The Nameless Slave 2

by Vitaly Zykov

  Sitting was much more pleasant then walking, especially if you take in account foot dislocation… By the way, how was the foot? Yarik turned his sore foot from side to side. The swollen had decreased a little, the pain also went silent. Rotating the foot in the joint was, of course, still painful, but it was not serious any more. Another couple of hours, and it would be possible to forget about the dislocation.

  At this moment Yaroslav saw that the road started to turn and the surrounding situation had changed. The indestructible wall of wood was replaced by chaotic copse of bushes. It began to smell with freshness. Somewhere ahead sparkled patches of sunlight. It seemed that the road was leading them to a river.

  And it turned out to be so. In about five or ten minutes their caravan came to a wide open river bank. Along the vehicles galloped a young soldier on tirr with order to stop.

  Dukan came off the vehicle and kicked a wheel of the wagon. Apparently, he was not going to unharness his sixpaw.

  – Take soap and go to the other slaves. You have to bring yourself back to normal looks. – The voice over his head forced Yarik to shudder.

  He looked back and saw his master sitting on a tirr.

  – Master…

  – I already increased your lead to fifty yards. Go quicker, we'll not wait long. – Tone in which all that was said, was absolutely indifferent.

  Yarik obediently nodded and went to a group of slaves who already started to gather on the river bank. A warden watching over them gave orders in a barking voice. Though it was very pleasant to walk in dense grass which massed his bare feet, Yaroslav decided to hurry – he had no wish to run into troubles because of his own slowness.

  – Hey! Why are you stalking there? – It was the warden who had stopped that fight, when Yarik was fighting with slaves in the barrack. – Into the water! Hurry up! And not a speck of dust should be on you when you finished!

  Yarik rapidly flopped into the water after the other slaves. He did not go too far, but stopped when the water was up to his waist, in about ten yards from the coast. And the following was very simply: to open a jar, to put a handful of semi-fluid caustic soap on his hand and to start rubbing it in his skin. Right there the purpose of a jar on a loop became clear – it allowed to hang this unusual soap tray on a man's neck.

  Yarik soaped from feet to head, vigorously rubbing soap into his skin. The only thing that he was careful of was not letting the soap into his eyes – his recently acquired abilities of regeneration could refuse. The skin was itching terribly, he felt as if he had splashed an acid on it, or even more true – an alkali. Deciding that it would be enough, Yarik dipped with head under the water, washing the foam away. When he jumped out after a while and wiped his watering eyes, Yaroslav with surprise looked at those dirty dregs that were carried away by the river current.

  At a distance the other slaves sniffed and doused, making cascades of small waves. And here Yarik's eye caught his reflection. Probably, more than a year had passed since he saw himself from the outside. That unimaginable case when he waded the ford across the Bone did not count – there was no time. But here, in a quiet situation, washing off a layer of dirt… There was a lot to look at. Yaroslav's head was decorated by a mane of hair which was dense, rough and faded under the sun. His face was hidden under a rough beard from under which four threads of scars were slightly visible. A strange thing: very different wounds closed up without any traces, but not these… The image was completed by hollow cheeks with pointed cheekbones, and tenacious and hungry eyes. Before Yarik, as novelists like to write, was a stranger. And it was a dangerous stranger, similar to how they described convicts.

  «Really a savage!» – Yarik remembered the nickname which the old shaman had given him.

  Changes touch his body too. Yarik had no beautiful relief muscles, so pleasant for women. It was possible to say about him now: strong, sinewy, flexible, but not brawny. His present life did not allow to acquire fat or to increase muscles, difficulties evaporated everything superfluous, leaving only what was necessary for survival…

  – That's it, everybody to the bank! – The voice of the warden interrupted his reflections.

  Slaves, shaking like dogs, came ashore. Some were drying themselves with rags. Yarik was among the latter. In one hand he held his loincloth – it was simply repulsive to put on this dirty nasty thing. The others were not dressed (if it was possible to call it being dressed at all!) either. The slaves crowded in a heap and did not move. As Yarik could count there were about thirty people. In about fifty yards aside another group came to the coast.

