Goodwin Prescott


Jovak was pleased. Very pleased. The military commanders had done everything according to his orders and all was properly prepared for the ritual. The high priest of the great Hittite war god Gomesh (shudder at his power) loved nothing better than the dedication ... the high con­se­cra­tion ... of new temples to the prime god of the Hittite pantheon whom he served with every fibre of his being. In every subjugated new city that fell before the Hittites' steady expansion of their great empire the first temple erected or, as in this case, rededicated, was for worship of the war god.

It was, also, he thought grimly, extremely consistent with overall desirable needs of the empire in dealing with conquered terrain. Defeated soldiers really never made good slaves and could not be trusted to remain in a newly pacified addition to the empire. Thus Hittite policy, never modified, was to put these men to the sword. The cream of the captives, however, were always culled and kept for Jovak to use for the dedication of the war god's new local temple.

As they went, Golarmia was a fairly minor acquisition, though strategically located. It had fallen with little effort. The Hittite discovery and use of smelted iron for their weaponry made them virtually invincible when they met up with foes still using the now dated bronze weaponry. The hard, black metal that took such a keen edge in the expert hands of Hittite smiths was the great gift of Gomesh (shudder at his power) to his chosen people and they took his worship quite seriously.

What made Golarmia interesting to Jovak was that it was a colony settled by the Niacenes, a Greek people known for their startling, fair beauty. Thus, the victims selected for the consecration ceremony here were stunningly handsome golden-haired boy-warriors in the full blossom of their vibrant manhood. Each nineteen or twenty year old body was about as perfect as a human male could be including mammoth endowment between his thighs. That was important considering the nature of the sacrificial rites. The god would be very pleased at the superb gifts to be given him this day!

In the meantime, the necessary "cleansing" of the city's military forces was proceeding in a great field just beyond the walls. Most of the defeated army had been slaughtered in combat, refusing to surrender, knowing of the Hittite policy of killing prisoners of war.

But after the city capitulated to avoid being burned and sacked, about twelve hundred reserve troops, mostly late teenaged youths, had been taken into custody and were now being executed.

The boyish prisoners had been made to excavate a great trench in the field and as Jovak and his party arrived groups of ten at a time were being brought forward for the killing. Their wrists bound behind them, the naked Golarmian soldiers were made to kneel before the trench and the expert Hittite swordsmen plied their skills to quickly behead them. The corpses were summarily tossed into the pit while the heads were displayed on short wooden stakes driven into the ground of the killing field.

Jovak paused to watch the sport for a while, admiring the wonderful expertise of each slashing sweep of the iron swords with their razor edges. A big giant of a prisoner, a strapping fellow of perhaps twenty with a magnificent body was kneeling a short ways off.

He was so impressively hung between his thighs and such a fine specimen of manhood that Jovak raised a hand and started to intervene. He wanted to add this young bull to those to be sacrificed in the temple to honor the war god. He moved a bit too late. The sword whistled forward in its deadly, accurate stroke and the manly head went flying, cleanly severed as though the thick, muscular neck was a mere stalk of grain.

Just beside the road, a handsome blond youth of about eighteen, possibly nineteen, followed the orders of his executioner and dropped to his knees.

The swordsman nodded,

In classic Hittite army dress, the soldier, his upper face hidden behind an iron visor on the crested helmet, brought back his sword and sent it whistling forward.  Unlike most of the killers, he was lopping heads off his subjects with a frontal slash over the throat.

It worked just as well as any other method. The blond boy's head came off cleanly and tumbled to the ground behind him in a thick spray of blood.  The headless corpse tottered for a moment, then collapsed chest downward onto the ground. His head joined his comrades' on a short post.

The slaughter, conducted with Hittite efficiency, would take less than five hours to complete. The forest of heads would be left in place and picked clean by rodents and birds over time. The gleaming skulls on the posts would serve as graphic reminders to future visitors to the city that the Hittites were strong and ruthless with their foes.

Continuing into the city itself to his lodgings, Jovak passed the main square where another cleansing operation was underway to rid the new Hittite port of unwanted human baggage from the old regime.

