Worldofbaalos

The racking of the bar wench was proving tedious. The inquisition of the slave for poisoning the brave soldier boys had run past the watchman's first bell and the rack master and his team wished to retire to the tavern themselves. But this was a serious matter; the Faction may have used the wench to strike terror into the garrison who regularly caroused the rickety wine dens huddled around the west gate. The boys had left their barracks late that previous evening and settled on Sulla's den where there was wine, ale and flesh to taste and enjoy. The bar slave had served the four and then she and the kitchen slut had earned some coin pleasuring the soldiers. It was in the morning the alarm was raised with three dead in their billets, having vomited blood and bile overnight. The fourth had time to tell his officer of where they had been before dying himself. The Inquisitor General had the den raided and all the slaves dragged into his chambers for questioning. It ...

A morning breeze chilled the ranks of galley slaves on the un-sheltered open deck of Gallo's galley. Tala felt her bare skin pimple and her ruby nipples harden as she woke from sleeping slumped over the great oak oar. Cool , now she thought but later when the sun beat down on her and her companions she'd boil and sweat as she labored to pull her oar through the sluggish green sea. Then the sharpness of the cool air on her skin would be a delicious memory. Gallo walked on the narrow deck raised above and between the galley slaves. His eye recorded backs  cut by the lash and mentally noted he would have that wench doused with sea water. He couldn't afford a slave to die at the oar today. And anyway the shrieks of a slave as the salt worked into the red weals improved the morale of his crew. He picked out the barbarian slut he'd purchased at the market. Pale skinned as any new slave would be, he saw how his lashmaster had enjoyed himself on her back  driving her to...

The galley rolled at anchor. A day of no wind had meant the slaves had toiled for hours. Now moored, the drivers had relaxed their use of the lash and the drums that beat for a fast passage through the sluggish waters of the channel were silent. In the dark of the oar deck the slaves took what rest they could in the broiling heat of the tropical evening. She had felt no pain like it since she'd been taken from the inquisitor's chamber and questioned with the pincers and the flail. Her arms and legs ached from the labor of pulling and lifting the oar, while her back stung from her sweat on the criss-crossed pattern of cuts made  by the driver's lash. In the dark, broiling heat of the oar deck at evening the galley slave rests from a day of pulling on the oars, Now she like her fellow galley slaves seized the opportunity to gather strength for the morning light. She had little chance to find out the stories of her companions like the dark skinned s...

I had noted several bond slaves working on the plantation. Knowing such slaves were meant for the house not the fields, I remarked to my friend, the lashmaster. "A bout of sweating sickness meant we were short at harvest so those house wenches are to work in the fields and kitchens. You like the look of her? Her bond is due in a matter of weeks but the old father cannot pay so she'll be stripped and branded" I looked over the wench. A peasants daughter who might find enslavement preferable to starvation. Our Sultan was wise in letting the poorest of his citizens make money for unwanted second or third daughters. It was commonly known that no peasant could ever pay back the bond and losing another mouth to feed was a bonus The bond slave works the field alongside the stripped and branded stock

That year I travelled widely across the plantations of the Great Delta where owners grow crops for the cities. It was the end of the long day measuring the lands of one owner that I came upon a gang of field slaves picking stones from the fields so the iron of the plough didn't shatter. A slave picks stones from the fields in the falling light of the daylight suns I watched how the slaves worked the fields doing the back breaking work under the watchful eye of the field lashmaster.  I had grown to know this man who seeing me spying the work of his slaves, beckoned me over.  I cam towards him as he bellowed for one of the slaves to come forward. She was a fine piece of flesh, hardened and tanned from long days toiling in the fields.  The field slave worked towards me, her skin catching the evening rays "Down slut", he barked and she fell to her knees, her hands behind her head.  "You may relax with her first, sir. She has the stren...

My family fortune lost I had gone into trade My profession was a surveyor, travelling Baalos on behalf of my clients and to assess their purchases of land and assets. These ranged from mines to plantations to mills and the slaves employed there. It was my task to count and judge the value of the assets in the flesh so to speak. Few wealthy owners enjoyed travelling from the great cities into the interiors where their investments were. Travel was unpleasant in the heat of Baalos and there was little comfort at your journey's end. So that is how I found myself at the plantation of the Sagro family, watching the gangs of field slaves toil at the harvest. The slaves seemed healthy and little marked from the lash. The overseer told me many were bred on the plantation though new stock had had to be acquired when the sweating sickness struck a season ago. I took it upon myself to assess one or more of slaves and had the overseer bring several wenches to me. Raising my pomade to ...