XVII.
Taleena's bout with Boiorix marked the conclusion of the second training
unit, which meant that the second assessment was due. The afternoon sun had
rolled far to the west in the cobalt sky and was now slowly descending towards
the horizon, its brilliant rays barely peeking over the walls of the staff
building. The sun's decline cast a deep shadow across the yard, shading the
cross in front of which the recruits had gathered again, but illuming the
haggard faces of those who stood at attention to receive their trainers'
verdict.
Taleena was still in high spirits about the satisfying culmination of
the week - a week which had begun so inauspiciously with the Thracian's attempt
to degrade her in full view of the entire squad. With her failures in the
circuit training ruled out as a cause for any demerit, her recent victories
surely indicated that she was not among those who needed to fear the whip; the
men she had vanquished had far less reason to feel confident.
But despite Taleena's optimism, the late afternoon had brought a strange
stillness to the air, the type of breezeless calm that so often precedes a
storm. The air seemed oppressive and despite the sunlit sky, the heaviness of
the atmosphere kindled in Taleena an inexplicable sense that the rawest forces
of nature were about to be unleashed.
Byrria stepped forward, after having received a brief, enigmatic nod
from Calixtus that escaped the attention of no one. With her customary flair for
the dramatic, the Thracian tigress slowly strode along the row of recruits,
starting at the end where stood the two lanky Numdians. She eyed them coldly
before proceeding on to the stronger-built Germans, studying each of them as if
she were a prospective customer in a slave market weighing her bid. .
As they stood at attention, the male recruits endured the almond-eyed
Thracian's provocative scrutiny apprehensively. Had Calixtus' signal merely
meant that he would let Byrria go first this time? Or had his nod meant that he
would leave it to her judgment which of the men would feel the lash? Certainly
the head lanista would not have entrusted his authority to an assistant
notorious for her erratic temperament. Or would he?
Despite their trepidation, the men were understandably mesmerized by the
sight of this dangerous beauty who seemed to carry herself with a newfound sense
of authority. Her lustrous dark hair, tied back in a ponytail, tossed lightly
on her shoulders, and her proud gait gave the small corkscrew strands which fell
over her ears a titillating bounce. The well-toned muscles of her legs gleamed
under her short tunic, providing an alluring contrast between the smooth, olive
complexion of her skin and the dark blue fabric of her costume. The decolletage
of her tunic offered a tantalizing glimpse of her succulent breasts, but her
fiery eyes intimidated all but the boldest men from having the effrontery to
stare at them.
As she strode past the burly, palpably nervous Boiorix, she gave a snort
of derision, indicating her contempt for the poor performance of the ox-like
warrior from beyond the Rhine. But she did not call him out of the line.
Alongside him stood Arminius, the sandy-haired ex-legionary who seemed
to come off far better at Byrria's silent scrutiny. His imposing figure loomed
large against the setting sun, the oil-glistening muscles in his arms no less
prodigious than those of his broad chest. And judging by the approving look the
wild-eyed Thracian flashed him, one could not tell whether it were his fighting
skills or his good looks - or both - that had won the sultry lanista's approval.
Arminius met her gaze confidently, and returned it, letting his eyes travel over
Byrria's body as boldly as hers had travelled over his. For an instant their
eyes seem to lock in a secret understanding, and then Byrria, looking for once a
little disconcerted, moved on down the line.
Whatever momentary unease had plagued Byrria had long since vanished by
the time she reached the far end of the line, where her two female charges
stood, wondering fearfully what the Thracian had inscribed on her wax tablet.
Byrria planted herself before the flaxen-haired Avernian, putting her hands on
her hips in a peremptory gesture, glaring sternly at the comely recruit. Despite
her confidence in her performance, Taleena remembered the Thracian's prior
attempt to take her to task all too well, and knew that the sly lanista with the
inscrutable dark eyes was entirely capable of another such vindictive outburst.
The stillness in the air and the tension in the yard were equally
palpable, and the faces of the assembled trainees looked as if they had been
carved from raw nerves as the two women eyed each other warily. The passing of
time seemed to be suspended, and the only sounds were the chirps of a lonely
bird that seemed to have been abandoned by his fellows. The rays of the setting
sun spotlighted the two antagonists, each of whom had been blessed by the gods
with the charms of Venus and the athleticism of Diana. But whereas the taller
Gaul could be best compared to a tawny lioness, quick and strong and regal in
demeanour, the raven-haired Thracian resembled a tigress - the blazing-eyed
creature of the night who stalks the jungle during her nocturnal raids.
The two majestic opponents locked eyes for a long moment, Byrria
imperious, Taleena defiant but increasingly apprehensive. At length the hint of
a cunning smile made its way across Byrria's face. She glanced at her tablet
quickly as if to confirm a judgment that Taleena was certain needed no reminder,
and then her dark eyes found Taleena's once again. "Today it is you who shall
feel the whip!"
Taleena, stunned, felt as if she had received a sword stroke to the
chest. Nor was she the only one who was thunderstruck by the Thracian's verdict.
Selia tried to conceal a shudder of relief as a ripple of surprised disbelief
swept through the onlookers, while Taleena struggled to find words to express
her outrage, but none would come. Of course she had lost the fight with
Arminius - as would have anyone else - but her other successes should surely
have outweighed her lone defeat.
"It is not your failure in the circuit training for which you will be
punished, nor did you earn the critical number of demerits," the raven-haired
Thracian explained angrily. "You are going to the post because of your wilful
insubordination! Do you imagine that I haven't noticed how you have tried to
make a mockery of our training? You fight like a lioness against the men, and
like a kitten against this little mouse," Byrria said indignantly as she
gestured scornfully toward Selia. Then she stepped so close to Taleena that the
Gaul could feel her hot breath. "Did you think that you could get away with
subverting the training codex of the Ludus Flavianus? This is not a game, Gaul -
and no recruit, no fighter is going to fix the results! At least not as long as
I'm in charge," she added with a sideswipe at Calixtus, suggesting that in her
mind she was the true guardian of Roman virtues at the school of Flavius
Autronius.
