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For The Pleasure Of Prince Uday
- Thread starter Eulalia
- Start date
65
The Judge rises. He steps forward, wrapping his black cloak around his thin, crooked body. He looks around the Hall at the many cameras, glares at us two kneeling prisoners, clears his throat, and delivers his ruling.
‘Indeed, Your Highness, a most grave crime has been committed, not only the civil crime of High Treason against the rightful heir to the Sheikhdom of Inglistan, but Treason against Allah, waging war against the instrument of God’s Law. The accused are an infidel and an apostate, neither has shown any hint of remorse or repentance, neither has any claim on the compassion of the Merciful One.
The Holy Qur'an, in Sura Māida, declares, ‘The punishment of those who wage war against Allah and His Apostle, and strive with might and main for mischief through the land is: execution (by beheading), or crucifixion, or the cutting off of hands and feet from opposite sides, or exile from the land: that is their disgrace in this world, and a heavy punishment is theirs in the Hereafter.’
Of these Ḥudūd (prescribed punishments) the one most favoured in such appalling cases of Treason, both by the evidence of Hadith and by the judgements of Sharia Courts, is Crucifixion.
Therefore, in accordance with those principles and following the advice (with no contrary voices heard among those present) of the Supreme Council of Clerics, the condemned will be bound by their arms and shoulders to boards, taken outside the Great Gate of the Palace, and raised up to be exposed naked, where they shall suffer the Torture of Crucfixion, for three nights and three days.
The enemies of Islam, and of Your Highness, will see them and tremble. Maybe they will be moved to put an end to the wretched lives of these tools of their evil plotting. Maybe they will even seek to rescue them – if they dare!
At sunset on the third day, whether they be alive or dead, their bodies will be taken down and thrown on the public rubbish heap. Let those who care do what they will with them, or leave them to feed the crows, the kites and the buzzards.
The Judge rises. He steps forward, wrapping his black cloak around his thin, crooked body. He looks around the Hall at the many cameras, glares at us two kneeling prisoners, clears his throat, and delivers his ruling.
‘Indeed, Your Highness, a most grave crime has been committed, not only the civil crime of High Treason against the rightful heir to the Sheikhdom of Inglistan, but Treason against Allah, waging war against the instrument of God’s Law. The accused are an infidel and an apostate, neither has shown any hint of remorse or repentance, neither has any claim on the compassion of the Merciful One.
The Holy Qur'an, in Sura Māida, declares, ‘The punishment of those who wage war against Allah and His Apostle, and strive with might and main for mischief through the land is: execution (by beheading), or crucifixion, or the cutting off of hands and feet from opposite sides, or exile from the land: that is their disgrace in this world, and a heavy punishment is theirs in the Hereafter.’
Of these Ḥudūd (prescribed punishments) the one most favoured in such appalling cases of Treason, both by the evidence of Hadith and by the judgements of Sharia Courts, is Crucifixion.
Therefore, in accordance with those principles and following the advice (with no contrary voices heard among those present) of the Supreme Council of Clerics, the condemned will be bound by their arms and shoulders to boards, taken outside the Great Gate of the Palace, and raised up to be exposed naked, where they shall suffer the Torture of Crucfixion, for three nights and three days.
The enemies of Islam, and of Your Highness, will see them and tremble. Maybe they will be moved to put an end to the wretched lives of these tools of their evil plotting. Maybe they will even seek to rescue them – if they dare!
At sunset on the third day, whether they be alive or dead, their bodies will be taken down and thrown on the public rubbish heap. Let those who care do what they will with them, or leave them to feed the crows, the kites and the buzzards.
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Not so fast, judge...
...I'm from the Department of Sanitation. Do you have a permit to dump slaves on my rubbish heap?
Is it possible the slaves are saved???
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Damn... well, I tried. I'll go back to doing what I do best...View attachment 520104 In USA, Tree, not in Inglistan ...
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Not so fast, Tree. After three days you can collect them from the rubbish heap, dead or alive.
Maybe they can start a new life. A happy ending after all.
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
That's different!
