17. Slave market

Saturday, October 4. 6 hours.

Taruk woke up with the first light of dawn, a moment of tranquility that he interrupted with a soft kiss on the forehead of his bedmate, a gesture laden with tenderness that contrasted with the demanding day ahead. He rose with precise movements, accustomed to a disciplined rhythm, and headed to the private bathroom of his little house, a privilege he never overlooked. There, he let the cold water of the shower run over his body, completely invigorating him and preparing him for the day. He stopped in front of the mirror, inspecting his reflection with a critical eye as he mentally reviewed every detail of his appearance.

Taruk was a man who, despite his forty years and short stature, radiated an energy that filled any room. His movements were confident, almost feline, and his clean face showcased dark, penetrating eyes that always seemed alert. He had the sun-kissed skin of someone who had lived under the sun, and although his hands betrayed years of labor, his gestures were refined, characteristic of someone who was knowledgeable about both physical demands and social etiquette.

He knew that first impressions were crucial, especially before the new elí Jorge, an unknown master whose character and preferences were just beginning to be hinted at. He carefully shaved off any stubble and selected his attire with the precision of a craftsman. He chose a fresh and lightweight white linen tunic that fit his figure perfectly. The small turban he wore was made of quality fabrics and adorned with two colored stripes: one orange and one turquoise. His modest yet well-maintained black sandals completed the ensemble. Finally, he placed a pair of pure gold earrings in each ear, a distinctive touch that emphasized his position as skaros of the estate.

As he dressed, his mind was far from distracted by trivialities. He mentally reviewed the documents and permits he would take with him, ensuring all numbers were correct and details impeccable. He knew that the new elí had decided to sell all current slaves and replace them, a decision that, although unusual, seemed to him a brilliant strategic move. However, this involved a titanic amount of work, and Taruk knew that his performance would determine not only the success of the plan but also his own future at the estate.

His small, independent house was a carefully decorated luxury reserved only for the highest-ranking employees, and he felt proud of it. From the window, he could see the sunrise tint the estate's fields gold, a reminder of the grandeur of the place he had devoted years of his life to. He closed the door behind him with a determined gesture and began the walk toward the main house.

Upon arrival, he noticed that the servants were already moving diligently, preparing breakfast and finalizing details. He arrived early enough that he had to wait, which did not bother him; on the contrary, it gave him time to ensure all the paperwork was in order. Finally, the butler appeared, indicating that elí Jorge was ready to receive him. Taruk took a deep breath, carefully adjusted his turban, and, with firm yet respectful steps, crossed the doors into the room where his fate would be decided.

"Good morning, elí," he greeted with a graceful bow.

"Good morning... Taruk," Jorge replied.

The employee felt flattered to find that his lord made an effort to call him by his name. Like other important employees, he had taken the learning of Spanish very seriously; he spoke it quite well.

"Please, have a seat."

"What are your orders, elí?" Taruk wanted to know, somewhat confused that his master would issue a command with the phrase "please"; his embarrassment was so great that even Jorge noticed what was happening and mentally noted how inappropriate it was to treat subordinates with such courtesies.

"I’ve called you because I want to sell all the slaves in Tauride immediately and purchase others in their place."

"Of course, elí. You need to sign these two orders," he said while offering two handwritten documents and a fountain pen. "The first corresponds to the three hundred eleven slave workers and the second to the nineteen personal slaves. They won't be put up for sale yet; they need to go to the livestock house to be reviewed and for the corresponding certificates to be issued, but you will receive immediate payment, as they are purchased by the State itself. You will then receive six talents and two hundred twenty doubloons for the workers and one hundred ninety talents for the personal slaves, elí."

"No, Taruk," Jorge replied as he signed. "I will receive six talents and six hundred doubloons for all of them; I have calculated it. They will all be sold as slave workers."

Taruk did not dare to reply. He knew what this decision implied: slaves who had never sweated except in bed would suffer a life of physical exhaustion; but the owner commanded, and he would simply obey his orders. The fact that Jorge would let slip a fabulous amount of money for a mere whim seemed something worthy of a true lord; his admiration for him grew as he got to know him.

"Yes, elí, it will be done as you order."

