by T. S. Ryder
“She is at least five times my weight.”
Arul managed to look impressed. “A ‘behemoth’ indeed!” Kenner almost scoffed. That supposedly monstrous size was average among the Kinai, but then again, compared to the Skatians, with their fine, bird-like bones and barely-there flesh, everyone was gargantuan.
“Is she Garn?” Arul asked.
“Oh, no!” Lady Esplyn replied. “She is very new – and very unique. A recent acquisition from my last visit to the Crossroads.” She sighed wistfully. “I had the mind to make her one of my pets, but she turned out to be far better suited for the Pit,” she said. “Barely into her first year, and she’s already a crowd favorite.”
Another lady – Sangra, if memory served – laughed at that statement. “Your freak is but a chance occurrence riding a stroke of luck that is bound to run out sooner or later,” she said, patronizing words at odds with the sweetness of her voice.
“Perhaps,” Arul’s companion replied nonchalantly, with a charming shrug of her left shoulder, “But it won’t happen today. She’s fighting some Firuzian who spends more time with a pleasure-collar on than in the training yards.” She turned to Arul. “Why his whore-mistress insisted on this match is beyond me,” she told him, exuding concern and confidence, both very much fake, “Gilt doesn’t last long in the Pit of Wallaria.”
From the look on Lady Sangra’s face, Kenner deduced that she must be the whore-mistress in question. However, if the lady had any witty remarks to snap back with, she had to save them for another time, for the trumpets announced the arrival of the gladiators and the beginning of the opening fight for the day.
From a door to his right, Kenner saw the Firuzian fighter. Even from his seat in the royal loge, Kenner could see the man’s exquisite features, which were undoubtedly the cause of him being so thoroughly used for sex. His taut, flawless skin was put on full display, for the man wore nothing but a small piece of gold-colored silk to cover his sizeable privates, held in place by a set of two golden strings, one across his waist and one between his buttocks. An intricately decorated sword and shield were his only equipment, and Kenner knew that, despite Lady Esplyn’s comments, the man had to be a tremendously skilled fighter to afford to exhibit such bravado.
He looked to the left to see his opponent... and his heart skipped a beat.
She was beautiful.
She was of a height with the average Kinai and probably weighed the same, but unlike Kinai women, who were built with all the rough edges their men had, the fighter’s weight was mostly distributed in lush curves that made his mouth water – a round, pronounced backside, heavy breasts barely contained by the leather of her armor and a staunch, round belly. Her frame was strong and wide, and she clearly had well-trained muscles underneath the plump padding. Her skin that carried a strong tan and scars that spoke of her profession.
She would be so soft to the touch, he thought, so smooth to sink into.
“Few favor Hele’s particular brand of exotica,” Lady Esplyn cooed to Kenner, who only then realized that his fascination had showed more than was wise. “But those who do pay well for a repeat performance. If you wish, I shall have her sent to your quarters this very eve.”
Fighting the urge to choke the bitch on the spot, Kenner turned to Lady Esplyn. “One night is not enough,” he said, surprising everyone in the Loge, even himself. The thought of this resplendent creature being anything but free made his heart ache, and he felt an inexplicably strong urge to save her from these monsters.
“Do you truly fancy the beast so fervently?” the Emperor asked, highly amused by this turn of events.
“If Lady Esplyn is looking to sell, I will meet her price,” he replied simply. Arul looked at him as if he lost his mind, but Kenner ignored him. He may not have understood why this was important to him, but he knew that it was.
The Emperor of Skatia laughed. “Then we must make certain Lady Esplyn gives you a fair price,” the Emperor replied graciously, much to the barely contained displeasure of the lady.
She had no time to protest, however, for the trumpets sounded once again, announcing the beginning of the first fight of the day.
Chapter Three
Teresa stood in the sands of the Pit, looking at the man in the Imperial Loge who didn’t seem capable of taking his eyes off her. What an intriguing creature he was, she thought to herself, as she used the seconds she had before the second trumpet to absorb as much of him as she could.
