"Shakh Esarhaddon, what difference does it make where the scoundrel is garrisoned? How can that have any bearing whatsoever upon what we do with him?" Ubri demanded brusquely in the tongue of the Southern people. "This fellow has obviously gotten into trouble with his superiors and fled to save his own skin."

"Then let them deal with him!" Esarhaddon shot back, irritated at what he considered his underling's insolence. "Captain Ubri, I have done business with Minas Morgul for years! They do not take lightly to outsiders determining the fate of one of their own!"

"Yes, my lord, of course, you are correct," Ubri replied, abashed by the slaver's mild rebuke and feeling that he was close to losing face.

Confused by the discussion, Ganbar tugged his nose as he rehearsed his words before speaking. To avoid a reoccurrence of his earlier bout of stuttering, he knew he must speak slowly and carefully. "My lords, I judge that this orc is nothing more than a common soldier of little importance. If he were of any consequence, he would already be dead. Why can we not simply kill him and bury the body? Who will ever know the difference?"

Before either Esarhaddon or Ubri had a chance to answer Ganbar's question, Inbir grated out angrily, "My lords, this foul-formed, ill-begotten miscreant has besmirched our honor! How can we let this insult to our integrity go unchallenged? It is our duty to kill this gangrel, for his lust-filled eyes have gawked upon the unclad bodies of the women! If this were Harad, he would be dead already!"

"But this is not Harad, Inbir," Esarhaddon reminded him. "It is the Kingdom of Morgul. Have you asked yourself what is the value of honor if you are dead?"

Inbir was not to be dissuaded by the slaver's words, though, for his hot Southern blood was up, and he demanded satisfaction. "My lord," he forced his voice to be calm, "I know I am the youngest of our group and have neither the experience nor the wisdom of the rest of you, but I feel that if a man does not have pride and honor, he has nothing." Fired up with righteous indignation, the young man's face was dark with wrath and his hands shook.

Walking over to the young man, Esarhaddon put his hand on his shoulder to calm him. "While I would be just as quick to spill his blood as you are, Inbir, we must be practical. We are in the business to make a profit, not fight orcs," the slave trader told him quietly. "The two slave girls are unharmed. The orc only had a quick look at them before they ran away. His gaze has not decreased their value by so much as a single copper coin."

Too riled at what he considered gross injustice to cool down easily, Inbir stared at the slaver. Uncomfortable at the tense atmosphere, the other men shifted their positions and looked away. Knowing that he was the cause of their unease, Inbir began to wish that he had never challenged the Shakh. He forced himself to weigh his motives, and as he considered the slaver's logic, he knew he could not argue with it. The slaves had neither come to any harm nor decreased in value.

Why then had he been so belligerent? He knew the answer before he even asked the question. Ever since he had found the little barbarian, Elffled, by the stream, he had been infatuated by her beauty. How he wished he had enough coin to purchase both her and Aeffe!

"Shakh, you are right." Inbir looked down at the ground. He would not argue with the slaver's logic any longer.

"Inbir, I thought you might come around to my reasoning." Esarhaddon allowed himself a wry smile as he turned to face his men. "We must all remember that we are not far from the Dark City here." His expression turning grave, Esarhaddon glanced down, staring at the rings on his interlocked fingers. "There are spies everywhere in these woods, and while we may not see them, you can be sure they are watching us. Even if by some chance they should miss us, there is always a possibility that a rider of one of those abominations of nature - the bizarre crosses between lizards and birds, the scaly featherless rocs - could fly by at any moment and see us!" To emphasize his point, the slaver's eyes flicked to the skies. "While I would prefer another way, I accept that our only choice is to take him back to his city." Though Ganbar and Inbir scowled and muttered, they deferred to Esarhaddon and did not comment.

His pride still stinging from the earlier reprimand, Ubri was eager to regain face. "Shakh, perhaps returning him to the City is the best idea. Mayhap we will even be given a reward for our diligence in apprehending this troublemaker," he suggested. "At the very least, we should rise in the favor of the rulers of the valley."

