As the days stretched into a grueling week of travel, the boat finally neared its destination—the bustling city of Assur.
The closer we got to the final stop, the easier it was to spot the distant silhouette of the cityscape emerging on the horizon.
The riverbanks were alive with a myriad of ships, each bearing its own purpose and cargo.
Towering river barges, laden with sacks of grain and stacked with timber, floated gracefully along the water. Their broad hulls skimmed the surface, deftly navigating the sometimes treacherous currents of the river.
Sailing ships of various sizes dotted the panorama, their billowing sails catching the wind and propelling them forward.
Merchant vessels, resplendent with multiple masts and rigging, proudly displayed the flags of distant lands, showcasing the cosmopolitan nature of Assur's trade.
Smaller sailing boats, manned by skilled fishermen, ventured out into the river's depths, casting their nets and hoping for a bountiful catch.
Among the flotilla, passenger ferries shuttled back and forth, their decks crowded with people from all walks of life.
Families with their belongings, merchants with their wares, and travelers seeking adventure or refuge mingled on these vessels, traversing the river to reach their destinations within the city.
From the vantage point of the boat, I marveled at the grandeur of Assur. Towering structures made of stone and clay reached toward the sky, their intricate designs reflecting the architectural prowess of the inhabitants.
The city walls, formidable and imposing, encircled the urban landscape, protecting its denizens from external threats.
The river served as a vital artery for the city's trade and transportation, bustling with a variety of vessels, both large and small. Merchant ships laden with goods sailed alongside fishing boats and elegant barges adorned with vibrant sails.
The riverbanks teemed with activity as laborers unloaded cargo and merchants haggled over prices, creating a symphony of voices and the clatter of goods.
As our boat approached the port, the scene grew even more vibrant and captivating.
The port of Assur was a thriving hub of commerce and culture, bustling with people from various walks of life.
The air was thick with the mingling scents of exotic spices, freshly caught fish, and the earthy aroma of dockside warehouses.
The quay, lined with weathered wooden pilings, stretched out before us, a gateway to the heart of the city.
Bustling market stalls lined the waterfront, their vibrant awnings fluttering in the breeze, displaying an array of goods from far-flung lands.
The colorful chaos of the market juxtaposed against the stately buildings of the city, creating a tapestry of sights that both bewildered and intrigued me.
As our boat maneuvered into the bustling port, I observed the intricate network of canals that crisscrossed the city.
These waterways served as vital arteries, bringing life and vitality to every corner of Assur. Bridges arched gracefully over the canals, connecting different districts and creating a labyrinthine maze.
The sound of distant music and laughter drifted through the air, signaling the presence of taverns and entertainment venues that dotted the cityscape.
The melodic strains of traditional instruments blended with the lively chatter of patrons, painting a picture of a city that celebrated both work and leisure.
As I was marveling at the ancient city, the slavers signaled for their captives to prepare for disembarkation.
I, along with the other unfortunate souls, stood in a line, our faces etched with weariness and uncertainty.
A burly slaver, his face hardened by a life of hardship, barked orders to the captives. "Move it, you lot! Off the boat and onto the dock. We've got other. cargo to deliver."
I exchanged glances with my fellow captives, a silent understanding passing between us. We were fucked.
As we stepped onto the worn wooden planks of the dock, the slaver continued his gruff commands. "Form a line, and keep your heads down. Don't cause any trouble if you know what's good for you."
I kept my gaze fixed on the ground, obeying the slaver's instructions. The bustling port seemed to swallow us whole, as merchants and traders hurriedly passed by, paying little attention to our group of downtrodden individuals being herded off the boat.
Suddenly, a voice boomed through the air, cutting through the commotion. "What's this, more slaves for the market? Bring them over here!"
I looked up to see a well-dressed fat man, flanked by a group of guards, gesturing toward us.
My heart sank as I realized they were being handed over to another set of 'merchants'.
The lead slaver, his face etched with a sly grin, addressed the merchant with a tone of confidence.
"Ah, sir Amon, you have impeccable timing. Fresh cargo, just as you ordered. They're all yours. As long as the price is right."
Merchant Amon, a shrewd and calculating figure, raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Tell me, Tiglath, what makes this batch so special? You know I am not one to part easily with my hard-earned coin."
