The Mist and the Lightning. Part 18 - стр. 8
Disgraced Adrian tried not to bend too much, constantly pulling his short hem down to somehow cover his bare ass, and in front – a chastity belt. He tried to move carefully so that the already short shirt did not bulge up even more. With his head lowered, chained behind a collar, barefoot, with bloodshot legs, Adrian, with his last strength, trudged behind the elegant carriage of Kors, inside which, along with other riches of the Ore town, a red slave was locked. The girl also had a hard time: in a carriage crammed to overflowing with various goods, it was impossible to turn around, and Kors did not change his rules. Acting in his usual manner, he chained the slave to the wall, tied her hands behind her back and put his beloved on her head an attribute of humiliation – a dense black bag, as usual, tightened around the throat with a rope. The girl was deprived of the ability to move, see and breathe normally; only at the level of his mouth did Kors cut a small gap with a knife, and if not for this hole, the slave would inevitably suffocate in the unbearable stuffiness.
Prince Arel’s slave, Valentine, rode next to the coachman: the boy still wore a helmet, which, on Arel’s orders, was put on him back in the Limit. Then Verniy, although he was forced to obey, nevertheless selected for his pet the most comfortable and light helmet made of a material that is slightly breathable. But at the moment it didn’t save Valentine: the southern summer days were sunny, calm; there was often intense heat from early morning until evening. Constantly staying in a tightly laced, tightly wrapped helmet was painful. Valentine suffered from the heat and sweated under the dense material. No matter how hard he tried to lift the flap covering his mouth to relieve his condition, salty sweat ran down his parched, chapped lips onto his chin. The rays of the sun unbearably heated the black material and made the top of his head hot, by the end of the day bringing the boy almost to sunstroke. Verniy rarely received a key from Arel and could not unbutton his helmet and remove it from the exhausted slave so that he could get at least a little respite: he could refresh his face with water and wash off the sweat, wash and comb his hair, just take a break from the ever-squeezing vice. Valentine was deprived of these simple joys and therefore constantly scratched his head in unsuccessful attempts to calm the incessant itching. He scraped the tough material with his fingernails and tugged at the tight lacing on the back of his head with his fingers, trying to somehow pull the tight-fitting helmet crust away from his face and hair. He was hot, stuffy, uncomfortable, and the heavy slave collar on his throat did not add comfort. But the poor fellow couldn’t help it, and anyway, he was in a better position than Adrian or the red girl.
In the evening, Valentine looked after them, having finished with business: when the sirs finally left him alone, he opened the cart and gave the girl water. The slave girl practically didn’t move, and sometimes, when Valentine made his way to her in the depths of the carriage through the heaps of chests and bales of wealth, it seemed to him that she was dead. He called out to her, and then the unfortunate woman still moved sluggishly and took a sip of water. Kors didn’t feed his slaves at all, so that they would not defecate and cause trouble on the road, but Valentine took with him a piece of bread that had been stolen from the master's table, thrust it through the crack in the sack and said: