“It is starting soon! Hurry, we do not want to miss this!” a man said with jovial tones in his voice, and his face turned to look at Ken. The man had the white frosted decoration across his eyes, and that was about all that showed in the night. Ken nodded, and refrained from speaking, remembering what Butterfield had said about his accent and tones.
“Yes, to the ring!” The throng carried Ken along with them the rest of the distance until they reached the side of the building. There the light was better, but the crowds were larger. Many voices, male and female were crying out.
“There comes the cuadrilla!” the man who had hold of Ken’s arm called out as he pointed with his other hand. “That is one of them!”
Ken could not see who the man was pointing at, and he tried to pull away. While he did wrestle his arms out of the man’s grasp, several other people pushed Ken from behind, and so he was carried along, through an entryway, and into what he saw was a circular building with no ceiling. The lights shone down and made the interior of the building as bright as daytime. There were rows of seats, set on sloping upward floors, which wrapped around an open central area. The group which had snagged Ken pulled him along with them, and he surged around the rails and into the seated areas. The whole group found a set of seats and he—along with the others—sat down facing the center. He could now see the people around him, and they were dressed much like his own flowing robes. Everyone had a festive smile, or were cheering in open-mouthed pleasure. They were calling out, shouting for joy, and thumping each other in the very tight quarters. The men all had the white bands decorating their faces, while the women had the red stripes. What little unstained flesh Ken could see was of multiple tones, and Ken’s own dark skin was much like many others. He could see no children, but people were streaming into the building in large numbers, and he saw no way of going against that flow of humanity, even if the people around him would allow him to stand up and try. They all were jostling and shoving and grabbing each other, but not in a hostile way, for it was all in an air of anticipatory enthusiasm. Soon, roughly five hundred people were seated all around the central open area, which itself was about a hundred meters in diameter. The sloped floors all led down to that central area, which was surrounded by a black, three-bar railing which was about chest high. There was an opening in that rail leading to an aisle about five meters wide, whose ground was flat all the way to the outer wall of the building. The aisle was bordered by rails much like what encircled the center. Ken noted gates at the center rail, and at the far end where the aisle met the wall.
Ken tried to stand, fearing he would be recognized as a stranger, and hoping to sneak away, yet those around him pulled him back into his seat.
“Look there he comes!” many people yelled out. “It is Francesco the Fierce!”
Ken watched as down the aisle came a strange wagon, pulled by six people who were all wearing bright white robes, and on that wagon, was a cage whose bars were at least three meters tall. Inside of that cage was a black animal. The animal, with four muscular legs, and a stocky, heavy body, was as tall as the people who were pulling the wagon, and it was nearly entirely black, with the only exception being two curved horns which came from the sides of its head.
“What is that?” Ken muttered as he had never seen anything like the beast in the cage.
“Impressive! No? Yes! Francesco the Fierce is the one!” a woman cried out in answer to Ken’s words. How she had heard him, he did not know, and then he wondered if she had heard him at all. Because others, all around, were calling out, yelling, laughing, and joking.
The cage was moved into the center area, where the wheels on the wagon made small ruts in the tan ground. The color of that ground made Ken gulp as it looked like the dead world outside of Dome 17. The beast in the cage stomped, and snorted, and thrust its head from side to side. Ken wondered if the beast weighed five hundred kilograms or more. It was enormous, frightening, and somehow pity-inducing all at the same time. It barely had room to move in the cage.
“Behold the picadors!” an amplified voice boomed out and echoed around the building. “They are now entering the ring!”
Down the aisle came two people riding a different species of beast. These beasts were a deep brown color and, while they were a bit taller than the black beast in the cage—Francesco the Fierce—they were not as bulky or as heavily muscled. The riders were dressed in bright green colors, and one was a man, the other a woman, as indicated by their facial decorations. Elaborate seats were strapped onto the beasts, creating a place for the rider to sit, and hook his or her feet into. Scabbards were slung alongside the seat, and a long spear was in each rider’s hand. The spears were of white with blue tips.
The crowd cheered madly as the two riders rode around the central area, which Ken was now thinking of as the ring. The beasts were stomping their front feet, and snorting, especially as they drew close to the caged animal.
“And now welcome to the ring, our four banderilleros!” the amplified voice announced. Ken looked around, trying to see who was speaking, but he could not identify that person’s location. He was certain it was not an artificial intelligence, or a mechanical voice. “These people carry the muletas for each round!”
With all the noises and voices around him, Ken muttered under his breath, “Such a great sized crowd! I am seeing a sight with animals, large animals, and people riding on them.”
Kimberly responded, “Are you safe?”
“Unclear, but surrounded by people.”
Someone smacked Ken on the back, “Yes, we are all here together! This is splendid! Look at the banderilleros!”
