Into Oblivion (Book 4) by Shawn E. Crapo Read Free Book Online

him, relishing in his glory.
    “I have a task for all of you,” he said. “Prepare yourselves for travel. We go to aid our brothers.”
    The priests looked at each other and smiled.

Chapter Four
     
    The sound of cracking whips was pleasing to Sultan Zamir. He smiled as his men drove the captured Southlanders into the large courtyard of his partially-built palace at Anwar. Here, they would be put to work at finishing the structure, joining the one thousand slaves that were already there toiling away under the hot sun.
    He smirked as he looked upon their dark bodies; their crinkled hair; their black eyes. To him, they were mere animals to be worked until they collapsed. They were not human; only slaves.
    They were separated, led to their permanent work areas, and whipped into submission. They did not protest for fear of the wrath of The Lifegiver’s minions, the Jindala, who drove them with their whips and spears. They were a people on the edge of extinction, having been nearly wiped out by the people of the desert through endless campaigns of slaughter. Still being primitive in the ways of weaponry, the Southlanders were defenseless, and now they lived only to serve The Lifegiver’s will.
    Zamir would ensure that their purpose was served.
    He watched the architects and foreman gather to distribute the work force among the various projects. Some would be sent to the quarries, some to the walls, and still more would be sent to the catacombs underneath. Wherever they were sent, they would remain there forever, until their flesh dropped from their bones. The foreman and architects were slaves as well; men of Khem and Pashir who had been recruited by force to design and build Zamir’s Palace. They were enslaved by The Lifegiver’s will, as the rest of the slaves would soon be.
    Zamir sat back into his sedia, watching the bustle of activity, and the cruel lashings the slaves received at the hands of his men. He enjoyed their pain, and felt pleasure in the sounds of their torment. It was a necessary evil. The slaves outnumbered his men ten to one, and aggression was the only way to instill them with enough fear to keep them all in line. Still, even if it were not necessary, it would occur nonetheless.
    Zamir enjoyed it.
    As he turned to his captain, his grin faded when a sudden pain exploded in his chest. He gasped, looking down to see an arrow sticking out dead center. His captain stared; shocked and bewildered, as the Sultan slowly collapsed into his chair.
    “Guards!” the captain shouted. “Guards!”
    The construction site suddenly burst into activity as numerous armored men poured into the courtyard. Sultan Zamir was dead, and he was there for all the slaves to see.
    The dark-skinned men looked on in confusion, unsure of what had just happened. Men were rushing everywhere, jabbing with their spears to keep the slaves from looking away from their tasks.
    Suddenly, a large man stood up near the wall. He was darker than the rest, and bigger. He towered over the rest of the men by at least a head’s height. He shouted into the sky, his deep voice bellowing in the courtyard like a battle horn. The other slaves dropped their tools, ignoring the order to return to work. They gathered together, shouting and picking up stones to throw at the guards. The newer slaves were bewildered, but soon realized what was happening.
    The insurrection was mounting, and the Jindala were surrounded.
    Then, one by one, arrows streaked into the crowd with surprising accuracy. Jindala guards fell, skewered by the divinely guided missiles that appeared from nowhere. The slaves crowded the fallen soldiers, grabbing their spears and other weapons as the larger man directed them. He looked around for the source of the attacks, silently thanking the stranger who had set them free.
    Raising his newly acquired weapon above his head, the man shouted at the crowd, and led the slaves out of the courtyard into the city.
    From the top of a nearby wall,