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Ishmail reached out to test the weight and size of her breasts. Ishmail’s hands didn’t stop at Zara’s breasts but continued downward, across her torso and flat stomach, lower still, gliding over the material of her pantaloons to thrust between her legs. Jamal was on the verge of doing something entirely reckless, like snatching Zara away from the sultan, but Zara made his intervention unnecessary.
    Screwing up her face, she shot a wad of spittle into the sultan’s face. “Son of a pig! Camel dung! Take your filthy hands off me!”
    Blood rushed to Ishmail’s dark face as he flunghis arm back and delivered a stunning blow to Zara’s face, sending her flying. She landed in a heap at his feet.
    “Seize the Berber she-devil!” he cried, wiping spittle from his face. “The spawn of a jackal deserves no mercy from me.”
    Immediately two guards rushed forth, dragging Zara to her feet between them. The right side of her face had turned red and was already beginning to swell from the sultan’s blow.
    Panic raced through Jamal. He’d feared that something like this would happen. He’d tried to warn Zara against defying Ishmail but she’d chosen not to heed him. He searched frantically for a way to save Zara from a terrible fate but could think of nothing.
    “The Berber wench is beyond redemption,” Ishmail declared. “She would disrupt my entire harem should I decide to use her body for my pleasure. She isn’t worth the effort. Cut off her head and hang it from the wall for all to see,” he ordered brusquely. “Word of her fate will reach her father, and when it does he will realize Moulay Ishmail will not tolerate treason.”
    The guards started to drag Zara from the hall.
    “Wait!” Jamal cried, growing desperate. It had never occurred to him that Ishmail might kill the Berber princess. He had assumed that Ishmail would either enslave her or keep her for his bed. “You’re making a mistake. Killing Zara will enrage Youssef. Presently the Berber tribes are not united, but killing the wench will surely bring them together in a common cause, and that could be disastrous for you. Think of the vast numberof Berbers scattered throughout the Rif and Atlas Mountains, and imagine them uniting under one leader.”
    “Perhaps you’re right,” Ishmail allowed as he halted Zara’s progress from the hall with a wave of his hand. The guards obeyed instantly, dragging Zara back to the dais.
    “Think carefully, my lord,” Jamal intoned solemnly. “Spare the Berber wench. Keep her as a slave and make it known that her continued health depends on Youssef’s obedience. Word will reach Youssef that his daughter will live only if he ceases his raids upon your caravans.”
    “Hummm,” Ishmail said, rubbing his chin in contemplation. “I see what you mean, but I don’t want the wench in my household. She has the body and face of an
houri
but she is a menace. She is undisciplined, brazen and defiant and would disrupt my entire household. She’s too incorrigible to make a decent slave.” Suddenly his face lit up. “I have it! I will give her to the lowest-ranking man residing within the
Kasbah
. She will become his slave, submissive to his every need. Is that not a clever solution, Jamal? If I recall, the Negro blacksmith is a huge giant of a man. He will do nicely for Zara.
    “As long as Zara is kept alive, her father will cease his raiding,” Ishmail continued. “Yet her defiance will be rewarded by having to submit to a man far beneath her in rank. I will make it known that Youssef’s daughter is my captive, that her continued good health will depend upon Youssef’s willingness to abide by my laws. All raids must cease immediately.”
    “You would give Princess Zara to Abdul?” Jamal asked, aghast. He knew the man well; he was an animal. A strong-willed woman like Zara wouldn’t last a week with him.
    “A perfect match, wouldn’t you agree?” Ishmail said complacently.
    “Slay me now,” Zara cried. She