The blood was the color of rusted steel, and the
fearsome braided leather bull whip was never placed on the stone
pedestal -nor left there for very long- unless it's owner had found
some particular reason and intended to use it in very short order.
Master Rababull regarded his chief underling with a faint sneer and
barked, "Swear to me Slavemaster that all you have spoken is truth and
that my every command was obeyed to the fullest!"
"I, Habrunt, so swear it!"
Habrunt dared not say more. One must be utterly unshakable, and make no
effort to justify one's self upon another's blind graces at such a
time. Was he not entrusted with the charge of all the slaves of the
House of Rababull? Should he then waste mere empty words with such
self-justification as any common thief would not hesitate to do?
Master Rababull said nothing to this, but remained frowning silently
for a long time. Suddenly he turned and clapped his hands, cocking his
head in an imperious gesture and called, "Bring her in!"
Huge and powerful, Prut promptly emerged from the House, where he had
obviously been waiting all of this time just out of sight. His big fist
held Si'Wren's thin upper arm in an unshakable grip as he escorted her
forward to stand in front of Master Rababull at the top of the front
steps.
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