Chapter
8: Torment
The slaves’ new masters
had them up before dawn, anxious to make time before the desert heat became
stifling. Vasanta moaned as she
was kicked awake. Her body was
unbelievably sore, especially in the region her assailants had
plundered. As she got to her
feet she locked eyes with the redheaded
barbarian. She gave her a look
of pure hatred. To her surprise
the tall northern barbarian merely stared
back. Even more surprisingly
as Gren moved away to tend to the other slaves, she whispered to
her. “I am Shailaja, warrior
of the Kaltara. Who are
you?”
The question was so unexpected
that Vasanta merely glared at her.
The woman’s question was almost friendly and Vasanta had no interest
in befriending the women she had sworn to
kill. However, the woman’s
next words changed her mind about not giving her
name.
“Don’t tell me
then. I will find out eventually
anyway. I already know you are
the sister of the bandit who kidnapped and used me against my
will. Your name hardly
matters.”
“I am Vasanta, Princess
of the Nahn. And I will take
great delight in watching you scream as I pull your entrails from your
abdomen.”
For all of the impact
Vasanta’s words had she might just as well have commented on the
weather. “I’ll look
forward to that,” the redhead
shrugged. “But in the meantime
you might consider escaping from the scum who have us in their
power. Neither of us is going
to be up to much if we are forced to entertain them every
night.”
Reminding Vasanta of the
humiliation she had been dealt was the wrong thing to
do. She was about to return a
sharp retort, but was stopped by the return of
Gren. “Shut
up. There will be no talking
among the slaves. If I hear another
word you’ll feel the end of the
rope.” He swung a heavy
length of knotted cord as he spoke, emphasizing his
threat.
Vasanta lowered her eyes
and Gren nodded in approval.
“Good. You are learning.
Perhaps I won’t have to beat you too often after
all.” He strolled down the
line getting the rest of the slaves ready to move out.
Gren and his cousins lacked
the patience of the men who had captured
Shailaja. There was none of the
individual treatment when it came to seeing to their
needs. Instead the entire line
of slaves was ordered to attend to their bodily functions right where they
were and then they were moved over a few yards in order to be served
breakfast.
The quality of the food
served was also reduced as well as the
water. Apparently Gren and the
other men thought that slaves did not require any more than a bare
minimum.
Shailaja, however, did not
agree. Downing her water ration
in a single gulp and then consuming her meagre ration of cold porridge in
two bites, she held out her bowl and stared directly at Gren “Is this
all you’re going to give us?
It is barely enough to keep us alive much less allow us to put in
a full day’s march across the desert.”
Gren slammed the rope end
into his palm. “You object
to your rations?” He stepped
toward her, swinging the rope idly.
“I object to being
starved and deprived of water. You
consider us valuable but don’t have the faintest idea of how to keep
us that way. How many of us will
die in the next few weeks if we are not given enough food and
water? Even the scum who kidnapped
me knew enough to feed me well enough to keep me
alive”
“You’re an insolent
bitch aren’t you? Maybe
a little lesson in manners will teach you some
respect.” Gren raised the
rope with the clear intention of giving Shailaja a thrashing, but Trag called
out and stopped him.
“She might have a point,
Gren. The slaves are worthless
to us if they die in the desert and we’ll get a damned poor price for
them if they arrive starved and
dehydrated. There’s plenty
of food and water. Maybe we should
give them as much as they need.”
Gren stopped to consider
Trag’s words and then Mov chimed in.
“It’s still weeks until we reach
Thar. It makes sense to keep
the slaves healthy. We’ll
make better time. Besides I like
the redhead’s spirit.
I’d rather spread her than beat
her. Hold off on the rope until
she gets out of hand.”
“It is as Trag and
the redheaded barbarian have said, master,” Windar suddenly
volunteered. The usually silent
guide looked respectfully toward Gren as he spoke, having worked out that
he was the real leader of the group.
“If you want your slaves
to be of any value they must be kept alive and
healthy.”
