rendszworldactive.files.wordpress.com€¦ · Web viewThey had fled the white men with their guns. Were these the original inhabitants here? Tarzan’s head started to whirr, piecing

Fugitives

Contents

Previously ……. 3Previously 2 ……. 5

DRIVEN OFF 7

In the dark 7Clarity dawns 10Silence is golden 13Quandary 17Merciless 20

TRACKED DOWN 23

Eye-witness 23Eye of the beholder 26Tomorrow’s another day 29Doomed 32Death wish 35Tunnel of pain 39Return 41Waiting game 43Decision time 46

RETURN TO THE FOLD 48

Tear-gas 48Doubts 51Back where he belongs 54Old enemies 57No escape 60Treats 64Madness 67Lost time 70Leaders 72An army 74End 76

A rendsz’ world story Page 2 Fugitives

Previously …….

In the earlier story, Modern-day slavery ……

Tarzan has been chaperoning a rookie-reporter for a friend. Convinced he’s onto a story that will make him famous. How slavery in Africa is still alive .. at the heart of the cocoa industry.

Both finish up in slavers’ hands. Shipped out to an island. Forced into punishing hard labour. Accompanied by an old foe of Tarzan’s. Who himself


https://rendszworldactive.wordpress.com/madness-of-wildmen/tarzan-co/modern-day-slavery/

used to supply the slaves .. until he got too greedy .. and the slavers turned on him. Old enemies ending up forced to slave till they drop. Harshly punished for the slightest infraction.

No way off the island, that was what the slavemasters had taunted. Tarzan has had a lucky break. He’s escaped. But before he can test out the truth of that claim, he has to make sure his escape. Heading up into the mountains in the centre of the island .. before the dogs catch his scent.


Previously 2 …….

He’d got away. With every step run …. with every move waded through waist-high water …. Tarzan was putting miles between him and the slavers. Whitney and his men would come searching. Tarzan had used the river .. throwing the dogs off his scent.

Not yet a free man. He was still on the run .. a hunted man. No way off the island, he’d been told. The boats had all left. No way of escape. But he had fled their clutches. Clambering up the waterfall … in search of a cave .. looking for a bolthole to rest-out. Not out of danger. But not slaving his guts out every moment of his waking day.


Ambushed. Forced to his knees. Armed warriors surrounding him. Tarzan was thrown. Not expected any others. Totally focused on dodging Whitney’s dogs. Not expected to find anyone else. Not anticipating capture.

Fierce-looking. Aggressive. Spears jabbed at his front. Ordered up, ordered to his knees. Men’s faces creased with hostility and hate.


Driven off

In the dark


Tarzan could hear the cheering. There'd been a few cheers earlier .. sounding like kids welcoming the return of the hunting party. But then cheers had died .. stunned by the sight of the prey they’d caught. They must have run on with the news. Excited news of what the hunters had trapped. Later, again through his hood Tarzan had again heard how the sounds had increased .. more had run out to greet the sight. Now, though, they had to be near their village. The clamour was greater. Everyone had turned out to welcome their men back with the meat. And the strange captive they'd hunted down.

Tarzan's bound hands were pressed against his muscled belly. Behind tight cord cut through his elbows pulled them together. His only defence would be barging into a warrior with his shoulders, knocking him down .. then using his legs to kick his way to freedom. But the sack over his head had prevented any of that.

Tarzan had been as surprised as they had looked when a kick had jolted him out of his sleep. That climb up the mountain had been arduous. He’d dropped to the earth, fallen asleep. Never expecting to come-to with spears pointed into his face. They’d ordered him to his knees. But when he’d tried to assure them, he was no danger … a big brute jabbed his spear into Tarzan’s face .. forcing him to flinch away. And shut up.

Hadn’t they looked just as surprised? Or was that …. fear? Did Tarzan read fear behind those jabbing spears? But that was before they’d stuck his head in a bag. A cripplingly tight grip on his neck hauling him to his feet. And shoved on his way. Walking blind. Totally dependent on the tight grip squeezing on his neck? Did Tarzan read fear in that too? A crippling grip on his neck .. more-than-necessary? Controlling him, lording it over him. Stressing pressure over him. Making sure Tarzan was not going to give them any trouble. Troublingly tight.

It smelled like a bag they used for carrying small game they'd killed. Stuck over his head when they'd tied him up. Making sure he had no means of running away. They weren't into talk, he'd discovered earlier on. Earning himself a punch in the jaw for trying to explain. All the way to their village, that punishing manly grip had him by the neck, it did not once let up. Keeping him on his feet, holding him up when he stumbled. And making sure Tarzan went where they planned him to go.


Cheers were all around, he had to be in their village. This was his chance to explain, he meant them no harm, no need to tie him up. All a big mistake. A yank on his neck brought him to a sudden halt. Another blow jabbed behind his knee was joined by pressure on his arms. Tarzan was down on his knees.

And the cheering went on. On and maliciously-on. Less now to welcome the hunters back with their prize, more, it seemed to Tarzan, jeering at his capture. But why? What were they afraid of? Why had he got them worried? But he'd soon explain, they’d understand. They had nothing to fear.

Still Tarzan saw nothing. He was peering through the sack .. seeing with his ears as best he could. But hearing only a crowd of jeering. What did they think he was? What danger did he represent? Why cheer? To have him tied up? Blindfolded? Clearly these people were celebrating that they’d caught him, that he was their prisoner? What was going on? He'd done nothing wrong. He’d never done anything to harm them. But that look of fear he’d caught ….? Tarzan didn't even know which island he was on. Who these hunters were. He couldn't have got into a conflict with anyone here. Why were they afraid of him?

All of a sudden, the cheering died down. Someone had appeared. Their chief? A witch doctor? Tarzan knew it had to be someone in authority to silence their calling-out without making a sound. No one had called for the cheering to stop. Someone decisive had entered the scene.

Tarzan listened. Not a sound. No one was explaining what they'd caught, no questions were being asked. This person of authority wasn't hearing a reason for Tarzan being trussed up like this, no one was telling him anything. As if they all knew! Tarzan cocked his head to one side .. intently listening in to the silence. Nothing. Not a sound but the insects of the forest. That had to mean he was being closely observed. Was the man prowling him? Going behind .. examining Tarzan’s threat from all sides? Clearly a man whose presence could command attention. Obviously a man interested in Tarzan. Scrutinising him. What was he thinking? What WAS going on?



Clarity dawns

Unable to see, the voice surprised Tarzan. “We have suffered …..”


It was stood right in front, not far away. A deep commanding voice. And only now did Tarzan feel a danger from behind too. A bulky looming threat radiated heat onto his back, really close. Still hooded and so doubly sensitive to threat, Tarzan half twisted his head around. Clearly a mistake. A strong grip grabbed Tarzan by the back of the neck, that same strong hand from the trip here, it squeezed.

The grip returned Tarzan's head to the front. Then pressure was increased, bending Tarzan's head forward .. as if Tarzan was being made to perform a bow. To bend in submission.Was that symbolic? Or were Tarzan’s nerves getting the better of him? He got a grip on his temper. He did not struggle back and squirm himself out of the grip. He accepted his fate .. for now. On his knees, he was made to bow in submission to this chief. Or was it in obeisance to the whole tribe? Submitting to their will.

“We have suffered,” the voice continued. “Been forced to suffer. By the likes of dogs like … THIS."Like him? How? Tarzan still couldn't see but he felt an accusatory arm pointing him out. Curious he listened on. “By dogs like him”?

The accusation .. the finger pointed at Tarzan .. again jeers broke out. This time the catcalls were not silenced by the chief’s presence. While Tarzan puzzled out why he was so guilty, stuck unseeing in this bag, his trapped muscular frame was being whip-lashed by jeers of hate.

"Driven off our lands. Once our children played happily on the beach. The sea offered us plenty to eat …..”The voice was strong .. despite the words of sadness. The man spoke with a strength that matched the firm grip squeezing into Tarzan's neck.

“Until THEY arrived …..”Suddenly the squeeze tightened .. murderously tight on the back of his neck. Tarzan's face creased into a wince. Again the silence around broke. Murmurs of sadness .. mutters of agreement. Some growls of manly anger.“Making us flee. Run. Hide. Fugitive in these mountains. OUR island. Fugitives in our own homeland."

Tarzan was getting the point."Fearing when the white men would come .. back again with their guns .. enslaving our men. Taking out women for themselves.”Defiant shouts broke on the air. Warriors who would fight back.


They had fled the white men with their guns. Were these the original inhabitants here? Tarzan’s head started to whirr, piecing things together. Had the white men, Whitney and his thugs … had they come and grabbed their land? Planning on using the local inhabitants for enforced labour instead of shipping in slaves? To save themselves these people had had to flee .. into the hills .. forced to eke out an existence in the mountains. Fugitives from slavery in their own land. AND …… judging by the crushing squeeze in Tarzan's neck ….. did they think he was one of them? Tarzan was one of Whitney's thugs? A white man who'd mysteriously turned up. Come snooping. Maybe an advanced guard. Spying out the land. Going back with the news and returning with an armed gang of thugs?

No wonder they were seeing Tarzan as something to fear. And were taking no chances with him.


Silence is golden

The original islanders …. Driven up into the hills to escape Whitney and his thugs …. And they thought, Tarzan was one of them? As if to confirm Tarzan's fears, the grip on his neck threw Tarzan forward. Unexpected, no arms to break his fall. Just in time turning his head .. twisting his shoulders, taking the fall on his side .. preventing him from smashing his nose on sun-


baked earth. Before he could recover, the chief's full weight kicked him roughly onto his front. Viciously it stomped down on Tarzan's back. Surprised, he yelled out.“And now we've got one of the monsters.

“REVENGE!”The shout flooded the air. Monsters? Another hard heel hammered into his back. Jeering voices joined in. Calling for revenge. Tarzan saw his predicament in a flash .. even as he was trying to protect his head. He himself was running away from the Whitney’s thugs. And this tribe too had fled from white-man mob. But they thought he was one of them. NO! Tarzan started to wriggle himself free. WRONG! They’d got it wrong.“I’m not ……”A hard kick shut him up. Down on his front, pinned down, wordless Tarzan shouted back. He wasn't one of them! He was running away too ……

“REVENGE!”Around him the tribe screamed. “Kill him!”Above him the chief bawled it out too. Maddened. The aching need for payback bursting free. Hunting dogs in a frenzy around their prey. Tarzan tried to wriggle free. He had to put them right. “You’ve got this wrong!”He shouted through another kick. But no one was listening. Any protest drowned out by a pounding surf of loathing. The surrounding forest lit up in hate-filled sound.“REVENGE!”The foot again stomped heavily down on Tarzan's neck. He cried out. He tried to squirm away. Moving to turn into his front.

