The Rebels' Assault

by David Grimstone

  Unfortunately, Doom had no time to bark any further orders before the crowd was hit with a new and very unexpected episode in the unfolding drama of the first execution: The guard managed to free his foot from the chain . . . and he fell.

  Ruma, still hanging with his foot locked firmly in the chain, felt something rush past him, but the half-horrified, half-elated screams of the crowd drowned out the death cry of the guard as he plunged down, down, down, twisting in the air, tumbling over and over on the wind . . . until . . .

  Some of the crowd looked away, and most of those that didn’t still swiftly covered their eyes. For many, the sound was even worse: a sudden and terrible crunch as the guard’s fractured and broken body slammed into the center of the courtyard.

  Slavious Doom was still fixated on the corpse when an unexpected and quite deafening cheer rose up from the merchants all around him.

  Temporarily dazed by the events, Doom was still a consummate entertainer, and he quickly picked up on the feelings of his audience.

  “A death is a death!” he screamed at the pack of stunned servants who still gathered close to him. “Move the Gaul to the trapdoors . . . NOW!”

  The two guards holding Argon shoved him forward, choosing to ready their spears on the chance that the Gaul tried anything in light of his companion’s antics at the top of the tower.

  “The Gaul!” Doom screamed with all his might, trying to pry the merchants’ attention away from Ruma, who had managed to right himself and was now swinging back and forth on the chain with a determined sense of purpose that none of the awed crowd seemed able to predict. “Drop the Gaul—NOW!”

  Flustered, the guards threw down their spears and rushed Argon forward, choosing one of the trapdoors seemingly at random before hauling it open and throwing the Gaul in.

  Despite the swift and clumsy handling of the move, it did seem to draw the crowd’s attention, especially when it became apparent that the young slave had been thrown into the snake pit.

  Assured that the focus of attention had been shifted away from Ruma, Slavious Doom turned immediately to one of his guards.

  “Get up to the top of that tower and free the chain,” Doom growled. “I don’t care how you do it, just get it done, or you can die with the rest of the slaves. Understand?”

  The guard nodded and hurried away. Slavious Doom watched him vanish through the door and then returned his gaze to the pit where Argon had leaped to his feet and was slowly backing away from three hissing cobras that were advancing on the young slave in a series of twists and turns.

  “Master—”

  Doom glanced briefly at another guard, who had scrambled up the scaffold to get to him.

  “Wait.”

  “B-but, Master—”

  “Are you deaf? I told you to WAIT.”

  Doom didn’t take his eyes off the scene in the snake pit, and he wasn’t the only one. The entire merchant crowd gasped and drew back their heads as one of the cobras darted forward, missing Argon by a fraction of an inch. The Gaul leaped into a new space, dodging two shiny, green snakes that reared up at him as he tried to avoid the attention of a massive python slumbering in the near corner of the pit. Argon was staying light on his feet, but his mind was a black hole of despair. After all, it could only be a matter of time before one of them got him.

  “Master? M-master?”

  Slavious Doom slowly turned his head to face the spineless servant with the annoying voice who seemed intent on bothering him.

  “If you say another word, I will have you KILLED. Do you underst—”

  “We’re under attack, Master!” The words were spluttered out. “We’re under attack!”

  Doom’s face froze for a moment, and then he spoke very slowly, turning the guard away from the gathered merchants as he did so. “Where?” he muttered. “And do speak quietly, for your life does depend upon your discretion.”

  “The gate, Master.” A shaking finger was pointed back toward the entrance to the courtyard. “A ship arrived. We thought it was a slaver, so two of the sentries went down to talk to ’em . . . but now they’re dead, and there’s an army of slaves heading for the main gates. There must be fifty of ’em!”

  Slavious Doom signaled to a group of guards who were standing idly between the merchant crowd and the scaffold. They quickly marched over to join him.

  “You will come with me to the main gate,” he said. Then, turning back to face the scaffold, Doom cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at the top of his voice.