Taleena was taken utterly aback by the fury of the Thracian's reproach.
The fact that Byrria had not harassed her during the week had led her to believe
that she had given no cause for reprimand. But clearly the cunning lanista had
set a trap and she had fallen into it, compounding her offence at every turn so
that her 'guilt' was indisputable. A blind man could have seen that Taleena had
allowed the Spaniard some minor triumphs, but that this should be interpreted as
an attempt to subvert the results of the training was absurd. Taleena's conduct
toward Selia might have been over-friendly, perhaps even condescending, but it
certainly didn't warrant such an outrageous punishment.
"Any objections?" Byrria asked Calixtus with a feigned submissiveness
that amounted merely to scorn, and Taleena looked over to the barrel-chested
chief-instructor, certain that he would expose the Thracian's vicious scheme as
what it was - a mere pretext to take her wrath out on the comely recruit whom
she considered to be a rival. But to her dismay, Calixtus refrained from
undermining Byrria's authority a second time. His impassive face betrayed no
sign of disagreement, and he raised no objection.
Taleena looked anxiously toward the bald lanista who had intervened on
her behalf once before, at the time of the first assessment. But as she looked
at his impassive face, Taleena found only resignation, and she had to realize
that Byrria had played her hand well. Even if the chief-instructor might be
well-disposed towards her predicament, how could he contradict the Thracian's
claim that she, Taleena, had not fought at her full strength against her
Baetican comrade?
Taleena's beseeching glance turned into an accusing stare when Calixtus
remained silent, and her anger swelled into rage when she saw the gleeful grin
on the face of Bovarius. Why was she to be whipped while this clumsy German ox
who had performed so badly escaped unscathed? But, since argument would avail
her nothing, and indeed might worsen her sentence, Taleena realized that she was
well advised to let Byrria's reproach pass unchallenged.
Taleena had great respect for the whip, but, remembering the Numidian's
inscrutability, she strove to appear unmoved, and to come to terms with her lot,
unjust though it might be. Twelve lashes from the malevolent Thracian should
prove bearable to one who had survived a galley tasker's scourge. Perhaps, if
she bore the punishment well, the Thracian's hostility toward her might even be
quenched. It was a slender reed on which to lean, but it was the only reed
still standing in the swirling winds of the Ludus Flavianus.
A little surprised at having received no argument from the astonished
Gaul, Byrria turned toward Selia. "And you," she went on, "shall go to the post
again as well! Your first flogging should have been an example to you; but your
performance has still not come close to meeting minimum standards!"
Selia blanched with terror. "No!" She wailed, "I thought... No! Not
again! You can't...Please!"
"Silence!" Byrria snapped back. "A gladiatrix does not beg for mercy!
If you cannot accept your punishment without complaint, you shall suffer for
your cowardice as well!"
"But it's not fair!" Selia pleaded pathetically. "I tried so hard. I
... I even won the race. Tell them," she begged, turning desperately to the
taller girl beside her, as if Taleena could protect her from the Thracian's
wrath. "Tell them that I won the race...." Her voice trailed away miserably as
eyes trailed imploringly from Taleena to Calixtus, but once again the
chief-instructor did not intervene.
"You shall be first!" Byrria commanded, unmoved by the girl's pleas.
"Gag her!" she added, when Selia continued to beseech her for mercy. "I grow
weary of her whimpering."
Byrria's callousness towards the Spaniard enraged Taleena as much as her
own sentence. When the guards approached, Selia tried to take Taleena's hand in
a final, desperate appeal for help, but Taleena could only watch in helpless
rage as the guards tore the hysterical girl from her grasp. Taleena's heart was
overflowing as the guards dragged the Spaniard's slender, thrashing body toward
the ominous cross. When they arrived there, they crammed a wooden rod into her
mouth, thereby stifling her pathetic protests, and strapped the crude bridle to
her neck with a leathern chord.
When the two guards in charge had bound Selia's wrists, once again
stretching her lissome body to its utmost, the sight of the poor Baetican's bare
back seemed to move even those ruthless men to some consideration of pity; the
welts and weals Selia bore - some scabbed across, others raised in purple and
red - bore mute testimony to her first punishment. But the flashing-eyed lanista
from the savage wilds of Thrace seemed immune to such humane considerations.
Taleena, overwhelmed by the outrageous injustice of the moment, clenched
her fingers into white-knuckled fists in an effort to keep her boiling rage
under control as Byrria slid the ugly braided whip from its place on the hook.
It was one thing to enforce discipline, to punish a recruit who had failed to
live up to the barbaric code of the Flavian fighting school. But the
slight-figured Spaniard had given of her very best, a remarkable achievement
since her progress had been made in the painful aftermath of her first flogging.
Her punishment was not only heartlessly cruel, it was purposeless. It could
only break her slender body, instead of spurring her on to even greater efforts.
Taleena could not believe that Calixtus would permit such an evil thing to
happen under his watch, but the stocky chief-instructor wore the expression of a
man who had grown weary of opposing Byrria's machinations.
Byrria flicked the whip in an impatient gesture, and then she dealt
briskly with Selia, as if she were a hungry diner anxious to finish a bland
appetizer so that the servants could bring on a more satisfying second course.