Finally convinced, Gren
lowered his rope. “Alright
this time,” he said looking toward
Shailaja. “But next
time show a bit more respect or you’ll get the rope no matter how good
your advice is.”
Shailaja said
nothing. She wasn’t about
to push the leader of the five cousins any further than she had
to. She was completely at their
mercy and promising rape as a gentler alterative to being beaten revealed
exactly what sort of merciless cutthroats they
were.
Her words had the desired
affect. The slavers delayed the
day’s start to give the slaves a bit more food and water, but it was
only a short delay. An hour before
dawn the long column of slaves moved off across the desert, Windar in the
lead.
Mindful of the fact that
it might be a good idea to protect their human merchandise the neophyte slavers
set a slower pace than they might have.
They stopped frequently to make sure the slaves were watered and called
a long halt at
It resulted in slower progress
than Gren and the others would have liked, but their desire for profit outweighed
the need for speed and they were willing to follow Windar’s advice when
it came to caring for their stock.
It transpired that the guide was very experienced in the handling
of slaves, having guided a number of caravans across the
Tombau.
They stopped just after
Setting up camp in the shade
of a massive natural stone tower the slavers settled the slaves down and
waited out the heat of the day. In
spite of the relatively mild treatment there was one slave for whom the day
had been a good deal more painful.
For Vasanta the desert trek
had been a nightmare. Chained
to the tall barbarian at the head of the column, she had to force her ravaged
body to keep up the pace, mindful of the fact that Gren or one of the other
cousins was always nearby with a heavy length of rope dangling from his
hand.
Every step sent a wave of
pain through her loins, and her body ached where she had been
beaten. Especially painful were
the savage bite marks on her breasts where first Gren and then Trag and Brok
had sunk their teeth into her.
But even worse than her
physical hurts was the grinding sense of shame she felt over what had been
done to her. A Nahn princess
had been captured and then dishonoured.
Nothing she could do would ever atone for such a
humiliation. Almost as bad was
the fact that she had failed to avenge her brother, a truth made even worse
by being chained to the murderer who had carried out the
act.
She glanced toward the redhead,
her eyes narrowing. The woman
was paying her not the least bit of
attention. It would be so easy
just to pick up a rock and smash her head in, but she could not bring herself
to commit another act that would add to her already sullied
honour.
Somehow I will
escape. And when I do I will
make sure that I take my vengeance.
The blood of that barbarian bitch will stain the sands of the
desert.
For the moment, however,
she would rest. Lying on the
ground in the shade she waited the pleasures of the men she had once
commanded. She had little doubt
that what they had done to her the night before they would soon repeat, and
the thought of being used for their enjoyment once again had her stomach
in knots. She would need all
of her strength to survive. She
closed her eyes and was almost instantly asleep.
Shailaja opened her eyes
and studied the dark-haired woman.
A fanatic, she
thought.
The most dangerous of all
enemies. And she had
paid a heavy price for her fanaticism.
But
no more than I have also paid. And
I was just trying to mind my own
business. There was nothing
she could do about that now, but one day she was sure she and the Nahnian
princess would have to resolve their
differences. In the meantime
if she was to survive to that day she needed her
rest. She closed her eyes and
waited for what was to come.
It came late in the evening
after the slavers had napped away the heat of the
day. With a little help from
a few of the slaves Windar attended to the feeding and watering of the others
and cooked up a meal for Gren and his
cousins. And then it was time
for dessert.
“We’ll bring the
Nahn bitch first,” Gren suggested.
“And then the redhead.
I’ve got an interesting idea as to how to restrain
them.”
His cousins were quite willing
to give the plan a try. While
Gren, Mov, Trag, and Shob enjoyed themselves Brok would help Windar watch
the rest of the slaves. Then
after Gren had satisfied his carnal urges he would spell off
Brok. If they worked it right
they could pleasure themselves with the two barbarians until it was time
to turn in for the night.
Vasanta had barely been
able to eat, her mind fixed on what Gren and his cousins had planned for
her after supper. The cousins
had left little doubt that it would be a repeat of what they had done to
her the previous night, taunting both her and Shailaja throughout the
day. But she had forced the food
down, trying not to think of what awaited her.
