After bathing, the woman was dressed up and sent to the second floor of the prison. The so-called dressing up was putting on a brand new loincloth and chest wrap.
Both the chest wrap and loincloth were camel color, with delicate texture and beautifully embroidered patterns. There were half-foot long cloth tassels hanging at the hem.
She was surprised to find that the cloth was actually fine linen.
She had only seen this kind of cloth once before. That was when she went with her father to the upper reaches of the river to trade furs and honey with the Scythians there.
The linen cloth looked thick, but felt light and cool when worn. The only drawback was that the surface of the cloth was uneven and had some fluff, and her towering chest muscles lightly rubbed against the chest wrap, standing out in two places.
The slave trader feared that she would lash out and hurt someone. Before departing from the prison cell, he ordered his henchmen to tighten the chains between her shackles, binding her tall and athletic body into a bundle, making it almost impossible for her to stand upright.
Next, one of the henchmen led the way, pulling her like cattle, while the other followed behind, occasionally whipping her back and buttocks with a small whip. She gritted her teeth and silently sentenced both men to death in her mind.
Bent over and tottering, she made her way through the corridor and up the stairs to a large room.
As she was escorted along the way, she secretly memorized the route.
When the slave trader pushed open the door to the room, the thick, pungent incense made her sneeze.
They pulled her to the wall of the large room and made her stand against the wall. Only then did the slave trader loosen the chains on her shackles. They nailed the shackles of her hands and feet to the iron rings embedded in the wall.
It looks like they've taken the lesson from last time to heart.
No matter. She thinks coldly.
Her expression is blank and her arms are slightly bulging, she quietly tests the strength of the iron ring and the brick wall.
This won't stop her.
The slave trader waved for the thugs to leave the room, leaving only himself, waiting respectfully in the room.
She looked around, noticing rough wooden walls with paintings of gladiators and lions, and several stone sculptures standing in the room.
She relaxed.
No bed, no food, this shouldn't be a bedroom.
She hoped the person who called her here wasn't thinking of sleeping with her again.
She thought disgustingly of the half-sized rascal she had dealt with before.
Before she could understand her situation, she didn't want to kill. But if faced with someone seeking death, she wouldn't show mercy.
This time, there were no men in the room.
Soon after, a Southern girl with a purple veil appeared before her.
The pure purple long-sleeved tight dress, showing her slender and graceful figure, also revealing her two smooth wheat-colored arms. Her arms were adorned with several golden bracelets and necklaces. Over the tight dress was a green spiral jacket with tassels, decorated with swallows and green birds embroidered with gold thread, which was very rich and imposing.
Two strong and robust female slaves followed the young girl, each holding a tray with wine bottles and wine utensils.
Assyrian nobles are always strict in terms of rank: household slaves are lowly, akin to pigs and dogs, and cannot wear clothes. Therefore, both female slaves were naked, only tied with a cloth cord tied around the waist. But that waist cord was intertwined with silver and gold threads. To the northern woman's eyes, the one on the left, the waist cord was woven with silver thread, and her skin was black as coal; the one on the right, the waist cord was woven with gold thread, black hair, blue eyes, and skin as white as hers.
The slave trader knelt beside him with his head bowed deeply, not daring to look more.
The golden collar worn on the chests of these two female slaves was enough to buy all of his belongings with just one of them.
Stolen novel; please report.
"Beautiful and noble mistress," he said loudly, "Please allow me to show you 'the silver-white lioness'."
The woman felt that his exaggerated demeanor looked like a fool. That was the kind of vulgar clowning around at home, offered for everyone to beat up and enjoy.
The girl ignored the slave trader and came to the woman's face, standing there with her face mask aligned with her large breasts.
The girl looked up at her and said a few words she couldn't understand. Her voice was soft and clear, but with a hoarse sandiness.
The woman only saw the wine bottle on the tray in the slave girl's hand.
In any case, she couldn't drink the fruit wine made by southern people again.
The wine made by southern people. As cunning as they are. When it first entered the mouth, it felt like juice, and there wasn't much alcohol flavor besides the sour and sweet. But drinking and drinking, people unconsciously got drunk. Translated into English in sections.
"Yes, can't drink anymore," she licked her lips. "Just a taste."
"The master is asking," the white-skinned slave girl with a golden waist cord said in a language a woman could understand. "Before having a good relationship with Ashur, were you a 'virgin'?"
She raised her silver-gray eyebrows.
She asked, "Which tribe are you from?"
