It was a long, hot trek to the Bargaraff oasis and it was well into the afternoon
before the hot, weary captors started the long descent, down the ridge towards the
welcoming lake that stretched out before them.
All around the perimeter of the substantial water source were palm trees and shrubs
that provided grazing and shade for camels and goats, and as such it was a magnet for Riff
herders and farmers from miles around. The Riff soldiers had encamped in one of the small
clearings that flanked the oasis and there, in the shade, was a large, white, awning style
tent, its sides tied back to permit the desert breeze, cooled by the oasis water, to pass
through. A light breeze made the sides of the tent sigh as if in relief.
The camel girls were stopped short of the tent. Only Yegane was untied and pushed
forward to meet the tent’s inhabitant. Yegane expected to see the bearded, grey old man,
Sheik Abdul Mateen and she wanted to speak with him most urgently, considering their
arrest an outrage.
Instead of the old sheik, a very different person confronted her. A young man, no
more than thirty or thirty five years of age and a most handsome one at that. Clearly
Riff, he had, despite his good looks, a most stern and tenacious air about him that was at
once inviting, but intimidating also. He wore a burnoose of white silk, its edges trimmed
with gold brocade. A white turban closed with a large blue clasp shrouded his dark hair.
He had clear blue eyes and a dark, well trimmed beard with the prominent nose that
characterised his race. He wore his wealth with natural ease as he lounged in a large
chair, surrounded by serving and dancing girls. He was a man who did not allow journeys
out in the desert intrude on his relaxation and pleasure and so he liked to have his home
comforts transported with him that occasioned dancers and servants to follow.
As Yegane was rudely pushed in front of the handsome man, she saw him studying her
closely. He leaned his head towards one of the guards that had taken the girls captive as
he whispered in his ear and then sat erect, studying her again as the soldier left the
tent. He stroked his chin, as if considering carefully what to say and then broke the
silence between them.
“You have been arrested on the Rashka ridge!”
“We are a camel girl patrol from fort Araf!” Yegane said, as if explaining herself.
The Sheik gave a look of indifference.
“I am well aware of whom you are, but you were arrested for trespassing on Riff
territory,” the Sheik said. Yegane gave a scowl.
“Fort Araf has patrolled that ridge for years. Sheik Abdul Mateen himself gave
sanction long ago that it was neutral and hence quite in order for women’s desert army
personnel to patrol it. That was when the old Sheik was a young man,” argued Yegane. The
handsome Sheik raised his hand as in a silent bid to stop Yegane.
“The venerable man you speak of” - and he made a motion of respect with his hands,
passing his palm over his eyes - “sadly passed away not three weeks ago. Even now my heart
aches for my Father. As a mark of respect and in his memory, I too have taken on the noble
name of Sheik Abdul Mateen. Now, I am undertaking to return to the Riff people all that
was ceded wrongly. The ridge and land around it is one of those things.”
“That is tantamount to a declaration of war!” Yegane gasped. The Sheik gave a
nonchalant wave of his hand.
“Then war it must be and you and your patrol are its first casualties.” The Sheik
called to one of his guards standing aside. “Take those three women into the pit and have
them lashed.”
“Stop Sheik, you can’t do that!” Yegane shouted, but the Sheik gave her a careless
look.
“You will learn woman, now I am Sheik, that there is very little that I cannot do
and much that I am yet to do. After they have been flogged, those three will be prisoners
of war and serve two years hard labour, as usual,” he said casually.
“Prisoners of an undeclared war!” Yegane spat contemptuously.
“For you however, I have another task. You will return to your fort and inform the
commandant of my venerable Father’s passing and that the ridge is now off limits. Women
found on there will be arrested and punished in accordance with Riff Talasian agreement.”
“I for one will regret your Father’s passing Sheik, said Yegane. He was a fair man
and that is from one who suffered his lash in the past. I still retain a great deal of
respect for him. I only hope the new Abdul Mateen will be as wise and fair.”
Outside, some yards distant, the sound of hard whipping suddenly struck up. There
were slaps and hard cracks of whips in quick succession and overlapping one another, which
suggested that more than one of Yegane’s patrol were being whipped at the same time,
possibly all three. The Sheik gave her a rueful smile.
“My Father was wise and fair as you have said,” he agreed. “Sometimes a little too
fair. Now, I see it as my mission to restore Riff pride and regain that which was lost to
our race from Talasian plunder. This desert region is our birthright. It has been Riff
since man first went into the desert and I am intent on restoring that. There are other
possessions the Riffs have lost to Talasian theft and those too will, given time, be
restored.”