The redhead too ate in stiff
silence, glancing apprehensively at the men who owned her and then turning
away when they looked toward her.
It was clear that she was just as frightened as Vasanta was and for
the same reason.
There was only one thing
that Vasanta feared more than the pain and humiliation of being raped, and
that was the fear that she would break down under the ordeal, something that
she had come very close to the previous
night. And, in spite of her hatred
for Shailaja she guessed that it was probably the same with
her. They were both brave women,
but the ordeal of being violated was in a class by itself when it came to
instilling fear. And so she waited
in an icy sweat as Gren and his cousins finished their meal and strode toward
her.
“It’s time,
Princess,” Gren smirked.
“Make it easy on yourself and don’t fight
us. We’re going to win
anyway.”
He and Brok were each armed
with a slaver’s hook, a long pole with a crook at the
end. In practiced hands they
could very quickly render any rebellious slave helpless, and while Gren and
Brok were not exactly experts, they were trained warriors and could probably
use them well enough.
Vasanta, however, was not
going without a fight, no matter what the odds against
her. She stood and faced the
slavers squarely, her feet a shoulder’s width apart and her fists
clenched. Gren
chuckled. “Have it your
way then. It will be more
entertaining to have to haul you kicking and
screaming.”
Vasanta had no intention
of kicking and screaming, but she was not going to go quietly
either. As the slavers moved
toward her she prepared to fight.
Gren had anticipated the
fact that both barbarians would be less than cooperative and had taken one
added precaution to improve the odds in his
favour. Dangling from the iron
collar around the throat of each woman was a three foot length of chain at
the end of which was a large ring.
It gave him all the advantage he needed as both women assumed aggressive
stances.
“You’ll have to
be punished for this act of defiance,” he said as he and Brok moved
into position. “But first
I’m going to show you just how helpless you
are.”
They targeted the redheaded
barbarian first, not because she was the one they wanted, but simply to get
her out of the way and also use the fact that she was chained to Vasanta
to throw the latter off balance.
Brok’s long crook snaked out and caught the chain dangling from
Shailaja’s neck. Jerking
hard, he almost pulled her off her feet and the chain connecting her to Vasanta
tightened, causing her to stumble.
It gave Gren the opening he
needed. While Brok held Shailaja
at bay he snagged Vasanta, dragging her toward him and leaving her open to
the other three men. They were
all armed with long clubs, and they used them effectively, bringing them
down on the princess’s shoulders and driving her to her
knees. Dazed and in considerable
pain she offered only slight resistance as they moved in and bound her wrists
in front of her while tethering her
ankles. Then, detaching her from
the main chain they led the uncooperative princess across the
campsite. Leaving Mov to guard
her, they returned for Shailaja.
She offered no more resistance
than Vasanta had. Once the crook
got hold of her body she was helpless to resist the others, and trussed up
like the first woman, they dragged her over to where Vasanta
waited.
Shailaja struggled every
foot of the way, attempting to break free of the ropes that had been used
to bind her wrists and digging in her heels as she was forcibly marched across
the camp. As on the occasion
when Biel Zenon and his men had raped her the first time, a large flat boulder
had been chosen as the place of
sacrifice. Vasanta was already
draped face up across one end of it, Mov pulling her arms over her head,
and Trag holding her ankles. They
maneuvered Shailaja into position so that she too was lying on her back with
her head toward Vasanta. While
Shob held her feet Gren bound her wrists to Vasanta’s, winding the ropes
around their arms so that the palms of each woman were tightly bound against
the inner forearm of the other.
Now helpless, neither woman
could move her arms without pulling on the
other. They lay helpless while
the four slavers prepared to rape them.
Shailaja continued to fight, kicking out as Gren and Shob tried to
force her legs apart.
“That’s the
way,” Gren jeered.
“Fight. Make it all
the more enjoyable.” Gripping
her ankles, he parted her powerful thighs and moved between
them. Shailaja continued to fight,
clamping her legs against his sides and trying to hold him
back. It was a desperate measure
and one she knew was doomed to fail, but her instincts would not let her
be taken without a fight.