The former religion was to be utterly uprooted and all trace of it erased. All of the temples had swiftly been seized and the images of their false gods destroyed. Now, all of the priests and temple servitors were being put to death in the square, impaled in the brutal Hittite fashion.

The Hittites were devilishly ingenious in invention of execution methods for those who displeased them. The impalement death was a particularly fiendish one reserved for heretics and servitors of false gods. In a courtyard of the palace wherein lay his lodgings, Jovak again paused to watch as the only surviving prince of the old royal family learned how the Hittites dealt with the likes of him.

Royal prisoners posed a problem. Hittite dogma forbade the direct shedding of the blood of a prince such as the handsome blond youth of twenty-one or so now facing his death in the courtyard. No soldier could address violence towards a royal personage except in direct combat. All of this boy's male relatives had been killed in the battle for the city but he had been an officer of the reserves and survived. He had to be disposed of, but not at the direct hand of any Hittite captor. For such occasions, the Hittite king had personally approved the form of execution now being carried out.

The prince was bound naked to a stout post in a seated position. His left leg was bound to a stake before him, the knee bent. His right leg was drawn out straight and securely bound to another stake a few feet to his side. Above that extended leg, a great block of black granite, removed from one of the city walls, hung by stout ropes. The controlling cable was drawn taut to a stake to the rear. Now a candle was placed just below this rope so that the flame just licked at its strands.

It took the rope about a minute to finally burn through. The massive stone block hammered down to the stone floor of the courtyard, crushing the prince's leg beneath it and pinning it down hopelessly.

The boy shrieked and fainted.

He was cut loose from the ropes securing him and just left there. He would revive for periods, pass out for periods ... suffering all the pangs of hell. He would receive no food nor water. Eventually, he would die from whatever force of nature chose to kill him. Shock, blood loss, infection, dehydration.

But no Hittite could be said to have killed him. The candle could even have been blown out in a gust of wind and, had that happened, the prince would have been placed into slavery but his life spared.

Jovak rested and ate before traveling to the temple that was his. Naturally, it was the most magnificent of the religious edifices in the conquered city.

The only survivors of the Golarmian army were the twelve perfect youths awaiting Jovak's pleasure who even now were positioned, naked and bound, on the dozen altars, actually wooden pyres, within the temple.

The sun was just setting and it was the mandated time for Hittite sacrifice.

Selected for his exquisite beauty, the muscular young hunk awaited him in an anteroom to sate his lusting urges after the consecration.

Apart from the precious metal and gems, Jovak's body was naked. The linen robes he normally wore for ceremonial occasions would have been ruined by the splattering blood to come.

All was in readiness and as the trumpets announced his grand entry into the temple, all of the assembled Hittite commanders and nobles and the selected Golarmian citizenry (those most avid in giving support to the new order) dropped to their knees in obeisance, rising only upon his bidding.

He stood before the awesome image of the god, the great golden ram's-head that had been put in place at the high altar, and made the lengthy prayers of offering required for Gomesh (shudder at his power). Drum beats pulsed out a steady rhythm like a heartbeat and the assembled ranks of priests intoned a steady harsh chant, slowly rising in tone and fervor as the moment of the actual sacrifices approached.

When Jovak turned from his prayers before the god's image, a junior priest approached, fell to his knees and held out a silk pillow upon which lay a gem-encrusted iron dagger, its blade honed to gleaming, razor edges. He took it up, dedicated it to the four directions and seasons with special incantations and then slowly made his way to the first sacrificial altar.

The blond boy lying bound there realized, like his comrades arrayed on the other wooden piles radiating out around him, that he was to be used as a sacrificial goat. His own people occasionally used captured prisoners for such purposes, so he was not particularly offended or surprised at his fate.

It was just the lot of a warrior and the penalty for losing. None of the selected twelve had offered any resistence or mouthed objections, nor disgraced themselves with cowardly pleas as they were stripped, bathed and prepared for their ritual killings.

Still, he tensed in mounting fear as he watched the awesome, masked figure of the high priest approaching him, that gleaming ebony-bladed iron dagger in his hand.

As they were led into the temple, the prisoners had quietly speculated among themselves as to the mode of their sacrifice. They rather assumed their hearts were to be cut out before the pyres on which they lay were ignited, but the odd way they were tied did not make that seem likely.

