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Ripping Time by Robert Asprin & Linda Evans

Bergitta lay on the concrete floor along this stretch of wall, wrists wired to thick two-by-fours. Another cruel twist of wire, tightened down around her throat, prevented her from lifting her head. They’d ripped her shirt open, had cut away her bra. They hadn’t bothered to tie a gag. Her skirt lay in twists around her waist. One of them was busy raping her while others waited their turn, speaking tensely amongst themselves in what looked almost like an argument. Hashim Ibn Fahd, who’d stumbled through the Arabian Nights gate in the middle of a howling sandstorm, having become separated from the caravan he’d been traveling with, pressed his lips against Skeeter’s ear once again.

“They argue about bringing the woman here. Some say their brothers in the Ansar Majlis will reward them when they have killed this one. Others say raping a prostitute has nothing to do with the cause and the leaders of the Ansar Majlis will be angry, for that and for attacking the foreman and others of the faith. They say the leaders came through Primary today and will punish those who take such chances at being caught. The others say it does not matter, because now that their brothers have come to the station, Mike Benson and all who run the jail will die. Soon their brothers will be free again to hunt the Templars who flock to the whore’s shrine in Little Agora. Their leader says to hurry with the woman, his balls ache and he wants his turn on her before she is dead from too many men inside her.”

The freezing hatred in young Hashim’s eyes sent a chill down Skeeter’s back. He beckoned the two boys away from the corner, then led his band several yards back further still, well out of earshot. Speaking in the barest whisper, Skeeter outlined his plan, such as it was. “There’s too many of them to rush in there the way we are. We’ll just get Bergitta killed and maybe us, too. We’ve got to lure some of them out here, away from the others, split them up. We’ve got reinforcements coming, but we don’t know how many or when. All we can count on is ourselves.”

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Categories: Asprin, Robert
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