A hard kick in the side took his breath away.“REVENGE!”The foot kicked him in the side of Tarzan's head. His head swan, bile shot to his throat. He nearly passed out with the pain. Madness flooded the air. Bawling cries calling for blood. Again hatred stomped its heel-print hard down on his backbone.

Before he could make himself understood, hands were grabbing Tarzan by the feet. Dragging him on his front through the dirt. He tried to resist. Another kick in the head twisted him half-over on his side. Suddenly there was a pulling on his legs .. lifting his feet of the ground. tugging him jerkily


up in the air, feet first, his torso helplessly dragged on his front .. finally breaking free .. dangling in the air.

Tarzan wriggled. He tried to free his bound arms. But he was trapped upside down, swaying in the air. A sudden rush of air warned him. A yell of fury a second before it struck. A stinging blow slashed across his bare thighs. The force made him jerk. The sting made him yelp. Another fury-driven yell .. this time from behind. A bawl of hatred rushed at Tarzan from behind. A burning sting slashed pain out of his backside. His flesh burst into tortured flames.

Their fury had been building up for months. Their hatred of the evil white men who had driven them from their lands .. it had seethed in their hearts. Now it had found release .. that grinding resentment at this poverty forced on them had clawed at the guts. Here was their chance for vengeance! Justified revenge. Their chief slashed away at this detested captive. His burly brother lashed out at that evil white-man's loathed flesh from behind.

They cheered every surprised yelp. They celebrated each and every shock of pain. Even when a deluge of agonising blows had silenced his cries .. even when pain had claimed the white-man’s consciousness, they wanted more. They screamed for more. No amount of white-man pain could pay for what they had lost.

“REVENGE!”The chief punched the air above his head. Sweating, ecstatic, face a mixture of elation and hate. His people roared it out too. The chief’s brother behind the lifeless victim knocked back a great flagon of water. Panting hard, he stared proud into the sea of cheering faces. None had hoped to see such a day. To get their hands on such a dog. To relish the sweet taste of revenge. In relief for his panting efforts, he emptied the water over his head .. cooling on the hard-packed enormity of his sweat-drenched chest. Effort well-spent.

Thrilled the chief spread out his arms. Like he was encompassing the whole of his cheering tribe. A collective hug of joy. Vengeance. At last. His foot stomped down hard on the earth. His brother imitated the move .. pounding a foot into the earth. Start of a collective dance."Revenge!"From a solid packed chest redolent with fire and glory he called out for what the tribe was owed. Revenge! Death!


Like an attacking rhino, the chief’s brother led the tribe. His foot pounded the rhythm into the soil. Others joined in. STOMP! "REVENGE!"Kicking up the dust with a burning need. Soon every man, woman and child demanded the same.STOMP! "REVENGE!"

Pounding the earth like they were kicking the life out of the evil body that had fallen prey to their hate. Their cries for vengeance echoed off the rock. Lashing out at its dangling lifeless frame.“REVENGE!”Kick. Stomp. Kick. Stomp.No amount of violence could ever pay them back.


Quandary

Kevin McDaid


Again a hard thwack across his belly. The force of a brawny forearm rammed like a club against his muscled midriff. His assailant must have been burly before, solid muscled still in the shoulders. Muscle clung to his frame still like all of the tribe. Not too much to eat, bodies here were lean-muscled from hard work, foraging for scarce food in these mountains. This brute had been bigger once. But the hate behind that punch still took Tarzan's breath away.

What could he do? How could he make them understand? Every time Tarzan had tried to plead his case .. this self-appointed guardian of Tarzan’s voice rammed an elbow into Tarzan’s ribs. Or sunk a vengeful fist deep into his belly. They didn’t want to know.He was as much a victim as them, Tarzan had to tell them. Whitney and his thugs had robbed Tarzan too of his freedom. Tarzan had to get them to understand. But every time he'd tried .. every attempt to get a word out .. The same …. The big brawny brute next to him silenced every word. Knocked the wind out of him. A forearm like a club thwacked across Tarzan's chest and drove every syllable out of him with a bawl.

Tarzan had come-to with his pains. He had no memory of being moved. Just the agony of getting beaten up .. dangling upside-down. Lashed with hate .. twisting and wildly convulsing off the pain .. dozens of stinging blows to his legs. Hundreds of jeering calls .. cheering the vicious swipes into his backside sending him spinning. He’d finally passed out with the unbelievable pains. But it had seemed that that solace of unconsciousness would never come.

Now he hurt like hell. His thighs were trembling, weak, on fire from the barrage of smarting hits with some willowy cane. Hard to stand .. though he knew he had to appear strong. His backside burned, his back against the stake ran with fiery sweat. That attack on him had been wild. Maddened. Worse by having his head stuck in that bag. Taking merciless hits even as he yelled out in his pains into the hood. Each hit fired up with their resentment against the white-man who stolen their lives.

Tarzan had to get them to understand. But how? If he didn't ….. so much had become clear …… There was a mass hatred here for him. How far would they go? From what he’d heard .. from the looks he’d got ….. there was


no mercy for him here.Even before they'd removed his hood .. even before he could see those faces seething with hate for this white-man stranger ……. even before his eyes could register that pitiless hatred for him …. Tarzan had heard it. Through the bag, his mind’s eye had seen their faces on fire with loathing. His eyes had read the sounds of abject horror for this white-man that had echoed off these rocks. They wanted one thing. One thing only. And if Tarzan did not put them straight .. if he did not persuade them off the truth … he was a dead man.


Merciless

How many more hits to his innards like these ……? Crippling, merciless. If he kept on trying to plead his case and make them listen …. more bloody-


minded fists from that hate-filled brawny brute ….. much more of that and Tarzan would end up injured, badly. Brutalised insides, bleeding. Shattered. Weakened, he’d not manage to get any words out. A dilemma. There was so much hate here .. from the tribesmen cheering at every painful blow .. from this brawny warrior who loomed menacing at his side, ever attentive, looking for the slightest excuse. Fists balled, ready .. fired up by this mass-hatred that had Tarzan surrounded. No one wanted to listen. No one was interested in hearing what Tarzan had to say. That he was innocent, they had nothing to fear from him. This brute would beat the hell out of Tarzan to shut up his mouth. But if he didn’t talk ….? If Tarzan couldn’t get them to see he was a victim here too …….? If he didn’t, he’d not seen the dawn of the next day.

The chief stood glaring thunder at Tarzan. But the mouth .. that was the telling factor. It had a determined, masterful and scornful expression. Tarzan had never seen before a mouth that displayed such extreme emotions. At its best it showed determined purpose .. at its worst, well, ….. Tarzan’s body had already felt the storm of passion gather about it. He had felt the crack of lightning break across his legs when dangling helplessly upside down. The hood gone, now he felt the ferocity of that hate-filled face lash across his front .. twisting the mouth into grotesque shapes. Tarzan would find no pity in this man.

"You've got to listen ….. ." Warily Tarzan had been staring at the other warrior .. his self-appointed guardian, with a club for an arm. Perilously he gave it another try. How many times had he taken a breath-robbing clubbing to shut him up? But he couldn’t let it be. He had to speak out. He saw rage ignite again. He saw the menace of retaliation for his repeated impudence. But Tarzan had to speak out, he had no choice."I'm not your enemy …."He shouted back to gain the chief’s attention.

The silencing blow came this time as a fist. Thwacked with a raging fury into Tarzan's belly button. He'd anticipated the hit, tightened. But the fury behind the punch still knocked him backwards into the post, the force doubling him up. Into the furious rage of a fist to Tarzan's face. Knuckled hate-filled punch thudded into Tarzan's jaw. His face exploded, his skill smacked back into the post. Tarzan felt his neck crack. His brain exploded, tears of pain ran to his eyes.


He had to explain. They had to understand. The burly brute shot up a knee. High. Thundered into the hated white-man's gut. Below his belly button, slamming him backwards, doubled-up. All that hatred wind silenced with his bellow of pain. Shutting up that hated lie-filled mouth. They weren't interested. They weren't listening. They wanted revenge.


Tracked down

Eye-witness


Connors jerked at the loudness of Whitney’s voice down the cell.“What you fucking-whispering for Connors? You in some kinda trouble?”Connors glanced out from his safe hiding.“No, not me ….” he replied. “But our runaway is ……”He pursed his lips at another stinger that tore into his prey’s front. Even from this safe distance, looking through his scope, he thought he could hear the sucker yelp.

Connors heard a whistle from down the phone.“You found the fucker, then?”Whitney had never reckoned that white-savage had understood what a tracker was. This recent batch of slaves … three of them had been signalled as a source of trouble. Might try and make a run for it. Whitney had warned them .. when the tracker was being injected into their muscled traps. No getting away, the tracker would hunt them down. Better than any dogs.

Connors confirmed it.“Arsehole never understood what the tracker did. Once within range, the prick’s own hide led me right here.”Struggled up here .. up the mountain side to these caves .. to watch him getting-the-fuck beaten out of his arse!“He’s got himself some nasty company. Some mean-looking savages who are laying into his hide.”

There was a pause from down the sat-phone. Connors had to explain to Whitney the surprise news. He whispered into the cell describing the scene he’d been watching.“Blacks? Here? On the island?” Whitney sounded confused. “How many?”Connors glanced away from the sight of the runaway sweating out his pains. That blow to abs even as steeled as his … it had taken his breath away.“Twenty-or-so. Nasty-looking fuckers. Wouldn’t want to be in the runaway’s shoes.”Using the scope, Connors glanced back over the men who’d been chosen for the task of dishing out hell to Connors’s runaway.“I’m seeing over twenty muscle-heads, hardly any fat on them. Some all-solid muscle. Don’t look as though they get too much to eat.”

A long pause down the other end.“You still there, Whitney?”


Connors heard a sound emitted through the earpiece. A kind of whistling .. like Whitney was thinking to himself. Whistling thtough his teeth.“Reckon they could be the originals? The natives who fucked off and disappeared?”How-the-fuck was Connors supposed to know? Could be .. who knew?

Whitney didn’t wait for conformation.“Over twenty, you say? Well built?”Connors gave them another look-over through his scope. He watched taut muscle ripple as a black savage slashed a cane across the runaway’s front.“Strong-looking.”One of them, Connors saw ….. brawny, thick across the shoulders .. he’d just shoved the cane-wielding native aside and had slammed his forearm across the runaway’s chest. He couldn’t wait, the burly brute couldn’t stop himself. Arm like a club .. hard-chopped into the white-savage’s chest. Slamming him hard into the post. Knocking every bit of wind out of him. Connors saw the runaway’s legs buckle under the weight of the blow.“ …. Muscled like fuck some of them …..”Connors hesitated. Had his mind just read Whitney’s thoughts?“You thinking …...?”


