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...

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...