The slaver leaned in, his voice hushed yet filled with anticipation. "Ah, sir Amon, you see, amongst this lot, there is a hidden gem, a foreigner with white skin. He's a rarity in these lands, a curiosity that will fetch a pretty penny from those who desire the exotic. And if you decide to keep him, he could be the star attraction in your reputable establishment."
Amon's eyes sparkled with intrigue, his mind already calculating the profits to be gained. "Exotic, you say? A foreigner, you say? Well, that does sound interesting indeed. Show me this foreigner, and if he lives up to your words, we shall strike a deal."
The slaver nodded, a victorious glint in his eyes.
"Excellent, sir Amon. You won't be disappointed, I assure you. Follow me, and I will present you with the finest selection of slaves you have ever seen."
They walked through the bustling dock, passing rows of other bound individuals, their faces reflecting a mixture of fear, resignation, and desperation.
Eventually, the slaver led Amon to our group, where the chosen slaves awaited inspection.
"And here he is," Tiglath declared, gesturing toward me as I was standing slightly apart from the others.
"Jason, the foreigner. Look at him, a man out of place in this land, a true curiosity."
Amon's eyes narrowed as he studied me, evaluating my appearance and demeanor. I could feel his gaze upon me, dissecting every inch of my being. There was an air of distinction about me, a flicker of defiance mixed with an undeniable aura of mystery.
Amon could sense the potential profits that lay within this unique individual.
He saw me not as a person, but as an opportunity, a means to satisfy his insatiable hunger for wealth and power.
I knew that in his eyes, I was nothing more than a product to be bought and sold. And the wierd part about it, is that I was fine by that, as long as someone gave me something normat to eat already.
I knew that there will have to be a plan, I will need to forge to escape eventually, but right now I would be satisfied with a full belly of actual food and a normal bed.
As I was now, I would do anything for the latter. Everything from my shins to my head was aching from the rough treatment on the voyage and only a good night's rest would be able to fix it.
Amon, disregarding my reverie, curled his lips into a sly smile, his decision already made. A plan to form a perfect pitch already taking form in his mind.
He saw the potential profits that lay within my foreignness, the allure that would attract those seeking the exotic and unusual. The price would be high, undoubtedly, but to Amon, it would be a small investment compared to the returns he anticipated.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
"I must say, slaver, you have managed to capture my attention with this one," Amon remarked, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.
"He may indeed be a valuable asset to my establishment if the auction goes wrong. Name your price, and if it aligns with my expectations, we shall conclude our business."
The slaver grinned, knowing that his persuasive tactics had paid off.
"For this exceptional catch, sir Amon, I propose a price that reflects his rarity and potential. A sum that will not only compensate for the expenses incurred in capturing him but also grant you a lucrative return on your investment. Shall we say... twenty drachmae?"
Amon paused for a moment, contemplating the offer. He knew that obtaining such a prized acquisition could significantly enhance his reputation and attract a wealthier clientele. After a brief silence, he extended his hand to the slaver, sealing the deal.
"Twenty drachmae plus another 5 for each of them. What do you say, friend?"
Tiglath hesitated a bit but still accepted the trade.
"Great! Now let it be known that Jason shall be the star of my auction, an exotic marvel that will captivate the hearts and wallets of those who seek something truly extraordinary."
With a firm handshake, the transaction was complete, and my fate was sealed.
Tiglath, satisfied with his earnings, made his exit with his crew, leaving Amon to revel in the anticipation of the profits that awaited him.
He eyed the rest of the slaves with a calculating gaze, his tone dripping with superiority.
"Excellent. We can always use more laborers in the fields. Load the group to the right on the wagons and make sure they're secured. The rest will be sold in the auction."
Annoyance bubbled inside me as the guards moved forward, roughly pushing and shoving the captives toward a line of waiting wagons.
We were their commodities now, so shouldn't they be more gentle with us?
The slavers herded us along, their rough hands pushing and prodding, treating us as nothing more than objects.
We stumbled through the narrow, bustling streets of Assur, the city's vibrant energy starkly contrasting with our somber procession.
Pedestrians glanced at us with apathy or indifference, their eyes quickly averting as if our suffering was an unwelcome spectacle.
The short walk concluded after the slavers took us to a rundown building that served as their holding area.
