Overheard



MacisteContents TOC \o "1-2" \h \z \u Overheard PAGEREF _Toc54198144 \h 3Public flogging PAGEREF _Toc54198145 \h 5Banished PAGEREF _Toc54198146 \h 8Surprise visitor PAGEREF _Toc54198147 \h 10Exile PAGEREF _Toc54198148 \h 13Treachery PAGEREF _Toc54198149 \h 16Summoned PAGEREF _Toc54198150 \h 18Focus point PAGEREF _Toc54198151 \h 20No way out PAGEREF _Toc54198152 \h 23Jeered PAGEREF _Toc54198153 \h 25Double-trouble PAGEREF _Toc54198154 \h 28Man in charge PAGEREF _Toc54198155 \h 31Contorted PAGEREF _Toc54198156 \h 34Whips out PAGEREF _Toc54198157 \h 37Finished PAGEREF _Toc54198158 \h 39Under duress PAGEREF _Toc54198159 \h 42Featuring as:Maciste - Tim PerryJase - Hagen RichterOverheardThe two men had slipped outside for a quiet word, From his room Jase overheard his old man whispering to Maciste outside. Jase wouldn't have heard normally, he'd been on his X-box with headset on but he’d stopped for a leak. It was a hot night, windows open, Jase heard the pair of guys down in the garden talking suspiciously quietly. Nosy, he crept to the window and listened in. They had gone outside to share some bad news.A buddy called Mac had got “taken”. "Advising" a rebel group in guerrilla war against some terrorist warlord. His mission went tits up, captured, humiliated. The warlord had him put out on display. To deter locals from providing the insurgents with any assistance. Or show any man who might think of joining the rebels what it would cost.First Mac's “confession” was put up on the web. Warning to any agency thinking they could meddle in the warlord’s affairs. They'd carefully ensured there were no signs of duress or coercion visible. Afterwards Mac had been publicly scourged .. off camera. “And then ….. ? Since?“ Jase heard Maciste ask.“Nothing. Disappeared. No one’s heard of him since.”Pop probably shrugged.“Taken out. Poor sucker. Fucking evil bastards!"There was a short pause.“If he was that lucky …..”Uncle Bob added.“It’s common knowledge. Slavery out there is still rife.” Public floggingShit! What must that be like! A public flogging. That night Jase’s head was in a whirl. These were the risks his Pop ran? Jase knew what he did. But he chose not to give it much thought. Jase’s mind exploded. His old man risked that? He hadn’t thought. Guys like Pop. Physique like fuck. Tough as shit. Instinctively Jase’s thoughts fled the idea, he didn’t want to think of that. Pop getting caught. Flogged. Sold into slavery. Never to see Pop again. Jase didn’t want to entertain any thoughts like that. As usual, Jase had no qualms of thinking Uncle Bob put through something like that. Quite the opposite, he could hardly wait. His hero was made for just such a challenge. Later that night, under the sheet, sweltering in the heat, Jase handled the hard question. Shit! What must that be like! Jase wondered at the nerves of steel it must have taken Mac. A public flogging. Jase’s mind drifted in the usual direction. Jase got excited at the idea of Uncle Bob dealing with that predicament. He got a hard grip on himself. He thrilled at the idea of Uncle Bob rising to that challenge. Getting off on the idea. Fantasising about his hero getting caught? The questioning. Publicly flogged. What would he be like? How would he take it?Uncle Bob instead of “Mac” at the public whipping post? How would he have coped? That muscled back was just made to take that. But what nerves he must need. Taken prisoner by an implacable warlord pissed at the interference .. caught helping out rebel fighters, training them in guerrilla tactics. Captured. Badly handled, abused, roughed up as a matter of course. Punishing interrogations. Then brought out to be made an example of. To deter others who might run to the rebel cause.It would have to be extreme, a severe deterrent. That went without saying. And the prisoner was going to know that. Hours stuck in a foul-smelling rat-infested dungeon cell in the dark. Stinking hot, no water, no food. If Jase was the warlord, he’d have the prisoner stripped to his underwear. A not-too-subtle indication that he was to be tortured. As a matter of course. There’d be tough interrogations .. squeezing intel out of Uncle Bob, the whereabouts of the rebels. He’d tell them shit. And he’d pay for it. Capturing him was a golden opportunity, they could be rid of the rebels forever. They’d make the best out of the situation. Uncle Bob would be put through the wringer.And in-between the beatings, hours of nervous waiting seated in the rat-shit on the floor. Finally when they’d given up on beating any info out of Uncle Bob, his fate was to be dragged out to a public whipping post. The innocent population forcibly driven out to attend. To watch the American spy get what he deserved. A harsh deterrent. Plenty of witnesses. Eyes that would spread the word. A thrashing as good as they came.Arms shackled to the post. What must that feel like? Helpless, no escaping the flogging. Heart pounding. It’d take nerves of fucking steel. Knowing you were going to take a whipping out-of-hell. Knowing it had to be bad. The worst. No one has said a word about how severe, how many. Not even the taunting guards. There'd been no trial, Uncle Bob hadn’t been sentenced to a given number of lashes. Twenty. Fifty. Was there no number? No limit? How did he manage not to piss himself? Lashed till he screamed? Whipped till he collapsed? Thrashed till they'd flayed his back raw. And then salt water thrown over him to hear him scream.Lashed with what? Stung with a cane? Thwacked with a stick? A cat-of-nine-tails ripping open that bare muscled back? The thud of a bullwhip? Agonisingly pulverising steel-honed muscle. A whip of the toughest rhino-hide? Or if they’d done with the questioning, if they had no reason for the prisoner to survive … would they have metal flails woven into the leather? Whip him to death?If any guy could take it, it would be Uncle Bob. But still ….. What must it be like? Stood waiting. Thoughts whirling through his head. Blood racing. How would Uncle Bob deal with his nerves? Of course .. to shame him … they'd strip him. They'd have him take the lash naked. His bare ass on display to innocent women and children. Or would they position him facing the crowd? Jase’s warlord would. His nakedness for all to see. Stripped of that last dignity. A symbol of his utter helplessness. Facing the crowd so they’d see the pain of each crippling lash visible on Uncle Bob’s face. Tears of pain inevitably streaming. Shaming. Stripped of any hope of preserving manly self-respect.What would that feel like? Did it feel shaming because of the unmanly screams? Pain was intense, it was human to scream. But was it worse because the enemy was squeezing every agonising scream out of you? More shaming, more humiliating? Jase pondered the hard question in the darkness under the sheet. Humiliated. Publicly scourged. How would Uncle Bob take that .. going under the whip? A public flogging. BanishedJase is a regular follower of rendsz’ world. When he was reading back into earlier stories, he found a plot suited to put his Uncle Bob fully to the test. Building on the short mini-series on rendsz’ world active called Usurper, Jase has imagined his muscle-hero into a sequel of those Maciste stories. The cruel brutality of the ancient sword-and-sandals’ world is just the setting for Jase’s hero to make a show of himself.Back in 2015, rendsz’ world raised the issue of Maciste’s origins. In all those numerous Italian films, no one ever figured out where the super-hero had come from. He simply emerged fully fledged and big-muscled as a fearsome righter-of-wrongs. But no one ever explained about his past.In the two-part series Usurper, rendsz’ world raised one option. He is a prince, his father the king has died. A grasping step-mother has grabbed the throne from Maciste the rightful heir. Her son, Maciste’s step-brother, becomes king … mother knows she can pull his strings. Maciste is banished. To avoid the curse of regicide, his banishment is lifetime servitude in a slave quarry. After all, accidents happen all the time. After weeks of brutality with a target on his back .. marked as traitor to the king, feel free to teach him the error of his ways …. Maciste escapes. And spends the rest of his life starring in Italian movies as a mercenary fighter for freedom.What might happen, Jase ponders …. if Maciste has reason to return