  “Kill the other two slaves!” he cried. “Now!”

  As the wall of merchant faces focused on the brave Gaul who was dancing nimbly among the snakes, Slavious Doom turned and ran for the entrance.

  Behind him, Drin Hain rushed headfirst at the still-trembling Gladius, while Teo’s trapdoor was quickly pulled out from under him, leaving him kicking in midair while the noose stretched his bony neck . . .

  CHAPTER V

  THE RESCUE

  Decimus Rex saw Slavious Doom approaching long before the pair came face-to-face. He and Olu had been ordered to the back of the line by the Caveat slaves, who were so grateful for their freedom that they had insisted on leading the assault against the Suvius Tower without them. Decimus had quickly refused the offer, but had nevertheless been held back while the slaves, all armed with cutlasses, made short work of the sentries on guard at the tower. More guards had arrived, but none were a match for the slaves, who fought with a bloodlust born of the terrible treatment they had received on the Caveat.

  Then, suddenly, everything changed. The great doors of the courtyard were thrown open and a new wave of guards flooded out. Among them was Slavious Doom.

  Resplendent in his golden armor, the overlord of Arena Primus cut his way through the slave line like a man swatting away flies.

  “We don’t stand a chance,” Olu whispered. “Look at him! The man is absolutely insane! If he finds out we’re here—”

  “He already knows,” Decimus interrupted. “Don’t ask me how, but he does. And you’re right—we can’t fight him. We need to use the slaves as a distraction and sneak around him. Otherwise, Gladius and the others are dead.”

  “They’re probably dead already!”

  “We need to know for sure!”

  Decimus grabbed Olu by the arm and dragged him toward the edge of the rocky path. Keeping a firm hold on his friend’s arm, he crept very quickly around the edge of the battle. The pair stopped only once on their careful journey toward the tower gates to watch with bewildered awe as Slavious Doom hoisted one unfortunate slave into the air and hurled him at several others. Then they were on their way again, past struggling sentries and screaming slaves, over giant rocks and burning sand, and, finally, through the great double doors that led to the tower courtyard.

  Ruma descended the chain like a spider monkey climbing down a tree. When he reached the very last link, he hung there for a moment, realized that he was still too far from the ground to let go, and promptly began to swing back and forth in slow, determined sweeps, picking up speed as he went. After one final pass, he let go of the chain and swung out over the mostly distracted merchant crowd, crashing onto the roof of the scaffold and rolling over several times before slamming into an expanse of dirt directly in front of the audience. The pain ravaged his body, but he fought through it and leaped to his feet, screwing up his face and screaming like an enraged banshee at the wall of faces before him. This was too much for the merchant crowd, who, noticing the sudden lack of guards around them, began to scramble to their feet and head for the exits.

  Delighted at this reaction, Ruma quickly scampered over the edge of the stalls and leaped upon a stunned merchant, snatching the man’s dagger before taking a second, longer leap down onto the courtyard’s main stage. A quick glimpse told him everything: Gladius was being taken apart by Drin Hain, but in a manner that suggested the assassin was intent on providing him with a slow death, while Argon had managed to evade the snake swarm and was
already scampering up the side of the pit, a cascade of dirt flying in his wake. It was Teo who needed the help. The Oriental slave was still kicking frantically, but his strength was visibly waning.

  Ruma dashed for the stage.

  As Decimus and Olu entered the tower courtyard, they were greeted by a horde of rampaging merchants. The group, which looked to be more than a hundred strong, was all visibly terrified, and washed over them like a great wave breaking over rocks: not one of them looked back. Decimus and Olu both drew their swords and advanced.

  Ruma had failed to raise the trapdoor beneath Teo’s feet. Instead, he’d had to use an old plank he’d found wedged against the lion cage, and was now balancing precariously over the hole while trying to lift Teo up in an attempt to take the pressure off his neck. Teo had stopped moving several seconds before, but Ruma was determined not to give up.

