The girl was tossed at him right before his eyes. “A gift for you, True Chief! A virgin from Gortam!” the lead ambassador said obsequiously. Ghor glanced at the girl who was slowly getting to her feet—clearly afraid of fresh rudeness. “A city girl,” he thought. “Not used to the ways of nomads.” Very beautiful. A captive. A slave. If he didn’t accept the gift, she would become a shared concubine for the warriors of some other tribe. Too delicate to belong to them…
“I accept your gift. There will be no war,” Ghor said casually. He descended with dignity, then lifted the slave girl’s chin.
“I’ll find a use for her. Take her to my tent,” he ordered.