  «A visit in a bath house!» – A gloomy thought came and flew away.

  At this time the warden began to walk between the slaves. Yarik felt very uncomfortable. A hundred naked men of different age stood on the bank, all just bathed and sparkling with naked backs, while another man with a vile grin was circling around them, as if even evaluating. What a freak!!

  The warden ordered some slaves to run to their vehicles, to some others he ordered, with curses, to remain. Yarik was the last be examined, and was sent to his master. Already running Yarik looked back and saw that the remaining slaves were driven into the river again, apparently, slaves had to have the purest appearance, ready for sale.

  – Shit! Is the city really close? – The young slave whispered perplexedly.

  Dukan was already waiting for him at the master's wagon, he stood playing with a small knife. His disgusting grin irritated Yarik much.

  – On your knees, kord! – The driver ordered shortly.

  Yarik immediately executed the order. And nearly screamed from surprise – Dukan grabbed him by his hair and sharply pulled. Obviously, he was going to perform a role of barber. And his confident movements showed that he had sufficient experience in this profession.

  At first Dukan cut hair as short as possible. Then he gave Yarik a skeptical look, covered his head with foam and began shaving. Apparently, the local slaves were not allowed to have hair. Strangely enough, but Yarik felt no pain. The knife in driver's hand slid over his skin as dexterously as a razor in hands of an old hairdresser. After that came time for the beard – with a brutal expression on his face, Dukan scraped the skin, having said that he hoped very much that Yarik would twitch and then Dukan would not fail. There was to doubt about what exactly he would not fail. At last this quite nervous procedure ended, Dukan looked skeptically at the slave and said with disappointment:

  – I think they will not take you into the harem as a eunuch… Neither as a concubine… Yarik ran his hand over his face and groped the strips of scars stretched through half of his face, and with relief thought that he is not offended.

  – Well, it's enough t' sitting! – Dukan continued caviling, – into the wagon, hurry up! And do not poke out your nose from there!

  Yarik could do nothing except to execute the order.

  «Strange people! I've read a lot about slaveholding system, and it was nowhere said that savages forced slaves to bathe! Besides Romans… Though, I think, it concerned only house slaves… Very strange world after all». – Inside the dark wagon, without windows it was possible only to indulge in reflections and to expect the fate.

  Two men sat in a small room, almost a closet. If Yarik were here, he could remember Gulliver and Liliputian, Goliath and David. A huge fat man and a dry dwarf, against whom the first one looked like a true giant, were carrying on a slow conversation.

  – Well, tell me for what demon you made everything so complicated in the conversation with this milksop?! What conquest of the Steppe were you talking about?! – Judging by the tone, the fat man was not major there.

  – Well, I was thinking… – lazily moving his lips began the fat person in a purple garment.

  – You were thinking?! Now it turns out that you even think? – The dwarf started to speak with some disgust. – But I thought that your task is to press our father's chair with your thick bottom!

  – But, brother. After all, I said nothing terrible, –
muttered the fat man conciliatorily.

  The dwarf wiped sweat from his face and fidgeted on a small stool standing opposite the fat man's chair.

  – For now I should say «yes». But after all, this fool could be more clever. And then what? You could blurt similar nonsense in a conversation with more serious people! – Despite the aggressive tone, the dwarf calmed down, – how long ago was the last murderous assault?

  At the mention of assassinations the fat man slapped his lips, muttering some muffled curses.

  – All right, it's enough for today. You can remove your armor, – wrinkling his nose, resolved the dwarf.

  The fat man did not keep him waiting long, having undone some fasteners on his immense belly, he got on his feet and at once decreased almost twice. His face changed too. His few chins disappeared somewhere, folds smoothed and his face ceased to remind a pork muzzle.

  – Brother, either you decide, that it would be better to stop eating so much. – Thoughtfully drawled the dwarf, pointing at the impressive paunch. – Or it would be necessary to sew a new suit soon…

  The fat man waved his hand and rushed jumping to the neighboring room. Moments passed, and the dwarf heard as something splashed heavily into the pool settled there.

