Slave in the City of Dragons (Dinosaurs and Gladiators Book 1)

by Angela Angelwolf

  Meanwhile, Old Orlando kept stabbing with his other trident. One of the trident tines stabbed Tooloosa in the meat of her thigh and she stumbled. But she stayed on her feet.

  Finally, Orlando pulled back his trident quite far, then flung it with a mighty heave at Tooloosa. She was only barely able to block the trident with her spear. Then she screamed. The trident had stabbed through the wood of the shield and into her arm.

  Howling, Tooloosa shook her arm free and the shield, with the trident embedded in it, fell to the sand. A spout of blood came out of her forearm where the trident had embedded.

  Now she had one good hand on the spear, while he had two on the trident. He was able to wrench the spear away, and it went flying across to stick in the sand.

  That’s when Tooloosa pounced. Even as the spear left her hand, she jumped right at Orlando while his arm was still extended with the trident. She got inside his reach and slammed her head right into his chin. They both went down.

  The trident fell away from them. They were going to grapple weaponless on the sand, and Pashera knew the man would win that battle. But quick as a wink, Tooloosa ripped off her battle top and, spinning around on Orlando, wrapped it around his neck. She sat down on the sand, back-to-back with him, and proceeded to strangle him over her shoulder, using her weight to squeeze the life out of him.

  The crowd went berserk. Saurians threw food and goblets and pieces of their clothing high in the air, cheering at this audacious move.

  But the man wasn’t done. Even as Tooloosa strangled him, he moved his feet in and got them underneath him. Then, unbelievably, Orlando stood up. His eyes bugged out of his head, his face purpled, as Tooloosa hung there behind him, her feet tucked up in the air, blood dripping on the sand from the wounds in her thigh and forearm, strangling him with a piece of cloth.

  Old Orlando reached behind his head and grabbed Tooloosa’s hair. He yanked – pulling her over his head as she screamed.

  Her death-grip on the cloth loosened. The man breathed, a ragged, gulping noise that Pashera could hear across the width of the arena, despite the noise of the crowd.

  It was Tooloosa’s turn to gasp and sob as Orlando put a hand around her throat and choked her. She clawed at his arms and he spun her around and choked her in the crook of his elbow, as his free arm batted away her increasingly weak attacks.

  Tooloosa really slumped. Orlando unwrapped Tooloosa’s ripped battle top from his neck, revealing Tol’zen’s purple dragon symbol. He let this fall to the ground. Keeping one hand around Tooloosa’s neck, he looked toward the king’s box.

  The entire arena went quiet.

  “Surely he’ll let her live,” Pashera said. “She fought … she fought so well.”

  “Shut up!” Ang’kim said. The entire staging area stood, breathless, and waited on Kro’tos.

  Kro’tos put out his hand – and signaled death.

  The crowd collectively gasped. A look crossed the male gladiator’s face. It was … sadness, Pashera figured. But then Orlando took Tooloosa’s neck in his mighty hands and snapped it like a twig.

  The crowd got to its feet as one and booed Kro’tos. Some of his banners were grabbed from their places around the arena and shredded in rage. The king, never able to conceal his emotions, stood up, bared his teeth and snarled at the crowd. His warriors took defensive stances around the king’s box.

  Tol’zen and his bride must have remained sitting down, for Pashera couldn’t see them over the warriors and the hullaballoo around the king’s box.

  “Damn it!” Orm’ryn howled. “Damn it to all the hells, and may all the demons eat Kro’tos’ balls for dinner! Eternally!”

  Chapter 19. The Hunt of Wild Beasts

  The stands erupted in chaos that lasted for many minutes. Much of the venom was directed at Kro’tos, who continued to snarl viciously in return. Fights broke out between Kro’tos’ supporters and those outraged by his decision. Guards rushed to beat the brawlers into submission.

  Then there was a knock at their gate.

  Ang’kim opened it. She seemed to rock back. She threw open the door. Old Orlando stood there. He stepped forward and held out Tooloosa’s battle top to Ang’kim.

  “Your friend,” he rasped. “Was a valiant lady. I regret her death.”

  There were tears in his eyes. Perhaps from being choked. Perhaps from something else.