The stench of sweat and excrement lingered in the air, mingling with the musty odor of damp straw that covered the floor.
The workers wasted no time in transforming us into presentable commodities.
They scrubbed us clean, harshly removing the dirt and grime of our journey.
They dressed us in only slightly tattered garments, meant to give us an illusion of dignity, a facade to appease potential buyers.
Our appearances were adjusted, our hair trimmed, and our faces rubbed with oil to make us look healthier and more appealing.
Once they deemed us presentable, the slavers paraded us through the bustling market.
It was a cacophony of sounds and smells, merchants shouting their wares, the clinking of coins, and the tantalizing aroma of street food mingling with the stench of sweat.
As we walked, potential buyers eyed us with cold appraisal. Some saw us as nothing more than laborers for their fields, seeking strong backs to endure grueling hours under the hot sun.
Others, with darker intentions, looked for individuals to satisfy their carnal desires or to pit against one another in the gladiatorial arenas.
We were like cattle at an auction, our worth measured by our physical attributes and perceived strength.
As we walked I whispered to Malik. "Listen carefully," I said, my tone grave.
"To survive as a slave, you must be observant. Learn the rules, the patterns, and the dynamics of this place.
Watch the behavior of the slavers, the guards, and even other slaves and anticipate their actions.
This information will help you blend in and not draw any attention to yourself, so you will mostly stay out of trouble.
The nail that sticks out will get hammered in.”
I paused for a moment, my gaze piercing into his.
"Survival often comes at a cost. Sometimes, you may have to swallow your pride, suppress your humanity, and do what it takes to please them.
It's a dark truth, but in this world, compliance can offer respite from torment."
"Be careful of who you trust," I continued, my voice laced with caution.
"In this pit, alliances are fleeting and loyalty is a luxury we cannot afford.
Even the faintest glimmer of trust can be exploited, and used against you. Keep your secrets close, share only what is absolutely necessary."
Lastly, I leaned closer, my voice barely a whisper.
"Look for opportunities, weaknesses, and allies. Sometimes, survival lies in understanding our captors better than they understand themselves."
“Thank you for the council,” he mumbled back and nodded in understanding. We were nearly at the end of our journey, and this was the best I could do for my new friend.
As we stood on the podium, our bodies weary and our spirits shattered, a hush fell over the crowd of onlookers.
The weight of their gazes bore down upon us, reducing us to mere commodities for their appraisal. That's when Amon, stepped forward, his voice projecting a mix of authority and avarice.
"Ladies and gentlemen, behold!"
Amon's voice boomed, cutting through the stillness.
"Here we have a selection of fine slaves, strong and capable, ready to serve your every need."
Amon gestured toward us, one by one, his voice filled with an unsettling mix of familiarity and detachment.
"This one," he said, pointing at Malik, "a skilled laborer with years of experience in the fields. Strong, resilient, and obedient."
Malik's expression hardened, a mask of stoicism concealing the fire that burned within.
"And here," Amon continued, moving on to the next person, "we have a young woman. Beautiful, docile, and ripe for pleasure. A perfect addition to any esteemed household."
To drive his point home, he ripped the clothes off her and made her expose herself for all to bare.
While she squealed, his guards forced her hands apart so everyone could get a good look.
The woman beside me trembled, her eyes downcast, her body visibly tense.
It was a cruel fate, to be objectified and commodified solely for the satisfaction of others, but I couldn't change anything. I was still far too weak and even if I could, taking a risk like this would be stupid without the power to back it up.
After making a great sale Amon's pitch continued. He spoke of others' skills, appearances, and even potential for bloodsport in the gladiatorial arenas.
The crowd, a mix of eager buyers and curious spectators, listened intently, their murmurs and whispers adding to the bustling atmosphere.
Then Amon's gaze fell upon me.
"Ladies and gentlemen, for the grand finale of our grand auction," he proclaimed, his voice carrying a tinge of awe, "behold a rare gem among these slaves. A foreigner of noble lineage, a man of unmatched grace and beauty."
The crowd stirred, their curiosity piqued by the prospect of something extraordinary. Amon's words painted a picture of prestige and opulence, one that contrasted starkly with the worn and weathered figures beside me.
"Here stands a special Shemau," which was a word I very well understood, as it meant slave in their language.
