“By his own deeds ….. this useless piece of pigshit has proven himself ……”
The chief had not looked at Korak. He had approached, he stood to one side by Korak’s raised arm and grabbed him by the hair as the chief turned to address the tribe.
Not necessary .. there was nothing except defiance that Korak could put up .. but to emphasise to his people how unworthy was this piece-of-shit he was talking about …. the chief shook Korak’s head by the hair. Like a mother-lion shaking a wilful cub by the scruff of its neck.
Angered by this abuse, frustrated by the failure of Korak’s every effort to hit back …. particularly by his fist missing the shaman and knocking his teeth out …… angered at being shaken around by the head, Korak swung away. Trying to dislodge the chief from his humiliating grip in his scalp.
For the first time now, the chief looked Korak in the eye. Sternly. There was a coldness about this chief. If the shaman was indeed his brother, the younger sibling was all fire and cruel fervour. The chief was calculating, calm, unpredictable. Icy. And just as unnerving for all that.
Out of the blue, a blur flashed across Korak’s front. A muscled forearm thwacked him across the upper chest. The force knocked Korak backwards .. knocked him off his out-spread feet. Not to be outdone, a hot explosion of evil green goo burst into fire in his guts. A yell of surprise flooded out with every bit of wind in Korak’s lungs.
Every move hurt, badly. The fires of the shaman were alive in his body still. Reaching like a sickening fever into every crevice of his being. That was some punch! It left Korak flailing off the ropes attacked to his arms. Pain of the blow .. the flames bursting in his guts .. shock threw Korak’s head backwards over his shoulders. Gasping, fighting for breath.
Only when Korak had righted himself .. pulling on the ropes for support .. planting his out-spread legs wobbly under him .. his whole torso rocking as he sucked in air ….. only then did the chief continue. He grabbed hold of Korak’s hair again. Taking possession. This time without resistance. And then with authority he addressed his people. As if nothing had just happened. Ignoring the “piece of pigshit” .. ignoring the rasping breathing by his side.
“Not one piece of THIS ……”
The chief’s other hand made a dismissive gesture towards to the muscular physique next to him.
“Nowhere on THIS … in his spirit, in his gut, in his mind …..”
Korak noticed for the first time that the tribe stood in total silence. They had yelled and bawled when he’d been getting rape. They had cheered on the whipper who had laid into Nguana’s arse driving his cock up inside. But here was silence. Deference to their chief. They held him in awe. Rapt attention. Like they were waiting for something important. Like they knew .. judgement was about to be made.
“Not a shred of regret!”
For the first time the tribe gave a reaction. A respectful murmur of agreement rustled around the people. A ring encircling Korak with their hate.
The chief gave the hair on Korak’s scalp an upward tug.
“We gave him the pain.”
Another tug in Korak’s scalp.
“The pain of the gods. Expression of their sorrow.”
The fist twisted in the hair. Korak winced.
“He laughed at them. Threw it back in their faces.”
Another upward yank creased a grimace of pain across Korak’s face.
The chief’s grip twisted Korak’s head painfully over towards his own face. But the chief was not deigning to waste his attention on pigshit. Still he addressed his people. But the violator had been told to whom he had to pay attention. Whose words mattered here.
“In the name of the gods ….. this useless piece-of-shit suffered the most unmanly abuse. The gods filled his innards with the fire of their anger. His response?”
Briefly the chief did turn to gaze on Korak. Korak felt a shiver pass down his back at the brief encounter. The ice of his glare met the raging heat burning out from Korak’s insides. Ice met fire. This man was unnerving somehow.
“This piece of shit ……”
A tug in Korak’s scalp was savage. He hissed out.
“ …. it attacked the shaman. Their messenger. The voice through which they speak with us ……”
This time the hand gripped in Korak’s hair gave a sideways twist. Korak grunted loud, he thought he’d lose a great lump of hair.
“His expression of regret? To attack the gods’ messenger. To maim their representative among us.”
The grip in the hair tightened. Pain slashed across Korak’s face. A forearm lashed out. Another crushing blow to his chest. Knocking Korak backwards. But yanked back upright by an eye-watering tug on his hair.