  Ang’kim seemed turned to stone. She would not or could not move. Finally, Orm’ryn stepped forward and took the piece of cloth.

  “You honor us, sir,” she said. “Orlando. Thank you.”

  Orlando bowed and turned and walked away, back to the men’s gate.

  Orm’ryn looked at the rest of them. She wrapped the ragged battle top around her arm. “I’m next,” she said in a low, tight voice. “I’m wearing this.”

  “I can’t … Ang’kim started, then collected herself. “I can’t let you wear that. You’re out of points.”

  Orm’ryn shrugged. She unsheathed her dagger, and handed it to Ang’kim. “Take care of that for me,” she said. “I’ll want it back.”

  Then she picked up her shield, drew her long sword, and walked out the gate.

  “Who is she fighting?” Pashera called down to Ang’kim.

  “Some hick from the sticks,” Ang’kim said flatly. “Some merchant saw fit to back him in the games.”

  Out on the sands, Orm’ryn faced a similarly armed male saurian. They waited, apparently talking to each other, as Kro’tos’ forces attempted to restore some order in the stands.

  “This is halfway through the challenges,” Ang’kim said. “Who’s in the Hunt of Rare Beasts? Start getting prepared.”

  Pashera clung to the top of the gate, tears in her eyes. She heard someone calling her name.

  It was Ang’ess. She and Saytas and Urnkali were all looking up at her.

  Pashera climbed down from the top of the gate.

  Ang’ess patted her on the shoulder. “The good news is that Kro’tos has misjudged the crowd badly. I don’t see how he can win the election now.”

  “I suppose that’s good news,” Pashera said. “So why’s it feel so hollow?”

  Ang’ess smiled bitterly. “The other news is that you aren’t fighting in the battle royale. You’re fighting in the Hunt of Rare Beasts.”

  “What? Why?” Pashera almost burst out “but that’s not the plan,” but somehow held her tongue.

  “Gwettelen is also in the battle royale,” Ang’ess said. “It’s been decided on high – and quite rightly so – that you two might kill each other in the battle royale. That would tip the scales unfairly toward the men. And also ruin your match for the third day of the games.”

  “What?” Pashera said. “Well, we’ll promise to stay away from each other.”

  Ang’ess shook her head negatively. “It’s been decided that you are in the Hunt of Wild Beasts,” Ang’ess said with finality. “Get your gear.”

  “I’ll help you,” Urnkali said. “You don’t want a spear. You just want javelins.”

  “But … but …” Pashera said. But there was nothing to be done, as Urnkali grabbed her hand and led her off to the armory.

  “You get 25 points to equip for the Hunt of Rare Beasts,” Urnkali said. “That’s enough for two javelins. You’ll have five points left.”

  “I want my battle top,” Pashera said.

  “Then we’ll put the rest of the points toward a decent knife.” Urnkali picked out a wicked-looking blade.

  By the time they returned, Orm’ryn had finished her bout. She won, which surprised no one but her opponent. The male saurian hadn’t fought particularly well, but Kro’tos let him live anyway. Perhaps, Pashera figured, Kro’tos was afraid of the crowd now. Good.

  There were three more challenge bouts, all between men of the two different groups – the professional city fighters and the outsiders. All three were hard-fought and ended in deaths, with no decision needed from Kro’tos.

  There was a pause while the sand was c
leaned and animal cages were rolled in via the ramp the archers had used earlier in the day.

  She-Devil Gate opened, and Pashera marched out with the others. Urnkali was there with two javelins, her trademark skull ornaments and a very small dagger. Tiniseph walked with them, armed with her trident and shield. Tiniseph had dark skin and straight hair, and was exceptionally beautiful. She came from some hot land to the southeast.

  The new girls Angani, Enara and Elmdra had all ended up in the hunting group, too. All three were equipped with swords and shields.

  Six men showed up on the sands, too. These included three spear-equipped southerners, as well as Rakum and two other men from the city’s group of male gladiators. Rakum had a wicked-looking ax and a shield; the other two men had swords and shields.

  Rakum sidled close to Pashera. He towered over her. “My big brother was expecting you in the battle royale,” he said, his eyes twinkling at her through his mop of hair.

