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The Blood
on the Shroud by Yagov Sangria
The town in this remote region of China was quite large, which was
unusual for a province not on a direct trade route. Originally begun on the
flat part at the top of a hill, the town had grown and expanded down the
hill, its walls meandering like a lazy stream around it. The main thoroughfare was actually paved, a rarity in these parts, and
was wide enough for six full carts to pass in tandem without even casting
shadows on each other. When it rained, the paved thoroughfare ran with water
that effectively cleaned the manure droppings from the oxen and livestock and
washed it under the city walls and out well beyond. Smaller "streets" wound their way from the paved one. These
led from the larger shops to the smaller craft guild areas and to the homes.
The streets were not paved, but the clay in the soil and the frequent
trampling the ground received made them just as hard as the paved main
avenue. The main square was at the top of the hill, where the ground was more
level. It, too, was paved. The shops around its border were the oldest in the
town and had been frequently modified with haphazard renovations and
additions. Second and third story apartments jutted precariously over the fronts
of the shop and looked like they would tumble if some god or demon weren't
holding them up. But these apartments (the windows of which were stuffed with
people's faces as they looked upon the square) provided a corridor of
protection from the rain or the beating sun. The people from the town and the countryside had been coming in
throngs all morning. They stood behind the colored
chalk lines according to their station. Some sat on the rooftops to get their
view. One would think that acrobats were coming, or that the faire was about
to begin, for the animated talk was festive. People chatted about their
crops, their children, the cloudy skies overhead, and everything that one
would expect in normal, common conversation. The clouds were beginning to dissipate and sporadic moments of
sunshine foretold that the day would be a hot one. A mother was picking at her teeth with an ivory-colored
stick while she nursed her nearly sleeping infant. There was an air of
expectation--and then, like a ripple spreading through a pond, word spread
from the city gates to the central square. The governor had arrived. The first to enter the privileged area of the square were a few of the
courtiers and attendants. Six burly men--three in front and three behind,
each with their arms firmly to their sides and grasping an ornate pole in
each hand--slowly carried the chair upon which Governor Tsi
sat. Behind the governor were the soldiers, prisoners, and executioners.
The governor's chair was expertly lowered and the poles were quickly removed,
as the prisoners and executioners were brought to the opposite end of the
clear area. Governor Tsi didn't care for his name. He
had always joked that it sounded like some child had sneezed and was holding
it back. In fact, the children of the province always giggled and would go
"ah, ah, Tsi!" when adults mentioned his
name or when they were playing. Governor Tsi knew
of this ridicule, but he chose to ignore it as he realized that no one was
harmed by these childish diversions. As everything was being readied, the governor sat rigidly upright in
his chair wearing his bright yellow robes with the sky-blue borders that he
was so proud to have. It was a gift from the emperor. The gift was unusual
because this emperor's idea of a gift was to slaughter people for the
slightest offense, real or imagined. Governor Tsi was just grateful that his
province was so far removed from anything imperial that he usually could keep
a low profile. Recent uprisings and revolts, however, had startled and
frightened the emperor whose solution was to impose even harsher edicts
across the country. The governor had managed to adeptly sidestep most of
these, but he had uncovered a plot, albeit a small one, in his own province,
and now his duty demanded that he had to act. He was stroking his long, narrow beard when one of the shopkeepers
forced his way forward, giving a withering look at the guard who had the
nerve to stop him. He held out a container and gestured in the direction of
the important man. Amused, Governor Tsi motioned him forward,
and the portly, grinning man bowed and offered his beverage to the nobleman.
The nephew of Lord Chung leaned forward and whispered into Tsi's ear, and the governor nodded. He poured most of the
beverage into an ornate glass and returned the remainder to the shopkeeper,
gesturing that he should drink it first. Smiling so that his cheeks appeared
to be on the brink of bursting, the man sipped the beverage, then chugged the
rest. He turned to the crowd as if to say "See?" and flexed his
arms to indicate that the drink had refreshed him and made him stronger. The
crowd smiled and the governor drank the draught, its pleasant coolness a
welcomed relief. The shopkeeper knew that his shop would be crowded with customers
after today's exhibition, and he shoved his way back through the crowd to get
to his shop and make ready. Despite Governor Tsi's exalted position and
pampered existence, the man was remarkably fit and healthy. His beard was
only just recently beginning to show a scattered gray hair or two. He was
just about ready to begin the proceedings when a small boy of five in the
front of the crowd, who had been picking his nose while his father chatted
with his neighbor, pointed to the governor and
shouted so all could hear, "Look Papa! Ah... AH... AHHH... TSI!" He
gave an exaggerated fake sneeze that made his father and everyone gasp as the
boy stood there with a wide, self-satisfied grin as he crossed his arms over
his little chest. Governor Tsi arched an eyebrow and smiled.
