Slave Trade

Pompus: And now for the best new game show in the whole empire, it's time for Slave Trade. I'm Quintus Pompus. Today our first prize is this Thracian beauty, fresh out of obedience school, able to cook, sew, and count to a hundred. Of course, it will be up to her owner to give her a name. And Luke, here, is hoping to be the lucky winner of this exotic delight whose market value exceeds one thousand gold talents if he can answer our three skill testing questions. Are you ready, Luke? Luke: Ready. Pompus: Okay. Question number one. Can you take fifty lashes? Luke: Fifty lashes? (Enter guards.) What do you want? Let go of me! (He is tied to a post, stripped and flogged mercilessly, reducing him to a kneeling, quivering waif. Exit guards.) Pompus: Well done, Luke. By answering affirmatively, you may advance to the next round. Luke: No thanks, I've had enough. I'd like to go home now. Pompus: Don't say that. You wouldn't want to disappoint all these fine people who've come here to watch you compete, would you? Luke: Well, I guess I wouldn't want to get scourged for nothing. Pompus: That's the spirit. Question number two. Can you take the amputation of your earlobe? Off with his lobe! Luke: Are you mad? (Enter guards.) No! Let me out of here! (A strong guard holds Luke's head still from behind by a tightly wound leather band around the jaw, silencing the cry of pain as a second guard completes their task with a scissor snip. The fallen piece of flesh is immediately scooped up by a passing seagull. Exit guards.) Pompus: That's why we must test you. You answered no but you clearly survived. Luke: (Blood trickling down the side of his neck) I want to speak to a lawyer. Pompus: Come now! You should be happy. Look at your beautiful prize. You're only one answer away from owning her. Luke: I don't like your questions. Pompus: This last one's easy. Listen. Would you survive giving food to an animal? Luke: Is that all? Well then, the answer is yes. I just fed my cat this morning. Pompus: And is your cat a five hundred pound tiger? Luke: Okay, I resign. You can keep your prize. Pompus: I'm sorry, we need to know the answer. Release the cat! (Luke's demise is inevitable as a tiger chases him around in desperate circles.)
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© 2007, 2014. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.