Years ago, as a young demigod full of piss and vinegar, I aspired to become the greatest mix of Sherlock Holmes and the Rock in one man. I put myself through university learning penology, criminological theory, sex crime and serial murder case studies, course in counter bio-terrorism and wrestling in my off time. I even took some German with the hopes of getting into diplomatic security so I could get stationed at an embassy there and make out with hot German broads with low morals and lots of beer.
A decade later, I can inform you that all the above (minus the German) was a colossal waste of my fucking time as I never got into the job that I wanted and the job I’m currently in doesn’t stress my intelligence beyond my ability to add/subtract effectively and forcing my eyes not to roll into my head when I encounter co-workers and clients that can’t even pull that off properly. This frustration ultimately led to this site as I needed something to do to prevent the mold of “dumbing” that starts to form in the brain from dealing with the mundane lives we live and today, I’m resurrecting one of the original series from my former site: the execution and torture blogs I called “Danse Macabre” or the Dance of Death. I’m not going easy on you fuckers with this like I did before so just make sure you don’t puke on your own dick if you’re reading this on the toilet and get a little grossed out.
Leading the charge for this series is the ancient Persian execution known as scaphism, or “the boats.” Before we get into the details, there’s some backstory to cover so I need you to get a strong drink, sit your pancake ass down, and let Tano tell you how shit rolled around 400 B.C.
In the year 404 B.C., the Persian king Darius II became ill and was close to cashing in his chips in the game of life. So he called for his sons, Artaxerxes II and Cyrus the Younger, to attend his bedside so that a successor could be chosen. Now, by all accounts I’ve come across, it seems like Cyrus was the more interesting of the two brothers and I’ll point out why soon. But looking into Artaxerxes II, there wasn’t a whole lot said about the man in his early years except a blurb taken from Plutarch:
"Cyrus, from his earliest youth, showed something of a headstrong and vehement character; Artaxerxes, on the other side, was gentler in everything, and of a nature more yielding and soft in its action."
You may see “of a nature more yielding” as a good thing but any follower of Tanoism would immediately identify Arty (he’s Arty now; keep up) as a quivering, half-fucked pussy who was probably getting stuffed in a locker by his younger brothers and pegged out by Spartan women after they beat his ass in wrestling. I know that sounds like a fun time for some of you freaks but I doubt he’d be into it. Spartan women were notorious aggressive broads and dildos made of wood can splinter. Now that I’ve gotten the standard moment of depravity (famous in my works and daily speech) out of the way, here’s what Xenophon of Athens had to say about Cyrus:
In this courtly training Cyrus earned a double reputation; first he was held to be a paragon of modesty among his fellows, rendering an obedience to his elders which exceeded that of many of his own inferiors; and next he bore away the palm for skill in horsemanship and for love of the animal itself. Nor less in matters of war, in the use of the bow and the javelin, was he held by men in general to be at once the aptest of learners and the most eager practiser. As soon as his age permitted, the same pre-eminence showed itself in his fondness for the chase, not without a certain appetite for perilous adventure in facing the wild beasts themselves. Once a bear made a furious rush at him, and without wincing he grappled with her, and was pulled from his horse, receiving wounds the scars of which were visible through life; but in the end he slew the creature, nor did he forget him who first came to his aid, but made him enviable in the eyes of many.
It should be noted that Xenophon fought alongside Cyrus and, by all accounts, considered him to be one of the most noble and most brutal asskickers he’d ever come across. While Arty probably spent his time jerking off to cuneiform furry drawings on a wall somewhere and making his mother wish she’d swallow on the night he was conceived, Cyrus was out cracking open a cold one with the boys, wrestling wild animals for fun, and deadlifting some Persian’s mother/daughter/sister with his cock just to get in a little cardio.
In terms of classical manliness, Cyrus was a Bro of Bros and conducted himself as a man who would have no problem taking off your head but he’d much prefer to send you a flagon of wine and get smashed while you both pass out in the softest of Persian titties at the local drinking hole. More from Xenaphon:
After he had been sent down by his father to be satrap of Lydia and Great Phrygia and Cappadocia, and had been appointed general of the forces, whose business it is to muster in the plain of the Castolus, nothing was more noticeable in his conduct than the importance which he attached to the faithful fulfillment of every treaty or compact or undertaking entered into with others. He would tell no lies to any one. Thus doubtless it was that he won the confidence alike of individuals and of the communities entrusted to his care; or in case of hostility, a treaty made with Cyrus was a guarantee sufficient to the combatant that he would suffer nothing contrary to its terms. Therefore, in the war with Tissaphernes, all the states of their own accord chose Cyrus in lieu of Tissaphernes, except only the men of Miletus, and these were only alienated through fear of him, because he refused to abandon their exiled citizens; and his deeds and words bore emphatic witness to his principle: even if they were weakened in number or in fortune, he would never abandon those who had once become his friends. He made no secret of his endeavour to outdo his friends and his foes alike in reciprocity of conduct. The prayer has been attributed to him, "God grant I may live along enough to recompense my friends and requite my foes with a strong arm."
