"See ya."
Blice laughs and flips the gold coin. "And who was that?"
"Just one of our agents I work with. We're kinda like partners."
"He a Nymph?"
"We're all Nymphs." Orion says. "Silver is like a father to me. He's been helping me since I ran away from this city. But that doesn't matter."
"Silver, huh? Is that his real name?"
"I guess. It's the only name I've ever know him as. Why?"
"Nothing. I'll go get our drinks." Blice says as he leaves down the corridor.
* * *
After being stripped and doused with another ice cold bucket of water and having guards wipe him down with a coarse towel, Troy is pushed back out into the arena. This time, he's without a weapon and the black bruise from his waist to his knee on his right leg is hurting. He eyes the bottle of energy pills on the shelf of the hallway that the creepy man gave him. He could definitely use some energy, but he doesn't want to touch anything that came from him. This is going to only get rougher on him. Every opponent he will fight is fresh and hasn't fought yet like he has. That's how it goes. There are only four fights. The main fighter fights in every one until he dies or he's the victor. It's a bad sign if Troy is already this exhausted after one fight. Hopefully the next three aren't giants with swords bigger than he is. Not having eaten in two days or sleeping very much at all isn't helping.
This time, the Nymphs cheer louder than ever when they see him step into the sunlight. They hold up colorful banners and wave at him. A few women blow him kisses and toss flowers down into the arena. Interesting. If he wanted to solve his women issue, he should have become one of those full time gladiators who fight for money. They get to wear armor.
The gate across from him opens and he gasps. It's a human woman. They know he was a Royal Knight and they expect him to fight and kill a woman? The whistling sound of a knife flying by his ear brings him back to reality. Whoa.
The woman with her short blonde curly hair rips another throwing knife from the bandoleer strapped across her chest. One misses by about two feet. The other slices through Troy's left arm. Grabbing onto the wound, he kneels down and starts sifting through the sand. Where are the parts of his spear? This is where he dropped them. He could have sworn they were right here. What is he doing? The glint of sunlight on metal catches his eye and he lunges for it as another knife sticks into the ground by his hand. He yanks it from the ground as he retrieves the other one.
Suddenly, the woman flips him over and sits on top of him, slapping him with her soft manicured hands. It's almost comical. The sight of a scantily-clad woman straddling his hips and punching him makes his body react in confusing and unwanted ways. Enough of this. He grabs her wrists and rolls over, pinning her down under his weight. Gods help him. This shouldn't be turning him on like this. But in the end, this is about survival. He wraps his hand tightly in her hair to hold her there, defenseless, as he presses the edge of the blade against her throat. "I'm sorry, beautiful."
* * *
Orion laughs as he watches the blood-soaked Troy limp back into the tunnel. "He's gonna be a handful to train."
"Have you trained a slave before?" Blice asks as he hands him a cup of lemonade.
"Nope. But I've watched Silver train his and some others. He's really good with the slaves. They listen and obey him. It's almost as if he's done this his entire life. Anyway, you missed the fight. She went down easily enough."
"She? He fought a woman?"
"Yep. Her body is still down there. She was gushing blood like a fountain. He slit her throat."
"Did he get distracted?" Blice asks. "Troy likes the ladies."
"A bit, but he kept it under control. I just hope he can control himself around Mistress. She doesn't put up with men staring at her. Oh, hang on. I'm getting another call." He presses the sensor again. "What? You guys are really getting on my nerves."
"Forgive me, Master Orion."
Orion's demeanor softens. "Oh. Paris? I didn't mean to yell at you. What do you need?"
"Master wanted me to ask you if you'll want to mark your slave today."
"Yes. I will mark him as soon as we get to the ship. Why didn't Silver call me himself?"
"Master says that cooking spaghetti is an art from that shouldn't be interrupted." Paris says.
"Wow. Okay. Well, tell Silver that the ring is in the wooden box on my dresser."
"Yes, Master Orion. Do you need anything else?"
"That's it for now. Bye, Paris." Orion says.
"Goodbye, Master Orion."