  “So was I.”

  Rakum chortled. “That’s okay. We heard things might be changing, so I brought him along.”

  Another man pushed in front of Rakum. “I am Therold,” he said.

  He was muscled like a bull, with shoulders wide enough that Pashera could comfortably sit her butt on either of them. His jaw looked chiseled out of granite. He had the same black hair of Rakum, but was a full head shorter than his “little” brother. His eyes were a pale shade of blue, lighter than his brother’s and almost sky-blue.

  “I expected you to be bigger,” Pashera said.

  “I am ‘older,’ not so much ‘bigger,’ Therold said, smiling. He had a white, healthy, happy smile. It was a disconcerting smile for a man in the murder business.

  “What should we do?” Pashera asked. She and Therold walked a bit away from the other gladiators. Rakum made a point of distracting Tiniseph and Urnkali by flirting with them outrageously.

  “It’s still possible,” Therold said. “Stick by me. We’ll look for an opportunity. If I tell you to ‘fight’, attack me. Attack me like you mean to kill me. It will look like I kill you in self-defense. I know how to put a sword through a body so I don’t hit any vital organs. Plenty of blood, though.

  “However,” he added. “You will have to lie still. Not right away. Thrash around for a moment after my sword penetrates your side, and you are on the ground.”

  “That should be no problem,” Pashera said.

  “But when I remove the sword, stop moving. Can you do that?”

  Pashera gulped. She knew the pain would be intense. “I can do it.”

  “Good. One of the custodians knows to look for you getting killed. He’ll drag you off – the hook will hurt too, by the way. But lay still. Be quiet. He’ll tell you when you can get up. And your friends will meet you.”

  Pashera nodded again. Then she said: “What are they paying you?”

  “A lot,” Therold said. “I’m about to retire. The money is worth the risk.”

  Across the arena, more cages were dragged in place. Some of them were very big. All had covers over them, concealing their contents. Therold and Pashera returned to the ranks, where Tiniseph and Urnkali had told Rakum what they’d do with their weapons if he kept bothering them. But it all seemed good-natured.

  Now, the gladiators got more serious. They talked among themselves about what animals they might face.

  “There are far too many cages,” Urnkali said. “Too many big cages.”

  “The merchant’s guild is trying to show off,” Therold said, spitting on the ground. “But we can handle it. Last year we had two aurochs, giraffes, a death worm, a dagger-toothed cat, a pair of smilers and a Greater Bear.

  “That bear was a tough son-of-a-bitch,” Therold added, remembering the battle. “That left me with some scars.”

  “You were lucky it left you with a head,” Urnkali said.

  Therold grinned. He addressed the gladiators. “Those with shields, in front with me. Those with spears, in back.” He looked at Urnkali. “Perhaps you’d like to pick out the targets as they approach?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But I’ve never seen these hunts not dissolve into chaos.”

  “For as long as we can, then,” Therold said, nodding.

  Pashera stood behind Therold, and he stood beside Tiniseph, who had her spear and her javelin. Across the field, as the wrappings were removed from each cage, the crowd cheered.

  “I see a pair of giant apes in the first cage,” Tiniseph said for the benefit of anyone who didn’t have her sharp eyesight. “Oh, they’re angry.

  “In the next cage are a pair of axe-beaks.”

  “I know the ones,” Pashera said with a shudder. The big birds were a threat to her tribe. “They can run very fast.”

  “Do they fly?” one of the southern warriors asked.

  “No.”

  “Thank the sky god for that.”

  Tiniseph continued: “The next cage has three leatherbacks – flesh-rippers, I believe they’re called.”

  Some among the gladiators nodded. “We’ve seen those before. Their teeth look bad, but watch out for their front claws – they use ‘em,” Therold said. “And they’re fast, too.”

  The flesh-rippers bounced off the sides of their cage and shrieked like lost souls.

  “A couple of dagger-toothed cats,” Tiniseph said. And Pashera saw two of the lion-sized, long-toothed, short-tailed cats. She remembered how one had almost killed her when she first met Tol’zen, and another shudder ran down her spine. The two cats paced in their cages, snarling and hating the world.

