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“Why? For him to bring a dildo for me?!” Kors froze.
“No, he will bring some weed. Have you been waiting for a dildo?” Nik laughed, and Arel, who was smoking at that time, laughed too.
“Yes, of course, it was exactly what I was waiting for!” Answered Kors indignantly.
Prince Arel, smiling, handed him a half-smoked cigarette, and Kors immediately took it.
Parky entered their tent, but Kors didn’t change his posture, still continuing to lie on the skin and not at all embarrassed that his captain sees his commander lying with his bare ass up. Nik, meanwhile, continued to tattoo him.
“Commander, can I take Tyutya?” Parky asked.
He squatted down next to Kors, laid the box of weed on his skins, and bared his teeth in a smile, displaying his iron crowns. He was actually very funny, this unclean one.
“Take what?” Not understanding, asked Kors, slightly lifting his head from his folded hands.
“Well, Tyutya, red slave girl,” said Parky.
And Kors laughed: “Parks, don’t speak black! I can’t hear you lisping, it’s very funny!”
“Vitor, don’t shiver! You’re bothering me!” Nik shouted for the umpteenth time.
“What can I do if he makes me laugh!”
“And he is not lisping, Vitor, you just think so,” tried to explain Nik, “he just tries to speak softly. You keep jerking me that I insert everywhere, how are they called… these… consonants. So he just tries not to insert them.”
“And you’re right,” thought Kors, “I just remembered, when I first heard you speak, I also thought that you were lisping, as if you had not even half your teeth.”
“I just tried to pronounce the words softer, to speak your language like you,” said Nik, “and you immediately began to make fun and humiliate me. You asked if my teeth were in place. Do you remember? And then I just recently inserted these beautiful teeth, you couldn’t help but notice that my teeth were all right…”
“Give me my jacket, Parky,” Kors said quickly, trying to ignore Nik and clearly not wanting to continue the conversation with him.
Parky handed Kors his jacket, and Kors, taking out the key from there, handed it to the unclean one:
“Here you go. Valentine will open the cart for you, unfasten her hands and take her, just don’t give her to anyone else. If you want, give Adrian to others, but not Tyutya!”
“Okay, commander. Thank you!” And joyful Parky literally ran out of the tent.
“Tyutya” Kors repeated, shaking his head, and all three laughed again.
There was very little to go to the Fort.
That evening they sat by the fire with the unclean ones. After the capture of the Ore Town, many unclean warriors painted themselves with black and red dyes, thus demonstrating their status as victors. These patterns, combined with their favorite piercings, made their face-muzzles even creepier, but Kors during this time became more or less accustomed to such wild notions of beauty and masculinity.
Kors took off the mask from his Nik, and, not at all caring about how it looked and what the unclean commanders would think, casually fed his son the way he loved, giving him pieces of food from his hands.
After supper, one of the unclean ones began to sing a song, while the others began to sing along with him in the chorus:
I wandered in different countries,
My marmot was with me,
And I was cheerful, and I was happy,
My marmot was with me!
And always mine, and everywhere mine,
My marmot was with me,
And always mine, and everywhere mine,
My marmot was with me.
The unclean ones smiled, revealing impressive fangs, and stared with interest at Kors, who was sitting near the fire and hugging his Nik tightly, kissing him every minute on the top of his head. Kors noticed their looks and smiles, it seemed to him that many literally choked with laughter, barely restraining themselves.
“Hey? Why are you so happy?”
“Just so. Good song, commander,” answered one of the unclean. The fangs on his lower jaw were so long that they protruded from his mouth, making him look like a boar. Others began to grin even harder.
Kors even thought it somehow disrespectful – they seemed to sneer at him. He snorted in displeasure, pushing Nik slightly away from him:
“Pfff, I, apparently, am too noble to experience such unclouded joy from this stupid song of the poor.”
And Nik looked at him with a sly and slightly sly gleam in his eyes, smiling. “Why are you so happy, after all!” Kors couldn’t resist.
They all laughed.
“It’s okay, Vitor,” said Nik and pressed closer to him.
A red slave was sitting by the fire next to Parky. She was without a bag on her head, her dress was torn, and her long auburn slightly curly hair was disheveled. A steel bracelet with a chain was fastened on the wrist of her left hand, and the opposite end of the chain was fastened to the belt at Parky’s belt. But the girl didn’t look as intimidated and hunted as before. Tyutya watched as Parky drank cup after cup of unclean moonshine, and her expression was more displeased than frightened. At some point, seeing that Parky was already drunk thoroughly, but continued to drink, despite the fact that his movements became confused, the girl suddenly pulled the cup out of his hand and angrily threw its contents into the fire. At the same time, in response to Parky’s surprised look, the girl sharply ran the edge of her palm down her throat, clearly making it clear that she was sick of it all. Stunned, Parky froze, and Kors, seeing this slave’s attack, literally choked on wine and laughed sincerely:
“A-ha-ha, Parky, she’s commanding you!”
