Zahara gaped at the revelations, no doubt wondering exactly what and how much Annok-sur knew. “I. . I don’t know what to say. I would never spy on Akkad. I’m loyal to the king. Ask my grandfather. I’m a member of the Noble Families. Ask anyone. .”
“The last two men who sat on that bench swore that they took your orders, that you gave them information for a man named Sacarra, who lives in the village of Zanbil, just beyond the Zagros Mountains. One of them died, unfortunately. But not before he revealed your name. The other spoke to you only two days ago, didn’t he? But I haven’t all night to waste on you, Zahara. You can start by giving me the names of those who have carried messages for you. Now.”
“I. . I don’t know what it. . what you want. Please believe me. I’m loyal to King Eskkar.”
Annok-sur glanced toward the Captain of the Guard.
“I think our guest needs encouragement,” Wakannh said. “Rue-el, warm him up a little.”
“Yes, Captain.” From the wall behind him, Rue-el selected a long bronze rod and thrust it into the fire pot. Wood strips bound with cord formed a crude handle, to protect the holder’s hand from the heat the bronze absorbed from the fire. He stood there, twisting the rod around and stirring the embers, but always keeping the tip in the hottest part of the fire. The smell of heated metal joined the other vapors that wafted through the chamber. Zahara’s chest rose and fell.
Annok-sur noted the prisoner’s agitation. By now fear, and the room’s vapors, would be making it hard for him to breathe.
Zahara’s eyes darted from one to the other, then back to the fire. “You must believe me! You’re making a mistake. Talk to Noble Rebba! He’ll tell you who I am.”
“It’s warm enough.” Wakannh’s impatience sounded in his voice. “Give him a taste.”
Rue-el snorted at his commander’s eagerness. But he withdrew the rod. He only had to turn and take a single step to slap the heated tip against the inside of the Zahara’s left thigh.
Zahara had no time to protest or prepare. His scream filled the room, as he jerked and tried to shrink his leg away from the heated metal, his back arching up and away from the pole. Rue-el held the rod fast, for as long as a man might count to three.
When he removed it, an angry welt about the length of a man’s small finger had already blossomed on the prisoner’s leg. Zahara’s cry of agony slowly eased into a drawn out and gasping moan, as he slumped back onto the bench. Wide-eyed, he stared at the source of pain exuding from his leg.
The smell of burning flesh mixed with Zahara’s urine wafted through the room.
“It’ll be better when it’s hotter.” Rue-el shoved the rod back into the fire, and wiped his hand on his tunic.
“That pain, what you just felt, is only a start.” Annok-sur leaned forward. “The bronze was scarcely warm. We have all night, if necessary, and the rod grows hotter the longer it lingers in the flames. When the rod is held against your prick, you’ll learn the real meaning of pain.”
Breathing hard, Zahara managed to catch his breath. Sweat covered his face and dripped down onto his chest.
“So, what are the names of your men?” Annok-sur waited for a response. When none came, she nodded to Rue-el.
“No! By the gods, no!”
Rue-el gave the rod one last poke in the flames, then rapped the bronze against the edge of the bowl, to shake off the ashes. With a grin, he turned back to the prisoner. This time Rue-el chose the right leg.
Zahara’s screams filled the room, as his body contorted, trying to shrink itself away from the glowing bronze. But the ropes around his ankles held firm, and all he could manage was to twitch his legs. When Rue-el lifted the tip away, Zahara slumped against his bonds, tears already merging with the sweat from his brow. The odor of burning flesh grew stronger, even as it joined the other vapors within the closed and dank room.
Zahara’s eyes fixed on Rue-el, as he returned the rod to the coals, moving it around to keep it heating evenly.
“Almost hot enough.” Rue-el’s cheerful voice sounded out of place in the torture chamber.
“A few more moments should do it.”
“What are their names. . look at me, Zahara!” Annok-sur’s voice demanded obedience. “Tell me their names!”
“Please, don’t burn me again!” His hoarse voice struggled with the words, and his legs twitched from the pain. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” Gasping, Zahara gave up the men’s names. Even those few words exhausted him, and he gulped air into his chest.
“That’s good, Zahara, that’s good.” Annok-sur used her most soothing voice. “So, Zahara, I want you to tell me everything you’ve told the Elamites. You’ve been their most important and reliable source of information, someone very close to Akkad’s Council of advisors. Now you will tell me all you know about them, everything you’ve revealed. Everything. Since the first day they approached you. If you do that, you may keep your life. But you must not lie to me. We already know much more than you think. If you leave anything out, if I think you’re holding back anything.” She gave the signal to Rue-el.
“Where should I place it this time?” He held the rod close to the prisoner’s cheek, forcing him to lean back against the pole to escape the heat. “On his face, or on his balls?” With a quick movement, he waved the glowing bronze just above Zahara’s shrunken member.
“NO!” Zahara thrashed against his bonds, his ankles already bloody from the friction of the ropes. “Please, I’ll tell you what you want to know! Anything. Anything.”
“Good. Very good. Would you like some water? You must be thirsty by now.”
A pitcher of fresh water from the farm’s well rested on the table, next to a pair of battered cups. These interrogations often lasted long into the night, and Annok-sur saw no reason for being thirsty.
“Yes, please! Water, by the gods! Please.”
Annok-sur filled a cup to the brim with water, then rose and carried it to Zahara. She touched his cheek gently, almost intimately, before she held the cup to his lips. After three swallows, she took the cup away. “Not too much, Zahara, not until you’ve told us what we want to know. You have much to reveal, don’t you? And remember, the rod is still in the fire, and now it is red hot. Its next touch will give you more pain than you’ve ever known.”
“Please. . no more. .please!”
“We’ll see.” Annok-sur returned to her stool. She doubted she would need Rue-el’s touch again, certainly not more than once. In the last fifteen years, Annok-sur had questioned many of Akkad’s enemies in this room, as well as the usual lot of murderers and thieves. She had learned how to gauge a person’s tolerance to pain, and how much pain a man, and the occasional woman, could take. Only a few had the good fortune to escape into an early death before revealing what their inquisitor wanted to know.
She’d watched many a man squirm and shrink under the torture. Some men were strong, others weak. Zahara’s noble upbringing and easy wealth made him weaker than most. He lacked not only the strength of character to resist, but also the physical stamina. Annok-sur had no doubts about his coming conversion, no matter how reluctant.
He had two wives and several children. They, too, had much to lose if Zahara’s betrayal was revealed. His family would be stripped of all their goods and banished from the City. That threat had worked equally well against those Akkadians who’d traded information for Elam’s gold. Their families very way of life would depend on their remaining loyal. Long before dawn arrived, Zahara would turn to her side and become one of her most loyal spies.
Zahara would soon say and do exactly as she wanted. Starting tomorrow, he would be a spy for Akkad, telling the Elamites only what the rulers of the City wanted them to learn.
To make sure of his complete conversion, she would remind Zahara that Elam had no further use for failed spies, and that Elam’s torturers were considered even more brutal than Akkad’s.