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74 Amit Bobrov
commoners, taking additional “taxes” for their hard work, and
then spending those hard-earned taxes on cheap liquor and

women. I tried to be numb to their deeds, telling myself that
this is the way things are, and always have been, but I took no
joy or pride in my work, or in my fellow soldiers. I reminded
myself that it’s a harsh world and that it’s beyond one man’s
power to change it. But, deep inside my work took its toll on
my soul. I was as malcontent and angry as I’d ever been, quick
to lash out at anyone who stirred my wrath. I felt as if, step by
step, my journey was taking me deeper into an abyss. Worse
still, I knew no better way. Every choice I made seemed to be

the wrong one, and I had only myself to blame. This is the part
of my life that I now think of as the time of numbness. Time
flew by; days became weeks and weeks became months, until
finally a change did take place. I may have grown numb and
uncaring, but the commoners who were constantly robbed by
the Tax Collectors were not.
The miners often complained to the protecting Lord by proxy

that they were being robbed by the Tax Collectors. But the Lord,
for his part, never bothered to investigate. Either because he
was bribed by the Collectors or simply because he didn’t care,
regardless of his reasons, no action was taken. In my heart I
sympathized with the commoners, though they loathed me for
the fact that I was a soldier. I kept silent on my political opinions
though, since any person, soldier or otherwise, who dared say
anything, was charged with treason and promptly put to death
in the most gruesome fashion. They used to tie the victim to a

wheel, then spin it while striking hammer to limbs. If they were
merciful, you’d be hanged, suffocating to death.
It was one such political execution that triggered the riots.
A miner was hanged in the town square on the charges of