Sanctum

Crimes

He suspected his sister often used her position for her own purposes.  She certainly used her closeness to Mohlog to silence her younger brother.  She had selected to trial the slimmer of the two violators first  ..  as Konto had known she would.  Predictable.  He knew his sister, he knew her type.  The kind of man she went for  ……  it was the leaner one first, then.  Of course, it was Mohlog who would speak to her, Mohlog would choose which of these vile violators would be the bearer of his seed.  But Konto couldn’t help feeling there was something about his sister’s own fancy involved in this choice.

This delay  ..  before inflicting the required punishment on the offenders  ..  till Mohlog had spoken to Kanta and identified his Chosen One  …  keeping the people waiting, tense, fearful of his wrath  …..  the postponement was inconvenient, the pair had committed despicable crimes, the people were angry, scared.  Feared Mohlog’s retribution on them.  For the people the agonising deaths of these two violators were the only option.  

But his sister was insistent.  It was no coincidence that they had turned up when Kanta was in her time, she insisted firmly.  The ways of the godhead were sometimes beyond the understanding of men, she said disparagingly  ..  she never ceased to tell Konto that.  Usually when she wanted her own way.  But what Konto was also convinced of  ……  it was her that Mohlog talked to.  And in this case, she insisted, Mohlog had foretold their arrival.  One of these violators was honoured to implant his seed.  Which of the two was still to be prophesied.  That had to be tested out.  Only afterwards  ..  after Mohlog had used his Chosen One  ..  only then would their god accept his suffering in penance for his people’s neglect.

Things like this were beyond Konto’s understanding.  His sister was the Sorceress, he merely lead the people’s warriors, securing Mohlog’s sacred domain.  Mohlog communed with her.  True, they were twins.  But, as she never ceased to taunt him, she had been born first.  That meant something, she gloated.  Pre-ordained.  And it was only the female who could be Mohlog’s bride.   Again, repeated incessantly  ..  that gave her precedence.

Konto assigned four men to convey the first violator to the sanctuary, four of his strongest, men who would take no trouble from anyone guilty of desecration.  You could see he was strong, muscular.  These warriors, though, were more than a match for any bother he might throw up.  They’d freed his bound wrists from the post  ..  instantly hands seized him tight by the upper arms, allowing him no scope for trouble.  Quickly they were bundling him away.  Konto saw him try and resist.  Hands went to shake off the hood.  But his men were having none of it.  

It was a chance at least, his first since getting caught.  Kull’s hands were finally free, no longer tied to the stake.  He went for it.  With no warning he ambushed the escort to his right, bodyweight shoving him away  He didn’t seriously fancy his chances, not with that jeering mob somewhere out there.  But his pride left him no choice.  And if he didn’t give it a try  ….. well, he’d heard the sentence on him.  His hopes for survival left him no choice.  Kull was still sweaty from his thrashing, the man lost his grip.  Finally free of his guard on one side.  With that hood on,though  ..  he stood no choice.  A hand went up to rip it off.

Kull really should have listened to his inner voice.  He wasn’t going to stand a chance.  Hand up to his hood  …  a fist rounded from the other side.  A crippling punch to his exposed lower ribs, hard, breath-taking.  He stumbled  ..  but still his instincts were to get rid of that bag over his head.  A hard punishing elbow-punch into the back of his neck had him teetering forward.  He stumbled, he tripped over his own feet.  Punches landed as he dropped to the earth.  Feet kicked at him, stomping on him from all sides as blind he writhed to get away from their punishing force.

For a short distance Konto watched his men drag him, his feet trailing behind in the dirt.  Kicked the hell out of him, kick the fight out of him.  Hauled up by his arms, stunned, dragged away.  They had to slow down to mount the steps to Mohlog’s shrine.  The sly creature realised, he took advantage.  The foul violator doggedly got his legs together, he got to his feet.  He walked.  Still held, controlled still  ..  but he was walking on his own two feet.  He was proud, that one, Konto saw, something to note.  He was now being forcefully marched into the shrine.  Still reluctant, still struggling  ..  but the men were on to him, they weren’t going to let him be master of his own will.

