Thoughts on Part 3: Chapter 52 - What Does Lashunta Justice Look Like?

In Chapter 52 of my creative worldbuilding exercise, Kaure’s ban-curse against the three men who assaulted her has gone to trial. In creating this scene, I tried to make it uniquely Lashunta, leveraging aspects of this species’ abilities that would make it markedly different from a similar experience in our world. Furthermore, I have honestly wondered whether, despite the outcome, people who read it would be satisfied or not. There are numerous reasons, namely two: the specific sentence passed may not feel like justice from our world’s perspective, and this system as designed, even when it works as intended, may not work to satisfy our real-world expectations.
In previous discussions, I’ve established that, under Lashunta Matriar chy, Damaya females wield an overwhelming legal advantage: on a public declaration, they can have any man banned from their presence or home, and which automatically initiates a trial to determine whether the ban should get extended to the whole city. Moreover, violation of the ban is technical grounds for justifiable homicide, or at least a thorough beat-down. Korasha females, however, due to their social disentitlement, fall into a legal gray area as to whether they have the same right to invoke the ban-curse. Within Chapter 52, this ends up becoming the tiral's main point of argument. The three defendents and their law-speaker don’t even try to deny the crime. Instead, their whole defense rests on the claim that, even though Kaure is female, since she’s Korasha, she doesn’t have the right. 
Once the court laboriously works through this argument and confirm’s Kaure’s right, the entire defense crumbles, and the three guilty men are declared oulaw. As such, they are banished from Son, both the city and its environs, with a rather liberal, almost ‘get out of town by sundown’ sentence. Given the heinousness of the crime they committed, many people may feel this sentence inadequate, and from our society’s perspective, I wholly agree. 
However, based on what I’ve read about pre-modern criminal punishment, long-term incarceration was a lot less common than it is now. It is expensive in resources at a low tech-level. Instead, felonious punishment typically inflicted the following options:

• Execution (channeling Scott Evil, “Just kill him!” though lots of historical death sentences exhibited a lot of creativity!) dislike for Lashunta, given their psychic, highly empathic natures.
• Maiming, either loss of limb (possibly tempting in this case) or disfigurement. I'm against this for Lashunta as well, for the same reason as above.
• A fine - yes, in some societies, you could even buy your way out of a murder sentence: known in Old English as a were-geld. Maybe it has a use?? But not here.
• Indenture - instead of killing the guilty party or letting them waste in prison, get some value out of their lives, often at the proverbial salt mines (which is effectively a slow, painful death sentence). Note: this can tangent into dangerous territory as it conflates with slavery. I have already used this back in Part 2, Oshis worked a half-year’s thrall-bond to atone for the crime of striking a Damaya.
• Banishment - which in real-word terms was apparently used as a form of punishment in Europe until the end of the 18th Century (I haven’t yet found information on other areas), and involves more than being ejected from one’s home, but the loss of all properties, rights, protection, and citizenship -effectively being declared legally dead.

For Lashunta, banishment avoids the emotional and physical mess of killing or maiming someone, especially in a small community of someone you know. It makes the banished parties - now non-citizen outlaws - someone else’s problem (though under treaty among the Yaro Valley’s cities, banned outlaws will find no legal welcome and will likely need to keep to criminal livelihoods). In a worst case scenario, killing someone who has been declared legally dead is not a crime. Therefore, if someone wants badly enough (and this is discussed not only by Remaue, but by the judges themselves), they can go ahead and kill the banished party on their own initiative.
Lastly, a question I have had since starting this arc is how should Lashunta’s psychic abilities, particularly their ability to share thoughts and feelings firsthand, enter as legal testimony in this process? If it is possible to experience a victim’s direct memories, as is the case with Kaure, that is a powerful argument hard for the defense to refute. More questions need address as part, such as: is it possible to lie psychically (I’ll say maybe - it’s hard, especially to an experienced psychic inquisitor)? Is it possible for two witnesses' direct-memory testimony to conflict, each believing what they experienced is true (modern legal experience and psychology say yes). Yet Kaure shares the memories of her assault straight with the judges, which not only confirms her claim’s truth, but also gives a direct gauge of the trauma she underwent, which is reflected in the viscerality of the judges’ sentence. They don’t merely pronounce them banished. Instead, they lay down: “Leave now, or we’ll kill you ourselves,” for they take the crime’s nature personally.
I find a lot of these aspects to consider in building a legal system. There are a lot of gaps left, and a lot of questions to answer. Maybe this is just a start.

Note: for the background on this article, feel free to check out the link to Chapter 52 at the bottom.