The Circles: Book 4: Paths Both East and West: 8. Cruel Teachers and Harsh Lessons

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8. Cruel Teachers and Harsh Lessons

Chapter Written by Angmar and Elfhild

Tushratta and his party caught up with the caravan shortly before it halted for the evening. The captives, who had plodded another wearisome two leagues that afternoon, were directed off the road and into a sprawling grove of beech and oaks. There they would rest for the night before the dawn summoned them once again to resume their arduous journey.

Plagued by manifold frustrations, Tushratta paused only briefly to give orders to the men before seeking the sanctuary of his own tent. The fact that he had spent almost two hours in the icy company of the lady Goldwyn had not helped his tranquility. No matter how he had tried to engage her in conversation, the lady steadfastly refused to acknowledge him with anything more than a brief, polite nod now and then.

After bidding the driver a good evening, Tushratta directed the women to go inside the tent while he talked outside with Aziru and Khaldun. Though as a rule the physician was not known for his gregariousness, he decided to invite Khaldun for supper. Khaldun, the young man whose gelding had almost defeated the physician's sorrel mare, accepted, promising that as soon as he had cared for his horse, he would return. Muttering that he was hopelessly late and needed to supervise the slave boys in preparing supper, Aziru excused himself. Goldwyn, weary from her journey, offered no objections when her handmaid Barsud suggested that she rest in the inner chamber of the tent before the evening meal was served.

The physician was glad for the quiet. He could think in the peace of his own mind without being bombarded by patients. After washing his face, beard, forearms and hands in a basin of water, Tushratta felt his spirits improving. From his traveling trunk, he took out a plain, unornamented beige caftan, very comfortable, though slightly worn. A small brown and beige cap upon his head and a pair of soft leather slippers on his feet, he looked forward to a simple meal and a game of chess later.

He sighed when he smelled the odors emanating from the serving dishes as Aziru, a broad smile upon his face, escorted the slave boys into the tent with another one of his overcooked, over-spiced meals. Already Tushratta felt the grinding pain beginning in his stomach, and without thinking, his hand went unconsciously to his middle. The evening had held such promise, and perhaps it would improve as it progressed. At least he could look forward to playing chess with Aziru and Khaldun, whom he had discovered had just learned the game. Now he had only to get through this meal. He would have much preferred a simple gruel, a little bread, and plain water.

While the boys were spreading the table with dishes, Khaldun appeared at the porch of the tent and was invited to join the two men. Tushratta complained to Aziru that the lentil soup had far too much garlic and ginger, and the couscous had a peculiar taste in addition to being overcooked and clumpy. Aziru apologized profusely, embarrassed that a visitor would have to taste his culinary mistakes. Tushratta, who prided himself upon being a good host, kept Khaldun entertained with a story about a one-legged dwarf whom he had once treated.

Tushratta sipped at his wine before making his first chess move of the evening. "He planned to be married, but was concerned about his abilities in the wedding chamber."

"I do not see how that would matter," Khaldun remarked as he studied the game.

"That is what I told the poor fellow." Tushratta moved the piece representing the Grand Vizier out on the board. "It is not your mangled leg that counts; it is the prowess of your third leg. Any woman will tell you that." Both men chuckled as they concentrated on the game for a while, and then Khaldun looked up from the board.

"Was she pretty?" He met the challenge of the Grand Vizier by moving his knight to block the piece.

"Her beard was longer than his! If that counts for beauty with those folks, I suppose she was quite lovely indeed." Tushratta frowned as Khaldun captured the Grand Vizier, a piece crucial to winning the game.

While Tushratta and Khaldun enjoyed a game of chess and superb wine, the captive women and children had far more serious matters upon their minds. Captivity had been harsh enough before, but after the failed escape attempt, the slaves had been subjected to such a grim discipline that all that they had endured before seemed as but a misty dream. The order had come down that, beginning with this day, the women were to march in coffle, eat in coffle, and sleep in coffle. The only times that they would not be linked together by chains would be three periods during the day - an all too brief span in the morning, another at midday, and a short stretch after suppertime. The only exception would be when they had to relieve themselves, and then they were unhitched and led off the road to answer the demands of over-stressed bowels and bladders. As soon as the captives relieved that necessary chore, they were escorted back to the line.