Taruk nodded solemnly as Jorge spoke to him, slightly bowing as a sign of respect.

"Good, now it is urgent to buy new slaves. My idea is to acquire three hundred workers to start. You will tell me if more are needed; then I will attend to the personal ones. I know you were in charge of purchasing slaves for High Benassur."

"Yes, elí, I did so for him with the utmost loyalty, and if you allow me, I will do so for you," Taruk replied, carefully measuring the tone of humility in his voice, aware that any mistake could cost him his position.

Jorge observed him in silence for a moment, weighing his words.

"Did he supervise the purchase of the workers?"

Taruk shook his head with a slight smile, as if recalling something distant yet familiar.

"No, elí. He allowed me to apply my own judgment, and there was never a problem."

"Did he see them after the purchase? How did you know he found them satisfactory?"

Taruk straightened his shoulders, striving to appear even more confident.

"Elí, he actually never saw the workers if he could avoid it; he focused only on the personal ones. I chose the workers that I deemed best, strong and healthy."

Jorge let out a slight sigh before leaning forward, resting his hands on the table with a calculated gesture.

"That will change. First of all, before any worker is purchased, I will supervise them. Today, you will separate three hundred according to the criteria I will tell you now, and you will only buy them if I approve. I will look at each one. Is it possible to do it this way? Do the purchasing rules allow it?"

Taruk hesitated for a moment, surprised by the firmness in Jorge's tone, but quickly responded.

"Yes, elí. You can examine the workers before buying them, of course."

"Good. You will only be interested in worker slaves who are under twenty-five years old, and in the future, you will ensure they are sold as soon as they reach thirty-five. I want them to be first-use slaves, who have not had a master before and, therefore, lack marks of past punishments: they will receive them here. They should be strong, beautiful, without any defects or flaws. Apart from this, you can use your judgment."

Taruk bowed slightly.

"I will do so, elí. It would also be convenient to acquire some special slaves, the vilicus. High Benassur Gurión did not want them; when necessary, he chose any slave to whip the rest, but they do not fulfill the role equally."

Jorge reclined in his chair, intertwining his fingers as his gaze scrutinized Taruk's face.

"Tell me, will there be any inconvenience in Tauride from being without slaves for a few days? And will three hundred be enough, or do you recommend I buy more?"

The skaros hesitated briefly before responding, carefully weighing his words.

"Three hundred are sufficient if we increase their workload a bit. And there will be no setbacks until they are acquired, elí. Since I knew your desire was to sell the workers and buy others, everything necessary has been stocked. We can do without them for at least a week without the service being affected. Unless you wish to use your litter or your cart, this, of course, will not be possible until the new purchase."

Jorge allowed himself a slight smile, almost imperceptible.

"So far, I didn't even know the workers could be at my disposal for that," he lied without much conviction, recalling the times he had wanted to give that order but hadn't dared to.

Taruk bowed his head, not daring to comment.

"Well, I can do without this for now, as well as the personal slaves. First, let's look for the three hundred workers, and then I will attend to the personal slaves. As for the vilicus, buy as many as you deem convenient; I do value the proper application of discipline, so don't hold back on that: I trust your judgment."

Jorge took the documents and signed them with precise movements, returning them to the skaros. He then gestured to the waiters.

"Bring spiced tea for both."

The aroma of the tea filled the room as Jorge and Taruk exchanged a brief glance. Each one, in their own way, was evaluating the other, although neither showed it.

"Tell me, Taruk, when will I be able to examine the slaves to give them my approval?"

"This afternoon, elí. Come to the Alfar market, and we can make the purchase if the specimens I set aside suit you," Taruk replied with a confidence that contrasted with the prudence of his gestures.

Jorge's eyes opened slightly in surprise.

"I thought that since there are so many slaves, it would be necessary to wait for a few days, that perhaps they would have to come from other markets or something like that to meet the high number I need."

Taruk smiled modestly, as if the answer were too obvious for a man of his experience.

"On the contrary, elí. The best and largest farms in the country are in Alfar. From here, they are taken to Betia and the smaller islands. There is no better market than ours, and I am sure I can select all the slaves you need."