For everyone assembled before the sinister cross knew that the proud Gaul was
the true target of Byrria's cruel verdict, the mouth-watering main course the
Thracian longed to devour; and a good many of them guessed that the punishment
of Selia was in fact only a stratagem that was designed to punish the proud
Avernian as much as the petite Spaniard, to soften up her will, so that the
long-legged Gaul, in her turn, would grovel under the lash.
Taleena flinched in empathetic agony with each fall of the lash and each
shuddering spasm of Selia's agonized body. The rhythmic crack of the whip echoed
loudly across the yard in cruel monotony, each stroke jarring Selia's slender
form, and drawing stifled screams as the young Baetican wailed pitifully into
her gag. After the seventh stroke, Selia's body wilted as unconsciousness
spared her from further agony. Her head drooped forward onto her shoulders but
the unforgiving ropes held her upright while Byrria applied the final five
strokes to her bare back with the same flesh-scalding force as she had the first
seven.
Repulsed by the cruel sight, Taleena turned her head away, and when she
did so, she was not surprised to see Rutilius standing nearby among a group of
guards, watching the flogging excitedly. But she was more than a little puzzled,
knowing his spiteful nature, by the fact that he had not come forward to assist
in Selia's punishment.
When the twelfth lash had fallen, signalling the completion of the grim
sentence, one of the guards in charge released the ropes that had held Selia's
blood-streaked body upright, and she slumped to the ground with her limbs
extended in an unnatural manner. "Revive her!" Byrria snapped at one of the
attendants. "So that we can continue the proceedings," she added, giving
Taleena a meaningful look.
But Taleena's eyes for once were not on her Thracian adversary, but on
her fallen friend. The guard who had released her from her bonds had knelt down
alongside Selia to undo the bit gag, but when he pulled it away, Taleena noticed
that the young Spaniard's brown eyes had rolled up and were now a ghastly
fishbelly white. Just then the other attendant returned with a bucket of water,
which he flung over the motionless girl, but even the shock of that cold shower
elicited no response.
"She's dead," Byrria stated the obvious, and her comment brought
an appalled gasp from both the recruits and the fighters. These men were
hardened to scenes of human suffering, since death was their constant companion
in the amphitheatre, but to see a comrade, even the least among them as Selia
had been, die outside of the ring, with no chance of defending herself, left a
foul taste in each of their mouths.
They would never know if the poor girl had choked on her gag or died
from the strain of the flogging, but Taleena was sure that she knew the actual
reason for her death: poor Selia's will to live had deserted her the moment
Byrria had summoned her to the cross for the second time. Her fragile heart had
given out under the brutal torment of the whip and the hopeless certainty that
no matter how hard she tried and how valiantly she fought, the next week's
training would have ended in much the same way.
The yard was as deathly silent as it had been when Calixtus had
recounted the story of his son's death. Taleena, stunned, glanced at the
recruits next to her, and then at the veteran fighters who stood at some
distance away, near the dining area, and then back to the appalling scene
unfolding before them. They all remained passive and solemnly respectful while
Selia's lifeless body was placed on a stretcher, and when the litter-bearing
attendants had trudged off toward the infirmary, Taleena could hold her raging
emotions in check no longer.
"That wasn't punishment!" she raged at Byrria. "Or discipline.
It was murder! Cold-blooded murder!"
"She'd never have survived the training, anyway, let alone her first
fight," the Thracian retorted defensively. But the mere fact that she tried to
justify Selia's death was convincing proof that she herself felt uneasy about
the fatal outcome. There might have been even some truth in the Thracian's
heartless words, but Byrria's refusal to show the slightest sign of remorse or
regret caused Taleena to lose her temper completely.
"So flogging her to death was an act of mercy?!" she spat out, her eyes
flaring with contempt. "She was little more than a girl and she was helplessly
bound while you meted out your ... your ... punishment! Is this the sort of
fighting spirit you're trying to teach us?!"
Byrria raised a dark eyebrow in response to Taleena's withering
accusations, and they locked eyes in mutual hatred. "Mind your words, Gaul!" she
admonished her coldly, "Your own punishment has yet to be carried out!" If the
death of Selia had ever ruffled the iron-willed Thracian's composure, she was
her imperious self once again. "Tell me, Calixtus," she addressed the
chief-instructor in a challenging voice. "Have you ever heard a recruit speak
to one of Flavius' trainers in such a disrespectful manner?"
Calixtus looked troubled, but replied in a voice bereft of emotion "No."
Byrria turned back toward Taleena, her black eyes blazing with
triumphant fury. "You see? Your insolence is outrageous! And it has just earned
you a second dozen lashes. Take her to the cross!!"
But Taleena's wrath was such that she was beyond the point of caring
about her own fate. "You had better flog me to death, too, Thracian," Taleena
railed, referring to the land of the lanista with the same contempt with which
Byrria had spat the word 'Gaul' at her since the first day of training. "For I
swear by the gods that I will make you rue the day you killed that girl!"
This last outburst drew a stunned gasp from the onlookers, but Byrria
said nothing, calmly coiling the blood-streaked whip, while she glared at
Taleena. And then she spoke.
"Three dozen," she stated icily, her dark eyes smouldering as they bore
into Taleena's. "You fool! Do you think that threatening me will bring the
Spaniard back to life? It only lengthens your own time at the post!"
The air seemed to pulse with tension as the two opponents stared each
other down, but in the end Taleena managed to suppress the overpowering urge to
throw herself upon the cold-hearted Thracian. Despite her callous indifference,
Byrria had been correct about one thing - nothing Taleena might do could help
Selia now. Despite her rage at the injustice and cruelty of Selia's fate, it
was her own that must concern her now - and her anger had accomplished little
more than to infuriate Byrria - and to triple her own sentence. Three dozen
lashes! The consequences of her display of temper had just begun to sink in.