to the land of his birth? Surprise visitorThe soldier snarled through the rusty bars in the dungeon."On your feet, scum."His prisoner squinted past the flames of the torches .. his sight unaccustomed to light after hours in this stinking pitch blackness. He didn't move."Gone deaf, arsehole? I said ……"His bawl echoed off the dark walls running with damp and the cold." … on your feet."Maciste had no reason to be cooperative with these soldiers. Since his capture, they’d made sure he was not going to give them any trouble. One look at him and they knew exactly what they had on their hands. They’d not taken any chances with him. Maciste must have been sold out, someone had betrayed him. The soldiers had been lying in wait for him in numbers, he’d walked straight into their ambush, he’d not had any reason to expect trouble. They’d waylaid him, they had force on their side. He hadn’t stood a chance. And once they had this invaluable prisoner, the king’s exiled step-brother …. it was too risky to take any chances. Hands bound behind, the noose around his neck secured by the officer on his horse .. and soldiers armed with spears escorting him. They were making sure that they got their prize captive back to the palace in one piece. There’d be some coin in this for them. Every time Maciste put up any struggle, they had no compunction in proving who held the whiphand.Maciste recognised the aggressive soldier mouthing off at him through the bars. On the journey here, he'd been on Maciste's back for the least infringement. A sour look back had earned him a smack in the face. Once when the soldiers had taken a break and were getting water from a stream, he'd laughed in the face of Maciste's request for a sip. Maciste had cursed him back. A couple of severe backhanders to the face had got Maciste's blood up. He shoulder-barged the soldier to the ground. He would have got in a few foot kicks but a couple of his mates grabbed Maciste by the arms and pulled him off.Maciste knew he was in for it when he saw the soldier's face. Shown up before his mates. He unhooked the club from his belt and jabbed the end of it into Maciste’s belly .. enough times to have him doubled up with pain. A knee kick to his side unbalanced him. The soldiers let him go. It was now Maciste taking kicks on the ground. The officer in charge had yelled out for the fracas to stop."You'll have plenty of chances when we get the traitor back."Now in the dungeon’s coldness, Maciste wasn’t in the best mood to jump to that soldier’s tune when ordered to his feet. He didn't move. Frustrated the guard growled."You want we come in there and make you?"Maciste paused. He flexed his shoulder muscles, he clenched his hands into fists … they weren’t tied this time. Maciste used the flickering light on his face to stick up a defiant chin and showed the determination the soldier would be up against."Yeah. Be my guest. I'd welcome the chance."And the look on Maciste’s face showed he meant that. They could come in with their clubs. But in the confines of this cramped cell, he didn't reckon their chances. The first through the narrow door would get it, effortlessly Maciste would commandeer his club. Then he’d show them what he was made of.A voice from behind the flickering light spoke up."You can taunt your betters now, scum. But the boot will soon be on the other foot."Maciste squinted from his seat on the cold bare floor. He peered past the flickering torch. His eyes were still unaccustomed to light. "And you would be …..?"He couldn't make out a face. But underneath the glare of the light, he saw a richly decorated tunic. Muscled athletic legs. That didn’t fit with his half-brother. Unless Kheir had changed his ways.There was a slight pause."In a sense we are related ….."Maciste frowned. It wasn't his half-brother. He'd remember that slimy voice."I’m kind of your brother in law."And Maciste heard in the steely tone of the voice that he could forget about being a relation. That would not be buying him any favours. ExileThe young man had stepped to the bars, revealing himself in the flickering torchlight."My sister married his majesty."Maciste looked him over. About 22 he reckoned, athletic, good looking .... and he behaved like he knew it. “That makes you my brother-in-law.”The boy sniggered at the thought. What he saw was a man, broken. sitting in a rat-infested blackness. Dishevelled, near-naked, grimy-skin. Maciste pondered the stranger. By his build, a young man who’d excelled at sports. He’d be into wrestling, javelin … things that required speed and fast reactions rather than brawn and bulk."And where is that esteemed usurper?”Maciste sneered at this underling through the bars. Where WAS Maciste’s step-brother? Not come to gloat?“Too cowardly to shift his ass and come and greet the rightful king.”His shoulders shrugged disdainfully. He glanced over his surroundings.“ ….. even when he's got him safe behind bars?"Maciste was rightfully king of these lands. His father had married again. Maciste suspected his new wife had his father poisoned. And she'd usurped the throne in favour of her own son. Knowing she had him under her thumb. Doubting Maciste would give her an easy ride."His majesty is away.”The man was not giving in to Maciste’s sarcasms. “At his palace in the mountains."Away from the stinking heat of the summer city, Maciste sneered. Kheir had always looked after his comforts."I rule in his absence."The way this underling preened at his newly-acquired might got under Maciste’s skin. He was already getting to dislike this fool.From the position seated on his damp-chilled backside, Maciste nodded in mock obeisance. "And my esteemed brother-in-law goes by a name?"The eyes stayed cold as the lips on the young man rained a humourless smile at Maciste’s mock politeness."Jase. PRINCE Jase."He paused."But you can call me Royal Highness."Like hell I will, thought Maciste. He looked up at the young man. Probably some merchant’s son. Father paid the king a fortune in dowry to get the family ennobled. “His Royal Highness” .. good-looking, athletic build. And too big for his own boots."You have broken the law.”“His Royal Highness” looked stern through the bars. Or at least, Maciste sneered to himself, he was trying to.“Serious dereliction. Comes at a hefty price.”He sounded stupid to Maciste as he tut-tutted. Was this kid real?“You were sent into exile. For life."Exile? Was that the story Kheir had put about? Maciste had been secretly snatched and sent to a slave quarry. Condemned to a lifetime of slavery. Committed to an existence twisted by resentment and suffering. His evil step-mother probably reckoned it was better for Maciste to suffer a slave’s lifetime of back-breaking hard labour .. eaten alive with bitterness and harsh beatings. Far more punishing than a quick twenty minutes choking off a rope. Maciste had been condemned to a lifetime with a target tattooed on his back. He’d had a cloud floating above his head .. his majesty's message written in blood on his whiplashed back. "Want to beat the hell out of this scumbag? Feel free." Besides, in quarries accidents happened. Finally, though, Maciste had escaped.Maciste had wandered abroad .. getting work where he could. A mercenary warrior. He'd abandoned any idea of getting back his throne. For five years he'd not even approached the borders of his land. And then he heard his old nurse was dying. She’d brought him up, she’d given him a secure happy start in life. Surely … he owed it to her, didn’t he? He could slip in quietly, couldn’t he? Unseen. Bring her some comfort in her last days.He'd arrived too late, though, she’d already passed away. But not late enough to avoid getting spotted. The poor were always on the look-out for a few coins. TreacheryJase sneered at the prisoner. “Why else would the deposed prince return? Except treachery? To raise insurrection.”The king would be grateful, Jase reckoned. Capturing his errant step-brother. Caught in a failed attempt at rebellion. He could expect to be rewarded, The king would shower favours on his brother-in-law. Jase counted on a few estates being pushed his way.This Maciste’s hide was going to open doors to riches. The rival claimant had been caught on Jase’s watch. But Jase reckoned he could wheedle himself further into the king’s favours. By the time the king arrived back, Jase would make sure this sneering prisoner had