission. That surrender
forced a cry of anger and frustration to rise from his throat.
        "Put out that light!" Methos snarled at the Indian.
        As Kamir happily complied, the ancient tore the veil from Shinno's
face.
        Bending down upon the terrified young man, Methos sobbed, "Forgive me,
Shinno! Please forgive me!"
 
        The hours passed as the two Immortals took turns in abusing the poor
concubine. At one point, they used him at the same time. Methos could see
Kamir's frenzied outline as he forced himself inside Shinno's mouth. He knew
that he looked the same to the adviser, thrusting hard and fast into the
whore's battered ass.
        Methos wished that he could spare Shinno this cruelty and humiliation.
The wine he had drank, however, filled his mind only with the need to fulfill
his desires. Besides that, he was too angry to care. This young man beneath him
was not the Shinno he had known. Not the whoremaster, with his fiery temper and
caustic tongue. Not the sly ninja who was always one step ahead of him. Not his
student, whom he dreamed would one day become one of the world's greatest
warriors. Not even Sanchi had been this completely submissive. This terrified,
meek form in his arms...he didn't know him at all.
        As he pounded into Shinno, the ancient hoped he could elicit a response
from the younger man -- a push, a punch, a cry of fury, the angry gnashing of
teeth, even a sharp, piercing gaze. However, there was none. Just the sounds of
weeping.
        Daybreak saw Methos inching out of guilt-ridden nightmares, the
whoremaster beside him, dressed in his tattered robe. Kamir was nowhere to be
found. Turning to face Shinno, he saw that the concubine was also awake, the
lower half of his face covered by the veil once more. But his eyes were a
blank.
        "Shinno?" Methos whispered. "Shinno! It's all right now. It's over." He
reached out to caress the young man's face.
        But the minute his fingers touched a cheekbone, Shinno was jolted to
alertness. Whimpering, he crawled away from the ancient. For a moment, there
was confusion in Shinno's face. However, looking down at his bruised and
battered body, the memory of last night came flooding back.
        "Why?" Shinno demanded, seeing his long legs drenched with blood. "Why
did you do this to me?"
        "He was going to kill you!" Methos desperately tried to explain. "I had
no choice!"
        "Death was the better option! Anything, but rape!"
        "Shinno, I'm sorry, but I couldn't let you die! Don't choose death!
Live! Grow stronger! Fight another day! You must fight for your freedom!"
        The whoremaster, however, was no longer listening to him. With an
anguished cry, Shinno revealed what was once inside his heart that was now
broken to pieces. "I trusted you, Methos! You promised you would never hurt me!
But you betrayed me again! This is the second time that you betrayed me!"
        Methos shook his head in confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking
about!"
        Tears streaming down his cheeks, Shinno donned his robe. "What did I do
to you, Methos? What the hell did I do to make you treat me this way?"
        The ancient raised his hand helplessly to the young man. "Shinno, calm
down! You're not making any sense! Except for this moment... You must tell me!
In the past, when have I hurt you? In what way have I betrayed you? Please tell
me! I don't know! I swear I don't know!"
        A stinging slap was delivered to his cheek, leaving a bloody handprint
on his cheek.
        "DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN!" screamed Shinno.
"I HATE YOU, METHOS! I HATE YOU SO MUCH I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!"
        Saying this, Shinno fled from the tent. Methos quickly pulled on his
trousers and hurried after the whoremaster. As he emerged into the sunlight, he
saw Shinno making a mad dash for one of the dunes.
        "Shinno, wait!" the ancient called out, giving chase.
        Suddenly, the stillness of the morning was jarred by a ululating cry.
As Methos looked on in horror, black-clad riders appeared at the top of the
sand dune. Bandits! One of them urged his horse down the dune, heading towards
the whoremaster. Before Shinno could get away, the bandit reached down, grabbed
him by the waist and hauled him onto his saddle.
        "NO!" Methos shouted in rage, quickening his pace. "LET HIM GO, DAMN
YOU! SHINNO!"