The strict changes had been imposed because a few of the slaves had dared to attempt escape. Now the many would learn that everyone must pay the price for the impertinence of a small number. The women and their children had experienced much during their march to the south. Suffering, humiliation, mistreatment, constant obscene references to their persons, the fear of whippings, and the knowledge that their fate rested in the hands of enemies - all these things had been endured. Now they were to learn what it truly meant to be a slave.

"You brought it on yourselves," the guards reminded the women and children as they waited in line for their supper rations. "Did you believe that we wanted to make you lovely things spend so much time in the chains?" one asked as his eyes roamed up a trim ankle, to a round set of shapely hips, and then to the high, firm breasts of a young maid. "Whatever happens now, you have only yourselves to blame!" The other guards sounded their agreement.

That evening, in the course of the regular rotation, it came the turn for the orc guards to be in charge of the captives while the Southrons took their ease. In addition to their mates, six brutish she-orcs were assigned to keep the slaves in line during the night. Clad in leather armor and animal pelts and armed to the teeth, the she-orcs were a fearsome sight to behold. As brutal and barbaric as the males were, these fiendish creatures were skilled in the art of administering torture, having been trained for this odious occupation in the Dark Tower. Always modifying old tortures and instituting new, even crueler ones, they took an especial delight in devising punishments which were both terrifying to contemplate and painful to endure, at times surpassing even their mates' cruelty.

That evening after supper, the slaves were ordered to assemble into two lines in the cleared area where the wains and baggage wagons were drawn up. Behind them, smirking and leering, stood a line of orc guards, spears clasped in their hands. Obediently kneeling before the guards were the slave women and their children, the chains attached to the women's collars dangling between their breasts. A crowd had gathered, the number swollen by a goodly number of off duty guards, wagoners, cooks and other workmen and slaves. These curiosity seekers had collected behind the guards to watch what they hoped would be a show, for word had gotten out around camp that there might be some excitement that evening. There was nothing like a spectacle to create a carnival air.

"Oo, have we a surprise for you tonight!" the female orc who had been taking roll announced as she finished counting. Marching between the two rows, she looked from right to left and slapped her thick-tressed leather flogger rhythmically against her palm. Slap, smack, slap, smack... the sounds thudded ominously in the captives' ears.

The great she-brute was called Durraiz and she was a hulking beast, her enormous, watermelon-like breasts almost threatening to rip apart her iron-studded leather brigadine. The modest Rohirric women could not help but blush at the sight of the deep valley of her cleavage and wonder if the genetic distance that separated them from the gross females was that very far. The leering orc guards clapped and cheered, enjoying the show and openly ogling the massive, jiggling breasts which were displayed so prominently by the low neckline of the brigadine. Occasionally Durraiz would make too strenuous a footstep, bouncing a dusky nipple over the top of the leather. Then, with a grunt and an obscene curse, Durraiz would grab the hairy aureole and shove the pap back under the leather.

Her gleaming black hair was parted in the center and pulled back in a bun which was so severe it seemed to make her eyes more slanted. The pale line of her part was as straight as a Númenórean road. Rising out of the sides of her broad head were long, pointed ears, revealing the Elvish ancestry of her race. A row of small silver rings rimmed both ears from cartilage to lobe, forming a glittering metal case around them.

Her leathery skin was salmon colored and mottled with black splotches, resembling a black and white dog which had been shorn of all its fur. Her large, crooked nose was pierced twice at the bridge by two thin pieces of metal which ran under the skin and terminated on either side with a small silver ball. Her large, beetling brows were perforated thrice each by three rings which sat close to the skin. Her thin lips were a sickening shade of purple, like a bruise. One of her long canine teeth had been knocked out and other teeth were partially broken. A gash, recently scabbed over, streaked across one of her cheeks. On one forearm was a vambrace of red and black dyed leather scales, and on the other forearm was one of plain boiled leather with a small sheath in which a dagger was lodged. Hanging from her belt was a sword. In personality and appearance, Durraiz was formidable, to say the least.

