“I can ask you only one more time. On your feet. Please.”
Conan knew he’d only tell him again to go fuck himself. And rightly he had predicted that would lure the guards into the cage.
By the time the first got close, he was up. The man was dumb, he should have expected it. Anyway, the arsehole walked straight into the punch. Conan brought his fist up from nowhere .. socking it up .. smacking the prick hard under the chin. Sending him sprawling. Back into the others rushing into the cell.
Fuck it. That hoity-toity motherfucker hadn’t come in. But his thugs had .. came flooding in. And they’d come with clubs, they’d come prepared. A man acting like him .. with the attitude Conan had been giving off .. they knew better than to enter the cage with this man-animal unprepared.
He sent the sucker falling back into the others pressing in. Conan used the melee to his advantage .. backing himself towards the dank dripping wall. Guards roughly cast their stunned mate to the side .. they fell-to .. to tame the beast. Conan went for the weapon, he grabbed up at the club raised for his head. Got a grip on the wrist. Another guard got in under his guard .. smacked a club across his ribs. The force made Conan gasp .. sent him tottering back against the wall. Another high blow from a club he stopped with a sharp kick at the attacker’s knee. The prick went down.
A half-dozen guards, though .. armed with clubs .. using them to effect. Even in the confined space, not easy to fight them off. Conan was gradually forced with his back to the chilly wall. A sea of arseholes closed on him together. He punched, kicked, head-butted some prick. But numbers were on their sides. And a half-dozen clubs. Now they had his arms held out to the side .. strongly gripped his muscular arms double-handed .. with a force he could not break. And then they went to shut his scumbag mouth. A club across his windpipe was pinning his head to the rockface behind. A knee rose sharp. Caught Conan high between the legs. He gasped .. wincing into the pain in his crutch. A sharp thwack with a club landed on his ribs. Breaking him forward .. pain rushing to his eyes.
Quickly, unexpectedly, the grips on his arms twisted. Yanking his back off the wall. Twisting his arms up behind .. pain twisted out his sockets. Arms twisted up his back .. pulled up high .. bending his upper body forward. Pain squeezed out of his shoulder joints. Bending him over .. nearly breaking him to his knees.
He swore, he struggled .. he fought back .. squirmed against the arms bending him up double .. cursing at a sudden jarring pain .. his arms still forced high up his back. FUCK! A knee blasted up into his side .. lifted him to his toes. Yanked by his hair .. he was hauled forward .. forced to stagger out of his cage. Yelling out. A boot kicked hard .. the heel jarred at the bottom of his backbone. Pain blasted up the length of his spine. Jangling in his head. A knee weakened but a tug in his scalp propelled him on .. out of his cage. Pain .. shock .. the effectiveness of them moving on him together forced Conan stumbling out of his cage.
His face scraped onto splintered wood. Slammed face-front onto a rough-hewn tabletop. Vaguely Conan’s vision registered dark-red stains .. he recognised old blood soaked into the wood before his face smacked hard onto the surface. A monster-hard grip pressed down on the scruff of his neck. It yanked his head back up. Then slammed his face back down onto wood. An unbreakable force held him by the back to the neck. Pinning him down .. gluing his chest onto the rough tabletop. His arms still twisted painfully high up his back. Offering him no chance of fighting back
“His lordship has some questions ……”
The voice was above a struggling Conan, head reeling from the blows, pressed painfully down onto the rough-hewn wood. Soft-spoken, that voice. Easy-mannered .. as if drinking with an old mate in a tavern.
“Tell him .. GO GET FUCKED.”
Conan had been bad-tempered before. Now he was out-of-himself.
“Don’t put ideas in my head.”
That fucker .. what was the cocksucker’s name? Han. It was THAT prick talking, Conan recognised the voice. Who been politely stood outside the cage before things had roughly taken off. Who hadn’t raised a single drop of sweat to get Conan pinned down here.
“You are the one they call the barbarian?”
Conan’s mind recalled the sight of the muscular presence talking through the bars. And the face his fists were itching to smash in.
“Plenty of barbarians hereabouts.”
Conan snarled into the tabletop, he was pressed face-down onto splintered wood scraping into his face. He could see little. But his ears registered the whoosh. His backside registered the burn. Hit by a stinging whip across his exposed backside. Shocked, it was all he could manage not to cry out. But still it fucking hurt!
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