Kull knew he was out of the sun again.  Inside somewhere, the cool air on his skin.  Escorted by a pair of controlling men, gripping him tight.  But where were they taking him?  Was this it, his killing?  Throat slit, guts cut open?  He didn’t know what was happening to him, could see nothing, no noises other than his panting inside the hood to be heard.  Nervousness had him tense.  He’d heard that declaration, the jeers from an angry crowd as he swallowed the lashes of their pain.  They weren’t outlaws, he wasn’t too be sold off.   Not slavery.  He was sentenced to be killed, he’d heard  ..   for offending. This was some ritual killing they were dragging him to.  For violating  …  there was that word again  ..  offending against what was probably some legendary hero of them, for trampling over his grave.  Or for offending their gods.  What did Kull give a shit?  Who was that Mohlog?  
And then that blaring horn,.  And a long protracted silence.  His head reeling.  A chill in his balls.  Fearing the knife, a spear to the gut.  Till mysteriously he was released, roughly dragged away.

Was this it, then?  He was being taken off to be killed.  Gagged, head stuck in a bag, strong controlling grips on his arms.  Hauled away.  For what?  Painfully killed  ..  judging by the passionate cries that he’d heard accompany his death sentence.  Fuck that Katz.  What-the-shit had he got Kull into?  Fuck his own greed.  Fuck those ever-vindictive gods.  

Yeah.  Fuck ‘em all.  Bumped off?  Killed?  Not if he could help it.  He didn’t know how but he was going to try his damnedest.  He tried it on again, he wriggled, he squirmed.  He was surprised when one of the fuckers again let go of his upper arm.  But just as quickly it had seized him back again.  A hard punch got slammed into the back off his skull.  Kull gasped.  
Never mind  ….  At some point they were going to let go of him  ..  ever the optimist  ..  then he’d strike.  What had he got to lose?    He froze.  He’d been stopped.  They were standing still.  He tensed.  It was either the plunge of a knife in his guts  ..  or this was going to be his chance.

He twitched.  Something cold touched his backside. It moved upwards  ..  through his loincloth.  Slicing through.  Before he reacted  ..  on other side .. two cuts had sliced away his loincloth.  What the ……  Clothing gone.  He didn’t wear much but …..   Before any answer came to him  ..  Kull was being catapulted forward.  His legs hit something hard, he toppled forward.  He was being twisted around.  With a hard thud his back smacked down onto rock.  Momentum cracked his head backwards.  Rock bashed into the back of his skull.  Lights flashed within the bag.  A punch thudded into his belly, the wind in his lungs was blasted out of him.  Kull cried out into his gag.

Hands were all over him.  A strong two-handed grip encased his throat.  Throttling him, pinning his head to the rock under him.  Fuck that!  He squirmed, he fought back.  Strong grips seized him stronger, tight grips on his hands, raised them above his head.  At the other end, he felt hands grasp at his ankles, pulling on his legs, stretching him, spreading his legs.  Spread out on a rock.  Stone of sacrifice.  Fired by his fears  ..  he humped up, he squirmed around in their tight grips.  Too late he felt cord looping around his ankles, pulled tight, securing him.  NO!  Fuck ‘em.  He tried to kick out.  Too late.

His attackers peeled off him.  Immediately Kull fought to free himself again.  He couldn’t.  Nothing budged.  Rapidly, skilfully  ..  practised  …   those attackers had got his feet tied in place, his hands were secured above his head.   In frustration Kull roared.  His hips humped up, he twisted, he yanked.  Useless.  Where had it gone, that one chance he’d hung on to?  His hope of fighting his way free.  Gone.  

He’d been ambushed, it had been over before he’d had chance to think.  Stretched out on some large flat stone.  Tied hands and feet.  Panic flooded his being. The thought froze him.  Like some sacrifice, pinned out on a stone.  Naked as the day he was born.  Fuck!  He tugged wildly at the bonds, he yanked at the cords restraining him.  His mind’s eye saw the chilling scene.  Maddened, he tugged and twisted.  Fearful he contorted and pulled.  Mocked by the image of himself filling his head.  Stretched out on a stone, nothing on, no escape.  On a stone of sacrifice.

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