The orc looked savage enough, but her choice of jewelry made her appear quite primitive, though perhaps she was striving to seem more feminine. Around her neck were several cords upon which were strung human teeth, animal teeth, various coins, small pieces of colored glass and stone, tribal amulets and charms, and other such paraphernalia. About her waist was a similar cord, although the centerpiece of this ornamentation was the skull of a small animal, perhaps a cat, surrounded by large fangs and tinkling coins and chains.

Tight leather hose encased the monstrous globes of her buttocks, each haunch clearly outlined by the deep cleft between them. As the orc walked down the line, her protruding buttocks rose and fell, flopping and rubbing against each other. To outward appearances, the examination was just another routine evening inspection. In actuality, though, its purpose was to make a public spectacle, an example of the women who had attempted to escape or had aided in the escape.

Before the master slaver had departed to search for the runaway slaves, his instructions to the orcs had been necessarily hurried, more general than specific. To the orcs, who were used to dealing with absolute commands, the orders were ambiguous and confusing. The concept of how much actual torment they would be allowed to deal out to their victims was not all that clear in their minds.

Stopping suddenly, Durraiz turned around and pointed the end of her flail at a whey-skinned, fair-haired, blue-eyed girl. Ymma had been one of the first to escape that fateful night, but she had been quickly caught before she had gotten too far. Her eyes grew large with terror as the orc singled her out. The women and girls who had participated in the escape attempt were especially fearful of their captors, for they knew at any moment they could be the recipients of vengeance.

Swaggering over to her, the orc grabbed Ymma's hair and jerked her to her feet. Clamping a hairy, meaty paw under the unfortunate girl's chin, Durraiz stared into her eyes, exhaling her putrid breath into the unfortunate victim's face. "Wench, were you looking at my arse? I know you were, weren't you, girl? Do you think it's pretty?"

"No, no!" the terrified girl whimpered, wincing as the orc pulled her hair and dug her claws into her chin.

"I know yer kind! Scandalous and indecent! Yer thinkin' improper thoughts about me, I know it! You want to fondle me intimate parts... maybe even want to become me lover!" Durraiz' claws pushed deeper into the girl's skin, drawing blood. "Admit it! Confess! You'll feel better for confessin' yer guilt!"

"There is nothing to confess!" Ymma was close to hysteria. "I did not do anything! I swear I did nothing!"

"You were thinkin' evil thoughts! Disgusting habit in anyone, but especially in a girl yer age! You should be the model of chastity!"

The orc's burning yellow eyes and foul smelling mouth were mere inches from Ymma's face. "You want me to pull me leathers down and bend me over, don't you! You want to take yer pretty little hands and grope me beauteous haunches! Those nice, petite little hands and fingers, all white and delicate... fondlin' all over me hairy arse! Then after ye squeezed it, pinched it and played with it, ye would use a finger to reach in and plug me little brown bung hole! You filthy, dirty-minded girl! I'm shocked at such perverse thinking!"

Tears streaming down her face, her teeth chattering in fear, her knees knocking together, the girl was close to fainting. "Please! There is some mistake! I never looked at you!" Realizing what she had said, Ymma added, "Well, I looked at you, but not in that way!" Mortified more than she had ever been in at anytime in her life, the frightened girl felt that the scene around her was swirling.

"Ooo, so yer admittin' it now! You've been looking at me bum! I know yer kind, girlie! Yer a carnal little minx who fills yer mind with lewdness every hour of the day! Yer head is a stinkin' cesspool, overflowing with filth! Whenever ye get a chance, ye like to fondle the pouch between yer legs! You like taking yer fingers and playing with your mossy grove and stickin' them in yer love hole, don't you? Ooo, yer crude little mind likes to dredge up scenes of yer copulating with men, women, and maybe even me! You filthy little slut!"

"Never! Never! I would never think such vile thoughts!" Ymma shouted. The false accusations were too much for the innocent maiden to bear. Now totally beside herself, she was unable to utter anything but incoherent sounds. She wanted to scream as the orc held her chin at a painful angle and twisted her hair until she was sure it would be torn out at the roots.