  “Come on, Teo!” he yelled, his feet scrambling for footing on the wood. “Don’t you die on me!”

  Gladius raised his sword and tried to lunge at Drin Hain, who sidestepped the clumsy assault and brought his own blade down in a swift arc. Steel met steel and, to Gladius’s surprise, his sword was shattered. He stepped back and looked down at the broken hilt in his hands, but the shadow continued to stalk him. A fist flew out of the cloak like a rock and slammed into his face. He felt blood begin to flow from his nose and tasted the sweet liquid as it dripped onto his tongue.

  Hain didn’t stop there. A second blow doubled him over, and a knee was driven into the side of his face. The world flew away, and Gladius hit the dirt hard.

  Hain released a pitying cackle and raised his sword to finish him. Then, wanting to take a moment to make the final strike worthy of an expectant crowd, he quickly glanced around him . . . at a very different scene.

  The merchants had all rushed for the doors, where it looked as though a larger, separate struggle was taking place. Slavious Doom was nowhere to be seen, and the gangly Etrurian slave was attempting to save his friend from the noose by balancing over the trapdoor and lifting him up. As Hain tried to decide where his attention was most urgently required, a shrill whistle at his shoulder shook him from his reverie. He spun around . . . and Decimus Rex plunged a sword straight into his heart.

  Argon was running out of energy in his bid to escape the pit. The walls were too rough; every time he made some sort of progress, he slipped back down amid an avalanche of dirt. To make matters worse, several of the smaller snakes had bitten his legs . . . and a network of pain was beginning to creep through his body. His legs felt like dead weights.

  With one final burst of energy, Argon scraped, clawed, and heaved his way up the side of the pit.

  Then . . . all at once . . . he could do no more.

  His eyes fixed on the light and the noise above. He could only watch himself slowly slip back into the writhing furor of the snake pit.

  Argon closed his eyes, prayed to his god . . . and let himself fall.

  A hand closed around his wrist.

  Argon started, and his eyes flicked open. He found himself staring at a very familiar face: Olu had a smile that was simply unforgettable.

  “Come on!” said the slave, hauling his friend out of the depths. “I thought you Gauls were supposed to be strong.”

  Argon spat out an entire mouthful of abuse, but he also found an extra reserve of strength. He and Olu rolled onto the stage and tried to get to their feet, but, as they did so, they were greeted by a truly dreadful sight . . .

  Ruma was sitting on the ground beside the trapdoor, rocking backward and forward in the dirt. His eyes were streaming with tears, and his entire body was shaking. Above him, Teo hung motionless from the scaffold. He was dead.

  Drin Hain staggered back, his hood falling away to reveal a plain and unmarked face that was full of surprise, confusion, and anger.

  Decimus gritted his teeth and stepped forward, driving his elbow into the assassin’s jaw and knocking him to the ground.

  Drin Hain, great killer of slaves and shadowy apprentice to Slavious Doom, curled up like a newborn baby and clutched at the sword that protruded from his stomach. His eyes flickered for a moment, and then focused in a terrible, distant stare.

  Decimus stepped around the fallen assassin and moved over to crouch beside his friend.

  “Gladius,” he said, speaking slowly and carefully. “It’s Decimus. Can you hear me?”

  Gladius moved his head slightly. His breathing was measured, but he was out cold. His face was covered in blood from Hain’s assault, and his lips trembled as if he were suffering the worst kind of nightmare.

  At least he was alive.

  As Decimus hauled the unconscious slave off the dirt, he glanced over at Argon and Olu, who were helping Ruma to free Teo from the noose. Decimus guessed from Ruma’s tear-streaked face that Teo was dead. Now they were five.

  Gladius was a heavy burden. Decimus looped the big slave’s arm around his neck and tried to move him toward the edge of the stage, but he soon froze.

  On the opposite end of the scaffold, Ruma, Olu, and Argon were equally still. They had managed to get Teo’s body to the ground, but Argon had spotted the scene unfolding around them and had alerted the others.

