“These antibiotics should do the trick for infection,” the medic said. “And this is for the pain.” She was the same female saurian who had treated Amaz.
“What’s your name?” Pashera said.
“You can call me ‘Medic’ or ‘Mistress,’ ” she said. There was no humor in the medic’s eyes.
“I just wanted to say thank you for helping Dawatana, Medic.”
“You’re welcome. It’s my job.” The medic shrugged. “Pretty light casualties for a shambler roundup, really.”
“Not for me,” Dawatana moaned through the tears.
“Ah, look on the bright side,” the medic said. “If you were out in your monkey village, you’d have to put fire on that wound to stop infection. If you even know what infection is, and how to treat it. Here, you girls get the best medical care.”
Pashera thought to herself: “which we only need because we fight for your pleasure.” But she didn’t say that. The way the saurian medic said “monkey” carried none of the light-hearted affection that Tol’zen implied when he used the word. Pashera figured she shouldn’t press any issues with this one.
Instead, she said, “What are the shamblers? What makes them that way?”
The medic nodded. “When you first came to the city, they used a machine to teach you the language, right?”
“Yes, the machine called a tellite.”
The saurian looked impressed. “Very good. Well, the language lesson only works about half the time. If it doesn’t work, you end up a shambler.”
A cold chill ran down Pashera’s spine. Tol’zen had known he risked turning her into one of those … things … when he captured her. How could he take that risk?”
“Surely there is another way to teach the language,” Pashera said. “Why not?”
“How much time do you think we’re going to spend teaching apes to talk?” the medic said, the sharpness coming back into her voice again. “And anyway, even shamblers have their uses. Sport in the arena. Now, you two get out of here, I’ll have more patients soon.”
As Pashera helped Dawatana out, she passed Gwettelen coming the other way, leading her human friend. The woman had bad scratches on the side of her face and arms. “The medic will fix that right up,” Pashera said to them in passing.
“Thanks,” Gwettelen replied. “You fought well today. Both of you.”
Pashera was so stunned she almost dropped Dawatana to the sand. Gwettelen had said something nice?! She stared open-mouthed at Gwettelen, who winked and walked on.
There was an awful lot of winking going on today. And Pashera didn’t like it. Not one bit.
The trumpets were already sounding for the next match. All the girls clustered at the gate, either peering through slats or climbing to the top to look through the small windows up there.
It seemed like all the women were present, though. “Is it just men fighting the monsters?” Pashera asked.
“It’s the prisoners,” one of the other girls said. “Your friend Amaz.”
Pashera looked around in a panic, and saw Ang’kim looking at her with a “what am I going to do with you?” look. “You should be resting,” Ang’kim said. “You’re fighting later today.” She sighed. “But, go up to the third tier. We have an observation box there. Tell them I sent you.”
Pashera plopped Dawatana down on a bench, turned on her heel, and sprinted down the hallway.
Up three long flights of stairs. On the third tier, she found the gladiators’ box. Ang’ess was there with Kodo and another older male gladiator with a heavy scar on his face. They were passing around a water-filled glass vessel that issued forth smoke from a tube. “Oh ho!” Kodo said. “There’s a fighter. Saw you against the shamblers. You were gorgeous. A born killer!”
It took all of Pashera’s self-control to bow. “Thank you, Teachers,” she said. “All I know I learned from you.”
The older gladiators ate it up.
“My friends are fighting now,” she said. “May I see?”
“Of course!” Ang’ess said. She seemed much friendlier away from the school.
Far below, on the sands, Amaz was lining up her troops. She put the ones with spears in front, and formed the others in two ranks behind them. A couple of the arena custodians ran around the group, daubing everyone with liquid from a bucket.
“What’s in the bucket?” Pashera said.
“Oh, well, we tell them it’s holy liquid; a blessing,” Kodo said. “But it’s actually scent.”
“Scent?”
“Yes, the monsters are trained to attack a specific scent. Otherwise, they might go into the stands, wouldn’t they? It’s especially important with the flying ones. And that’s what they’ve got first.”