"Young man, that's Governor Ah-Ah-AHH TSI," and he gave his own
pretended stifled sneeze. The crowd chuckled and even one of the condemned men cracked a smile.
The father hurried the little mischief-maker further back into the crowd
before he did anything more serious. Governor "Ah-Tsi", as he was
fondly called after that incident, was a man loved and respected by all in
this province. Unlike the emperor, the governor was polite and even friendly
to the general populace and was far more than fair in his dealings with them.
He always under-reported the population so the tax burden wouldn't be too
harsh. He got away with it because the province was remote and because he did
not keep as large a portion for himself as other governors did. He could
never be bribed in his official judicial decisions and he often helped the
poor. What he was forced to do today seemed to be totally against what he
would have chosen to do if he had had the chance, but these men had been
trying to develop a plot to rise up against the emperor, and he had to act
harshly. Wearily, Governor Tsi gestured to the
puffed-up courtier who was impatiently awaiting his role in today's
performance. The man had the overweight appearance of one who indulged in
gratifying himself too frequently. His robes were silk--black with scarlet
trim. His monotone and scratchy voice irritated the governor, and five
minutes into his dialog, the people were shifting about uneasily. This man
would likely read on for the better part of an hour at this rate. "Sir," the governor interrupted. "I do not mean to show
any disrespect to you or to the emperor, but we are all aware of my titles,
awards, and official recognitions, as well as those of the emperor, his court,
his army, and even those of the fly on his nose." The crowd chuckled. "It is getting very warm here, and I am in the shade. Let's move
on to the charges before our prisoners expire prematurely." The courtier puffed his cheeks out, obviously displeased that all of
his preparation was going to be wasted, but the governor had spoken. "For sedition against the emperor, this country, the province
of--" The man seemed destined to drone on, but he finally got to the name of
the first prisoner--after deliberately included references to several of the
governor's titles for spite. The first man was of medium height and build. He was somewhere around
the age of twenty-seven and was of low birth. He was shirtless, and the
ragged cloth he wore was faded from too much use. It barely made it to his
knees. He had a sudden intake of breath but somberly
walked forward, his hands tied behind him with rough rope. His executioner
laid a hand lightly on his shoulder and he nearly collapsed as he knelt.
Spectators swore they could see his heart pounding in his chest, yet he
approached his fate with a dignity that belied his low station that was due
only to his birth. A few of his relatives were wiping tears from their eyes, but there
was a general hush and no one else moved. The executioner grabbed the man's
long braid and, using a short sword, cut it off. The prisoner winced as he
realized that his only emblem of honor was gone.
His heart sank and he felt as if he had had his manhood stripped from him. His shoulders drooped when the queue was tossed in front of him. All,
he realized, was lost now. Governor Tsi shifted uncomfortably and moved
his robes to hide his burgeoning erection. This aspect of himself, that he
could and did become aroused when men were suffering or being executed, was
one he could not control but which bothered him deeply. Unlike other men in
power with similar appetites, however, he did not let his desires affect his
judicial verdicts or his edicts. Lord Chung's nephew, however, was fully
aware of the governor's arousal and both had shared their intimate fantasies
while embraced in each other's arms. The muscular younger man often was on
the receiving end of some punishment he had wanted to endure at the hands of
his lover. The executioner stepped behind and to the left of the condemned man,
his left big toe on a line with the man's ear. He raised his sword above his
head, paused almost too long, then swung it down so that it connected just
below the hairline of the man's neck. A swish and a swift blur were all that
the spectators could see, but in the next instant, the man's head was
leaping, as if by magic, from his shoulders and made an arc as it flew across
the clearing. With a dull thud, it landed in front of a spectator. The force
of the blow thrust the body forward, and in a lifeless slap of flesh against
stone, it came to rest, blood oozing swiftly from the horrid wound. Some of the blood had splashed onto a few spectators, but they
welcomed this, as it was an omen of good fortune to them. The remaining prisoners had watched all this and the face of one of
the men, an older, scrawny man who did not have a braid, was so contorted in
horror and anguish that it resembled the image of the Western theatre mask
for Tragedy. He began a low, moaning sound that kept increasing until his
executioner shook him. Staring blankly at the bearer of his fate, he looked but did not at
first see him. The image of the sword through the neck of his co-conspirator
was burned into his eyes and probably would be the last image he would see. "Stop that! You are ruining the show. These good people came here
for a show and you are ruining it!" The man dumbly looked at the spectators hanging from the opened
windows, gaily waving a brightly colored cloth or
fan at a friend in the crowd. Yes. It was a show, and he was a participant.