Blice noisily drinks through the straw in his empty cup. "And who's that?"
"You're very obnoxious."
"I don't care. Who's Paris?"
"Silver's slave." Orion says.
"He sounds young."
"He's twelve."
"Oh." Blice thinks for a minute. "Uh . . . this might be weird, but . . . what is a twelve year old slave good for?"
"Many things. Not what you're worried about. To be honest, I don't know why Silver wanted a slave that young. He got him when Paris was seven. He said he knew there was a special connection between them as soon as he saw Paris at the slave auction down in Kyro."
"Kyro?"
"Hector, or Pharaoh Hector as he likes to be called, has his slaves down there." Orion says as he takes a drink of lemonade. "It's a desert country he's trying to make into a superpower or something. Athens doesn't take it seriously enough to even acknowledge its existence. They're all about slaves down there."
"Tell me about this Silver guy. He seems to like spaghetti to an unhealthy level. Strange people intrigue me."
"His husband used to make it. It's a secret recipe."
"Husband? So he's gay?" Blice asks.
Orion shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah. He doesn't like to talk about it. His husband died a long time ago. Why am I telling you this stuff? Mistress is going to skin me alive after she goes through my recorded audio."
"You're recording our conversation?"
"I record everything. It's what spies do." Orion says.
"You're a spy?"
Orion sighs and returns to his perch in the window. "You're an idiot. Get over here. The next fight is starting."
* * *
Troy's hands are trembling as he tries to remain calm and walk back out into the arena and the screaming people, all chanting his name. They hail him as a hero, but he couldn't feel father from it. The woman's blood is still staining the dusty ground and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't scrub away all of her blood out from under his fingernails. All he can smell is blood. It's making him nauseous, but he has to keep going. Two fights down, two to go.
"Where do you think you're going?" One of the guards calls to him from back inside. "Come here, slave. Looks like we missed that cut on your arm. We don't want that to get infected, do we?"
Oh hell. This isn't going to be good. Without any other choice, Troy goes to the guard who roughly grabs him and presses him against the cold wall. From behind him, there is the sound of a lid being screwed off of a jar then a sharp, searing, blazing pain concentrated on the raw gash on his arm. The guard's metal-clad fingers dig deep into Troy's splayed bicep. He gasps and his body tenses with pain. A low moan escapes him, followed by the sting of leather across his shoulder blades. He almost loses his composure right there. He tries in vain to find something on the slick wall to grab onto as the beating continues.
"What's wrong, slave? Can't take the pain? Next time, don't make a sound when I apply the salt." The guard pushes him up the ramp. "Now go."
With a stinging back and throbbing arm, Troy stops to wipe the tears from his eyes. They can't see their hero like this. Though if his back looks as bad as it feels, then the red welts will be very visible against his pale skin. He takes a deep breath and waits for the gate to open. He's lost all will to fight. All he wants to do is be held by Xanthe and for her and Nova to take care of him and tell him that everything is okay. He needs to cry and to give up, but he can'
t. Instead, he bites his lip and steps past the gate into the arena. He must look awful: sunburned, bruised, scraped, covered in his own blood from his open wound, and with a crisscross of red marks on his back. Still, his people cheer for him.
The opposite gate opens and Troy hears the familiar and dreaded snapping of a leather whip. With a tinge of horror spreading through him, he notices what he's up against. It's a middle aged impure Nymph with a bullwhip. Really? Oh, great. More whips. Now he's getting desperate. He has to find a weapon. The woman's throwing knives have been removed, but there are still shards of his spear scattered around, protruding out of the sand. Maybe there's a piece sharp enough to wield as a weapon. Or in the best scenario, the spearhead could still be here somewhere. Other than that, there's not much he can do. Just as he says a heartfelt prayer to Athena, he feels something hard under his right foot. No. It can't be. It's the iron spearhead. Picking it up and brushing the dust away, Troy jumps when he hears the crack of the whip nearby. While not the deadliest of weapons, the whip can be a great strategic choice for manipulating the battlefield, for disarming an opponent, or for just instilling fear and being a sadistic bastard.