  Nobody moved.

  Around the edge of the tower courtyard, some twenty guards surrounded them. Some were armed with swords, many with spears, and a few carried the deadly combination of trident and net. All were advancing toward them, poised for combat.

  Slavious Doom strode through the great doors and held up an armored hand.

  “Wait!” he cried, pointing across the courtyard as he approached the gathered slaves. “Will you look at this: The great Decimus Rex has returned . . . precisely as Hain predicted. His plan worked beautifully . . . such a pity he will not be around to see it bear fruit.” Slavious stared down at his fallen apprentice, but he didn’t look even remotely concerned. His attention quickly shifted back to the young gladiator. “Now, you are mine once again.”

  Decimus felt himself begin to shake with anger, but he knew that any strike against the overlord would be futile. They were impossibly outnumbered, and Doom fought like a lion. From what Decimus had seen, the overlord was equivalent in strength to ten men.

  “You didn’t really presume that a handful of ship slaves would be any match for me?” Doom continued. “Oh certainly, we suffered some losses . . . and I doubt the merchants will be happy unless we return their precious money . . . but then I see you have your own small . . . hmm . . . disappointments?”

  The armored giant nodded at Teo’s corpse, and it took the combined efforts of Argon and Olu to keep Ruma from racing at him.

  “You will suffer more losses if I advance now,” said Doom, his voice almost casual. “I can get my men to cut down your friends, leaving you utterly alone to face my wrath.”

  Decimus raised his sword as the guards began to move forward, but he knew they really didn’t stand a chance.

  Doom’s face was consumed by a sickly, almost demonic smile.

  “I’m not going to kill any of your friends now,” he boomed as yet another group of guards arrived at the gates. “For they will be far more useful to me back at Arena Primus . . . as bargaining tools.”

  “Bargaining tools?” questioned Argon. He, Ruma, and Olu were all staring over at Decimus, whose own expression indicated that he didn’t have the slightest clue what Slavious Doom was referring to.

  “Bargaining tools against whom?” Decimus shouted as he felt Gladius begin to stir.

  Doom released a sarcastic cackle. “Against you, my boy. This entire event was arranged to bring YOU back to me. Did you believe I arranged all of this simply to stop two ordinary slaves escaping my grasp? Hahaha! MANY slaves have escaped me over the years, my young friends, and I can assure you I made no such efforts to recapture them. You are special, Decimus; it is a pure and simple fact. I need you to complete a task for me—a task that you alone are able to complete . . . a task that is your DESTINY.”

&nb
sp; “I would kill myself before I helped you do anything,” Decimus spat.

  Slavious Doom shrugged.

  “Then do it now,” he yelled. “For you will watch your friends suffer and die one by one unless you do exactly as I command.”

  In the silence, Doom turned and strode from the courtyard.

  “Take them back to Arena Primus,” he boomed. “ALL of them.”

  COMING SOON

  Decimus Rex is once again back in the clutches of the evil Slavious Doom. Tasked with entering the catacombs beneath the arena to bring back the fabled Blade of Fire, Decimus immediately demands the release of all his friends in return for agreeing to take on the mission. Doom, however, has other plans . . .

  RESCUE MISSION

  ARENA COMBAT

  Get ready to challenge your friends! Each Gladiator Boy book will contain a different trial. Collect them all to run your own Arena of Doom—either at home or on the playground.

  TRIAL 4

  THE BITE

  In this book, one of the young slaves meets a grizzly fate and all of the others escape theirs only by the narrowest of margins. It all seems to come down to luck in the end.

  You will need either two, three, or four players, ten pieces of paper—all the same size—and a container or box of some kind.

  In this trial, the players imagine themselves walking through a room full of snakes. Most of the snakes are harmless, but one is poisonous. If the players are bitten, they are eliminated and lose the trial.

  GAME PROCEDURE