Drum Read Online Free Page A

would regain his strength. He was allowed to remain while the big Negro prodded him with the thick, homy nail of a dirt-encrusted big toe.
    "You stay here, boy. Don' you run 'way. I go fetch Ama-jallah."
    "No need!" a voice called. Tamboura could see the finely made slippers of yellow leather coming across the dusty beaten trail. "I saw you take him down, Akeem. Has he come to himself?"
    "He wake, great lord." The rubbery lips parted in a grin. "He wake but he no stan'."
    "He'll stand quick enough." A hand disengaged itself from the folds of the white robe and a thin whip curled through the air to wrap itself around Tamboura's belly. "He'll stand and in an hour, when the cattle have been fed, he'll walk along with the rest. Get him up! Feed him! If he refuses to eat, pry his jaws open, put a stick between his teeth and cram the food down his throat. He looks to be in prime con-

    dition and I want to keep him that way. Then tie him into the caffle."
    "Yes, great lord." The Negro prodded Tamboura again with the same offensive toenail. "Great Emir say get up, stand on feet and eat. You come along by me. I get you food. You eat. Then we go. Get up."
    "Yes, up!" The thin whip snaked out again. "We have a schedule to meet. Can't be delayed because of one half-grown whelp. We must reach the river before sundown. The canoes will be waiting."
    Tamboura looked up to see the hand that held the whip. It was a delicate hand, blue-veined on a dark skin that was not black but a deep olive, with almond-shaped nails that were carefuly pared. He looked up from the hand, across the folds of the white robe to the face above it. He saw a youthful face with a beauty that was marred by cruelty. Its main feature was a prominently aquiline nose that seemed to stretch the skin so tightly across the bridge that the effect was almost painful. Dark eyes, under even darker lashes, looked down at Tamboura. The thin, moist lips parted and the Hausa words came slowly, for although Hausa was the language spoken for intercommunication between most of the tribes of interior Africa, its pronunciation was always difficult for one not bom to it.
    "You are Tamboura. I am Ama-jallah, the son of the Sultan of Zinder. This is my slave caffle and you are now a slave. You are no longer the brother and heir to King Mandouma. Here you are nothing but an animal, less in value even than the horse you were riding. Obey me and come peacefully and you will not be hurt. Try to escape, try to kill yourself, try to stop eating or any of the other tricks your people know that bring self-destruction and you will be punished. I will have you flogged until your flesh falls from your bones in chunks of raw meat and I will leave you on the ground for the ants to devour."
    Tamboura managed to get to his knees and the big black hands of Akeem reached down and lifted him up. The delicate brown hands of Ama-jallah felt Tamboura's body, sliding over the streaked clay and the sweat. They gauged the muscles, the framework, the chest, the belly and the thighs. They lifted and weighed the genitals and noted the hood of skin, forcing it back, then releasing it.
    "It is well your tribe are not true believers. When will Ihey learn that conversion to Islam will protect them from

    being slaves?" The hands left Tamboura's body. "Prime condition. Better than we usually get." He seemed to be speaking to himself,
    "AkeemI" Ama-jallah beckoned the black close to him and wiped the sticky clay and sweat from his fingers onto the broad back of the Negro. "To work!" He turned and started back to where the hands of the slaves were being untied so that they could feed themselves. At a distance of about three paces, he turned. Once again the whip sang through the air and Tamboura felt its sting as it wrapped around his shoulders. But he did not heed it, for suddenly pain, discomfort, heat, everything he might feel was consumed in the flame of his anger. He watched the elegant ripples of the white robe leave