Esarhaddon laughed mirthlessly. "The Lords of the City consider it boon enough that they allow us to live and pass through their land unharmed. There will be no thanks for returning this fellow. The Seneschal of the city will regard it as his due." His impatience to be away growing, the slaver frowned, his brow knitting up. "Now, men, we have spent enough time on this discussion. We need to be about our business." He flexed his arms with a clench of his fists. "Saddle up!"

While waiting for the men to conclude their deliberations, Elfhild had been far too distressed to remain sitting still for long. Fidgeting, she had looked about for something to occupy her restless hands, and noticed that a pile of wood - kindling which had not been needed to feed the fire - lay nearby. Picking up a long stick, she absentmindedly began breaking off small sections and throwing them one by one into the flames. Sitting cross-legged, Elffled hunched forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin cupped between her hands. Yawning, she watched her sister's useless pursuit. How monotonous it was to sit there and do nothing!

A horse snorted nearby. Both girls lifted startled eyes to see Inbir leading his own and their horses into the clearing. Instantly on their feet when they saw him, the twins bowed deferentially. Both felt uncomfortable in his presence, for he had seen them when they were running naked through the woods. The pink blush of color on their cheeks reflected their embarrassment. Too ashamed even to look in his direction, Elffled was glad that she was not required to lift her face and gaze into his eyes. Elfhild, though, was relieved that at last the waiting was over and something was happening.

"Slave girls, you have idled long enough! We break camp in a few minutes," Inbir told them gruffly as he looped the reins of his own mount and Elffled's over the branches of a small bush. Turning his back to them, he tightened the girth on Elfhild's gelding. When he glanced at them again, his expression was stern. "Here, I will help you mount." Lightly placing a foot into his cupped hands, Elfhild gripped the pommel of the saddle as he lifted her up.

"Thank you, Master Inbir, but I could have managed that on my own," Elfhild told him politely.

"I take no chances with valuable property. If it were up to me, both of you would be transported in a litter carried by slaves."

After he had helped Elffled onto her horse, Inbir moved to the fire pit and kicked dirt into the dying fire to smother it out completely. Already loaded, the pack horses were tethered a few yards away, and after untying their ropes, Inbir mounted his own horse and turned to face the sisters. "Since Captain Ubri and Ganbar are guarding the orc, I have been assigned to make certain that neither one of you gets into trouble. Do you understand that?" He glanced from one girl to the other.

"Yes, Master," Elffled murmured. He was so close, so temptingly close. Though she knew that she should not, she shyly peeked up at him through long, thick eyelashes. The sight of his wiry, muscular body, handsome face, and dark, kohl-rimmed eyes caused her heart to flutter and her blood to pound in her ears. Why, oh why, did this enemy have to be so disastrously handsome? She was so weak! Her friend Aeffe was infatuated with him, and perhaps he was just as infatuated with her! Elffled must drive all thoughts of Inbir out of her mind and force herself never to dwell upon him again!

"Master, may I be allowed a question?" Elfhild asked deferentially, studying the reins in her hand.

"Yes," Inbir answered, barely flicking her a disinterested glance. "What is it?" His gaze returned to Elffled, and he frowned when he saw that she was ignoring him.

Elfhild hesitated, uncertain as to how to broach such a subject. "Will - will you tie our hands later?" She must not get her hopes up. Surely Inbir had forgotten to tie them up, but perhaps not. Maybe the young Southron was playing some cruel joke, and just as their spirits brightened, he would bind their hands once more.

"No, the kind and beneficent Shakh has ordained that you will ride with your hands unbound," Inbir told her. "Be grateful to him, you worthless slaves! Considering your constant willfulness, many men would not treat you so kindly! Now move ahead to the clearing and wait! I must fetch the pack horses!"

Murmuring her thanks, Elfhild touched her heels to her horse's sides, urging the gelding into a brisk walk. How strange it was to be riding side by side with her sister! Free of the hated ropes, they were actually being allowed to control their own mounts. How good the reins felt in their hands after so long!

