Bloodlust: A Gladiator's Tale (Domains of the Chosen Book One)

by C. P. D. Harris

  After pausing brazenly for a moment, letting the two women get a good look at her, Amoura walked over to Sadira coquettishly, kissing the Gladiatrix on each cheek in greeting. Sadira felt the tingle of magic and wondered if the image consultant was trying to seduce her. She smiled, mostly amused by the ostentatious display. She noticed the woman's eyes were exceptionally large, an unnaturally bright topaz colour, and ringed by voluptuous lashes that sparkled in the sun. Everything about Amoura glowed. An indescribable scent, pleasant and intoxicating, filled the air.

  "Well hello, my beautiful Sadira," Amoura cooed, her mysteriously accented voice laden with sensual undertones. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last... and who is this sweet little thing that you've brought me, hiding herself away in such a drab garment?"

  Cleothera met the woman's gaze for a moment, colouring slightly as the bombastic Amoura bent to kiss her cheeks.

  "I am Cleothera Orphania, third rank Officer of the Deliberative," she said, bowing low. "I am Sadira Lacivia's escort today."

  "Cleothera is also a big fan of yours, Miss Vogue," added Sadira with a sly smile.

  "Oh, I do so love to meet another fan. You are far too pretty to be a Grey-Robe, my dear Cleothera," said Amoura, sitting down again on the cushioned altar, the golden-skinned man moving forward smoothly to massage her shoulders. "Those lively eyes are wasted looking through the dull pages of laws and covenants; I could teach a young Gifted girl like you to steal the hearts of all she meets. It only took me fifty years to work through my Vassal-ship, you know."

  "Yes, I have followed your exploits Miss Vogue." Cleo's cheeks reddened again. Perhaps it was simply that the little Grey-Robe was unused to being called beautiful. It was hard to stand out in the company she kept. "I am so happy to meet you. You are even more beautiful in person."

  "How gracious; thank you, my dear. Consider yourself a friend rather than a fan." Amoura smiled at Cleo with matronly affection, a far cry from her earlier, predatory seductive attitude to the pair. "If only all of the Deliberative were as charming and beautiful as you. Now, I have a lovely massage table in the next room for my favourite friends, complete with all the amenities. Why don't you run along, take off that silly robe, and enjoy all those things you've read about while Sadira and I get better acquainted." She smiled again at Cleothera as the Grey-Robe left. Sadira realized that the woman was quite comfortable in her presence, not at all worried about being alone with an armed Gladiatrix with no Grey-Robe nearby. She could not help but admire the way that Amoura disarmed the normally dutiful Cleothera. Her esteem for the flamboyant image consultant rose. Music started up from the other room, just loud enough to cover any sounds that might pass between the walls. The image consultant's face was thoughtful now as she turned to Sadira; she met the Gladiatrix's gaze with a look of frank appraisal.

  "I have to admit I'm impressed, Miss Vogue," said Sadira. "You handled my friend quite well; it is difficult to part a Grey-Robe from her charge."

  "I have had a great deal of practice, truth be told." The image consultant laughed. "The secret to dealing with the Grey-Robes is to realize that they are still people, like the rest of us, underneath their robes of office, But don't worry about Cleothera, she won't come to mischief here. I mean what I say; I take care of my fans, Sadira; I like to think of myself as their mother in some ways. Does that seem strange to you?"

  "No, I feel the same way about my fans and my audience," said Sadira seriously.

  Amoura smiled, radiating approval. "That is very good to hear. I say this because it puts you ahead of the game, my dear. Most Gladiators would do well to spend more time cultivating a relationship with their fans. Image is an important part of building your legend. I can see that you are a woman who pays attention to her own appearance; tell me Red Scorpion, what do you think of the way I look?"

  The question caught Sadira off guard. Amoura turned slowly, moving her body into provocative poses, her face calm and challenging now.

  "Well, you have spent a lot of time and effort body sculpting," said the Gladiatrix, unsure.

  Amoura rolled her eyes, smiling as she did so. "Yes, an important observation, but a little shallow. You can do better. Follow it up, see where it leads you. Don't worry about insulting me; with the lifestyle I lead, I have heard it all."

