"I do not know," replied George again.
Again the lash fell, with another cut added—again he writhed in pain, pain that was anguish of mind as well as of body. He felt as if his brain was bursting with the dreadful slowness of the proceedings. It seemed to him that if he were to receive a hundred lashes in quick succession he could easily stand it, but the torture of the delay was fearful.
Again the fiendish inquisitor asked his question, and again our hero replied in the negative. Four more frightful cuts of the inexorable kourbash fell on his rapidly-scarring back. The torture he endured was frightful, not a single blow from the raw-hide thong but was timed to produce the utmost effect; his back was waled in large ridges, and with a fiendish cruelty the inhuman executioner with unfailing aim had smote and re-smote him in the same place. Already he could feel that the skin had burst, and it came almost as a relief as he felt the flow of blood down his back. Again and again the malignant man in the chair asked his question. Again and again the answer came from our hero, followed quickly by the increased number of lashes from his executioner.
The terrible punishment was beginning to tell; already George had passed from the defiant stage to one of patient endurance. As the torture continued his body began to feel numbed, and he became light-headed; he caught himself counting in a foolish manner the number of strokes he had received, and as each one fell, he would add two or three according to whether he felt it more or less than its predecessor. Once he even laughed as the man struck him on a part of his body that was clothed, with the effect that the executioner, enraged at the levity, redoubled his merciless attack.
The light-headed stage passed off and was replaced by a feeling of horrible despair. He wondered when these monsters would have vented their spite sufficiently; he wondered if he would be alive at the end of the castigation, or if they would flay the flesh from his body. He thought of the ignominious ending it would be to his brief career with the fighting line.
[Transcriber's note: Illustration not available.
Caption: "He was already beyond crying out. All sense of feeling had left him!">[
His head was buried in his arms, and he was becoming indifferent to how frequently the kourbash fell on his shoulders. Had he but known it, it was the beginning of unconsciousness; he uttered no sound, he cared nothing for what was going on; he no longer, as the blows were rained on him, shut his teeth to bear the pain—it was not necessary, he was already beyond crying out. All sense of feeling had left him.
Now and again he could hear, as if a long way off, the voice of the inquisitor repeating his question, but it had no meaning for him, the words were blurred and indistinct to his mental faculties, and he made no attempt to answer.
Presently the blows ceased to fall; his body lost all feeling as his legs became cramped, and he fell into unconsciousness. Suddenly he was aroused from his torpor by angry voices. Far away they sounded, but still they penetrated to his dulled and aching brain. He could hear a high-pitched, shrill, screaming sound that struck on his almost senseless nerves with a shock.
Vaguely he became aware that his flogging had ceased, and that something had gone wrong with his persecutors.