As the young guard had surrendered his arms to Ólafur, as a token of his submission, stripped himself from his body armor, revealing his lean naked body and his own circumcised but shapely manhood. For a short moment the naked youth looked up to Ólafur in fear for his life. But seeing the guardsman unprotected and helpless as an orphan boy, he was caught by the sight of the lean limbs and waist, which reminded him of a boy, he had grew up with and played with back in his hometown.
Aasim now was standing completely naked before his opponent. After laying down his cuirass, he somehow knew something serious was now going to happen. Was the white warrior preparing to decapitate him with one of the great swords of the Emir’s hoard?
Standing opposite each other, Ólafur felt the strength of his muscles which easily could have crushed this inexperienced guard. He would have liked so much to have his strength tested by a must stronger opponent. He knew this boy had to be taught many more fighting skills to be of any use as a warrior’s slave. Still, his lean body was suitable for various purposes like rowing a drakar, chopping wood, and many other chores a male slave would have to attend. Still there also was a strange attraction Ólafur felt for the boy with his shy and mysteriously dark eyes.
Being his obvious superior and a proud Viking warrior, Ólafur didn’t in any way have to be embarrassed by his natural physical response, confronted with his defeated enemy, being stripped down now to just two young men in their prime of life. Yet the ‘Wild One’ somehow felt the urge to touch his manly weapon, which had presented itself full strength, as he had watched his slave-to-be undress and submit to him so easily, as if he had expected his fate to become his personal property with solemn surrender.