Gives them some hope, and tied, no mention of nails, but no mention of any ropes other than arms/shoulders, or sedile, so upper body strain will be intense.
I fear whoever was behind this will disappear for a while, and not try to save these two. But I hope I'm wrong.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
For sure, this environmental non-friendly solution has caused more worry than the fact that the two poor innocent slavegirls will have to suffer for days on a cross.
This is CF of course, so we have our preferences.
Nothing beats a good crucifixion (girls, naked, in public,...)
But still, these considerations about priorities remind me of real life, how it happens sometimes.
too true, my good man!!!For sure, this environmental non-friendly solution has caused more worry than the fact that the two poor innocent slavegirls will have to suffer for days on a cross.
This is CF of course, so we have our preferences.
But still, these considerations about priorities remind me of real life, how it happens sometimes.
66
Yasmin and I are in a sort of daze of denial, we crouch for a long while in our cages too shocked and confused to communicate. At last I stammer out,
‘Wh-what’s this stuff about forces of Shaitan, enemies of Islam... might even try to rescue us? What enemies of Islam?’
‘No one but Allah knows,’ sighs Yasmin, ‘Prince Uday’s not short of enemies, but I can’t see any of them bothering to rescue us two slave-rats.’
‘Or even putting us out of our misery.’
We fall silent again, thinking about those boards we’re going to be bound to.
‘Another thing I’m wondering about, Yasmin – what’s happening to Sima, and Turi and the other dancing girls?’
‘I don’t know, I’ve been worrying about them too.’
‘They can hardly be getting their morning run, not with the Brigade of Guards camping in the Palace Garden!’
‘I don’t know, they’d sure wake up the troops! But, seriously, I hope they’ve not got dragged into this mess like we’ve been...’
‘I hope they don’t have to dance while we’re being executed.’
Yasmin sighs again, I can tell she’s trying not to break down and cry. So am I.
‘We’re just baidaq,’ she blurts out, ‘pawns in a game of chess, we’re just being sacrificed to protect the bigger pieces.’
‘But who’s playing with us? Is it just Uday, or is he just one of those bigger pieces on the board?’
‘I don’t think we’re going to find out, not this side of Jannah. I hope we’ll meet again there, Eul.’
‘Kāfireh don’t get into Jannah.’
‘Some hadiths say some of you do – and if all those jihadis are expecting to get seventy-two virgins apiece, they’ll soon run out of virgins – they’ll be rounding up every fuckable female in Jahannam!’
We laugh. When you’re waiting to be crucified, there’s no point in doing anything else...
Yasmin and I are in a sort of daze of denial, we crouch for a long while in our cages too shocked and confused to communicate. At last I stammer out,
‘Wh-what’s this stuff about forces of Shaitan, enemies of Islam... might even try to rescue us? What enemies of Islam?’
‘No one but Allah knows,’ sighs Yasmin, ‘Prince Uday’s not short of enemies, but I can’t see any of them bothering to rescue us two slave-rats.’
‘Or even putting us out of our misery.’
We fall silent again, thinking about those boards we’re going to be bound to.
‘Another thing I’m wondering about, Yasmin – what’s happening to Sima, and Turi and the other dancing girls?’
‘I don’t know, I’ve been worrying about them too.’
‘They can hardly be getting their morning run, not with the Brigade of Guards camping in the Palace Garden!’
‘I don’t know, they’d sure wake up the troops! But, seriously, I hope they’ve not got dragged into this mess like we’ve been...’
‘I hope they don’t have to dance while we’re being executed.’
Yasmin sighs again, I can tell she’s trying not to break down and cry. So am I.
‘We’re just baidaq,’ she blurts out, ‘pawns in a game of chess, we’re just being sacrificed to protect the bigger pieces.’
‘But who’s playing with us? Is it just Uday, or is he just one of those bigger pieces on the board?’
‘I don’t think we’re going to find out, not this side of Jannah. I hope we’ll meet again there, Eul.’
‘Kāfireh don’t get into Jannah.’
‘Some hadiths say some of you do – and if all those jihadis are expecting to get seventy-two virgins apiece, they’ll soon run out of virgins – they’ll be rounding up every fuckable female in Jahannam!’
