"In Mordor"
Painting by Alan Lee
It was hard enough for poor Sam, tired as he was; but for Frodo it was a torment, and soon a nightmare. He set his teeth and tried to stop his mind from thinking, and he struggled on. The stench of the sweating orcs about him was stifling, and he began to gasp with thirst.
On, on they went, and he bent
all his will to draw his breath and to make his legs keep going; and yet to
what evil end he toiled and endured he did not dare to think. There was no hope
of falling out unseen. Now and again the orc-driver fell back and jeered at
them.
'There now!' he laughed, flicking at their legs. 'Where there's a whip, there's
a will, my slugs. Hold up! I'd give you a nice freshener now, only you'll get
as much lash as your skins will carry when you come in late to your camp. Do
you good. Don't you know we're at war?'