windar
Teller of Tales
Our knees? You mean like when you ask Santa Claus for that toy train?
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Constantinople
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Our knees? You mean like when you ask Santa Claus for that toy train?
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Oh ! Wait a minut, I cant support the sufferings of the others ! 
"Gnangnan ! Chochotte..."
She is really in trouble! These are better charges than Tree makes up and Sultan Mehmet is in a less than good mood with these two!!!
Good chapter Barb!!!
Good chapter Barb!!!
Be strong Messaline!!!View attachment 522707 Oh ! Wait a minut, I cant support the sufferings of the others !
View attachment 522709"Gnangnan ! Chochotte..."
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Apparently the smaller path they chose was not 8-fold. It was, however, another path to suffering, so maybe there's a useful Buddhist saying for that. Mind you, if you're executed, that would seem to spell the end of desires...
View attachment 522710 Oh, I'm ! It's this Messaline N° 2 ( View attachment 522711 ) who is not ...
And which Messaline is the real Messaline?
windar
Teller of Tales
Here are the Sultan's archers 
But I'm disappointed in Barb for not returning fire
I wouldn't mess with her.
This was a pretty interesting re-enactment https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/17/sports/archery-conquest-cup-istanbul.html?
But I'm disappointed in Barb for not returning fire
I wouldn't mess with her.This was a pretty interesting re-enactment https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/17/sports/archery-conquest-cup-istanbul.html?
17.
Mid- morning, 1 June 1453
Bound naked with arms behind our backs, Adelfi and I are led away by the Captain of the Guard and his two lieutenants ... but to our surprise not through the gates and into the city, but down the road to the west.
"Where are we going?" I ask the Captain, balking at taking another step.
"Keep moving!" snaps one of his lieutenants, shoving me forward.
"My orders are to present you to Sultan Mehmet," responds the Captain.
"But isn't he in the palace?'
"No, he is outside the city massing his army for its triumphal parade through the city. The traditional three days of unrestricted pillage have expired. It is time now for the army to be mustered outside the city for a grand re-entrance with the Sultan at its head! The triumphal entry will climax when the Sultan takes Friday prayer in Ayosofa, the city's great domed Christian church, which Mehmet the Conqueror has henceforth declared a mosque."
We trudge on in silence until we arrive on the wide plain to the west of the city. There, as far as the eye can see, are masses of Turkish troops. The Sultan sits astride a white charger at the head of the colossal force, which with the banging of drums, the wail of horns, the waving of banners and flags, and shouted huzzahs has begun its march on the city's open western gate. The sun shines down from a near cloudless sky, glinting off weapons and armor and brightly illuminating the awesome scene.
On his approach, Adelfi and I are shoved before the Sultan, flanked by the two lieutenants, and forced to our knees.
"As ordered, your Excellency!" bellows the Captain smartly.
Mehmet raises his hand to halt the column. The sudden cessation of movement is duly communicated backwards in a reverberating chorus of commands, and the army stands down as if a great serpent brought to bay. Ripples of movement result in the spreading of its wings, the better to view the reason for the halt. It seems as though the entire Turkish army is looking at us.
Mehmet says nothing. The silence is awkward. I can feel those strangely magnetic eyes roving over my body and fixing me once again in their powerful gaze.
The Captain, clears his throat. "We await your orders, your Excellency. What is to be done with these two?"
"Execute them as Christians in the Roman manner before the gates of the Great Mosque," he whispers nearly inaudibly.
Raising his hand again, he signals the resumption of the march. The order is relayed back, and the great army reforms into its serpentine column. The lieutenants drag us to our feet, and press us into the march directly behind the Sultan and his mounted entourage. The Captain takes his place behind us and we move forward.
Soon we are through the city's great western gate, and winding our way through the city. Crowds line the route. Many are sullen faced ... survivors of three days of pillage and rape, forced out on the streets to pay homage to their new masters. They lower their gaze as the Sultan passes, but take special interest in us as we stumble along nakedly, flanked by the two brightly uniformed lieutenants and followed closely by the Captain of the Guard.
The city is still smoky; fires still smoulder. We must constantly step around corpses and debris as we march.
Eventually we reach the old Roman center, with its grand buildings and colonnaded spaces strung out along the spine of the city, many in ruins. And the great dome of old Hagia Sophia looms ahead.
The head of the column comes to a halt, and the army gathers and spreads, taking positions in the open spaces of the old Roman fora and hippodrome.
