Chapter 9: Chapter 8: Game of Endurance

After some time had passed, Orb woke up but instantly closed his eyes as he felt a big, warm palm holding his right hand. Someone was giving him a slight and subtle current of energy as if he was doing it stealthily and without wanting to draw attention.

Orb kept his eyes closed, hoping that this rest would be prolonged and that this current, which gave him a little energy and relieved him of some fatigue, would continue.

Orb was now breathing comfortably and without trouble as his lungs were filled with that aromatic scent of Vermon. So it’s you, Vermon.

At last, his thumping heartbeat had calmed down and made Orb believe that this scent has healing properties.

Orb heard disapproving voices break into that peaceful moment.

“Are you going to ignore us, Vermon, son of Uthus?”

“Look! The fourth game is over, and you are caring for your sleeping slave!”

“Is he thinking of quitting?”

Among the noisy voices, Tarsus’ voice stood out. “I left my seat and stood in this filthy place to suggest a group game as the finale of the carnival, and everyone should take part in it,” he complained.

Then, Vermon’s voice spoke in a low, disapproving voice. “Ah, my lords, keep your voices down, someone needs to get some rest.”

“Do you care about your slave more than your reputation?”

Tarsus’ question was also disapproving when he stood behind Vermon, who remained on one knee in front of Orb.

“I care about both, but I hate to impose a game that we did not agree on from the beginning and my slave was not prepared for.” Vermon said.

Vermon looked down at Orb’s body and in a low voice added, “He’s so tired,” the commotion grew intense, but he went on, “He’s had enough for the day.”

“So, you finished disciplining him? Is that it?”

“Nonsense!”

“Must we remind you that participating in the games is also a form of discipline?”

“We gave him enough time to rest.”

“He must be in the gam…”

“It is I who decides not you!” Vermon hissed.

Tarsus bent and whispered in Vermon’s ear. “Don’t make me tell everyone that you’re cheating now! Do you think I didn’t notice you lending your Uthusian energy to a mere slave? What you are doing is a scandal! A morally and legally wrong act that will definitely cost you your reputation and position.”

Vermon glared at him, his thick eyelashes quivering with anger. “Damn you!” before he left Orb’s hand cautiously. Vermon then stood up, saying in vexation, “explain your damned game, and let’s get it over with.”

Despite Vermon’s resistance to the proposal due to Orb’s condition, he found that many nobles blamed him for his leniency with his slave and denounced him for ignoring the suggested game of the emperor’s philosopher.

Therefore, he reluctantly submitted to their proposal and refused to return to his place in the arena, preferring to stand aside and watch Tarsus as he stood in the center of the arena to introduce to everyone the finale of the carnival.

 

***

Tarsus named the game The Endurance Game. The idea of it was to whip each slave, one at a time, forty lashes, and whoever endures it to the end without screaming or losing consciousness, is the winner.

When poor Orb heard the proposal, he felt overwhelmed and lost for words. He straightened himself with difficulty while turning his crazed gaze upon the faces of the attendants standing outside the shed and the few slaves standing around him. He was looking for Vermon.

A few seconds later, Orb was startled by Vermon’s sudden appearance in front of him. Looking at Orb with wide eyes overflowing with curiosity, Vermon guessed that Orb was secretly begging Vermon to notice and save him from further torment.

“Are you looking for me?”

“...”

Orb was experiencing an inner struggle between two wishes: to escape from this hell and to preserve the façade of bravery. It was very painful for him to reach this stage of hesitation, to be in a state of weakness, and to be trapped by demons who knew no mercy at the bottom of Hell.

Despite his inner struggle, despair and anxiety, Orb tended to be resentful, and stubborn. Therefore, he did not say anything at first.

“What do you want?” Vermon asked him again.

Orb thought that voicing this wish was not cowardice but a wise decision. So he slowly and cautiously stretched out his hand toward Vermon, about to request a withdrawal.

Oddly enough, Vermon understood and did not object.

“I want to— with…” his voice faint from fatigue as he reached his limit.

Vermon was about to say something when Orb’s hand almost touched his sleeve, however, Tarsus’ voice interrupted, and he quickly took a step back from Orb.

“If you are thinking about withdrawal, forget it. Your master has agreed to your participation, so there is no going back now,” Tarsus said in protest.