  "You enjoy showing off..."

  "Yes! What do the changes I have made tell you about the people for whom I enjoy showing off?"

  Sadira remembered her trip through the halls of the Shato diOre and the decadent delights half glimpsed and heard within. "The people you show off for are obsessed with sex and pleasure; they are too decadent to desire a type of beauty that can be readily found in nature..." All the theories of beauty and image she had read slowly filtered into her mind. "They are purely materialistic, and thus prefer to see others as objects... hence you have objectified yourself by exaggerating your sexual characteristics and accentuating appearance traits that they would consider attractive... am I on the right track?"

  "Absolutely, darling! It’s not that difficult, as long as we are willing to jump the first hurdle, which is talking about it honestly. I've invested an incredible amount of time, money, and effort turning myself into a walking masturbation fantasy. I did this on purpose. It is my choice, my Image." She turned and sat down again, her platinum mane twisting into a tight bun as she loosed an effortless glamour. Sadira was envious for a moment; she was not permitted to use even such simple magics in public without supervision. "Most who look at me see me as a plaything; yet I have used my charms to gain great power in the circles in which I move. Powerful people, some of them Chosen, have given very much to enjoy my company. Many of the women who desire the same kind of attention that I get have given even more to be like me. What does this say about Image?"

  "Image is powerful...," Sadira spoke thoughtfully, enjoying the discussion now. Something about Amoura reminded her of Gavin, strangely. "Your personal style is tailored toward the groups you wish to influence... obviously, while your Image has gained you admirers in some places.... it must have also gained you detractors who look down upon you for how you have objectified yourself... or who envy you."

  "Yes, excellent points every one; I can see you are going to be a joy to work with Sadira Lacivia." Amoura spoke glowingly to Sadira again. "Note that those who envy my Image are actually my greatest allies: they want to look like me; they want to live like me; they want to be my image. This gives me power over them. They want to make love how I do; go to the places where I go; and do the things that I do. Their envy drives them to adopt my image and often they pay a great price to do so. I can sell that image or allow others to use it for their own gain; much the same way a popular Gladiator bolsters a Faction."

  "...So Image is a weakness, as well. The people who envy you and adopt your style are falling into a trap; they can't be you, can they?"

  Amoura nodded sagely, her dramatic eyes sparkling. The golden-dipped man behind her kept massaging her shoulders. "Yes. Most people know this deep down, but they will still spend money and power trying to get a little of my reflected glory. Those who follow Image blindly and fervently, out of envy or idolization, are as doomed as fanatics of any other sort. But using another person's image is not entirely a losing strategy; many a clever girl has used my tactics to entice some lusty suitor into an advantageous match. They use my image to their advantage. Control is the key; they turned my image to their purpose. The same is true for many of those who use image for their own gain."

  "I see. I must also control my image, or if I am following in another's footsteps, I should be aware of the dangers of losing control." Sadira paused, considering. Was she consciously following another’s image? She had modelled her career after that of Chosen Giselle, even taking the name Red Scorpion in homage to this woman she admired; if she took her admiration too far it would give Giselle a kind of power over her. "Very interesting: I did not expect this kind of honest discussion, Amoura Vogue."

  "And that wo
uld be another advantage of the type of Image I have adopted," said Amoura with a smile both beautiful and savage.

  "They think you are a one-dimensional woman," said Sadira, nodding, "that you are interested only in sex and power and not worth considering otherwise. As a Gladiatrix I understand this; people think all we do is fight and strut. People are shocked when they hear I like to garden, even though my magic is Druidic."

  "Exactly so! I feel you have great potential Sadira, not just as a Gladiatrix. The Faction politics are a child's game in truth, an illusion that covers those who play the game at a deeper level. I am a pawn in that game, but knowing that gives me power." The man massaging her gave a slight start, his hands on her shoulders stopping a moment. Amoura almost laughed. "And if a pawn may be of use to one who will be a queen one day, then it is in my best interest to help...so long as you don't get knocked out of the game."