The Sultan turns in his saddle, points at Adelfi and me, and says to the Captain. "Here! I shall have them executed in this place, at the entrance to the hippodrome and under the shadow of the great dome of Ayosofa, where all can observe. I want them scourged and ready to be crucified just after noon, at precisely the moment the Friday prayer begins. And I order that the entire population be forced to troop past them in silence, so that there fate may be taken as a warning that nothing less than complete obedience shall be tolerated in the city."
I glance to the sky. The sun is already well on its way to its zenith.
With no time to waste, we are seized at once and marched over to an ancient whipping post ... one of many scattered around the city of the public punishment of miscreants of all kinds.
TO BE CONTINUED
Mid- morning, 1 June 1453
Bound naked with arms behind our backs, Adelfi and I are led away by the Captain of the Guard and his two lieutenants ... but to our surprise not through the gates and into the city, but down the road to the west.
"Where are we going?" I ask the Captain, balking at taking another step.
"Keep moving!" snaps one of his lieutenants, shoving me forward.
"My orders are to present you to Sultan Mehmet," responds the Captain.
"But isn't he in the palace?'
"No, he is outside the city massing his army for its triumphal parade through the city. The traditional three days of unrestricted pillage have expired. It is time now for the army to be mustered outside the city for a grand re-entrance with the Sultan at its head! The triumphal entry will climax when the Sultan takes Friday prayer in Ayosofa, the city's great domed Christian church, which Mehmet the Conqueror has henceforth declared a mosque."
We trudge on in silence until we arrive on the wide plain to the west of the city. There, as far as the eye can see, are masses of Turkish troops. The Sultan sits astride a white charger at the head of the colossal force, which with the banging of drums, the wail of horns, the waving of banners and flags, and shouted huzzahs has begun its march on the city's open western gate. The sun shines down from a near cloudless sky, glinting off weapons and armor and brightly illuminating the awesome scene.
On his approach, Adelfi and I are shoved before the Sultan, flanked by the two lieutenants, and forced to our knees.
"As ordered, your Excellency!" bellows the Captain smartly.
Mehmet raises his hand to halt the column. The sudden cessation of movement is duly communicated backwards in a reverberating chorus of commands, and the army stands down as if a great serpent brought to bay. Ripples of movement result in the spreading of its wings, the better to view the reason for the halt. It seems as though the entire Turkish army is looking at us.
Mehmet says nothing. The silence is awkward. I can feel those strangely magnetic eyes roving over my body and fixing me once again in their powerful gaze.
The Captain, clears his throat. "We await your orders, your Excellency. What is to be done with these two?"
"Execute them as Christians in the Roman manner before the gates of the Great Mosque," he whispers nearly inaudibly.
Raising his hand again, he signals the resumption of the march. The order is relayed back, and the great army reforms into its serpentine column. The lieutenants drag us to our feet, and press us into the march directly behind the Sultan and his mounted entourage. The Captain takes his place behind us and we move forward.
Soon we are through the city's great western gate, and winding our way through the city. Crowds line the route. Many are sullen faced ... survivors of three days of pillage and rape, forced out on the streets to pay homage to their new masters. They lower their gaze as the Sultan passes, but take special interest in us as we stumble along nakedly, flanked by the two brightly uniformed lieutenants and followed closely by the Captain of the Guard.
The city is still smoky; fires still smoulder. We must constantly step around corpses and debris as we march.
Eventually we reach the old Roman center, with its grand buildings and colonnaded spaces strung out along the spine of the city, many in ruins. And the great dome of old Hagia Sophia looms ahead.
The head of the column comes to a halt, and the army gathers and spreads, taking positions in the open spaces of the old Roman fora and hippodrome.
The Sultan turns in his saddle, points at Adelfi and me, and says to the Captain. "Here! I shall have them executed in this place, at the entrance to the hippodrome and under the shadow of the great dome of Ayosofa, where all can observe. I want them scourged and ready to be crucified just after noon, at precisely the moment the Friday prayer begins. And I order that the entire population be forced to troop past them in silence, so that there fate may be taken as a warning that nothing less than complete obedience shall be tolerated in the city."
I glance to the sky. The sun is already well on its way to its zenith.
With no time to waste, we are seized at once and marched over to an ancient whipping post ... one of many scattered around the city of the public punishment of miscreants of all kinds.
TO BE CONTINUED
no, you just get re-born for another round of suffering -if you're executed, that would seem to spell the end of desires...
it's just like being a girl on CruxForums
So much for the end of suffering. Seems that suffering is only just beginning. Hard hitting chapter, Barb.