Vermon furrowed his brow. “Are you stalking me Tarsus?” he turned to face Tarsus and added, “What if he wants to withdraw? What’s it to you?” he sneered.

The philosopher was staring at Orb, who stood now next to Vermon while his damaged eyes were fixed on his master’s features with absorbed attention.

“Is your slave blind?”

“Yes. Partially.”

“Oh, that’s quite interesting! Why didn’t I notice that before?” looking at Orb. “Alas, you can’t withdraw. It’s a disgrace to quit the games after the master’s consent, and your master’s history is glorious; he is a great knight of the empire, and I don’t think he would allow you to behave like a coward and let him down because of such a silly game!”

“Who said I am withdrawing?” Orb challenged with a faint voice. He clenched his fists with silent anger.

Seeing his obstinate attitude, Tarsus smiled in excitement while Vermon felt irritated and frowned at both. Fine! You asked for it, stupid slave! Hence, Vermon turned away, determined not to overthink things involving his slave.

Despite the peer pressure that affected Vermon’s decision and his dislike of his slave’s participation in that game, Vermon was confident that Orb would win it. His endurance was impressive, and many nobles came specially to see him.

Vermon has told them so much about his blind slave’s constant defiance and resistance since his arrival. They came hoping that they would be entertained by watching him taste the humiliating torment he deserved for his rebellion and disobedience to his master.

However, Vermon quickly returned and stood in front of Orb who was startled by his act. Then, he spoke to one attendant in a commanding tone, “Hand me some water. My slave is thirsty.”

***

When the attendant went to fetch the water, Orb was startled again by Vermon’s fingers quickly invading his mouth and tucking a small pearl, that Vermon had formed from his Uthusian energy, beneath his tongue.

“Keep it under your tongue, it will absorb your pain,” he whispered.

However, Orb spat it out in wild obstinacy and furrowed his eyebrows in clear anger at Vermon’s many sins against him; his earlier abuse, sneaky ways to help him, his taking a step back from him before Tarsus and his underestimating him.

Vermon in return gaped in astonishment at Orb’s behavior. When the attendant brought a jug of water, Vermon pushed it away with his hand in sudden wrath and the jug dropped down and broke into pieces.

Vermon’s eyebrows were still furrowed in disapproval of Orb’s unruly behavior. “Is it not his turn yet?” he yelled at the attendant while glaring at Orb.

“Yes, it is, my lord,” the attendant shrieked in panic and confusion, unable to comprehend what had happened.

Orb was led away after all the slaves before him had failed and fell unconscious; none of them could bear the first twenty lashes.

Orb’s heart was pounding with great turmoil. Anxiety, disappointment, and anger were building up inside. Orb strongly believed that Vermon had a sadistic tendency, which made him take pleasure in torturing him and seeing him in pain.

He would be filled with joy and gaze with rapture if he heard Orb’s screams and read signs of suffering on his face, and for that very reason, Orb believed that Vermon did not make enough effort to stop the game or prevent him from joining in.

Therefore, Orb was at a loss for what to do; should he endure the torment to the end and win, he would have satisfied his tormentor, and if he should deliberately lose and cry out in pain, he would have satisfied him still. Either way, the reputation of his tormentor would not be affected.

Orb could not think it through as one of the attendants threw him suddenly on his knees and hands, ripped off his shirt, and cast it aside despite Vermon’s own objections. However, Tarsus stepped in again and said it was the rules of the game.

***                                                                                                           

Before Orb could catch his breath, the attendant began lashing him with a strong and steady arm that rotated in the air counterclockwise to land the blows of the nine-thongs whip on his exposed back.

Orb had received a similar brutal lashing from Vermon two weeks ago and his wounds had not yet fully healed. His back still bore bumps and cuts that were clearly visible from the farthest point of the arena.

Upon seeing the old and new scars on Orb’s back, the crowd felt a mix of disgust, ecstasy, and enthrallment. They interpreted that as a disciplinary problem and confirmed the impression of Orb’s rebellious nature and his deserving for the cruelest forms of physical discipline.

With a painful look on his face, Orb closed his glistening eyes to lock the tears and bit his lips while receiving the lashes. He strove to breathe in deeply through his nose and managed to suppress his groans and desire to scream.