“Do you think the Talasians will sit idly by whilst you embark on your ill
conceived vendetta?” Yegane snapped. Sheik Abdul Mateen shot forward in his chair,
slamming his fist down on the arm with a fearsome look of rage on his face.
“Just because the women desert army sluts get all wet between their legs when they
see or smell a Talasian soldier, Riffs are made of sterner stuff and the Talasians will
know that soon enough. We kowtow to nobody and any Riff woman caught consorting with a
Talasian man loses her right to future sexual pleasure, is scourged and sold off in a
Talasian slave market, so that her soiled, semen infested body does not pollute our sacred
soil. But you dogs, you actively seek to lie with the heathens and allow them their relief
in your sullied bodies. What filth you are!” Abdul Mateen scowled. Beyond, the sound of
heavy flogging continued, though, to Yegane’s satisfaction, no cries of pain were heard.
Sheik Abdul Mateen seemed to be studying the pretty camel girl; there was no doubt that
she was a deliciously well-proportioned, buxom eyeful. Yegane looked at the Sheik angrily
as the flagellation of her companions continued.
“You say you want me to return to fort Araf now, minus the three women I left
with?” Yegane asked blankly and Abdul Mateen gave her a shallow nod, whilst he still
seemed to be studying her.
“Quite!” he replied at last, “you will return and forward the new agenda to your
commandant or whatever she calls herself.”
“I will be heavily punished for losing my patrol,” Yegane remarked. “I must ask
that you allow them to accompany me back to the fort.” The Sheik looked at her blankly.
“You didn’t lose them. I took them,” he said glibly.
“It amounts to the same,” Yegane explained. “I will be punished…” She did not seem
to be making any headway with the obstinate Sheik who was being deliberately blasé
about the entire affair.
“You have your mission, you will go forth and see that you carry it out,” said the
Sheik, “after you have had your turn of the lash.” He called over to another one of his
men. “Take the patrol leader to the pit, she will share in her lost patrol’s punishment,”
he seemed to almost sneer. Yegane gave him a contemptuous stare, before turning to follow
the Riff soldier that took her.
She was taken to a small clearing that was obvious by its uncharacteristic lack of
trees and shrubs that were abundant all around the oasis. In the clearing, there was a
definite dip in the ground, giving a depression of a good size. In the middle of this
depression, the Riffs had built a whipping frame. This clearing was one they used
frequently enough to warrant such a structure’s erection. It comprised of two stout
timbers standing either end, secured at the top to form a stand. Atop these was secured
another long, stout pole to which the punished woman’s wrists were bound. It stood a
little over head height and was long enough to accommodate six or seven women at once. As
they came upon the site, Yegane’s stomach gave a lurch of disgust and fear, as she saw the
three of her patrol being whipped.
Each woman had two burnoose clad Riffs flogging them and all were beating them with
a stern interest. Riffs hated soldier girls and reserved a special contempt for camel
girls, so it was not any surprise to Yegane that they would all be sternly whipped with an
unusual relish. Riffs enjoyed showing Provincial women and especially soldier women, how
savagely they flogged their womenfolk. Riffs maintained that the Provincial authorities
and the Talasian overlords were too easy on their women and enjoyed the opportunity to
show them what a real flogging feels like. It was an anathema to them that the Provincials
allowed women to administer floggings. To a Riff, flogging was man’s work and they took a
pride in its severity and duration.
As Yegane and the soldier happened on the scene, Yegane had an unpleasant prelude
to her own forthcoming taste of the Riff whip. The three women of her patrol were stripped
to the waist and all were dripping with sweat and grimacing widely under the lash. Each
Riff wielded a five-foot whip of bull rawhide, double thickness and worked into an almost
metallic hardness. Yegane knew this was to be no treat or easy trip. The backs, indeed the
entire torsos of Yegane’s companions were bruised and heavily welted, many of which had
split the skin and were bleeding. All three were stoically working to keep from crying
out, though Yegane could see, as the flogging progressed, it was getting harder and harder
as odd yelps and moans were becoming more frequent and plaintive under the murderous
torture.
The soldier pushed her towards the whipping frame and reluctantly, her feet sliding
down the sandy sides of the pit, Yegane approached. The soldier looked at her and said
nothing, a tacit command as loud as any spoken, for her to strip. Yegane complied,
slipping off her knit, long sleeved top tossing it on the small jumble of the clothes in a
small pile beside her. Yegane could feel the eyes of the soldier burning into her buxom,
soft flesh, feasting as he stared at her and her voluptuous curves and ripe body. She
pulled her skimpy bolero top over her head, stripping to the waist, her large breasts
bouncing freely as she released them. Still the soldier stared almost indecently at her
ripe body. She was naked then, but for her loose fitting, crop legged pants that were the
standard issue for all soldier girls and hung on her hips, over-worn and grubby from the
long desert march and the days on patrol before that. She self-consciously adjusted the
low hitch of them, tugging at the waistband, before the attending soldier ordered her.