  – An animal, – whether with condemnation, or with tenderness said the dwarf and stared at the fire in a spherical lamp.

  CHAPTER 22

  The shaking inside the wagon was merciless. Yarik was sitting on the floor and struck his forehead against something firm several times already. To walk was much quieter and more interesting. But what excited him most of all was expectation. What will happen when the caravan arrives into the city? To whom and where will he be sold? These questions exhausted his soul. Though, even being in such strong excitement, Yarik amazed at his present owners: not showing their goods in order not to bring the price down, was a competent action. However, it was unclear why nomads were sure that local authorities were not secretly watching the caravan… Though, on the other hand, Yaroslav felt no foreign attention.

  At this point the vehicle jumped once again, and the slave's teeth clicked loudly. Judging by sophisticated damnations Dukan was displeased too. Then came a loud scratch, and the vehicle stopped. Some guttural voices and laughter were heard nearby. Apparently, they met familiar folk.

  Yarik slipped to the curtain and looked out in a narrow chink – it appeared that they had arrived at some big camp. There were a lot of nomad tents around and familiar sixpaws' roar. Near the vehicle stood tree soldiers with spears and shone with cheerful smiles. Dukan was explaining something to them. At this moment a tirr approached the vehicle, and Darg came off to the ground. Soldiers bowed showing their respect. The most senior soldier covered with scars put his hand to his heart and said:

  – I'm greeting chief Darg, son of Sohog the Great, in the camp of his father. Was your campaign successful?

  – It was! – Darg answered imperiously. – Where is father?

  – He's already coming. The watchmen reported your arrival long ago.

  – Father will come himself? – The surprise in Darg's voice told Yarik that it was obviously an infrequent phenomenon.

  – Yes, son! – The voice belonged to a man who approached them from aside. The newcomer was in common garment which did not differ from others, but literally suppressed everybody else with his authoritativeness. It was really a great leader. And Darg resembled him very strongly.

  – Did you execute my order, son? – The voice was calm, without any warmth.

  – Yes, father! Though I could say that it was not easy…

  – The destiny of a soldier is not to be afraid of difficulties, but to overcome them! – A new voice unexpectedly interfered the conversation.

  The voice belonged to a soldier, Darg's peer. His finely made clothes of high quality and richly decorated saber – everything spoke about his habit of luxury. It was very different from Darg and Sohog. A gold medallion was hanging on his breast. Yarik cast a glance at it and his eye stuck at the medallion! A weak reddish magic aura surrounded this decoration. He never saw a similar type of magic in all his wanderings, but it surely did not smell of kindness. Its luminescence even seemed to affect the eyes in some unpleasant way!

  – Greeting, Teorn! – Darg said imperturbably.

  – Your brother worked well, preparing for the Big Fair. This year everything will go better than ever! – Sohog laughed complacently.

  Something prompted Yarik that, despite the words of approval about his first son's actions, Sohog despised him. According to those stories which Yaroslav had heard from nomads and slaves, it was in Sohog's spirit to fight and to take what he required by force, but not to trade or conduct negotiations, though the leader of nomads did not shun from these means either. But obviously here it was a situation when they could not achieve anything by force. Besides all, they say, that Steward was an influential figure on the local political Olympus. Not simply influential, but powerful!

  – How many slaves have you found? – Sohog continued the interrupted conversation.

  – As you have ordered – one hundred!

  Sohog laughed loudly and heartily slapped his son's shoulder. The strongest blow did not even shake Darg.

  – Well done! I promised one hundred heads from all of us, and only you brought so much!

  – The season was successful, father! The young tribe of Ruoges does not profane our land anymore! – A hidden triumph sounded in Darg's speech. – And also Jurga the Mighty sent us a special slave…

  – Special? – Sohog rose his right eyebrow interrogatively.

  Yarik saw it quite distinctly as the great leader with his first son stood facing the vehicle.

