The Akkadian bears Trimon's sigil.

The strange old man picked up the book and cleared his throat noisily, hawking and spitting upon the floor. He began to recite from the tome in a reedy and sibilent chant. The words meant nothing to the Akkadian, he had only once heard a language with even passing similarity to this spell or prayer in all his extensive travels of Hyboria. The night he had first encountered Visha in Amon Thoth's tower. The rite the wizard had been performing when the Akkadian slew him had sounded strikingly similar. The assassin wondered what power or sorcery was being called upon for this ritual.

The felt first a tickle upon his thigh were the device had been placed, he craned his neck to look down his body and beyween his wide spread legs. The shimmering liquid in the glass bulb stuck to the flesh of his thigh began to roil and simmer and he felt it grow warm and then uncomfortably hot. He shifted uneasily but the straps severely limited his freedom to even wriggle in the chair.

The chant rose in cadence and pitch and the Akkadian's thigh began to sting terribly, the pain increasing quickly to the point that he could no longer grit his teeth as he tried and failed to retain a stoic silence. He wailed piteously as his thigh's flesh felt as if it was burning. The quantity of bubbling shiny liquid in the glass device began to decrease as it absorbed through his skin and into the soft tissue below. There was a frightened gasp from the watching Tzu-Tzi, knowing her torment was next. Visha watched the process with quickened breath and intense fascination.

The burning pain continued for what felt like ages to the Akkadian, but in truth was a few minutes. He screamed and mewled in anguish and distress for the entire duration, never having felt the like despite the many wounds he had received in his adventures. At last the slaver's chant ceased and the pain ceased almost immediately, the assassin was left gasping for air with chest heaving , muscles twitching and drenched in sweat. The master of brands pulled the stopper from the stem of the device releasing the vacuum that held it to his thigh and removed the glass contraption.

"Oh ho, yes. A fine print. The softer flesh always means a cleaner brand." The master observed inspecting the Akkadian's thigh through his crystal lens. "See for yourself mistress. Unless the guild remove it with a second ritual, or the pretty crippled herself cutting the meat from her thigh she will bear this brand to the grave."

"What was that language?" Rezma asked as she prodded and examined the Akkadian's thigh. "I have not heard it's like. This alchemy or sorcery is old magics?"

"Aye, well before my time but as an apprentice I talked to a master of brands who claimed that when he was an apprentice he was taught by one who was there in the flesh as a youth." The old man replied. "An expedition to the southern jungles by the **** guild stumbled upon a ruined city of some long dead people. Deep beneath the city a room was discovered with the branding devices and this very tome of ancient alchemical sorcery. It took many years of study and translation for the guild to unlock just a fraction of it's secrets, but we discovered enough to perfect the process of **** branding."

"This is just a fraction, the devices and brands do more? There are other rituals?" Visha, kneeling and watching nearby could not contain herself and spoke unbidden.

"Silence witch." Rezma commanded sharply. "None gave you leave to talk. You will be punished when we return to the harem for this."

"If you wish to chastise the pretty now I have objection." The master of brands said hopefully, licking his lips as he surveyed the kneeling Stygian. "You have your quirt and the chair can be altered to present her for punishment as you wish."