I thought they were being executed as Christians, not Buddhists.no, you just get re-born for another round of suffering -
it's just like being a girl on CruxForums
"Execute them as Christians in the Roman manner before the gates of the Great Mosque," he whispers nearly inaudibly.
The Sultan speaks softly and carries a big cross
Nice atmospheric episode, with the smoky, weary fallen city, the helpless girls, and the irresistible force of the Sultan's "justice". Nice manip Madi, the power and majesty of the Sultan and his army contrasting with the naked girls, who you've captured very well.
The Sultan speaks softly and carries a big cross
Nice atmospheric episode, with the smoky, weary fallen city, the helpless girls, and the irresistible force of the Sultan's "justice". Nice manip Madi, the power and majesty of the Sultan and his army contrasting with the naked girls, who you've captured very well.
The power and majesty of the Sultan, who was naked and unconscious on the floor, clonked on the head by a slave girl. They may be crucified, but nobody can take that away from them.
This is why the Sultan is so angry and whispers in his rage, I think. He was found in a most embarrassing state. Hardly the "great lion of Allah" that he wants people to see.
Yessssssssss.... that should make the point.
The entire population?
Seeing Barb naked and suffering?
Hope she's not shy.
At least everyone will be wiser, having seen you, Barb.
18.
Just before midday, 1 June 1453
The ancient whipping post to which we are to be bound bears the blood stains of countless victims. Situated in the open forum at the entrance to the Hippodrome and overshadowed by the great dome of Hagia Sophia, the post is said to date back nearly to the Roman city's founding by Constantine.
Adelfi and I are positioned so as to face the post, more or less side by side. Our arms are raised above our heads and our wrists secured with ropes to iron rings ... with just enough slack given to allow us to twist, writhe and jump around under the bite of the lash.
"How convenient! A whipping post right where it's needed," remarks Adelfi caustically as she is forced into position up against the post.
"Stop complaining! You got us into this! Hitting the Sultan over the head with that shield probably wasn't such a good idea," I hiss, wincing as the bonding cord is cinched around my wrists.
"Seemed the thing to do at the time. We got away didn't we?"
"Well, not quite or we wouldn't be here now, would we?"
One of the Captain's lieutenants has been delegated to administer our floggings. Stripped to the waist, he flexes his muscles and engages in a few practice swings with his whip, the ends of which almost sing as they slash through the heavy stillness of the late morning air.
"He's going to tear us apart with that thing!" gulps Adelfi.
But before the lieutenant can turn the business end of his whip to our tender flesh a sudden breeze springs up. The winds off the waters of the Bosporus and Sea of Marmara have swung around to waft over the the city, feeding still smoldering fires along the waterfront districts and raising dense clouds of smoke to darken the sky. The heated currents of wind stir my hair and caress my skin.
"Is that some kind of omen?" cries Adelfi, looking skyward.
"It can't be good, if it is!"
But now our whipping begins. The first stroke comes without warning and rips across my bare back, forcing me to press my chest hard against the unyielding sturdiness of the post, and forcing a long cry of anguish from my lips that is almost immediately drowned out by a chorus of cheers from the throats of thousands of watching Turkish soldiers.
The next lash catches Adelfi in the small of her back, causing her to arch and twist, smashing her hip into mine. The one after that stripes my buttocks, and is quickly followed up by a diagonal slash across Adelfi's shoulder blades that also nicks my shoulder and bites at the back of my neck.
The Captain's lieutenant is a wizard with the whip, lashing us hard and accurately and at a tempo that soon sets us to wild writhing and dancing. We swing about, kick and jump ... alternately slamming ourselves against the post and smashing into one another. Our yelps and screams intermingle with the shouts and cheers of the onlooking soldiers.
In our desperate efforts to escape his deadly aim, our legs become entangled and Adelfi is spun about so that she faces him. He takes full advantage of her full frontal exposure to mercilessly punish her breasts, belly and thighs.
Then turning to me, he takes pleasure in setting my quivering ass cheeks afire with a rapid series of strokes, before systematically raking me over from thighs to shoulders.
How many strokes had been already delivered is impossible to know... they came so fast and furious ... and all I can think about is moving frantically about in the hope of minimizing the agony.
Not until I think that I can take no more, and Adelfi leans listlessly against my flank, nearly unconscious, do the lashes finally cease.
I shake my head groggily, lean back away from the post, and blinking tears from my smarting eyes try to look around.