"Answer the master's question," the white-skinned slave girl said.
The woman looked blank, "What is a 'virgin'?"
The white-skinned slave girl frowned slightly. She had lived in Assyria for too long and almost forgot that the word "virgin" was an Assyrian word and did not exist in the native language of the northern people.
The white-skinned slave girl thought for a moment and said, "It means have you remained pure for Pallas Athena."
The woman understood.
However, the first half sentence "before being in a relationship with Ashur" confused her. In fact, she had no idea what the name was of the southern boy she had punished.
She was too lazy to find out.
"I don't know, I rarely pray to the gods," she said. "Why are you asking?"
The white-skinned slave girl translated her words into Assyrian for the girl to hear.
The girl chuckled shyly from under her veil, "Why would she say she doesn't know? Can you not know something like that?"
The white-skinned slave girl said, "Yes, my master."
"Why?"
"That woman is a looter from the Ice Sea, belonging to the northern barbarian tribe farthest north-"
The girl interrupted her: "Farther north than your Seleucid?"
"Farther north," said the white-skinned slave. "Please note her hair color and her eyes. In our legends, the people of the Ice Sea are no longer fully human. They are descendants of dragons conquered by Ishtar or giants of frost."
The girl listened, approached the northern woman a few more steps, stretched out her wheat-colored hand and gently touched her solid, smooth white belly, then retracted her hand like lightning.
The girl muttered, "Her skin is truly crystal-clear and white, whiter than your Seleucids...feels cool to the touch, like salt crystals and silver."
The slave said, "The people of the Ice Sea also believe in Crom and Ishtar. But they live recklessly, either soaking in blood or soaking in alcohol."
"What does that mean?"
"Brawling and drinking," said the fair-skinned slave girl.
The woman was shackled to the wall, and although she didn't understand the Assyrian language of the fair-skinned slave girl, she could feel her malicious intent.
"North men all know, if they want to sleep with a woman from the Ice Sea, they have to either defeat her or get her drunk. Getting drunk and being violated is very common over there, and even she herself doesn't remember or care."
"So she says she doesn't know."
The girl let out a sigh and her spirits fell.
"Oh well," the girl said regretfully.
"I was originally going to take her as my personal slave and have her serve exclusively as my bed warmer after I get married to Ashur. Ashur probably likes her, I can tell."
"I never would have thought that his kink would be so strange..."
This was a thought the young woman didn't voice.
The young woman was, of course, Xena, the fiancé of Asher.
As the daughter of the city's lord, she knew more reliable insider information than the rumors outside:
The next morning, the soldiers of the Assyrian Empire knocked on the door of their general's bedroom, but no one responded. The soldiers felt something was wrong, so they broke in.
What they saw was a naked man and woman intertwined. Their young commander was tightly bound by four horses, with cloth stuffed in his mouth, and his body was covered in bruises, especially the purple and bright lower body, which seemed to have been trampled by someone's foot.
The woman was snoring, her head resting on their commander's stomach, and one foot still hanging off the bed.
Not only that, soldiers found signs of submission from many tribal elders in the northern region in the golden helmets in their beds, which were made for the commanding officer with unparalleled magnificence, and the indescribable items in the half-helmets in the golden helmets.
The first thing Aschur did after being rescued was to announce to the entire army that everything was normal and he had nothing to do with it, just a small mistake in the game. Then he privately found the vice-commander and asked him to quickly "handle" the woman.
The vice-commander thought he was "smart" and quickly found the slave trader who was with the army, and commissioned him to send her to the capital, Niniwei.
The young woman spoke seriously with a motherly air: "Since Aschur has such a strange hobby, I feel that I cannot fulfill my wife's duty to make my husband happy. So, I thought, maybe this woman could satisfy Aschur...but since she was not a virgin before she was intimate with Aschur, she is not qualified to be my personal slave - let's go, I don't want to see her again."
The young woman turned and left.
"Wait, wait a minute, your noble mistress."
The slave trader, who was kneeling by the side with aching waist and legs but was ignored, stammered, "So, for the female gladiatorial contest on your birthday, you don't plan to let her win in your name?"
"No," the young girl said lightly without turning her head, "Ashur doesn't like it."
The slave trader was stunned.
The white-skinned female slave held the wine cup, followed the master's pace with ease, and was filled with a joyful flame in her heart:
She was also a "tall white mare", matching the aesthetic of the future master, and now, she had also obtained the secret of pleasing the future master. Why should she rely on this rough woman?
There was no doubt that her future was bright.