“Wrists!” he grunted curtly and Yegane complied, thrusting her arms towards him. He
set about tying leather thongs to her wrists and Yegane looked again at the ugly scene
that confronted her. All three women were grunting considerably now as the slapping,
scything whips continued to howl and slap around the stripped, prone bodies. The soldier
thrust Yegane under the beam and set about fixing her to it. Standing close to one of her
suffering companions now, Yegane could all but feel how hard the Riffs were whipping them
all and to her horror, how hard they were about to whip her. The suffering girl’s head was
thrown back, she had her eyes clamped shut, as if that could block out the pain as well as
the light and her face was a paroxysm of torture and suffering. Suddenly, another Riff
standing alongside the frame that Yegane had not noticed until he spoke called out to the
whipping Riffs.
“Alright, that’s enough! Fifty lashes, no more! You two!” He motioned with his own,
coiled whip to two men who were just furling their bloodied whips from having flogged one
of the camel girls. “See that she sweats also!” Yegane looked on morosely as her
companions had their wrists cut free and were sent stumbling and grimacing out of the
punishment pit. Until he spoke, Yegane was unaware that anybody was counting the stripes
that were being dealt. The two burnoose clad Riffs that the officer had called out, took
their position at Yegane’s bared back and uncoiled their lethal whips to take up their
work again. There was no undue ceremony or delay as they began working the patrol leader
hard, dealing her stern, fast strokes, in quick succession.
Yegane bucked from the first, rearing her delicious curves to the savage impact and
grimacing. She uttered no sound, but could not help from twisting her body one way and
then the next as she was struck, until each time, she remembered herself and stood erect
again in readiness for the next lash. The whipping was hard, as hard as the last time she
had the unenviable experience of standing in front of two whip wielding Riffs and suffered
whilst they tore her body to bloody, sweat soaked ribbons. The whips whistled and spat
their fire and anger across her naked body, wrapping and coiling fully around her generous
curves and slapping her body hard and sharp. Her soft, luscious curves were no contest for
the harsh, brutal leather the Riffs wielded. Soon, like her companions, Yegane stared to
groan and whine as the lashes tore across her and began bruising and welting flesh that
already bore marks from her whipping. Experience under the lash told Yegane, that this was
the point from where the pain of a whipping seemed to increase exponentially as no part of
her body that was attacked was unmarked or had not been struck earlier and from then on,
the pain increased to maddening proportions. Yegane continued to buck and sway; only her
movements were a little more pronounced now and her grunts and groans had turned to choked
squeals and even sharp cries of pain and the Riffs chose where to strike her, underlining
their efforts with squints of concentration and grunts of effort.
Both men were sweating profusely, as indeed was Yegane, as her voluptuous curves
glistened in the shattering heat of the pit. Yegane’s expression had taken on that of
desperation, as she began to realise that riding out the unbridled agony of this whipping
was going to be much harder than she could have anticipated. The whipping went on and on
as loud cracks rang around the whipping pit, a sombre litany to Yegane’s lonely, solemn
torture.
Yegane didn’t know how many stripes she had suffered, even more importantly, how
many more were left for her, but with her head held back and to the side, she saw a figure
appear at the edge of the punishment pit, silhouetted by the Sun. She blinked out the
tears that blurred her vision, to see that it was the Sheik Abdul Mateen. He had deigned
to rise from the comfort and seclusion of his shaded awning to witness the result of the
loud cracking of the whips he could hear from his cool harbour. Unaccountably and amidst
the shattering, mind numbing pain of the lash, Yegane felt an odd pang of…pleasure. There
was no other word for it. Satisfaction that the handsome and seemingly distant and
uncaring Riff, so urbane and unaffected by all around him had taken the time to rise and
witness Yegane’s agony. He would see her stripped body sweating in the Sun, girded with
savage and bloody whip weals. He would hear her grunts of anguish, hear the loud spitting
whips and see her luscious, tortured body absorb the murderous swipes. Yegane watched as
another robed figure drew alongside the Sheik and she heard a low, callous cackling
emanating from the new arrival. Was it true that Abdul Mateen also derived pleasure from
whipping women that went beyond merely punishing them for revenge or for lack of
compliance?
The whole thing took split seconds, the Sheiks appearance, that of the second
figure and her thoughts and emotions at the time, but then, suddenly, another vicious
swipe snapped her back to the reality and horror of her situation and in desperation, pain
and misery, Yegane let out a cry of pain.
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