The Sultan has vanished. And everyone's eyes have turned away from Adelfi and me to the dome of Hagia Sophia.
I remember the Sultan's orders ... that we should be publicly crucified in the old Roman fashion precisely at the time of the midday Friday prayer.
It's time!
Overhead, the sun has reached its zenith.
The Sultan is entering the mosque to pray.
"Is it over?" moans Adelfi, rousing herself and peering around unsteadily.
"No, The worst is yet to come!"
TO BE CONTINUED
Just before midday, 1 June 1453
The ancient whipping post to which we are to be bound bears the blood stains of countless victims. Situated in the open forum at the entrance to the Hippodrome and overshadowed by the great dome of Hagia Sophia, the post is said to date back nearly to the Roman city's founding by Constantine.
Adelfi and I are positioned so as to face the post, more or less side by side. Our arms are raised above our heads and our wrists secured with ropes to iron rings ... with just enough slack given to allow us to twist, writhe and jump around under the bite of the lash.
"How convenient! A whipping post right where it's needed," remarks Adelfi caustically as she is forced into position up against the post.
"Stop complaining! You got us into this! Hitting the Sultan over the head with that shield probably wasn't such a good idea," I hiss, wincing as the bonding cord is cinched around my wrists.
"Seemed the thing to do at the time. We got away didn't we?"
"Well, not quite or we wouldn't be here now, would we?"
One of the Captain's lieutenants has been delegated to administer our floggings. Stripped to the waist, he flexes his muscles and engages in a few practice swings with his whip, the ends of which almost sing as they slash through the heavy stillness of the late morning air.
"He's going to tear us apart with that thing!" gulps Adelfi.
But before the lieutenant can turn the business end of his whip to our tender flesh a sudden breeze springs up. The winds off the waters of the Bosporus and Sea of Marmara have swung around to waft over the the city, feeding still smoldering fires along the waterfront districts and raising dense clouds of smoke to darken the sky. The heated currents of wind stir my hair and caress my skin.
"Is that some kind of omen?" cries Adelfi, looking skyward.
"It can't be good, if it is!"
But now our whipping begins. The first stroke comes without warning and rips across my bare back, forcing me to press my chest hard against the unyielding sturdiness of the post, and forcing a long cry of anguish from my lips that is almost immediately drowned out by a chorus of cheers from the throats of thousands of watching Turkish soldiers.
The next lash catches Adelfi in the small of her back, causing her to arch and twist, smashing her hip into mine. The one after that stripes my buttocks, and is quickly followed up by a diagonal slash across Adelfi's shoulder blades that also nicks my shoulder and bites at the back of my neck.
The Captain's lieutenant is a wizard with the whip, lashing us hard and accurately and at a tempo that soon sets us to wild writhing and dancing. We swing about, kick and jump ... alternately slamming ourselves against the post and smashing into one another. Our yelps and screams intermingle with the shouts and cheers of the onlooking soldiers.
In our desperate efforts to escape his deadly aim, our legs become entangled and Adelfi is spun about so that she faces him. He takes full advantage of her full frontal exposure to mercilessly punish her breasts, belly and thighs.
Then turning to me, he takes pleasure in setting my quivering ass cheeks afire with a rapid series of strokes, before systematically raking me over from thighs to shoulders.
How many strokes had been already delivered is impossible to know... they came so fast and furious ... and all I can think about is moving frantically about in the hope of minimizing the agony.
Not until I think that I can take no more, and Adelfi leans listlessly against my flank, nearly unconscious, do the lashes finally cease.
I shake my head groggily, lean back away from the post, and blinking tears from my smarting eyes try to look around.
The Sultan has vanished. And everyone's eyes have turned away from Adelfi and me to the dome of Hagia Sophia.
I remember the Sultan's orders ... that we should be publicly crucified in the old Roman fashion precisely at the time of the midday Friday prayer.
It's time!
Overhead, the sun has reached its zenith.
The Sultan is entering the mosque to pray.
"Is it over?" moans Adelfi, rousing herself and peering around unsteadily.
"No, The worst is yet to come!"
TO BE CONTINUED
I'm personally surprised anyone is still conscious.
I don't think they'll be running away from this. Perhaps Barb and Adelfi should say some prayers as well.
That was an ordeal, Barb! You can feel the sweat of the almost spent bodies of the girls. Does the ominous wind bring good news to the girls or to the soldiers?
Wow! That even brought tears to my eyes!
Barb's writing at its best... and superb images from Madiosi, too!