Many were the gifts bestowed on him, for many and diverse reasons; no one man, perhaps, ever received more; no one, certainly, was ever more ready to bestow them upon others, with an eye ever to the taste of each, so as to gratify what he saw to be the individual requirement. Many of these presents were sent to him to serve as personal adornments of the body or for battle; and as touching these he would say, "How am I to deck myself out in all these? To my mind a man's chief ornament is the adornment of nobly-adorned friends." Indeed, that he should triumph over his friends in the great matters of welldoing is not surprising, seeing that he was much more powerful than they, but that he should go beyond them in minute attentions, and in an eager desire to give pleasure, seems to me, I must confess, more admirable. Frequently when he had tasted some specially excellent wine, he would send the half remaining flagon to some friend with a message to say: "Cyrus says, this is the best wine he has tasted for a long time, that is his excuse for sending it to you. He hopes you will drink it up to-day with a choice party of friends." Or, perhaps, he would send the remainder of a dish of geese, half loaves of bread, and so forth, the bearer being instructed to say: "This is Cyrus's favourite dish, he hopes you will taste it yourself." Or, perhaps, there was a great dearth of provender, when, through the number of his servants and his own careful forethought, he was enabled to get supplies for himself; at such times he would send to his friends in different parts, bidding them feed their horses on his hay, since it would not do for the horses that carried his friends to go starving. Then, on any long march or expedition, where the crowd of lookers-on would be large, he would call his friends to him and entertain them with serious talk, as much as to say, "These I delight to honour."
I think it’s fairly telling that the Greeks had more to say about Cyrus than Artaxerxes. But, as we all know, life isn’t fair and the “best man” will often get fucked over by the lesser man because while real men are out making shit happen, bitch made dudes get to hang out with the king and take a wild guess whose in his fucking ear all day. Rats gonna rat.
At the time of the deathbed assembly, Cyrus was out of town putting boots to ass and letting rebels know Cyrus 3:16 says he just whupped their asses. Despite the pleas of their mother, Parysatis, to put a real man on the Persian thorne, stating Cyrus had a stronger claim to it as he was born when Darius was king as opposed to Artaxerxes, who was born when Darius was just some no name bitch prince, it went unheeded. Darius, who was likely nagged to death by this broad all his life, decided to opt for the big “fuck you, bitch” and made Artaxerxes II his successor. Again, it should be noted that he was the first born and, outside of my jokes, he may have actually been a good choice from his father’s perspective. But Parysatis and Cyrus damn sure didn’t see it that way and Cyrus wasn’t about to sit around and have his brother take what he felt was rightfully his. Initially, he plotted to have his brother assassinated but he was snitched out and arrested. His mother managed to get him out of it and he was pardoned and sent back to his domain of governance in Lydia. But that didn’t do a fucking thing except piss him off even more!
So, 3 years later in 401 B.C., Cyrus gathered some of the finest asskickers in the empire, including Xenophon’s ten thousand troops (that’s a story unto itself), and set out to take the throne of Persia. Cyrus and Artaxerxes’s armies engaged in final combat in the battle of Cunaxa and, tactically, Cyrus was ripping up the battle as the Greeks scattered Arty’s forces twice. Despite that, the battle was taking forever with no sign of abating without massive losses. So, knowing that the inperial troops would surrender with the loss of their king and confident he’d had the victory in his hand, made a charge through the king’s guard toward Artaxerxes.
Cyrus, the greatest man of the empire, was taken down by a random dude that probably recently woke up, was late getting to the battlefield, and wasn’t paying attention to who the fuck he was throwing his stick at. All the other guards took a knee but Mithridates saw greatness, couldn’t understand what he was looking at, and did what most dumbasses do...let out a battlecry of “REEEEE” and destroyed the baddest motherfucker Persia had at that time. Allegedly, some eunuchs tried to get Cyrus to safety but he was also hit in the leg and fell headfirst into a rock, finishing him off. I couldn’t find the citation for that part but we know Mithridates was the one to strike the mortal wound.
Son, You Done Fucked Up
Jokes aside, Mithridates did the job he was fucking paid for and he did it well. Cyrus was dead and Artaxerxes’s reign was secured, much to Arty’s delight. Mitridates was richly rewarded by his grateful monarch. But Arty did have one request. He told Mithridates that it was his wish that people are told that he, Artaxerxes, put Cyrus into the ground and that he was the ultimate heavyweight champion undisputed! Oh yea, brother! I told you Artaxerxes was a scummy fucker earlier, didn’t I? Fucking sperm-burping bitch made....anyway, moving on.