changed his attitude. What the king would receive on his return would be much more pliant. He’d be handing over a rebel already broken. And penitent for raising upheaval. Jase would beat that remorse into him. He’d have this arrogant on-time prince on his knees begging forgiveness by the time Jase was finished with him."Back to raise an uprising? Back to make mayhem? Fancy the throne for yourself?"Maciste looked up from his seat on the damp cold floor and shook his head. That hadn’t been his plan, he’d not come back to claim his throne. But there was no point in arguing. Who was interested in listening? He'd have to rely on his own fabled good luck to save his skin. It was all down to him.Jase looked into Maciste’s cage. He'd indulge this act of defiance, insolently continuing to sit in his presence. Pretending to himself that his guards couldn’t force him. Jase would pamper to this fool denying to himself the truth that this Maciste was done-for. Jase could afford to humour the fool. His plans would soon see the tables turned. And by the time his brother-in-law the king was back … Jase would have taken things fully into his own hands. This Maciste would be broken. There'd be no defiance when rebel and king met. Jase would have beaten it out of the cur. The king would recognise in his brother-in-law a man he could rely on. There was only one way to deal with men like this one-time prince who thought they were so super-tough. Jase would prove him otherwise."His Majesty had been informed. He will be returning for your execution, I am sure."Maciste had no doubt. He’d be racing back.Jase turned to his Captain."Issue a summons to the townsfolk. When the temple gong sounds, everyone is to be assembled."The captain nodded. He checked on the intention."Whipping? In the square?"Jase looked in through the bars. He fixed Maciste with a stern eye. When he was sure he had his “brother-in-law’s” attention, Jase nodded."The traitor is to be publicly scourged ….."Jase half-explained, half-gloated. The smile on his lips didn't illuminate his eyes. He had his heart set on winning those estates from the king." … in readiness for his majesty’s return. When he’ll determine the manner of execution."By the time the king was back this prisoner wouldn't be acting so cocky. SummonedHis escort pushed Maciste up against a wall. Behind them, soldiers were driving a crowd of about 50 people through the streets towards the gate into the square. Roughly Maciste was pushed up against the wall to let them pass. He was slammed face-first into a crumbling wall and roughly held there while behind him frightened womenfolk were being chased with whips and canes into the temple square. Maciste was to be the star of the show. But Jase needed an audience for him first, townsfolk driven to the temple to make sure Jase had a full house. Maciste heard these innocent citizens being shouted at and beaten to rush them into the square. He heard a woman cry out as a whip caught across her back. The town’s citizens being brutally assembled in the square to watch Maciste going under the whip.His step-brother Kheir had usurped Maciste’s throne. Under him Maciste's land looked as though life had become more authoritarian. Maciste has been born prince, he'd been raised to follow in his father’s footsteps. He knew rulers ruled, he knew kings enforced their will. But what was this? Forcing women and children to attend his beating? Whipping all the menfolk into the square to attend his whipping? So Kheir's rule of law could be seen to be enforced? So the people knew the cost of not obeying their king? The temple gong again sounded, three times. More yells from behind as soldiers hurried townsfolk towards the punishment. The gong resounded ominously for when Maciste’s escort would haul the traitor through the crowd. To demonstrate the might of the king's will.There'd been the predictable struggle when they'd come to his cell earlier. Maciste had been taunted by the guards and warned that he was in for a good beating. He had put up a good struggle keeping them out of the cell but once they'd forced him to back up from the gate their clubs had come into good effect. A lucky hit to the side of his head dashed him back to the wall. A kick to the knee got him down in the floor. It rained boots.As he was coming round, they were already dragging him on his back. Out across the main dungeon floor. There were manacles on his wrists and the chain between them was being fastened to a hook and he was hauled up in the air. Quickly they were ripping his clothes off him.Out of frustration and temper, Maciste lashed out with a leg. The kick got a guard in the chest, upending him. The soldier who'd taken such a shine to Maciste unhooked his club from his belt and swung it across Maciste's midriff. Maciste lashed out with his foot again but the guard easily sidestepped the ungainly kick. Before Maciste could make another swing, the soldier had stepped in close, disabling Maciste's legs. His hand reached into Maciste’s groin, grabbed his nuts and squeezed. He held Maciste still by crushing his balls while the others were slicing away his breeches. When Maciste again persisted in struggling, the guard dug his thumb nail into a nut and crushed a pained hiss out of his prisoner.When they'd got Maciste naked and hanging off his wrists, the guard let go of his nuts."Fuck you!"Maciste let go his temper.The guard replied with a snarl. And jabbed the end of his club straight into Maciste's lower belly. Gratified by the burst of air breaking out of his prisoner's throat, he let Maciste have it another half dozen times.They'd left him suspended hanging off the hook, naked, while they'd gone off to spruce themselves up. Jase had honoured them with the task of escorting the traitor to meet a severe thrashing on the temple steps. Focus pointJase had positioned himself at the top of the temple steps. He looked over the crowd .. squashed together in the square, intimidated by soldiers chasing them here to watch and learn. With movement, he flicked his vision over towards the gate. Observing Maciste entering the square from the other end, directly opposite. Jase was the figure the prisoner would see immediately as he passed through the gates into the square. The dominant figure, the man in charge of this public chastisement for his treachery. Maciste was going to be in no doubt, he’d know from the first sighting that he owed his punishment to the young man stood dominating the square.Jase had had the townsfolk corralled into two blocks .. leaving a passage down the middle. An open corridor which led the prisoner’s gaze straight to him. Confirming that in this crowded square only one man counted for the prisoner. Down this corridor Maciste would pass .. every step bringing him closer to Jase’s command over him. Jase had had the passage lined with solders on either side of the traitor as he approached. Already the soldiers were thumping their spears against their shields. In unison. A menacing sound that echoed off the walls and amplified .. a slow massive thud of weaponry and menace to escort the prisoner into the square. An ominous drumroll announcing the traitor’s oncoming moments of despair.Two armed guards before him, two behind. And passing through a troop of enemy soldiers armed with spears drumming out on their shields the prisoner’s doom. Jase smiled to himself, he wondered at the ingenuity of drama he'd produced. Every man, woman and child within the square had to be trembling at the threat of violence this scene created. As expected, Maciste had taken in the crowd. He was observing the resounding drumroll of threat. Visibly he was making a good show off not looking concerned, Jase thought. But secretly this threat had to have his heart beating. Inescapably escorted between two rows of foreboding troops in his manacles. If secretly they’d been ordered to turn on him … if unbeknown to Maciste Jase had ordered the troops to attack …. beat him, crush him to death under their shields ….. surely thoughts had to be whirring in his head as the thud of spears on shields pounded in his ears. Not Jase’s intentions, though. With a good escort and dozens of armed soldiers surrounding him any escape was impossible. Maciste was going under the lash. A quick massacre of the rival to the throne was not on the cards. His fate belonged to the king. And Jase had decided