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The morning sun rose slowly over the temple of Asaris, its timid rays caressing the stones and banishing the cold of the night. Despite the early hour, dozens of worshippers were scattered about the dusty courtyard outside of the main building. Most of the men and women who shuffled into the compound were ragged and tired-looking, but that did not come as a surprise to Yazdar, the ram priest in charge of the morning ritual. Asaris was, after all, the goddess of luck and prosperity, and it was only natural that her most ardent followers were drawn from the multitudes who dwelled at the bottom of the social hierarchy.

Yazdar scanned the gaunt faces that pressed around the broad stone platform on which he stood. The majority of the faithful were not here to make an offering - they were far too poor for that - but they still hoped that some blessings would trickle down to them from their mere presence. A few, the priest knew, had simply come to enjoy the spectacle of the ritual. His pious mind strongly disliked such sacrilegious voyeurism, but there was little he could do about it.

With a low rumble, the crowd split to allow passage of the first gift-bearers of the morning. A male and female otter trotted forward, and behind them walked a leashed jackal with his hands tied behind his back. They were dressed in their best clothes, but the canine was naked save for a white garment that covered his genitals. The young couple bowed respectfully as they reached the foot of the platform, and the male otter spoke.

"Most holy servant of the goddess, we have come to seek your blessing. I am a wood-carver, and after serving my apprenticeship I have opened my own workshop with the help of my beloved wife. We humbly ask Asaris to grant us success in our endeavor."

"We invested all we had," his wife added, "But we spared enough coin to buy two slaves. One to assist us in the shop, and one to dedicate to the goddess."

The husband nudged the slave forward. The priest looked the jackal over from his pointy eartips to his clawed toes. He was a male of medium height and lean body, with a bushy tail and a coat of gray-yellow fur, the color of the sun-baked rocks of the desert. Jackals were the least expensive canines one could buy. They were always plentiful in the slave markets, and they weren't as valued as wolves or foxes. This made them a popular choice among worshippers who couldn't afford anything fancier. Still, even a lowly slave represented a considerable investment for a commoner, and it was obvious that these two had done their best to make their modest offering a worthy one. The jackal was well-fed, his fur had been brushed and cleaned, his nails trimmed and the loincloth around his slim waist looked like it was made from an expensive piece of fabric. A wreath of sweet-smelling flowers had also been placed around his neck.

Yazdar joined his hands in a devout gesture. "The temple thanks you for your gift. It will be presented to the goddess at once."

The jackal offered no resistance when the two otters gently grasped his shoulders and ushered him onto the platform. His glassy eyes and hesitant steps showed that he had been drugged before being brought here. This was a wise precaution. On the platform, behind the ram, stood a large scaffold from which dangled a line of nooses.

The crowd of worshippers intoned a mantra as the priest led the slave towards the scaffold. When the jackal stood under the rightmost noose Yazdar raised a finger and traced the sacred sign of Asaris on his chest. This done, he removed garland and loincloth and placed the noose around the victim's neck. The weight of the heavy rope seemed to shake the slave out of his stupor and his naked body began to tremble visibly as he became aware of what was happening.

"No, please no," he whimpered, his eyes wide with panic, "You don't need to do this. I can work hard."

Yazdar ignored his cries and motioned for his assistant to join him. A grey draft stallion stepped from the crowd and climbed effortlessly atop the platform. The horse was muscular, bare-chested and wore a pair of short breeches that looked like they would burst at the seams if he flexed his huge thighs. His mane was a long, untidy thing that fell messily on his neck and forehead. He munched an apple as he positioned himself next to the scaffold and grabbed the end of the rope that was connected to the noose around the jackal's throat.

The sight of his executioner drew a new flurry of increasingly desperate pleas from the small canine. "I'll pay back my cost, you will see. I'll even earn enough money to buy another slave. Please. I'll do anything, anything," he stuttered, addressing both the ram and his owners in his panic. No response came.

Closing his eyes, Yazdar laid his hands on the jackal's shoulders, pressed his forehead against his and muttered a last prayer to the goddess. He then planted a kiss on each of the slave's furry cheeks.

"Oh my masters, please have pity on me..." the jackal cried softly.

The priest cut him short by pulling a hood over his head. The thick canvas muffled the jackal's sobs, turning them into a low, indistinct moan. It was strange, Yazdar thought, how even the most wretched, flea-bitten slaves clung so desperately to their lives. Such musings did not trouble the stallion. With a loud crunch he swallowed the last piece of his apple, core and all, and licked his juice-stained fingers one by one.

Yazdar kneeled for the last part of the ritual. Ignoring the slave's feeble protests he grasped his sheath between his fingers and delicately peeled it back to expose the thin, unerect canine penis to the open air. The soul escaped the body of the sacrificial victim through the life-fluids spilled at the moment of death. It was of the utmost importance that they did not remain trapped inside the mortal vessel.

Stepping back from the doomed slave, the ram turned towards the crowd and raised his hands to the sky.

"Asaris! Your servants beg you to accept this humble gift of living flesh. Grant us your benediction so that we reap a rich harvest in this world," he shouted, the sleeves of his robe flapping in the wind.