“Tyutya…” said Parky in complete confusion, “Tyutya, what are you doing?”
But he didn’t look angry and didn’t hit her, although everyone sitting around made fun of him, laughing at him and the wayward slave. The girl, not at all frightened, defiantly turned away from the unclean, and her face was still the same displeased.
“She doesn’t like that you drink so much,” Kors said, “and she’s right, you’ve already had enough. Do you have a wife, Parky?”
“No.”
“Well, now you’ll understand what it’s like to have a wife,” Kors laughed, “everyone knows that the reds have a bad temper, they are aggressive, and now the red Tyutya will show you the heat!”
“No,” Parky protested.
“Yes, Parky, yes,” Kors continued to laugh, “they are completely unpredictable, maybe that’s why men began to restrict them so. All blacks have known this for a long time, and red women are never married. No black man has a red wife. And you have fallen in love, right?”
“I like her.”
“Do you know the story about the red girl named Iridia?”
“No.”
“A guy planned to marry her, but the girl didn’t want to. When her fiancе came, she asked him: :Why do you want to marry me and thereby give me so much grief and sadness?” He replied: “Truly, when I see you, Iridia, I become all like a fiery one!” She asked: “What is it about me that attracts you so much?” And he, as expected, politely replied, (though not what he really thought), he said: “I am seduced by your beautiful eyes!” Hearing such an answer, the girl immediately grabbed the candle from the candlestick and gouged out both of her eyes.”
The unclean ones who listened to the story froze. Seeing that his story had an effect, Kors grinned contentedly.
“Those are the reds, so be careful, Parky.”
Parky turned away. He didn’t drink any more, took out a small piece of wood and a knife from his pocket, and began scraping over the piece of wood with the blade. After a while, he handed the girl a bird carved out of wood. The toy was rude, but the fact that it was a bird could be guessed without a doubt. It had a small beak and a rounded plump body with a small forked tail. Parky handed the bird to the slave, and she took it, squeezed the round bird in her fist and smiled happily. Realizing that Tyutya was no longer angry with him, Parky happily grabbed the girl in his arms and hugged her. So they sat, she – squeezing a wooden bird, and he – squeezing her.
Chapter 7
After a couple of days they returned to Crimson Rock and stopped for a while at the Fort. As before, people settled on the right side of the camp, and the unclean ones near the menagerie, and Zaf was very happy to see that everything was fine with his favorite bear.
Kors, Nik and Arel again occupied their room with the painting on the wall.
The days passed lazily and calmly. Most of the time, the three of them lay on the bed, fucked and slept. Prince Arel drove around the neighborhood on his horse.
Kors watched as his Nik in the arena on the left side of the Fort fought with the unclean ones, participating in their battles. Kors understood that the spirit of the Colosseum warrior was strong in him and didn’t disappear anywhere. Nik didn’t need to work now, he didn’t need to earn money for his living, but he did it anyway: he fought for the amusement of the crowd, just like that, just because he wanted it. And of course, because he did it very well. In minimal ammunition, stripped to the waist, with a shock of white disheveled hair and long bangs falling over his eyes, Nik made precise and powerful blows, defeating rival after rival, some in a matter of minutes, moving closer and closer to the final.
Kors watched his dangerous entertainment anxiously, admiring his son and his skill at the same time. He admired his every movement, tense muscles in his arms, he enjoyed how concentrated his expression was when he fought.
Once – and the enemy is already lying overturned on his back, crushed by a heavy boot, two – and the next warrior with his face distorted from pain is holding his right hand, and the sword knocked out of his hand is lying far to the side. Three – at some point, getting too close, the opponent receives a crushing blow with his fist in the face, falls backwards and hits the back of his head, losing consciousness.
The unclean ones screamed incessantly. When Nik once again forced the enemy to lie at his feet, he, smiling, took off his glove and walked around the circle, raising his hand with an open palm, and his unclean ones with their palms and paws beat on it, shouting words of praise. The fights became more and more difficult, the warriors who had defeated the others fought to knock out each other, and in the end there was only one left. At some point, a very bulk and powerful unclean one hit Nik in the gut so that he literally flew backwards, bent over, and crashed into the surrounding howling crowd of unclean ones. They supported him, preventing him from tipping over on his back, as the enemy expected, and pushed him back into the perimeter of the arena. Kors turned pale. This unclean warrior was very bulk and strong, and Kors had no idea how it would be possible to overwhelm him at all. But damn it, his Nik did it, despite the fact that he missed a few more blows. The spectators rejoiced; they jumped, howled and shouted like animals: “White Lord! White Lord!” Nik didn’t leave the arena, waiting for the next fighter to win him over again. And he won. Again. This time, however, he got such a blow in the teeth that bloody splashes flew out of his mouth. And Kors involuntarily screamed along with everyone. Next, another unclean one was supposed to conduct several fights, with whom Nik was supposedly to meet in the final.
