The Pathetic Motley Clown by M. B. Barlow

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SUMMARY: A mutated clown can never be looked at as a great warrior. Until, that is, he fights back.

Sarra Slylaw entered the hall and everyone looked at her because she was as beautiful as she said she was. Her golden coat matched her golden hair and her other clothes matched her skin, dark yet light. She was perfection to so many men, but her face never showed emotion. It was a constant scowl, and as far anyone around her knew, she was as happy as everyone else. She would never say why she was miserable.
King Katush was surprised to see her as she wasn't meant to be there for several hours yet. Being a man, he could ignore that frivolous rudeness; his loins told him to ignore it. He told a servant to take his meal away and gestured for the rest of his family to have theirs taken too. His son, Maxille Katush, complained to his mother: ‘I haven't bloody well finished yet!'
‘Silence,' she replied. ‘Do as your father says. This woman is very special.'
‘But I was enjoying it.'
‘Silence, I say.'
‘But, mother!'
‘Shut up Maxille,' the king shouted over as he watched Sarra walk down the hall towards the table they were sitting at. He shut up, but watched the servants take away his food, his belly starting to rumble.
King Katush stood up and swung his arms open to embrace the woman coming towards him. His loins were in overdrive. She stared at him hard-faced and the king was left standing, foolishly, with his arms raised waiting to get a feel of the most incredibly gorgeous woman he had ever seen, but she wasn't having it one bit. Normally he would have had a woman, or man, who did this taken care of, because he could. But this woman was far too good-looking to waste. He was left to stare at her body instead and let his imagination do the work.
‘If you care to stop looking at me in such a male-chauvinistic way, I would like to get our deal done and polished,' she said, her voice grizzled like two stones rubbing against each other.
King Katush nodded and brought her to the table. She stood in front, hand on hips.
‘Would you like a seat, ma'am?' asked a servant.
‘No,' she said. ‘Katush, I want this deal done now and I don't want to wait around. I swear, if you don't come through with this I will...'
‘Yes, woman, yes; I get it. I have the weapon in my banks, somewhere. And you have ten men waiting to join my cause?'
‘Not until I get the weapon in my hands.'
The king laughed. ‘Of course. You are smart, lady. You know what to say.'
She said, ‘I was programmed that way.'
King Katush was going to laugh, but the words reached his ears and he realized what she had said. His eyes fixed on her with intent. ‘You are a robot!'
‘Yes. Is that a problem?'
‘I specifically told your government not to bring their technologies into my land, especially synthetic humans. You are synthetic?'
‘Technically, yes.'
His son watched his face grow red. He knew that meant the lady would be sent to the dungeons, and he felt sad for that lady. She didn't deserve that. It wasn't her fault she was fake.
‘Guards,' the king shouted over to two large men. ‘Arrest this machine and place it in the dungeons.'
‘No,' Sarra slammed her fist down on the table.

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