The crowd started to clap in anticipation. Pashera looked at Amaz and the other prisoners. “Do they know?”
“I don’t tell them.”
She looked around. Was there some way to warn them? If she could only get into one of the front-row boxes on the first level – but how?
Looking at the first level, she saw the king’s box. There was Kro’tos alright, surrounded by his flunkies. And there was Tol’zen! Her heart skipped a beat. In fact, it looked like Tol’zen, his bitch-wife and some friends had half the royal box.
“Tol’zen is sharing a box with Kro’tos,” she said in wonder.
“Well, they put on a show for the crowd, don’t they?” Kodo said. “Kro’tos shows everyone how generous he is. Even to his enemies.”
“The only one he’s convincing is Kro’tos,” said Ang’ess. All three of the older gladiators laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world.
What were they smoking?
“May I go to the king’s box, Teacher?” Pashera asked. She knew she could shout to Amaz from that box, and likely be heard.
“Oh no,” Kodo said. “No, that’s not allowed.”
“But my master is there.”
“Your only master is the school now,” Kodo said, not unkindly. “Sit down. It’s starting.”
Sure enough, there arose from inside the Hellgate a ferocious buzzing noise. It was so raw, so alien, that it sent goosebumps up Pashera’s spine. She sat down by Kodo to see what would emerge.
Chapter 18. Blood and Sacrifice
Two great sticks poked out of the Hellgate. No, now Pashera could see they were antenna. Antenna attached to the largest wasp she’d ever seen. It was larger than a yast, nearly as long as one of those – what where they called – elephants!
The wasp stood taller than a man on its six legs, and was colored glossy yellow and black. Its mouth was flanked by huge, savagely jagged mandibles that exuded diabolical menace. Translucent, almost delicate wings, pale brown but shot through with thick black veins, were tucked together on it back, trembling with nervous energy.
Pashera watched with horrified fascination as the giant wasp crawled out on the sand with a quick, jerky motion. At the sight of it, several of the prisoners cried out in fear or anguish. Pashera could see Amaz barking at them, grabbing and shaking a couple of the girls to put them back in line.
“We should have put some gladiators down there behind them,” the scar-faced old gladiator said.
“With ordinary beasts yes, but this is too risky, too early in the games,” Ang’ess said. “And Amaz will keep them from breaking.” Ang’ess looked at Pashera, her one good eye twinkling, and nodded approvingly.
The wasp stood still as a statue for a few seconds. Then its great wings flickered and burst into action. At once, a whirlwind started in that section of the arena, and a great cloud of sand blew into the air. Then the wasp took flight. The crowd gasped, and some screamed to see this winged terror take flight above them.
The wasp did not fly far – Pashera marveled that a thing that big could fly at all – but alighted on the pillar in the center of arena. It perched on top – somehow able to balance its great bulk on the small surface – and studied the women below.
That was enough for Amaz, who too
k her spear and ran across the sands toward the pillar. Two other prisoners ran with her. Behind them, the other prisoners screamed encouragement as Amaz, with a mighty heave, sent her spear soaring into the air right at the enormous wasp.
The wasp surged as the spear left her hand. It went into motion, a whirlwind of sand rising beneath its wings.
The spear went wide – just grazing the side of the wasp. “It’s the wind from its wings,” Pashera said. “It’s a force unto itself.”
The wasp shuddered as the spear scraped its chitinous hide. But it still dove into the dust cloud its wings raised. Within seconds, it appeared back above the crowd, clutching a woman. Pashera’s heart leapt in her throat. But it wasn’t Amaz. It was another prisoner. The poor woman screamed and screamed. The wasp got her head in its jaws and the screaming finally, mercifully stopped.
The wasp flew around the stadium with the feebly twitching woman in its grip. Then, in one convulsive motion, it ripped her body apart. Body parts and viscera dropped on the crowd in a rain of blood. Some in the crowd ran out of the way; others ran forward to grab horrific trophies. Cheers and roars filled the arena.
