“That would be useful if you knew where to go,” Pashera said.
“But we DO know where to go,” U’Chan replied triumphantly. “We found them – the Star Folk. They’re out there. Their civilization has risen and fallen so many times they think they were born out there. But it’s them. We know it’s them.
“They’re never coming back. So we’re going to them. Or we were going. Until Tol’zen changed the plan.”
Pashera considered. “And that was your plan. To get in your spaceship and leave Guadalquivir to Kro’tos?”
U’Chan nodded.
“That’s why Tol’zen changed the plan,” Pashera said. “He loves this city, though for the life of me, I’ll never understand why. He also loves your civilization. He won’t abandon it. Not while there’s breath in his body.”
U’Chan nodded again, sadly this time. “And thus we are committed to a course of action with enemies all around us.
“At least there is some good news,” he said. “Kro’tos has approached us about a deal. Asked how much an ex-king would get paid, where he would live, and so forth. Tol’zen thinks that is quite encouraging.”
Pashera told him about the assassin.
“Forewarned is forearmed,” U’Chan said. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Who is the male gladiator who is going to help me fake my death?” Pashera said. “Who do I look for?”
“Dark hair. Light skin. Muscles like a night ape. Eyes colored like the sky,” U’Chan said. “He goes by the name Therold.”
U’Chan left. Since there were just two more days until the games, there was no training. Instead, equipment was issued.
The gladiators of Guadalquivir were fitted according to a point system. Each new gladiator started with 20 points. For Pashera, this was enough for the spear (13 points), a steel buckler (3 points) a small knife (3 points), her battle top (which cost 1 point), her loincloth (free) and her sandals (free).
She would have dropped the buckler altogether but the older girls told her she’d need it. She could go without the bounce absorber and get a bigger knife, but she figured she’d live or die by her spear.
In some contests, contestants would be spotted extra points. But these were rare.
Any gladiator who survived a year got three extra points. And it was three extra points each year after that. And that explained why some of the older girls were outfitted like tanks.
But not all were. One 5-year veteran, Urnkali, was armored only by three metal skulls, one on each breast and one on her groin. The ones on her breast fit onto a thin harness. The whole ensemble cost her three points.
Urnkali spent her points on two javelins (10 points each) and a long sword (10 points) and scabbard (1 point).
“It’s all about showmanship,” Urnkali explained to a skeptical Pashera. “I can dance rings around most of them, and I thrill the crowd doing it.”
One rule Pashera found intriguing is that, if a gladiator killed another gladiator in combat, the victor could keep and use any weapons for the rest of the games. So there was the potential of ending the last day with a lot of weapons and armor, at least temporarily.
Kodo was famous for it.
“ ‘6-Swords Kodo’ they called him in his day,” Tooloosa told the younger girls. “He entered the last battle of the last day of the games with six swords. He stuck them all in the sand in front of him, and he ended up using all of them. He strode the sands like a god.”
That night, a bard was brought in to entertain the girls. They gathered in the mess hall to listen to his songs. He was an old human male, with a long white beard, laughing black eyes and an easy, happy smile. He had a tall peaked, wide-brimmed hat and a voluminous robe made of bits of cloth of many colors, as well as a stringed instrument the likes of which Pashera had never seen before.
The bard sang many funny songs, an assortment of filthy songs, and the girls especially liked the filthy funny songs.
For example, one particularly popular ditty went:
“By the light of a candle I happened to spy
A pretty young couple together did lie
Then the boy kissed her and pleased her awhile
When he pulled up her skirt it made him to smile
He said, “I see that you’ve got a cat I can pet,”
For there was some fur with pink that was wet
Then the girl she opened her welcoming thighs
The boy played with the cat till the bristle did rise
He stroked down the hair and made the cat weep
While she wriggled her ass and cried “push it in deep!”
The girls asked for that one more than once. To show approval, they banged their cups on the table. The cups were filled with mead, something Pashera had never had before. Every time she sighted the bottom of her cup, someone filled it for her.
By the end of the night, she saw two bards. And then, rather abruptly, she saw none at all.
Morning arrived softly, on cat’s feet. But apparently the cats towed a cart of rocks, and stuffed all the rocks in Pashera’s head.
Training was canceled for the morning, and after breakfast, many girls turned in again, to sleep it off. But Ang’ess caught Pashera’s eye.
“He’s come to visit you,” Ang’ess said, sounding annoyed. “Again.”
“What is it this time?” Pashera said, knowing that Ang’ess meant U’Chan. Her head hurt, and she didn’t want to deal with him. “You know, half the time, all he does is complain about how tough his life is.”
Ang’ess snorted, chuckling. “He is acting on behalf of your patron, so you better go.”
“I’ll go, I’ll go.”
By now, Pashera knew her way to the interview room; Ang’ess, nursing her own hangover, didn’t bother to accompany her.
U’Chan was waiting inside. He wore his tall hat and veil again. Pashera was starting to think that was really pretentious, and she was ready to tell him so.
Then Pashera realized the figure was too big to be U’Chan. Panic rose in her throat – was this an ambush by Kro’tos. But the robed figure pulled aside the veil, and her heart burst. It was Tol’zen.