She had seen what one dozen lashes had done to the bare back of her poor
companion, and the very thought of her own sentence caused her stomach to ball
into a tight knot. She felt her legs go unsteady beneath her as she
contemplated the horrific effects of a flogging that would be triply severe.
"Let's get this over with, then," she uttered finally, trying to sound
fearless, but a faint quaver in her voice showed that she had not yet fully
regained her composure.
Taleena stepped boldly forward out of the line to let herself be led to
the looming cross, brushing aside the eager hands of Rutilius, who had stepped
forward to seize her arm. Taleena's stomach turned as it occurred to her why
the craven youth had lurked in the background watching excitedly while Selia's
punishment had been carried out. He had wanted to ensure that he would play a
part in her own. Taleena prayed silently to the gods that the despicable young
man would be given no chance to avenge her mocking words when she had confronted
him after he had bullied little Larius.
"I can make it to the post without help!" she spat out proudly. "And
least of all do I need your assistance!" she added fiercely, biting off the word
'your' disdainfully. She elbowed the speechless young guard out of her way and
strode toward the cross with all the courage she could muster.
When Taleena was but a step away from the grisly post and its fearful
bonds - the same coarse ropes which had imprisoned Selia only a short time ago -
a wave of gut-wrenching trepidation swept over her, threatening to shatter her
resolve to endure her punishment with fortitude. But somehow she managed to
remain calm on the surface, even as the icy tendrils of terror crept up her
spine, and it was with a gesture of placid submissiveness that she extended her
hands toward Rutilius' waiting grasp.
"You're not so cocky anymore, galley whore," he sneered under his
breath, his eerie, almost coal black eyes glowing triumphantly as he noted the
faint trembling of Taleena's hands. "Now that you're about to hug the cross!" he
added and gave Taleena a knowing grin that caused her blood to run cold.
"You dared me to demand satisfaction from you the other day!" he hissed
as he slipped the double-noosed ropes over her slender wrists and drew them
painfully tight. "But why should a Roman stoop to tangling with the likes of
you? I'll take my satisfaction today, slave. Thirty-six lashes!" he whispered
gloatingly, as he gave the coarse wrist-ropes a final painful jerk.
"Thirty-six! And I'm going to enjoy every last one of them!"
His thin lips formed a cruel rictus of anticipation as he stepped back
and signalled his iron-jawed comrade to prepare to lift the body of the
statuesque blonde in unison. It was only then that Taleena recognized the other
guard as the one who had taken her side when she had confronted Rutilius two
days ago. But whether the gray-haired guard felt sympathy for her current
plight, or disdain for the cowardly Rutilius, she could not tell.
A moment later, Taleena gasped when her shoulders were jerked painfully
upward as the two men gave the hempen ropes a fierce yank. The onlookers
watched with awe as they heard the ominous sound of thick rope rubbing against
wood as the slender miscreant's arms were hoisted high above her head, forcing
her to stand on tip-toes to minimize the appalling strain on her shoulders.
Then, having finished their preparatory work, the two guards secured the ropes
to the upright and stepped aside, leaving the stage to Byrria and her serpentine
weapon. While his grey-haired companion stepped well back from the cross,
Rutilius continued to hover nearby, eyeing Taleena's taut-stretched body in lewd
anticipation.
Byrria eyed Rutilius with an amused expression. "Were you aware that
you have such a fervent admirer among the guards, Gaul?" she asked scornfully.
"From the look on his face, it appears that he'd like to assist you with your
costume. Go ahead, boy, she's in no position to fight back. Undo the knot on
her strophium - if you know how!"
Taleena and Rutilius both blushed at Byrria's patronizing mockery -
Taleena with shame and Rutilius with embarrassment - but the skinny guard edged
closer eagerly, until he stood directly behind the bound delinquent. His hands
trembled slightly as he reached out to touch Taleena at the waist, where the top
of her loin-cloth met soft, bare skin, and his questing fingers slid slowly up
her pliable back, toward the knot that held her breast-veiling strophium in
place.
Excited by the prospect of stripping the golden-haired Gaul, Rutilius'
hands fumbled nervously at the knot, his lack of dexterity quickly revealing him
to be as inexperienced at such things as Byrria had implied. He cursed under
his breath angrily when his clumsiness was met with a derisive murmur from the
onlookers, and he reached around Taleena to grab the front of the flimsy muslin
band with both hands. He gave it a vicious wrench, ripping it down over her
full breasts in a smooth motion that allowed his hands to brush across her pale
pink nipples, before tearing the tattered garment from Taleena's lush body with
a violent motion that spun her halfway around, revealing, for an instant, a
bobbing breast to the virile spectators. But then the torque on her wrist-ropes
reversed and her body whirled back in the opposite direction, leaving the
bare-breasted beauty facing the rough-splintered post.
"Well done!" Byrria commended Rutilius in a half-scoffing tone, amused
by the young man's clumsy impetuousness. She studied the creamy expanse of
Taleena's tapering back as if she were surveying the richness of a lush
landscape. "But for three dozen lashes I shall need a larger canvas!" She
added. "Finish the job, boy! Undo her belt, and show us her sweet Gallic ass!
Taleena flinched at the coarse words, flushing with shame at the thought
of being stripped to the skin, and closed her eyes as she felt the eager hands
of Rutilius clutching her hips, fumbling with the buckle of her belt.
But with every eye in the compound riveted on him, the young man did not
dare to take further advantage of the situation, and once he had managed to
unclasp the Gaul's girdle, he tore it down along with her loin-cloth. For a
moment he had to fight back the impulse to caress the deep-cleft bottom which
was so temptingly close to his hands, notwithstanding all the watchful eyes of
the audience; but perhaps, he consoled himself, there would be another time,
after the whizzing whip had left its sizzling signature on those perfect
half-moons...