It hurts. It hurts...but I will never entertain these demons, he promised himself.

Amid the amazement and silence of the crowd awaiting his defeat, Orb kept receiving the burning lashes, lash after lash, with a visibly trembling body. There were no audible cries or signs of losing consciousness.

Vermon kept watching, with a frowning face and an unexpected sense of anxiety, Orb’s emaciated arms trembling violently.

He could clearly see a torrent of heavy sweat run from Orb’s head on his face and chin, and another one on his burned neck, mixing with the threads of blood that ran from his back to the edges of his white pants and staining them red.

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Vermon saw Orb’s old wounds bleeding again, his flesh ripping with each lash, and his white pants drenched with sweat and blood until the attendant reached the fortieth lash and stopped.

None of the crowd said a word, and an awkward silence prevailed until Tarsus shouted that the game was over and Vermon, son of Uthus won the final round. That was when the crowd fired a storm of cheering in honor and celebration of Vermon’s name, not Orb’s.

Completely drenched in sweat, Orb’s lean and bloody body kept trembling in its place. Opening his eyes finally, he let the tears pour down of his red eyes, which were covered by his dripping hair. He finally parted his lips to breathe heavily. His teeth had ripped his lips open.

Alone, he could find no one to take his hand and help him to stand. His heart was aching.

The last thing Orb imagined he saw before losing consciousness was the great shadow of a man standing before him. He helped him to sit down after he gently grasped his arms.

His red hair was stretching on his sides and a golden choker wrapped around his neck was glowing under the light of the lamps. While the man was saying a few indistinct words, Orb finally fell to the ground.

Orb did not see the two great villains bickering over touching him at that moment. He did not see Vermon’s arms shoving Barloschios aside and quickly lifting Orb’s body off the ground, covering him with his black cloak.

“I was trying to help him stand,” Barloschios said calmly, “that’s all.”

“I don’t like anyone touching my property, Barloschios. You are a treasure hunter, and you certainly understand what I mean,” Vermon said firmly.

Barloschios stepped aside, giving a mysterious smile, and then watched Vermon carry Orb on his shoulder cautiously, as if he was carrying something precious and brittle. Vermon then left the arena amid the wonder and questions of the crowd.

Barloschios was standing where he offered his help to Orb, and then held his hands over his cane before Tarsus came to his side.

“Your suggested game was sensational, Barloschios,” Tarsus complimented.

“No, not the game…” Barloschios said as he watched Orb, his eyes sparkling with vague interest.

“It’s him—I want him.”

***

The crowd gathered around Vermon outside the carnival grounds and in front of the tree trunk to which he tied his horse, they congratulated him on the night’s show.

Some of them asked him about the reasons for carrying his slave on his shoulder and the type of his relationship with him while staring with curiosity at the body wrapped in the black cloak.

 “I want to take care of him my way,” Vermon answered confidently.

 “He must be special,” One of them commented.

 “He is. He got our attention,” another one said.

“Yes, —I wouldn’t let anyone near him if I were you.”

“You are lucky, Vermon, son of Uthus.”

Vermon placed Orb’s body on his horse’s back and climbed up behind him. Listening to the comments of those around him acknowledging Orb’s distinctness from the rest of the slaves they had seen, filled him with pride.

“Exactly! And I bet you want to have him,” he boasted.

He chuckled while looking at Barloschios, who was about to get into his carriage, but when he heard Vermon’s last comment and the vanity which tinged his tone, he turned his small bright eyes to Vermon and frowned as soon as he saw his broad smile.

“Your arrogance will break you, Vermon. Wait and see,” Barloschios muttered before leaving.

“Why don’t you stay for a drink and celebrate your victory?” A noble Arkosian suggested.

Vermon gazed at Orb’s face, which was partially visible from under the cloak, he felt no desire to celebrate and enjoy himself like he used to do years ago.

Vermon had always been the first to attend the Carnival of Shadows and the first to drink to excess even though he never brought his slaves to the carnival.

He disliked the idea of sharing what belonged to him with others and disliked most staining his hands and clothes with the blood of a badly injured slave.

It was his first time dragging one of his slaves, and a unique one, into an illegal and cruel event like this. It was his first time gazing at a slave’s face and feeling unease and unspoken remorse in him because of it.