Eye of the beholder

Whitney had dubbed him the white-savage. Some white-man that had gone native .. awkward as fuck. Connors doubted Whitney really wanted the


arsehole back. Trouble every step of the way. He’d got more strikes per inch of his muscled body than any of the blacks. And he hadn’t learned any. Here too, he was giving it back. Even before the blacks had got him to the stake, he’d been giving them hell. He didn’t stand a chance, of course. Out-numbered. And they were just as determined they were gonna beat the shit out of him as he was bloody-mindedly determined like-fuck-they-weren’t.Finally they gave up. Got the prick down on the ground and kicked the shit out of him. He could barely raise his head when hands had roughly grabbed his arms and had hauled him over to the stake.

Of course, Whitney had to grab him back. How else to persuade the blacks back at the plantation there was no point in running off? They’d all be trying it on. Whitney had to make an example of the white-savage. Connors wouldn’t like to be in his shoes when Whitney did get him back. Probably beat the fucker to death in front of the other natives. Flay him alive even.

A grunt of agreement from Whitney down the cell-phone got Connors back to the here-and-now.“Can you stay put? We’ve got a signal on you. Is it safe?”As long as those savages were laying into the runaway, Connors knew no one was going anywhere else. And as-good-as-like .. after they’d beaten the shit out of the runaway …. the men were going to be so fired up …. they’d be rushing back to their caves and hammering it to their women-folk.

To confirm the fact, there was a roar from the surrounding natives. Cheering, jeering, fists punched in the air. That big brawny black-savage had grabbed their runaway by the throat. Lifted him physically off Tarzan’s faltering legs and jammed him back against the stake. Pinned there by the throat .. probably getting-in no breath .. the runaway took a good half-dozen motherfuckers to his abs. Connors had to wince. Whitney’s white-savage was exceptionally built there. But that black savage was a mean-minded bastard. He kept on the pressure on the windpipe. And blasted sledgehammer blows into the runaway’s gut. He let go. The sucker collapsed.

Whitney wasn’t suggesting he took any action. Connors was armed. But he didn’t reckon his chances against men fired up with blood like that pounding in their cocks. And gun or not …. Connors wasn’t going up against that brawny black.“Just keep an eye on things, then? That’s all?”Connors confirmed his orders.


“Looks like the savages could beat the runaway to death. You don’t want me to do anything ……?”

FUCK! Him and his big mouth! Connors wanted to take that back as soon as the words were out. Why was he suggesting Whitney might like to change his mind? Thank-the-fuck Whitney didn’t take him up on it. The way these blacks looked, any interference ….. anyone standing in their way of tearing into the runaway …. and they’d tear Connors apart. With their bare teeth. They were like animals, the way they were laying into the runaway. It really did look like that, no one would stand a chance. The runaway fucker really didn’t have a chance. Probably he was a goner.

He was relieved with Whitney’s reply.“If they kill him …. So what? One white-savage down. Twenty black-savages up. No contest.”Connors was relieved to hear it. “Just stay put.”Connors had no intention of anything else. What he’d been watching …. he had no plans of sticking his nose in. Not getting that brutish black turned on him.

Whitney probably didn’t really understand how vicious these fuckers were, though ….? What Connors was seeing …... Whitney couldn’t just waltz in here and take over the situation. These blacks looked murderous.Connors owed it to the others guys. To warn them.“Better come well-armed, Whitney. And bring plenty of reinforcements …..”Again he winced. This time he was convinced he heard the runaway yell out. A murderous motherfucker had exploded in his gut.“These savages have got their blood up …. They won’t take it lying down ……”


Tomorrow’s another day


Connors winced slightly when the runway dropped. Through his scope he saw that on a signal from their chief, the brawny black savage released the rope on the runaway's hands. As the body hit the dirt, the knees broke. And the sucker crumpled in a heap to the hard packed earth. Screams of euphoria lit up the night sky. Connors could have thought the sucker was dead. That the brutal beating had done the trick. He wouldn’t have surprised.

Pity .. Whitney and the guys would not be arriving for hours yet. They might have been able to save the sucker. Why waste all that hard-working muscle? But no way was Connors waltzing in there .. all guns blazing .. just to rescue some pig-headed piece of white-savage arse.

They really had laid into him. When the savages had him up against the post .. weak, exposed .. the fucker didn't stand a fucking chance. Muscle already badly beaten now stretched up against the post .. battered muscle under continual duress. The arsehole had to be in agony. And then they'd laid into the fucker yet again. This time with an added vicious move. Sticking his head inside a bag. No way of anticipating. He'd had to flex every minute .. every muscle fighting off blows he could not see coming. Impossible. And besides that ….. they'd beaten the crap out of him already. Every muscle on him was already weakened, everything already hurt-like-fuck.

He stood fuck-all chance. Brutal, mean, sadistic. Blindfolded ….! Connors thought he'd have to recommend that trick to Whitney. It'd put the shits under their own awkward fuckers. That muscled pig-headed one who’d arrived in the last batch .. the one who used to be their slave catcher .. until he'd got too big for his boots. Now it'd be worth trying that trick on that arsehole. Connors wouldn't mind seeing that stroppy black savage answering back then. Get the fuck beaten out of him .. and head in a sack. Soon have that stubborn fucker screaming himself shirtless.

Then Connors surprised himself? Has he seen things right? He’d spotted the runway move? Not got done in, then? Not beaten dead? Sure was one tough motherfucker …. Or a lucky arsehole. It took something to take all that and still be living. Never mind moving. Or managing to lift his head. Were his lips moving? Was the arsehole trying to say something? Who'd have thought it possible? Bet the fucker hurt like shit? Probably was wishing he WAS fucking-dead!


Ouch! That fucker of a burly brute slammed a foot into the runaway's side. The brawny savage who really seemed to have got it in for that Tarzan. Connors saw the force and pain throw the runway up off the ground before landing back on his front. The brute stomped his heel hard down on the inert body. That brawny savage had really taken a shine to the runway for some reason. Or maybe he was just some sadistic arsehole.Through his scope Connors saw the white guy have a big shudder .. as if a massive bawl was ripped out of a pain-overloaded torso. And then the fucker lay still. Dead still.

“People! You have shown your feelings. Your anger .. justified .. it has found here some release. But no compensation. Who can ever pay us back? Not for the deprivations forced on us. Fleeing from scum like this.”The chief stomped a foot hard down on the white man's neck. The surrounding crowd cheered again. Their men had cheered themselves hoarse. But there could never be enough cheering for the pain they had suffered. Hungry. Their children not free to run wild in the forest. Always in hiding. Always in fear of the white-men with their whips and guns.

“Tomorrow we shall finish our work. In the light, as dawn breaks …. together we shall rid the world of this scum. Together. Our men will finish off the piece of shit.”Cheers welcomed the chief’s offer. Mad cheering. Daylight could not come soon enough.“Scum like this .. it has destroyed our lives. All of us .. together .. shall we not return the favour? Make sure we destroy this scumbag’s life?”The chief did not have to hear the jeers to know every single person here wanted that.“In the only way that makes sense. Our pain will be his. He will wear it with shame.”

It took a while for the cheers to subside. The chief looked down at the inert body at his feet. Beaten. Battered.“Tomorrow … THIS ….”His hand passed in the air over the brutalised inert heap at his feet ….. contemptuous. Eyes filled with justified hate.“This …… tomorrow .. we will beat it to death.”



Doomed

It was ironic. Tarzan was fleeing the white slavers too. Running for his life. Just as this tribe had run to the hills to save themselves. But it was Tarzan getting the blame. Somehow he had to tell them they'd got him all wrong. But no one was listening. They'd got the idea in their heads and there was no moving them. But seeing what was being played out before his eyes ..


guessing what the tribe had planned for him this morning … somehow he had to get them to understand.

Ironic, doubly ironic because he could see what was being set up for him. He’d seen this before, he had endured this punishing torture. Ironic because the last time he’d been promised this beating .. it had been that Wanaga setting him up for just such a torture run back then Tarzan had eluded the beating. he’d escaped it by luck. By the skin of his teeth. But again they had met .. Wanaga’s raiding and enslaving had come to an abrupt end .. he had pissed off these slave-holders .. he’d finished up getting used as a work-slave on this plantation too. Now, having met Wanaga again .. it was happening to Tarzan again. Like Wanaga had jinxed him. Making sure Tarzan still got that punishment after all. No escaping the deadly punishment Wanaga had sentenced him to. And this time, Tarzan suspected he wasn't supposed to come out of this alive.

Tarzan had spent the night in agony. He'd woken-up to find himself seated at the foot of a sturdy stake, hands tied around the back. Everything screamed blue-murder. Every bit of him hurt like mad. At this stake he’d been given the devil of all beatings. The men had not pulled a single blow. Months of anger and resentment at the white-men who driven them off their lands lashed into every strike. Not a shred of compassion when he'd struggled in his agonies. Tarzan's cries of pain had only thrown fuel on the fire.

He'd woken up hurting. Every single cell in his body burning like fury. Needing to move, needing to ease the stiffness out of battered muscle. Yet every move he made only shot stabbing pains through tortured flesh. Agony jarred in battered bones. With every breath he took a grimace of pain clawed at his face.Hungry, thirsty like crazy. Like he hadn't drunk in days. But it was dark, no one around. Everyone was asleep. Not even a guard. His chance to get away? Useless .. he'd tried hard, he’d wriggled and fumbled with the knots. Every pained effort only warning him how in this state he’d struggle to make a run for it. Even if he could succeed with the knots, how far would he get? In the state he was in?. They’d left him alone .. bound at this stake .. to suffer alone through the night .. because they knew there was no getting away.

And now, with daybreak the tribe had assembled. Grim-faced they’d glared at their prisoner. Now there was an air of excited anticipation as he was released. As Tarzan was to face the music. Released, hauled to his feet, unbound now but no chance of getting away. Too many eager males. Spears at the ready. Dragged out into the centre of their makeshift home in the rocks. Forced to his knees, naked still. Seeing before him the next horror they planned for him. That tunnel of pain for the white-man who’d stolen their land, robbed them of their freedom.

Breathing deep to calm his nerves, Tarzan knew to take this tunnel of warrior grim-faced men seriously. He saw up from his knees the terrors he was destined to endure. Ironically, the same savage beating Wanaga back then had planned for him. The ritualistic parade of human savagery that a sadistic brute like Wanaga would plan. Or a tribe burning with hate for the men who’d ruined their lives. And here he was facing that threat again.


