Tarzan had been in this pit before. The endless days when La had lost patience and kept him locked up in a hole under the temple. He looked up into the gloom overhead. He’d already tried to force the grill above his head .. hoping that time might have rusted the bolts.
The guards had secured him down in this pit. They’d brought him food and drink. He’d already been told his fate, the stud was going to keep him strong for ten days. Till the day of the sacrifice.
“Child”! Left in an inescapable hole underground. Left with his thoughts. Left with that surprise. So he was Tarzan’s child, this eye-catching strong young man? Brother to Korak. Older brother. Offspring of La and Tarzan getting together twenty years ago.
Product of those happier days? When, Tarzan pondered? When had it happened? In those glorious first days when passions had been wild and they’d coupled like animals as often as they could? Or was the muscle-stud born of those cruel days when La had feared her toy would have a mind of its own and intended to move on? Had the stud been born of the intense pain she’d inflicted on Tarzan in these same cellars. Tortured as she got off on the pleasure of his pains.
He had turned into a fine looking man. Any man would be proud of a son who looked like that. Tarzan still struggled to name him his son. He could feel no emotional attachment, he was NOT his son. Offspring, his child but this cold-hearted hunk did not strike Tarzan as a son.
He could see the same likeness of himself as he found in the growing Korak. Broad shoulders, muscled chest, rippled belly, tight waist. But he hadn’t detect Korak’s irrepressible lust for life in him. This one was serious, dutiful.
But then the muscular hunk was seeking something different. He could only have dragged Tarzan back here for payback. To get his own back. For revenge. He had had Tarzan hunted down so that he could exact recompense that Tarzan had not been around. He cursed Tarzan for dumping him. For turning his back on him and never showing any interest. Where Korak could be reckless and take stupid risks, this other son’s character had been shaped by a lifetime of resentment. Bitterness flowed in his veins with his blood. He had tracked down the man who’d given him life. He was out to exact revenge. The stud was getting his own back.
How much did he know? How well did he know La? Tarzan doubted a mother would show her son the evil streak that had transformed her from passionate lover to cruel witch. The monster Tarzan had fled .. saving his skin. He hadn’t known she was carrying his child. But would it have changed things? To a twenty-year-old out of his depth? Fated to be tortured sexually every day of his life? For the rest of his life. Till she tired off her games. If Tarzan hadn’t fled, who knew what lengths La would have gone to?
Son? Tarzan should not entertain the idea that was his son, he told himself. The earnest young man had said as much. Not a father. Product of his loins. Accident of birth. A throw-off of Tarzan’s seed. Not even offspring of a neglectful father who’d abandoned his unborn child. Stern and grim-faced, the young man had coldly explained himself.
This was no family reunion. To catch up on a life that had been lost. Tarzan had not been dragged here for a father-and-son bonding. Conceived in deception. Born of hate. That was the way the young man had laid it out. The distasteful product of Tarzan’s seed. Nothing more. Any sign of a sense of belonging was crushed by years of bitterness and hate.
What had La said to him? How much had she poisoned his young mind? The man couldn’t have those years back. He’d made it clear, he didn’t want them. He rejected them. He rejected the cruel past. He wanted rid. And he wanted rid of the man who poisoned his life.
Tarzan’s life would be ended, he’d been told. Sacrificed. And with that tortured end, life could begin again. The preparations for the festival that Tarzan would endure .. the agonises, the tortures .. they could not repay the cost of a life lost. Not even start. But those agonies through grinding pain would pave the way to a promising future for this young man. A future unburdened by the past.
The knife of sacrifice slicing Tarzan open .. the gush of his blood .. the smell of Tarzan’s heart burning in the flames ….. with those gestures, this eye-catching young man, Tarzan’s own flesh-and-blood .. he was promising himself a closure. With Tarzan’s screams as his life was viciously wrenched to a final end … for this muscle-stud, Tarzan’s own flesh-and-blood .. with his agonies Tarzan would close the door on a cruel past.