not to use visible signs of force. He could have had the traitor brought here, shamefully bound into a yoke like some recalcitrant slave. Beaten and forcibly dragged here resisting. But escorting him here, with a minimal guard …. For Jase that created a sense of his helplessness. Escorted simply in shackles .. as if he could try and break free …. it publicly announced Maciste’s vulnerability. His acceptance that he would have to consent to this fate. In this minimal restraint, Jase found a display of total inevitability in Maciste’s predicament. It was a sign that the prisoner knew he had to accept that. He was going under the lash. And there was be no escape.If he had sent friends here … if Maciste had come to raise rebellion and had allies in the square …. . who was going to be dumb enough to try a rescue?. Who’d dare pop up his head? Against dozens of armed soldiers. It would be suicide. Thud. Thud. 50 spears banged in unison against their shields. Thud. Thud. For Maciste there was no escaping his fate. Thud. Thud. The din of 50 spears bounced off the walls. Resounding threat echoing off their shields. A deafening sound of menace. Thud. Thud. Echoes of the traitor’s beating heart were resounded around the square. Each step Maciste took rang with his impending doom.Chin up, looking resolute and brave, Maciste strode closer. He was glad that at the last minute in the dungeons he’d been given something to cover his dignity. With women and children forcibly chased into this square, he was grateful that princeling had ordered a piece of torn sackcloth to wrap around himself. The last shred of dignity before he was brought to meet the folk over whom he was born to rule. But how many of them here remembered him? Or even cared? Here they were summoned to attend. They’d been driven here by force. Made to attend a “traitor's” violent thrashing. Maciste's public humiliation. Ordered at this jumped-up princeling’s command.Jase gestured for the escort to halt at the foot of the steps. He looked down on his condemned prisoner. Looking strongly up at him .. his prisoner was putting on a good face. From birth this traitor had been brought up to rule. He knew how to act. But did the fool still think he had some say in what was going on here? At a nod, the escort forced Maciste to his knees. A position of supplication. But Jase would be hearing no pleas here today. Besides, he doubted this prisoner would beg.Jase had visited him in the dungeons before leaving. Finding him strung up, hanging in the air. Naked. Hung just as the guards had prepared him for his public humiliation. Seemingly concerned Jase had ordered sackcloth thrown at him in the dungeons."Can't have it going naked in public. There'll be women there."Seemingly concerned. Maciste would appear in the sacking of a slave when he met his fate. Would the prisoner be grateful for that single shred of dignity? Would it hurt that he was forced to be grateful for this small mercy. From the man who was ordering him whipped? And how would be feel when Jase ordered those rags stripped away? A shaming for Maciste as much as a thrashing was the order of the day. All that preening manly pride. Stripped to nothing before the people he thought he would rule.From the bottom of the steps Maciste returned Jase's look. But he couldn't equal the glow of sadistic pleasure that burned in Jase's core. Looking down on him. At Jase's mercy. Giving the appearance of resolute bravery. But no way could he help himself. Looking strong, muscular shoulders on him, powerful back. But that muscled might would give no protection against the slap of stinging leather across his back. Jase held up a hand. The shield thumping stopped. As one man. But still the echoes of doom reverberated off the walls. Chilling the blood."You are summoned to bear witness. A traitor to the king."His hand indicated the prisoner on his knees."Here to raise insurrection."Maciste was looking up shaking his head. But Jase knew he'd not deny it. He wasn’t going to call out and protest. Why bother? He knew Jase wasn’t listening. Jase would have his way. This Maciste was going under the lash. No way outAgainst Maciste, physically, one-on-one, it was obvious Jase did not stand much of a chance. He'd get in a few quick moves. As wrestling champ, he has a reputation for speed. But put a few power holds on him .. with Maciste’s bigger build, his experience as warrior, his fearlessness as a killer .. Jase would quickly lose any advantages he had.But in all his fantasising about his hero, Jase had taken that into account. And he also relied on his estimation that Uncle Bob would never allow for anyone to come out on top. Men like him, like Maciste … they didn’t go into a fight with any idea of not coming out on the winning side. Maciste could never be allowed to put to best use his superior fighting skills. Or his warrior attitude. Even outnumbered, Jase’s fantasy prisoner would still put a good few men down. And Jase's thinking didn't allow for him even getting that chance. Jase wanted Maciste physical superiority well and truly humiliated. Seen broken and humiliated. Not physically restrained. But inescapably trapped. And Jase would play on his nerves. Take him unawares, surprise him Do the unexpected. Ambush him. And why not indulge in a bit of psychological warfare while Jase was about it!So Jase had his soldiers setting up a barrage of abuse as the prisoner was escorted up the temple steps. Fifty soldiers had lined his parade of shame through the square. They’d threatened him with the drumroll of spears pounded on their shields. Now .. after Jase had marked him down as a traitor .. the assembled troops broke out into a bombardment of mocking abuse. They cheered his downfall. They jeered. Down the whole length of the square, they’d menaced him with that drumroll of terror. Now as he was shoved up the temple steps, the troops in the temple square erupted in jeers. Not in unison now, every man for himself. Jase’s purpose was noise. Abusing the traitor. Cursing the rebel. Loud jeering voices that echoed off the walls and lashed stinging contempt across the prisoner’s broad muscular back.Jase stepped out of the way to let the prisoner pass. He knew there was a chance that Maciste would go for him. That physical threat didn't worry him, his escort would be on to him before Maciste got in the first blow. But what image would the crowd get of him? The victim seeing there was still some fight left in him? Uncowed, Still a rebellious threat.That didn’t fit with Jase’s fantasy. What the townsfolk were to see was the inevitability. And sense that this Maciste recognised the inescapability himself. He couldn’t fight it. There was no running away. All he had to gird his loins was his resoluteness. His toughness. THAT was what Jase was putting to the test. That was where Jase would hunt down his breaking point.Jase wasn't giving him the chance to show any resistance. The brave warrior fighting his last battle against insurmountable odds .. that didn’t figure in this plot. Jase didn't care what image Maciste might want project of himself to the scum down in the square. The image of the real claimant to the throne still finding the will to battle this out. Jase wasn't prepared to let his victim think of himself like that.He went under the lash. That was where he proved himself. That was where this muscular manliness was put to the test. Where was this tough-guy’s elusive breaking point? This thrashing was inevitable. This scourging was inescapable. His position was hopeless. He was going under the lash. THAT was the way Jase needed this victim to think of himself. That was where Jase would find his breaking point. That was the way Jase had it planned for him. Hopeless. Helpless. And how would he cope? How was he going to react when rock-hard resolve hit rock-bottom? JeeredLooking out on a sea of faces, any exit blocked by fifty armed warriors cheering his imminent downfall … Maciste could see no other option. He was forced into having himself tied to the sturdy temple pillars. Ropes extended outwards, spreading his arms out to the sides, no means of defence. He glared in anger at Jase. Who returned his stare with cold indifference on his face. Though his pulse had already started to lift. And Jase could feel that distinctive manly thrill of dominance tingling in his groin.The pounding thuds of wood