        However, the rider swiftly turned his horse in the direction of his
comrades. With fierce cries, they galloped off, kicking up sand in Methos'
face.
        With a frustrated growl, the Immortal hurried back to his tent to get
dressed, nearly bumping into Khassim.
        "What is it, Methos?" Khassim demanded. "I heard shouting!"
        Methos emerged from his tent in full battle gear, his Ivanhoe slung at
his back. He let out a high-pitched whistle. To his surprise, not only did his
steed Thanatos gallop towards him, but also Shinno's horse, Denko.
        Climbing onto the saddle, the ancient told the moor, "Shinno was
abducted by bandits. I'm going after them."
        "I'm coming with you!" exclaimed Khassim.
        "There's no time! I might lose them!"
        "Give me a minute, Methos! There is something that you must take with
you!"
        Methos snarled in impatience as the moor dashed off to his own tent.
Thankfully, he returned at once with a pack, slinging it over Denko's saddle.
Methos saw that the pack contained Shinno's katana and other weaponry.
        "You might need this," Khassim told him. "Are you sure you don't want
me to go with you?"
        The ancient shook his head. "No, Khassim. I need you here. Take the
caravan to the next oasis. I can't risk the bandits attacking you too. Although
Shinno was obviously their target, they might return here."
        "But what about you and Shinno?"
        Methos' lips formed a grim line. "Pray to Allah, my friend! Pray that I
find him and rescue him before it's too late. We'll catch up with you!"
        "What am I going to tell Kamir?"
        The ancient thought for a moment. "Tell Kamir what happened. Tell him
also, that when I return, his head is mine!"
        No longer waiting for the moor's reply, Methos secured Denko's reins to
his saddle and urged Thanatos  into a full gallop, heading out into the desert
and the unknown.
 
 
TO BE CONTINUED IN LOVE'S FIERY TEMPEST STORY ARC 2: THE TADEMAIT PLATEAU
 
***** Prologue *****
 
PROLOGUE
        Sleep was slow to come for the Horseman as he lay quietly in his bed,
staring up at the shadows cast by the torchlight on the ceiling. The aches in
his body made it difficult for him to find the slumber he seeks.
        Damn! he cursed for a thousandth time. I should put a stop to this
lunacy. I really cannot take much more of this kind of treatment. Damn it!
We're supposed to be Brothers! Turning on his side, he groaned as a sharp pain
pierced inside him. I'm getting too old for this! Maybe I should go on my merry
way at last.
        But the Horseman knew he couldn't leave. Something, or more
specifically "someone," was keeping him here in these God-forsaken mountains.
It was someone he would willingly take along with him, if he only could.
        His ears perked up as he heard his door slowly open and then squeak
shut.
        Wonderful! the Horseman grumbled inwardly. Now I'll never get any
sleep!
        A frown creased his brow, feeling his blanket lifted up at the foot of
the bed. Then, a tiny body began crawling under the covers, carefully making
its way upward. Finding the cozy hollow of the Horseman's belly, the moving
lump curled up in a fetal position. He could feel the small form trembling,
tears wetting his skin.
        Removing the blanket from his body, the Horseman lifted the tiny ball,
smelling of sweet heather blossoms and baby's breath, a warm smile forming on
his face. Here was his main reason for staying in this land. Gently, he took
the weeping child in his arms, running his fingers soothingly through the
tangled sable locks.
        The little boy was no more than five years old, but, already, one could
see the man he would become. Beautiful of face, full rosy lips, flushed cheeks
that would pit with adorable dimples when he smiled. And those eyes... Eyes of
a warm brown, like that of a playful puppy dog or a gentle fawn. But now, there
were tears in those lovely eyes that it tugged at the Horseman's heart.
        "What are you doing here?" he asked the child softly, wiping away the
tears with his fingertips. "You should be asleep. And why are you crying?"
        Sobbing, the boy answered in heavy brogue, "I came ta see if ye were
all right."
        "Of course I'm all right!" the Horseman laughed. "Why did you think I
may not be so?"