Vasanta grimaced as Shailaja
jerked on her arms. She could
feel every movement of the other woman’s body and it took no imagination
to realize exactly what was happening even without Gren’s taunting
commentary. Listening to what
was happening to Shailaja, however, was the least of her
priorities. Trag, with Mov’s
help was forcing his way between her
legs. She bucked, trying somehow
to escape what he intended, but with her wrists bound to Shailaja’s
she fought a one-sided losing battle.
Her legs were pried apart and Trag forced his heavy body between her
thighs.
Trag loomed over her, his
powerful body pressed against hers, his lips just inches from her
face. He was the biggest of the
cousins, standing almost as tall as
Shailaja. “How about a kiss
to start?” he leered as he clamped his hands onto her bruised
breasts. Vasanta cried out in
pain, and he pressed his mouth against hers, pulling out her lower lip with
his teeth.
“Filth,” Vasanta
cried, pinned beneath Trag’s weight, she could barely move, but she
managed to bring her head sharply
forward. There was an ugly crunch
and Trag reeled back, blood streaming from his
face.
“You
bitch. You’ve broken my
nose.” Holding his hands
to his face he staggered back.
Standing next to him, Mov
laughed. “Got a bit more
of a kiss than you wanted. You
should have stuck to just shagging her.”
“I’ll beat the
shit out of her,” Trag shouted, lurching toward the helpless warrior.
Mov reached out and grabbed
his shoulder, jerking him to halt.
“Get your nose fixed.
You can deal with her after I’ve plucked her
petals.”
Cursing, Trag stepped
away. “Go ahead
then. But she’s going to
pay for this.”
Shailaja had somehow managed
to get her ankles free from Shob’s grip and had brought up her knees
so that she could pinch them against Gren’s sides, just in front of
his hips. It was a position he did not seem to mind as he stared down at
her. However, the commotion created
by Vasanta temporarily distracted him.
“What in the name of
demons are you up to?” he shouted at
Trag. “Can’t you even
screw a woman without getting beaten
up?”
Trag cursed
loudly. “That Nahn bitch
will pay for this. She needs
to be shown who her master is.”
Clutching his bleeding nose he moved off for treatment, leaving Vasanta
to Mov’s gentle treatment.
Gren returned to his own
pleasure. He gazed down on the
helpless barbarian, his cock stiffening as he thought of the enjoyment she
would soon bring. He had never
seen anyone quite like her. Tall,
powerfully muscled, beautiful, and utterly
helpless. The thought that he
could do anything he wanted to her caused him to arch his back in
anticipation. Soon he would sink
his dagger into her tight sheath but first he wanted a little taste of the
delights that awaited him. He
lowered his head between her thighs and parted her petals of pleasure with
his tongue. “Let’s
see if you taste as good as you look,” he murmured.
Shailaja shifted as Gren’s
tongue tasted her, arching toward him in an unconscious reaction to his oral
stimulation. She regained control
almost instantly, but not quickly enough to deceive the leader of the
slavers.
Gren raised his
head. “As warm and sweet
as a ripe peach. Let’s see
if I can’t get those juices
flowing.” He bent his head
again cultivating her furrow with the length of his
tongue.
Shailaja stifled a moan
as Gren’s mouth sucked the ripe berry that nestled at the top of her
petals. Somehow the very fact
that she was so helpless seemed to heighten the very sensation she sought
to suppress. Her loins heated
with an erotic passion that she could not suppress and she arched her body
into him, almost begging him to take her.
Gren really didn’t
need an invitation. Rising from
her loins he slid between her thighs and thrust into her, his shaft penetrating
her easily.
It was not so easy for
Shailaja. In spite of her state
of arousal she was hardly recovered from her brutal treatment at the hands
of Biel Zenon and his men. As
he penetrated her she experienced a good deal more pain than pleasure, a
factor that instantly broke the spell.
Without thinking she tightened her grip on Vasanta’s wrists,
digging in her nails as she fought the pain of the
penetration.
