In Conan's novel "The Sword of Skelos", a girl is tortured in a warlock's dungeon, and a little later the warrior Isparana seems to also suffer under the same executioner.
The torches flickered. Its oily smoke added to the sinister grime of the
darkened ceiling beams that linked the stone walls, walls that stood on
a soil of dark packed earth. The victim hung from one of those beams, and his feet
they hardly touched the ground.
The man in the black hood wound the rope several more times, terribly
skinny, around the girl's wrists, and made sure she was well tied
with a relentless tug. The young woman's body shook convulsively, and her feet had
than to try not to lose all contact with the ground. She, very blonde, and young, and
completely naked except for the leather straps, she was panting, and couldn't contain a
long moan. His limbs were so tightly tied that his blood was no longer
hands. The ropes had scratched and wounded her, dug into her arms, and
dolls as they tied her up. There was nothing more than a tickle there anymore, and he couldn't feel
the hands themselves. He wondered in his misery, as if thinking about something alien, if
they would have turned dark red, or purple, or if the skin would already darken.
Curiously, he felt heat in his arms; by having them stretched upwards I would have had
than to feel cold. When he tried to struggle again, he saw that it would be useless. I was tied up, so
helpless she couldn't move in any way. His heels did not reach the ground ... only
could be held on toes. The man in the black hood was tall, and
he had long arms.
Gutural gurgling gushing out, in garish tones, from lips he couldn't close.
They were dry.
Two men in robes looked at her. One of them said:
-Above.
The girl whimpered at the order. I knew what it meant. The ropes that
holding wrists could slide high on a rolled leather wrap
to one of the beams.
The man in the black hood pulled it up until his feet couldn't reach the
I usually. The girl's moan was horrifying. The two men watched her in silence,
and the torches flickered. The one with the black hood began to raise and lower the rope and his
weight, as if a large bell had been ringing. His huge belly was strained to
cause of effort.
As he went up and down, the victim began to whine repeatedly, and it seemed to him that
his ribs wanted to get out of his meat. They were flogging his body
time that this one, sore, without strength, turned and rocked like a pendulum. The
drenched the sweat. He groaned with each of the painful puffs of breath that
blurted out.
-Speaks!
The girl heard that voice; she was whining, and tears were running down her
cheeks, and did not want to speak.
"I see no reason to keep spanking her." Bring the hot irons.
"N-no ..." she murmured, and her head hung limp.
The man in the black hood tied the end of the rope in such a way that the
girl could only reach the ground of rammed earth with the fingertips of
the feet. He removed a gauntlet from his belt. He put it on as he approached the
brazier: an evil, black object crouched on its six feet, whose head burned.
The wooden handles of two thin black iron bars protruded from it. Coat
a. Its tip gleamed white glow. It was turning yellow as the man returned, without
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in a hurry, with his victim, and she saw him coming with wide eyes. Again he muttered
"No" with his little voice, and the man raised the iron.
The two wearing robes watched as he held the iron firmly, without
hesitations, against the girl's body, which writhed and trembled convulsively,
full of apprehension and horror. She screeched, violently shaking her
head back and forth, and new sweat gleamed and drenched her. The men of
the robes heard how it crackled vividly and how the scorched meat smelled.
-Enough.
The man in the hood removed the iron. His victim was panting, moaning, and smelling his own
burned skin. Sweat drenched her and darkened her hair.
-Speaks!
The girl swallowed repeatedly, and sighed, and whimpered, and gasped.
-Again!
The man in the black hood stepped forward, and the young woman felt the iron approach her.
glowing.
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"I am a Cimmerian, damnation, a Cimmerian," said Conan, and released her, as he admired
silently its value. They had done things to him, and none had been pleasant. These
ragged, 'sparana, my love ... although, I swear, even full of welts and
filthy, and with that burn, naked you are more beautiful than ten other women.
She sat with her meager strength, grimacing, rubbing her
wrists that the rope had wound.
"That chubby pig had wine and food on top of the pallet," he said. With how much
sweetness you speak, beloved, to a poor girl, sweet, innocent, that you abandoned in a
inn with Akter Khan's pigs and dogs. Oh ... Conan ... I'm sorry, but I think
I'm going to pass out ...