Taleena gasped audibly when the linen was jerked from between her
thighs, and she strove to control her agitated breathing. There had been no need
for Byrria to have her fully exposed for the whip, she thought, but the
Thracian's orders made it clear that she not only intended to discipline her
Avernian adversary - she sought to make a spectacle of her that none would ever
forget! Rutilius had stepped away from her, now, so that recruits and guards
alike had an unobstructed view of her naked body, and despite her efforts to
calm herself, the rigor of her suspension caused the muscles in her buttocks and
thighs to twitch uncontrollably.
But Byrria was still not content with the extent of Taleena's misery.
"Hoist the Gallic bitch higher!" she exhorted the two guards, anxious to put the
finishing touches on Taleena's preparatory ordeal. Her lip turned upward in a
cold sneer. "So that she is closer to her pagan gods!"
Rutilius and his grey-haired comrade stepped forward again. The sadistic
young guard's hands trembled with excitement as he and his counterpart released
the ropes from the hook again, only to give them one more powerful jerk,
wrenching another gasp from Taleena's lips as her bare feet left the ground.
The coarse hemp creaked under the stress being imposed on it by her body
and the ankle-weights. When she had been lifted high enough so that her fingers
could reach the cross-piece, Taleena's fingers found a crack on top of the
weathered wood and clung to it, trying to ease the cutting force of the ropes
that scored into her wrists. Hanging at full stretch against the post, she was
surprised that its surface was so rough. From a distance the post had looked
fairly smooth, but now that her naked body was pressed against it, the
rough-hewn timber scratched her breasts and thighs. As she had when she'd first
seen the cross, she wondered briefly why the two slots had been bored into the
upright, but no answer came to mind.
Hanging from her wrists, feeling as helpless as Andromeda chained to her
rock, Taleena cursed Byrria's cunning cleverness. The Thracian tigress knew
that with each passing moment the cold grip of fear would tighten around her
victim's heart like an iron band, sapping her strength and weakening her will.
The crudely staged removal of her clothing had heightened her awareness of her
vulnerability, and now that she felt the tender flesh of her breasts press
against the rough wood of the post, she could feel her nipples stiffen in
fear-induced arousal. Taleena's fingers dug deeper into the crack in the wood as
panic threatened to engulf her - how could she possibly endure the forthcoming
flogging when its mere preparations had left her in such a terrified state?
Breathing deeply she raised her eyes to the top of the cross to have something
to focus on, and strove desperately to steady her racing pulse.
Byrria stepped toward the suspended Avernian with a feline grace, like a
tigress detecting the pungent scent of fear, knowing that her cruel foreplay had
begun to take some of the fight out of her victim.
"You like to act tough, Gaul?!" she sneered, as she slowly dragged the
coiled whip up along the sinuous crease between Taleena's firm buttocks, smiling
at Taleena's involuntary flinching. Then she slid the well-greased length of
hide over the soft indentations of Taleena's spine, and higher still, across her
rounded shoulders, letting the rolled-up leather sweep the helpless Avernian's
blonde tresses clear of the striking area. "Well, now's your chance to show us
what you're made of!"
Taleena felt herself growing faint at the thought of what was about to
be done to her. It struck her with awful clarity that even if she displayed the
valour of Vergingetorix, the most valourous of the Averni, and managed to
suppress her screams of pain, her vulnerable body would respond to the
flesh-searing strokes of the Thracian with a will of its own. There would be no
way to prevent the muscles in her back and buttocks from quivering, or to hide
her facial contortions when the whip took its gruesome toll.
It was small consolation that only Rutilius and his grey-haired comrade
were positioned so that they could see her grimaces of pain, the inevitable
bobbing of her breasts once her body had begun its dreadful dance, and the
gyrations of her loins when the lashes began to fall. But the knowledge that
the spiteful youth would be gloating at her suffering was a punishment in and of
itself. She glanced at his partner hopefully, but although the older man did
not sport the gleeful grin of Rutilius, he could no more resist the lure of her
nude, tautly stretched body, than his contemptible comrade. As she watched him
admiring the soft contours of her exposed flank, she screamed silently to
herself to focus. "Focus on the upright before you, not the cruel tigress
behind you, nor the smirking jackal beside you! Let them take their flesh and
blood - but cheat them of their satisfaction!"
XVIII.
Within the hearts of the onlookers, the prospect of the
blue-eyed Avernian's punishment stirred a variety of emotions. Most regarded the
forthcoming flogging with shocked indignation, since the disturbing recollection
of Selia's fatal punishment still lingered in the forefront of everyone's
memory. And the almost unprecedented number of lashes guaranteed that Taleena's
would be no ordinary disciplinary flogging, but rather a bloody reckoning.
Most felt some sort of compassion for the brave girl. Breaca,
the ginger-haired Celt, knew better than anyone what it meant to suffer the
Thracian's wrath. As did Tyra, the ebony-skinned Nubian net-fighter whose
warnings about Byrria's vindictiveness had proved to have been in vain.
But there were also a few who were visibly excited by the prospect of
seeing the proud Gaul suffer the sting of the whip. Chief among them Boiorix,
still smarting from his humiliating draw with the agile Avernian and the
triumphant smile she had flashed him afterwards. The bullish German had grunted
with obscene pleasure when Rutilius had ripped Taleena's loin-cloth down over
her rounded buttocks, salivating at the alluring contrast between the curves of
her pale bottom cheeks and a bare back that had been tanned a rich honey-gold
during her weeks on the bench of the Thetis.
And notwithstanding their sympathies with the condemned Avernian, some
of the most hardened broadswords were busy considering Taleena's forthcoming
ordeal as a sporting proposition, wondering how bravely the dangling girl would
react to the inexorable toll taken by Byrria's whip.
