The Desert Spear

the
Sharum
gasp and saw men stiffen in fear. He looked up and saw his First Wife enter the room—but as only he should see her. Her brightly colored scarf and veil were diaphanous, as were the gossamer wisps of material that seemed to float about her like smoke, leaving nothing of her beauty to the imagination. Her night-black hair was netted in gold and oil-scented. Her arms and legs tinkled with jewelry of gem and warded gold. She wore no mark of caste or rank. Only her
hora
pouch, secure at her belt, marked her as more than a wealthy
Damaji’s
most favored pillow dancer.
    Inevera held all eyes as she glided into the room—both the dumbstruck gapes of the men, and the cold assessment of the
Damaji’ting.
Jardir’s face heated as she went to him, and against his will, he felt stirrings best left to the bedchamber. He tried to retain his composure, but she went right up to him, pulling aside her veil to kiss him deeply. She draped her soft body about him as if she were posing for a statue, marking him before all like a bitch marked a corner.
    “What in Nie’s abyss are you playing at?” he whispered sharply.
    “Reminding them that the Shar’Dama Ka is not bound by the laws of men,” Inevera said. “Take me right on the Skull Throne with all watching, if you wish. None will dare protest.” She slipped a hand between his legs and caressed him softly. Jardir gasped.
    “
I
would protest,” he hissed, pushing her out to arm’s length. Inevera shrugged, smiling widely and caressing his face.
    “All Krasia rejoices in your victory today, husband,” she said loudly for the room to hear.
    Jardir knew he should respond in kind, making some bold speech, but such political posturing sickened him still, and he had other concerns.
    “Will he live?” Jardir asked, nodding to Aleverak. The
Damaji
had lost great pools of blood, and his arm was a twisted ruin.
    Belina shook her head. “Doubtful, husband,” she said, bowing her head as a proper wife—something his
dama’ting
wives had never done before.
    “Save him,” Jardir murmured to Inevera.
    “To what end?” Inevera breathed through her veil for his ears alone. “Aleverak is stubborn and too powerful. Better to remove him.”
    “I promised him that when he dies, his heir may challenge Maji for the Majah palace,” Jardir said.
    Inevera’s eyes bulged. “You did
what
?!” Everyone glanced her way, but the look was gone in an instant, and her body eased once more. She pulled away and sashayed down the dais steps, the sway of her hips, visible through her diaphanous robe, drawing the gaze of every man in the room. Jardir’s honor howled for him to gouge out every eye for feasting on what should be his alone.
    Belina and the Majah
Damaji’ting
both bowed deeply and moved from Inevera’s path. “Damajah,” they greeted her in unison.
    Aleverak had passed out from the loss of blood by the time Inevera finished examining the wound. She stood and looked to the
Sharum.
“Draw every curtain and close every door,” she commanded, and as several warriors rushed to comply, she had the others encircle her and the injured
Damaji
with their backs to her, holding up and interlocking their shields to bathe her and Aleverak in darkness.
    In the darkened room, Jardir could see the faint glow of
alagai hora
pulsing through the living wall, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of Inevera’s chanted prayers. The glow throbbed for several minutes as the men in the room stood in awe.
    Inevera gave a command, and the circle of
dal’Sharum
broke. Warriors rushed to open curtains, restoring light to the room, and there, lying calm next to Inevera, was Damaji Aleverak. Stripped to the waist, his flesh had lost its gray pallor, and he breathed comfortably. Gone were any signs of his wound, the bone or bleeding or even a scar. There was only smooth flesh across his shoulder.
    Smooth flesh where there should have been an arm. The limb was nowhere to be seen.
    “Everam has accepted Damaji Aleverak’s arm as a token of his submission,” Inevera announced loudly. “Aleverak is forgiven for doubting the Deliverer, and if he walks Everam’s true path from now on, he will rejoin his lost limb in Heaven.”
    She went back to Jardir, draping herself over him once more. “My husband must cool his blood after such a victory as today’s,” she said loudly, addressing the entire room. “Leave us, that I may tend him in private, as only a wife can.”
    There was a shocked