He had his part to play just as he had watched others play their part in the
executions he had come to witness as a lad. Sobered, although still sad, he
straightened himself up and took a deep breath. He was about to step forward
when his executioner laid a hand on his shoulder, restraining him. "So now you are eager, eh? Wait your turn." Dumbfounded, the man watched as another was brought forward. This man was large, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His arms
were thick and muscular as was his neck, and his legs were as thick as tree
trunks. Despite his size, however, he had to be prodded forward, his feet
refusing to do more than shuffle. His executioner used the point of his sword
to prod the man's back. The sharp pains goaded the reluctant victim forward.
The short, thick neck would be a challenge for the soldier impelling the man
on, and he was irritated that the man was making him lose his concentration. The condemned man's head drooped to his broad chest and he stared at
his large, dark nipples. The braid on his head was removed while he stood,
and his executioner became flustered with himself for having blundered before
he had a chance to begin. Would the governor replace him as the executioner?
He hoped not. Slowly, the man sank to his knees and lifted his head, his mouth
gaping and his eyes wide in fear. "Your Grace," he managed to say. It was customary for the
condemned to either make a final request or statement. Usually the request
had to do with where or how the body and head were to be displayed in public.
"Your Grace," he said more confidently, "with my...
death, I hope that all is cleared. You have been kind to my family and did
not condemn them to share my fate." He briefly gave thought to babbling
on and on. "I am heartily sorry if our misguided actions have brought
shame or dishonor upon you or in any way endangered
you." The people knew that, whenever there were popular uprisings, even
small ones like this, the ruling lord was almost always suspect. The man turned to his executioner and quietly said, "I am ready,
now." The hands holding the sword trembled slightly and sweat nearly clouded
the executioner's vision. He took a deep breath, stood firmly, and swung with
all of his might, lest he hit skull or jaw. Indeed, he felt a slight
hesitation in his swing as his blade hit a vertebra, but the sword swung
through neatly and managed to get enough momentum for the full swing to make
an almost complete a circle. The head bounced up off the sword and the eyes faced the sky for a
brief second before it landed to the right of the body. The man's torso was
still for a moment as blood surged to the wound and then spilled over the top,
cascading down his bare torso and broad back. Then it just collapsed like
some child's kite after the wind had died. The crowd murmured its approval and gave small applauses to the
executioner, who bowed gracefully to the governor and then, with a wide grin
betraying his satisfaction in a job well done and reveling
in the crowd's accolades, gave a deep bow in several directions before wiping
the blood off his blade and tossing the stained cloth into the crowd. The older, scrawny man was next. As the charges and sentence were
being read, he took a deep breath, walked confidently forward, bowed to the
governor and, still bent over, knelt facing the important man. He moved his chin out just in time, as the blade found its mark,
severing the head, which gently landed and wobbled slightly before the man's
body collapsed on top of it. Five more men were executed similarly. A boy was brought forward. Skinny and barely fourteen years old, he
looked even more like a child than he actually was in a country where youth
married and had children before they were sixteen. His mother was in the
front of the crowd and she was on her knees, hands clasped together, weeping
sorrowfully as she lamented her son's fate. The boy was dumbstruck by the
events and walked like a man already dead as his wide eyes looked at the
corpses of the men that hadn't yet been removed, their blood mixing and
beginning to slide along the pavement and down the slight incline. He looked
at his mother in the unfamiliar state she was in and couldn't connect his
fate as the cause of her immense distress. His mother was tugging at her hair as her women friends tried to
console her, hugging her and trying to get her to turn away. This was not the
last sight a mother should have of her son. In the middle of the charges, and just before the sentence was to be
read, the governor waved for the courtier to be silent--which took him a
while. Standing up, Governor Tsi walked to the
youth and placed a hand under his chin, looking into the lad's eyes. "How like a fawn's eyes. Just like a young deer trapped in a
hunt. How old are you, boy?" It took a while for the boy to comprehend. "Thirteen... no, that's not right. Fourteen." "Fourteen and condemned to death. (Sigh.) You are too young to