We laugh. When you’re waiting to be crucified, there’s no point in doing anything else...
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
It is obvious who are the baidaq but what is the hierarchy of the other pieces? Prince Qusay has already been eliminated but all the other pieces are still there: prince Uday, begum Raghida, the grey-haired man, doctor Ajap, general Aziz. Is sheikh Masrur also in the game? Do some of them have a different colour?
Or perhaps they are not playing chess but stratego, where there is also a spy involved.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Cheerleaders at a crucifixion? Original idea!
Thanks Loxuru, I won't be able to get that image from my brain all day! I'm just picturing some of the moves and throws, replicating the writhing on the whipping post and cross, and how you can substitute pom-poms with whips....................
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
It could be based on belly dancing. The moves of the arms (stretched horizontally) and of the hips of the dancers strongly mimic the crux dance.
And it is culturally very appropriate in Inglestan. Prince Uday will like it.
Yes, after the Whip-Strip, the next event is the Crux-Cheer contest -
the winning team get to perform for Royalty - nailed up on crosses!
Oh, that sounds like fun
67
It’s almost a relief when a squad of Guards come to get us from our cages. No messing about, we’re just hustled up the steps and out into the Palace Garden, where Ishaaq and Yunus, the Torturers, and the huge African Keeper of the Prince’s Whips are waiting, alongside a couple of dark wooden beams laid on a pair of trestles.
We kneel, heads bowed, arms wide. Ropes are tied tight around my wrists and upper arms, then the first board is placed on my shoulders, the weight makes me gasp, it’s some heavy kind of wood. Soon my wrists and arms are tied firmly to the front of it, another, stouter and longer rope binds it to my shoulders. The Black slave pushes my head down so I’m kneeling low, getting used to the heavy beam on my back, trying to keep it balanced.
As they start work on Yasmin, there’s a sudden wailing of alarm sirens, the Torturers, and a small crowd of troops who’ve gathered to watch us, instantly flee and dive for cover under whatever structures or equipment they can get to first, leaving us two naked condemned ones wondering what’s coming.
There’s a deafening rattle of gunfire, a whoosh of rockets, I glance up cautiously and see something, probably a drone, spiralling at high speed, somehow programmed to dodge the artillery aimed at it, away into the clouds. Forces of Shaitan? I wonder to myself.
But our oppressors soon return and resume their task. Yasmin’s bound like me, we’re made to stand, Guards simply steadying the boards so we don’t topple, but giving no help. Glancing around as I struggle to my feet, I glimpse some figures at the first floor window of Prince Uday’s quarters, no doubt he’s watching.
We’re made to march, bare feet on crunchy sharp gravel, around the perimeter of the garden, where I ran with the dancing troupe not so many mornings ago. The African is armed with a short whip, he uses it on Yasmin and on me, flicking our bare bums and thighs to keep our pace up, and ever twenty paces or so there’s a soldier with a cane or a strap to flog us on our way. My skin’s still sore and tender from the whip-stripping, it doesn’t take much to make me cry out, and Yasmin squeals too, Allah knows how she’s been tortured.
Along past the steps of the Great Hall and further, turn and head down the long path towards the women’s quarters. My legs are aching, I’m staggering unsteadily, suddenly my toe catches something, probably a can discarded by one of the troops, I stumble and fall on my knees, grazing them. The thrashing this gets me is merciless, I force myself painfully to my feet again, howling to be spared.
A few moments later, Yasmin’s in trouble, I hear her desperate shrieks between thwacks of the whiplash. At last we pass that little door where Sami let me out into the Garden, it’s a sort of landmark in my mental map, I glance at it with a strange pang like I’m recognising an old friend.
Turn along by the high garden wall of the women’s quarters, we reach the little old tower that leads into the smaller court, the place where I was won in the whip-strip. There are steps at either end of the through passage, I stumble at both places and get savaged. Yasmin’s some distance behind me now, I’m anxious for her, but if I’m getting the attentions of the Whip Master, at least she’s being spared those.