“Does that hurt?”
Gren sneered. “You’ve
got a real man’s cock in you now.
You’d better get used to
it.” He pulled out a little
and then thrust in until his balls slapped against her
backside.
Shailaja moaned in pain,
a sound that prompted Gren to thrust even harder, increasing his tempo and
slamming into her again and again.
Each thrust sent waves of pain through her which increased in intensity
until he finally spurted into her.
Then it was Shob’s turn.
Vasanta felt every movement
of Shailaja’s body, including her pain-filled reaction as she was raped,
but it gave her little satisfaction.
Mov had moved between her thighs, and as if taking revenge for what
had happened to Trag, he raped her
brutally. Squeezing her already
bruised breasts he ripped into her swollen
vagina. Every savage stroke was
so agonizing that the minor pain of Shailaja’s nails sinking into her
wrist went unnoticed.
Mov dragged out the rape
until Trag returned. His nose
swollen and still bloody he was anxious for revenge and his violation more
than matched what Mov had dealt out.
When he finally finished Vasanta was gasping with pain at every
stroke. But he was far from finished
with her. He and Mov untied her
wrists and then rolled her over. In
the meantime Brok satisfied his urges by raping Shailaja for a third
time.
Held down by Mov and Gren,
Vasanta struggled weakly to escape, already exhausted from the affects of
the double violation. She was
helpless to avoid the beating Trag gave her with the rope
end.
“You need to learn
who your masters are,” Trag said as he raised the
rope. “And this might help
to remind you.”
He brought the rope down,
the first blow ripping the skin from her back, and he followed it up with
nineteen more. Despite her bravery,
Vasanta broke at the fifth blow and screamed in pain for the remainder of
the flogging. When Trag finally
finished disciplining her she was barely
conscious.
Shailaja had been too
preoccupied with her own ordeal to pay much attention to what was happening
to Vasanta. Brok was not particularly
brutal, but she was so sore that every action
hurt. When he finally finished
with her she was barely able to limp back to her place at the end of the
chain. But she soon saw that
what had been done to her was nothing compared to what had been done to
Vasanta.
The dark-haired barbarian
was barely conscious and bleeding badly from a score of welts across her
back. While she watched Trag
threw down his rope end motioned to
Windar. “Put something on
her back to stop the bleeding and then help me get her back over to the
chain.”
“As you wish,
master,” Windar replied.
Something in his tone suggested
disapproval and Trag bristled at the implied
censure. “You don’t
like the way I treat my slave?” he
challenged.
“It is not my place
to approve or disapprove, master. I
am only concerned about the speed of our travel.”
Trag frowned, but before
he could speak Gren stepped in.
“He’s right. Your
little fit of bad temper might slow us down if the barbarian can’t
walk.”
“Camel dung,”
Trag replied. “If she
doesn’t move faster I’ll use the rope on her
again.”
“Somehow I doubt that
teaching her any more “lessons” is going to be of much value,”
Gren answered. “I think
we might be advised to lay off them a little.”
That recommendation met
with general opposition from the other four cousins, but Gren was not to
be put off. “We’ve
done without women before and we can do it
again. Three weeks from now
we’ll be out of this gods-forsaken furnace and have enough money to
buy as many women as we want. I
say we leave the two barbarians alone until
then. Even the redhead is having
trouble walking.”
The argument went on for
some time without resolution, but it was not until the next day that it was
finally resolved. That day saw
Vasanta stumble along in a zombie-like state, barely able to put one foot
in front of the other. The fact
that she was able to move at all after the beating she had received was a
tribute to her great strength, but she would not have made it until the end
of the day if Shailaja had not helped her.
Only a few feet apart on
the chain, with Shailaja leading, Vasanta’s continual stumbling jerked
harshly on the chain that connected them.
By midmorning Shailaja was almost dragging the Nahn princess
forward. And finally Vasanta
fell full length and could not get up.
The fall took Shailaja down with her as well as Hanla who was directly
behind. It was an event that
did not go down well with Gren.
“Pick her up,”
he ordered. “And make sure
she does not fall again.”