Jorge nodded slowly, satisfied with the information.

With these directions, the interview between them concluded. Taruk rushed toward the slave market, determined to fulfill his lord's commission with the same precision he had under the orders of High Benassur. Meanwhile, Jorge prepared to occupy himself for the rest of the morning planning his visit to the market, an experience he eagerly anticipated.

The truth was that this outing was not only a practical obligation but also the realization of a fantasy. Álex would soon cease to be his only slave, and the idea of selecting new ones filled him with excitement and curiosity. He would not accept the slave heirs of Benassur: he did not like them, and he felt they were used. Given that money was not a problem, he thought it best to start with others, completely new.

He was informed that the market was located about five kilometers away, in what would properly be the city of Tauride. In the nearly two weeks he had spent in the house, he had not ventured outside the walls. He knew that to the north was the coast and the port, and to the south the city. Now, at last, he had sufficient reason to leave his citadel and explore beyond his immediate domains.

He called the butler.

"Miceros, this afternoon I will go to the slave market."

The butler looked somewhat bewildered.

"Do you need me there, elí?"

"No, I didn’t call you for that. I want you to prepare appropriate clothing for me."

At that moment, Jorge was wearing a simple yet beautiful white robe over loose trousers of the same color, made of cool cotton, and comfortable slippers. His outfit, although elegant, was informal, almost functional.

"A ceremonial outfit, elí?"

"Something a bit more formal than what I wear daily, but that is comfortable."

Miceros nodded with a bow.

"Yes, elí. I will present it to you shortly for your approval."

Jorge paused before continuing, recalling another important detail.

"And there’s also the matter of transportation. I don’t know how to present myself there; it seems to me that walking would not be appropriate."

The butler's face lit up with understanding.

"Any means you choose will be correct, elí. However, it would be customary to do so in a litter or cart, transported by slaves."

The answer displeased Jorge.

"You know I want to sell them all, so it’s better not to use them."

Miceros hesitated, trying to find the right words.

"But, elí, you could use a few just to get to the market and return with the new ones. Until they are sold, they are still yours."

"No!" Jorge replied with a tone that cut through the air like a knife. His hands briefly clenched into fists before relaxing. He had thought a lot about the subject, and the last thing he wanted was to hear any objections from his employees' lips—"To me, they no longer belong. Is it custom for the butler to debate the orders he receives?"

Miceros immediately bowed, visibly mortified.

"No, no, elí. Not at all. I only intended to help, but I apologize."

Jorge sighed, and in an attempt to ease the tension, changed the tone of his voice.

"Then, let’s find the best means of transport so that you can go to the city this afternoon."

"Would you like to ride one of your pleasure mares, elí?"

"No, nor to go in something pulled by horses, oxen, or similar. Can’t I arrive by car, just as I came from the airport?"

"Yes... of course, elí. I will take care of requesting one. Would you like to drive it yourself?"

"No, I want a driver. Do I have a chauffeur among my staff?"

"No, elí," Miceros replied, fearing Jorge might take this badly. "Since there is no car, there is also no chauffeur in the household staff."

"Of course, that makes sense," Jorge admitted. "Well, let the car come then with one. Yusuf will accompany me, so have him ready. Would going at six in the evening be appropriate? I have no idea what the schedules are like here—" Jorge was impatient to go but wanted to give Taruk a few hours to select the slaves he wanted to buy.

"You set the hours, elí. If you go to the market at six, you will find it open, but if you go at dawn, it will be the same: you are the master, you decide when things are done."

"Have everything ready by six then."

"It shall be so, elí."

Half an hour before six, Jorge approved the clothing that the butler presented to him: a pristine white tunic that seemed made to measure for him. The closed, stiff collar had an elegant design but was comfortable, and he appreciated that immediately. At the lower edge and on the sleeves, an embroidered orange stripe highlighted the tunic with gold thread, while a second black stripe, also embroidered in gold, framed the collar and ran vertically from the chest to almost the floor. Flanking this central stripe, smaller ones in orange and turquoise, arranged in decreasing sizes, seemed to capture flashes of light with every step.

