A Cruel Passing of Innocence by J.D. Jensen Read Free Book Online Page B

their eyes downcast.
    Herded, they crossed a wide, dusty avenue leading away from the harbour, before being taken up a narrow, cobbled street, bordered on each side by dark buildings. The whip-men ran faster now, pushing the slaves on, keeping them in line and making any curious bystanders move quickly aside, snarling at them or waving their whips until they shrank back to watch and wait for the ragged columns to pass.
    Winding ever upward, turning into streets each seeming narrower and darker than the one before, until it was as if they were in the midst of some hellish maze of buildings and passageways. The cobbled surface was strewn with filth, and despite Nassara’s attempts to dodge the vile deposits her bare feet were soon soiled, and sore from the harsh stones. The collar beneath her chin began to chafe from the constant pulling of the chain.
    Once, when she fell back slightly, her foot having snagged painfully against a jagged stone, she felt the sudden sting and momentary agony of a whip being lashed against her buttocks. She winced but did not cry out, cringing inwardly as the whip-man screamed at her, raising his implement threateningly again to goad her on, clearly delighting in her torment.
    At last they came to a high wall that loomed over them, and the procession halted abruptly. The slaves stood recovering their breath, waiting anxiously before a huge pair of iron-studded timber doors set in the wall.
    The leading whip-man, his face red and sweating heavily from exertion, rapped hard on them with the thick handle of his whip, and immediately a small hatch opened briefly, then the doors creaked open in a clatter of bolts and turning keys.
    The arched entrance led into a gloomy interior, where several large men with embroidered tunics and headdresses waited, motionless and grimfaced, studying the new arrivals as they entered.
    Nassara had never been in such a large, ornate building, which unnerved her as she looked up at the domed sweep of the ceiling, making her giddy. It was like being in a vast, empty tomb, and the now subdued voices of the whip-men, the panting breaths of the slaves, and the occasional clank of a chain, seemed to echo starkly back at her.
    The doors swung shut behind them, with horrible finality. The interior was gloomy now, and Nassara felt her anxiety return, like an oppressive cloak around her nakedness, but then another set of doors, slightly smaller than those behind them, were opened, immediately flooding the interior with sunlight, and a wonderful fresh aroma of unknown and exotic flowers greeted her senses.
    The slaves, staring with disbelief, moved out into a large courtyard, bordered by pillars and intricate archways. Everywhere there were clusters of giant urns and tall pots, and a variety of rich, blossoming plants and lush foliage. Here and there stone statues of unknown figures stood, gazing down sightlessly on the maze of pathways that ran between raised stone structures draped with thick trails of greenery. Running water tumbled deliciously from fountains that ran down into lily-strewn pools beneath, making ripples on the glittering surface.
    The mere thought of cool, clean water was enough to torment the parched lips of the thirsty slaves as they gazed upon the extraordinary scene. But above all it was the breathtaking beauty and tranquillity that struck Nassara, such a contrast to the dreadful ugliness outside, and the evil sordidness of their ordeal thus far. She stood there, lost in awe and confusion, not daring to muster even the merest glimmer of hope out of such recent despair.
    Was this, Nassara pondered as her senses absorbed the bright, peaceful, scented place, just another cruel stage of their journey of misery? For one brief moment she wondered if she might have died along the way, having now entered paradise. But the welt on her buttock throbbed, and she knew she was indeed alive to its pain, and the reality if her living thirst grew with every passing