What do women see in clouds that men don't???Yes! Wait till there is a point where the man with the hat can jump in and interject.
With a limited premiss and other sideways thoughts.
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Barbary Coast
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
LittleSiss
Sorceress
I have stood on the sidelines of hope and despairSilver linings?
Chopped and gathered winter wood
Was hugged and shunned (Did I the same?)
A blunt voice of views that could never whisper my love
But was always here for my Love and always will
I don't see everything... but have never run... even from things I don't see...
Love you all...
Tree
windar
Teller of Tales
2. Ship’s log of Captain Karim Assaraf Safar 24 1218
In the name of Allah, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful, we set out with two galleys from Rabat three days ago. I commanded one; the other was commanded by my brother Tarik, two years my junior. This was our first command, a role we had inherited upon the death of our father Brahim in battle with the French infidels. His dying words to us were, “Carry on the family business”.
And it was indeed a family business, back for many generations of the Assarafs of Rabat. I could say for the tender ears of polite company that the business was trade, commerce, buying low and selling high. But I should be honest here before Allah and admit that while we often sold high, we rarely bought our merchandise at any price. For, we were corsairs, pirates, if you will.
And what, you ask, was the merchandise in which we dealt? Spices, jewels, fine cloth? No, honesty compels me to admit that the primary merchandise we dealt in was our fellow creatures-humans. For our family business for centuries had been raiding ships passing through the Mediterranean and seizing their crew and passengers to be ransomed or sold in slave markets all over North Africa and as far as Islambol, which the infidels called Constantinople.
The men were often sold as galley slaves, like the ones toiling below in the holds of our ship. Ironically it was their labor, extracted by the whip, which enabled us to catch the slower sailing ships, whose speed was limited by the wind. Others were used in other hard labor, in mines and road building and such tasks.
The women, ah the women! They would mostly suffer a different fate, perhaps less taxing, but feared just as much if not more among those of the feminine bent who travelled the seas off the Barbary Coast-their task would be to provide pleasure to the masters who bought them at auction and to his guests and anyone else he wished to offer them to.
Of course such service was not usually what the women would have chosen for their life’s work. But fate, kismet, as the Turks call it, does not respect our choices. My family has its methods, refined over the centuries, which never fail to transform the most recalcitrant and obstreperous female into the most docile and eager to please slave. I shall describe some of these methods shortly, dear reader.
Most prized of these females were those from the far side of the Mediterranean, most especially from the cold lands of the North. Fair skinned, sleek and generally well-proportioned and, most important, usually innocent, for the ones that had the means to journey to our shores had generally led sheltered lives in prominent and wealthy families. Some would put up a show of resistance at first of course, but, with a bit of work on our part-not unpleasant work, mind you, at least not for us and our crew-they would be transformed into creatures whose sole thought was how best to please their master. For they would learn that to displease him in the slightest would have the gravest of consequences.
And so, we set out to see what ships might be traversing the narrow straits between Europe and Africa that the ancients had called The Pillars of Hercules, a passage so narrow that few if any ships could outrun our galleys when the rowers were whipped to full exertion. Especially when the Levanter was blowing full-on from the east, slowing sailing ships to a crawl, but having little effect on the speed of our galleys.
So it was with great joy that I received the news from Muaz, who was on forward watch, that Allah had sent a sailing ship moving slowly past the great rock as a gift for His Faithful Servants, a sailing ship that flew the Union Jack. I had the crew steer over to Tarik’s ship; I jumped nimbly across the gap and we conferred.
“Those stupid beefeaters have sent a merchantman with no naval escort,” I told him. “It is armed, to be sure, but no match for us, especially when we have the advantage of surprise.’
“Agreed, my brother. I wonder if there are any luscious English roses aboard,” he replied, grinning lasciviously.
“There is only one way to find out, brother, and that is to board it. Let us match it in speed, you on its starboard and I on its port side as it struggles against the east wind and once darkness falls we attack.”
“Oh, my brother, may the Prophet bless our path and let there be fine young virgins aplenty on that ship that will bring us a mountain of gold,” Tarik said.
“And that we can amuse ourselves with as we make for port,” I added. “Tonight is twenty four days past the beginning of Safar and the moon will have waned to a crescent (Islamic months begin with the new moon). When all is ready, I shall flash the lantern three times and that shall signal our attack.
So we cruised slowly for several hours, following the English ship, but not so close as to be seen, the rowers resting and saving their strength, the crew sharpening daggers and swords, cleaning the cannons and saying their prayers for the successful completion of the mission. The whole time we watched our target, which gave no sign that they had seen us or expected an attack.
Finally, near midnight, I flashed the lantern three times. My ship lurched forward, gathering speed, faster and ever faster. I knew that below in the hold, the whips were flying, spurring the slaves to row harder and yet harder again as we closed rapidly from both sides on the British ship. There would be no escape for them.
In the name of Allah, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful, we set out with two galleys from Rabat three days ago. I commanded one; the other was commanded by my brother Tarik, two years my junior. This was our first command, a role we had inherited upon the death of our father Brahim in battle with the French infidels. His dying words to us were, “Carry on the family business”.