We pass along beside one of the ancient buildings, below the window where the Begum Raghida watched while I was whip-stripped, I notice it’s in darkness. The last few yards to the high tower over the Great Gate, the one where Sheikh Masrur entered in his wheelchair. There’s the ramp that he used, but we’re no allowed to use that, I have, with aching, buckling knees, to mount the three steps – hardly a challenge to anyone unburdened, but more than I can manage, again I fall, again I’m flogged.
At last, the Great Gate is open ahead of me, a few more paces and I emerge in the floodlit space in front of the Palace.
It’s almost a relief when a squad of Guards come to get us from our cages. No messing about, we’re just hustled up the steps and out into the Palace Garden, where Ishaaq and Yunus, the Torturers, and the huge African Keeper of the Prince’s Whips are waiting, alongside a couple of dark wooden beams laid on a pair of trestles.
We kneel, heads bowed, arms wide. Ropes are tied tight around my wrists and upper arms, then the first board is placed on my shoulders, the weight makes me gasp, it’s some heavy kind of wood. Soon my wrists and arms are tied firmly to the front of it, another, stouter and longer rope binds it to my shoulders. The Black slave pushes my head down so I’m kneeling low, getting used to the heavy beam on my back, trying to keep it balanced.
As they start work on Yasmin, there’s a sudden wailing of alarm sirens, the Torturers, and a small crowd of troops who’ve gathered to watch us, instantly flee and dive for cover under whatever structures or equipment they can get to first, leaving us two naked condemned ones wondering what’s coming.
There’s a deafening rattle of gunfire, a whoosh of rockets, I glance up cautiously and see something, probably a drone, spiralling at high speed, somehow programmed to dodge the artillery aimed at it, away into the clouds. Forces of Shaitan? I wonder to myself.
But our oppressors soon return and resume their task. Yasmin’s bound like me, we’re made to stand, Guards simply steadying the boards so we don’t topple, but giving no help. Glancing around as I struggle to my feet, I glimpse some figures at the first floor window of Prince Uday’s quarters, no doubt he’s watching.
We’re made to march, bare feet on crunchy sharp gravel, around the perimeter of the garden, where I ran with the dancing troupe not so many mornings ago. The African is armed with a short whip, he uses it on Yasmin and on me, flicking our bare bums and thighs to keep our pace up, and ever twenty paces or so there’s a soldier with a cane or a strap to flog us on our way. My skin’s still sore and tender from the whip-stripping, it doesn’t take much to make me cry out, and Yasmin squeals too, Allah knows how she’s been tortured.
Along past the steps of the Great Hall and further, turn and head down the long path towards the women’s quarters. My legs are aching, I’m staggering unsteadily, suddenly my toe catches something, probably a can discarded by one of the troops, I stumble and fall on my knees, grazing them. The thrashing this gets me is merciless, I force myself painfully to my feet again, howling to be spared.
A few moments later, Yasmin’s in trouble, I hear her desperate shrieks between thwacks of the whiplash. At last we pass that little door where Sami let me out into the Garden, it’s a sort of landmark in my mental map, I glance at it with a strange pang like I’m recognising an old friend.
Turn along by the high garden wall of the women’s quarters, we reach the little old tower that leads into the smaller court, the place where I was won in the whip-strip. There are steps at either end of the through passage, I stumble at both places and get savaged. Yasmin’s some distance behind me now, I’m anxious for her, but if I’m getting the attentions of the Whip Master, at least she’s being spared those.
We pass along beside one of the ancient buildings, below the window where the Begum Raghida watched while I was whip-stripped, I notice it’s in darkness. The last few yards to the high tower over the Great Gate, the one where Sheikh Masrur entered in his wheelchair. There’s the ramp that he used, but we’re no allowed to use that, I have, with aching, buckling knees, to mount the three steps – hardly a challenge to anyone unburdened, but more than I can manage, again I fall, again I’m flogged.
At last, the Great Gate is open ahead of me, a few more paces and I emerge in the floodlit space in front of the Palace.
My takeaway: Not a good idea to stumble or fall!!!!! Maintain sure footing at all times!