She flew into his arms. She kissed him madly, deeply, all over his face, and he kissed her back.
Then she pulled back. “You mad fool,” she said, “If they catch you here, they’ll throw me in a cage and cut your faroos off.”
“I hear the entire school is hung over,” he said. “I figured our odds of getting away with it are good.”
“And U’Chan went along with it? He has the nerves of an old rope, how’d you get him to agree?”
“I didn’t hit him too hard.”
Pashera didn’t want to waste more time talking. She kissed him again and again, and ran her hands over his strong body. Oh, how she’d missed him. For his part, Tol’zen kissed her on her neck in that way that drove her wild. His hands found her tender bits, and soon her juices were flowing.
Soon, she stripped off her loincloth, leaned back on the table and pulled Tol’zen down on her. She ached to feel the weight of him. She thrilled to have his scent in her nose. She hungered for his kisses. And more, she hungered for the throbbing member she could feel pushing against his robe.
Their love-making was urgent bordering on rough. She stifled every moan and groan, which somehow only made the thrill more intense. She orgasmed quickly, and then again. And she wrapped her arms around Tol’zen’s broad back, never wanting to let him go.
Finally, Tol’zen was the one who broke the embrace. They dressed quickly. Pashera checked the doorway – the hallway was empty – then came back and held his hand as they sat together. Tol’zen, meanwhile, had his veil pulled up, and the sight of his face kept melting her heart.
She still had questions, though. And time was so short.
“I have a question for you,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“U’Chan said there was another plan – a plan to leave in a spaceship,” she said. “And you changed that
plan. Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No.”
“Because if I followed that plan, you know what I couldn’t have?” he paused. “I couldn’t have you.”
She considered. “So you decided to become king instead?”
“Our odds are very good,” Kro’tos said. “More flock to our banner every day. And we’ve got our secret weapon.” He stopped like he hadn’t meant to say that.
“What’s that? What’s the secret weapon? Is it Kro’brin?”
“Yes,” he said. “Kro’tos doesn’t suspect Kro’brin is on our side.”
Voices sounded in the hallway. “I better go,” he said. “You know the plan. We’ll have you out at the end of the first day.”
“I’m not afraid,” she told him.
“Then I guess I’ll worry enough for both of us.” He smiled, put the veil back, and left the room.
She went back to her cell and luxuriated in the soreness of her private parts. This was how she wanted to feel all the time. It almost made her forget the pain in her head from the previous night’s revelry.
Toward noon, the groaning gladiators assembled, and assignments for the games were handed out. Pashera wasn’t surprised to see that, as a new girl, she was assigned to the Morning Open. She’d asked what a “shambler” was, but never got a straight answer. Orm’ryn told her “mind the teeth, and they’re fast,” but that wasn’t much help.
She was also slated for the battle royale in the evening. That was 14 gladiators – seven men, seven women – and the last one on his or her feet in the center circle was the winner. Leave the circle, and you were out of the contest. But leave it in disgrace – for example, by running away – and you paid with your life.
Most of the older girls only had one fight during the day. The ones who were picked for the Hunt of Rare Beasts – which were supposed to include very dangerous animals – seemed grim, almost fatalistic. The level three challenges were already assigned, and Pashera was proud to see both Tooloosa and Orm’ryn given that high honor.
The day was devoted to last-minute practice and critiques. Pashera, who could now dance with her spear like it was a living extension of her body, twirled across the sands for quarter of an hour. She got nods and even a throat-clearing chuckle from Ang’ess.
Gwettelen, Pashera had to admit, had become very good with her weapon, the coiling dragon. In fact, Gwettelen was a whirling dervish of destruction, twirling the three staves of metal, held together by metal rings, around herself in a cyclone of carnage. Where the metal “tooth” of the coiling dragon struck a wooden target, boards exploded and left gaping holes for the other girls to wonder at.
When Gwettelen sat down, her breath coming in gulps, she glared at Pashera with a fierce and wicked grin.
Those new girls who had survived the full course of training were now killers, or soon to be killers. And yet, they still paled next to the veterans, who were viciously good. Seeing them with their full lethality on display, Pashera realized just how much the older girls had been taking it easy on her.
Some of the girls made minor errors or downright flubs. These merited strong words from the teachers. Ang’ess and Ang’kim did not raise their voices, but their words cut like flails.
“Oh, Elmdra,” Ang’ess said, venom dripping from her words. “Is that all the form you’ve learned in these months? Well, at least you’ll make a good-looking corpse.”
“I’ll do better, Teacher,” Elmdra said, panting. She’d been kept demonstrating her moves on the sand three times as long as Pashera before Ang’ess signaled for her to quit.
“You’ll have to,” Ang’ess said dismissively. “Next.”
One gladiator who was still unpolished was Dawatana. The tactics her teacher had come up with was for her to charge at targets and knock them down, then stab them. What was there to say? In any case, Ang’ess said nothing unkind.
Dawatana beamed because she had escaped the sand without a tongue-lashing.
There was no more mead that day. But there was plenty of food.
“Sleep well, girls,” Ang’ess said as dinner ended. “Baths close in two hours.”
