Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two Read Online Free PDF

what he might do to them keeping them quiet.
    His mind drifted back over the thousand days he had lived beneath the ground. He’d kept count by scratching a mark for each day’s work on a patch of the tunnel wall. Sometimes, he thought that he must be mad to do so, because each day was like the next, most days anyway. Picturing the face of young Mensah, the days rolled back to the first night they met…
    Mensah had been one of the carusi , the mine’s boy slaves. While the work of digging out the yellow sulphur crystals was carried out by the men, the drudgery of carrying the rubble to the surface was done by these boys. Some of them had seen as few as six summers. Drilgisa had witnessed the frequent beatings that they were given, and Mensah later told him that the guards would often burn the backs of their calves with fire, to get them back to their feet after they’d collapsed with exhaustion. Some tried to run. When they were caught, as they always were, they were badly beaten, often killed. Those who survived would have the backs of their heels cut with iron pinchers. After, they’d not run very far. The guards and some workers also roughly used them like women when the opportunity arose. It was on such an occasion that they first met.
    Drilgisa had been digging in one of the above workings. Taking a much needed drink, he’d heard a commotion from the shadows of an adjacent gallery. A young voice cried out in pain. Familiar with such noises he paid little attention, at first. The cries continued, accompanied by the sound of heavy blows. A pitiful crying began. He’d shuffled towards the sound, dragging three of his workers with him, their neck’ shackles making it impossible for them to resist.
    The crying drew him into the thick shadows. Before him he saw the slim figure of a carusi, held down by a miner who sat across his shoulders. Another miner was entering him from behind. The boy continued to cry; an awful, wrenching sound that cut into him. Rage filled him, and he swooped down on the two miners.
    He later found out that one of the miners had died of his injuries two days later. His companion had never recovered from having his arm badly broken, and unable to work was led away by the guards. He did not return.
    A hundred days had passed since that day, but he still clearly recalled venting his anger upon the two men; the sound of skin splitting, bones cracking as he beat upon them with his iron fists. He remembered something else too. He remembered feeling puzzled by his actions for just a boy, a stranger. He had thought about it many times since, as he lay down in the dark pit at night. In the end, he believed that it was his own childhood that had stirred him up – the years without love after his real mother died, and the cruel treatment at the hands of his father. Treatment that only ended when he’d slit his throat while on a hunting trip together. He’d buried the bastard deep, blanketed in heavy stone so the beasts of the forest could not retrieve him.
    The day after the beating the youth had approached him. Looking very nervous he’d thanked him. He told him that his name was Mensah, meaning ‘third born, ’ and that he was Egyptian.
    At first inspection Mensah had appeared more girl than boy. His black curly hair fell to his shoulders, which were narrow and ill-suited to hard labour. His eyes were large, clear, like chips of black stone. Full lips gave him a sensual look, and Drilgisa understood why he’d attracted the attention of his fellow miners, and doubtless the guards too. He was instantly attracted to him.
    During the days that followed Mensah came to him whenever he was given the chance. They became lovers. None of the miners bothered the young Egyptian afterwards, and Drilgisa did not ask about the guards, and Mensah said nothing.
    When they first coupled Drilgisa had been surprised at the young Egyptian’s skills in ways to give men pleasure.
    Mensah told him that his family had