have known the significance of what these men were doing. You played at it
like a game of ball or like the ragamuffin who ties firecrackers to a cat's
tail. Isn't that right, son?" The governor had used an imperial and demanding tone that, even if the
youth had wanted to contradict him, he could not. "Yes, your lordship," came the weak reply from lips that
quivered. "The emperor is not a cruel man," the governor lied as he
shouted to the crowd. "When justice warrants the death penalty, as you
have seen, it will be meted out to rid the countryside of these vermin! But
justice here cannot condemn a child too young to know what the consequences
of his actions would likely be. I hereby cancel the penalty this sentence
imposes on you--but there are other consequences you must pay to avoid
falling into trouble again." The boy's mother was still wailing, as she had not heard the change in
sentence. She kept sobbing, "My son! Oh, my baby!" and rocked her
arms as if she still held a baby there. "My good woman," Governor Tsi said
compassionately as he knelt next to her--an unheard of action for a man of
his position. "You are a widow and have not had the time to devote to
keeping an eye on your son and keeping him out of trouble." She stopped crying and looked up. "Here is my sentence then. To keep your son under surveillance, I
will hire you as a cook and servant to my servants. Your son is to do womanly
chores for two years. He is to help you pluck the chickens, wash the clothes,
and do the menial and burdensome tasks that you should not do. After that
time, you will retire to your cottage with an income from the earnings your
son makes as my personal stablehand." Without saying another word, the governor returned to his chair as a
stunned woman struggled to try to throw herself at the kind man's feet to
thank him. The next condemned man was one of two who had been in the governor's
own army--and that had jeopardized the governor's reputation. Because of his
higher station, he was allowed to keep his braid, but he had it wound and
pinned it in a bun on top of his head. His hands weren't tied and he approached the governor's chair and
stiffly bowed at the waist. He only had a short loin covering on and his
athletic body was aptly displayed. Young women regretted that this fine body
would soon be pecked at by crows and insects as it hung outside the town
walls. Many men also regretted this, and none more than the governor did, for
he had tasted the fine pleasures this man could bring. "Your lordship. May I make a small request? I, too, regret my
poor decision to join in this sorrowful plot against the emperor, but only
because it didn't succeed and because it endangered you. To prove my courage
and valor to you, I humbly ask that the swordsman
remove this misguided head from the front, so that I must watch its descent.
If you let my hands remain untied, I can bring honor
back to the troops by not using them to fend off the blade." "I grant your request. Anything else?" The man hesitated and gave a sidelong glance at his remaining fellow
conspirators. "Yes. You have decreed that Lord Chung shall not be buried
with his genitals still attached to his corpse." He paused and removed
his loin covering, revealing a nice pair of testicles that hung low and the
penis the governor had loved to swallow. "I request that my body be
similarly defiled before my corpse is hung. As further humiliation," his
stomach was rapidly moving in and out as his breath quickened. He laid a
shaking hand on his private parts, "these should be nailed on a pole in
the barracks for the men to spit upon. My last request," he heaved a
relieved sigh that he was almost through with his ordeal, "is that my
headless body be hung upside down in the training compound for the men to use
as a target for their archery practice. I ask this as an officer of the third
order." Governor Tsi wanted to refuse this grisly
request, but the man's last sentence and his stalwart presence made it almost
impossible to ignore and refuse him. "Very well. But let it be marked that this was done at the
prisoner's request--not mine." He was very pleased at this turn of events as this shed a good light
upon him. When word got back to the emperor, the monarch should have no
doubts about his loyalty--although Governor Tsi
would have willingly joined forces with this group and put his resources and
finances behind their endeavor if he had thought
that it would even remotely succeed. The soldier knelt and lifted his chin. He felt a slight trembling that
he successfully fought to control as his executioner stepped into view and
took his stance. His heart beat furiously as if to pound all of its
life-giving juices into the body's tissues to keep it alive after the fatal
