The Pirate by Harold Robbins

shooting them high over the kneeling dancer’s head. Idly, the Prince picked up a bank note from a pile in front of him and, crumpling it in his hand, threw it onto the stage in front of the dancer.
    With a fluid graceful motion, the dancer picked up the money and placed it in her belt just below her navel. She bowed again and smiling seductively backed off the stage.
    The Prince signaled the major-domo and whispered in his ear. The major-domo nodded. He turned and made a gesture to the boys sitting behind the Prince, then signaled the orchestra to begin again.
    At the first sound of the music, four girls came on the stage and began their dance. Gradually, the lights went down until the room was in almost total darkness, with the exception of tiny blue spots on the dancers. As the music grew wilder, the spotlight would lose a dancer, then find her moving more excitingly than ever before. The dance lasted more than fifteen minutes, and when it was finished, the girls seemed to be in a frenzy, finally falling to the floor as the stage went completely dark.
    For a moment there was silence, then for the first time the Prince began to applaud enthusiastically. Slowly the lights came up. The dancers, still prostrate on the floor, began to rise to their feet. Baydr stared unbelievingly. The dancers on the stage were not the girls who had begun the dance. Instead, their places had been taken by the boys who had been seated behind the Prince.
    This time the Prince didn’t bother to crumple the banknotes. He threw the money on the stage in handfuls while the champagne corks popped wildly.
    Baydr glanced at his father. Samir’s face was impassive. He wondered what his father thought of the evening. Those were one-hundred-pound notes that the Prince was so carelessly throwing at the dancers—more money than the average workman earned in a year.
    The Prince looked at Baydr and spoke in French. “C’est ceau, c’est magnifique, non?” Baydr met his eyes. They were watchful and appraising. “Oui.” He hesitated for a moment. “C’est tout pédéraste?”
    The Prince nodded. “Vous aimez? Choisissez quel-qu’un pour votre plaisir.”
    Baydr still looked into the older man’s eyes. He shook his head. “Merci, non. Pas pour moi. Je préf“ere les femmes.”
    The Prince laughed aloud and turned to Samir. “Your son is lovely and he has sound taste,” he said. “He is also very American.”
    Samir looked at his son and smiled proudly. Somehow Baydr knew that he had passed the Prince’s first test.
    It was five o’clock in the morning and dawn was breaking in the mountains when Baydr bid his father good night and went into the bedroom. The drapes were drawn and the room was dark. He reached for the light switch.
    A hand stopped his arm. The woman’s voice was soft and held the faintest Egyptian accent. “We will have candles, your excellency.”
    The faint scent of musk came to his nostrils as she moved away from him. He stood very still in the darkness, his eyes trying to make her out, but he could see nothing until the match scratched and glowed. Then the dark, heavy-lashed eyes smiled at him and she turned to the candle.
    The soft yellow light spilled into the room. He recognized the woman as one of the dancers who had performed earlier that evening. The only portion of her costume that had been changed was her brassiere. Her breasts were no longer contained by the silver metal plate. Instead, they were covered by a diaphanous silken scarf through which the dark areola of her nipples could clearly be seen. She smiled again at him. “I have had a warm bath prepared in case his excellency should be weary.”
    He didn’t answer.
    She clapped her hands. Two more women came from the corners of the room, where they had been standing in the shadows. They wore even less costume than the first. Only the thinnest of veils covered their breasts and fell from their hips around their legs. As they moved toward Baydr, they crossed