Ken did look, and saw the four people marching into the ring. Each carried a short stick about half the length of an arm. Two of these people were men and two were women, again, identified by the colored bands on their faces. These people’s robes were a brilliant light blue color. One of the women held aloft the stick in her hand and another joined her. When all four were holding the sticks up, sparks shot out of the sticks, and the banderilleros spun around in a dance. They then took their places at four spots equidistant around the ring.
“The cuadrilla is now completed! But where is our hero?” the announcer asked.
“Where is the hero? Where is the hero? Where is the hero?” the crowd all chanted, all except for Ken, who was bewildered by the sight. The riders--the picadors—if that was the name for the rider, or the beast, Ken was unsure, were urging their beasts to circle the ring, and the banderilleros were stationed at the railing, like guards of some sort.
“Oh, here come our hero! Everyone give a hearty welcome to our Ohverdus! The hero is entering the ring now!”
The crowds were ecstatic in a thundering round of applause. They began chanting over and over, “Ohverdus! Ohverdus!”
Ken could make out some figure being shoved and pushed along through the aisle toward the ring at the center.
“A tant!” Ken caught his words, but not until they had been expressed. He glanced around, and no one seemed to take notice of his comment. He looked back, and it was a tant, nearly identical to the ones who had abducted Janae. He wondered if Janae’s kidnappers had been found, and if Janae had been rescued, but then knew it had not happened, for Kimberly would have conveyed that information.
This tant was wearing a red and gold set of clothing, and was being herded along by people in heavy, all gray, body armor. The helmets had face shields, so he could not tell if it were males guards or female guards. They were rough with the tant. As they reached the ring, the gate was swept closed behind the tant.
“The Ohverdus, our hero, now will receive the Sword of Reckoning,” the announcer’s big voice called out.
A yellow automacube rolled forward, and on its back was a sword. It approached the tant, and with its manipulation arm it took the sword up, and presented it to the tant. Nearly instantly, the tant slapped the sword away and it tumbled down into the tan ground. Dust puffed up from where it struck.
&nb
sp; The announcer came on, “Pick up the Sword of Reckoning, Ohverdus, and prepare to meet Francesco the Fierce! Defeat Francesco and you win.”
“Take the sword! Take the sword! Take the sword!” the crowd chanted.
The tant, its face unreadable, moved about, looking this way and that.
“Take the sword! Take the sword! Take the sword!” the crowd yelled even louder. “Take the sword!”
The tant stumbled over and picked up the sword. “This is wrong!” it yelled, the voice weak, small, and bizarre.
“Ohverdus, well done! Your entourage is here, to ensure the melee happens. It is time for the sacrifice. Here it comes!” the announcer called out.
Suddenly, the crowd of spectators was utterly silent.
That silence lasted for a prolonged period, until a clanking and clanging pierced throughout the building. The front wall of the cage flipped down becoming a ramp which thudded to the dirt.
“Francesco is freed!” the announcer snickered in glee.
The crowd erupted in shrieks and whoops, but all remained seated.
The large black animal pranced down the ramp, which then rose back into place after the beast was clear. The nearest object to the animal was one of the banderillos. The black beast lowered its head and charged at the female banderillo. As it got close, the banderillo raised the sparking stick, and a tongue of electricity shot from it, just brushing the black animal’s face. It let out a bellow of pain which Ken found greatly annoying to his ears. It was a deep and guttural sound, and repeated itself a few times over and the beast moved away from the banderillo.
“That is one angry bull, but we want Francesco the Fierce to fight his best, right people?” the announcer asked. “Sacrifice means fighting!”
“Fight Francesco! Fight!” the crowds called back.
“Round one, dispense the white muleta!” the announcer called out.
One of the banderillos ran over to the tant had handed it the muleta—a stick with a white cloth hanging from it. The stick was a meter long, and the cloth about that same length. The tant waved the stick about, and the cloth fluttered. The tant then threw the muleta down to the dirt.
A picador kicked the sides of his animal and it galloped over, where, with smooth and easy grace, the picador leaned down and speared the cloth. Holding it on the end of the spear he presented it to the tant.
The tant grasped it, but whatever emotions were going on were disguised behind the facial deformities. The words the tant said were lost in the hubbub of noises.
“Our picador has given grace to our hero! Now come on Ohverdus! Everyone, chant for our hero! Chant for our Ohverdus!”
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the crowds cheered.
The other picador had ridden up behind the tant and pressed the spear against its back. The tant whirled around and used the cloth on the stick as a sort of shield.
“Yes, our hero is using the muleta! Tell our Ohverdus to use the muleta and sword!” the announced urged the spectators, who needed little prodding.
“Muleta and sword! Muleta and sword!” the chant filled the building as hundreds of voices called out in unison.
A horn sounded, and that pierced the chanting.
The black beast stomped its front feet, flipped its massive head, and then bowed its horns down. Ken could see its horns were tan, and he again thought of the death color from Dome 17, and noted that the animal’s hooves were getting covered in the tan dirt. It was an ominous sense of dread that fell on Ken as he watched.
