Tak mogłoby to wyglądać w idealnym świecie. :)
A jak będzie w realnym? Zobaczymy. Pierwszy mój Czytelnik anglojęzyczny (edytorka) jest zadowolony.
W każdym razie trzymajcie kciuki!
W tajemnicy - uwielbiam moją tłumaczkę! Ale nic jej nie mówcie, bo zażąda podwyżki. :)
She'd spent the last three months
locked in a cage like an animal, carted from one market to another. A fat slave
trader who picked up those who had been sentenced to slavery from the prison of
the Order wanted to earn some good money for her beauty, her long black hair,
shapely hips and firm breasts, but there weren't too many people eager to buy
her. Men who were fit enough to work or girls much younger than she was were
more popular. She was nineteen years old already and no one wanted to buy her
for the price quoted by the trader. Many customers were willing to rent her for
a few nights, but the fat man only bridled at such offers. He said that she
would be worth nothing when she would lose her virginity and that he wasn't a
pimp but a moral salesman. She had her own opinion of his morality as she had
to look at what he did to Karen every night. The trader threatened her that if
he didn't find a buyer in a little town called Rothen, he would stop providing
her with food and would just let her die. One slice of mouldy bread a day would
hardly be called food, so she was thinner and thinner every week and now she
was a mere shadow of the beautiful woman she once used to be.
Then a merchant came. He had short hair and a
youthful-looking face, though judging from the salt-and-pepper look of his
temple hair, you could see he wasn't young any more. He was of average height,
dressed like a middle-class man, noble-born but not rich. He stood in front of
her as she was standing tied to a pole in the marketplace like a cow, covered
with a dirty skimpy rag. He looked long into her eyes and she didn't look away,
but stared at him proudly and shamelessly.
‘How old are you, child?’ he asked softly.
‘Nineteen.’
‘Sir,’ he said vocally.
‘In case you haven't noticed, I'm a lady,’
she replied, giving him a smirk.
‘I'm nineteen years old, sir,’ he told her
with a faint smile.
‘You look like an old fool.’
The slave trader seemed to have yet
another, devilish sense, for he managed to overhear that conversation while he
was busy bargaining with a lady and her servant for a young and strong slave
just a dozen or so steps away. He took several leaps towards her and slapped
her mightily in the face, and then he hit her once more.
‘Forgive me, sir,’ he explained himself, bent in a servile
bow. ‘She's a teenybopper. She needs a good beating and then she'll be docile
and faithful like a dog.’
‘Look how slender she is.’ He pulled her shirt revealing
her naked body. ‘What hips and breasts she has, she's good for everything – for
work and for bed.’
She didn't defend herself against
that further humiliation. Her nose started to bleed as a result of the fat
man's blows and tears streamed down her cheeks. She was a slave.
Now she was following him, her master
who had bought her, and she didn't know her fate. She was angry about the fact
that he didn't even check if she was walking behind him, that he was so sure of
her dog-like obedience that he didn't care about her exhaustion and lack of
strength. She was trying to hate him with all her heart! For the fact that he'd
seen her naked, that he'd seen how she was deprived of dignity, that he'd
bought her.