The jackal began to sway, as if he was going to pass out, so the priest made a sign to the horse. Without hesitation, the stallion pulled on the rope with both hands and in the blink of an eye the canine rose in the air. The slave remained frozen for a second, his brain too stunned to accept what was happening, but his survival instincts soon kicked in. He jerked and thrashed furiously, seeking to escape the deadly embrace of the rope that squeezed his neck and denied air to his lungs. It was all in vain. His feet clawed desperately for support but his toes remained a good ten inches from the ground. At the foot of the platform husband and wife drew close and held hands, their eyes bright with hope. The jackal's death would breathe life into their dreams.

His agony was mercifully short. Suffocation caused his penis to swell and stiffen until a veiny erection bobbed between his legs. The slave twisted left and right in his struggle for life, squirting messy arcs of clear seminal fluid from his canine tip. The crowd anxiously watched his every kick and spin, trying to read signs of the goddess's pleasure or displeasure in the jackal's death throes. Finally, his legs kicked uselessly one last time and his whole body tensed as if an electric shock was running through it. His dick twitched and bobbed dryly for an instant before a long stream of semen gushed out of his cock to the gasps of the assembly. Several more ropes of seed followed the first to splatter on the ground below him as the jackal experienced the last and most intense orgasm of his short life, the excruciating, toe-curling combination of pleasure and pain blowing his brain apart.

It took several seconds before his ejaculation tapered off and his body began to relax. His penis still twitched erratically but his convulsions were growing less and less violent, his legs now too weak to rise and thrash. After one last spasm his head sagged and remained down, drool oozing through the thick hood. Another minute and the jackal hung listlessly from the scaffolding, the quiet only broken by the creaking of the rope.

Yazdar waited until the last spark of life had departed the body, stepped forward and examined the complex pattern of the semen stains on the floor. The two otters instinctively squeezed their hands tighter. They stared at the priest, hoping to detect a sign that the goddess had been pleased with their gift, but the ram's inscrutable face and monastic silence gave no clue as to his thoughts.

Eventually, the priest picked up the discarded loincloth, approached the limp body of the victim and carefully cleaned his still-dripping penis. He then used the cloth to wipe the semen-stained stones before turning towards the otters.

"The goddess has accepted your offering," he announced as he solemnly handed the damp cloth to the couple. "Take this, and keep it in your bedroom. The seed of the sacrifice will bring you fertility."

The male otter accepted the precious relic with a grateful bow, and both he and his wife sniffed it deeply as a mark of respect. Pulling a small ceremonial knife from his robe, Yazdar turned his attention to the jackal again. After murmuring a few sacred words, the priest grasped the canine's sack, sliced his pouch open with a long horizontal cut and extracted his testicles. The glistening orbs popped easily into the open, and with two swipes of his knife the ram severed the cords that connected them to the body. He gave them to the couple, saying, "These fruitful organs are the source of all wealth and prosperity. Take them and eat."

The otters put the still-warm orbs in each other's mouth and bit down. The lady ate her share quickly but her husband struggled to chew the rubbery flesh and retched several times. The wife put her hand on his back and patted it until he finally swallowed the male bit. His eyes were watery, his skin the color of ash and his stomach grumbled audibly in protest at the unnatural meal. For a moment it looked like the man was going to be sick, and he had to reach out a hand to steady himself against his wife. The feeling eventually settled and he glanced up at the priest, worried about having given offense. But Yazdar was still as imperturbable as a stone statue.

"Go now, and know that the goddess will bring you the good fortune you deserve."

The crowd split again to allow the couple to depart. Yazdar watched them disappear through the gates of the courtyard and turned his gaze towards the slave. The jackal was rocking gently in the morning breeze, his erection still stiff above his mangled sack. Many others would join him throughout the day. The sacrifices would hang until sunset, left on display to show the world the devotion of the followers of Asaris. Then the stallion would cut them down, pile them up in a cart and haul them over to a vacant lot outside the temple grounds for an anonymous burial.

The hood hid the jackal's features, but the slowly-drying blotch of drool on the fabric bore witness to the intense pangs of pain and pleasure that accompanied his last moments. Yazdar felt no remorse of pity for the creature. The jackal had traded a lifetime of thankless toil and wretched servitude for a few minutes of divine ecstasy at the hands of the goddess. Was it really a bad deal?

In any case, his priestly duties did not allow him the luxury of dwelling on such thoughts. Already a new group of gift-bearers, young felines this time, approached the platform, half-carrying and half-prodding a cat in front of them. By their clothes he judged that they were students from the city's university who had come to offer a sacrifice for good luck before their examinations. He also guessed, from their raucous cheers and laughter, that they had stopped at the tavern for a few drinks before coming here. The boisterous lads reached the platform and forced the cat to his knees. The victim blinked and looked dazedly around him, clearly even drunker than the other youths. Soon his comrades would graduate, but the gods had decided on another fate for him.

The rope creaked under the jackal's weight, and the cat lifted his head and stared uncomprehendingly at the emasculated body. He was still staring when the stallion took him in his muscular arms and carried him up the platform. At least this one would be spared the fear and terror, Yazdar reflected. But it did not matter in the end. The morning was just getting started and the stream of supplicants never stopped flowing. Before the day was over the scaffold would be heavy with sacred gifts, all silently proclaiming the greater glory of Asaris.