on steel shields again had set up an intimidating din. Maciste's only way out would have been to race for that back gate. And fifty jeering soldiers stood in his way. Inescapable. He'd never get halfway.Sturdy rope bit into his wrists stretching out his arms. Jase saw this body twitch as the ropes were tugged tight biting into his wrists. Indefensible. Such was the power Jase was holding over the might of this legendary force, his awakening hard-on gave a twitch. Maciste grimaced and looked angry at the soldier when the rope nipped at his skin. But what the hell was he going to do except snarl? Trapped in inescapable loops of rope holding his arms out. The thick loops digging into his wrists were planned to be taking his weight when he collapsed in pain. Whatever he tried, that fabled muscled might could not break himself free of their strength. He could use as much of that shredded power he displayed …. he could fool himself into believing he could call on his muscular resolve to save him .. there be no escaping the punishment Jase planned for him. Pushing this muscled might to its limits and beyond. The din of the jeering troops in the square didn't let up. Maciste continued to look out over the crowd, chin up, undaunted. His strength of will seemingly undiminished. Jase sensed Maciste’s strong confidence in his frame of mind. He knew he couldn’t win but he was going to face it with pride. Setting his resolve to battle against the ferocity he knew Jase had planned for his hide. Jase smiled to himself. He was going to need more than his strength of mind. Jase was going to break him. There was only one possible winner here.Jase followed Maciste's gaze. They weren't cheering him, he noticed Maciste hadn’t got supporters here, the square was not full of his followers. OK, they weren’t jeering either, the townsfolk weren't joining in with the troops. They didn’t want to be here, they had been herded into this square reluctantly .. forced to witness the brutal thrashing of the man who might once have been their king. They were watching in sullen silence. Why should they care? Maciste couldn’t count on any friends here. One king was as good as any to them. Not to Jase, though .. he owed his position to the half-brother who'd seized Maciste's throne. Jase knew where his loyalties lay. It didn't hurt to have this traitor going down under Jase's lashings. A grateful king could be generous.Passive, this mob? Shouldn't they be cheering watching this traitor going under the lash? It was tempting. Jase could have them threatened if they did not cheer. That would be a true expression of his power. But the troops bashing their shields .. setting off blaring echoes off the walls … they were producing more than enough intimidation. Those echoes of menace that declared Maciste was doomed. Arms outstretched, no chance of evading a thrashing to break him to his knees ….. Jase didn't need a few half-hearted jeers from this mob. Maciste might take comfort from the fact that they’d had to be forced. Their sullen indifference was also a message. He meant nothing to them. Maciste could count on no help here. Jase contented himself. These peasants didn't have their heart in this. But the soldiers did, they were making enough din. And their racket had to get through to Jase's prisoner. For all that bulging muscle, the man Jase had ordered outstretched between the pillars … the pounding shields had to sound an ominous message to him .. however much he stuck his slabbed chest out in defiance. A harbinger of the horror he was about to face. Looking out over hundreds of uncaring people gathered to see the treachery whipped out of him …. the din off those shields had to mock that muscled strength. These ropes binding him in place …. attesting to his helplessness .. no rescue, no way out …. In this predicament … what had he got left? What strength was there to call on?That din echoing off the walls was undoubtedly the reason why Maciste never spotted the danger. The crash of spears on metal disguised the surprise. No sooner had the escort got him secured .. no sooner had they got him fixed between the temple pillars at the top of the steps .. dutifully his escort stepped away. And with no announcement .. no order from Jase .. not even a glance …. from behind his attackers went for him. Unbeknown to Maciste, two men raced forward. Just as Jase had ordered. Leather straps primed .. slung over their shoulders. Coming for him at a run. Eyes targeted on that wide out-spread stretch of muscle. Their footsteps drowned out by the din. Maciste didn't know what had hit him. The troops had reason to jeer the fool. Jase had ordered him ambushed. Double-troubleMaciste didn't know it was coming. Still intent on putting on a good face. Defying the menace of pounding shields. Fooling himself he could endure this. A surprise slash of burning leather stung him across the breadth of a muscular back, that soon knocked the assurance off his face. Jase found it hard not to smirk. A shock stinging burn from a hand-width leather strap. Bursting in a tortured explosion over that plain of undulating muscle. The surprise made Maciste cry out. The force threw a leg forward. Then, only a moment later, the second strap tore into his backside. Both attackers had taken a run at him. Putting the momentum of their run brutally behind the brawny mass of powerful shoulders. The sting across Maciste's backside jerked him forwards .. his momentum only stopped by the jarring pull of ropes tight on his wrists.The ambush had taken Maciste by surprise. Jase felt a rush of blood to his groin. Two sharp yelps of shock lashed out of his victim in the first round. Unexpectedly thrown forwards, the bonds yanking on his arms, thick ropes around his wrists digging painfully in. Caught off-guard, Maciste was already breathing hard. His features bore witness to the pained shock etched into his face.Quickly he twisted around. His two attackers had returned to their starting point. Without a pause, Maciste saw them give each another a nod. Then the first slung his strap over his shoulders and launched himself back into attack. Two paces later, the second attacker broke into a run. Just as Jase had planned, as he had ordered. Two strikes in combination. One piling pain in top of the other. Jase saw Maciste twist himself back round. A quick angry glare at Jase. Then he set his shoulders square. He pulled hard on the ropes to firm up his stance. Then, jaw gritted, teeth clenched, Maciste took the first blow. Laid right on top of the sting across his shoulders. Pain twisted the torso. Jase watched the burn scorch pain across his prisoner's face. Just as the second strike hit. Flat across Maciste's lower back. Throwing his muscled belly forward, upper body arched back.Dishevelled, filthy from the rat-infested dungeon … could he look less kingly? What were those town-folk out there thinking of him? Stood like some stinking vagrant sweating under the lash. His face contorted by the sting of the straps. Helplessly suffering swipes scorched into his back. No say in this. Take it, suffer it. That was Jase’s offer. Muscled, strong, strong-minded .. and Jase’s helpless victim. Beginning to sweat.The din from the pounding shields seemed to have amplified. Drumming out applause hailing the traitor's pain. Maciste again had to twist around, he'd never hear the attackers approaching through the noise. Jase saw the sweat of pain glistening on his forehead. The twisted belly rocking as Maciste's pounding chest greedily sucked in air.Five doubles, Jase had ordered .. as starters. But Maciste had no way of knowing that. He was Jase’s victim. He didn’t share that truth. What Maciste did know was the accumulative effect of two strikes hitting together .. taking his breath away. And again without a break, once the attackers had retreated their ten paces .. a quick nod to each other .. and the first broke into a run.Maciste had to twist back around to prepare himself. He had turn to watch his attackers to know when they were starting on him again. He was Jase’s puppet. To save himself, because of the din drowning the attackers’ approach, Jase had him turning around. He was dancing to Jase’s tune. His litany of pain. Then, seeing his attackers lined up, Maciste again had to turn back and set his stance. Puppet on Jase’s string. Turning back to ready himself for the force