The burly Levantine pole-fighter elbowed the tall Phoenician who stood
beside him, and held up ten swarthy fingers, indicating his belief that Taleena
could not endure ten lashes before screaming or begging for mercy. It had been
these men whose eyes had wandered so freely over the still-dripping curves of
Taleena's naked body when they had come upon her just after she had pleasured
herself in the baths. Hamilkar the Phoenician appraised the well-toned body that
hung from the cross and, ignoring the censorious eye of Tyra, the slim Nubian
beauty who had completed the trio on that memorable morning, accepted his
scar-faced crony's mercenary wager.
Despite the unfairness of the sentence, those two veterans, like all the
other men in the audience, had no wish to deny themselves the spectacle of the
naked beauty writhing under the lash. Their memory of Taleena's sensuous,
bath-moistened body on that previous occasion was refreshed by the sight of her
bare back, the bulging contours of the outer curves of her breasts pressed
tautly against the upright, and the dark shadow at the base of her buttock cleft
- visions tantalizing enough to tempt men far less lustful than they. Every
muscle in the Avernian's slender arms, her shapely legs, and her trim torso was
stretched to an astonishing tautness by her suspension, and the smears of arena
dust which clung to every fighter's body after a training session offered a
delicious contrast to the tawny, sweat-gleaming planes and hollows of her
splendid body.
* * *
An expectant hush descended upon the audience, and the tension in the
yard became almost palpable when Byrria stepped into position behind and to the
left of her voluptuous victim.
Taleena braced herself as she heard the ominous sound of leather being
dragged across the dusty ground, and raised her chin another inch, setting her
teeth against her underlip. An instant later the whip whistled through the air,
and made her jerk rigid in her bonds when the greased leather struck her
shoulders with a resounding crack - for the first of thirty six times.
To those in attendance, the spasming of Taleena's naked body and the
sharp expulsion of breath told of the punishing fury of the stroke, just as the
lurid, blood-thickened weal that traversed her smooth shoulders spoke of the
lash-wielder's expertise.
Taleena had had more than a taste of the whip at the galley, but the
frayed strands of the whip which had been used by the tasker had caused a less
intense pain - even though they had been applied to her sunburned flesh.
Abrasive as it had been, the sting of the tasker's rope-whip could not be
compared to the searing agony inflicted by this supple, single-thonged whip. It
surged through her body like a wave of scalding heat, and if she had not bitten
down hard on her lip, the pain of the lash would have drawn a cry from the
depths of her soul.
A moment later another harsh whistle served as the brief prelude to the
second crack of the whip. The evil thong landed with fierce impact across
Taleena's shoulder blades, momentarily chasing the blood from the skin before it
sprang back, leaving only the burning pain of a second swelling, darkening weal
in its wake. But since she knew better now what to brace herself for, Taleena's
reaction was more controlled this time, and her silent scream of agony remained
locked in her throat. The third lash was dealt out and borne, then the fourth,
each of which inscribed scarlet stripes on the flawless parchment of her skin.
The vigour of the strokes was matched by the Thracian's accuracy. Like a
meticulous architect, Byrria drew a cruel, crimson ground plan on her living
canvas, beginning at the Gaul's rounded shoulders and descending with a sadistic
sense of symmetry down the well-toned expanse of her sweat-glistening back. With
the eleventh lash, the whip reached Taleena's bare behind, and the supple thong
produced a sharp smacking crack as it wrapped around the pale white globes which
quivered most enticingly under the impact of the stroke. Taleena reared against
the cross in her dreadful anguish as flames of pain shot down through her legs
and up through her spine to burst into her brain in a ball of searing white
light, and a stifled, pain-defying "Nnnnnnnngh!" escaped her clenched jaws. Her
misery was compounded when she heard Rutilius emit a guttural growl of
satisfaction. "Yes, dance to the crack of the whip, wench, like you've danced
in my dreams!" he whispered ecstatically, as Taleena's bare legs clawed the air,
frantically seeking a purchase which was not to be found.
Byrria, too, appeared to be quite gratified by with the result of her
recent lash, which had wrenched the first true admission of suffering from the
Gaul's lips. The whip-wielding tigress waited patiently for the convulsed,
welt-ridged cheeks of her victim's heart-shaped behind to relax their muscular
contractions before she dealt out the last of the first dozen lashes.
Once more a frightful crack echoed in the silence of the courtyard as
the braided leather imprinted a diagonal streak which ran from the edge of
Taleena's right hip across the tightening nether ovals of her bare bottom,
before biting keenly into the base of her left buttock. Under the impetus of
that blow, the golden-haired Gaul's nude body seemed to surge up against the
post, and her head tossed back while she hissed another tear-choked
"Nnnnnnnnnngh!" through clenched teeth, desperately striving to swallow her
pain.
The tension amongst the onlookers had grown apace, and scarcely stifled
gasps were heard from each corner of the audience as they observed the refined
cruelty with which the Thracian administered the strokes. The fighters could not
but be impressed by the near-silent fortitude with which Taleena had borne the
first twelve lashes of her ordeal. Hamilkar shot his scar-faced companion a
meaningful glance, but his satisfaction at having won their gruesome bet was
double-edged. Not without good reason the grim veteran suspected that the
maintenance of her heroic silence would be the surest way for the suffering
Avernian to induce Byrria to redouble her savagery...
* * *
If the Thracian was vexed by her victim's refusal to cry out, she
concealed it well. But with four and twenty lashes still to be administered,
she could be quite confident that the brave Gaul's capitulation was only a
matter of time, and that the screams Byrria longed to hear would soon be echoing
through the compound.
