Herald of the High King
Lukka drew a heavy breath. Smarting as the lashes to his torso burned. Stung. Biting deep. Scorched. Paris had relished this dialogue of pain. Keeping up his babbling as he had treated the High King’s envoy to this welter of stinging pains across his front.
“You are angering the gods.”
Blinking through pain-streaked eyes Lukka rounded on the prince seated smug through this beating. Lukka’s glare darkened like a warning sky before a storm.
“A truce. I came under a flag of truce. Sent in peace.”
Lukka was gasping to get the words out .. panting through his pains. Breathing heavily.
“This offends against the gods.”
It was a whirlpool of pain and frustration swirling in Lukka’s mind. He did not for one moment believe his warning words would send a chill down Paris’ back. But he was angry. He was sweating .. like he sweated fiercely in the heat of a battle. Like hell he was hurting, hurting like he could not remember .. even from wounds in a close-fought fight. He was furious. Mad that the gods had handed him this fate. And angry at great Agamemnon who saw him as nothing more than a pawn. Something he could easily sacrifice.
His last remaining clothing had been yanked off his hips. Hands trapped in the chains above his head, Lukka stood naked. Furiously eyeing Paris .. his words reminded Paris of Lukka’s hallowed status. Protected by protocols, an envoy. And nervously Lukka was keeping a watchful eye on the fresh palace guard .. deliberately menacing with his new weapon of choice. A long thick leather strap on a braided handle. Demonstratively cracking it in the air. Filling this dungeon with threatening cracks of menace. Reminding of the slap of biting leather across burning flesh.
Warily Lukka half-watched the guard move behind. Freshly stripped of his kilt, he had to assume his backside was the target for that strap. But nerves put aside, Lukka steered the force of his anger at the impossibly handsome prince lounging comfortably in his armed throne. Calmly watching Lukka getting beaten out of his hide.
“The gods will send retribution,” Lukka warned. “For this sacrilege.”
“Hittite gods? Or Greek?”
That calm handsome face snorted.
“What about our revered Trojan gods?”
Lukka tensed. Behind the air hissed. Instinctive his fists clenched. A smarting bite of leather stung at his bare backside. Lukka clenched his jaws together.
“But when we bring them victory …..” asked Paris?
Lukka was not paying too much attention. Here came another whoosh of pain cutting through the air. Leather snapped a huge bite out of the hard muscle of his arse. He gasped. His leg was driven forward by the sheer power of the strike. Pain ran in jagged shudders down his leg.
“ .. when Troy drives the damned Greeks back into the sea …..?”
Paris’ logic was beyond Lukka’s concern. Hit again. A stinging smack of leather on already reddened muscle .. struck with force .. hit with mind-blistering pain. Lukka’s mouth wrenched open. In a silent yell of pain.
“ …. when Troy brings them victory …..?”
His hard-packed naked torso took another shock-hit. The strike bouncing off his sweat-drenched backside. Pain rushed in his blood to his ears. Hearing the Trojan gods cheering in guttural victory. A cry of triumph over this Hittite who shuddered to the tune of their might. As if to show how seriously the Trojans had taken Lukka’s warnings, a stinging blow struck right across both globes of Lukka’s muscled backside. Chains rattled above his head as the shock twisted him over. Arching him up.
“ .. when Troy’s god have been given their triumph ….” Paris asked? Calmly. Logically.
Lukka’s head was jarred back by the searing heat of godly strength. Loud in his head he heard them jeer. A godly din that threatened to explode in his head. Urging on the guard with the strap. Demanding salvo-upon—blistering salvo of fire to light up his bare arse. To send a righteous message from the Trojan gods back to the Greeks. Written in crimson pain on Hittite flesh.
“What will the gods say then …” Paris mocked? “When victory is theirs?”
Lukka gave his answer. Hit smarting on top of burning flesh, another searing slash of pain. His eyes popped open. Sweat pumped from his armpits. Animal-like he cursed. He cursed these Trojans and their damned gods to a living hell.