A tunnel of pain. Attacking a body hurting like his. From the first strike, crippling, body-breaking. A torture that could end Tarzan's life. In a pitiless savage way. Beat him to death. Taken to the extreme .. if they took this all the way .. within the hour Tarzan would be horribly dead.


Death wish

Two lines of the men .. the same angry men who'd taken to beating the hell out of Tarzan the previous night .. lined up for an obvious purpose. Stood in two rows stretching away from Tarzan. They'd each cut themselves a switch .. held twitching in their hands .. stood forming a tunnel to down which Tarzan would be made to pass.


Their chief surveyed the formation with cold satisfaction. Seeing that some of his men were impatiently swishing their weapons. Some had cut themselves bigger sticks .. about a meter long. He caught some of them tapping impatiently at their legs, waving them with growling threats .. concentrating .. getting their eye in. Other men had chosen springy switches .. flexible, thin .. planned for snapping smarting bites out of bare skin.

Tarzan noticed the two men who headed the two lines .. with the best view of Tarzan .. stood unmoving, impassive .. glowering at him .. their eyes full of hatred. Working themselves up. Honoured for getting in the first strike. Their glares for the hated white-man burning with contempt. And where men felt contempt, Tarzan knew, they felt a justification. Anything was allowed.

A hand in his scalp dragged Tarzan up from his knees. “Men. You know your duty.”The chief addressed his men. But his words were for the whole tribe .. assembled for this communal act of revenge. His burly brother had Tarzan shamefully gripped by the hair .. hands helplessly tied behind his back, no chance of getting out of this. The three of them were stood ten paces away from the start of this fidgety line of death.“This man and his kind .. remember what he has robbed us of ….”Tarzan started shaking his head. Denying any involvement. The grip in his hair twisted. To control the insolence of denying the truth. Yanking on his head, making Tarzan stare down the line of men who were itching to beat him to death.

Tarzan had half-expected his hands staying tied behind. No chance of defending himself against the blows. His body, his head taking all that their hatred for the white robbers would throw at him. But now his hands were being freed, untied. He’d be able partly fend off the blows. He could keep his arms up, protect his head, stop himself from getting knocked out.But he knew too that would only mean prolonging the ordeal. From his experience, he knew a victim was made to run the line many times. Until he tripped. When the victim got the hell beaten out of him. Beaten to death.

Since arriving, since these beatings had begun, Tarzan had been shamed into this punishment, he’d been stripped naked. Before men, women, children. An act of saying how much he was worth. Now too he’d been running their ordeal naked. No dignity allowed, just savage brutality between him and death. Tarzan felt fear cramp in the pit of his stomach. He'd faced death many times .. in combat, fights against greater odds. But this felt insuperable. No chance. It would be agonising. Planned to be so. Yet it was his complete vulnerability that cramped up his stomach. Facing an agonised death with no chance of helping himself. Surely there had to be a last chance to get them to understand?

“Fished freely for food. Our sons learning by our sides.”The chief was drawing a picture of the idyllic life the white-men had destroyed. But Tarzan had


had no part of that.“Children's laughter .. playing in the waves. All gone.”True. But that wasn’t Tarzan’s fault. Before it was too late, Tarzan had to do something. they had to see the truth.

“Not me! That wasn't me!”They were ready for him. His protest was cut short. The brawny brute .. his fist slammed across Tarzan’s midriff. With a grunt of savage effort. A snarl of fury buried the arm into Tarzan's belly. Unanticipated. Unsuspected. Tarzan doubled up.Muscle weak from the previous day's beating collapsed, Tarzan’s knee gave way. But the burly brute had kept a tight grip on Tarzan's hair. He kept him doubled up. And slammed a knee up into his heaving gut. Tarzan yelled out in shock. Collapsing, one knee slamming down onto the earth.

The chief waited. The lies silenced, he nodded for his brother to haul the tribe’s captive back up, groaning and sucking in air. Tugged upright .. yanking him painfully up by the hair.“What does he deserve?” What do we wish with this dog?”As one, the tribe of burning-faced men roared out.“DEATH!”

Feeling the wave of hatred burst over him, the chief’s brother shook his gasping captive by the hair. Contemptuous .. like he counted for nothing.“Say it again.”He yelled. As if the captive had not heard the bellows for his death.“What does this piece of dog-shit deserve?”The bawls flooded the early morning air.“Death! DEATH! DEATH!”

Riding on the surf of fury, the chief turned to the line his men. He yelled out at the tunnel of pain they had formed.“What is your duty?”Hands shook in the air. Evil switches swished above their heads.“KILL!”The grip in the captive scalp was yanked forwards and forced to face music. Made to hear the condemnation from the hatred lined up against him. Eager. Keen. Bursting to do their duty. Again the chief punched the air and demanded to know.“What is your duty?”The men brandished their weapons. Faces red with savagery and hate.“KILL! KILL! KILL!”

Tarzan knew he had only one last chance?“I'm not one of …..”


The grip tightened. The tribe had heard enough. No more lies, no more excuses. He was being raced towards the line of cruel-faced men. The burly brute was dragging Tarzan forward with him.“Death!”The brute screamed it out as he raced forwards. “DEATH!”He was met by a hot wave of eagerness .. dragging Tarzan forward by the hair. Towards the start of the line. Shoving him forward. Into the gaping mouth of the tunnel of pain. “DEATH! ”The tribe ordered it. The line of men forming the tunnel of pain joined in the shouts.“DEATH! DEATH!”It was what they craved. What every man and women here desired.“DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!”


Tunnel of pain

The first strike caught Tarzan as he stumbled in-between the lines. Head down, arms up to protect it. A sharp blow into his bent shoulder. An eye watering nip at strong rounded muscle. Pain twisted him away. Into the path of a blow hard across the top of his chest. Yanking him near to a halt. But a shove from behind propelled him into the yelling tunnel of hate.


A scream down his ear presaged a thud across his belly. The wind expelled with a grunt, the shock jolted him forward. An opportunity for a double handed blow across the back of his shoulders. He stumbled forwards, he couldn't fall, he didn’t dare. Tarzan swore at himself, he couldn't risk falling to the ground. They'd be on him like a pack of hyena.

He bent forward, protecting his head, he rushed onwards. Offering his back for every blow. Saving his front. Doing what he could to protect his head from any glancing blow.Thwacked across his lower back. Tarzan used the pain to drive powerful legs onwards. A back-twisting blow cracked down the length of firm back .. his spine shuddering down its length. Throwing his head up. He caught a quick glance of the screaming faces wielding their brutal sticks. Ahead there seemed to be no end to this line of hate.

Head back down again, doggedly he forced his spirit forwards. Into the din raging in his ears, head exploding with screams of men caught up in a madness. Like flesh-eating fish in a feeding frenzy around its prey. Hate-filled. Their blood was up. Screaming for revenge, revenge for their deprivations. Hate for the men who'd invaded their land. Robbed families of happiness.

A weakening blow .. thudded into his side. Powered by months of hatred. A stinging pain snapped out of his backside, weakening his run. Tarzan felt a leg shudder. He feared a knee sag. A sharp nip of a springy switch across the breadth of his muscled shoulders projected him forward. And dangerously downwards. His knee found strength. His thigh threw him onwards. Driving him deeper into this tunnel of tortured pain.

Suddenly Tarzan saw hope to his side. One last pair of bare legs .. then nothing. He'd broken through. He'd prevailed this run of death. Heartened he gritted his teeth. A back-breaking blow struck. The assailant had stood waiting. A thick stick held two handed above his head. This was their last chance. To break the hated white-man to the ground. Grim-faced, the man was determined to make the most of it.


Return

The end was in sight, Tarzan had seen the end of the line. But first … the final vengeful hit. Thwacked with all the might the man could wield. Powered from work-hardened shoulders. Fuelled with the craving to break this hated white-man’s back. The blow caught Tarzan across his powerful back. A solid muscled breadth that had taken much pummelling and beatings these last hours. Flesh below the shoulder blades contorted. Pain twisted the bent-over torso. Seeing him collapsing the men screamed out hate and delight.


The captive twisted in his onward rush. His leg broke under him. Racing forward, collapsing. Falling forwards.

Tarzan fell against a strong body. He slid helpless down tree-trunk like legs. In disgust, they shoved him off. Tarzan dropped to the dirt. A foot stomped hard down on his back. Tarzan yelled, confused, head in a spin.Muscled arms grabbed him by the back of his neck. With grunted effort the force hauling him up grabbed Tarzan from behind, a murderously tight bearhug squeezed around his chest. Holding him upright. Keeping him from collapsing. A crushing squeeze on his gasping chest .. a crippling hug around his torso that was saving Tarzan from dropping to the floor.

Tarzan was too weak and confused to realise that his brawny minder had rushed to the far end of the tunnel. Waiting eager to greet their captive. Dragged him up, encased his sweat-coated body in a tight grip. Crushingly pressed to his chest. Snarling hate down the back of Tarzan’s dirt-streaked neck, the chief’s burly brother twisted their captive around. He showed to his jeering lines of men their brutalised prize. Beaten, bruised, sweating. Crushing their hated prize to his chest, he held the weakened victim up for them.“What do we want for this?”The condemnation came back like howling beasts. Baying to finish him off.“DEATH!”

Tarzan had enough presence of mind, he tried again. Through watering eyes, the sweat of pain running off his hair.“You've got me wrong …..”It was too late, they didn't want to know. Their blood was up, murder was in their guts. They knew what they wanted. Angered at this attempt to lie himself out of the just punishment, the chief’s brother whipped his captive around. He twisted Tarzan over, hand crushing on the back of his neck and bent him up double. Again a hate-filled knee hammered up .. silencing his lies .. driving pain into Tarzan's heaving chest. Snot and bile exited with the air. The knee followed through again. This time it slammed up into Tarzan's gut.

The chief’s brother felt his captive collapsing under him. Grabbing their despised victim by both shoulders, he yanked the tottering white-man fully upright, facing two lines of screaming hate.“Death? We want this white-man’s death?”Screams answered what they all already knew. The brother bawled back. “Then we take it.”He gave the white-man a hard shove. Into the mouth of death.


Waiting game

Whitney had toyed with the idea of intervening. He'd heard the chief yell at his men to kill their captive. It'd be a waste to lose the white-savage. His men could still squeeze plenty of back-breaking work out of the brute. Strong, tough .. even the sinking humidity didn't slow him


down. He often hit his daily target .. though Whitney suspected that was more because he wasn't going to give an overseer the satisfaction. Prefer to work his balls off rather than letting a whipmaster loose on his bare arse.

Kill him? Stand by and watch these black savages beat the fuck out of Whitney's best slave? Tempting to step in. On the other hand … if things went to plan, they’d have snatched themselves over twenty fresh slaves .. all for nothing. And a bevvy of women to keep Whitney and his men amused. Na. One white-savage against twenty-plus slaves. He alone couldn't do the work of twenty men .. no matter how much those muscles flexed into moving the ponderous weight of sacks on his cart. Twenty or One? No contest.