of leather searing pain down his back. Setting his face to make a good show of the incoming torture. Plant his legs firm against the force that threatened to knock him off his feet.The searing lash across the top of Maciste's thigh took him by surprise. The leg wobbled, the knee broke. And the second strap tore down the length of Maciste's contorted back. Diagonally down .. taking a smarting nip out of one shoulder .. bursting across the burning welts in his back. He yelped in shock. Pain twisted Maciste around. He lost his footing. He fell. Caught by the ropes on his arms. Caught in a twisted half fall.Perfect! Jase felt a surge in his groin. A loud cry of shocked pain burst from the twisted torso that had fallen victim to Jase's devious design. Man in chargeJase was insistent, it was an essential element in his scheming .. Maciste was to appreciate who now had control of that ripped body. Whose word held sway over this prisoner's doomed fate. He was still catching his breath, he was trying to shake the sweat trickling off his hair from stinging his eyes when Jase summoned forward two fresh soldiers. Big men, stripped to the waist to impress, each equipped with a man-length wooden stave.This time, to reinforce the knowledge that it was Jase inflicting the punishment on his prisoner's suffering, Jase would call it out."On my count ...."Maciste stared at him. Jase had to be impressed the way he insolently lifted the breadth of his chest .. an act of defiance at Jase's command. A gesture that cynically questioned whether Jase could break a force as might as his physique. Maciste looked at the soldier holding his weapon two-handed. Then in haughty defiance, Maciste lifted his chin. As if telling Jase he was ready for him. Any time you feel like starting …… Like he was sarcastically giving Jase permission to proceed. A disparaging invitation to try his best.Instead of giving in to his irritation, Jase nodded back at the trapped prisoner. Willingly accepting the invitation. And giving that rush of blood to his groin a welcoming squeeze. These manly gestures were done to impress. Jase had to admit, the muscular power in that torso caught the eye, Maciste did strike a manly pose he could admire. But this was all folly, admiration only took Maciste so far. And the same with that cocky bravado. Soon Jase would have that conceitedness knocked off its perch."One."The stave swooshed through the air. A menacing blur thrown two handedly from the soldier’s knotted determination. Thwack! Smacked across the hard-muscled midriff. Flat across Maciste's waist.He hardened. Maciste had rightly spotted the target coming under attack. Jase had caught the way that staircase of muscle gripped tight and built a steely protective wall. But that flexing could only go so far in helping. The force of the blow into his midriff knocked Maciste backwards. One step thrown back by the might of the blow. Jase allowed him time. There'd be no need for sneakiness in this round of attack. Not a routine of devious 1-2 as in the earlier round. A ruthless attrition of punishing blows would wear the prisoner down. Jase gave him chance to recover his stance. He allowed his victim to build up some self-belief that he could withstand this punishment .. the fool! Jase was never going to allow that. He could afford to let the man fool himself. Only to disavow his of his crass mistake. Only to be taught the error of his ways.Jase had no plans other than to dominate. He’d control his prisoner by the mightiness of persistent pain. Maciste was breathing deep, his shredded belly pounding the wind back into his chest.Maciste threw another glance at Jase. Like Maciste was indicating he was ready. He’d accept the next strike. Like he was brazenly telling Jase to get on with it. Again Jase's groin applauded the foolish impudence of his prisoner's pride. Jase was in no hurry. He waited. He needed no permission. It was his legal right to beat the hell out of this prisoner's gut."Two."From the other side, the stave growled its menace through the air. Jase watched Maciste grit his teeth. He could almost feel the pull of Maciste’s muscle in his own belly .. flexed to fend off the force of the blow. To beat the pain. The stave hit lower. The sound of torture slapped resounding off muscled belly. Jase heard an explosion of wind. Again Maciste was knocked backwards by the colossal force of the strike.Maciste's torso rocked. Breathing in deeply. Rapid deep pants to refill his chest with wind. Was he beginning to appreciate, Jase wondered, the strength of Jase’s will? Question how many he was due for? How many of those he could take?"Three."This time Jase did not give Maciste full time to collect himself. The first soldier centred up his strike .. landing straight on top of the first welt he'd left behind. A resounding tear-filling smack of pain into his midriff. Maciste had tightened. Maybe not quick enough, not firm enough. He bent at the waist, the stave digging deeper into his gut."Four."Before he was ready, Jase ordered Maciste belly-punched again. Too fast for Maciste to collect himself and protect his gut at full strength. A loud pained grunt broke as the power of the blow punched through. The sound of his pained cry brought out a murmur from the crowd. The sound of the traitor’s suffering erupted in a roar from the troops. Clanging with their spears on their shields. Drowning any hum of sympathy in the crowd. This time, generously, Jase did give Maciste a moment. A chance for Jase's message to sink in. Jase’s reminder that Maciste was not invincible. And it was Jase who decided how much of this he was going to take. ContortedThey’d done it before, part of the job, plenty of times, they didn’t need to be told. They didn’t need some upstart noble telling them when to beat the shit out of a traitor. Enemy of the king, what else could this sucker expect? They understood what to do better than this lordling. They were loyal to the king, he kept the coins rolling in, he put bread on the table. They sure knew how to make this treacherous bastard get what was coming to him, in full measure. Gone the cursing. Where were his sneers? Now struggling to hold the cries in. The sucker was trying to hold it in, he wasn’t going to give them that satisfaction, not bawling out and giving up his pain. The pricks all started out with that idea, tough motherfuckers like this one. Not gonna give them the satisfaction. Tightening the gut .. as if that was gonna do him much good..... not the way they were going to go for him. He was trying to hold it on … but a few more of these across his guts …. He’d not be stopping himself. Fucked if they were going to stop till the treacherous brute bellowed like a stuck bull. Unless this lordling hadn’t got the stomach for it and called a halt. The fucker was drenched in his own sweat. His belly as red as the blood on the king’s banners. They’d keep going, they’d keep swapping over. They came at him with rested muscle every ten hits or so. No question of him bellowing his guts up. Just when.They could already hear their rewards for a job well done, the chink of coins ringing in their ears. They’d make sure of that. But they’d almost have done it for free. Traitor to the king. The king paid their booze, This prick deserved all he had coming. This treacherous bastard was going to break, the dickhead was going to break down. He was gonna cry.A dozen strikes across his belly had the prisoner twisted and broken off his outstretched arms. Pounding the strength out of his gut. Jase wanted so much for his victim to raise his head. He ached for him to lift his eyes to recognise who held this control over him. That mighty muscular torso that had appeared invincible. Jase had it now twisted over with each strike searing agony off his flesh. Pained laboured breathing shook the body . when the soldiers gave him the chance. The outstretched arms knotted as they rocked to the tune of panting in Maciste's chest.Damn him. He wasn’t raising his face. Or maybe he couldn't? Was he already done in? Or reluctant to look Jase in the face .. betray the agony that had been pounded out of Maciste’s physique? Damn him for not looking up. Jase was burning to have his prisoner know this was all his work, his scheming. Jane insisted on that recognition. For Maciste to acknowledge who was breaking his resolve. Jase’s hand ordered a break