And it was indeed a family business, back for many generations of the Assarafs of Rabat. I could say for the tender ears of polite company that the business was trade, commerce, buying low and selling high. But I should be honest here before Allah and admit that while we often sold high, we rarely bought our merchandise at any price. For, we were corsairs, pirates, if you will.
And what, you ask, was the merchandise in which we dealt? Spices, jewels, fine cloth? No, honesty compels me to admit that the primary merchandise we dealt in was our fellow creatures-humans. For our family business for centuries had been raiding ships passing through the Mediterranean and seizing their crew and passengers to be ransomed or sold in slave markets all over North Africa and as far as Islambol, which the infidels called Constantinople.
The men were often sold as galley slaves, like the ones toiling below in the holds of our ship. Ironically it was their labor, extracted by the whip, which enabled us to catch the slower sailing ships, whose speed was limited by the wind. Others were used in other hard labor, in mines and road building and such tasks.
The women, ah the women! They would mostly suffer a different fate, perhaps less taxing, but feared just as much if not more among those of the feminine bent who travelled the seas off the Barbary Coast-their task would be to provide pleasure to the masters who bought them at auction and to his guests and anyone else he wished to offer them to.
Of course such service was not usually what the women would have chosen for their life’s work. But fate, kismet, as the Turks call it, does not respect our choices. My family has its methods, refined over the centuries, which never fail to transform the most recalcitrant and obstreperous female into the most docile and eager to please slave. I shall describe some of these methods shortly, dear reader.
Most prized of these females were those from the far side of the Mediterranean, most especially from the cold lands of the North. Fair skinned, sleek and generally well-proportioned and, most important, usually innocent, for the ones that had the means to journey to our shores had generally led sheltered lives in prominent and wealthy families. Some would put up a show of resistance at first of course, but, with a bit of work on our part-not unpleasant work, mind you, at least not for us and our crew-they would be transformed into creatures whose sole thought was how best to please their master. For they would learn that to displease him in the slightest would have the gravest of consequences.
And so, we set out to see what ships might be traversing the narrow straits between Europe and Africa that the ancients had called The Pillars of Hercules, a passage so narrow that few if any ships could outrun our galleys when the rowers were whipped to full exertion. Especially when the Levanter was blowing full-on from the east, slowing sailing ships to a crawl, but having little effect on the speed of our galleys.
So it was with great joy that I received the news from Muaz, who was on forward watch, that Allah had sent a sailing ship moving slowly past the great rock as a gift for His Faithful Servants, a sailing ship that flew the Union Jack. I had the crew steer over to Tarik’s ship; I jumped nimbly across the gap and we conferred.
“Those stupid beefeaters have sent a merchantman with no naval escort,” I told him. “It is armed, to be sure, but no match for us, especially when we have the advantage of surprise.’
“Agreed, my brother. I wonder if there are any luscious English roses aboard,” he replied, grinning lasciviously.
“There is only one way to find out, brother, and that is to board it. Let us match it in speed, you on its starboard and I on its port side as it struggles against the east wind and once darkness falls we attack.”
“Oh, my brother, may the Prophet bless our path and let there be fine young virgins aplenty on that ship that will bring us a mountain of gold,” Tarik said.
“And that we can amuse ourselves with as we make for port,” I added. “Tonight is twenty four days past the beginning of Safar and the moon will have waned to a crescent (Islamic months begin with the new moon). When all is ready, I shall flash the lantern three times and that shall signal our attack.
So we cruised slowly for several hours, following the English ship, but not so close as to be seen, the rowers resting and saving their strength, the crew sharpening daggers and swords, cleaning the cannons and saying their prayers for the successful completion of the mission. The whole time we watched our target, which gave no sign that they had seen us or expected an attack.
Finally, near midnight, I flashed the lantern three times. My ship lurched forward, gathering speed, faster and ever faster. I knew that below in the hold, the whips were flying, spurring the slaves to row harder and yet harder again as we closed rapidly from both sides on the British ship. There would be no escape for them.
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Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Easy job for the pirates if they find the ladies like that!
...but not a easy job for me.Easy job for the pirates if they find the ladies like that!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
The ship's interior is very elaborately worked out indeed!
A combination of 'Love Boat' and a 'gin palace'.
Trouble could be the handling of the ship's guns!
It is a cannon deck of HMS Victory.The ship's interior is very elaborately worked out indeed!
A combination of 'Love Boat' and a 'gin palace'.
Trouble could be the handling of the ship's guns!
windar
Teller of Tales
Victory? Karim believes that it will be a defeat for the infidels.
The better question might be whether anything will go right...
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Oh, not a bad fate, in fact : perhaps a sad moment on the market'place, but , later, a luxurious life into a wonderful palace with nothing to do, excepted to be nice and to open their legs from time to time ...
... 
windar
Teller of Tales
You see Barb, it's not so bad. So you won't complain, right?View attachment 537123 Oh, not a bad fate, in fact : perhaps a sad moment on the market'place, but , later, a luxurious life into a wonderful palace with nothing to do, excepted to be nice and to open their legs from time to time ...
View attachment 537124 ... View attachment 537125
You see Barb, it's not so bad. So you won't complain, right?
The artist's job is never done.
LittleSiss
Sorceress
I had a nightmare!
LittleSiss
Sorceress
A paradox?a bloody nightmare in color, no less .... what are all those Vikings doing there?