Mith agreed to the king’s wish and went about his time getting high and fucking the pain away with the best sluts gold could buy as he had plenty of that now. But not everyone bought Artaxerxes’s story, particularly his mother. Obviously not happy with her favorite son being dead as fuck, she sent her eunuch spies out and about to fish up the story of what really went down. They learned of Mithridates and invited him to a banquet, got him wasted, and yet again, he goes full retard telling everyone he killed Cyrus (the king just told everyone he did…).
Mithridates, also, within a short time after, miserably perished by the like folly; for being invited to a feast where were the eunuchs both of the king and of the queen mother, he came arrayed in the dress and the golden ornaments which he had received from the king. After they began to drink, the eunuch that was the greatest in power with Parysatis thus speaks to him: A magnificent dress, indeed, O Mithridates, is this which the king has given you; the chains and bracelets are glorious, and your scimitar of invaluable worth; how happy has he made you, the object of every eye!" To whom he, being a little overcome with the wine replied, "What are these things, Sparamizes? Sure I am, I showed myself to the king in that day of trial to be one deserving greater and costlier gifts than these." At which Sparamizes smiling, said, "I do not grudge them to you, Mithridates; but since the Grecians tell us that wine and truth go together, let me hear now, my friend, what glorious or mighty matter was it to find some trappings that had slipped off a horse, and to bring them to the king?" And this he spoke, not as ignorant of the truth, but desiring to unbosom him to the company, irritating the vanity of the man, whom drink had now made eager to talk and incapable of controlling himself. So he forbore nothing, but said out, "Talk you what you please of horse-trappings, and such trifles; I declare to you explicitly that this hand was the death of Cyrus. For I threw not my dart as Artaxerxes did, in vain and to no purpose, but only just missing his eye, and hitting him right on the temple, and piercing him through, I brought him to the ground; and of that wound he died." The rest of the company, who saw the end and the hapless fate of Mithridates as if it were already completed, bowed their heads to the ground; and he who entertained them said, "Mithridates, my friend, let us eat and drink now, revering the fortune of our prince, and let us waive discourse which is too weighty for us."
Artaxerxes was fucking livid!!! He was the joke of the empire, everyone saw him for the lame that he was, and his brother’s reputation was still shitting on him from beyond the grave. Fortunately, if you can’t be respected, you can be feared! So, to remind the peasantry that, while he was a cunt, he was still a cunt with power; he decided to execute the shit out of Mithridates...literally. Our dumbass hero, now zero, was sentenced to death by Scaphism.
Mithridates was placed upon his back inside of a boat and another boat was placed over him with holes for the head, arms, and legs. Given the location of the Persian empire, they had his ass out in the desert sun baking as well. He was offered food to eat and, if he refused it, they’d poke the hell out of his eyes until he did. Afterward, they’d pour milk and honey down his throat and all over his face. Eventually, flies would be all over his face, chowing down and shitting in his mouth and eyes.
But that’s not the best part. Take a wild guess as to what happens when all that milk and honey has to come out and you’re stuck in a boat coffin? Oh, yea! Diarrhea of epic fucking proportions! The man would be covered in his own urine and feces, pouring out of the holes of the boat and attracting even more insects looking to chow down and make baby maggots in that sweet butt butter!
The insects ate Mithridates from the outside and, likely entering into his asshole or dick, devoured his insides while he lived and felt them squirming and biting inside him. The force-feeding was repeated every day until he finally died 17 days later. When they popped the boat open, they found most of the man covered in shit and maggots with his innards exposed. Fucking metal, dude.
Ultimately, Artaxerxes II would go on to build some buildings, collect about 350 wives who output about 115 sons, have the Greeks give him the most boring epithet of Mnemon, which means “remembering: having a good memory.” That...that really is all the good they could say about the man. They particularly busted nuts in their armor about how awesomely manly Cyrus was, but in regards to Arty, it was, “eh, he’s good at remembering birthdays so that’s cool, I guess.” Haha! Fucking Greeks, dude haha! Oh, and also, he was a the grandparent of Darius III, the last king of the Achaemenid empire and the king that got his ass stomped by Alexander the Great. Who knows...maybe Cyrus reincarnated into Alexander and came back to finish the ass whupping he started. It’s a fun thought.
So, you got a two in one article today. Persian history and scat porn mxed in one! You’re welcome, little buddy! Anyway, hang in there and fuck you, pay me. I’m out.