He was still upset about Barloschios and Tarsus interference, and Orb’s stubbornness in refusing his secret assistance before the Endurance Game in particular.

“Ah, let’s celebrate some other time,” Vermon promised flatly.

“I see that you care so much for him while a slave is supposed to take care of his master and meet his demands. It is his duty. Why don’t you let the attendants send him to your house?” someone suspiciously asked.

“I understand your concerns, my lords,” Vermon said while turning around, “but have you not read The Uthus Teachings? The chapter on the uses and occupations of slaves mentions their innumerable uses, and I assure you, this slave of mine fulfills his duties and satisfies my demands efficiently, so there is no harm with a little care on my part.”

And because he neither wanted to talk to them anymore nor delay treating Orb’s injuries, Vermon waved his arm in the air and said goodbye to everyone.

He then, shook his rein, the horse turned, and they swept into the darkness of the cold forest. Speeding forward, Vermon’s horse crossed distances without stopping until it arrived home safely.

When Vermon pulled up the horse in the front courtyard of his vast house, he found the carriage of his friend, the Crown Prince, standing in front of the main foyer door.

“Ah, you’re back at last,” Akinos said while crossing his arms next to the open door of his carriage.

“Akinos, how long have you been here?”

Vermon dismounted his horse when he stopped before Akinos. “For a little while. Get in the carriage,” he briefly answered.

Vermon pointed to Orb and said, “He’s injured, I’ll call Luba to trea...”

“I know, let’s take him to the palace. My private physician will treat him there. Let’s talk on the way; I have something to tell you,” Akinos spoke in a low voice before he climbed into his carriage.

Vermon gestured to the stable boy, who quickly followed behind, to take the horse away as he carried Orb on his shoulder. Next, Vermon left Orb on one of the carriage’s seats, then took his place beside the prince.

When the carriage started, Vermon looked at his friend intently, but the latter was closing his eyes while crossing his arms.

He seemed deep in thought, but Vermon could not contain his curiosity. “Did you see the games?” He asked,

“Yes,” Akinos opened his eyes and added, “but I didn’t find burning his neck and then lashing him amusing at all,” he whispered with his eyes fixed on Orb’s body lying on the carriage seat in front of him.

However, Vermon’s feigning indifference irritated him. “It served him right. This will break his arrogance.”

“Stop pretending. You are upset and worried. Why didn’t you stay to celebrate?” Akinos, who was smiling vaguely, crossed his legs as he watched his friend accepting being exposed with a sullen countenance.

“...”

“Vermon, what you did to him won’t break his arrogance because I don’t really see him as such; his problem is that he fights you all the time, and that’s normal and expected. I say it is normal and expected because I still suspect he was born noble and would never accept enslavement,” Akinos then, relaxed, adding, “I wanted to intervene today, but I’m not supposed to be seen.”

 “It was a good thing you didn’t intervene,” Vermon suddenly exclaimed with concern, “You know your presence would cause a conflict between the nobles and the Imperial Palace, and that should never happen.”

There was a moment of silence, then Akinos spoke again.

“By the way, Syrphadous is making a fuss in the palace.”

“Why?”

Akinos smiled. “He is enraged by your slave’s assault on his son. He will summon you tomorrow.”

Vermon laughed loudly as he recalled the attack that Ayege, son of Syrphadous, had received from Orb.

“I see,” he simply said.

Akinos frowned at his friend’s disregard for the minister and his son. “How about you lend him to me for a while?” he proposed after shifting his gaze to Orb.

 “Are you worried that Syrphadous might summon him as well?”

“Summon?” Akinos mocked, “I fear that he will abduct him in your absence, and he has a long history of committing crimes in the name of protecting Arkosia. That’s why I will keep your slave as my guest until we are sure of what Syrphadous intends to do tomorrow.”

Vermon fixed his gaze on Akinos’ serious face. “Does he dare to abduct a slave of mine?” He grumbled,

“You know how powerful the minister is, Vermon.”

“Why do you concern yourself with this blind devil?” Vermon grumbled again while waving his hand at Orb, but Akinos silenced him.

 “He is not ordinary, Vermon. He has drawn unwanted attention and became the object of the nobles’ desires,” he firmly said. “From now on, you will need to protect him.”

***

Thank you, dear friends, for reading this chapter.

 

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