Parody of a Man

“You really think she’s a general?” Rhajj asked.

Khouri elbowed him.

“She’s a real woman,” Rhajj said. “That Shanka is a female-shaped parody of a man.”

Rastaban wasn’t listening. He was watching. Kana moved like a snake, slow and sinuous, twining her limbs as if she had no bones, and then she would shimmy her hips, drum-fast and hypnotizing. After the first dance, more women stepped up to join her, and Rastaban had to swallow some wine to cool himself down.

“Well,” he said to his men, two hours later. “That was fun. But we should...go. Now.”