Her prominent mound was shaved. He wanted her. He led her across to the table and moved the objects he had placed on it aside to make space for her b...t before he laid her across it he picked up his belt, a riding crop and a paddle. “You may choose the implement with which to punish you?” He told her. He watched her eyes move from implement to implement. She could choose the paddle; it would be the less painful of them all but would leave some bruising. She could also choose the belt. That. Fatima had seen the Chinese launch their whole might against the oncoming cuirassiers, the Mongolian light cavalry. She had seen the cuirassiers turn, collapse and scatter, the horse-plumed riders toppling off backwards from their steeds, dead before they hit the ground. Fatima wondered: who was leading such a sloppy attack against an army that should be so easy to beat? Where was wise Qaidu Khan? Where was iron Khutulun? She had watched, amazed, as the Kara-Khitan horsemen swept on, reckless. More

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