        "I saw ye... wi' him." That last came so reluctantly. "I heard ye
makin' funny noises. I was afraid he hurt ye bad."
        "You shouldn't be poking around in places you shouldn't be in," he
scolded the child. "There are things not meant to be seen by younglings like
you. You won't be able to understand unless you're a little older."
        "But...but I think I understand now."
        "What do you mean?" the Horseman asked curiously.
        "I asked him wha' ye two were doin'. He said 'tis the way of warriors.
He told me tha', though it may seem like it, it really doesna' hurt. Tha' ye
e'en liked it." Timidly, the boy confessed, "I asked him ta show me. After all,
I'm goin' ta be a great warrior someday sa I thought I should learn now."
        "Learn what?" he demanded. Already, dread was filling his heart. "What
did he do to you?"
        The child stood up straight and tall, cocking his head up, trying to
hold the tears that were threatening to burst from his throat. "He showed me
what ta do. It...hurt...verra much, but I dinna cry. I'm a great warrior, like
ye."
        NOOO! the word screamed inside his mind. It couldn't be true! Not this
child! Not this beautiful, loving child!
        Fearfully, his hand went down the small back, reaching for the tiny
rump that twitched in pain. The Horseman's eyes widened in shock. His hand came
away bloodied, confirming his worst fears.
        Suddenly, the door burst open with a loud bang and the huge hulk of the
Lord of the Keep stood before them, a candlestick in his hand. The child let
out a mewling cry. Before the Horseman could wrap his arms protectively around
him, the boy was roughly pulled out of his grasp.
        "What are ye doin' wi' ma son?" the Lord demanded furiously. "Wha' is
he doin' here in yer chamber?"
        "He couldn't sleep and he came to see me, my Lord," the Horseman
answered him, fearing for the child.
        Then, the Lord made his son turn around, that his bleeding backside was
grotesquely illuminated in the candlelight. Laying the candle down at once, he
began shaking the boy roughly.
        "Don't hurt him!" shouted the Horseman, putting on his tunic and
trousers. "Damn it, man! Let him go!"
        The Lord snarled in the child's face, "Who did this ta ye?" Pointing to
the Horseman, he asked, "Was it him?"
        "Faither, ye're hurtin' me!" The boy was weeping in terror.
        "Tell me, ye little whore!" The Lord shook the child once more that he
began to scream.
        "Stop it!" the Horseman cried. "He's done nothing wrong!"
        "If I dinna see it wi' ma own eyes, I wouldn't 'ave believed it," the
Lord muttered in dismay. Glaring fiercely at the boy, he said, "I knew I sud
no' 'ave taken ye in. But my wife wanted sa much ta 'ave a son. Ye're a whore,
like the peasant woman who brought ye. Tell me! Who 'ave ye been lyin' with? Is
it him?"
        The child shook his head frantically. Then, to the Horseman's shock,
the Lord of the Keep struck the boy in the face. At once, the child began to
scream madly.
        "'Twas him!" the boy cried. "HIM!"
        The Horseman shook his head in disbelief. "It's not true! It's a lie! I
never touched him!" He begged the boy, "Tell him the truth! Tell him who did
this to you!"
        But the child screamed only one word over and over again. "HIM! HIM!
HIM!"
        "Guards!" the Lord shouted. Turning to the Horseman, he said, "Ye have
brought shame into my house. I will have your head for this!"
        "I did no wrong!" The Horseman gritted his teeth. "If there's anyone
who has brought shame, it's that child you call 'son.'" Climbing through the
windowsill, he pointed his sharp sword at the terrified little boy. "You have
betrayed me, boy! I loved you with all my heart and, yet, you betrayed me! YOU
ACCUSED ME FALSELY! Mark my words! You haven't seen the last of me! I will
return to get my revenge on you!"
        Saying this, the Horseman leaped out the window and plunged into the
waters below. As he swam in the depths of the loch, he didn't see the child run
towards the window.
        "Come back!" the boy cried out to his protector, hand reaching out.
"Dinna leave me! Please, come back!"
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