"I'll handle those when we finish here," Medart said. "His release from service, back pay and allowances—but it'll be up to you to notify his clan and make arrangements for his tattoo."
"When we're done here, as you say." Cortin turned to her new sworn man. "To give you a status recognized here, I'm commissioning you a Royal Enforcement Service officer. Now, would you like to test your theory?"
"Very much, Thakur." Keith paused, then continued apologetically. "I'm afraid I don't know how, though. One of our strongest customs forbids any same-sex physical intimacy. Since it seems yours doesn't, that no longer applies to me, of course—but the fact remains that I have no such experience."
Cortin chuckled. "That can be remedied easily enough, if you decide you want to, but for your present purposes you don't need experience. All you have to do is take hold of him, snugly enough to provide a friction surface but not tight. The eroticine will make him take care of the rest."
"That sounds simple enough." Keith reached for the prisoner.
Medart frowned as the Sandeman carried out his torture. It was hard to believe anyone, particularly a Sandeman, could change so drastically in such a short time. His mindprobe of Gaelan DarShona, thirty years ago, had given him the experience of briefly being a Sandeman warrior, so he felt, as well as knew intellectually, how deeply unacceptable Keith would have found his present actions before he came under the influence of Cortin's Talent. Seeing a man stripped as part of punishment was no problem, that was normal Sandeman procedure for particularly serious violations. But handling another man's genitals was enough to earn death in disgrace if you lived that long—unlikely, since it was far more likely to get you killed on the spot. And while warriors enjoyed fighting, would torture for information, and a chief would inflict slow death for serious violations of custom, they didn't get any real pleasure from doing it. Nor would Keith have, earlier—but it was clear he enjoyed what he was doing, now.
The Sandeman's smile grew as the prisoner's moves became faster, more urgent—and he climaxed in a prolonged series of spasms, screaming in agony.
Keith turned to his chosen lady. "Was that satisfactory, Thakur?"
"Most satisfactory," Cortin said with unconcealed admiration. "You've just given me—all Inquisitors, once I get it published—what promises to become an extremely useful standard technique, especially with rapists. I'll see you're given full credit, of course." She smiled at Keith. "You've also changed my plans for him. That degree of pain, administered repeatedly, can be lethal—and I can't think of a more fitting end for a rapist. We'll let him drip overnight, then give him a fresh dose and see how many times he can take what he forced on others. What do you think?"
"I don't share your expertise, Thakur, so my opinion may not be valid. Still, it sounds appropriate to me."