Amon continued, his voice filled with avarice.
"His fair skin, unblemished by the toils of labor, is a testament to a life of privilege and luxury. His hands, soft and delicate, have never known the calluses of hard work."
As Amon continued extolling my apparent virtues, I couldn't help but roll my eyes so hard that I thought they might just pop out of their sockets. It was comical, really.
Here I stood, a displaced and bewildered individual, being touted as some sort of rare and valuable commodity. If only they knew the truth about my utterly average existence back in my own time.
His description of my hands, as "soft and delicate," almost sent me into a fit of laughter.
Sure, I didn't have the roughened palms of a laborer, but that was solely because my days were spent typing away at a keyboard, not toiling in the fields or forging weapons.
The most physically demanding activity I had engaged in recently was trying to assemble an IKEA bookshelf, and even that was a struggle.
Thankfully my current appearance was that of a god damned Viking, that will come after you fuckers... You just wait until my interface loads, then you will see the power of countless hours of youtube knowledge.
As I stopped my reverie, a
murmur of awe rippled through the crowd as they took in my appearance. It was a bittersweet realization, knowing that my fair complexion had become a double-edged sword. Here I was, a very white man in the midst of a predominantly darker-skinned population, about to be enslaved.
While thinking about this kind of nonsense I remembered that historically, white slavery has also been used to refer to the practice of enslaving Europeans during various periods of history. For example, during the Barbary slave trade in the 16th to 19th centuries, North African pirates known as Barbary corsairs would capture European sailors and coastal inhabitants, subjecting them to slavery in the Ottoman Empire and North Africa.
Some of those madmen even went as far north as Iceland, so it was an evidently profitable trade, until they got annihilated by diplomatic and military actions by European and American leaders, that is.
During my inner monologue, the merchant kept on his pitch.
"He possesses the refinement of a nobleman, the poise of a prince," Amon proclaimed, his words expertly crafted to elicit desire.
"Imagine the prestige he would bring to your household, the envy he would incite among your peers. With that thought, I will now finally start the bidding!"
As the bidding commenced, I watched dispassionately, my thoughts focused on finding a potential buyer who might offer a glimmer of opportunity amidst the bleakness of my current situation.
I yearned for a chance to be acquired by someone who would see beyond the mere labor potential and recognize the untapped talents that lay within me.
Perhaps, just perhaps, there would be a master who would provide a modicum of freedom and allow me to exercise my skills, enabling me to carve a path toward escape.
I remained indifferent to the proceedings, knowing that the outcome was beyond my control.
The bidding was intense and prices were being thrown around constantly.
After the bidding concluded, it was a skinny merchant, that stepped forward as the victor of the bidding, claiming me as his prized possession.
His lean frame and weathered countenance spoke of a life marked by hardships and an acute sense of survival.
His face bore the lines of experience, etched deeply into his skin, revealing a man who had weathered countless storms and navigated the treacherous waters of the trade.
His lips curled into a knowing smile, giving a glimpse of yellowed teeth that hinted at years of indulging in life's vices, while wisps of graying hair clung to his scalp as if clinging to the remnants of his youth.
Dressed in simple, yet finely tailored garments, the merchant exuded an air of confidence and authority.
The fabric of his clothing, though slightly worn, hinted at a certain affluence acquired through his dealings in the marketplace. Around his neck, a small pendant adorned with intricate symbols dangled, signifying his status within the trading community.
As he approached, I could sense a mixture of curiosity and intrigue in his eyes. It was as if he saw beyond the surface, recognizing the potential value in acquiring someone like me, a foreigner noble with an unknown past.
After all the slaves were sold off the buyers formed a line and paid their dues, while we waited. After the transactions were concluded, the slaves were given to them to do as they pleased.
Some of them came prepared and brought their own slave brand with them.
After it was heated in the fire, they burned their slave mark on them on the spot.
The purpose of the brand, next to being a way to show ownership, was that even if the slave somehow escaped they would have to live in fear of being found out and returned to the owner, like some dog.
Their screams during the procedure were agonizing and I prayed that the same fate won't befall me.
And so after a while my new owner, named Sargon as I learned after Amon thanked him profusely, approached with a calculating smile, his demeanor a mixture of business acumen and curiosity.