On a nearby table, shiny shoes of dazzling whiteness awaited him, with golden trims that added a sober and distinguished touch. Jorge inspected them carefully and smiled upon realizing that, despite their austere appearance, they were surprisingly flexible and fitted his feet perfectly. They would be accompanied by soft, comfortable white cotton socks. There was also a small hemispherical white hat, with the same black trim embroidered in gold as the sleeves, crowned with a golden filigree in the shape of an arrow, and a simple yet refined gold fabric belt to cinch the tunic.

As the butler prepared each piece, Jorge contemplated the ensemble spread before him. He couldn't help but recall the ceremony of a bishop donning sacred ornaments, or perhaps even the solemn figure of a pope, for the small hat resembled the papal zucchetto. The scene had a ritualistic, almost theatrical air, as if each element had a purpose that transcended mere clothing. Upon examining the embroidery more closely, he found small winged dragons that repeated regularly, like a secret imprint in the design.

For a moment, his mind wandered to the tales of One Thousand and One Nights, in which a genie could build a splendid palace in just a day. Something similar had happened here: that work of art had been crafted with astonishing speed, and without even measuring him! Dressed thus, Jorge knew he was ready to present himself at the slave market with the majesty the occasion deserved.

He stepped out to the main entrance of the house and was pleased to find that the car was already prepared. At the foot of the small staircase awaited Yusuf and the driver, both with a respectful demeanor. After resisting the temptation to occupy the front passenger seat, Jorge settled into the place of honor: the right rear seat, which he accessed through the door that the driver ceremoniously opened for him. Yusuf took the left side. The vehicle, adorned with two small banners waving with the new colors of the estate, started with a soft roar, kicking up a cloud of dust. As it passed through the main gate, it entered a landscape that seemed straight out of a travel agency. The ride was short, but just enough to enjoy the natural surroundings.

Upon reaching the heart of Tauride, the capital of the estate, the car followed a cobbled street, whose stone slabs gave a sense of solidity. Diverse buildings lined both sides, some constructed with stone, cement, or a mixture of these materials, all of eclectic style. Predominantly, there were mostly straight and austere lines, but other constructions stood out with cutting-edge designs, featuring glass and exposed steel, and brutalist styles that, with their exposed concrete and massive shapes, contrasted powerfully with the lighter and more modern elements of the city. Finally, the car stopped in front of an imposing building that resembled a cube of black marble. The entrance door, made of two leaves of wood covered in bronze, was an extravagance of aesthetics and material. Above it, in silver letters, the sign "BAZOK ZUNOK" marked the purpose of the place. Although Jorge did not master the ketirí language, he remembered that "zuno" meant "slave," and the plural, "zunok," seemed unsettling to him. He waited for the driver to open the door of the vehicle, and as he stepped down, he made an effort to maintain a dignified posture.

As soon as he entered, someone who seemed in charge of the business approached, undoubtedly waiting for him; Yusuf's introduction confirmed this:

"The bactani of the bazok, elí, Miceros Organi."

"Sharos, Tharakos," he hurriedly greeted while joining his hands and performing a deep bow.

"Sharos, Organi," Jorge managed to respond. He was a friendly, lively little man followed by two extremely tall black men with hypertrophied anatomy. They were completely naked except for a fitted white loincloth and carried a large knife at their belts. Jorge immediately noticed that their groins revealed no bumps, and before he could start pondering this, Yusuf, who had noticed his lord's confusion, brought him out of doubt:

"The escort slaves undergo complete surgical castration, elí; their testicles are removed, and the penis is reconstructed so that only a residue is left, allowing them to urinate."

Jorge considered the idea of applying this operation to Álex but dismissed it, at least for the moment. The bactani began to guide the visitors to see the market; he spoke in ketirí, so Yusuf translated everything for Jorge, who occasionally made some polite observations, but his interest was entirely focused on the human merchandise, which he wanted to see as soon as possible. Miceros explained that there were three booths or sections; the largest was for the workers, the second was for personal slaves, and the third was used for various administrative tasks, as well as for selling complements and supplies related to slaves, such as food, branding irons, training, and punishment tools, etc. The upper floor was a continuous gallery where various competitions among slaves were sometimes held, including wrestling, racing, lifting, pulling weight, and others; it was also a selection area for slaves with specific aptitudes, such as vilicus or guards.