The whip strikes first, slashing across Troy's stomach. He lashes out with the improvised dagger and clips the man's thigh. As Troy steps to the right to avoid the next hit of the whip, he grabs at his stomach where the whip had hit him across his abs and it feels sticky. The whip hit him so hard that it sliced through his skin. He takes back everything he thought about whips being inferior weapons. This guy must have experience with that thing.
The next pop of the whip sends the leather wrapping around Troy's ankle, slicing the skin and bringing him to the ground on his face. Before he can get up, the whip bites into his back and legs, over and over in a rapid flurry. Each impact is so powerful that it keeps him prone, the unrelenting beating not allowing him any time to take a breath or brace against the next lash.
Troy digs his fingers into the ground and screams as his body shakes and tears stream from his eyes. This is it. It's over. He can't go on. But then, above the roar of the crowd and the grunting of the man standing over him, Troy hears one voice.
"Troy! Get up. Get up!"
Nova? In the brief time between hits, Troy gathers the last scraps of strength he can find and rolls to the right, taking a slash across his arm. The sand scratches his eyes as he closes them tightly and hits all around him, thrusting and stabbing into the darkness. When he hits something, it's the greatest surprise of his life. The sound of the whip stops. Troy stands up and opens his eyes to see the man doubled over, clutching his stomach. Blood drips down to the sand as he vomits. Could this spearhead have done that much? Either way, this is his chance and he's going to take it. Troy picks up the whip and pushes the man to the ground. He sits on his back and wraps the leather tightly around the man's neck. The man is struggling, gasping, and choking as he convulses under Troy. But Troy keeps his iron grasp tight around the whip until the gurgling and labored attempts at breathing have died down.
Exhausted and slicked with sweat, Troy lets go and falls on his back. He doesn't care about the hot sand irritating the hundreds of welts and gashes on his back and shoulders. He stares up at the blue sky where thin wispy clouds glide past the sun and white doves flitter around with their mates. Every inch of his body aches with a deep, flowing, throbbing pain. His vision blurs with tears. Lightheadedness from lack of food and the heat beaming down on him makes him sick. Only the dull cheering of the crowds keeps him conscious. Sleep would feel amazing. Is he dying?
Metal-clad hands wrap around his arms and force him to his feet as the cheering grows louder around him. Someone whispers to him. "One more. You've got this. Just one more fight. Stay with us."
* * *
"So much for you not getting damaged goods." Blice quips.
Orion growls under his breath. "I don't know how much more Troy has in him. That whip really drained him."
"He's a knight, not a dog. I don't think I would be able to endure that much and manage to keep going."
"Don't get me wrong." Orion says. "It was impressive to be sure. Only now he will have a strong aversion to whips."
"You say that like you planned to use one on him."
"He's a slave, Blice. Leave the discipline and training of my slave to me. I won't kill him or anything."
"Blice!" Zodiac runs down the corridor and pulls on his arm. "We have to go get Nova! She sneaked under the arena to see Troy."
11
With some much needed water and a few miraculous minutes in front of an air conditioner, Troy starts to come back to the world of the living. Lying on the floor of the cavern with the newly salted wounds burning, he struggles to draw in a full breath. The pain is all-encompassing. It flows over him in one never-ebbing wave. His arms and legs feel heavy and sore. The bruise on his leg is dark, black, and tender. One more fight. The question is, does he have one more fight in him? He wants to give up, to let them kill him so he can't be tortured like this anymore. Is a life eternally as a slave worth fighting for?
"Troy?"
Did he hear something? Groaning in pain, Troy sits up and rubs his legs as he looks around in the dim light. The only thing he hears is the dull roar of the air conditioner. The door slides slowly open and Troy stares down at the floor as the guard comes in and . . . kisses him? He jumps back as warm arms surround him. He pushes the person away.
"Troy, it's me."
"Nova?" He embraces her and breathes in her perfume as her soft hands move delicately over his raw back. "Be gentle. It hurts."
