The King and the War Dancer

The war dancer

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A/N: Ntami is an Efik name, so an angel named queenofangst suggested that I explain how to pronounce it.

Ntami is pronounced Un-ta-mi

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In the middle of a desert, a nomadic dancer, Ntami, captivated her audience with the tribal folk dance of the desert dwellers. A silver tikka rested on the parting of her hair. Her loose curls cascaded down her back, reaching below the gentle curve of her spine. Her hands were adorned with henna and wooden bangles, while silver anklets with tiny bells graced her feet.

A black silk cloth that covered only her chest was tied at her back. Her skirt was simply layers of black chiffon that reached her ankles and were held at her waist by a broad hip-belt with several small tins that jingled with each sway of her hips.

Her provocative outfit exposed more than it covered. Her perky nipples were noticeable through the thin silk that covered her chest. Her midriff was bare except for a large topaz stud that covered her navel, drawing attention to the toned belly. Wide strips of semi-transparent chiffon surrounded her lower body. The soft fabrics were arranged side-by-side and secured at her waist forming thin slits that have brief glimpses of what lay underneath. The titillating slits ran up her buttery legs, starting from her ankles to her waist, revealing her shapely calves, smooth thighs and unblemished skin. Her ensemble could barely be classified as covering at all.

As the music played, Ntami's body moved in sync with it. Her narrow waist rising and falling, her supple hips gyrating to the rhythm. And her belly undulated with each movement, punctuating each beat as her hands moved expressively, telling the story behind the music.

She danced, moving closer to her hypnotized spectator. Her long fingers traced his jawline with a feathery touch. The entranced man leaned forward wanting more of her touch. But she withdrew. Her body seduced him more with her tempting hips. Her waist moved like her bones were nothing but fluid. The man's eyes glazed over, completely compelled to watch her.

The beats of the tambourine slowed down till it was only a single thump every second. Ntami speared her sole audience a predatory gaze. Her kohl-lined eyes adding mystery as she accented each thump with a steady alternation between hip lifts and hip drops.

The beat began to pick up as the soft sound of the precision instruments joined the fray again.

Ntami twirled over and over, pivoting on her toes. Her skirts fanned out around her. Her hands and fingers repeatedly waved away and towards her body with each rotation, intoxicating her bedazzled spectator.

The rhythm of the instruments increased again. She lifted her hands, making more intricate hand movements above her head. Her bangles were tinkering, her anklets were chiming and the tins at her waist were chinking as she moved more and more, making her dance even more exotic to the bewildered man.

The tempo got even faster. Ntami leaned backwards and slung her hair from side to side while pulsating her hips to match the movement.

As the music progressed, the horns took lead from the drums. The tunes changed from a dramatic to a melodic pace. Time seemed to slow down to a sluggish crawl in the soft ambience of her dance and the mellower music. By the time the music dulled to nothing but echoes, the spectator lay dead were he sat. Not a single hair out of place, not a spot of blood in sight. Just his wine goblet on the floor, his hand clutching at his chest and his eyes staring aimlessly at nothing.

Ntami nodded at the musicians, they were done here. She slipped out of the large tent with the musicians in tow. They sauntered through the encampment, ignoring the argument between the encampment's herdsmen and their watchmen who were supposed to be stationed at the main tent entrance they had just emerged from. The small group quietly moved past them, keeping to the shadows. They drew no attention from the rest of the inhabitants of the camp that were crowded around the now deceased chief's wives brawling among themselves. With the seeds of strife taking root in the encampment, no one paid heed to the small party of entertainers slipping away.

The small troupe left the encampment and merged into the desert sands from whence they came.

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