Worldofbaalos

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...

Sultan's scraps was what the galley masters swore about over a flagon in a quayside bar. "Sluts who broke at the oar within a day. Or worse kept alive for longer but weakened your arm from the flogging to make them any use at all" These were what these masters thought of the slaves gifted on them for a fee from the inquisitors chamber and cells. Usually much marked by the lash and brand they were a pitiful sight hanging on the auctioneer's hook. A good galley master would check for broken bones from the rack or strappado pulley or the Horse and its weights. Most were dragged to the Pit in their dungeon fetters. This household slave had  run away from her master and stolen food. Caught by the city guards she'd been sent to the Inquisitor for questioning. She broke under the lash and the pinch of red hot iron pincers. Spared the cross because the Inquisitor's surgeon judged her strong enough for the galleys, the wench hung from the auctioneer'...

Although retired, Gallo still knew how to fit out a galley for a voyage. Looking down the oar deck, he noted too many narrow backs of runaways or thieves spared the cross but sentenced to pull a galley oar. A few broader tanned backs of field slaves were dotted almost rows of slaves who pulled on the oars at the drumbeat of the oar master. A liberal use of the lash helped keep the slower slaves match the pace of the stronger wenches, the extra exertion glossing their naked hides with oily sweat. "You need new flesh", Gallo shouted to his nephew who owned the galley Hispe. The young man nodded. Hispe was a day from port so a new stock of slaves would need to wait. Until then these  galley slaves would have to do, even if it meant flaying their backs to make today's run. Free flesh from the Inquisitors was something no galley owner could turn down. But a captain soon despaired of having too many runaway household slaves pulling their oars, making their whip...