The black animal marched away from the banderillero, and stomped around in the dirt. Then it spied the tant standing more toward the center of the ring.
“Francesco the Fierce has seen our hero, our Ohverdus. Now the match will be exciting!” a woman next to Ken said while she slapped his shoulder. “This Ohverdus should make for a good show. We need the sacrifice, and hopefully it will be better than the last one. That fight was hardly worth my time.”
“Animals fight people?” Ken asked in amazement. “Animal sacrifice?”
The woman turned and stared at him. “Are you drunk? You should wait until afterward to binge. That is more pleasurable. I know that…”
Her attention was diverted as snorts and grunts came from the black beast. It lowered its head and stroked the ground with its hooved front legs. It pawed at the ground in anger, hostility, and in increasingly aggressive ways. With a bellow, it charged ahead, right toward the tant.
The crowd cheered and screamed in elation. Now they were screaming out various different things, but all voices were raised in joyous excitement and eager anticipation. All but Ken’s.
Francesco—the black animal—charged right at the tant, and at the very last moment, the tant leaped and moved out of the way. Francesco was not able to turn as quickly, and stumbled a bit on its feet as it turned to charge again.
The tant waved the white cloth, and the animal charged right at the cloth. As the beast passed by, again the tant moved to the side, but this time struck with the sword. The blade struck the side of the beast, but did not cut or slice it open. Instead, Francesco just billowed loudly and was more enraged.
The crowd loved it.
Ken looked across the white or red stripped faces and their smiles and moans of adulation were everywhere. He was horrified by the fight between tant and beast. The charges and leaping, dodging and weaving went on for more passes, and each time the tant barely escaped the horns and butting head of the animal. Each slash with the sword did not cut the beast.
Then, the beast trotted off to the side, and just stood and looked around. Its proud head was up and its nostrils were flaring.
“Round two, with the orange muleta!” the announcer proclaimed, and the horn sounded again.
Someone rushed over and gave the tant a different stick, this one about a half-meter long, and draped from it was a bright orange cloth. This cloth was much shorter and more narrow than the previous one.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the crowd cheered.
The woman next to Ken hugged his shoulder, and, without looking away from the ring, exclaimed, “This sacrifice is doing great! What a show!”
Ken was unsure who she was addressing, the animal or the tant. Perhaps, to her, it did not matter.
Francesco the Fierce was sprayed with water from some hidden hose. That enraged the animal. The beast, being unable to see where the water originated, again spied the tant. Francesco charged again. This time the tant had much less cloth to use as a diversionary cape, and the animal’s horns got closer to the tant. Striking with the sword, the tant hit clean on the animal’s side, but again the blade did not pierce or slice into the animal as Ken expected.
“How will he kill it?” Ken spoke his outrage out loud.
“Do not fret,” the woman patted Ken’s arm, “Francesco is fighting well, but the death will come. Few Ohverdus make it to round three, but once I did see one make it to round four! Oh, that was a glorious rapture!”
“What?” Ken choked out.
“Watch and see, maybe today our hero will survive three rounds too?”
Ken was appalled as he realized the woman was referring to the tant and not the animal.
Francesco charged, and the tant jumped straight up and, to the delight of the spectators, vaulted over the animal and landed on the dirt behind it. He got up quickly from that squat and ran. However, the orange cloth had been snagged by a horn and was flapping about on the beast’s face. It shook its head, pounded its hooves into the dirt, and jumped around madly trying to dislodge the orange muleta.
A picador—the female one—rode over and deftly pulled the cloth away. Francesco tried to run after the rider, but one of the banderillos rushed out and tapped the animal’s flank with his implement. The beast jumped away from being shocked and stopped his pursuit of the rider.
“Round three! The blue muleta!” the announcer said, and the horn blew again.
One of the banderilleros rushed out and tried to hand a small stick to the
tant. That stick had a small blue cloth attached to it. The tant ignored the offered muleta, and just stood there still holding the blunt sword. Then the sword dropped, and the tant stood there, its arms spread wide.
“Muleta and sword!” the woman next to Ken cried. “Fight! Fight!”
Others in the crowd were yelling as well, but it was a disconcerted effort. Francesco the Fierce trotted around and around the ring, keeping a distance from the picadors and the banderilleros. Round and around the animal trotted, but the tant remained motionless.
“Our hero, the Ohverdus needs a lesson. Shall our hero dance for Francesco the Fierce?”
“Dance! Dance!” the crowd yelled.
The banderilleros each pulled out a pipe, and putting it to their mouths, something happened. The tant jumped up and yelped.
“Dance hero! Dance for Francesco the Fierce! Dance!” the announced chortled.
Tracking the Trailblazer (Colony Ship Trailblazer Book 1) Page 22