Besides, he'd always struck Whitney as a dangerous motherfucker. Not so much the volcano about to explode. That black who'd been their slaving partner .. he was that. Tarzan was much more underhand. Seemingly more control about him. Little tangible sign of resistance .. but turn your back on him .. the guys felt he could happily snap your neck. They were uneasy around him.

He was certainly getting it now. Whitney would regret wasting the prick. But there were twenty more to take his place. They could beat the hell out of that Tarzan for all he cared. Whitney had to time this attack right. Maximum element of surprise, there were still twenty of them to overcome. His men were waiting for his signal to let rip. The white-savage was providing good cover for the attack. When these crazed natives had the white-savage down .. when they’d got him on the ground and couldn’t stop themselves .. slavering about the fangs, mad dogs, baying for his blood ..…. When they were going for him like the black savages they were … distracted, unprepared, unsuspecting .. when they’d turned into brute animals closing in on their prey … THAT was the moment to strike. There couldn't be a better time.

The sound of a dozen semi-automatics going off at the same time .. the horrifying din. Like the demons of hell had broken loose on their hide-out. The couple of tear-gas canisters lobbed in their midst … Nothing to it. The fuckers were sitting ducks .. Rendered helpless. Delivered into slavery. Courtesy of the white savage, the runway …. Just needed the right element of surprise.

Whitney watched the big savage shove Tarzan in between the two lines. Tarzan tripped, exhausted. Nearly falling to the ground. By luck ducking under the mighty strike from the first man in the line. A hate-filled face .. a massive weapon in his hand .. more club than stick. The blow to his chest would have knocked Tarzan flat-down. But it whooshed harmless over his head. And smacked the native opposite in the head. Knocking him flying. Hit so hard he fell against the next men in line. To save himself, he too was grabbing at another native. Almost fucking comic!

Men were falling, you couldn’t have organised it if you’d tried. Whitney snorted to himself with a grin. Others in the lines were dumbfounded. Men were scrabbling to save themselves. Falling over each other, grabbing a mate to stop him collapsing. Whitney noticed with some


amusement that Tarzan was already half way down the tunnel .. he probably hadn’t realised, he looked too far out of it. But he had the luck of the fucking devil .. halfway through before the next blow hit. And that was weakly thrown. Tarzan shoulder-barged the next man in line. Was that deliberate? Or had he stumbled into the black prick? Whatever …. before any serious damage could be inflicted, he'd run back out of the line. Exhausted, Tarzan collapsed to hands and knees. Behind him raucous pandemonium.

Fuck, thought Whitney. He'd missed his chance. There would have been no better time to lob his teargas into the melee. So worked up, crazed .. at fouling up what they craved most. Unsuspecting. Caught on the hop. Whitney had been quietly laughing his head off to himself. He'd got lost in the savages’ farcical failure to nail their man. But FUCK IT! He'd fucked up his best chance.


Decision time

Suddenly Whitney was alerted by a shout.“Men!”The chief had rushed over and taken possession of Tarzan. Arm locked around Tarzan's throat.


Teeth gritted in determination, using all his strength, he'd hauled his victim off the ground and back to his feet. With the stranglehold across the throat as a lever he'd shuffled Tarzan back round. Facing the tangled melee of his distressed men.“Isn't this what you want?”The chief squeezed hard .. choking his tribe’s prize.

The men had shuffled together into a huddle. Worked up like a snarling pack of hunting dogs. Eager, chafing at their leashes. Ashamed, they'd lost their quarry. Not wanting to take the blame. Fearful of the derision from their tribe. Needing to put things right. Kill the brute!

Whitney observed the etched muscle in Tarzan’s belly stand out as the chief leaned him backwards. His forearm was dug into Tarzan's windpipe. Back-arched, helpless, his hands struggling to break the grip. But shattered, battered out of his skin. Whitney watched the white-savage’ instincts .. that powerful resilience still alive .. still finding some effort to resist. But there was little he could do. “This what you want?” The chief yelled at his men. Tarzan was struggling to free himself, he’d not given up. But he had been savagely weakened, he couldn’t breathe. The muscled torso strained, chest muscles heaved. But brutalised the white-savage was trapped.

The chief let go the pressure on the neck. Tarzan crumpled together as he sucked in air. Abruptly the chief hammered an elbow into the top of his skull. He slammed him a violent kick in the back of the knee. Exhausted by a barrage of punishing beatings Whitney saw his white-savage crumple .. his knees beginning to sag.

“Come and get him!”The chief gave him a shove. Unable to stop himself, Whitney's white-savage fell forward. Landed on hands and knees.Transfixed Whitney watched. This was going to be a feeding frenzy. The blacks from the lines .. gathered into a huddle of feral dogs .. he watched the men twitching like greyhounds at the races. Bodies zinging with pulsating energy. Waiting for the traps to slam open. Like hunting dogs waiting to be released. Athletes primed for the starting gun.

Whitney obliged. He took the chief at his word. He gave his men the signal. Come and get ‘em. Twenty fresh slaves. And throw in a gaggle of women too. Whitney lobbed in his canister. Teargas broke at the feet of the assembled mob. Men .. unsuspecting .. twitching to swoop like wild animals on the white-savage .. frozen by the shock.The canister burst. Gunfire coughed. All hell broke loose.


Return to the fold

Tear-gas


The runway, like all the other savages, had succumbed to the gas. On the ground, eyes streaming, writhing, trying to clear the stinging in his eyes, he'd sucked in a lot of the stuff. Twisting and thrashing, his guts were heaving the stuff back out.“Stop struggling, fuck you!”

The guys hadn't bothered with him much during the assault. Best secure this unexpected catch of fresh labour. The way the runway was done-in, anyway .. the beating they'd watch him take .. probably couldn’t struggle to his feet, much less make a run for. Add to that, the prick couldn’t see where he was going .. crippled by the gas in his lungs .. eyes streaming .. the sucker wasn't going far. He could barely raise his arse off the ground.

Whitney had to give the fucker a hard punch in the guts to keep him still. He roared, he jack-knifed up, he'd not seen that coming. Fuck him. Whitney was trying to help. Offering to wash the gas away. Fuck the prick! Whitney grabbed the prick by the hair, turned his face around to him and poured water into his eyes. Still the arsehole instinctively tried to turn his face away. But Whitney knew better what was best for him. He jabbed a boot hard into his side, he twisted the sucker's hair in his grip and yanked the head painfully back. Pouring the whole bottle in his face, washing the effects of the gas away.

The guys had done as told. Waited for Whitney to make the first move before starting the attack. Then the noise had scared the shit out of savages. The blacks had played straight into their hands. Early morning, Whitney and his guys had been in position. Armed with semi-automatics they had the cave-village encircled. There'd be no getting out. There be no running away, anyway, when their eyes were streaming with the canisters of gas they'd lobbed into the camp. And terrified by the infernal din of hundreds of bullets blasting into the sky

The savages had made it even easier. All the muscle heads had gathered themselves together .. into two lines .. some sort of ceremony. Soon it dawned on Whitney. They were going to beat the runway to death. Two lines of the black savages lined up. And the runway was going to be made to run between them. What in the old days they used to call running the gauntlet, Whitney remembered. But the suckers were going to use sticks and crude clubs they’d fashioned. Gonna beat the shit out of the white-savage. All the fuckers had concentrated together .. their best, their


strongest, most muscular .. the ones Whitney’s guys needed to keep an eye on .. the pricks had assembled themselves into the one place. The perfect ambush

Whitney chose to wait. He let the runway do one pass. The black fuckers really went for it. The runway barely made it to the other end standing. The fucker had to know that if he went down .. once he was in the ground .. that'd be the end of it.

The look of hate on these black faces. The zinging tension in shoulders as one black eyed the runway getting closer. The flash of bulging muscle as it raised a crude weapon above his head and blasted it down on the white-savage's back. They'd whipped themselves up into a frenzy. They bawled out in bloodlust. Each evil-minded blow dished out with a blood-curdling roar.

The runway broke through to the end. Arms protectively over his head. At the end of the line, another muscled motherfucker was waiting. He grabbed the runway. The white-savage must have thought he had made it. But the black native had other ideas. From his vantage point, Whitney saw him grabbed the runway by the hair. He bent him over. A knee kicked up. A couple of breath-taking knee kicks slammed up into the runway’s belly. The force nearly lifted him off the ground. Only the tight grip in his hair stopped him from falling.

Whitney heard the burly black savage yell out above the cheering from the lines of blacks. There couldn't be a limp black dick in the whole of that camp. Their blood was up. Sheer animal brutality. Fucking-male sadism.

Quickly the brawny attacker twisted the staggering runway round. And shoved him. Back into the seething lines. He pushed the stumbling fucker back into the broiling lines of hate-filled muscle-heads. Panting for a second go at their sacrifice. He stumbled back towards them .. arms up, legs wobbly. Madness had the blacks in its grip. A savage bellow of insanity had every dick in those lines standing erect. They roared to welcome him back. Baying for blood. Their temper was up.

Whitney judged the time was right. The black savages were obsessed. Unaware. Whitney lobbed his canister of gas right into the middle of the unsuspecting black savages. He raised his automatic above his head and let rip. A dozen guys followed his lead. The stupid blacks must have thought their world have caved in on their heads.



Doubts

Tarzan stared across at the activity. He knew he ought to grab the chance. Whitney’s men had concentrated on securing the tribe. Most of the men they had lined up, hands tied with plastic


behind. Resentment burned in knotted shoulders captured inescapably by their bonds. But they were trapped by their helplessness. Ripped bellies contorted as they coughed up the stinging gas in their lungs. Forced to their knees in lines behind each other, Tarzan could feel the anger in the hard-chested torsos. Realising that the men they had fled, fugitives in their own land, had hunted them down. Under attack, fled, captured, now finally slaves!

Like them, Tarzan couldn't make a run for it. No chance he'd get far. Just like these self-same men who’d been beating the hell out of him. His every muscle burned with agony. Impossible for him to run. Any effort to move had him retching on the burning on his chest.

He caught the chief looking at him. Frowning, looking confused. He had ordered Tarzan brutally beaten. He had wanted revenge on the white men who driven them from their lands. And he’d taken Tarzan for one of them. Their revenge had cried out that this was right.Yet here he was, their captive, himself a prisoner of those self-same white men. The chief was watching with growing bewilderment. Tarzan was roughly grabbed by the hair, he was being as badly treated as his own men. He watched their captive hauled up to his knees by a pair of white men. He saw them give his prisoner a hard slap across the back of his head when he'd tried to pull wrists away from them. Beaten viciously just like his own men had been.

