batak_b
Guard
The story is set in GRRM's fantasy world, in Yunkai before the Valyrian conquest.
Part 1/10:
Malia
Malia was hearing the roars from her cell and was terrified. She thought she would be prepared but the fear started accumulating within her as a weed ever since she was transported to the arena’s underground the previous evening, as the darkness crept from the eastern wastelands. The prospect of a new life of calm, luxury and never ending joy seemed but a distant desert mirage, a dream that she might never live on to experience. It was that dream that kept her alive in the long year of never ending training and torture. She dreamt of the strong freeborn sons she would bear, while the whips tore up her flesh, she dreamt of the beautiful freeborn daughters she would raise while she was hanging from chains in the dungeon, she dreamt of the sunny villa she would have, while she was running to her last breath in the courtyard, while she was pulling the heavy millstone, while she was lifting heavy loads.
Captured from her native Naath by Ghiscari slavers as a baby, she had been a slave in Yunkai throughout her conscious life. She had become her training as a bed slave early on and had grown a tight, vigorous and strong girl, despite being delicately built and slim. Her toned muscles gave strength unexpected for such a small-bodied woman. Such strength was a valuable asset, as resilience and endurance were usually not found in delicate sex slaves like her, and she was well-kept with the prospect of bringing a huge profit for her master. When her master Tizdaur zo Kurak had told her that he would select her for the next year’s whipping contest, she fainted in terror, earning a vicious flogging, “just the beginning of your training,” as she was told.
Malia had never seen it, but she knew that the whipping contest was the culmination of the Harpy Festivities in Yunkai, a highly expected event throughout the whole Ghiscari Empire, graced at times by the Emperor himself. Held on the last day of the week-long festivities in the Great Arena, it was the only paid spectacle, yet the 50,000-thousand structure was always full to the brim, she knew. Fortunes were gained and lost among nobility, citizenry, traders, slavers and artisans. Malia was well aware that the winner was given her freedom, a villa on the Isle of Cedars, hefty yearly allowance, the chance to marry at will and her children to join the ranks of the Empire’s petty nobility. The losers would die at the whipping posts, scourged to death. The five contestants would be flogged until only one remained alive.
The training for the contest lasted a year, an arduous and painful period for the selected girls, and expensive and at times anxious period for the masters. Malia’s endurance had to be trained to perfection with physical activities all day long, every day, and vicious whippings once a week. She had been whipped with a 14-foot dragonwhip, multi-thronged scourges, leather bullwhips, heavy knouts. She had been lashed on the back, the bottom, the legs, the breasts, the belly, the pussy. She had been knocked to unconsciousness, in the first months she thought she would die under the lash then and there, and – more than once – wished she would. But her overseers were experienced and always knew her limits. During her first flogging with a mere leather bullwhip, she had fainted at the 36th lash. At the end of her training, she could endure in full consciousness almost 50 strokes of the dragonwhip – an instrument so vicious that it was not actually used in the contest in order slow down the deaths and squeeze every bit of suffering. She hoped it would be enough but she had heard that in the past decade all contests had been won by the slave girls of Xiro mo Dunghar.
After each flogging, she had been treated with an ointment from Asshai, known as the Healer. The obnoxious dark substance burned the body like hot irons and had to be applied with Malia chained so that she would not remove the burning liquid from her skin, but in four to six days all open wounds would fully heal without any scars, restoring the skin as smooth as a newborn’s. Concocted from ingredients found in the Shadow Lands, the Healer could only be obtained at great cost and in small quantities, making the training process extremely expensive for the masters and limiting the possibility to organize similar events more frequently, or with more girls.
And now she stood in the cell under the Great Arena, terrified and wondering if she would ever leave this accursed place alive.
Part 1/10:
Malia
Malia was hearing the roars from her cell and was terrified. She thought she would be prepared but the fear started accumulating within her as a weed ever since she was transported to the arena’s underground the previous evening, as the darkness crept from the eastern wastelands. The prospect of a new life of calm, luxury and never ending joy seemed but a distant desert mirage, a dream that she might never live on to experience. It was that dream that kept her alive in the long year of never ending training and torture. She dreamt of the strong freeborn sons she would bear, while the whips tore up her flesh, she dreamt of the beautiful freeborn daughters she would raise while she was hanging from chains in the dungeon, she dreamt of the sunny villa she would have, while she was running to her last breath in the courtyard, while she was pulling the heavy millstone, while she was lifting heavy loads.
Captured from her native Naath by Ghiscari slavers as a baby, she had been a slave in Yunkai throughout her conscious life. She had become her training as a bed slave early on and had grown a tight, vigorous and strong girl, despite being delicately built and slim. Her toned muscles gave strength unexpected for such a small-bodied woman. Such strength was a valuable asset, as resilience and endurance were usually not found in delicate sex slaves like her, and she was well-kept with the prospect of bringing a huge profit for her master. When her master Tizdaur zo Kurak had told her that he would select her for the next year’s whipping contest, she fainted in terror, earning a vicious flogging, “just the beginning of your training,” as she was told.
Malia had never seen it, but she knew that the whipping contest was the culmination of the Harpy Festivities in Yunkai, a highly expected event throughout the whole Ghiscari Empire, graced at times by the Emperor himself. Held on the last day of the week-long festivities in the Great Arena, it was the only paid spectacle, yet the 50,000-thousand structure was always full to the brim, she knew. Fortunes were gained and lost among nobility, citizenry, traders, slavers and artisans. Malia was well aware that the winner was given her freedom, a villa on the Isle of Cedars, hefty yearly allowance, the chance to marry at will and her children to join the ranks of the Empire’s petty nobility. The losers would die at the whipping posts, scourged to death. The five contestants would be flogged until only one remained alive.
The training for the contest lasted a year, an arduous and painful period for the selected girls, and expensive and at times anxious period for the masters. Malia’s endurance had to be trained to perfection with physical activities all day long, every day, and vicious whippings once a week. She had been whipped with a 14-foot dragonwhip, multi-thronged scourges, leather bullwhips, heavy knouts. She had been lashed on the back, the bottom, the legs, the breasts, the belly, the pussy. She had been knocked to unconsciousness, in the first months she thought she would die under the lash then and there, and – more than once – wished she would. But her overseers were experienced and always knew her limits. During her first flogging with a mere leather bullwhip, she had fainted at the 36th lash. At the end of her training, she could endure in full consciousness almost 50 strokes of the dragonwhip – an instrument so vicious that it was not actually used in the contest in order slow down the deaths and squeeze every bit of suffering. She hoped it would be enough but she had heard that in the past decade all contests had been won by the slave girls of Xiro mo Dunghar.
After each flogging, she had been treated with an ointment from Asshai, known as the Healer. The obnoxious dark substance burned the body like hot irons and had to be applied with Malia chained so that she would not remove the burning liquid from her skin, but in four to six days all open wounds would fully heal without any scars, restoring the skin as smooth as a newborn’s. Concocted from ingredients found in the Shadow Lands, the Healer could only be obtained at great cost and in small quantities, making the training process extremely expensive for the masters and limiting the possibility to organize similar events more frequently, or with more girls.
And now she stood in the cell under the Great Arena, terrified and wondering if she would ever leave this accursed place alive.
