Read Slave Pits of the Tyrannical God (Path of Transcendence Book 2) for Free Online Page B

the slaves walks past my cell.
    The sounds repeat six times before the DokkAlfar are again in front of my cell. With the rattling of metal on metal, one of them uses a large steel key to open the lock in my cell door, and pull it open.
    “Up and out! Go to the end of the corridor and wait!” The DokkAlfar who opened my cell is the one giving the orders.
    I rise and exit my cell, moving to the end of the hall. As I reach the seven men already clustered there, I notice the one whose shoulder was broken by the Throd'nahk in the cell to my left. His shoulder has been bandaged, and his arm is tied tightly to his chest.
    The group of slaves is silent and sullen. They have all had their hair and beards cut, so that they are standing up like short bristles. My own rather short hair and second day shave were left untouched.
    Outside this corridor, another is running perpendicular to it, and voices can be heard from both directions. Most of their chatter is nothing more than grumbling. They are bitching about the low quality of the food and the sore muscles resulting from the day's training. A few of them seem to be openly plotting the sexual assault of one or more of the new slaves.
    I look at the slaves around me, and from their lack of reaction, they must not be able to hear the gladiators plotting their upcoming sexual humiliation. As long as none of the gladiators is stupid enough to come after me, it is none of my affair. These idiots can take care of themselves or get ass raped.
    After the guards open the cell of the broken-shouldered slave, they push through the middle of us and stand in the cross corridor.
    “All right slaves, move out!” The DokkAlfar voice comes from the right side of the cross corridor.
    The DokkAlfar that was opening our cells points in the direction of the new voice, and the other slaves begin filing out. I wait for all the slaves to pass my cell's corridor and go last. As they pass me, the gladiator slaves have a variety of expressions, when looking at me. Not a one is friendly, but not all of them are hostile.
    Five other corridors exit off the cross corridor. All the cell corridors are on the same wall, three to one side and two to the other of the corridor where my cell is. To the right from my corridor, the side with three more corridors, another short corridor opens form the wall opposite the side where the cell corridors are.
    In total, there are fourteen DokkAlfar guards. With the exception of my corridor, each corridor had two DokkAlfar opening the cells. These DokkAlfar guards give me unpleasant looks but do not say or do anything to provoke me.
    Exiting the short corridor, we enter a mess hall. A few other corridors besides the one we entered by exit from this room. There are enough tables and benches to seat over a hundred slaves, but there are only fifty-two of us in total. Cletus is not among the gladiators.
    On one wall, there are tables with bowls, mugs, spoons, and food. Being the last to exit from the corridor, I am the last in line for the food. The other slaves are not being rowdy or jostling for position, so I assume the DokkAlfar are ruthless toward anyone disturbing the order.
    I do not know what the followers of The Nameless are like, but the followers of Yggr I have encountered are merciless in terms of power and hierarchy. Everyone and everything has its place and should remain in it. At least, that is the case for as long as the ones above can keep those below themselves suppressed. Every DokkAlfar's dream is to tear down those above himself or herself and rise to a position of higher status and power. The greater the status and power, the greater the hedonistic pleasures the DokkAlfar can enjoy.
    Reaching the tables, I take a plate that appears to be roughly shaped from stone, not ceramic but stone. The bread is a bit hard, as though it is two or three days old. A pot contains a lumpy substance reminiscent of oatmeal. There is nothing but plain water in the pitchers. It is a