A lifetime in chains. Manacled. In fetters.
That was to be his fate. Forever and a day.
“First light tomorrow. Delivered on board.”
“Talk. Or it’s the galley.”
He snorted, meaningfully.
“With very specific instructions for your safekeeping.”
Afterwards .. after Akon had given up on trying to intimidate .. after he’d been deserted and left to the chill of these dungeons .. Conan didn’t need to imagine what waited for him on board. He’d been sold to slavers before. He knew the harsh fate for a slave condemned to hauling on the oars. For a time he had been a captain himself too, his own pirate ship. Dealing with stubborn slaves .. cast into a ball and chain .. thrown overboard for pissing him off. A harsh master, he too had ordered the slave scum flogged into action .. as they thundered down on a helpless merchant boat he wanted for plunder. No stranger to life on a slave-ship at sea.
“Unless you find you still have something to say ….?”
Abandoned to his aches, stuck in the chilled blackness, Conan’s mind’s eye had seen himself .. as Akon had described his fate. Arriving aboard the galley, the chill of the dawn prickling on his bare skin. Stood at a slave bench .. held there by drawn swords and sharp spears.
Conan was not daunted. Wrongly Akon had gloated over him .. still hoping to intimidate Conan into letting go his information.
“ …. for the rest of this miserable life”
….. that had been Akon’s sentence on him.
Conan saw his arrival on the galley .. the image Akon had threatened him with. Stood immobile as the thick iron fetters around his ankles were hammered into the deck.
“Never to leave that spot ….”
That was what Akon had promised him. His life crouched down on that slave bench. His feet in manacles hammered into the beams.
“Eat there. Piss there. Shit there. Live in your own filth ….”
Akon had exulted over Conan. Relishing his power .. if the barbarian scumbag did not relent. Defiant Conan had glared back. Keeping his silence. Not glorying this bastard’s sentence with a response. Showing no response to the threat. Indifferent.
A slave galley .. a step up from this dungeon and Han’s stupid tricks. Conan had been fettered in his life .. enough times. Manacled. Clamped in chains. He’d escaped, hadn’t he? He’d get away again. Escaping from manacles hammered into the beams of the ship itself .. that escape might take some working on. But remembering the smug look of his Fuckship’s triumph .. hanging on to that sight .. burning that hated image into his head .. that would put fire in Conan’s belly.
“Naked. The rest of your stinking miserable days. How else you going to piss?”
Akon had kept trying to pile it on. Thinking to squeeze the location of his gold out of Conan. But he’d had it too easy all his life, this prick playing with himself up his kilt. Conan was no stranger to duress. Naked? Of course. How else was he supposed to crap? Naked? He’d prefer that. Better than doing it in a loincloth. And then threatened with living with his own shit. Did this arsehole Akon have no imagination? Where did he think Conan had been all his life? Conan could teach this arsehole a thing or two.
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