Vasanta had already struggled
to her knees, but it was apparent that she could not get up without
help. With a shrug Shailaja bent
and picked her up, and then hefted the big woman onto her shoulders so that
her head was on Shailaja’s right and her legs on the
left.
Vasanta struggled weakly,
fighting to be put down, but Shailaja held her easily.
However, even Gren could see
that if the Nahn princess continued to struggle she would be almost impossible
to carry. “Bind her wrists
and ankles,” he ordered.
Windar dismounted and taking
a length of light cord did as he was ordered, rendering Vasanta
helpless. She struggled feebly,
but was now so badly weakened that she could barely
move. It was one more humiliation
to add to the long list of insults she intended to avenge, and it was even
more mortifying due to the fact that she was being carried like a sack of
grain by the woman she had sought to
kill.
For Shailaja the situation
wasn’t much better. Still
weakened from her previous ordeals, she laboured under Vasanta’s
weight. As the day wore on she
became inerasably tired and had to constantly adjust her
load. Finally, just after
However, the incident resulted
in an unexpected reprieve. Deciding
that he could not afford to lose what Windar had informed him were his two
most valuable captives, Gren ordered Vasanta placed on the back of one of
the yeggers. They finished the
day that way and the cousins finally followed Gren’s advice and left
the two women alone.
As she huddled exhausted
on the ground next to the semiconscious Vasanta, Shailaja wondered what was
going to become of her. She had
hoped that somehow she would manage to find a way to escape, but no opportunity
had presented itself. In spite
of their brutality her new masters were not
fools. They took the same precautions
against escape that Biel Zenon had, and they were just as savage in their
evening activities. Worn down
by being repeatedly gang-raped and by the harshness of the desert journey
Shailaja doubted that there would be a chance to escape unless something
happened to dramatically alter her
circumstances. With this depressing
thought in her mind she finally drifted off to an exhausted
sleep.
The next few days saw little
change in her situation. The
only difference was that the nightly rapes changed, but not necessarily in
a manner that Shailaja found acceptable.
Gren had a new
idea. “Windar tells me that
you won’t make it to Thar if we keep on hammering you every
night. So I’m going to give
you a choice. Use your mouth
to pleasure us and we’ll leave what’s between your legs
alone. Refuse and we’ll
take our chances on whether you make it or not.”
Her body still throbbing
from the repeated violations, Shailaja considered Gren’s
proposition. To voluntarily take
each of the five men into her mouth would be an act so dishonourable that
a wave of revulsion swept over her.
She almost refused. Being
taken against her will would be preferable to willingly submitting to so
degrading an act.
But she realized she did
not have much choice but to accept Gren’s
proposition. There were still
several weeks of desert travel remaining.
To be subjected to violent rape every night would destroy
her. Bowing her head she nodded
her agreement.
The act took place in front
of the rest of the slaves. It
was a further humiliation she had not
expected. On her knees in the
centre of the camp with her wrists bound behind her to prevent any resistance,
she passively allowed Gren to seize her long hair and bend her head
back. Then he entered her
mouth. He took her slowly, sliding
in and out of her in long smooth strokes while urging her
on. “That’s
it. Take it all the
way. Right to the back of your
throat. How about a little more
tongue action?”
In fact there was no tongue
action. Shailaja had agreed to
submit to oral rape, but she did nothing to make it more
enjoyable. Gren and the other
slavers seemed not to care, happy to use her mouth until they climaxed and
then force her to swallow their seed.
Ugly and humiliating as it was the act had the added benefit of not
requiring any birth control measures.
Shailaja’s voluntary
degradation kept the slavers happy.
For the next three weeks they took her every night but left the rest
of the slaves alone. It gave
Vasanta a chance to heal, but in spite of the satisfaction of seeing the
Kalataran bitch humiliated she was not happy, realizing that her respite
had been purchased by the redhead’s
sacrifice. She added this insult
to the list of slights she would avenge.
Finally the goal they had
been seeking came into sight.
Rising out of the desert like an emerald in a sand pit, the exotic
city of
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