Pashera tried not to show her revulsion. There was silence in their box.
“Well, that’s bloody disgusting,” Kodo said.
“Do you still want to put gladiators out there?” Ang’ess asked the scar-faced gladiator.
The wasp lit on the column again. Like a neat old tabby-cat, it washed its face and hands, putting its forelimbs in its mouth and licking them clean, then drawing them over its head, turning that important part of its body this side and that for better washing.
Below, the dust settled. Amaz was still there, the other woman beside her. They cocked to throw their spears again – Pashera held her breath. But before they could throw, the wasp took off and headed for the crowd of prisoners. As it swooped down – this next part was hard to see because of the dust cloud – Amaz ran forward, behind the spear in her hand. She threw it just as the wasp swooped down on the prisoners.
The spear entered near the back of the abdomen, penetrating deeply. The wasp spasmed in mid-air, and fell right onto the prisoners.
Its wings never stopped beating, and even more dust was stirred up. Pashera was faintly reminded of the battle with the sky pirates, and her stomach twisted even more.
But the humans didn’t break. Spears and swords rose and fell in a frantic symphony of death. The wasp thrashed and flailed, making a low-key buzzing all the while, even after its wings were gone – surely a cry of agony – as the prisoners hacked, stabbed and stomped it to death.
In minutes, the deed was done. Another human lay on the sands not moving. Amaz put her foot on the abdomen and yanked out her spear. She held it over her heard, saluted her warriors, and roared.
The crowd roared back.
“Wonderful job,” Kodo said. “It should have gotten many more of them. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”
Pashera looked at him in panic. “It’s not over?”
“Over?” Kodo looked at her like she was a simpleton. “Dear girl, it’s just begun.”
Now that it was clear the wasp was dead, the arena exploded in applause. Custodians drove a team of yasts out onto the sand. They put hooks into the wasp and dragged it ignominiously off the sand. The human dead weren’t treated much better, carted off in wheelbarrows by fast-moving workers. A trio of yasts dragged a rake around the sand to clear it, and another team of custodians ran around, giving the prisoners water and slapping bandages on cuts.
In a matter of minutes, they were done. All the custodians left the field. A couple of abandoned weapons lay on the sands, half-covered by the horse-drawn rake. Amaz arrayed her troops again.
Alerted by clinking glass and laughter, Pashera looked around. Other gladiators, mainly older females and older men, had filled many of the seats in the box. There was a party atmosphere going on now. One older saurian female – who must be retired, because Pashera had never seen her before – pulled two men by the hair, pushing their faces close to her neck. The men started kissing her … and each other.
It sickened Pashera even more. Her friends were dying down there, and these old fools were acting like it was a bacchanal?
With no warning, a huge beast charged out of the Hellgate. This one wasn’t as long as an elephant. But it was still plenty big. And it stood twice as tall as a man. Writhing, twisty rope-like things boiled in a mass over its surface.
“That’s a rhino,” said the older gladiator with the wicked facial scar.
“Never a rhino,” said Kodo. “No horn.”
“It’s the size of a rhino,” Ang’ess agreed. “Bigger, even.”
The creature squealed – a terrified and terrifying noise that was part squeal, part roar.
“It’s a pig,” Pashera said. “A big, big pig. And those are snakes on it.”
It might have been a wild boar once. Now, twisted by the scientists, it was a razorback out of a nightmare.
Snakes, twisting, coiling and scaly, writhed around on the pig’s skin. They were attached by their mouths. It might be a monster, but Pashera pitied the pig. The pain must be excruciating.
Some of the snakes released their bites as the pig bounced along, and they fell in its trail. The pig ran around in a berserk fashion, then fixed its red eyes on the line of women, and charged.
Amaz jumped in front with her spear and threw. Another woman – Rylo! – did the same thing. Both spears hit, and Rylo’s went deep, but it didn’t slow the pig down much.
Another woman stepped forward and threw a sword, end over end, and it stuck in the pig with a sickening “thunk!” And the beast roared, but it still didn’t slow down. And suddenly it was among the women, scattering them like children’s toys.