separation and his brain kept prodding him to duck, to flee, to avoid his
impending doom. A trickle of perspiration coursed its way over the muscular
chest and dripped onto the stones. He held firm, and only his eyes widened as the blade descended. The
velocity of the blade was much slower than the others had been, and the
soldier actually had time to register the feel of the blade as it sliced
through the skin of his throat. A blink later, and the brave head rolled off
the back as the body swayed like a drunken man's and fell forward. Curiously,
the head never actually left the body, as it continued to roll down the back
and nestled into the crevice formed by the back of the knees. The executioner, a soldier of the second class, undid the bun and let
the head drop as he held the end of the queue. He handed this to a colleague
and then turned the naked body over. Grasping the ill-fated cock and balls in
one hand and using a two-edged dagger with the other, the soldier betrayed
his eagerness and contempt by using more force than was necessary to sever
the jewels from the lifeless flesh. Each man in the crowd involuntarily clasped his thighs together to
protect his own precious package or to ensure that they were still present. The next soldier hadn't intended to do more than just lose his head in
this spectacle. But it was indeed a spectacle with a carnival-like
atmosphere. Not to be outdone by his predecessor, the large man came forward
and almost shouted his similar request--except that he wanted his testicles
nailed to a pole while he was alive. The governor was unable to refuse this request. The man's fellow
soldiers, with an efficiency that only military men are able to muster, dug a
hole, buried the pole halfway in, and secured it in place. The soldier, now
regretting his rash request but unable to reverse his blustering error,
reluctantly resigned himself to it and consoled himself with the idea that he
would be dead in a few moments anyway. He knelt in front of the pole, with the crack of his ass firmly butted
against the wood, the top of the pole just below the line joining the bottom
of his shoulder blades. His arms were tied behind him, and two soldiers held
his shoulders back as another approached with a mallet and two nails. The piercing and hammering were too much for the man and he bellowed
out his screams, but he didn't move. With eyes clenched and teeth gritted
together, the muscles of his neck stuck out. The soldier with the mallet decided to make sure the nails were firmly
in place, and he whacked against the poor man's testicles one last time.
After an incredibly short time, the pain seemed to dissipate into a dull
soreness, and the condemned man's penis started to become engorged with
blood, pulsing erratically as it stiffened. Hissing through his clenched teeth he demanded that his bonds be
untied, and the governor consented. Raising his arms straight out from his sides, fists clenched, he
lifted his chin. The crowd could see the immense effort the man was taking to
endure the agony of his final moments. His arm muscles were so tensed that
the striations could be seen in them and the arteries bulged. His neck also
bulged with the muscles and blood vessels that soon would cease to support
the bulbous head. He was hissing between irregular breaths and his nostrils
flared as they tried to get the oxygen the man needed into him. The blow of the sword quickly ended his suffering as a loud crack was
heard when the spinal column was hit. The orb so recently on the massive
shoulders flew into the air and was caught by a spectator who quickly thrust
the disgusting object back into the open area. Since the body was impelled
back against the pole, it remained erect as red goo gurgled up and over the
shoulders. Finally, it drooped to the side and fell to the pavement with a
wet slap. The crowd applauded, but not for the skill of the executioner. The
executed man's bravery and honorable acts were
being approved. He had brought honor not only to
his regiment, but to the province as well. All the bodies were removed and buckets of water were sloshed over the
blood, mingling the red liquid in a metaphor of their brotherhood--in death,
as in life, they were now irrevocably joined. The crowd had to part to let
the pink liquid flow gently down the incline of the street. The crowd, despite the heat that was almost stifling--even this early
in the day, expectantly waited. The main event was yet to come. Lord Chung was chatting almost amiably with several of the important
men of the town. Dressed in a short, silk robe, opened in front to reveal his
enormous, creamy-smooth abdomen, he looked every bit the important man that
he was. He gestured to two of his servants who brought out a bolt of cloth. Bowing before the governor, the men unfurled the large piece of cloth and
placed it over the pavement across one of the few areas not wet with blood.