With this heady sense of newfound freedom restoring some of their confidence, the twins rode to the little glade where the rest of the party waited. Before they ever reached the clearing, though, they heard a noisy commotion. Loud, harsh voices barked orders, shouted insults and cursed, but even louder than the Southrons' boisterous clamor were the primal, animalistic grunts, growls, shrieks and sobs of the orc. Alarmed, the twins drew in their horses at the edge of the clearing.

Mounted on his chestnut mare, Ka'adara, Esarhaddon acknowledged the sisters' presence with only the slightest of sideways glances. His eyes were fixed upon the howling orc, who had fallen face-down on the ground, his bound hands smashed beneath him. His hard, thin lips curled upward in a pitiless grin, Captain Ubri stood poised above the orc, his legs spread wide. In the Southron's hand was the foot-long handle of a vicious cat-o-nine. The Captain gazed admiringly at the instrument of torture, its two-foot-long square-shaped tresses of stiff oiled cowhide trailing down, the tips barely touching the orc's back. The whip was fairly new, the tails still sharp and capable of dealing wicked, flesh-rending cuts.

Turning ashen pale at the impending violence, Elffled buried her head in her hands. Her sister, though, was unable to tear her eyes away from the scene, and she watched as though mesmerized. Still innocent of such fiendish devices, she had never seen a whip so formidable as the one which rested in the Captain's hand. A shudder rippled over Elfhild's body as she thought with horror, "On a whim, they can use such hell-spawned instruments on us at any time they want! What other devilish things are they capable of doing?" Whipped only three times with a light deerskin flogger the previous afternoon, her punishment had been mild compared to what the orc now faced.

Drawing the whip back, the Captain brought the tresses dancing across the orc's calves, forcing a howl of pain from the beast's throat. The Captain raised the whip again, delivering a stinging medley of grief across the orc's already bleeding legs. Shrieking, the orc stumbled to his feet and staggered a few steps.

Scarcely able to believe that she was in this peaceful glade and watching such merciless cruelty, Elfhild gripped the pommel of her saddle to steady herself. Flooding across her mind were all the scenes of misery and agony which she had beheld over the past few months, all the pain, horror and suffering brought about by the war. Unable to bear any more, she screamed, a piercing cry that brought the eyes of all the men upon her. She felt her stomach clench in a terrible spasm as a wave of nausea rushed over her. She flung her hands to her mouth, on the verge of retching.

The Captain's eyes darted to the Shakh's face. "My lord," his mild voice was an humble simper, "such distractions can disrupt my rhythm and lessen the force of the stroke. Might I ask that these women be removed until the punishment is completed?"

"No," Esarhaddon answered quietly, "they will stay and watch until the creature has been taught obedience. He is a runaway, just as they are. Perhaps there are also lessons here for them to learn." The slaver's lips curled in a pleasant smile. "Captain, you may continue."

"Aye, my lord." Ubri bowed and raised the whip in salute to Esarhaddon. Turning back to the orc, Ubri lashed the brute's legs with sharp, stinging blows, raising bloody welts on the orc's skin. "You lazy filth, are you ready to march now?" Ubri cried, lashing the orc's legs over and over. Excited by the orc's pain, he was like a man who had eaten the sacred mushrooms before a battle. The sound of the whip striking flesh filled him with feelings of elation and power. All of his senses were alive, and he could stand all day, bringing the whip up and down! Thrilled with the sensation and seeking to cause the orc the most extreme amount of pain, the Captain allowed the tresses to wrap around the orc's calves, the sharp ends raking his flesh as the whip was drawn back.

"Master, mercy! I beg you! Don't beat Talûn again! Mercy, please! Mercy! Akh! I'll walk! I'll do anything you say!" the orc wailed as he stumbled forward. His eyes bright with pain, he prayed to the Dark Lords that someday he might have this weak bastard's throat in his hands. Even if he died in the process, he would enjoy watching this weakling's eyes bulge, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, as he crushed his windpipe. If there was any justice upon Middle-earth, this man would die at his hands someday!