The personal slave booth was in the center of the premises, quite natural because this type of slave aroused more interest among buyers. These were individuals who, due to their physical and character profile, had been separated from the others and received different education. All of them knew how to speak at least one foreign language and had the ability to please their master through sex if the occasion arose; in fact, they were often purchased for this purpose. The punishments they received during their education, which were very useful for inducing the necessary behaviors, left no trace on them, as they were either physically subtle or involved mental punishments; however, they were not light punishments, as they sometimes consisted of extreme physical exercises, deprivation of sleep, water or food, pain induced with needles, etc. They were sold in different areas depending on the age of the slave; the youngest were sixteen, although Jorge found out that if any master desired, slaves of any age starting from four years could be provided on request, a thought that sent a shiver down his spine. All slaves were perfectly virgin when put up for sale for the first time, even though sometimes a master returned one of theirs to the market; curiously, these "second-hand" slaves were not only resold but were often quickly acquired by other masters, as it was said that there is no better-disposed slave than the one who had a previous master who discarded him. The bactani asked Jorge if he was interested in seeing the merchandise from the booth at that moment or if he preferred to examine the workers that his employee was selecting directly, and he responded that he preferred to satisfy his curiosity by seeing the personal slaves first, trying not to let his eagerness show too much, though it was evident; his concern was unnecessary, as everyone found his interest natural.

Jorge knew that the price of personal slaves was fixed, as clearly indicated at the entrance of the booth: ten talents, that is, ten thousand doubloons, eight hundred thousand euros, in short, a small fortune. This price was justified by the fact that the State made a significant investment in their education and care, and meticulously monitored the achievement of established objectives without scrimping on resources; moreover, only one in every four reached the proposed goal, so the majority reverted to the classification of mere workers, having lost much time compared to their peers who had been training fundamentally physically the entire time.

The bactani explained that the personal slaves were displayed for sale in sections separated by ages: from sixteen to twenty years, from twenty-one to twenty-five, from twenty-six to thirty-five, and from thirty-six to fifty. Jorge found it striking that the most sought-after slaves were those with at least twenty-five years, as they had received more education time and were thus more docile and capable; in fact, at that moment, there were none available older than forty years because they had all been sold; but Jorge's criterion was different, and he only wanted to consider, at least initially, those from the first group, very young and even teenagers, as he thought he wanted them attentive and docile, but that he would also enjoy molding them to his liking.

They entered the first section. Each slave was exhibited in a small wooden booth measuring barely one square meter at the base and two and a half meters high; their nakedness was absolute, but they were not depilated. A card displayed their characteristics, skills, and whether they were first-hand or, in the latter case, to whom they had belonged, how long, and the reason for their return. They did not have names, only a simple code that recalled the European vehicle registration system; with this system, one could know their year of birth and farm of origin. Jorge immediately found himself aroused by the wonderful collection of beautiful bodies, very young boys with their gazes perpetually on the ground, immaculately clean, with perfect skin and all types of appearances: white, black, mulattoes, and even some Asians; in total, there were about thirty. A couple of potential buyers interrupted their activity upon noticing that "Uchchatá Jorge Tharakos" was present; Yusuf made the formal introductions:

"The High Kalel Ortos, lord of the estate."

"Sharos, Tharakos."

"Sharos, Ortos," Jorge said.

"The High Peyo Uriel, lord of the estate."

"Sharos, Tharakos."

"Sharos Uriel," he replied again, always trying to place his hands as correctly as possible.

