It didn't take the six men behind Taleena very long to pass the struggling blonde, since they had picked up a slow jog at the cost of spilling some water. Arminius was the first to pass her, followed by Bovarius and the Numidians. As she watched the small party of men increase their lead over her, Taleena became fully aware of how inferior she was to the men in regard to physical strength. She had always been conscious of that fact but never had her weakness seemed more blatantly apparent than today.

A pang of compassion surged through her, as thoughts of Selia filled her mind. She was beginning, now, to understand the despair that had haunted the Iberian's pretty face. For Selia had surely known that she was by far the weakest, and that she would always be first in line for the cruel discipline meted out to those the Fates had doomed to fail. When Selia had been alive, Taleena had always been able to feel superior to at least one of her comrades. But now that the poor sad-eyed girl had crossed the dark river, she, Taleena, was the weakest link in the chain of fighting slaves at the Ludus Flavianus.

The clouds had darkened even more, and a fine drizzle had set in, coating her body with a fine sheen of moisture that, if nothing else, had a cooling effect on her feverish system. Her lungs were burning with her panting efforts, her breasts aching, and her legs screamed silently for rest. She had never realized before how vital the gluteal muscles were for walking, but today she felt Byrria's final flesh-searing butt-slash with her every step.

The dilatory pace of her march caused the pails to sway and jerk at the beam, and when Taleena had finished her first lap, the beam had slid alarmingly down from its original position. The welts on her back throbbed intensely where the splintered wood rubbed against her sore skin, stretching the weals which were the livid legacy of the Thracian's lash.

Just then Taleena noticed that she had come again around the turn closest to the guardhouse, and this time she spotted Rutilius waiting for her alongside the track. 'Oh no!' she prayed fervently. 'Dear gods, if I have to fall, please don't let me fall down in front of this bastard!' But once more her pleas were to fall on deaf ears. Taleena howled in outrage as she heaved the beam back upon her aching shoulders, and almost overbalanced when her newly centred load forced her to bend forward. The pails were swaying dangerously as she straightened up again, and some water spilled over the rims as she struggled to keep her footing. But her left foot came down in a little hollow in the track, and she felt her ankle turn in the depression. Taleena cried out in pain and pitched forward, falling to her knees.

"You'd better watch your step, Gaul," Rutilius sneered with feigned concern. His beady eyes probed the luscious front of Taleena's body hungrily as the kneeling blonde fought to regain possession of her teetering burden.

"What a pretty little pack animal you are!" Rutilius scoffed. "So pretty, and yet too weak to carry a mere pair of pails! Maybe a few strokes of the whip would help you pick up the pace!" The young guard's eyes lingered on the crimson pattern on Taleena's back, and it seemed to her that he was reliving the strokes that had left her so utterly degraded. Byrria's whip had stripped her of her strength if not her pride, but how humiliating it was to endure the scorn of this despicable youth…

"Nice pair of jugs you've got there," Rutilius continued his spiteful mockery, pretending to refer to the buckets that swayed gently beneath her shoulder-yoke. "I like the way they jiggle when you move." Smiling lewdly at his obscene jibe he crossed his arms over his chest imperiously. "I can hardly wait to get my hands back on them," Rutilius taunted the kneeling recruit as his eyes roamed maraudingly over her bare breasts. The position of the yoke, which had again slid halfway down her shoulders, caused her to arch her back in a most provocative manner, and the light drizzle had covered Taleena's creamy skin with a moist sheen which gave her statuesque torso a most enticing gloss. Rutilius vividly remembered the touch and taste of those pink-crested mounds, so sublimely soft and yet so youthfully firm, and the sight of the pouting nipples that he had teased to such unwilling erectness drew a grunt of pleasure from his lips.

Taleena had to grit her teeth to keep from swinging the beam at Rutilius. She thought of her fervent vow to kill the filthy bastard for what he had done to her a vow which seemed ludicrous given her present predicament. To find herself helplessly exposed to the jackal's cruel mockery made her livid with rage, but a small fraction of her consciousness kept in mind Breaca's advice not to let anger or hatred take the place of reason. And Taleena knew that she was well advised not to fall for Rutilius' provocations, since it would only play into his hands if she tried to attack him.