It was a six-foot by six-foot square of white linen, embroidered along the
edges with the blue symbols that made up Lord Chung's emblem. Lord Chung approached his shroud, nodded and smiled to the crowd,
nodded more deeply to the elders of the town, removed his sandals and stepped
onto his shroud. He placed his hands on his hips and slid the sides of his opened tunic
back to reveal his entire, smooth belly and his large, dark nipples. The
light-blue cloth was cool against his skin. His black hair was cut short in a
foppish manner and his beard was only a short and narrow trace of black that
followed along the jaw-line--long hidden by his chubby cheeks. On any other
day, he would have appeared to be the self-indulgent rich patron of the arts
that he was. "Your Grace," he began crisply, facing Governor Tsi. "My apologies to the good people of this fine
province of ours for the dishonor that my actions
have brought upon them and the danger in which I have placed this province
from the emperor's forces. My apologies to the emperor, Lord High
Commander..." he began to recite the list of titles, then stopped and
smiled. "But as you have said, Lord Governor, we are all aware of his titles,
but as to the title of the fly of His Esteemed Royal Highness, I am unaware
of any official declaration," he grinned and winked. "I am sure,
however, that most of his subjects would be willing to honor
that fly not only with the titles it so richly deserves but with gifts of
winged courtiers, attendants, and subjects of its own to abide in the royal
palace with our dear emperor." The people in the crowd smirked, as they knew that the flies Lord
Chung was referring to were the biting ones that plagued the countryside in
late summer. "As to my own role in the sad events that have led to the deaths
of my companions, my apologies to them for having brought dishonor
to them. I applaud you for only holding those of us directly accountable for
our misguided efforts and not the members of our families. A lesser man would
have wiped out entire clans in the belief that association by blood made all
equally guilty." He looked at his nephew. "Now to the business at hand. I beseech your Grace's indulgence
in this matter. My actions have brought dishonor to
my family name, to its members, and to my ancestors. To send me to my grave
without removing the stigma of dishonor and the
stain it brings to all is to condemn them equally. You have been more than
generous in permitting members of various ranks their final wishes, and I ask
for nothing neither more nor less. "The edict that I am to be buried without my genitals is, of
course, not yours, but is demanded by law. I never used them much in
life," he grinned, "so I shall not miss them. "As you know, I have tried to imitate much of what is Japanese. I
have imported fine ceramics, the best silversmiths and ivory carvers, sword
makers, and so on. I have been intrigued, of late, with the Samurai and their
codes of honor and conduct. In particular, I have
researched the phenomenon of seppuku--known locally
as Hara kiri." The people in the crowd gasped and the governor began to protest, but
Lord Chung motioned that he should be heard out. "I will not ask to be allowed to disembowel myself, as I would
not want to insult the populace with a view of my intestines in a gory
display." Several people groaned their disappointment. "In addition, the true Samurai would need more time than I have,
since they would do this at a temple. There are many fine details that
accompany such an act. This would take too long for my demise on a village's
street. Had I the choice, I would move this to my garden and perform the
rituals. But we are not Japanese. We can do better. "I therefore ask your Grace's indulgence in permitting me to
redeem my family's honor." He motioned to a
servant who brought out an ornately black-lacquered tray and laid it in front
of the portly lord as Lord Chung gracefully sank to his knees. Bowing to Lord
Chung, the servant removed the cloth that covered the tray to reveal several
knives of various types and sizes. Immediately, the governor's guards removed
their swords and stepped in front of the esteemed man to protect him. "Your Grace's guards are very good and should be commended.
However, I have no intention of using these to evince my escape. Your men
should, in fact I insist that they do, keep their swords poised. You are
fortunate that these men would lay down their lives for you. As you will
notice, all of the points of these weapons in the tray are pointed towards
me. If they waver from that direction, your men should not hesitate to thrust
their weapons at me. My executioner has been informed to swiftly swing his
weapon at my neck should such an occasion arise, but I assure you upon my honor that these implements are here only to taste my
flesh. I only beg that your Grace permit me to use these weapons upon myself.