Their upper bodies were not restrained in a fashion to offer up their chests properly for a knife slash. Perhaps the Hittite priest would just cut their throats and collect their blood in some vessel as was the practice in certain Greek sacrificial rites. The puzzle to them was just why their legs were so oddly arranged, tied widely apart to splay the thighs.

Curious about their own fates to come, the other eleven strained on their own altars to see what was done to handsome Gorkon, the first victim selected for killing.

Their eyes bugged out in horror as they watched Jovak reach between Gorkon's muscular legs and seize his genitals, pulling them up and out to expose the delicate, slim neck connecting the organs to his body. Their minds reeled in horror. Surely the Hittite sacrifice did not involve that!

But the knife moved down and Gorkon's body convulsed powerfully and his scream echoed wildly off the walls of the temple as he was radically castrated with studied. cruel slowness.

After the first soldier's man organs had been removed and ritually burned in a golden brazier, Jovak left him to pour forth his cleansing blood over the wooden pyre upon which he would shortly be burned alive and moved to the second victim.

Only after all twelve men had been castrated, the temple awash in their agonized screams, were the pyres ignited, the clouds of smoke and stench of the burning, living bodies swirling through the air to vent from the open sides of the temple through its forest of supporting marble columns.

Gomesh (shudder at his power) having been duly honored and his temple consecrated properly in blood and smoke, Jovak retired to the private room where his last victim awaited.

Jovak's lust had been fueled to a fever pitch and the final act of the drama in the temple would not be protracted. The handsome, trembling novice priest selected for his pleasure was already naked.

He had been warned that he must cooperate fully with Jovak's desires or he would be given a far worse death than mere impalement. If he cooperated, he had been assured, his death would come relatively swiftly and with little suffering.

Jovak removed his mask and stripped away his gleaming jewelry. When he removed the damnable cod piece, his straining, steely organ exploded up in full erection and he gasped aloud at the relief.

He stepped to the young condemned boy-priest, whose hands were bound behind his back. He ran his hands over the hard, silky-skinned body, savoring its delicious, intoxicating warmth and the sensual musky aroma of the freshly bathed male flesh.

He cupped the genitals with tender gentleness and coaxed them to arousal. For a while he knelt and tasted the big penis, drawing the flared head within his lips and flicking the piss-slit lips with his tongue, wiping away the little beads of sticky pre-cum that oozed forth.

For a bit he suckled at the hard brown tits, nibbling at the tiny eraser nibs with his sharp teeth as the boy moaned and writhed in mixed pain and pleasure. He slipped one finger up into the velvet ass-hole, forcing the protesting sphincter to dilate and accept the invader.

A second finger joined it, then a third. He idly contemplated forcing his entire fisted hand up into the teen's ass canal to claw and tear at the delicate inner flesh of the gut and send blood curling down his wrist the way he often did with these pleasure toys but his need was just too great to take the time to ruin this boy in that delightful fashion.

He confined this play to just finger-fucking the tight hole at some length, finally succeeding in tearing it as the edges of the over-stretched sphincter ruptured.

He lay on his back on a low wooden bench and ordered the boy to straddle him with his legs at the middle, facing him and then to lower his ass-hole to the waiting cock. Entry came easily, the torn sphincter not capable of resistence and the blood lubricating the organ as it drove in and up.

He began to fuck the youth with hard little upward drives of his hips and as he did he slipped a short length of woven silk cord around the young throat. As the intercourse heightened in fever and pace, he drew the cord taut and began to throttle the lad.

It was over fairly swiftly. Jovak had become quite skilled at this special form of thrill-kill sex and extracted the life just as he was nearing orgasm. The death contractions that corded through the writhing body were the final stimulation that sent Jovak over the edge into ejaculation.

There was, he thought as lay there panting and sated, nothing quite like this for maximum pleasure. The heady joy of the exercise of absolute power was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

He could hardly wait to move on to Adrianapolis, the next city down the coast that had just fallen to Hittite attack. There was a new temple to be consecrated once he reached the place and the young men there were rumored to be even more beautiful than these Golarmian stallions.