3. Cause to celebrate
This prick-of-a-prince was built like an ox. Mighty shoulders burned by the ferocity of the sun. Filth streaked down the front of a solid packed chest. Strong as an ox. And just as stubborn.
Tiradates had run his horse along the line. Approaching his prize captive unseen from behind. Exhausted. Hardly able to put one foot in front of the other. By the end of the day, the task of hauling the cart .. little water, no food, the guards whipping effort out of every step .. the struggle was defeating him. Tiradates could see even this mighty strength was letting him down.
And then he drew level. This ox-of-a-prisoner turned his head. And glared. Defiance transformed his face. Hatred flowed out of every pore. Trickles of sweat had carved trails over his jutting proud chest. Caked into dried river beds of salt down a back stretched broad and solid by the days of straining at this maximum effort.
Strong as an ox. Stubborn as a mule. Still he could find the strength to defy. The head lifted, the chest puffed out. Those gargantuan thighs knotted, And with a great grunt of defiance the cart lurched forward. Fuelled by hatred. Not going to give in. Going to show Tiradates what he was made of. Stubborn. Refusing to give in.
He was filthy dirty. Days of dust glued to him by sweated effort. Skin burned .. worked to exhaustion in an unforgiving heat. Yet still this damned bastard was able to stand there and return Tiradates’ look with stalwart arrogance. Physically tired out. But defiant to the last.
“Ride fast to the city. Inform the emperor of our prize.”
The general had pulled up alongside. Maciste felt his eyes turn cold on him.
“Request of the emperor if he has any special requirements for this rebel scum.”
Maciste saw that cold appraising gaze travelled down his front. Dirty, sweat-streaked from another day’s exertions under the cruel sun.
“If there are any ….. “preparations” …. to be made …..”
Maciste saw the look take on a gloating hardness.
They had reached the border, the wetlands that formed a natural protective wall against the Parthian empire to the north. Tiradates had ordered his men to make camp by the river .. still not crossing over into their homeland. Here, he’d decided, they would rest awaiting the signal from their emperor. He would surely want to welcome this rebel prince in an appropriate style.
The army was nearly back home. There were still hours before it got dark, they could have made further progress and crossed over the border. But Tiradates had other ideas. Putting down a marker. A final celebration before his army left this conquered land in triumph.
Tiradates commissioned his messenger to return in haste. Eager for sign of Vologases’ pleasure. Getting the order to proceed would indicate the emperor’s eagerness to receive Tiradates’ matchless prize. The emperor had to be falling over himself .. barely able to contain himself until they arrived. Looking forward to ordering the rebel dog’s punishment.
Tiradates looked grim-faced back at the human-ox daring to stare back. Had he seen that broad chest lift? Had he caught that muscled stomach pulling in tight? Posturing .. physically declaring he was not broken .. nowhere near. Was this god-damned fucker still giving back the works? Saying that whatever physical torments Tiradates had exerted on this body – FUCK YOU! This will could not be bent.
Well, fuck you back! Tiradates’ eyes tore across that body. Covered in dust, the muscular back streaked from body-breaking hard work. The muscled legs, heavy with exhaustion, but the fucker stood determined and firm. Insolent. Fucking defiant.
Fuck the cocksucker! For that rebelliousness. Fuck him! He’d break. That defiance .. stood next to him .. looking up at Tiradates seated on his stallion. Swaggering .. looking more like a proud stallion himself. A wild horse that refused to be broken in.
Well, motherfucker, it might take days before the messenger was back. Time enough to break that fucking back. Tiradates was not putting up with more of this. They’d camp, they’d wait, they’d await the messenger’s reply. Meantime Tiradates would see the fucker break. He’d have his men tame this wild stallion. Break in this fucking insolent piece-of-shit. The fucker was going to regret standing up to a man like Tiradates. A man who got things done.
Starting tonight. He’d order a celebration. Booze and fun. Rewarding this troop of guards. And to remind them. Tiradates would set an example of their duties with this ox. Show them how to treat this fucker. Reinforcing their task, reminder of what their general expected.
Days awaiting the emperor’s signal, maybe. Days of concentrated effort, working this fucker over. Determined strides. Breaking the back of this motherfucker’s will. Hard work and exhaustion had not broken the back of the prick. Other things would.
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