The Thracian had delivered the first dozen lashes with careful
deliberation, spacing them far enough part so that Taleena could savour the full
force of each lash, and yet with no predictable rhythm which would have allowed
her bound prisoner to brace herself properly. Still moving deliberately, Byrria
altered her position, taking a new stance behind Taleena and to her right, as
she transferred the whip to her well-rested left hand. Her own diligent training
had lent her an ambidexterity which most men could only envy, and which soon
would add another painful dimension to Taleena's agonizing ordeal.
Taleena could not see what was going on behind her back, but she heard
Byrria's footsteps crunching on the dry ground, and when the steps stopped, she
knew that it was time to brace herself again. She dug her fingers deeper into
the crack in the wood of the crossbar and moaned softly when she tried to
readjust her weight, raising her head another inch, taking a long, shuddering
breath. She realized then how difficult it was for her to breathe, but at least
her outstretched posture would help her to keep from screeching out her lungs.
Byrria carefully measured the distance to the naked figure at the post,
then stepped closer to her target before drawing the whip back and then sending
it rocketing forward. Byrria's aim was true - the lash curled around Taleena's
flank so that its stinging tip nipped at the soft flesh under the Avernian's arm
even as the full length of the leathern thong scored a diagonal weal across the
breadth of her burning back, crossing the livid weals that had preceded it.
As much as Taleena had tried to prepare herself for this fresh onslaught
of pain, she had not reckoned with such a vicious slash coming from her right.
The scalding fury of the stroke pried her clenched jaws open, and for the first
time she wished fervently that she had been gagged as Selia had been. Having no
such restraint, her open mouth could no longer contain the scream welling within
her, and it took every ounce of her strength to confine her cry to a
half-strangled, "Uhh-uhnnnnnngghhh!"
As lash followed lacerating lash, Taleena felt the rising flames of pain
sapping her will. She had not yet screamed, but she couldn't stifle a groan of
unutterable anguish each time the whip ripped open her skin at the points where
the lash marks crossed. The sweat that laved her body cauterized the spots of
torn skin, and the stinging pain brought tears to her eyes.
Through eyes made misty by tears she could see Rutilius clench his right
fist in triumph each time her nude body buckled under the lash. Strangely, the
sight of the despicable youth renewed her determination to deny him the
satisfaction he sought, and redoubled her desire to prevail over her spiteful
adversaries. Her swelling groans might give ample proof to her ebbing endurance,
but while she had almost given up all hope of enduring the quota of lashes, she
vowed to suppress her screams, and to dam the flow of tears as long as she
could.
A few moments later, the whip licked out again, thirsting for Taleena's
agony, and found it when its whizzing tip delivered a biting kiss to the side of
her left breast, just where the tender flesh was squeezed into a bulging curve
between her soft body and the rough post.
Judging from the nastiness of this stroke, most of the spectators had
reckoned with a scream this time, and indeed the suffering woman's quivering
lips once more opened wide with a harsh breath, but again nothing more than
another hoarse, drawn-out "Uh-hu-unnnnggghhh" left her throat.
As each lash drove the brave Gaul closer to the precipice of defeat, and
as each harrowing groan became more pitiable than a full blown scream, one
onlooker after another averted his eyes from the cruel spectacle, as if ashamed
to heighten the doomed Avernian's degradation by giving his attention to it. But
no such compunctions troubled the burly Boiorix, whose thick manhood pulsed
pleasurably in his loin-cloth with every crack of the whip and every plaintive
moan, or Rutilius, the young pervert who enjoyed nothing more than watching the
luscious body of the too-proud blonde shudder at each withering stroke.
Byrria, too, was unmoved by the Avernian's piteous strugglings. The
Thracian's full, sensuous lips seemed to curl into a tight smile after every
stroke, and she proceeded with dreadful efficiency, sensing just how to produce
the maximum suffering. She timed the intervals between the lashes perfectly,
allowing Taleena just enough time to recover from her pain-induced rigidity,
before plunging her back into the depths of her private Tartarus. Each stroke of
the whip was met with a low throaty groan, groans that grew longer and louder as
the flogging transported Taleena to ever-higher thresholds of agony. But still
the proud Avernian contained the overpowering urge to scream.
After the twenty-fourth stroke, Byrria returned to her original
position, so that she might apply the last dozen with a fresh right arm. At this
time, the raven-haired Thracian, too, was soaked with sweat, her face and arms
and bare legs gleaming with the perspiration of prolonged physical exertion, her
luscious curves plainly visible against her clinging blue tunic.
But there was no blue fabric to hide the cruel crimson pattern of
criss-crossing welts which marked Taleena's body, and the sweat that covered her
raw, smarting flesh was only bedecked by the blood that oozed from the spots of
torn skin, gathering in pale red rivulets which trickled down the ravaged planes
of her back.
* * *
Taleena was but semi-conscious now, and longing to lapse fully into a
Lethe-like void of senselessness that might exempt her from her desperate
struggle; but her indomitable will, though weakened, would not allow her to
escape her torment in that fashion. Her head fell forward against the upright,
and with her remaining consciousness she tried to concentrate on the pressure of
her forehead against the wood, rather than the scalding pain of her back. Her
hands had slipped from the cross-bar on the twenty-third lash, but in a final
effort to rebel against her looming loss of vigour, her fingers clung to the
ropes that held her.
Byrria let the whip-ravaged blonde hang on the cross unmolested for what
seemed like an eternity. The long interval not only offered Taleena ample time
to savour the full measure of her mind-searing agony, it also caused her to lose
the rhythm of the flogging, so that she would not know when to brace herself
once the lashes began to fall again. When the moment finally came, Taleena's
pain-drenched mind missed the warning whistle of the whip, and when the leather
landed across her raw back, every muscle in her limp body seemed to tense and
spasm in reaction to the suddenness of the blow.