Tarzan and the chief kept eye contact as Tarzan was secured like the rest of them. Tarzan read his confusion. Not understanding why the white-man they had been taking their revenge out on .. he was being treated just as badly by the other white men. In his anger Tarzan could barely raise an ounce of sympathy for the chief’s plight. He’d had hell beaten out of him. They’d been about to kill him by beating him to death. And look where that had got them all. He had tried to tell him, repeatedly. This chief knew best. He knew what they had captured. Tarzan did not resist his growing anger at this chief. He’d jumped to the wrong conclusions. He only wanted revenge.

He'd refused to listen when Tarzan had tried to explain. He'd had Tarzan's protests silenced by pain. He'd condemned Tarzan to an agonising death. He'd got it all wrong. If only he’d listened. Tarzan could have saved his tribe this.And still it was clear the chief’s head had not caught on. He looked lost at Tarzan getting barged around .. a prisoner like the tribe. Because of his stupidity they were all taken captive. His tribe, men, women, children. Tarzan did not have to second guess what the women's fate was. All of them captive .. because of a chief who would not listen. Tarzan struggled to feel for this chief ion his pains.

Tarzan’s fate looked bleak too. Back in Whitney's claws. It would not be pretty when Whitney got Tarzan back at the compound. Have to make an example of him .. stop any other fool from trying to run off. Ironically the chief would have carried out his order of execution if Whitney had not ambushed the tribe. Paradoxically Tarzan owed Whitney his life. Whitney had recused him. How stupid did life get! Tarzan could not hide his anger at this chief's stupidity. He just wouldn’t listen.


Tarzan had tried but the man’s anger at these white men had clamped up his ears. He’d organised the beatings. And Whitney had spotted his chance.

Still …. looking at the chief’s confusion .. seeing his guilt at letting his people down .. feeling how downtrodden the chief must be feeling .. the full burden of responsibility for this happening him weighing on his shoulders …… maybe Tarzan could find some reason to feel sorry for the man. His error .. he had got his tribe captured, this was all his fault. His face was written with confusion .. at why Tarzan had been dragged over to a line of his men .. the rope around their necks wound around Tarzan’s too. His own former captive .. coffled together in a line of captured men. Captured just like they were. The chief's face said it all. Guilt. His tribe captured, men enslaved, women used. Lost. Confused. He could not understand why his white-man prisoner was treated badly as his own men. Simple. He had got it all wrong. Jumped to conclusions. And his tribe end up in Whitney’s cruel claws.


Back where he belongs

Whitney looked along the lines of his freshly recruited blacks. Seated on the ground, still coffled, still with hands tied. Their strong faces a mixture of anger and resignation. Only hours before they'd been happily beating the shit out of runway. Now the boot was on the other foot,


they were captives themselves. And they looked far from happy. Whitney had had the women and brats stashed away. Some of the men had had to get a beating at the sight of their women dragged off. But sticking them away seemed to be calming them down. Out of sight, out of mind.

The runway .. well, he knew what was coming to him. Had to expect something .. after putting them to all that trouble. If only the prick had understood what that tracker in his neck did …… could have saved himself the disappointment. And the beating he had to be expecting. After all, an example had to be made.

Stood next to their punishment frame, hands still tied from the journey, a goon armed with his gun while the others got the frame ready for Tarzan. Going nowhere. But seeing where things were going to go. A spreader for his legs thrown on the earth, ropes to secure his arms. To look the very appearance of a man vulnerable, unable to help himself or stop anything happening to him.When the others caught sight of him .. the slaves they’d had kept locked way all day and night while they’d gone slave-hunting themselves .. when Whitney’s man had them released for “The Tarzan Show” …. , they'd be shocked out of their skin. Seeing the runaway back again. Tarzan had been caught. Stood re-captured, stripped naked, battered and bruised and about to take a beating. All hopes they might have built up for themselves .. that escape might be possible .. running away from this life .. they might stand a chance ….. DASHED. Tarzan was back. Tarzan strung up. In for the beating of his life.

As far as Whitney was concerned, only right after the trouble he’d put them through. Had to keep the savages locked up all day while the crew hunted Tarzan down. Think of the money the savage had cost them. He deserved a fucking-good thrashing. And just what Whitney intended. And an example would be made. Others would not try absconding too.

Whitney indicated the white savage. “Let's get this over with, guys. Go get the other fuckers from the huts.”Then knowingly he gave the guys a wink. “After …. we can try out the new entertainment …...”Whitney knew the guys would be more than eager. Make an example of the prick. Then sample the fresh female goodies they'd caught.“Go get the rest of the fuckers.”Whitney sneered at the white-savage who’d given them all this trouble. And lost a whole day’s production.“Let’s get this show on the road.”

The “Tarzan Show”. Tarzan stood facing the complete camp of slaves. The old crew bustled out of the huts. Joining the new batch of recently caught men. There had to be near sixty of them now. Seated cross legged on the ground, wide eyed and fearful, in no doubt what Tarzan's recapture meant. Astonished at the new batch of men that had been captured.


Confused at where THEY had come from.Sitting in stunned silence. A few had cried out in dismay at first seeing Tarzan. The white-savage’s buddy Cody had had to get clubbed into place when seeing Tarzan returned. Cursing the slavers. And earning a good belting for his concerns.

Heart-in-mouth, Cody was biting on his bottom lip. He’d felt abandoned when it was reported that Tarzan had disappeared. But it had also lifted spirits. A belief that this lifetime of slavery was not a given. If Tarzan could escape, others could too.But Tarzan was back. Whitney’s warning about the tracker in their necks had been no idle warning. What chance of keeping the spirits of the others alive? Optimism would plummet .. seeing Tarzan re-captured. And plain-as-the-nose on his face ……Tarzan was in for a thrashing. Hardly going to revive hopes of escape.They’d all be brought out of the stinking heat of the huts to watch. Deliberately. There’d be a punishment like nothing they had ever seen. Make an example of Tarzan and his stupidity. And what would that do for the spirits of these men? Escape .. and you got caught, inevitable. Get caught ….. and you got the mother of all beatings.

Tarzan stood waiting while the slaves were beaten and clubbed into place. He felt all eyes on him. Re-captured, close-guarded, naked, hopelessly vulnerable. Stood like this .. for what he had done ….. no one was in any doubt why they been assembled here. His body had already been bruised and battered by the tribe. Their brutality had weakened whatever chance Tarzan would have had of putting on a good show here .. standing up to these slavers.The damage done to him in the caves had him clenching his jaw on the walk back here. The injuries were everywhere. Even his spirits had hit rock bottom at getting caught again, back in the thugs’ hands. And guilty that his flight had drawn the slavers to that hideaway. These vengeful men had been eager to see him dead. Brutally. But still it was his fault they'd got captured. Whitney’s men had tracked him down. And now Tarzan’s own tormentors had finished up slaves themselves .. like him. His fault. His alone.


Old enemies

The sight of all the slaves getting hauled out of their huts, pushed into seated lines, peering in dismay at Tarzan in position for a brutal thrashing .. that put heart back into Tarzan's flagging spirit. The others were being brought out to watch the hell being beaten out of his hide. Making


an example of him so the others would never try.What did they have to be feeling .. seeing him re-captured? Their fighting spirits .. what had not be beaten out of them before … they would be rock-bottom now. Tarzan had given a lead. He’d shown escape was not out of the question. Seeing him re-captured .. they’d be in the depths of despair. And then watching him take a beating ……. They’d never believe again.He couldn't afford to show himself down-hearted, the others couldn’t see the fight beaten out of him. He had to take his punishment with strength. He had to keep their spirits up.

The slavers couldn't get the idea he was broken either. He couldn’t afford that. Before escaping he’d kept them on their toes, he knew the slavers felt nervy when around him. His life would be hell once they thought he posed no threat. Once they thought that they could do with him as they wanted …. There’d be no holding them back.

When the guards had got their slaves seated, they set about securing Tarzan in place. Deliberately they’d waited, it seemed, waited so the others could watch how his seeming courage in making a break could so easily be crushed. Forcing him under the frame. Stretching his arms out to the ropes. Barely putting up any resistance .. because .. and that was the slavers’ message .. there was no fucking-point!For all his pluckiness in making a run for it, the slavers were showing they were top-dogs .. that was the message for these black slaves. Don’t even think about it! They’d snatched him back. Look at the prick .. can’t ya all see? He’s doomed. That so-called brave act of running away .. look where it had got him. That “courageous” act was being shown up for “foolhardy” by their white-masters. Look and listen, ya black savages. Here are the masters you need to obey unthinkingly.

There he was, too. Tarzan’s old enemy. Tarzan caught sight of Wanaga. It was like Tarzan's vision was drawn to him, magnetic. His face was a picture. Lit up. Elated. A beacon of joy drawing Tarzan’s eyes to him. Tarzan was in for a thrashing, they'd make an example of him. Wanaga was getting his deepest desires. Was he hoping the slavers would go too far?

The pair of them had history. Not one Tarzan could be too proud of. It had been no surprise to find that Wanaga had been up to his old tricks. Most of the slaves here had been caught up in Wanaga’s raids and sold on to these slavers. Making a good living for himself.It had been a kind of compensation when Tarzan and Cody had got snatched. To find Wanaga ensnared. To see the slavers had turned on him. Making him slave his butt off like the rest of them. Ironic .. slave-catcher turned slave. Wanaga couldn’t have bought himself a more fitting fate.

Tarzan felt his enemy’s eyes turned on him. Hatred mixed with joy. Seeing Tarzan re-captured and strung up for the beating a runaway deserved. Tarzan knew his injuries, now he felt them sharply scrutinised. The harsh red blotches. Signs of a savage beating. Wanaga probably thought they were injuries from getting recaptured. He couldn’t know how Tarzan had suffered in the hands of this fresh batch of slaves. Wanaga’s eyes were all over Tarzan’s muscled hide .. seeing the obvious signs of hurt ..


Wanaga had to know what Tarzan was forced to admit to himself ……. Once the slavers went for him ….. whips lashing out .. clubs pounding into muscle . . a hard beating .. going for Tarzan with everything they could sling at him ….. making him an example him ….... Once they started on him …… Tarzan knew, Wanaga knew …. there'd be no holding anything in.

From the first strike, these dire injuries would burst into flames. Muscle battered and bruised .. flesh tortured and brutalised …. his spirit broken by getting caught ….. how was Tarzan going to hold anything in? They could even beat him to death. Just to make a point to the rest. Giving Wanaga his heart’s desire .. to watch as Tarzan had the life clubbed out of him.No wonder Wanaga looked so pleased. He'd got these slavers doing his dirty work.