So he had before him two equals, so to speak. Through Yusuf, he thanked them for their courtesy, and they responded that the honor was theirs, as the bazok was in Tauride and thus the property of Jorge. He immediately sensed that both had come to meet him in person, and he had the impression that they considered him a foreign intruder, although he had nothing to base that feeling on other than his intuition, for contact with them was brief and very courteous. They said their goodbyes until the next occasion, and Jorge took the opportunity to see how they interacted with the slaves up for sale in that section: they touched them without reservation, made them turn around, bend over, show their teeth or anus, even ordered them to sing. Encouraged by their example, he sought to separate himself a little from Yusuf and the bactani, who found the maneuver very logical, and began to stroll among the various booths. A beautiful young man who was seventeen years old (according to his card) caught his attention. He was tall and had a toned, yet understated physique. His hair was brown, and his Mediterranean skin; two blue eyes shone on a perfect face, with a small nose and full lips that begged to be kissed. Jorge lifted his chin, but the boy always avoided meeting his eyes. The posture in which the slaves were displayed was invariably the same, standing with their hands held behind their back, free of bonds. Slowly, Jorge caressed the pink nipples and lowered his hand to feel the slave's firm testicles, with dark hair; his sex was small, but the touch from the prospective buyer made it sway and grow a little, which caused the young man to flush intensely, lowering his head to the maximum but not budging an inch: he knew he couldn't. He had him turn around; his backside was equally firm and desirable, but it did not compare to Álex's.

He wandered through the various aisles that comprised the section of the booth and found that all the specimens on display were truly superb. When he was about to return to Yusuf and the bactani, Miceros noticed a slave who was not particularly handsome compared to others he had already seen but who, according to his card, spoke Spanish! With no one in sight, he mustered the courage to approach him.

"Hello slave," he greeted, unsure of what else to say.

"Good morning, elí, I will order and obey," replied the young man without raising his eyes from the ground.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen years, elí."

"You speak Spanish very well."

"Thank you, elí, I am at your service."

"What else do you know how to do, slave?"

"I also know classical and modern Greek, Latin, French, and Italian. I can give massages. I am sexually capable. I can dance and play the flute and the violin."

"Are you active or passive, slave?"

"I am whatever you order, elí. I will do anything that gives you pleasure, elí."

"Would you love me?"

"With all my being, elí."

"Even if they apply cruel torments to you?"

"Especially then, elí. Order and I obey."

Jorge was impressed; the showcases of special slaves were a carefully designed spectacle to entice buyers. For a moment, he was about to acquire one of the ones on display, but in the end, he preferred to wait. He thought it wisest to analyze his needs more calmly before making an impulsive decision.

He left the visit to the other sections of the booth, occupied by the older slaves, for later and rejoined Yusuf, who was already waiting for him near the main entrance. Jorge told him he would like to go to the booth of the worker slaves; as agreed, Taruk should be there with the slaves ready to be supervised. Yusuf, always attentive, nodded and guided Jorge along with the bactani to the next section of the bazok.

At first glance, the booth for the workers was radically different from that of the personal slaves. Although here too, the slaves were completely naked and not depilated, the differences were evident. While many in the special section had long, carefully styled hair, the worker slaves had short hair, and some were completely shaved, highlighting their muscularity and physical robustness as their main attribute.

Moreover, the atmosphere was much more austere. The workers were chained with thick shackles on their wrists and ankles that kept them bound to both the ceiling and the floor of the room. This space, designed to be clear, looked more like a warehouse than an exhibition area, with the chains resonating in the air with the slightest movement. The harshness of the scene contrasted markedly with the more sophisticated presentation of the special slaves, making it clear that here utility, not aesthetics, was the priority.

Taruk hurried to receive the entourage as soon as he saw them enter the booth. His movements were quick, almost mechanical, reflecting his nervousness. He knew well that the stability of his job was at stake, and this mission was crucial.

"Welcome, elí. As you requested, I have selected the most distinguished specimens," he said, trying to maintain a firm voice despite the evident trembling in his hands.

Jorge nodded without much ceremony, observing his surroundings with a mix of expectation and critique.

"Perfect, Taruk. Show them to me."

"They are in the examination area, elí," the man replied, gesturing respectfully toward a designated section at the back of the booth.

The small group headed there. Yusuf and the bactani walked a few steps behind Jorge, chatting between themselves in a relaxed tone that contrasted with Taruk's tension. The examination area was a simple space, barely separated from the rest of the booth by a thick curtain. Although rudimentary, it served its purpose: to provide sufficient privacy for the inspections.

Upon crossing the curtain, Jorge was met with an impressive sight. Before him, arranged in impeccable order, were the preselected slaves. They had been placed in perfect rows of twenty individuals each, following exactly the arrangement Jorge had ordered earlier.