Because I have such a large target," he ran his hands over his massive
belly, "I wish to imbed these implements in it before my head joins my
brother conspirators'. By so doing, I hope that my courage in this act will
redeem my family honor. I ask for your
permission." Since Governor Tsi did not object, and could
not object since the condemned man had used a word that was between
"ask" and "demand" that has no counterpart in English,
Lord Chung continued. He slid the waistband of the silk trousers (really more
like knickers) down to reveal his entire gut. Dropping the robe off his
shoulders so that only his arms were covered, he spread his knees and reached
for the longest of the blades. With two hands on the handle, the plump man aimed its point to the
underside of his abdomen. He raised his head and stiffened his back. After a
momentary pause, he thrust the blade in with great force. He surprised even
himself with how easily the blade entered and he could feel the sharp edges
as the blade imbedded itself. Lord Chung had only gritted his teeth during
the ordeal. He extended both hands out towards the tray, careful not to bend at
the waist. Trickles of blood oozed around the ornate ivory handle and dripped
onto the white cotton beneath. Taking two of the shorter knives at the ends
of the tray, he positioned one on each side of lower portion of his abdomen. "Your Lordship," he spoke, "to prove my loyalty to you
and to cleanse my family's honor, these blades are
serrated with barbs. When removed, they will tear flesh with them." Without pausing, he slowly pressed the points into his skin. The
cushion of fat puckered around the points until the metal pierced the
resistant layer of skin. Ever so slowly, the condemned man pressed the length
of the blades in. As each of the small barbs of the blade broke through, Lord
Chung could feel its intrusion. Finally, the blades were inserted as far as
they would go. Pressing harder, the nobleman pushed the handles against his
belly so the fat curved around the hilts. When he released the blades, the
stomach became round once more and the nobleman gasped as the barbs tore
flesh on their partial backtracking. Two more smooth bladed knives were picked up. Without hesitation, he
placed these into his hands and stretched his arms out. Staring blankly in
front and looking at nothing, he rammed them into the sides of the center of his belly. A small whimpering groan was barely
audible. Turning stiffly to the governor, and through a stiff jaw, Lord Chung
spoke. "It is required that my genitals be removed before I am interred.
Since my servants and your courtiers are beneath me in station, it would be unsavory for them to make such defilement. You, my nephew
and I are the only ones present who are worthy of doing such an act on an
exalted personage. Since I would not wish to soil either of you with my
tainted blood, I shall do this myself." A ceramic tray was brought forward and the bowing servant knelt,
placing his forehead on the ground as he held up the tray. A silver insert in
the tray was pierced with holes in an amazing pattern of intersecting arcs.
The small curved knife was withdrawn with a shaking hand by the doomed man.
With the thumb of his free hand, Lord Chung slipped it into the waistband and
brought the silk material down, revealing a presentable set of male organs. Governor Tsi was uncomfortable, as his cock
was eager to shoot its load. He maintained his dignity and didn't move. If
this man could endure his self-inflicted torments, the governor believed that
he himself should be able to endure the discomfort of a stiff erection. Grabbing his penis and testicles as a single item, and stretching them
out, Lord Chung placed the curved blade under his groin. With a swift upward
jerk, he freed these. His face became flushed with the effort he had to make
to prevent himself from screaming, and he held the bloody tissue in shaking
hands as his groin gushed its blood, his belly heaving with each breath.
After a few moments, Lord Chung collected his spirits and courage. He placed
the organs on the tray, where the blood dripped through the holes into the
container, keeping the organs unsoiled. He nodded to one of his men. Removing a long narrow sword from his
side, the warrior directed it at the exact center
of the belly. With his feet wide apart and knees bent, he thrust the blade
deep into the abdomen. Some spectators later claimed that they could see the
sword's point pushing out the skin on the nobleman's back. There was no
evidence of this later. The warrior left the blade in for a few seconds, then twisted the
blade a quarter of a turn before he removed it. Lord Chung bent forward and had to support himself on the knuckles of
one hand, but he used this failing as an artifice to grab one more weapon.
This blade he placed on the top of his abdomen where it curved out the most.