By now Taleena could not have screamed loudly, even if she had wanted
to; her stretched position prevented her lungs from expanding fully as she
struggled to balance the need to draw breath with the desire to withhold her
cries of pain. The result was an almost toneless sobbing whine - tiny mewling
sounds that were testimony to an agony so intense that it was inexpressible in
any other way.
By the time the thirtieth stroke had fallen, Taleena was almost
prostrate in defeat, and the onlooking fighters were appalled to see that Byrria
continued to wield the whip with undiminished force. Brutalizing a vanquished
opponent was a practice frowned upon by gladiators, but the Thracian seemed
determined to make the proud Gaul drain the bitter draught of degradation to the
dregs.
It was not until the ultimate stroke that Byrria paused again, allowing
her semi-conscious victim a last respite. Then she took a step back and leaned
into the final lash, putting all of her gathered momentum into it, as if to
prove what devastation she might have wrought had she used her full strength on
every lash.
A particularly sharp crack rent the air as the leather slapped against
Taleena's luridly-wealed buttocks, leaving a rent in its wake which quickly
filled with blood. This final master-stroke wrenched a final confession of
suffering from the courageous beauty's trembling lips, a withering, whimpering
"Uh-huh-huh-hunnnggghh-ngh," throaty and full, as if her very soul was giving
vent to her relief that her dreadful anguish was over.
An eerie silence fell over the yard after that final lash, and many of
the spectators averted their eyes from the cross and its welt-streaked human
burden. Even some of those who had watched the cruel spectacle with occasional
twinges of sexual pleasure, like Arminius and the Numidians, were sobered by the
sight of the lovely young woman whose pride and defiance had brought such a
dreadful punishment upon herself. The fearful flogging had cooled the ardour of
all but the worst voyeurs.
Calixtus, a veteran of a score of disciplinary floggings in the Legion,
looked rather pale and drawn, clearly shaken by Taleena's savage punishment.
His hand shook a little as he held up his wax tablet to call off the names of
those to whom he had awarded demerits, but after he glanced at Taleena's
blood-streaked body, he lowered his tablet, and announced curtly that none of
the men had earned a punishment.
The grim chief-instructor was the first to leave the courtyard, and as
the relieved recruits began to drift away, a semi-conscious Taleena suddenly
felt a chill, as if a looming shadow had blocked out the setting sun. She
glanced back over her whip-ravaged shoulder to see Byrria standing over her
triumphantly, and gave her a look that would have done justice to a Gorgon.
Unphased by Calixtus' departure, Byrria rolled up the whip and walked
slowly toward the cross to hang it on its hook with the care with which most
women would handle her favourite gown. Then she loosened the ropes from which
her victim had been suspended, and since Taleena's legs were incapable of
supporting her anymore, her body sagged painfully to the ground while her arms
clung weakly to the post to keep her from collapse
As she slid to her knees, Taleena groaned as the inner contours of her
tender breasts scraped against the rough-splintered wood. She was well aware
that her Pyrrhic victory - neither having screamed, nor cried even during the
worst extremity of her suffering - was gainsaid by her deplorable physical
state. But the true victory was that she had, notwithstanding her pitiable
appearance, survived a flogging thrice as severe as that which had cost poor
Selia her life. The force of the lash might have driven her to her knees, but
she managed to raise her head in a final gesture of defiance, glaring at Byrria
with eyes blinded by tears of suffering.
"I'm still alive," she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice no more
than a croak, "you'll need more... than a whip... to kill me!"
Byrria met the accusing glare of the woman she had flogged with such
evil passion, and for a fleeting moment, Taleena thought to detect a certain
softness pass over the Thracian's face. But what could have been taken for
forbearance was rather a profound satisfaction, satisfaction with having put her
counterpart in her place.
The dark-eyed lanista looked down on the impertinent recruit who had
dared to challenge her authority, and was now kneeling at the foot on the cross,
her nude, sweat-glistening, welt-streaked body bathed in the waning glow of the
setting sun. The whipped Avernian clung to the post with her last ounce of
strength to maintain her upright position, even though she must have longed to
sink to the ground in a faint. Her muscles quivered under the strain she imposed
on them, and the torn skin of her back seemed to twitch with every whisper of a
breeze that swept through the courtyard.
"So there's fight in you yet, Gaul." A hint of amusement at the
Avernian's ineffectual attempt to display her unbroken spirit seemed to have
crept into the Thracian's voice. "You did well," she added with the
condescending generosity of a victor who has inflicted a crushing defeat on a
vanquished foe. "I have to give you that." She took hold of one of Taleena's
sweat-soaked tresses and twisted it around her finger playfully. "But even so,
you served my purpose," she added pensively. "A living example leaves a
longer-lasting impression than a dead one; your punishment will be a good lesson
for anyyone who would dare to oppose me!"
Taleena tried to turn her pain-stricken face away in disgust, but the
Thracian tigress tightened her grip on her blonde mane. "And if you choose to
defy me again," she hissed, as she jerked Taleena's head around to face her own,
"by this time next week, you'll want to barter your fate for that of the
Spaniard!"
She released Taleena's hair, only to run the nail of her
forefinger across Taleena's shoulders, an eyelash beneath a red-edged
laceration. "One last thing, Gaul," Byrria added wickedly as she felt Taleena's
tortured body tense under her touch. "Since your injuries are the result of a
punishment not directly related to the training, you are not to see Athenodoros
or his men."
"Enjoy your day of rest, Gaul," Byrria concluded spitefully. "You will
need it to prepare yourself for next week!" Then with a final vindictive smile
the Thracian tigress turned on her heel and left the site of her triumph.
