Read Online Last Slave Standing by Sean O'Kane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sean O'Kane
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body jump and jerk as the leather curved right around the width of the buttocks and the thighs.
“When we get back to our block,” Carlo said, “we’ll let you choose one of ours to bring here and put to the whip for your boys to see.”
“Sure. That’ll be good! Let’s go see the arena and the circus,” Hank began to lead them away from the bent double body, still twitching under its flogging. “Give her another twenty or so and then please yourself!” he called back to the guard.
“Sure, boss! Thanks,” the man called back.
In two carriages, Hank riding in one beside theirs, they trotted towards the visiting team’s barracks, appended to one side of the arena and Hank called over from his carriage that they would be arriving later that day. The stone built bulk of the arena was by then looming starkly above them and throwing a deep shadow over the endless grasslands to the west. As the whip encouraged the prettily paired slaves, plumes tossing above their heads, across the concrete approaches to the arena, Brian noticed to their left the slave pens. These were where some of the individual contests were held between squad slaves, the stars – the solo fighters had their stage out on the arena floors, but here were the pens for the lowly squad slaves to fight in; mesh cages, six of them with climbing banks of seating around them so that the audience could watch more than one fight at a time. He liked the cage idea, it told the slaves going in that the door would only be opened when just one could walk out.
Then quite suddenly the pony slaves were trotting through the echoing darkness of the tunnel into the arena, the doors of the team dressing rooms on each side. Then they burst back into sunlight and the driver was pulling the sweating team to a halt. Carlo and Brian looked around once they had climbed down. It was a fairly small arena, with terraces rising very steeply from above wooden planking around the sides. That was unusual as most arenas had seats down to the ground with plastic mesh fencing to keep slaves and onlookers apart. It gave the whole thing a rather darker and more menacing air than normal. They exchanged smiles, when the steep terraces were full of baying crowds and the video screens were relaying close ups of the action, it would excite the slaves and drive them on to providing great entertainment. They scuffed at the ground and found it acceptably firm and then they climbed back aboard. The slaves were whipped up once more and the carriages rumbled back through the tunnel and made for the circus. Both Brian and Carlo were looking forward to this part. It would be the first time that they had raced in one. They had one of the new design chariots at home and had run it on some of The Lodge’s roads but they both knew that the real thing would be different. And it was.
As they dismounted again and looked around they could see that the same sideboarding had been kept, which meant that chariots driven into it would be hard put to get their teams up and running again. The speed the new rigs were capable of would be sufficient to damage them and their teams in collision with the unyielding wood.
Hank saw the direction of their looks. “Yeah, we’ve found you’re better off backing up a little if someone pulls off a blocking manoeuvre, then taking them on the straight. Splinters and cuts cause havoc if you let yourself get sideswiped.” Brian and Carlo filed that information away carefully. Brian, with his height, reach and weight had frequently ridden as whipman and hoped to do so again at this show. He could lash the front rank of his own team on effortlessly, and his reach also made it easier for him to try and trip the opposition’s team while his weight meant that he could counterbalance the chariot as it cornered under full speed.
The dressage arena was conventional but the pony racing track was unusual. As the terrain was so flat, Alberto Salazar had decided not to race the
“When we get back to our block,” Carlo said, “we’ll let you choose one of ours to bring here and put to the whip for your boys to see.”
“Sure. That’ll be good! Let’s go see the arena and the circus,” Hank began to lead them away from the bent double body, still twitching under its flogging. “Give her another twenty or so and then please yourself!” he called back to the guard.
“Sure, boss! Thanks,” the man called back.
In two carriages, Hank riding in one beside theirs, they trotted towards the visiting team’s barracks, appended to one side of the arena and Hank called over from his carriage that they would be arriving later that day. The stone built bulk of the arena was by then looming starkly above them and throwing a deep shadow over the endless grasslands to the west. As the whip encouraged the prettily paired slaves, plumes tossing above their heads, across the concrete approaches to the arena, Brian noticed to their left the slave pens. These were where some of the individual contests were held between squad slaves, the stars – the solo fighters had their stage out on the arena floors, but here were the pens for the lowly squad slaves to fight in; mesh cages, six of them with climbing banks of seating around them so that the audience could watch more than one fight at a time. He liked the cage idea, it told the slaves going in that the door would only be opened when just one could walk out.
Then quite suddenly the pony slaves were trotting through the echoing darkness of the tunnel into the arena, the doors of the team dressing rooms on each side. Then they burst back into sunlight and the driver was pulling the sweating team to a halt. Carlo and Brian looked around once they had climbed down. It was a fairly small arena, with terraces rising very steeply from above wooden planking around the sides. That was unusual as most arenas had seats down to the ground with plastic mesh fencing to keep slaves and onlookers apart. It gave the whole thing a rather darker and more menacing air than normal. They exchanged smiles, when the steep terraces were full of baying crowds and the video screens were relaying close ups of the action, it would excite the slaves and drive them on to providing great entertainment. They scuffed at the ground and found it acceptably firm and then they climbed back aboard. The slaves were whipped up once more and the carriages rumbled back through the tunnel and made for the circus. Both Brian and Carlo were looking forward to this part. It would be the first time that they had raced in one. They had one of the new design chariots at home and had run it on some of The Lodge’s roads but they both knew that the real thing would be different. And it was.
As they dismounted again and looked around they could see that the same sideboarding had been kept, which meant that chariots driven into it would be hard put to get their teams up and running again. The speed the new rigs were capable of would be sufficient to damage them and their teams in collision with the unyielding wood.
Hank saw the direction of their looks. “Yeah, we’ve found you’re better off backing up a little if someone pulls off a blocking manoeuvre, then taking them on the straight. Splinters and cuts cause havoc if you let yourself get sideswiped.” Brian and Carlo filed that information away carefully. Brian, with his height, reach and weight had frequently ridden as whipman and hoped to do so again at this show. He could lash the front rank of his own team on effortlessly, and his reach also made it easier for him to try and trip the opposition’s team while his weight meant that he could counterbalance the chariot as it cornered under full speed.
The dressage arena was conventional but the pony racing track was unusual. As the terrain was so flat, Alberto Salazar had decided not to race the
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