  – This man, came from the Forest, he lived with Urgs for a long time, and then got to us…

  – What? Got to us, you say? Nice! It would be a good gift for this fat toad Parsan. He loves different curious things.

  – I thought so too, father – Darg respectfully inclined his head.

  Probably, only Yarik noticed at this moment how Teorn's eyes flashed, flashed so promisingly…

  – Do you want to look at him?

  – What for? Let it be your personal gift to master Steward.

  Here Teorn could not control himself.

  – Father, but after all Darg is only the fifth son. This would offend Steward…

  – First of all, this will show whom I consider a true leader and soldier! Is everything clear to you? – The cold in Sohog's voice would be enough for a good winter.

  After a short sigh he muffled the answer:

  – Yes, father!

  Teorn touched the chain of the medallion, generating some reddish flashes apparently visible only for Yaroslav.

  Sohog embraced Darg and they together went to the center of the camp. The guards and Teorn remained near the vehicle. And only sharp Yarik's hearing allowed him to hear the first son's lips whispering:

  – I understand! I understand everything, father!

  And he went quickly somewhere aside. At once everything started to move: guards began to talk, discussing the incident, Dukan, forgotten by all, began to stir on the coach box. However, the commander of guards, an old fighter, brought an order in a few minutes. He gave a couple of slaps in the ears to his subordinates for talking in the ranks, then shouted at Dukan:

  – Hey! Why are you seating here, you, bold mug? Or don't you see, where all your folk has moved?

  – But I… – Dukan stunned with an impact, tried to object faint-heartedly.

  – What you?! Take away your sixpaw and get out! Do not block the passage here!

  And brawler Dukan obediently struck his sixpaw remaining in blissful stillness and with a sadly sigh, it trudged in the pointed direction.

  To Yarik's surprise, they did not stay for long in the camp. It was about noon, but nomads who preferred to have a rest at this time scurried about like ants. The content of four vans was swiftly unloaded and nomads began to yard slaves to these wag
ons. As Yarik could see only one or two wagons were allocated in the parking lots of the other Arkhs clans for this purpose. So it was not for nothing that Darg had got his father's approval. Women were settled in separate wagons. Throughout the whole way they were kept far from men, so as not to give the latter reasons for temptations and fights. Naturally, not for the sake of some humane reasons, but only to preserve the quality of goods, the living goods. A pregnant or even scratched woman cost much cheaper!

  In short time all the slaves, except for those who had personal owners (Yarik for example), were driven inside the wagons, and as soon as the curtain was drawn after the last slave, the small caravan started on a new way. Nearby, some dozens of soldiers and their personal slaves were walking on foot.

  The caravan was build in seniority order: at the head were the vehicles of Sohog and about thirty of his soldiers, followed by the vehicles of his sons – Teorn, Praven, Surrv, Cheul, Darg and Tallak. Each of them was accompanied by five soldiers. Yarik was walking ten elbows from Darg. He had no order to sit on coach box with unfamiliar driver (Dukan remained in the camp), so it was necessary to move on foot. It was only pleasing that the road remained in perfect condition here. Sometimes it seemed that they even washed the road here – there was no dust at all.

  «Magic again!» – Yaroslav thought with some irritation.

  He felt as if a pride of drunk marhuzes were making a scuffle in his soul. His mood was nasty! For some reason, at this time Yarik felt like a mere thing especially vividly.

  After a time some stocky houses appeared at a distance. It was strange, that with such neighbors as nomad slave-traders, flying Wings and Masters, not noticing Tarks and other trifles, it would be quite good to build up a wall around the city. Though weak, but a defense anyway! But there was no wall. The road slowly curled between houses from which sometimes came out (and sometimes ran out!) people and shouted joyfully. Strange again, but language was almost the same as the nomads'. As a rule it does not happen so that nomadic (equals «backward») people spoke the language of their settled neighbors. Or rather, the strange was not that they could use this language, after all they needed to communicate with trade partners, but the fact that the language of communication was a native, general, simply unified language. And that was really odd. The difference in development was too great.