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I do not own Tarzan or related characters and am not making a profit from sharing this story here. The character was created by Edgar Rice Burroughs and is now in the public domain. Any similarity between the characters in this story and real people is entirely coincidental and incredibly hot.
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(Note: I've previously mistakenly used the name "Hastings" for the character "Harrington." These are one and the same person. Sorry for any confusion.)
Chapter 16: Tarzan of the Fields -------------------------------- (c) tarzanstud1@gmail.com
Chapter 16 -- Tarzan of the Fields
The carriage trundled along the uneven path with tarzan briskly trotting along behind it, harnessed securely to his new Master's fine carriage. Each step taken by the tethered tarzan running behind Lord Harrington like a captured beast marked the transition from his jungle home to a new domain.
Tarzan's keen gaze swept across the horizon as the estate unfurled before him. Fields stretched out like a patchwork quilt, each segment a tapestry of green and brown under the sun's gentle caress. The rhythmic dance of the crops swaying in the breeze drew his attention, a mesmerizing sight he'd never witnessed in his jungle home.
The mines, looming in the distance, stood as stoic sentinels against the backdrop of the estate. Men, mere specks in the vastness of the pits, toiled diligently, their movements purposeful and measured. Tarzan could sense the weight of their labor, the earth yielding its treasures through the sweat of their brows.
As the carriage neared the heart of the estate, Tarzan caught glimpses of the workers in the fields. Their forms, bent in toil, were a stark contrast to the powerful figures he was accustomed to encountering in the jungle. Yet, there was a rawness to their labor that resonated with him, a primal connection to the earth that transcended language or culture.
He noted the overseer, Hargrove, a figure of authority with a commanding presence. Hargrove's vigilant gaze surveyed the laborers, his posture radiating authority and expectation, and his whip speaking volumes when a slave needed encouragement.
The estate, though alien to Tarzan's jungle sensibilities, held an undeniable energy--a pulsating rhythm of labor and determination. It was a new world, a world of toil and industry, where sweat mingled with the scent of earth and determination thrived amidst the challenges of the land.
Tarzan took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the fields and the metallic tang of the mines. His muscles tensed with anticipation, ready to embrace the challenges that awaited him in this new realm.
In the heart of Lord Harrington' vast estate stood Hargrove, the overseer whose authority was unquestioned, a man known for his unyielding demeanor and the crack of his whip that echoed through the fields.
Lord Harrington, tall and distinguished, led Tarzan through the plantation grounds, the air heavy with the scent of earth and the sounds of toil. His estate sprawled across the landscape, the fields stretching endlessly under the golden sun.
Tarzan, a figure of immense strength and primal grace, stood tall beside Lord Harrington. His powerful physique was evident in every sinew and muscle that rippled beneath his sun-kissed skin. His bearing was one of quiet confidence, indicative of a life lived in harmony with the jungle.
As they approached Hargrove, the overseer's stern countenance surveyed the new arrival. Hargrove was a man of middle age, his face weathered by the sun and his eyes sharp, commanding authority with every glance. His whip hung at his side, a silent symbol of his dominance.
"Ah, Hargrove," Lord Harrington called out, gesturing toward Tarzan. "This is Tarzan, the newest addition to our workforce. He'll be joining us in our daily toils."
Hargrove's gaze shifted to Tarzan, assessing him from head to toe with an unspoken skepticism. He stepped forward, a hint of a grimace on his lips.
"Welcome to the estate, slave. Let's hope your strength matches your reputation," he remarked, his voice carrying the weight of expectation.
Tarzan met Hargrove's greeting with a stoic and determined expression. He offered no words, his silence showing the confidence he held in his own abilities.
Lord Harrington, observing the exchange, spoke in a tone that conveyed both authority and encouragement. "Hargrove will show you the ropes, Tarzan. Follow his lead, and all will go well."
With that, Hargrove turned to lead Tarzan into the fields, his stride purposeful and his expectations clear. Tarzan followed, prepared to embrace the challenges that lay ahead under Hargrove's watchful eye and the crack of his whip.
Tarzan stood in the midst of the vast plantation, the heavy wooden plow held firmly in his powerful hands. The sun beat down, casting a golden hue across the expanse of the fields, as he prepared to embark on his day of labor.
Under the watchful gaze of Hargrove, the overseer, Tarzan's first day of labor commenced on Lord Harrington' sprawling estate. The morning sun, casting golden hues across the fields, marked the beginning of his journey as a laborer.