in the beatings. He strode over to the prisoner, feeling the heat of pain rising off him. Hearing the heavy breathing, watching the sweat glisten on his red-blotched torso as he gasped for air. Jase felt a lurch in his groin as this triumph over his victim.Stood behind, Jase's hand twisted in his hot-clammy neck and painfully he drew the sweat-drenched body to its feet. Held upright by Jase's crippling twist in his neck, he pulled his prisoner backwards, arching his hot sweat neck over his shoulder. Jase inhaled the pain. The blood raced under his tunic. This smelled good. An aphrodisiac."Strip the traitor."Jase held Maciste back-arched over his shoulder as a soldier rushed forward and ripped the rags off Maciste's loins."Behold the traitor!"Naked before the townsfolk Maciste might have ruled. Jase added this humiliation to having this one-time prince thrashed within an inch of his life. How must it feel? Every shred of manliness thrashed out of him. Stripped of that last scrap of dignity covering him. Jase took in another deep breath of the traitor’s shame. He yanked backwards on the head to make him stare out at the witnesses to his downfall. A tug back on the sweaty neck .. so hard the weakened Maciste slipped out of his grip and fell. Dangling off his ropes. And that felt good too. Confirmation of the might that had crushed this legendary hero. A fresh rush of blood attested to his triumph. "See what becomes of traitors to the king."Jase yelled his condemnation out into the crowd. Again the clash of spears thwacked into iron shields swamped the air and sucked any breath out of Jase's prisoner. With a dismissive slap across the back of Maciste's scalp, Jase returned to his place at the side."The whips." Whips outMaciste looked like he had not heard. He was swaying on his feet, using the ropes on his arms to hold himself upright. Jase didn’t want him to miss any of his show so he’d had a bucket of water thrown over him. That had brought the traitor more to his senses. But he was still struggling. Planting his feet firm, using the ropes for support.Before he was ready, though, the first thwack of thick leather tore around his chest. A long thick plaited bull-whip coiled itself from behind .. scoring a path of pain from the muscled back round the front to the meaty plates on Maciste's chest. Biting into the tender flesh on his side. Shock struck his eyes wide-open. Stinging pain contorted Maciste sideways, his mouth ripped open in a silent cry. Vindictively the soldier tugged his whip back. It slid back around the torso .. burning into skin with every inch. A yelp tore free. Head thrown back, Maciste’s torso pivoted back around. Yanked around by the searing pain scorching through his skin.The second bull-whip thumped Maciste in the back before he could draw breath. Knocking him forward .. one, two faltering steps. He had to pull hard on the ropes to save himself. Cheers burst from the soldiers in the square. Jubilant drumming of spears on shields greeted the traitor’s ambush. Again the first soldier wrapped his bull-whip around Maciste's sweat-drenched torso. Blistering pain as leather scorched around the side and scored a crimson-red welt over his ribs. Again yanked back, pulling Maciste like a spinning top. The tug scraped hard leather over bare battered flesh. Burning like a fiery torch scorched across his skin. Maciste's head was thrown back, mouth torn open .. erupting in a searing gasp of pain.Jase had ordered the whip attack vicious and fast. He had not ordered any limit in the strikes this time. As many as it took. He'd have his prisoner scorched by pain as long as it took. He complimented himself that Maciste’s suffering would tell him when his goal was reached. The din resounding off the drumming shields again masked any warning sounds. Another thud of thick braided leather thwacked his prisoner in the small of his back. The force knocked Maciste off his feet. His fall was part-arrested by the ropes on his outstretched arms. Maciste's face was contorted with the shock. Twisted mouth broken open in a yell of pain. He was making no effort to haul himself to his feet. He just hung. Had Jase’s attack robbed him of all strength? Head collapsed. Body slumped. The whip-master looked to Jase. Should he continue? Had they done enough? Five times each with the whips. Ten times at maximum effort. Ten times so hard it could cripple the best resolve. Even this doughty prisoner couldn't stand on his own two feet.The thunder of banging shields filled the square. A sound of crazed madness at the suffering of this traitor. Call a halt? Jase shook his head. This was all too good to stop. He had his victim on his last legs. He’d finish him off. This was his show, Jase would order when to stop. The soldiers instantly sprang into action. They were counting on a good reward for doing an outstanding job. They’d keep on going till sure the reward was chinking in their hands. The thick leather sizzled burning across the muscular breadth of Maciste’s outstretched back. The dangling body shook. Pain gripped on the ropes and pulled him up in the air. Weight and gravity brutally hauled him back. A sharp cry broke from the convulsing torso.Another strike from the other side was already on its way. Jase would know … the hardness of his blood in his groin would tell him when to call a halt. But his victim was not broken yet. There was still spirit left in Maciste. Jase would see him totally broken. Broken till that dogged toughness could not raise its treacherous hand again. FinishedJase had to admit to a sneaky admiration. The way this prisoner had taken his beatings … it WAS incredible. He was done-in, Jase had broken his resolve. But the guy had fought him back. Every inch of the way. These soldiers with their whips and staves .. they’d beaten the crap out of him. But no way was this man giving in easily. It was a sight to behold. It was a sight that had Jase hard in the groin. That strength alone as a commendation to the pared to the soldiers who’d brought Jase this triumph … he stood head-and-shoulders above them. They were cretins. Thick-skulled thugs. Jase had easily motivated them. The thugs were only interested in one thing. A few coins to buy themselves some hard liquor in celebration of their incredible victory. Enough to buy themselves a whore after all their boozing. Such muscle power was easily bought.Jase had motivated them by promising some reward. He bought them for nothing. He’d chosen men who were built for the task, lots of bulk, thick-plated muscle. Work-horses without a brain. Easy to manipulate them with promise of a few coins to do what Jase required. But compared to this magnificent beast .. they were mindless brutes. But they’d done Jase’s job for him. Maciste was done-for. The straps had eaten into his determination to fight back. The rods thwacked into guts, the blows to the chest knocking the wind out of him. Followed up with a couple of dozen lashes with the brutal strength of bullwhips had done the trick, these thugs had finished the prisoner off, Jase looked on with satisfaction as the soldiers coiled their whips together and stood aside. Giving Jase centre-stage over this victim. Strung out between the temple pillars. Maciste seemed barely conscious when Jase gave him a slap across the back of his to get his attention. Broken by his beating, he’d yelled out in shocked pain. Now it took as little as that surprise to get him crying out. A hard slap across his skull. The whip-masters had kept at their task. Going at him ruthlessly until torture had silenced Maciste’s defiance and Jase had called a halt. Content as his victim hung collapsed off his ropes. Broken before the people he was born to rule. Naked in his broken shame. Jase had bested him. This was exhilarating. Jase found himself relishing this taste for power. The swelling under his kilt bore witness to the fact that this was what he was born for. Imperiously he’d strode over to the inert figure of Maciste, his head bent lifeless, the breadth of his broad whip-lashed shoulders emphasised by the pull of the ropes. Powerful but silenced. Broken by Jase.Jase had every right to feel pleased with the way he’d planned things out. To really finish the traitor off, Jase had ordered it intensified. Where it mattered. In the heart of that muscle-bed of which his victim was so proud. A beating in that ripped