He felt for a small mark he had placed there, since this was below the actual
stomach bag and he would not likely vomit blood. With two hands he thrust this down. His eyes were wet and he was
breathing heavily now. Rivulets of blood dripped down from each wound and
spread its moisture on the linen fabric. The fibers
greedily sucked the fresh pigment as if by becoming stained, it, too, would
be able to become completely scarlet and be honored,
too. The executioner positioned himself as the nobleman raised his head
stiffly. Gritting his teeth, he placed his fists around the handles of the
two serrated knives. With the same yell a soldier gives when going into
battle, he yanked them out, tearing the wounds with the jagged edges. This
was the signal for the sword's blade to descend. There was a slight gasp from
the crowd. Lord Chung had privately asked the executioner to cut his neck in
such a way that the front flap of skin would remain. In that way, like the
Japanese Samurai, the head would not roll about in an unseemly way.
Unfortunately, the executioner was pumped up from the excitement of the
proceedings and misjudged the force of the blow. The head sprung forward,
landing at Governor Tsi's feet. The body, still bearing several of the sharp knives, fell ungraciously
forward. The linen fabric almost became entirely scarlet. Governor Tsi turned to the new Lord Chung. "He has brought your family name honor
now. The emperor and I are through here. I will not disgrace your family name
by putting his body with the others. You may dispose of it as you see
fit." The new Lord Chung looked disdainfully upon his uncle's remains. "He may have brought honor back to the
family, Your Grace, but he cannot bring back the trust between our family's
or the respect of the people. Let him rot in the street for all I care."
Governor Tsi shook in disbelief. Shrugging,
he said, "No. He will be removed from here. You may dispose of the
corpse in any manner you choose as long as it is private." He directed his men to roll the body up in the stained shroud. As his bearers put the poles back into his chair and the crowd
dispersed--some to go into the shop of the man who had quenched the
governor's thirst, Governor Tsi turned to the
younger man and whispered. "I am so fucking horny! Perhaps I can come to your villa for
dinner and you can help me relieve my member of its tension? We could work on
re-establishing trust." The nephew smiled and nodded. When the governor entered the Chung dining room, he did so on his own
two feet. Ceremony was unnecessary here. His guards remained outside of the
room. They were relaxed, as they had been here many times before. The ebony table was impressively set with much of the fine
lacquered-ware of the late Lord Chung. Impressive and beautifully designed
appetizers were shaped as cranes, turtles, and dragons. "I see chef Chao is as good as ever." "Yes, Your Grace," the young nobleman answered and gestured
to the two men waiting to bring in the main dish. With much effort, they
carried the covered meal to the table with their heads down, then left,
shutting all doors. "What is it? Deer? A Boar?" "I believe Your Grace will enjoy tonight's meal. We have often
discussed this with each other in the wee hours of the morning as our secret
fantasies were revealed. This was one of my uncle's fantasies, too, as he and
I would often whisper our fantasies late at night, too." He removed the cover. On the platter was the cooked torso of the late
Lord Chung. Steam rose from the crisp skin, glazed and hard as is down with
fowl. Stuck in the various openings of the knife wounds were interestingly
decorated vegetables and creamed sauces. In the anus, the governor could see
that the belly had been stuffed with brown, white, and wild rice, water
chestnuts, imported walnuts and diced pea pods. Chef Chao himself brought out strips of stir-fried meat in large bowls
and several circular pieces of meat that had been cooked over an open fire. "Your Lordship will excuse my humble endeavors,
I trust, since I did not have much time to prepare this repast. I assure you
that I was discrete, as even the servants are unaware of the source of these
dishes. The circular pieces of meat were cut from Lord Chung's thighs and
braised. The other meat dishes were what remained of his legs and arms.
Here," he opened a dish revealing the severed genitals, "I have
baked these delicacies in a rich plum sauce that Your Grace loves on my other
dishes. "If you feel that I may be indiscrete, you may have me executed
now or have my tongue cut out or pierce a skewer through it." The portly cook bowed. "Nonsense! And lose a great chef? Never. I would sooner cut off
my right hand. Join us, then." The chef did and all agreed that Lord Chung had provided them with the
most memorable and delicious meal they had ever indulged in. The kind
governor, not one to waste a good thing, had the chef bring the dishes with
the unidentifiable cuts of meat to his guards, one of whom was one of the
swordsmen who had participated in the beheadings, and to the other servants. As the three men later lay naked in each other's arms (for the
governor was not one to hold the chef's low birth against him when he had
such a nice body), the young lord mused, "If, indeed, there is a
consciousness after death, I am sure my uncle is smiling broadly." He patted his full stomach. "I know that I am." |