"What's this? Salt? They're torturing you."
"Nova . . . you can't be in here." Troy says. "They'll arrest you. They'll whip me again. Go back to Zodiac. I don't want you to see me like this."
"Come with me. We can sneak out together. I set off one of Blice's smoke bombs to distract the guards."
Troy shakily stands and drags her to the door. "Go."
"I'm not leaving you!"
"Shh." He pushes her against the wall and kisses her passionately. He needs her so badly, even in his exhausted and abused state. She is so soft and comforting compared to the roughness of the past few hours.
Nova runs her fingers through his dirty hair. "You're crying."
"I can't go with you. I'm branded. I can't hide anywhere. I'll only be putting you and Zodiac in danger." People start running down the hall outside the door. "Go. They're coming."
"I'll find you. Blice will help us and we'll find you. I love you."
She loves him? Troy smiles as the tears steak down his face and he closes the door. "I love you, Nova."
The door is soon reopened as two guards take Troy by his arms and march him up the ramp into the arena for the fourth and final time. He's still crying, but he doesn't care at this point. Let them see him at his weakest. It's not worth pretending to be strong anymore. It's over. One way or another, it all ends here. There's only one thing Troy is fighting for now. That's Nova. If she is watching, he will make her proud, no matter what comes out of that gate. He finds his spearhead and prepares himself to fight.
The gate across the arena opens and the coliseum goes quiet except for a few gaps and pained cries for mercy. Two guards drag out Troy's opponent who is obviously distraught. His screams fill the silence. Troy stares in shock. No.
The guards push the young boy to his knees and leave, shutting the gate behind them. As the Nymph boy continues to cry and tremble in fear, the audience voices their outrage with hissing and cursing.
He can't do it. As he watches the boy, who is no older than nine or ten, cry out for his mother, Troy knows he will not hurt an innocent child. Someone had to do this on purpose. They know he could never kill a child.
* * *
Blice pushes Zodiac and Nova into the corridor where Orion is punching the stone window sill with both fists. He shakes Nova as he yells at her. "What is wrong with you, Nova? You can't run off and cause trouble. You could have gotten Troy and yours
elf killed."
Orion shakes his head as he watches what is happening down in the arena. "It doesn't matter anyway. It's over. Troy has lost."
"No!" Nova cries out and runs to the window.
"What are you talking about?" Blice asks. "The fight just started."
"There isn't going to be a fight. Your father rigged this. He's played his ace, his coup de grâce. He never intended to let Troy get out of there alive."
"I don't understand." Blice says.
"It's a kid. Troy's final opponent is a little impure boy. Even I know Troy well enough to know that he won't do it. He can't. Well, this was a waste of time."
"What do you think he'll do?" Zodiac asks. "Troy won't hurt a child, but he would never kill himself."
Orion tosses his knife in the air and catches it. "You know him better than any of us, Zodiac. What would he do? Would Troy commit suicide in order to save a child? Would he sacrifice himself for that boy? You already know the answer. You're just too scared to say it. Troy's virtue and honor will be his downfall."
"And what would you do if you were in his position?" Zodiac asks.
Orion shrugs his shoulders. "I would kill the kid."
"What? It's a child!" Nova screams.
"Exactly." Orion says as he drags the edge of his combat knife across the wall. "Take a moment and think about the fate that awaits that boy if Troy lets him win. He'll be abused and tortured like no child should ever be. This is a mercy killing. That boy will go to that awful man who rapes and kills his slaves where he'll die anyway. Dying now saves him all that humiliation and inhumane suffering."
"But Troy won't see it that way." Blice says. "He will let his emotions take over and cloud his judgment. He is already worn out and probably not thinking clearly."
"It's in Troy's hands and his alone."
* * *
Troy slips the spearhead into the folded cloth around his hips and holds out his arms as a sign of peace as he walks towards the boy. "I don't want to hurt you. Please give me the dagger."
The boy holds it out in his hand that is wet with tears. "I know you."
Paradise Forgotten Trilogy Page 12