stomach, those belly muscles getting the final pummelling. Despite the earlier beating with the wooden staves, to Jase’s eye they were still too inviting to turn down the chance. And Jase reckoned that heartland of rock-hard strength was the source of this prisoner’s sense of invincibility. Where better to prove the traitor wrong?The earlier attack with poles had weakened them. The bullwhips had slowed down the prisoner’s ability to respond. Had he strength of mind still to flex and defend himself? Had he got the muscle strength in that corded gut? To mock his belief in his invincibility Jase ordered another soldier forward. As instructed, he’d donned gloves, armoured mail. In time, with metalled gloves on, the soldier’s own fists were going hurt. Scraped raw by the blows into that pseudo-shield of invincibility. But not as much as this dickhead’s belly. Jase knew what got these men going. He’d promised this one what he’d get when he’d finished the prisoner off. Thick muscular shoulders, broad-backed, Jase had selected one to do the job right. Counting on that reward, his muscle clad torso uncovered to the waist, Jase observed the soldier eyeing up the source of his reward. Quickly getting his eye in, betting on the chink of coin, the guard dished out a brutal dozen. The best punches any muscled man could muster, putting all his weight into it. Twisting out of the shoulder, mailed fist meeting muscled flesh. The traitor knew he had to defend himself. But after the beatings, having had his will lashed out of him by the bullwhips …. Where was he going to find the strength? Maciste failed. From the first smack of metalled fist into his gut …. He couldn’t find much to fight back with. The skin was already reddened .. the muscle already battered …. , the resistance of that muscle was no longer so cocksure. Invincibility crumpled under the force of a metalled fist.Thwacked direct into the midriff. Thudded into belly flesh, right into the traitor’s belly button. Knocking the sucker backwards. Pain, momentum, force .. wherever it landed, the cocksucker was not smiling now. Gone his taunts, gone his jeers. That haughtiness inviting Jase to bring it on …. vanished. The prick was hurting Thwacked a dozen times across his belly. Pain had defeated him. Much more and this legendary Maciste would soon be passing out. Not so cocksure now. The shield of invincibility torn down.Under duressGrabbing Maciste by the hair, Jase pulled up his victim’s face.“See.”Masterful Jase’s eyes scoured over the mass of people squashed into the square. ”So suffer traitors to the king.” Jase had once heard the king explain that he crucified criminals where roads were most frequented. He favoured a public whipping like Jase had devised for Maciste so that the greatest number of people could be seized by fear. “Any out there who harbours seditious thoughts …. Ponder where that leads.”Every punishment had less to do with the offence than with the example .. that was the purpose, his brother-in-law had said. This public thrashing of the traitor was in the tradition of the king’s habits. But Jase knew he personally had another motive for pushing this legendary hero to the limits and beyond. The man’s battle against the odds .. fighting Jase back despite every strike across his muscular back …. that had got Jase worked up. The effect of the man’s endurance still burned firm in Jase’s groin.To emphasise his point to the mob, Jase pulled hard on the head. A flush of dominance resounded shrill in his broiling blood. Watching the man’s futile fight had been seductive. But beating this legend felt better still. He gave another tug and shook his victim by the neck. Like a badly behaved puppy. Done so the mob would be in no doubt who’d achieved this triumph. Who had won. Who hung beaten.In his eagerness, Jase’s strength lifted the near-unconscious Maciste in his bonds. The sweaty neck slipped out of his grip, though. But no bother … dismissively Jase took a swipe at the back of head. Showman-like Jase sniffed at his fingers, his mouth recoiled. Disdainful Jase wiped his hands as if the stench of treachery disgusted him. Yes, he DID like the feel of power. He enjoyed other people seeing his power. The satisfaction burned like a raging fire in his groin.“Dismissed.”Jase growled down at the mob. They’d seen what he wanted them to see. They’d seen the might of his rule.“Go home. Go about your business.”He cast a disparaging look over the townsfolk he’d forced to watch.”The king returns. He will sit on judgement on this treachery. His own flesh and blood.”Jase enjoyed casting a look of disgust over the near-lifeless tortured body he had bested. It was tempting to stick his hand on his own groin. To feel the might raging there. The smell of Maciste .. reeking from the pain of his spiralling downfall .. was still keeping Jase aroused.”The temple gong will sound. Summoning you to this scum’s execution.”The crowds did not need telling twice. The soldiers did not have to drive the townsfolk away like they’d forced them into the square. They fled. Escaping this savagery. Which gave Jase another flush of arousal. He’d made his mark. This time he had instilled fear in them. This day would not be forgotten. They’d not forget Jase in a hurry.He waited to depart himself until the square was empty. All the time casting a satisfied glance over the tough prisoner he had defeated. This man had been admired and respected. Well-thought-of for his resolve and staying power. But Jase had dominated him. What Jase lacked in physical strength against this hunk he possessed in guile, in the planning. In vindictiveness. It would take days before the king was back. Jase glanced over at his conquered victim .. lifeless, broken, strung out between the pillars. His sweat-streaked nakedness symbolising his defeat. Pain glistening on every part of his tortured flesh. He’d broken the traitor. Jase would have to keep the brute broken till the king arrived back. He suspected Maciste could possess exceptional recovery powers. It would not do to have Maciste making a display of himself when his half-brother came back. What would the king think of Jase’s triumph if Maciste was spitting back scorn? Until the king came back, Jase would keep this prisoner suffering under extreme duress. Broken now by pain, he’d stay broken. At sunset, he’d order his men to drag him back to the dungeons. Manacled, hung off the ceiling. Three days Jase would keep him chained, chained standing up. He’d get little rest. He’d get the minimum to eat. So that, when the king returned, Maciste would be completely done-in. Biddable. No threat. After that intense beating at the temple, what chance of him regaining his strength? Jase was suspicious. This prisoner had shown himself a devious devil. And tough. A fighter. He’d not take defeat easily. Jase was taking no risks. As long as it took … kept chained standing up. Under constant physical strain. Permitted little rest, meagre rations of food, just enough to keep him alive. Jase would order Maciste kept exhausted. The guards would taunt him with his weakness. They’d mock him that he’d been so easily beaten into submission. Laughing at him for what his half-brother would do with him. Taunt him with stories of the king’s favourite methods of execution. Especially with traitors. Flayed alive. Staked out in the wilderness for the wild animals to grab their fill. Crucified.When the king returned .. wouldn’t he be pleased with Jase? That had always been part of the plan. Rewarded with a few wealthy estates for doing such a good make-over on his half-brother. Beating the shit out of him. Beating him into submission. When Maciste was commanded back to face his king, how much of that rebellious spirit would be left? Would Jase have extinguished it completely? Jase would have Maciste suffer, cold, alone, in the dungeons. His resolve weakening with every hour. Pain, strain and nerves wearing him down. That was Jase’s gift to his brother-in-law, the king. Handing over the king’s rebel-brother broken .. all down to Jase. Broken. Giving the king no trouble. Sentenced. Executed. Finished with the matter.Jase expected favours for his efforts. He counted on those estates .. gifted by a grateful king. But the deed was almost reward enough. The triumph .. Jase had bested Maciste. ................
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