Breathing heavily, Nik approached Kors, whose face was literally twisted:
“Is that all?! Have you lost your expensive teeth?”
“No,” Nik shook his head and bared his teeth and showed Kors that his teeth were intact. Kors saw that his mouth was full of blood, and his teeth were also covered with it.
“Get some water,” he handed Nik a flask.
“Is there something stronger?”
“I won’t give it to you!”
Nik took a flask of water, took a sip, and rinsed out his mouth and spat the blood onto the ground.
“It’s enough for today, let’s go,” said Kors.
“What? The final is ahead!”
“You have been fighting for several hours, you started to miss strikes, you will miss your final now!” Kors started to wind up. “Don’t you understand?! That’s all! You need to be able to stop in time!”
“No!”
“Yes! You don’t need this final, it doesn't make any sense!”
“I need it!”
“That’s it, I said! You’re done!” Kors shouted it so loudly that the unclean ones standing nearby heart him. They turned their heads to look at them, and Kors froze. He shouted now at their commander, their White Lord. Nik lowered his head and wiped his mouth, which was still oozing blood. He didn’t look at Kors. And Kors started to shake, but he saw that the unclean ones didn’t interfere, and Nik was silent.
“Come on,” said Kors a little calmer and quieter.
“No.”
“Come on!” Kors shouted again. He began to get really angry, and the stubbornness of his stupid son pissed him off. Kors felt that he simply couldn’t stand it if Nik was hit again, and he was hurt, this is understandable to anyone who knew at least a little about battles – Nik was tired. And Kors could no longer bear this sight, his heart would simply break.
Kors grabbed Nik by the forearm and pulled:
“You have finished, I have told you! Stop fooling!” He raised his eyes to the unclean:
“That’s all! Your White Lord has finished for today! He’s not involved anymore! I am his father and I am taking him away!” He pulled Nik behind him, and the unclean ones parted, not holding them back and seeing them off. Nik silently followed Kors and didn’t even try to remove his hand, and Kors firmly squeezed his forearm, painted with naked whores and monsters, with an iron grip, as if he was afraid that Nik would break free. In this manner, without letting him go for a second, Kors dragged him into the room, and, unable to resist, hit him several times: in the head, in the face and in the ribs. Nik made a dull sound like a soft, short growl. Kors threw him away from him. Nik fell – only the steel shields clinked, which were protecting his legs below the knees. Kors turned away, and, going up to the table, began to violently stir the medicine in a cup of water. He handed it to him son:
“Get up, take the medicine. Rinse your mouth thoroughly. Hold it in your mouth for a while before spitting. And wash yourself; you’re dirty, covered in dust.”
Nik stood up silently, took the mug, and without looking at Kors, went into the bathroom. Kors exhaled heavily. He continued to shake from the fact that Nik had been beaten and what Kors had done in front of everyone. But he was sure he was right.
Kors entered the bathroom and saw that Nik had removed his protection and was standing slightly bent over the bathtub, holding the medicine in his mouth. Kors approached Nik from behind and roughly undid the buckle on his belt, pulling his pants down, and bent him over the bathroom, jerking him sharply. From a strong jolt, Nik only bent more, resting his hands on the opposite edge of the tub, and healing water poured out of his mouth, mixed with blood. Kors wheezed, panting with orgasm, and fell off:
“Clean up and go back to the room,” he ordered.
When Nik returned to their room, Kors was sitting at the table and smoking. He looked at Nik, so sad and silent now:
“Was I wrong now?” Asked Kors and put out his cigarette. “Have I done the wrong thing to take you away?”
Nik was silent.
“Answer me!”
“I don’t know.”
“No, you know. You know perfectly well that I was right! And that’s why you obeyed me!”
In frustration, Nik reached for the bottle on the table.
“Eh, no! Give it back!” Kors jerked the bottle out of his hands.
“Vitor, give me a drink! I’m tired!”
“Of course you’re tired! Who made you fight?! You don’t need this final and prize money, you don’t need it all! I will give you as much money as you want! That’s it, Nik! Relax, you don’t need money anymore, you have a rich father who will give you everything! And when we return to the Black City, I will buy you many of the best clothes and cure you with the best doctors. You will no longer fight in the Colosseum and risk your life for the amusement of the crowd. Forget it!”
“I’m not poor myself!” Nik shouted. “I have enough money! I just had fun!”
“I understand, and I didn’t interfere until I saw that it would end badly for you now!”