Each one stood firm in the examination position, a typical Ketiris posture that required holding the hands at the sides of the skull, with the elbows fully extended horizontally. The tension in their bodies was palpable, with taut muscles and drops of sweat sliding down their bare skin. Taruk had begun preparing the first slaves hours earlier, and while the last ones had been there for barely twenty minutes in that position, those who had started had already accumulated over three hours enduring the strain.

Jorge scanned the formation, observing how the younger ones trembled slightly under the tension of the posture. However, what caught his attention most was the expression on their downcast faces: a mix of respect, fear, and fierce determination not to fail. For them, being there, examined by the most important master, was a moment of utmost significance, a step toward a status that few achieved within the strict rules of their world.

All the slaves were impeccably groomed, their skin shining under the lights of the venue, although the effort of maintaining their position was pulling drops of sweat from their taut bodies. Jorge began to stroll through the rows, stopping in front of some, evaluating every detail: the symmetry of muscles, posture, the expression of obedience they radiated. His presence, imposing, felt like a palpable weight in the air.

They were truly perfect; not only were their bodies at the level of any model, but most of their faces were also very handsome, clean, and masculine; their appearance was of true athletes, not just strong but also agile. They had nothing to do with the workers he had inherited from Benassur. It didn't take long for him to transition from mere observation to physical contact. At first, he did so with calculated gestures: a firm touch on a shoulder, a light push to correct a posture. But soon, his enthusiasm overflowed, and, with a smile that denoted both curiosity and dominance, he began to deliver light slaps with his open hand, testing the endurance of the workers. With each hit, the slaves reacted with humility, grateful for their elí's direct attention, a gesture that was as rare as it was significant for them.

The most unexpected moment came when Jorge stopped in front of one of the most attractive slaves. He was a young man with well-defined yet proportionate muscles, bearing an expression of stoicism that seemed to have been carefully cultivated. Jorge, driven by both interest and authority, slid two fingers along the smooth contour of his buttocks, provoking a visible shiver from the slave. It was not fear or discomfort that reflected in his face but a strange mixture of submission and pride, as if the mere possibility of being chosen justified any gesture from the elí. With loose resolve, he introduced both fingers into the slave's sphincter, who instinctively tried to relax as much as possible to be penetrated and thus please the one who was going to possess him for life.

Upon returning to Taruk, he was received with a small ceremony; on a polished wooden table, a basin with soapy perfumed water and an impeccable white cotton towel had been prepared. Taruk, with careful movements, brought the recipient closer while making a slight bow of respect.

To Jorge, the gesture felt as natural as any other daily act, a habit that required no reflection. He meticulously washed his hands, as if cleaning up after examining the mechanics of a motorcycle or any object of technical interest. In the atmosphere, the subtle fragrance of the soap contrasted with the harshness of the previous scene, a fleeting reminder of the rituals that separated the master from everything else.

"Have the slaves I inherited from Benassur been sold, Taruk?"

"Yes, elí, it has been done as you ordered. I have the receipt documents and the bank payment receipt: six talents and six hundred doubloons," the employee replied, not daring to ask about the newly examined slaves.

There was just one question Jorge did not fully understand and wanted to clarify with Taruk.

"Why are there three hundred eight slaves? Did you select more thinking that I would reject one?"

"No, elí, that is not the reason. The ones with shaved heads are vilicus; I believe they will fulfill their role, elí."

"You have perfectly complied with my orders, Taruk. These slaves are exactly what I asked for; I congratulate you."

The skaros's face lit up upon hearing these words.

"Thank you, elí, thank you, elí!" he said while kneeling down and kissing Jorge's hand, who mentally noted the task of seeking a ring. It was already fully night, and Jorge was eager to return home and have sex with Álex after dinner; after quickly saying goodbye to the bactani and the two lords of the estate, he headed back to the vehicle, and in the company of Yusuf, retraced the path back home; Taruk stayed to complete the few remaining procedures and take care of the transportation of the new slaves. He also tasked him with obtaining iron with his initial to brand slaves, as well as acquiring enough vilicus, as they would soon be necessary.