With a nod from Hargrove, Tarzan moved toward the designated section of the fields, observing the seasoned workers to understand the rhythm of their tasks. The laborers, some toiling with plows, others tending to crops, greeted him with nods and curious glances.
Hargrove's voice boomed over the vast expanse as he instructed Tarzan on the techniques of plowing the fields, explaining the intricacies of the tools and the manner in which the work was expected to be done. His instructions, direct and unwavering, aimed at ensuring efficiency and precision in the labor.
Tarzan listened intently, his keen observation complemented by the strength inherent in his massive physique. As he positioned himself behind the plow, the weight of the tool felt unfamiliar in his hands, yet his determination to learn and adapt remained unwavering.
With a steadfast resolve, Tarzan pushed the plow forward, following the straight furrows Hargrove had shown him. The soil gave way beneath the blade, as Tarzan's muscles flexed with each rhythmic movement, his determination unyielding despite the novelty of the task.
With his mighty muscles rippling beneath his tanned skin, Tarzan drove the plow deep into the earth. He exerted an incredible amount of strength, pulling the plow forward, breaking the ground and turning the soil. Each step was a display of his raw power, as the earth yielded to his determination.
The soil churned and parted under the force of his efforts, creating neat furrows in the land. Beads of sweat trickled down Tarzan's brow, revealing the toil of his labor. His breaths came steady and measured, a testament to his endurance.
The overseer, Hargrove, observed from nearby, keeping a stern eye on Tarzan's progress. He unleashed his whip across tarzan's back to bring the new slave up to pace.
"Steady now, Tarzan! Keep the rhythm!" he called out, his voice carrying over the fields. He wielded a watchful eye, ensuring Tarzan's pace was in line with expectations.
Tarzan's grunts echoed across the plantation as he continued his herculean task, his determination unyielding. The plow cut through the earth with each relentless tug, leaving a trail of overturned soil in its wake.
Despite the challenging nature of the work, Tarzan remained unfazed. His connection to the land and his inherent strength allowed him to endure, his commitment unwavering.
As the hours passed, Tarzan pressed on, his back glistening with perspiration under the sweltering sun. Each movement of the plow was a declaration of his resilience and unwavering resolve in the face of his newfound role on Lord Harrington' estate.
The day unfolded with Tarzan acclimating to the physical demands of the labor. Under Hargrove's guidance, his efforts became more fluid, his strides more confident, and his understanding of the task deepened.
As the day wore on, Tarzan began to grasp the intricate dance between man and earth. The plow became an extension of his sinew and strength, the rhythm of the fields a melody he was beginning to understand.
Despite the physical demands, Tarzan's determination remained unshaken. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow under the afternoon sun as he maintained a steady pace, his relentless determination and endurance on full display.
Hargrove's watchful eye remained fixed on Tarzan, offering generous guidance with the crack of his whip up and down tarzan's toiling torso when needed. The overseer's demeanor was firm, lashing out liberally as he urged Tarzan to match the pace of the seasoned laborers.
The other workers observed the newcomer, their initial curiosity giving way to nods of acknowledgment as they witnessed Tarzan's tireless efforts. There was a sense of respect brewing among them, recognizing the raw strength and dedication Tarzan brought to the toil of the fields.
Amidst the swaying crops and the symphony of labor, Tarzan felt a kinship with the earth. The rhythm of the work, though arduous, brought a sense of fulfillment that resonated deeply within him. Each step forward, each furrow plowed, felt like a bridge between his jungle roots and this new world of labor.
Under the watchful eye of the overseer, Hargrove, and amidst the grueling labor, Tarzan encountered moments when exhaustion seemed inevitable. The physical demands of the tasks weighed heavily on him, testing his limits. But Tarzan, drawing from his inherent resilience and fortitude, sought a way to surpass these barriers.
The crack of the whip echoed through the fields, a signal for the laborers to keep pace and remain focused. Having tasted enough of the leather in the early hours of his labors, the sound itself worked like a catalyst on tarzan, triggering a deeper reserve of determination within him.
At moments when fatigue crept in, the bite of the whip awakened a wellspring of strength from within. With each crack of the whip, instead of feeling cowed or beaten down, Tarzan channeled the energy into a renewed resolve. It spurred him on, awakening a deeper reserve of resilience that he didn't know existed. It was a visceral reminder of the challenges he faced and the need to push past his perceived limits.
Through sheer willpower and an unyielding determination, Tarzan harnessed the crack of the whip as a call to summon his inner strength, surpassing his own preconceived barriers and achieving feats he hadn't thought possible.