Breathing hard, the Captain halted the flagellation and turned to the Shakh, his eyes questioning. "My lord? What say you? Shall I halt or continue?"

"Captain, I believe this fellow will give you no more trouble. You may now cease. We need to be away from here," Esarhaddon pronounced, his attention drawn to the encroaching rain clouds in the west. His hand gently stroked his horse's neck, his fingers smoothing over the glossy chestnut hair. "You are impatient to be going, are you not, my little fox?" he murmured to the animal. This whipping would scarcely be recorded in the memory of the slaver, nothing more than another unremarkable punishment which would soon be forgotten.

The scourging at last finished, Ubri turned and strode to his horse. Before mounting, he fastened the wrist strap of the whip to a ring on the back of his saddle, where it would be convenient should he need it again. Turning in the saddle, he reached back, opened a flap on the saddlebag, and drew out a linen handkerchief. After taking a drink from his waterskin, he poured a few drops of water on the cloth and mopped over his sweating brow. The captain nodded to Ganbar, who placed a noosed rope about the orc's neck and handed the end up to him. Wrapping the rope securely around the pommel of his saddle, Ubri looked to the slaver for orders.

"Now once again we can resume our journey," the Shakh drawled in a disinterested voice as he touched his heels to his horse's sides. "Let us head for the city!"

"My lord Shakh, I do not think our friend here is in any hurry to return. Maybe he is afraid of the reception he will receive," Ganbar chortled, spitting in the direction of the orc. Esarhaddon pretended that he had not heard, while Inbir gave his comrade a token laugh. Although the laughter was forced, Ubri chuckled heartily, already feeling fatigued as he often did after such strenuous exercise.

The small procession set out with Esarhaddon in the lead. None of them looked back at the glade, where peace had once again returned. The orc shuffled along in misery behind Ubri, who jerked upon the rope whenever his pace slackened. Ganbar, his own whip at hand, rode at the orc's back, ready to drive him forward with a well-placed lash. Wary of the beast ahead of them, the twins gave the orc a wide berth. Elffled turned to her sister, and, seeing that she was weeping quietly, reached out and touched her sleeve. Making up the rear of the column was Inbir, whose handsome face wore a brooding, sullen expression.

"Not the most auspicious way to begin the journey into Mordor," the young Southron scowled. He looked up apprehensively at the foreboding mountains, where the sun had just broken through the murky clouds.

His expression thoughtful, Ganbar clicked his tongue and commented matter-of-factly, "That little bit of brightness will not last. It appears that we are in for more rain."

As she rode, Elfhild studied the brute who was forced to march step by agonizing step. His bloody, lacerated legs stumbled sometimes, but a jerk on the noose at his neck brought him forward, gasping for breath. No helm was upon the beast's head and his right boot was missing. His sable leather armor, which appeared to have been embellished with a whitish emblem at one time, hung in strips that offered little protection. He was a gangling creature, short and squat with long mawkish arms that would have almost dragged the ground had they not been tied in front of him.

As she watched him struggle ahead, Elfhild felt pity for the pathetic creature. Once, such a notion would have been unthinkable to her. Back in the days of peace, she would cheer when she listened to the tales of bold riders who went bravely out to slay the foul brutes. Orcs were fiends, monsters, more ignoble than the most wretched of beasts. Riders sang joyous songs as their swords severed the heads of the creatures. Old warriors would tell their grandchildren about the great number of orcs which they had killed and consider such slaughter as sport, a good pastime for a young man. But Elfhild had felt no gladness when she had slain the orc who had murdered her mother. Stranger still, she sometimes felt pity in her heart for his kind.

An ugly, savage-looking brute, some bizarre combination of animal and man, still Talûn the orc spoke and comprehended language and felt pain, the same as any man. A vicious, formidable enemy who was capable of unbelievable savagery and merciless cruelty, but a thinking enemy nonetheless. Had she and her sister not witnessed the same barbarism in men as they had beheld in orcs?

Was the race of Orcs really that much different from Men?

Or was there any difference at all under the skin?