Sabit hauled the large clay pot filled with stinking human waste out from under the stone commode. She replaced it with a clean pot and wrapped a loop of rope around the flared lip of the full vessel. The rope trailed from a long, wooden pole with another matching, stinking pot at the other end. Sabit stooped under the pole, hoisted it on her shoulders, and stood. With careful steps, she carried the pots from the lavatory and made her way to the courtyard. The thick span of rope hobbled her ankles, keeping her her stride in check and her progress snail-like.
On the far side of the courtyard, Heguir stood with an older man whose lush robes and massive girth attested to his wealth. “This is the small fortune in saffron I have the wretches harvest while I wait for the right buyer. My daughter will never want for wealth when she is your wife. And the ransoms I command beggar the imagination! Why, look here! I bet you’ve never seen a true-born princess emptying piss pots, have you?”
He whistled at Sabit as a man might call a rather stupid hound. “Masuura! Come closer, your highness. Let us see a proper curtsy for our guest.”
Sabit took two steps toward Heguir, eyeing the pair of bodyguards that stood on either side of him. One of them stepped forward to stop her from getting too close to the flesh merchant. Sabit slowly bent her knees and bowed her head before the man who claimed ownership of her body.
Heguir chuckled and elbowed the older man. “How often have you had a princess curtsy to you, old man?”
With her head bowed, it was a single, smooth movement for Sabit to slide the pole off her shoulders and swing it at the nearer bodyguard. The large clay pot stuck him on the chin, shattering into a shower of filth, shards, and blood.
Sabit was already moving. As the first guard hit the ground, she hurled the pole at Heguir. Without seeing if it hit, Sabit dove toward the ground. Standing on her hands, she somersaulted toward the other bodyguard. Before he could get his bronze sword clear of its sheath, the thick rope between her ankles caught him across the throat. The force of her leap drove the man down to the ground on his back. Sabit’s ankle fetter stretched across his windpipe, pinning him to the dirt. Within moments, the bodyguard lay motionless, his bronze blade falling from his insensate grasp.
Sabit picked up the sword. With a single chop, she severed the rope between her ankles.
She turned to face Heguir, bright blade clutched in her hand.
— — —
Photo by Luděk Maděryč from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/metal-chain-in-grayscale-and-closeup-photo-86733/
Wayfarings of Sabit: Chains is copyright (c) 2018 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every Thursday (and the occasional Monday). You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller Find more sword and sorcery fiction at http://ipressgames.com/fiction/.