Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62128 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
He is focused, and that alone would be sexy as hell, but what he is focused on makes the breath hitch in my throat every time he picks up a new implement. There are so very many, and they are not all whippy. There is a big, thick leathery lash of some kind, and another one where there are multiple tails of leather all terminating in very unpleasant knots, and a wooden paddle with holes drilled through the center, and… and so many other disciplinary horrors, each of which gets its own inspection.
There’s something almost loving about the way he handles those tools. I’ve seen that look on the face of other craftspeople as they prepare for work. I can guarantee the penalty for touching any of those things, let alone harming them, would be severe.
Suddenly, a gong rings out, or is it a bell? Whatever it is, it is loud and sonorous and resonant. I feel it vibrating all the way through my flesh. At the same time as the gong sounds, the doors we came through swing open wide, and a small party of saurians enters the hall. I peer around the pillar, filled with deep curiosity.
There’s around two dozen saurians, and they are clearly two very separate groups. There’s a group of hefty, hard-looking saurians, many of whom are almost as wide as the aisle itself. They come in without shirts, but with leather bands running over their chests, holding what looks to me like ammunition. It can’t be, though, because there’s no way that would be allowed here. They come down the aisle mean-mugging at practically nothing. They are horned and some of them have those scooped bone-like frills that cover their necks. Most of them are wearing a dark green leather with gold insignia. They look like a crew or a gang.
The guards — that has to be what they are — file into the front seats on the left-hand side of the hall. That’s when I see the one who has to be in trouble. He’s a much leaner saurian, and taller than the others. He also looks slightly worried. There is a female saurian behind him, wringing her hands and leaning her head on the shoulder of another saurian male. They must be his parents. My heart sinks for the young saurian male. Bad enough to be forced to go before Avel, but I can’t imagine the embarrassment of doing it with your parents.
He is green from head to toe, and clearly of the predatory class. His features are sharp, but there is a dullness about his eyes. If I had to guess I’d say he’s high as he could be right now. Smart move, maybe, to dull the pain and shame in advance.
He is wearing very loose, baggy pants and heavy boots. His torso is covered in a sheer kind of singlet type top. He’s not a bulky kind of muscular yet, though it looks like he will be one day soon. For now, he has the lithe build of a young male yet to fully come into his prime. His dark hair has been cut short and gelled into spikes. There is a slight sneer on his face, as if he is unimpressed by all this pageantry, though I think that’s an act. All around him are expressions of melancholy and fear.
Then there’re other saurians, coming in the rear. They are dressed differently, in robes and soft clothes that all seem to have practical purposes. They look like shopkeepers and artisans, the sort of saurians who keep the city running. A lot of them are of the type of saurian that seem herbivorous. Their features are softer and their scales are less prominent. Their eyes are bigger and their teeth, when they speak, are flatter and broader.
They move to the right-hand side of the hall, avoiding eye contact with Torin Rivet’s side. While all this is happening, Avel stands upon the dais, his legs spread shoulder width apart, a leather lash held in one of his hands. His gaze sweeps the crowd regularly with an expression that indicates everybody here is at risk if they do not follow his orders to the letter. I bet the saurians who are here to witness judgement are glad for his dominant presence. Without it, I think the Rivets could run through the lot of the complainants in a matter of minutes. I am impressed at the amount of respect and order Avel is able to command without saying a word.
When everybody is seated, Avel speaks.
“Torin Rivet!”
He announces the name in deep tones.
“Yeah?”
I want to palm my face. That lackadaisical response is not going to please Avel at all, and there’s no way that displeasing Avel is a good idea.
“Present yourself for your penalty, Torin,” Avel intones, his voice deeper, grittier, and designed to intimidate.