  Sadira considered the implications of Amoura's statement. Some would rebel against the idea of being a game piece for the Chosen, but Sadira was of a more practical bent; she knew that much of life was far beyond her control, so she set her will to changing what she could, instead of railing against those things which she had no way to influence. "I'll think on what you've said Amoura. You have my thanks; consider it a pledge."

  Amoura smiled again, almost moaning as the golden covered man behind her returned to his massage with vigour; she still found it strange that a man like him would be so good at such things. She was also surprised at Sadira's pledge; the woman had a way of cutting right to the heart of the matter.

  "Well then Honoured Gladiatrix, let us discuss your Image and see how I can help you develop it. Let's start with the easy stuff. How do you feel about fighting topless?"

  "I'm not actually opposed to it; I actually stripped naked in one of the Campus Martius arenas one match." She almost laughed remembering her first fight against Gavin. "But I want to be appreciated for more than just my body... also it cuts down on intimidation."

  "Excellent. You've learned well; that kind of appeal works for some lesser fighters, but you have a much broader appeal than that," Amoura lauded. "You like being seen as beautiful and desirable, but you do not want to be seen purely as a sex object. You wear less armour to demonstrate your courage and grace, not just to show off your skin. You want the audience to appreciate your skill above all. You want your enemies to fear you, and your fans to adore you. You are the woman who wants it all. Sound right?"

  An hour later, the Gladiatrix left, head full of images and ideas. A languid, smiling Cleothera walked along with her.

  The gold-drenched man behind Amoura kept up his massage after The Gladiatrix left. She looked back at him; his strong, plain face was clear to her even under the slick second skin. She smiled. His features were too blunt, too "common" for a servant at the Shato diOre, yet the untrained eye would not register this. The man never seemed out of place, be it on the meanest streets, or in the exalted halls of the assembly of the Chosen. It helped that he knew when to keep quiet, in spite of who he was. She thought this was one of the things that she loved most about him.

  "She's not what I expected," he said, looking down at her. "Not nearly as savage as most of Giselle's favourites; I hope she finds her way through all of this intact."

  "Giselle will be furious if she hears that I talked to Sadira without her consent." She spoke softly, the music drowning her words. "Will you protect me, my lord?"

  "You don't need to call me that; and you know I don't see you as my pawn, Amoura." His deep voice held hints of laughter and sorrow, but it did not carry the power of his station. He sounded a little hurt a her playful jibe; it was an old argument.

  "This is what we do," she responded with an old saying to which he had always taken exception, challenging him with it, kindling the fire in his eyes.

  -----o

  Gavin fought his ranking match on his own; Arena Master Bloodsmith had insisted that the new Reds pass their test matches individually. The stern, Grey-Robed Orc stated bluntly that he was worried that Gavin, Sadira, and their friends had been called up into the Faction games too early and that an individual evaluation was the only way to prove they were ready.

  The Scorpion's Oasis arena was nearly empty when Gavin took the field mid-morning; the handful of people in the stands were mostly there to enjoy the arena restaurants, or get good seats before the main events began later on. The Reds were keeping up with the Blues so far this season, and although patrons of Scorpion's Oasis tended to support the Blues on principal, the added excitement of serious competition was still invigorating. He trotted out to the centre of the arena, bright sun shining off the silver-white lions on his shield and breastplate. Standing tall, he squared his shoulders and delivered a crisp salute to the audience, raising his spear high. He heard Sadira, Cleothera, and Vintia cheering him enthusiastically and smiled; he was glad they had returned in time from their meeting with the image consultant. It was always nice to have friends in the stands.

  Gavin was now wary of ranking matches; the last two, the Manticore with its infectious visions of madness, and the frost giant with its waves of icy dread, had been very tough on him.. As with anything involving the Deliberative, there were many theories about the tests; some felt they were individually tailored to test a Gladiator's weaknesses, others insisted they were rigged to impede the progress of fighters who would make less than ideal Chosen. Gavin was not quite sure what he believed. but it felt good facing the test alone; this way; if he failed, at least he would not drag anyone down with him.