One woman went flying to one side, sailing over the others, and didn’t stop till she slammed into the arena wall. Pashera was pretty sure it was the one who threw the sword. More were flung to either side as the great pig swung its heads – and its killer, blackened tusks – back and forth.
The horrible thing was, as the women went careening through the air – suffering the devil knows what injuries – they went with snakes attached to them, screaming all the way.
But most of the women were able to keep their feet, and they closed around the boar like a circle of death. Spears struck home. Swords dug deep.
The boar didn’t go down easy. It swung around, looking for an exit, and found Amaz with a sword. She drove it right through the big pig’s eyeball, and it screamed; it was a rasping, roaring noise from the very throat of hell.
Even as Amaz drove the blade home, a snake wrapped its way down the blade, went up her arm and bit, sinking its fangs into her bicep. Amaz howled in pain, and stepped back, choking the snake, but other women pressed the attack.
The giant hog took three more steps, then it wavered, then it fell like collapsing bricks. As it died, the snakes detached and spread outward like a wave. This triggered more screaming from the women, who scrambled out of the way, dragging their wounded with them.
The snakes only got maybe 20 human paces from the boar, then they suddenly stopped moving. Pashera looked – the snakes that the pig had dropped in its track were limp on the sands as well. Likewise, any woman who’d been attacked by a snake now had a dead serpent in her hands.
The crowd stood up and cheered.
“I count five down for good, maybe another five wounded,” Kodo said. “Again, they acquit themselves well, these women. These criminals.”
“Bah, that pig could have made more of a show of it,” the scar-faced man said. “It should have used the arena to its advantage.”
“Maybe it’s hard to be cunning with a thousand snakes biting you,” Kodo said.
Again, the custodians came out and cleaned the arena. The hog was hauled away by yasts, the snakes scooped up with shovels and rakes. More wheelbarrows arrive to cart off the dead and severely wounded women. Some of the other women clearly tried to leave th
e arena, but were forced back at the gate the female prisoners had entered through, the appropriately named Jailgate.
“It’s madness to make them keep fighting,” Pashera said. She bit her lip anxiously.
“Only one more round,” Ang’ess said. She took another deep breath of smoke from the glass. Exhaling, she added, “how bad can it be?”
Amaz arrayed her troops again. A fourth of their number was gone. Amaz seemed to be speaking to the king’s box. She was too far away, but from her gestures, it seemed to be cursing.
Three figures exited the Hellgate now, clip-clopping their way forward on iron-shod hooves. Amaz turned to stare at them.
“What the devil?” Pashera said.
The creatures had the lower bodies of horses. But the horses of Pashera’s day only came up to her shoulder. These were bigger. Much, much bigger. And where the horse head should be, a human trunk started. This trunk sloped backward, perhaps for balance. It ended in the upper torso of a man or an ape, or a mix between the two.
The projection floating over the arena focused on the creatures, allowing Pashera and everyone else to study them. The upper part of the creature was covered in fine, short hair, like a horse, except that the face and forehead were large and bald, with the hair starting halfway back on the skull. The all-too-human head had a wild and long flowing mane of hair.
The face wasn’t quite human – more ape-like, with a broad flat nose and wide, fanged mouth which turned downward. The eyes, which were large but set close together, were cunning and cruel.
The heads of each creature, sitting atop the torso and the oversized horse body, was half again as tall as an ordinary man. She could see the creatures speak or at least signal to each other, as they walked out on heavy hooves toward Amaz and her warriors.
Each of the creatures had a bow in its hand, and a quiver stuffed with arrows over its shoulder. They also each had a sheathed, curved knife slung over one “human” shoulder.
“They are beautiful,” Pashera said.
“Are they each worth 10 female warriors?” Ang’ess said, standing up and going to lean over the rail at the front of the box. “We’ll see.”
Slave in the City of Dragons (Dinosaurs and Gladiators Book 1) Page 37