"The little degenerate! She ain't fit to associate with polite society!" Durraiz howled in rage as she threw the girl to the ground and kicked her in the hip.  "All right," she grated out as she turned around to the female orc behind her, "write this one's name and number down! She's got a sick mind and revels in unnatural fornication! She has to be reeducated so her mind will be purified!"

The women gasped and moaned in shock and terror, unbelieving the scene that they saw before them. The children, uncomprehending the implications of the orc's charges, looked at their mothers in confusion.

Durraiz swaggered down the line and suddenly halted once more. The huge she-orc liked to taunt her victims, letting them wonder who might be selected next. Her pupils expanding to large black pools, her bloodshot yellow eyes gleamed as though she were in the height of mating frenzy. Around and around she turned slowly in a circle, pointing her flail threateningly at the women.

"There's villainy and wrongdoing all about me! We uruks can smell it out! You can hide it from others, but you can't hide slimy doings from us!" Durraiz gasped. "Right over there!" she pounced, thrusting the dangling tresses of the flogger in Aeffe's face. "Yer just like the other one, ain't ye? Unnatural and immoral! You were one of the sneakin' little sluts who tried to escape! Led us poor uruks on a merry goose chase, you did, screamin' like some pallid elf wight! And added to your long list of other crimes, yer ungrateful, ain't ye? I got a report that you were complaining about the quality of food! I should have known it! Admit yer crimes and I'll go easier on ye!"

"If I said anything bad about the food, I am sorry!" Aeffe gulped out. "The other? I have never done anything improper!"

"That is what they all say!" The orc ran the dangling tresses of the flogger down over Aeffe's high, rounded bosom. Deeply embarrassed, the girl closed her eyes tightly, hoping that the indignity would be over soon.

"You little ingrate!" the orc snarled. "You got that sneaky look in your eyes, like a thief! Been pilfering', ain't' you, girl? Lifting everything you could get yer nimble fingers on? I'm going to have to search you to see what you got hidden in that rag yer wearing! Stand up, girlie!"

Fearfully, Aeffe rose to her feet, trying to keep her wits about her and control her trembling. "I have never stolen anything!" she stoutly maintained.

"Such pretty hair, girlie... so soft and fine... long like a horse's tail," Durraiz whispered in her ear as she lifted the leash which hung between the girl's breasts. Aeffe gnawed on her lower lip and shivered at the foul creature's touch. "Has a man ever had his pole inside you?" the orc hissed.

"N-no," Aeffe whimpered as the orc tugged her into the aisle between the two rows of slaves.

"Here, Bagalaam, hold this little wench while I search her!"

"Gladly, me lady," the other she-orc replied as she caught the end of the chain that Durraiz tossed to her. This second beauty was tall and skinny, a bag of bones held together by a pock-marked reptilian skin. While Durriaz was all brawn and bulk, Bagalaam was a scrawny thing with long, spindly arms. Her face was long and narrow; war paint streaked her cheeks like the stripes of a zebra; her nose was crooked and pierced through the septum by a small sliver of bone; above her lip was a silver ball pierced through her philtrum; and the skin around her chin had erupted with a conglomeration of pustules which oozed white pus. Her pointed ears sagged with the weight of all the golden earrings which pierced them. As though to compensate for the scrawniness of her body, her blonde-streaked brown hair was teased up high, half of it pulled into a tall ponytail which fanned out like the plume of a rooster's tail.

Bagalaam wore a black leather bustier spiked with metal studs. The revealing garment did little to enhance her pendulous sagging breasts, and its midriff length only showed the great rivulets of stretch marks which crawled over her stomach. About her neck and hanging between her elongated paps were necklaces of yellow fangs strung together on leather cords. On her shoulders, she wore massive pauldrons which seemed to serve little purpose other than being ornaments. A baldric in which was sheathed a dagger crossed diagonally over her clavicle to disappear under her hairy, reeking armpit. She wore a short leather skirt over which was another skirt made of leather strips, dagged and studded with iron rivets. Bound around that was the tattered hide of some spotted jungle cat from Far Harad. Topping it all was a weapon belt to which were strapped several daggers, for Bagalaam was ambidextrous and could fight with either hand. About her long, thickly muscled calves were animal hides which were cross-gartered around her boots.