  A lone trumpet sounded, summoning his opponent. A half-dozen smaller doors opened, revealing shadowed corridors. He waited, seeing nothing. The doors closed. He looked around. Still nothing. Gavin heard footsteps behind him and turned. Nothing. A shiver went down his spine. The arena was oddly silent.

  Sadira, sitting on a comfortable seat between Cleothera and Vintia watched anxiously as the shadowy humanoid form of Gavin's opponent circled, trying to get behind the confused Gladiator. Although he did not realize it, Gavin was facing an invisible Sand Stalker.

  "You're sure he can't hear us?" she asked Cleothera. She had tried yelling a warning to her lover.

  The Grey-Robe shook her head. "No, not in this match; he can't see the Stalker as well as we can either. They bespell the audience protection barriers to make it easier for us to see. It would be a boring match to watch otherwise, but the same spell makes it hard for us to communicate with him. I'm pretty sure even if he knew to look at your gestures, the wards would foil you pointing it out to him. Its pretty well thought out."

  "It's never flawless though," noted Vintia.

  "Will I be facing one of these Stalkers in my ranking match?" asked Sadira eagerly, watching as her lover turned toward the sound of the approaching Sand Stalker, raising his shield and bracing for an attack, but still looking perplexed.

  "I don't think so. My superiors would have frowned on me taking you to a match like this if they wanted to spring one on you as a surprise. I can't say for sure though; Arena Master Bloodsmith is pretty tight-lipped about the tests he has planned for you... Don't worry; he will be fair."

  Gavin heard his opponent moving through the sand, but he could not pinpoint its location. He looked at the sand for signs of footprints but saw none. His heart hammered. Even with his magic, he was having difficulty detecting the creature. The footsteps ceased. A new sound came from behind him. He threw himself forward into a tumbling roll, feeling a weapon or claw slice through the air, just missing his back. As he came to his feet, he turned and lifted his shield to face the direction from which he had just rolled.

  He felt, rather than heard the next movement and turned, desperation gifting him with speed. Raising his spear to ward off the invisible blow, he tried to present as little of his body as possible to attacks from that direction. The blow impacted his shoulder-armour, staggering him. For just a moment he caught sight of a human-like shape, a being made of sand, shadow, and wind. He thrus
t his spear at the vision, but it caught only air. His phantom opponent responded with a slash of its invisible weapon, cutting him on the back, leaving a bloody line.

  Gavin fought for calm, backing up in a defensive posture to ward off attacks he could not see. How could he beat this thing? He could hear it, but the creature was both cunning enough to realize this, and patient enough to move slowly and quietly when needed. He could not see any traces of the creature's movements. It was just as elusive to direct mental contact using his magic. What other ways did he have of detecting it?

  Reaching out with his mind, Gavin channelled magic all around him, passively waiting for the creature's thoughts and emotions to appear. He sensed a glimmer of hatred and an impulse to attack beside him, and he turned, pushing his shield forward as he adopted a firm stance. A weapon of some sort glanced off his shield. He could not physically pinpoint the creature by sensing its mind, but he could use his magic to attack it through that tenuous connection. He called forth the pattern of a spell that would debilitate it with searing mental pain, and channelled his power into it.

  With some satisfaction, he felt the creature's pain as the spell took hold. Sensing another attack, Gavin dived aside as something sharp cut into his back. He stood up, rolling his shoulder to make sure it still worked, feeling blood trickle down his back. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind.

  The creature always tries to attack me from behind, he thought. With his magic, he could now sense its impulse to strike. He guessed it was using some kind of sword or long knife from the way it attacked and the wounds it had left. He now knew how to sense it and how it would attack. A plan formed in his mind.

  Gavin held perfectly still, closing his eyes, feeling strangely like a hero in a child's fable. He took a deep breath, switching his grip on his spear and shield just a little. Time slowed. He suddenly realized that he could not hear the cheers of the crowd because they had been magically silenced for this match. He felt the creature's hatred, its impulse to attack, and when he heard the tiniest of sounds from behind him, Gavin exhaled, dropped to a crouch and thrust his spear underhanded into the air behind him. Something cut through the air above his head and the satisfying shock of solid impact ran along his spear arm, followed by an inhuman shriek of pain.