Randalla Talgoda was more frightened now than she had ever been during her 19 years.
Yesterday she was arrested by the Lanadian police for conspiracy against the Lanadian
Empire and spying for the Kingdom of Tenacy. Today she was tried, found guilty and
sentenced to death. Her execution by slow strangulation was scheduled for noon tomorrow in
the town square of Vil, the empire’s capital city. Lanadian justice was swift and harsh
against foreign agents, particularly now that the massive armies of the Reptiles, allies
of Tenacy, were marching on the empire. She could see no hope of escaping her fate.
She looked at her fellow spies. The two Tenacian men seemed to be accepting their
doom with stoic indifference.
Randalla was a girl with a flawless white complexion surrounded by waves of jet
black hair that cascaded in luxuriance to her waist. She had stunning brown eyes, full,
sensuous lips and high cheeks that gave her an exotic appearance. Tall and slim with
abundant breasts that bulged against her yellow prison smock, she was a vision of female
loveliness.
In desperation she had hoped during her trial that someone would make an offer to
the court to buy her. She knew it sometimes happened to pretty young girls, especially
those facing execution or extremely long prison sentences. They often sold cheaply. She
would gladly accept a life of sexual slavery to avoid tomorrow’s torturous death. But at
the end of the day the guards roughly dragged her to a cell and locked her up for the
night.
At noon the next day the conspirators were brought to the town square in an open
bullgorgon cart that allowed them to be pelted with rotten fruit and sometimes stones.
They were positioned on a scaffold in a semi circle, their wrists shackled behind them,
ankles hobbled with short chains, their yellow prison garb bright and gay in the midday
sun, they stood with their backs to the execution posts. Behind each prisoner loomed an
executioner wearing the grinning head, the black robe and elaborate black and white
headdress of the death god Babback. A large crowd of citizens was gathered to watch the
slow death of the enemy spies.
Randalla fought to prevent tears from welling into her eyes. The Lanadians had
tortured her with near drowning the day before, trying to find other spies. The girl knew
nothing and her two male companions also denied any knowledge of others.
An elderly official, wheezing from his efforts, laboriously climbed the seven steps
to the platform. He addressed the condemned prisoners. “Do any of you wish to make a final
statement?”
No one did, so the official gave the nod for the execution to proceed. It was then
that Randalla saw the Tenacian spy leader make a terse nod to one of the spectators. So
there was another group! Should she try to tell the Lanadians? What could she tell them? A
man in the crowd. They would never believe her at this point.
The prisoners were backed up against the execution posts. Their wrists were
shackled in front of them then raised up and secured to a ring above their heads. Each
post had a large hole at the prisoner’s neck level. Randalla felt the official behind her
pass a loop of chain through the hole and place it around her slim neck. A large wooden
box was hung on the chain behind, its weight snugged down the loop against her throat.
When all was prepared, a large iron ball was added to her box with a thunk and the
chain loop cinched in tighter. This did not fatally strangle her but narrowed her air tube
which caused her great discomfort. To draw each breath through her partially constricted
throat was now a struggle. Only a thin stream of air could pass through her windpipe to
her clamoring lungs. She was constantly and painfully straining to suck in air. She seemed
to be constantly teetering on the edge of blessed oblivion, but never quite enough to end
her misery. Randalla now could see her two compatriots were in similar straits, although
being stronger than she the weight did not affect them quite as much. They were able to
suck in more air than she could, but not without a struggle. They twisted their bodies
back and forth to find a better position, strained their arms to raise themselves up to a
level that would allow them to breathe a bit easier. All their attempts failed. They
groaned and sobbed and flailed their legs in frustration. They bellowed curses on the
executioners and the jeering mob. The contortions of the prisoners greatly amused the
citizenry who hooted and clapped and urged the spies on to greater writhing efforts.
Slowly Randallas surroundings became hazy. Everything around her seemed to be
receding. Only the agony of her desperate lungs remained vivid.
Randalla was dismayed to see the executioners seating themselves on a bench behind
the posts. It was a sure sign that this stage of the execution would go on for an extended
period of time. Even more disheartening, she saw that under the bench were lined up two
more heavy balls for each executioner. Mentally she was ready to die, ready to welcome
death, but her body struggled with all its might to survive.
In the dimming miasma enveloping her perceptions she thought she saw a man
mounting the scaffold steps. He viewed the struggling prisoners with a cold expression
before he gestured at the executioners. They ran to him and knelt with great respect at
his feet.
A moment later they were freeing Randalla from her execution post. The girl was
stunned by this unexpected good luck. As the chain fell away from her throat, for a moment
she was paralyzed as she sucked in air and regarded her benefactor. He was an imposing
figure who seemed to radiate authority. He was stocky, heavily muscled, with shoulder
length blond hair, a six-inch tangled blond beard and bushy, scowling eyebrows hovering
over piercing blue eyes. He wore a simple cotton robe of faded gray. Randalla regarded him
vacantly as the miasma cleared. She finally realized her prayers had been answered. This
man had bought her! She was his slave! She ran to her benefactor, knelt before him and
joyfully licked his feet in the traditional display of slave submission.
“Get up, girl,” the man snarled. He aided her by grasping her hair and jerking her
to her feet. She gave her rescuer a huge smile. “Thank you for saving me, Master.”
“Don’t thank me, you Tenacian strumpet,” he growled. “Your worst suffering is just
about to begin.”
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