"You'll need to turn to Byrria for help then if you try to take me on," she muttered contemptuously, but was cut short by the need to re-balance the pail-weighted cross-piece when it began to slip to one side. "Were it not for her, boy, you'd rather be wetting your loin-cloth than coming the strong man!" she spat out between gasps as her angry blue eyes fired daggers at the leering youth .

Rutilius flushed angrily at this insult and took a half step forward, clenching his fist as if intent on attacking the kneeling recruit, when he noticed that Flavius Autronius was glaring at him sternly from the balcony. The young guard stopped in his tracks and lowered his hand while Taleena gave silent thanks to whichever god had turned Flavius' eyes toward her at that moment.

"I thought the whip had cured you of your attitude, galley whore," he cursed under his breath. "But I'll see to it that Byrria teaches you another lesson at the post at the end of this week." His cruel smile broadened as he whispered salaciously, "You know, I can still hear you whimpering under the lash. But don't you worry, I'll be right there to comfort you when the Thracian is through with you. And this time, whore, no big-mouthed Celtic bitch is going to stop me!"

Taleena kept glaring at the spiteful guard, but her anger seemed to make her burden somehow lighter as she shouldered it into place. She dragged her reluctant right leg forward across the gritty cinder, and then pushed with all her might, the effort contorting her beautiful face. She groaned miserably, urging the exhausted muscles in her slender legs to straighten up.

"There will be another time, Blondie," Rutilius hissed as he watched the teetering beam, and laughed crudely at the way Taleena's exposed breasts quivered from the strain. "The red-head is getting hers today, and it won't be long until it's your turn," he spat out before turning and stalking off, the very pock-marks on his face contorted with rage about the lost opportunity.

It took every ounce of Taleena's strength and every fibre of muscle in her straining back, arms, legs and shoulders to start anew, but finally she was on the move again, slowly putting further distance between herself and the malevolent boy-guard. She slowly approached the fighters' training area, and while Tyra and even the sinister-looking Hamilkar seemed to be sympathetic to the pitiful struggles of the sorely-tried recruit, Verica shot Taleena a fierce glance, as if blaming her for her sister's plight.

By the time Taleena managed to stagger past the finish line for the second time, her knees were wobbling uncontrollably, but once again she forced her body to rebel against the looming loss of vigour. Even so, when she passed the front of the balcony from which Flavius watched her helpless struggles, she was outstripped by the leading men first by the giant Arminius, of course, then by the boorish Bovarius, whose ox-like build was well-suited to a competition where physical strength was at a premium. The bitter sense of being outclassed so thoroughly led Taleena to the fateful attempt to lengthen her stride in order to keep pace.

But this only caused her weary legs to give out completely, and she crashed heavily to her knees. The crushing force of the cross-piece bent her forward, and she instinctively turned her face inward to keep from striking the rain-dampened ground face-first. Lying prone in the moist sand in a cruciform position, pinned down by her cross-piece, she saw the left of the twin pails overturned on the ground. She clawed for it desperately, hoping to right it, but could not. She watched its contents trickle away from her, carrying with them her waning hopes of finishing the run within the handicap.

As she lay there, feeling the pressure of the heavy yoke on the nape o her neck, one side of her face pressed into the damp ground, Taleena's eyes were turned toward the centre of the arena, where Breaca knelt in abject misery. She saw her friend struggling under her own dreadful load, trying to keep the fiendish flesh-piercing thorns away from her shoulders, knowing that she was fighting a hopeless battle.

Taleena was soon was passed by the other Germans and then the dark-skinned Numidians, and with each passer-by her resignation edged closer to utter despair. She knew that she had already garnered today's demerit so what was the point in struggling on? Byrria might taunt her and prod her and lash her, but eventually even the Thracian Fury would come to the realization that she simply could take no more.

But then it struck her that this was what Byrria wanted her to do she wanted her to quit, to give in to the brutal treatment, to concede defeat. That realization stirred Taleena as nothing else would have, and a strong wave of defiance rose up within her. She remembered Breaca's plea: 'Whatever Byrria may do to you, promise me that you will not falter!' When she had said those words the Celt could not have known that she herself would soon suffer Byrria's wrath. Breaca had risked all to help her, and Taleena felt honour bound to live up to her comrade's exhortations. For was not Breaca's task of bearing the dreadful Thorns of Atlas, even more horrible and hopeless than her own? If she surrendered now, Breaca's selfless sacrifice would be stripped of all meaning.