Worldofbaalos

Helena was part of the lot when her master lost his fortune and had to sell off  all of his rich villas and townhouse, contents, flesh and all. Used to serving in the bedchamber or bathing her master, Helena is not used to being stripped of her loin cloth and made to work in the great grain plantations and mills of her new master, the grain magnate, Crastor. Her slackness will mean much whipping I fear.  My mentor knew his stock well.  He advised while a pretty serving slave from a bankrupted family may seem attractive and a diversion at the end of a hot day, they are too soft for plantation labor, will pick up minor injuries and fall behind.  Your overseer will strain his back lashing such wenches and eventually you'll realise your folly and sell them onto the mines or galleys. Crastor had no time for slaves who slacked. More than the lash was his method. It was not unknown to have lazy slave put on the wooden horse for a day and night with no drink nor vittals. An ...

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...

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 ...

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'...

The stench of the Pits lifts when you enter the auction hall. It is a series of arenas for the display and selling off of all kinds of stock for the house, the villa, the mill, the fields or the galleys. Gallo had inspected several wenches for the oar bench and had settled on a half dozen who had the back to pull the oar for a season or even more. If he could get his coffle of galley slave flesh he would be happy to take what the Sultan's inquisitors could supply from their stock of runaways, thieves and traitors. Stock for the galleys, like that for the mill or fields, is shown to best advantage by the auctioneer. They might be hung by the wrists from the hook as most slaves are. Or more likely to be made to squat, the better to show the strength in their legs for pulling a plough or an oar. A wench destined for the galleys, the slave squats to show the strength in her thighs for when her whole body needs to take the weight of the oar cutting into the water. T...

Inspecting new flesh is an art said Gallo. A slave may be artfully presented by the slavers, hanging from a hook, their limbs oiled and torches lit to cast shadows over musculature. But Gallo knew you needed to inspect stock in the Pits  closely before bidding. This fresh slave from the Northern Lands seemed healthy. She will do for the oar bench for a few seasons Gallo and his nephew, pomades to their noses, ventured into the Pits. Slaves were displayed in chains. Some stretched from high rings. Their bodies shining from sweat triggered by the humid heat of the deep dungeons or fear of servitude. Gallo enjoyed to see the freshest of stock, new captives being broken into slaves. He enjoyed explaining to his nephew how new slaves were yoked so they couldn't feed or touch themselves. They learnt how their bodies were no longer their property but that of their masters. A new captive is locked in a slavers yoke to break their spirit and allow bidders to in...

The Market is tall drum shaped stone bastion squatting by the harbor. On closer inspection you see it comprises a concentric wall of dark stone around the inner drum tower. This is surmounted by a huge beacon that is lit as a pharos for the galleys. The tower stands many levels high and dwarfs the warehouses and taverns closeby. It is also as deep as it is tall, its lower galleries and vaults are the Pits in which slaves are held and prepared for sale. There are chambers for shackling, branding and breaking slaves. It is said the pens can take several thousands of slaves and there is an army of overseers, appraisers and auction masters to process the flesh. And for them there is another ring of tradespeople from the leather makers who supply strands for the knotted lashes to the metal workers and meal merchants who supply fodder. And for these there is another army of slaves who work the mills, forges and furnaces. Gallo and his nephew saw little o...

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...

Where is Baalos? Across the wine dark seas, bordered by mountains and desert plains and rich estuary lands. A land ruled harshly and founded on slavery and war. Slaves are invariably female. Bred or seized into bondage. Kept naked except for house hold slaves who might don loincloths or rags Marked with the brands of their masters and mistresses, slaves toil in the bedchambers, kitchens, fields, mines and galleys of  Baalos. There is no finer land.