No escape

Whitney held up Tarzan’s head by the scalp. Holding his face up so all his slaves could see.“Didn't believe us? Did you, ya black motherfuckers?”


He shook Tarzan's head by the hair. Like a headmaster making a public disciplining of a naughty boy.“Told you time-and-again. No getting off this island. No getting away.”

Whitney glanced back at Tarzan. They held each other's stare. Tarzan stared strongly back. Knowing the others were watching. He was helpless to defend himself. His legs splayed-out in a stretcher. His arms tied out of the way. The others saw him .. vulnerable, powerless. Not an image he could allow. There still had to be a fight, they had to keep their spirits up. He had to be seen to be standing up to these oppressors .. fighting-back .. as long as he could.As if reading his mind, Whitney snorted back in Tarzan’s face. Arsehole! He yanked back on the scalp. Twisting Tarzan back over. Yanking a pained grimace out of his face. If this prick thought he was getting out of this with his manly pride in one piece! Fuck that!

“Some weren't listening.”Whitney shook Tarzan by the hair. Demonstrating who he meant.“Some thought it was worth a try.”He gave the hair in his hand a sharp twist. Enjoying hauling another pained wince out of Tarzan's face. “This prick. THIS arsehole thought he knew best.”Tarzan glared back at him. Putting on the best show he could.“Thought he could make a run for it.”

Whitney returned Tarzan’s futile glare with a smirk. Then he yanked the head hard sideways .. pulling Tarzan's face right into his own. A distinct gloating lit up his face. The pair were nearly nose to nose. The wince on Tarzan's face made Whitney grin. He winked.“Thought he could prove me wrong,” he sneered.

Whitney threw Tarzan dismissively away. Tarzan rocked on his splayed out feet.“This fucker cost us a lot of time .. hunting him down.”Whitney glared out at the assembled slaves. Seated in rows on the ground. The old cohort of slaves .. already run-in, tamed. The fresh batch of recruits that the white-savage had helped them snatch. They’d need some taming still. A demonstration of what they’d get coming to them …. It couldn’t hurt.“Lost time. Lost production, Time you fuckers will have to make up.”Whitney sensed as much as he heard the groan. The slaves already thought they were worked to the bone.“Blame this arsehole …..”Whitney shook his finger at Tarzan.“HIS fault. You’ve been sitting on your arses all day!”

Staring at the huddle of his slaves on the ground, he snapped.“What’s he deserve?”Tarzan felt the stare sweep down his bare muscled physique. Knowing what Whitney saw. The tough strength his naked torso displayed. The beatings he taken these past few days. Whitney


had to be reckoning how many he could take. And where best to strike.“Ten on that bare arse!”Seeing Tarzan frown. At the light punishment. Whitney elucidated.“For starters …..”

Tarzan heard the whoosh of the strap only a second before it hit. Hit hard. Knocking him forward on out-splayed legs. His backside exploded. Tarzan yelled out in an uncontrollable cry. A stinging bite taken out of his bare backside. In the last twenty-four hours lashed there by the tribe .. tortured pains instantly awoken. From just one hit.

He hadn't hauled himself upright when the next struck. Driving his hips agonisingly forward .. the rope on his wrists yanking him painfully back.“Ten for a starter.”Tarzan heard Whitney’s mocking tone. But he was still arched backwards when another stinging lash caught him at the tops of his legs. Smashing him towards. Twisting him with pain and the force. A shot of tortured pain bursting up at the sky.

A bucket of water into Tarzan's face. He recovered with a shocked cry. Shaking the precious water off his face. Only ten? It had seemed like the pain had gone on and on. “Give the fucker another five.”Tarzan heard his tortured cries exiting his chest like a burst of fire. Twisted by pain off the leather strap. Yanked one way, pulled another. Injured muscle screaming out with every jerk.

Whitney gave him a sharp slap across the face. When the slap hadn't done the job, he buried a first deep into Tarzan's defenceless gut.“You with me, motherfucker? Not getting off that lightly.”

Tarzan rocked on his feet. Sucking in air like mad. Water streaming off his hair. Trying to lick up some liquid off his raised arm.“In case any of you fuckers get the same stupid idea in your head ….”Whitney’s hand gestured at his white-savage.“ …. Thinking of running away ……”Whitney ploughed another fist deep into Tarzan’s unsuspecting belly.“Ten on the front!”

Tarzan prepared himself. He saw one slaver hand over the strap to another man. He judged the distance, he shot his arm back. Tarzan tensed. The leather came growling through the air. It cracked across Tarzan's ribcage. Beaten and battered in that tunnel of pain. Bruised and hurting. Embers of pain burst into flame. The force drove him back. Pain burst up his body, pain twisted his face.Quickly following through, leather snapped a sharp bite out of Tarzan's upper chest. Lashed across the breadth of a pair of muscle plated mounds. But the strength there could not contain the tortured cry. How many times had the chief’s brawny brother smacked his forearm across Tarzan’s chest? Pain burst. Exploding with the burn of liquid fire out of his throat.


A cry cut short. The strap cut across Tarzan's midriff .. bending him up. A belly brutally punished by a vengeful tribe. Weakened, caught unawares.Tarzan yelled. Shrill. Torso bent forward, twisted off the pain. Shocked. Tortured. A piercing yell ripped out of his throat.


Treats

Whitney was too keen a businessman to dump a valuable asset. And he wasn’t going to waste the white-savage, he’d decided. Before, before the prick had taken off, his men had squeezed helluva lot of hard work out of the arsehole. He was tough, the stinking humidity didn’t get to him. You could breathe down his neck all day and keep that broad muscled back to the


grindstone from dawn to sundown. The guys felt nervy around him. But he was one of the toughest slave-workers they’d ever put the squeeze on. Now the fucker had seen the light ….. that the tracker would find him wherever he went .. after he’d learned his lesson by taking the motherfucker of all beatings .. and got publicly shown up for the arsehole he was for running off …….. he wouldn’t be trying things on again.

And besides, Whitney didn’t need to beat the fucker to death. Those black savages they’d snatched … they’d done all the heavy lifting. They’d soften the arsehole up already. Whitney was working on a pre-prepared canvas. Whitney had seen with his own eyes what those black savages had been doing to Tarzan when they’d caught him. Plain-as-the-nose-on-his-face, Whitney could tell where they’d done maximum damage. The back, his abs .. all taken a pasting. Someone had done a job on that hard-plated chest too. It wouldn’t take much to have the prick howling out with the pain.No need to batter the fucker out of his wits. These savages had done all the prepping for them, Whitney had targeted his whiphands to strike him there. And to hit the fucker good and hard. Hold nothing back. With those injuries … fuck-all chance the white-savage could hold anything in.

After all ….. all about appearances, wasn’t it? The arsehole had to take his punishment for putting them to the trouble of hunting him down. That went without saying. But wasn’t it more about putting the shits under these blacks? So they never got any stupid ideas themselves ……?

And it hadn’t taken much till the arsehole was going out of his mind with the pain. A couple of dozen .. well-targeted ,, bulls-eye on his injuries ….. That soon had the prick howling it out. Tough motherfucker … but there’s only so much toughness in a battered physique. Beating the fuck out of bruised muscle … lashing the strap down on pummelled flesh …… It didn’t take much till his voice-box was letting rip .. well, it wouldn’t, would it? Whitney knew the white-savage was one hard arsehole …. But there WERE limits.

In no time now, his legs would collapse under him .. he’d be hanging off his arms calling it out .. while another thwack thudded across his tortured back. Smack on target. Bulls-eye on the bruises the black savages had given him.Appearances mattered. Impressions counted. Whitney didn’t give a fuck whether it was his men who had battered the runaway prick out of his skin. Or whether those savages had done the groundwork. What counted …. That the white-savage looked the picture. Collapsed. Broken. Battered black-and-blue. Which black savage was going to make a run for it after seeing that?

Whitney knew too his men were itching to taste the fruits of their efforts. A couple of dozen women were holed up in a hut. It was weeks since any of the guys had got near a woman. And getting your rocks off on some snivelling male slave …... it wasn't the same. Not when the real McCoy was on-heat in a nearby hut. THAT was the one thing that would be filling their minds.


They’d want this punishment over-and-done-with. They’d resent having to take their time with this punishment parade. Whitney knew better than to try their patience over something like this.

“Ten. Down the back. Lay it on good and hard, guys.”For the final round …. Whitney ordered two of them to take the white-savage from behind. Speed things up. The savages would see every tortured grimace on his face. Straps cutting straight down, shoulder to opposite waist. Setting light to every bruise burning in that muscular back. A fiery torch to damaged muscle all the way down. Sending weakening signals all the way down to the arsehole’s knees.Whitney ordered the stuffing knocked out of the prick. Make a good show of it, he’d winked to his whiphands. And the women were in the bag. They were waiting .. dreading the door opening and a dozen horny white-men busting in.

If the white-savage passed out, all the better. They guys ‘d lock the slaves in the huts, get on with their women. The savages watching would be shitting themselves with his every scream. This was the image they carry with them if ever they got tempted to make a run for it. His howls of pain ringing in their ears. This was scare tactics. The white-savage had a lesson to teach. No other fucking slave was going to get it into his head. No troublesome black dickhead was gonna make a run for it again.


Madness

Cody felt sick at the pit of his stomach. Those first twenty .. sickening. The way these slavers threw themselves into it. He couldn't believe such cruelty. All of them, forced labourers, released from their stinking huts for this display .. seated there, guarded … they could see Tarzan's injuries even before they started on him. Cody thought he'd seen the worst in


mankind. Getting taken by two slavers and savagely raped one night … he'd thought it didn't come worse.Now he knew these men were monsters. Not a trace of humanity. Human beings were used and discarded. Already Cody had seen a man give up the ghost. Uncaring the slavers had had him dumped in the river. The crocodiles would do the rest.

Tarzan's pained cries stabbed Cody like a sharp blade. At first sight, as soon as he’d set eyes of Tarzan Cody had been shocked by the state of his injuries. They'd already given Tarzan a savage beating when they'd tracked him down. He’d arrived back here, already badly injured. And they were on him again. Kicking a dog when it was already down.These fuckers of slavers must have really given it to him. And now they were going for him again. Insatiable, unbelievable their thirst for revenge. Madness. This whole world …. it was insane.

Another blow … Tarzan twisted off the injured flesh, the cry unstoppable. Could pain kill him? But then Cody had learned, to the slavers, a human being had only one worth. Worked into the ground. Whitney was cruelly using Tarzan to dissuade others from absconding. If Tarzan's life was the price for teaching a useful lesson, so be it. These monsters didn’t care. Mad, all mad.