With her long drooping ears and slanted feline-like green eyes, Bagalaam resembled the obscene offspring brought on by the union of a jungle cat and an uruk. As yet unpenetrated by a male, the lovely orcish virgin would be ready for breeding by the next full moon.

"Come 'ere girlie," Bagalaam grasped Aeffe's forearms, pulling her close to her front. Not only did the she-orc reek of sweat, but also a very cheap and pungent patchouli perfume. Durraiz came up behind Aeffe and slung her arms about her waist. Mumbling gutturally in some foul dialect, Durraiz ran her hands up and down the curves of Aeffe's body. The beast's talloned fingers lingered on the wide swell of the Rohirric girl's hips and pinched her through the thin material of her dress.

Many of the guards set up a clapping and cheering as the other four female orcs began to circle around the captive girl and her tormentors. One of the she-orcs held a crudely made drum in her hand and started to pound out a savage beat as her sisters began an obscene dance of lust, stroking and fondling themselves as they repeatedly thrust their pelvises forward and back. The uruks in the audience were visibly moved, and many a weapon rose robustly to the occasion.

"I really hate to do this to you, but I must," Durraiz whispered as her loathsome tongue darted out and licked Aeffe's earlobe. Gritting her teeth, Aeffe closed her eyes and tried to imagine that she was somewhere far, far away from these perverse monsters.

"If only Inbir were here," she thought desperately. "He would protect me from these fiends!"

As Bagalaam held Aeffe prisoner by her arms, Durraiz bent down and encased the trim ankles in her hands. Giving her attention to them for only a few moments, Durraiz slowly caressed the firm calves and moved up to knead the tapering thighs. Aeffe blushed in shame as the orc moved her hand under the hem of her dress and ran her clawed fingers over the curling hair on her mound. With her other hand, Durraiz pinched Aeffe's buttocks so hard that the girl gasped in pain.

"You brought this on yourself," Bagalaam whispered in Aeffe's face, pushing tightly against her, thrusting her molded paps against Aeffe's soft bosom. The Rohirric girl swayed between the two she-orcs, her body held closely between the them. Behind her, Durraiz slid her hands out from under Aeffe's skirts and gripped her by the arms. Bagalaam smiled a toothsome leer in Aeffe's face as she ran her meaty paws under the girl's skirt.

"You like this, don't you, girl?" Bagalaam hissed in her ear. "Makes you excited to have yer cunny felt, doesn't it? Yer feelin' the 'eat in yer belly, ain't you?" She slid a finger between the girl's lips of love and teased her tiny tongue.

"Oh, no! No!" Fainting, Aeffe sagged back against Durraiz.

The she-orcs slowly turned the unconscious girl around to the gaze of the slave women. The drummer was now beating furiously upon her drum and the dancers, throwing back their heads and shrieking out shrill ululations, twirled to the sides to allow the horrified captives to see Aeffe and her tormentors.

"Poor wench! She swooned because of all the guilt stored in her black heart! Was too much for her! She's going to have to get these vile perversions out of her twisted little brain and learn to be more grateful for all that she's got!" Durraiz exclaimed, shaking her head and clucking her tongue. "Discipline for these two! We'll have to beat the perversity out of the both of them!" As Durraiz grabbed Aeffe under the armpits and Bagalaam picked her up under the knees, two of the other she-orcs seized Ymma. One screaming and protesting and the other unconscious, the two girls were carried to a wain which had been drawn up nearby.

NOTE: You can view portraits of the she-orcs Durraiz and Bagalaam on The Circles webpage at:

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: Angmar and Elfhild

Status: General

Completion: Work in Progress

Era: 3rd Age - Post-Ring War

Genre: Drama

Rating: Adult

Last Updated: 01/04/15

Original Post: 03/24/11

Go to The Circles: Book 4: Paths Both East and West overview


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