There were lots of hoots and hollers at that, and a veritable stampede to the baths. Orm’ryn explained to Pashera that while the women abstained from sex in the month leading up to the games, they believed sex the night before the games sharpened their aim. Half of them apparently agreed with Orm’ryn, because that’s how many were headed for the baths.
“Ah,” Pashera said. She considered joining them. That other day with Amaz and the girls had been fun. Orm’ryn left hand-in-hand with one of the other older saurian females.
Then Pashera heard soft crying. She turned and saw Dawatana crying in the corner. “Oh, baby girl,” Pashera said, hugging her.
“I’m fighting monsters tomorrow,” Dawatana blubbered. “Shamblers. It’s not fair.”
“A big, strong girl like you? You’ll make mincemeat out of those monsters,” Pashera reassured her.
She got Dawatana out of the food hall and to her cell, and sat with her for a long time. Pashera sang lullabies, and distracted Dawatana with tales of life growing up next to a lake, and her adventures with Tol’zen, and many more stories that she just made up.
Dawatana finally passed out. By then, Pashera was ready to turn in.
She had no company for the night but her own fingers. But she made good use of them.
Chapter 17. Onto the Sands
The next morning there was an audible buzz of excitement in the women’s school. Even Dawatana seemed over her misery of the previous night and – whether it was fatalism or not – was ready to go smite ass. She’d been outfitted with short sword (5 points), round wooden shield (5 points), a helmet (5 points), greaves (4 points, or 2 points per leg), and a big leather belt (3 points) that protected her vulnerable midsection. She’d wanted to wear her battle top but ran out of points. Pashera pointed out that her breasts were small enough that it wouldn’t matter.
“That’s not why,” Dawatana said. “I wanted to be on your team.”
“You’re always on my team,” Pashera assured her, and patted her broad shoulder.
Pashera saw Tooloosa on the way to breakfast. “You succeeded in turning my Dawatana into a turtle,” Pashera said.
“I play to her strengths,” Tooloosa said. “Now, don’t embarrass me by getting killed the first day.”
Pashera bit her tongue.
After breakfast – which was light and mostly fruit – there was an hour of stretching. Then everyone suited up. Ang’kim chose to address the troops one last time.
“Today, you are going into the arena, many of you for the first time,” Ang’kim said.
And some of us for the last time, Pashera thought. But she kept the words to herself.
“I fought there lo many years,” Ang’kim said. “And I saw a lot of human women win their freedom on the sand. And they walked the streets as free citizens afterward.”
Pashera’s ears perked up.
“It’s a long road,” Ang’kim said. “And you get there one day – one battle – one swing of the sword at a time. It is a hard road. But the hardest thing is what you must do right now, before you step into the ring. You must Let. Go. Of. Fear.” She paused to emphasize each word.
There was a general sound of assent from the older women.
“How you let go of fear is to know you are already dead,” Ang’kim said. “They cannot take your life from you. You already gave your life when you became a gladiator. No! What you can lose – what is on the line is your honor. And you. Must. Not. Lose. That!”
The undertone of approval from the older women became louder.
“Your honor is the one thing of value you take into the arena,” Ang’kim said. “Not your life. You already surrendered your life. But you can RECLAIM your life by holding true to your honor. You can reclaim your life by winning the battles before you today, with honor! You reclaim your life by paying the pr
ice in blood. Not yours. Let others bleed!”
The older women roared with approval.
Orm’ryn suddenly spoke. “I am dead!” she said. “Let me reclaim my life.”
“Go and claim it!” Ang’kim said approvingly.
Tooloosa shouted: “I am dead! Let me reclaim my life!”
“Go! Go and claim your life and honor,” Ang’kim said.
Pashera suddenly realized she was seeing some age-old ceremony.
“I am dead!” one of the other older saurians shouted. “Let me reclaim my life. Let me pay for it in blood!”
“Go!” Ang’kim shouted. “Pay the blood price. Reclaim your life.”
She paused. The collected females, saurian and human, waited on her next words.
“Who is ready to pay the blood price?” she asked.
“I am!” the senior women shouted.
“Who?”
“I AM!” The new girls joined in now.
Ang’kim shook her head. “No, I can’t hear you. Let me hear the heroes.”
“I AM!” And the female gladiators roared and beat their weapons together or on their shields if they had them.
Ang’kim indicated her neck. Each gladiator reached up and unhooked her collar. They then threw them into a pile.
“The sands are your path to freedom,” Ang’kim said. “Never forget!”
Then the gates opened, and Pashera and the others marched to the arena and out onto the sands.
The inner wall of the arena, which went up to the first tier of seats, was 5.5 lissaros.[7] This was high enough to stop most beasts. To discourage any of the more ambitious creatures, the top of the wall was spiked, and the top half of the wall was greased, making climbing very difficult.
Still, there were occasional escapes. That added to the excitement in the eyes of the saurians. For safety, the king had two guards armed with slug-throwers, as well as more warriors armed with more ceremonial spears. And select merchants were known to post their own armed guards “just in case.”
The first tier was reserved for important saurians. Members of the Remnant government, priests, rich merchants and honored military figures.
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