Nadi wiped his brow for the millionth time. Dropping the pickaxe, he took a deep breath and tried to ignore the emptiness that caroused his emotions. He had taken a drink some moments ago, but it was as if the gag had intensified his penchant for water. Even now he could feel his tongue hanging on the roof of his mouth, it was only a matter of time before the drought sends his head spinning.
Turning to the left, he gulped when one of the slave masters—standing on the shade—took the water skin and emptied the content down his throat. Across the field, the continuous din of the pickaxe as they rammed the hard stones, ruffled the tympani, almost threatening to cause deafness. But Nadi could sense the hunger in the eyes of the older men. They were watching the slave master, hoping he could s