The cry twisted Tarzan's off the pain. A blow across the middle of his back. That supremely muscled torso .. bruised and battered as they’d done to him …. It was no protection against violent blows from determined men. Muscle convulsed, sinews twisted. An agonised cry .. contorted out of a body abused beyond endurance. Tarzan was tough, Cody knew. His spirit was strong, exceptionally strong. But there was no holding back the pain. There was no holding it in. How much had they put him through already? Before even starting on making an example of him?

Cody prayed for Tarzan to pass out. Thirty pitiless lashes now .. on a body battered and bruised. And now Whitney had two of the thugs working on Tarzan from the back. Taking turns, their bodies torquing out of a twist. As much punishing force as they could muster. Unfathomable such cruelty. Cody winced. Another rasping cry from Tarzan. His whole muscle physique torqued upwards in tortured agony. Body turned to twisted steel by unendurable pain. A torso rigid with hard-packed muscle .. stiff, pumped to bursting with unbearable pains. Cody willed him to black-out.

Cody ought to be rushing up there. Fighting them off. Put an end to such inhuman savagery. But he'd be clubbed down before he got anywhere near. He'd be no help to his friend. They might even take it out on Tarzan more. Their way of showing Cody.

Cody jumped. Another harsh cry stabbed him in the ear. A sharp stabbing cry as Tarzan twisted off his ropes. A piercing shout that knifed into Cody’s ear and ground it in his brain. Ten more lashes Whitney had been ordered. And then …..? Was that the end of it?SHIT! Cody shuddered with the piercing cry. If Cody was suffering, what was Tarzan going through? That was the seventh. Seven savage blows into the muscled body of a man who'd


already been beaten black and blue. Above all else, Cody wanted this over. Only three more. But what then? Had they done with him them? Or would they start on another part of Tarzan's tortured body next? Cody prayed.

A slash across the back of Tarzan’s thigh .. it took his leg away, his knee collapsed. He was hanging off his arms. Helpless, tortured. Sweat running off his face, body red-blotched with evil. Before Tarzan could grab at the ropes .. even if he had the strength to haul himself back to his feet .. the monsters really got stuck into him. Should only have been a couple more! That was eight already! But they kept on going at him. Like madmen, like rabid dogs. TEN, Whitney had ordered. They’d given him ten. But they were going for him like there was no tomorrow, no stopping them. Their faces pure revenge. Sweltering madness burning in their eyes.

Tarzan yelled, he cried out. He screamed. The fuckers .. they’d gone out of their heads. Mad dogs. They were going to kill him. That had to be it. The ultimate persuasion. Beat Tarzan to death .. an object lesson .. savagely done before the others’ eyes. Beat the runaway to death while the others looked on! No one should go walkabout again. God, oh God, Cody prayed. Let this be over with.


Lost time

They’d worked the hell out of them the next day. Cody had never known the monsters so cruel.

“Blame it on the runaway.”The slavers laughed, they were making Tarzan the excuse. But the stings of their canes was no


joke. He’d wasted them a day’s production, they reasoned. The black bastards had to make it up. Impossible targets set. Pitiless overseers thrashing every drop of sweat out of them. Sunrise to sundown. Not a second’s let-up.

Cody had done the best he could for Tarzan. He’d managed to scrounge a pair of shorts for him. They were filthy-dirty, rank with another man’s sweat, full of holes. But otherwise the bastard slavers would have left him working naked. Cody hoped he’d managed to give him some dignity back. Poor compensation for the beatings he’d taken. Or for the disappointment that had to be gripping his guts .. re-captured. Freedom even further away.

After those beatings the previous night, after they made all the others look on as Tarzan was forced to howl out in pain …. , the slavers had rushed the slaves back into their hut. When Cody had tried to ask about Tarzan, what was now happening to him ….. he'd taken a club to the gut . And then, when still bent up, a knee to his head had given him his answer. Slaves didn't ask.

Tarzan had spent the night suspended. They'd hauled his feet off the earth. Stretching agony into every damaged muscle. A night of torture for running off. He hung in total agony while the slavers tried the new women out.Cody had helped him down at dawn. Tarzan could hardly walk. Cody managed to get some food down him, plenty of water too. But then the bastards had set them all to work. Tarzan too, no allowance for his injuries. And just to be sure … they’d assigned him a personal nursemaid. One of the slavers constantly on his back. Lashing him into action. No letting up. What Tarzan would have done to him …. If he’d had the strength.

Increased targets, heavier workload. A day’s already exacting workload cruelly increased. Take your complaints up with the white-savage! Their excuse that Tarzan had wasted time .. the slaves were forced to work their backs into the ground .. constantly rushing, constantly running with sweat in the humid heat. Targets no one could meet. At sundown, there’d been a massive punishment parade. Especially the new batch of slaves .. inexperienced, didn’t know how things worked. Punishment for them a dead-cert .. getting it for being lazy motherfuckers! A sharp biting introduction to their new lives. Not free anymore, suckers!

Sundown, punishment for a job not well-done. Tarzan had gone first .. deliberately. He got singled out for missing his target .. of course. No man in his condition could meet the impossible demands of his workload, they’d never intended him to. The brutes made sure he was first in line for the punishment parade. So everyone could see. Ten more lashes with that stinging leather strap over his bare backside. Despite Tarzan's doggedness .. his fortitude and toughness couldn't help .. Tarzan had howled. Face twisted, sharp cries of torment ripped from his throat. Agonies ripped out of a body inhumanly abused. Exhausted. Tortured out of his mind. Tarzan was only human after all.



Leaders

Cody had persuaded one of the slaves from the kitchen to steal some grease. End of the day .. after the punishment parade .. he'd got Tarzan to let him massage his injuries. He’d had his friend down on his front. Oh so gently Cody had rubbed a thin layer of cooking grease over the ugly thick stripes on his backside. He was no expert, he touched the bruised flesh gingerly. But after what Tarzan had been put through these past days …. the least Cody could do.


Remarkably Cody found Tarzan in better spirits than he could have hoped. During the massaging, several times he’d hissed out loud. Physically Tarzan was vulnerable, a mess. But psychologically ….? Cody didn’t understand where Tarzan could find such strength. He should have been devastated by re-capture …. But tonight he seemed to have picked himself back up.He was now kneeling upright as Cody was gently working the grease into his shoulders. Many times Cody had inadvertently pressed too hard on the wrong spot .. Tarzan had shuddered. Distraught Cody apologised profusely. Tarzan had nodded. There was no getting away from the state of his injuries. He'd told Cody to carry on. But Tarzan was most interested in the news.

“That new chief ….” Cody explained. “He's consumed with guilt. Said he didn't know ….. couldn’t know ….”Tarzan had explained what had happened when he’d escaped …. what he’d suffered at the hands of the chief’s tribe.“He took me aside,” Cody continued, “ ….. wanted to know what white-guys like us were doing here as forced labour. He doesn't know how to face you.”Despite his injuries, even during the duresses of the last day … Tarzan had decided himself he wanted a word with the chief. But not to have things out with hm. Tarzan had spotted an opportunity. He had a plan worked out. Good news that the chief thought he owed …..

His original escape plan .. back before he’d run away ….. Tarzan had seen they could overwhelm the slavers. The workers had the numbers on their sides. The slavers possessed guns. But most of the time they were stored away. Clubs and whips were all they used most days. The slavers had the men cowed, they’d not revolt. And that had been the problem with Tarzan’s hope to overwhelm the thugs. The slaves didn't believe they could. Hope had been ground out of them.

Tarzan had seen that for himself. The longer a man was here, the more despair disabled him. The more submissive the man got. Tarzan had seen he could not rely on the older cohort of slaves. They'd abandoned all hope. If he had tried to rise an revolt ….. He couldn’t rely on the men who’d been enslaved a long time. And without them .. with just the men who'd been enslaved with him and Cody .. there weren't enough of them. They didn't have the numbers.

But Whitney, in his greed, he'd drafted in twenty fresh male warriors. Fit men. Angry men. Men who knew their women had been abused. Men who could hurt, who were itching to hurt. Could wield a club, throw a punch. Tarzan's body attested to that. The force hammered into his body said that, motivated, these men knew how to hurt. Men who ached to fight back. Men recently taken, not demoralised. Their wives and children condemned with them. Give them a chance, give them a lead .. they'd fight to the death.



An army

Remarkably, stupidly, Whitney had recruited them an army. Freshly captured, breathing anger out with every breath. Resentment out of every pore. Vengeful for what their families were being put through. Tarzan could see the opportunity and he was as determined as hell. The fighter in him had not been pummelled into submission these past days. The warrior couldn’t be


beaten out of him. He had spent a life fighting for other men’s freedom. Often he’d led others to battle for their rights. These men too just needed someone to lead, someone they’d follow .. like their own chief. Ironic. Men who’d been beating the hell out of him … the chief who’d ordered Tarzan beaten to death in that tunnel of pain …. Now Tarzan’s greatest chance. Allies.

Tarzan explained it to Cody. And when the other men saw how things were going, Cody added .. when even the demoralised got a glimpse of hope ….. he was convinced they’d join in. Whitney and his thugs didn’t stand a chance.

Cody agreed to talk with the chief. Together they’d hatch a coordinated plan.“Watch Wanaga, though. Keep it quiet,” Tarzan warned.Tarzan had seen the old slave-catcher’s face when Tarzan had been under the lash. Wanaga would sell them down the river if he thought Tarzan might get it in the gut. “One whiff …. And he’ll spill the beans …..”

Cody understood. Then he smirked. “And …. When all this is over ….?”Cody winked at Tarzan.“Let’s leave the others to sort out Wanaga. Bet your bottom dollar …. the others will know exactly how to deal with him.”

Wanaga had sold most of the men here into slavery. They’d have no trouble settling scores ….. If they got the chance ….. Tarzan knew the guy, sly as a snake, he’d make a run for it. In the middle of the commotion, Wanaga wouldn’t hang around and help. He’d make a bolt for it. One-time slave-catcher for this crew of slave-drivers … Wanaga would know better than to hang around. Obvious what would happen to him ….

But Cody tapped lightly at Tarzan’s muscled neck.“This thing .. this tracker Whitney used to hunt you down …. Remember Wanaga’s got one too.”Cody smirked.“And when the others get their hands on him …… it won’t be pretty ……”Tarzan agreed. “They won't be gentle.”Tarzan nodded. Let the others sort Wanaga out. Making himself rich by enslaving men ….. No less than the greedy brute deserved. Cody added the obvious.“You’ll not see the prick alive again …. guaranteed. That thug will be out of your hair forever.”


End


Documents

rendszworldactive.files.wordpress.com€¦ · Web viewThey had fled the white men with their guns. Were these the original inhabitants here? Tarzan’s head started to whirr, piecing