Through tireless effort and a desire to learn, Tarzan embraced the toil of the fields, showing an incredible ability to adapt and excel in his tasks. The other laborers noticed his rapid progress, admiring his determination and the raw power he brought to each chore.
Lord Harrington observed the sun dipping toward the horizon as he approached Hargrove, who was finishing his reports near the edge of the fields. The overseer's stern gaze softened slightly as Lord Harrington drew closer.
"Good evening, Hargrove. How has the day fared with our newest addition?" Lord Harrington inquired, his tone a blend of curiosity and expectation.
Hargrove straightened, his expression shifting from stern focus to a hint of satisfaction.
"My Lord, Tarzan's proven to be a capable laborer, albeit a touch unfamiliar with the tools of the field. But I reckon he'll catch on swiftly."
Lord Harrington nodded, acknowledging the assessment.
"Excellent. He's a powerful man, and I trust he'll adjust quickly. Keep a close eye on his progress."
"As you command, my Lord," Hargrove affirmed with a respectful nod, fully understanding the expectations set before him.
"And how did he respond to your guidance?" Lord Harrington inquired further, genuinely intrigued by Tarzan's reception.
"A bit rough around the edges, my Lord, but he's eager to learn. The whip, it seems, is proving an effective teacher," Hargrove replied with a touch of satisfaction, indicating the discipline that had nudged Tarzan's efforts throughout the day.
Lord Harrington raised an eyebrow, considering the overseer's observation. "Ah, so he's receptive to discipline?" Hargrove offered a knowing nod.
"Indeed, my Lord. He's got the strength, just needs a bit of a nudge in the right direction."
"Very well. Continue overseeing his progress closely, Hargrove. I expect him to be a valuable asset to our estate," Lord Harrington concluded, turning to leave as the sun dipped further below the horizon.
"As you wish, my Lord," Hargrove replied with a bow, already turning his attention back to the remaining tasks of the day and smirking as he set his sights on tarzan, gripping his whip with glee.
The sun hung low in the sky as Tarzan still labored in the fields, the weight of the plow in his hands a stark contrast to the untamed power he once wielded. The chains that bound him seemed to grow heavier with each passing hour, their constant presence a cruel reminder of his captivity.
As the day wore on, the other workers on Lord Harrington's estate couldn't help but be drawn to the spectacle before them. They watched in a mix of awe and amusement, their voices carrying on the wind.
"Look at the brute strength on him," one remarked, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination.
"Never seen anything like it. He's like a force of nature," another added, his tone a mixture of admiration and trepidation.
Yet, not all who observed were kind. Some took a different delight in Tarzan's plight, taunting him with cruel words and jibes, seeking to remind him of his place.
"Thought he was some kind of king of the jungle. Look at him now, nothing more than a beast of burden," one sneered, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.
Through the merciless work and taunts, Tarzan's spirit remained unbroken, his gaze fixed on the horizon, a silent resolve burning within him. He learned to accept his role, finding a grim satisfaction in laboring for his Master, his every action a testament to the indomitable force that still pulsed through his veins.
The day began its transition into night as Tarzan navigated the duality of his existence. His powerful form toiled under the sun, the weight of chains a constant reminder of his servitude. But as twilight descended, he would be transformed into a living legend, captivating the audience at Mr. Blackwood's club.
Through it all, Tarzan's spirit remained unyielding, a beacon of resilience in the face of an uncertain fate. The jungle watched, its ancient heart beating in rhythm with the trials of its wayward son.
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, signaling the end of the day's toil, Tarzan found himself weary but content. At Hargrove's signal, with muscles aching but spirits unbroken, Tarzan left the fields, feeling a newfound sense of accomplishment. He had taken the first steps in his new role, embracing the challenge of labor on Lord Harrington' estate.
As the day drew to a close, the sky painted in hues of fiery gold, Lord Harrington approached, a leash in hand. He looked upon Tarzan with an air of calculated satisfaction, recognizing the value of the force he now commanded.
"Your day's work is done, Tarzan," Lord Harrington stated, his tone measured. "But there is one more task that awaits you."
With that, he fastened the leash to Tarzan's collar, leading him away from the fields, towards the looming presence of Mr. Blackwood's club. The night held promises of even greater challenges, as Tarzan prepared to be the centerpiece of a twisted spectacle for the entertainment of the club's patrons.
The jungle watched in silence, its ancient heart heavy with the weight of witnessing its guardian in chains. Tarzan's journey, now a harrowing odyssey of servitude and spectacle, spoke to the resilience of the human spirit, even in the face of the cruelest of trials.
END OF CHAPTER SIXTEEN-------------------------------------
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