A lick of a whisper upon sullen lips, lightly scented pheromones swirling about in aromatic dance. Eyes of brown, sparkle with mirth. They are the doorway to her soul.  They speak often where often she speaks little. .She is a tall stunning uncompromisingly beautiful woman.  She moves with much refinement and knows well her place in the land of Gor.  The soft chime of the virgin bell sings out the song of the tahari on every well measured step she takes

Who is this desert rose?

She is Azmina Ja'Mere, daughter of Suleiman, Pasha of the Oasis of Nine Wells, and Ubar of the Aretai.

She is a superb weaver and rug maker.  She likes to dabble in salt and spices, as well as, date wine.

Azmina calls the gardens of her father's fortress home.

She is watched over by several Aretai warriors.

****************************************************************

To be of the Tahari is to love the magnificence of Tahari nights. One can sit beside a crackling scrub brush fire and watch orange and yellow sparks dance wildly upward to be scattered against the blackness. The sky is solid black on moonless nights, a deep black, a majestic limitless black showing off its stars like glittering jewels. The stars blaze in the coldness of the night, stretching from one end of the horizon to the other, brilliantly showing the directions to all who gaze upon them. To be of the Tahari is to find comfort in the communication between the land and the sky and the people. To be of the Tahari is to draw strength from solitude. To be of the Tahari is to be awed daily and nightly by ceaseless beauty.

****************************************************************