  “A wooly rhinoceros,” Tiniseph said.

  “We’ve fought those before – tough, but stupid,” Urnkali said.

  The biggest cages were unveiled.

  “Those three big cages -- three woolly mammoths,” Tiniseph said.

  Pashera could not believe the size of the creatures. They were crammed into those cages. Each was nearly as tall as the old leatherback she’d met in the forest, Hrothrawl, but much more massive, covered in fur and sporting huge tusks. Each was secured to its cage by a harness of ropes.

  “How do we even go about killing those things?” she asked, trying not to let her voice quaver. “They’re mountains.”

  “Damn the hells,” Urnkali said. “Three!? We didn’t bring enough javelins.”

  “My tribe killed a mammoth,” Enara said. The group turned to look at her. “We drove it over a cliff.”

  “Idiot,” Urnkali said harshly. “Say something useful or keep quiet.”

  “The last cage – it’s a big cat lying down,” Tiniseph said. “Oh my … no. It’s My Lord the TIGER!” Her voice carried an edge of panic.

  “What’s a tiger?” Pashera asked.

  “Let’s hope the big cats fight each other,” Therold said to the others, and many murmured agreement.

  “My Lord the Tiger,” Tiniseph said again. She shifted from one foot to the other anxiously. The fight had gone out of her like a snuffed candle.

  Urnkali wasn’t standing for that. “Tiniseph!” she exploded. “Get ahold of yourself. It’s a big cat, so what?”

  “When I was a girl, a very young girl,” Tiniseph said in a faltering voice, “My Lord the Tiger came to prey on my village. First he killed all the fighting men. Then he killed anyone who ventured out at night. Then he started prying open homes to get at us.

  “By the time we all ran away, he had eaten half the village,” she said. “We ran and ran, and he came at night, carrying away stragglers. We could hear the screams. By the time we got far enough that My Lord the Tiger stopped following us, my father was dead. We had lost everything.”

  And then Tiniseph did the thing that no gladiator wants to see a comrade do in the arena. She started to cry.

  “Get ahold of yourself!” Urnkali shouted straight in Tiniseph’s face, shaking her like a box of rocks. Pashera didn’t think that would help. She put a hand on Tiniseph’s shoulder. “It’s all right. We’re all here. We’ll help you.”

  �
��My Lord the Tiger … is a god on the earth,” Tiniseph said. “A terrible and hungry god.”

  “Oh, by Darklu’s faroos, really?” Urnkali said derisively. “What kind of god gets captured and stuck in an arena? We are the gods of the arena, Tiniseph. We are! Look around,” she waved at the assorted gladiators. “I pity any god stuck in here with us today.”

  Pashera peered at the tiger. It seemed to be wearing some kind of leather harness with an iron loop on the top – the better to restrain it, probably. Unlike the other predators which were raging in their cages, it lay quietly, head up and alert, but also peaceful.

  “It doesn’t look that vicious,” Pashera said. “It looks beautiful.”

  Tiniseph’s response was unintelligible.

  The horns sounded. “They’ll let the mammoths, rhino and apes go first,” Therold said. “They may prod them forward with fire. Then they’ll start letting the predators out one cage at a time. They want the predators to attack the herbivores. DO NOT let the mammoths stampede you. Remember, if any animal is bigger than you, take out its legs, and that evens the odds.”

  Tiniseph tried to regain composure. Urnkali looked at Therold. “You and me, we’re taking her forward,” she said. She turned to Pashera and pointed at Tiniseph. “And if she doesn’t keep up, stick your javelin in her backside.”

  There was another series of horns. The doors to the cages for the apes, rhino and mammoths fell forward into the sand. Custodians ran along the cages cutting the rope harnesses, then bolting for the safety of a nearby gate.

  The rhino charged out; the apes exploded from their cages in a bid for freedom. The mammoths had to be prodded. Pashera could see archers firing arrows into the mammoths’ backsides. The beasts came out trumpeting angrily, looking for revenge.

  “Forward, march,” Urnkali said. The gladiators began marching across the sand. “Let’s take the rhino first. Remember to stay out of its way.”