He wore what looked like armor of a shiny black material she did not recognize, and even though he was seated, she could tell that he had a few inches on her, and possibly a few dozen pounds as well. Unlike her, however, he was built of nothing but muscle, sinew and bone, and looked as if all of it had been gained through strenuous physical work. His face was very rough and very masculine, all hard edges, deep-set eyes, strong nose and square jaw, with a wild head of jet black hair that fell down his shoulders in uneven, wavy tresses that made her want to run her fingers through them. There was an olive tone to his skin, and she was too far away to see such details as the color of his eyes, but that didn’t diminish the tremendous amount of strength – no, power! – he radiated, or the focus with which he watched her. There was something almost animalistic about him, something wild and dangerous, yet Teresa felt an undeniable pull towards him.
Lady Esplyn was sitting between him and another man of similar build and garb. She spoke to the man briefly, glancing towards Teresa every so often, most likely taking the chance to play procuress. Then the Emperor himself became involved in their conversation, and the next time Lady Esplyn looked at Teresa, she was so furious, it frightened her.
But then the trumpets sounded, and Teresa was forced to concentrate on the more immediate danger.
Teresa knew the Firuzian was quick, but only now did she realize just how slow she was in comparison. He danced around her like a venomous butterfly, his sword darting out to cut her every so often until the bare parts of her arms and legs were covered in tiny lacerations and the crowd was laughing at her.
The thing about dance moves, though, was that you dance with a rhythm.
Teresa simply allowed the Firuzian cut her without striking back to give herself a chance to catch his pattern. She looked ridiculous doing so, but being the ‘fat kid’ all her life had taught her how to tune her self-consciousness about such things out along with any negative comments she’d receive from others.
She learned two things about the Firuzian. The first was that he, like she, clearly had his orders, and his were to humiliate her as much as possible before he finally struck in earnest. The second was that, while she was right about his moves having a pattern to them, she had underestimated its complexity. Rather than following a single rhythm sequence, the Firuzian employed an intricate pattern of separate sequences he repeated at uneven intervals, and never in the same order. The smartest course of action in this situation was to memorize one sequence and play it against him, and Teresa used the one where he would prance about left and right before hopping over to her back and cutting her forearm. Sometimes he’d cut right, sometimes left... but he always did it from the same spot behind her back, standing roughly a foot away.
The next time he landed there, Teresa had her daggers ready, and as his gilded sword sliced through her skin, she turned around from the opposite side.
The blades of her daggers landed on the Firuzian’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Teresa whispered in the Common Tongue and cut down.
The razor-sharp blades went clean through the thin flesh.
The Firuzian let out a blood-curdling scream and fell to the ground.
The crowd in the rafters went wild.
And Teresa was left standing, feeling more like a monster than the victor.
Shortly after, she was back in her cell, but she barely had any recollection of how she got there. When the food was brought in, she ate mechanically, out of pure habit, still dulled by the experience. As though through
a fog, she registered Lady Esplyn making an appearance, but the only thing she remembered was that her mistress did not look happy at all. Some hours later, guards arrived to escort her to the bathhouse, where she was thoroughly washed and dressed in a red flowing garment and had a pleasure-collar closed around her neck before the guards appeared again and led her away.
It was not until she reached her final destination – a large, luxurious room somewhere in the guest wing of the Imperial Palace – that she regained her focus, and even that was only because of the man sitting before her.
She had a closet narrower than his shoulders, Teresa thought to herself as she watched her patron, who observed her with a steady, pensive gaze from his seat in a padded chair. The hard shadows cast from the candles that illuminated the room danced on the harsh slopes of his face, making him look positively sinister and his eyes glow brightly like an animal’s.
“Come here,” he told her. His voice was raspy and rough, but to her surprise, there was no command in his tone. As she closed the gap between them, he straightened his back, and Teresa once again found herself marveling at the size of him. “Kneel,” he said, and she did. Once down, she reached for his belt buckle, but he stopped her, grabbing her wrists. His palms were rough with callouses, and his hold was firm, but he took care not to hurt her.
Teresa was confused. What did he want from her, if not what he had paid for?
Gently, he laid her hands on his knees and then reached for the pleasure-collar. “I’ve heard these collars make bed-slaves enjoy whatever their patrons do to them,” he mused aloud, running his long, thick fingers across the metal weave of the collar.
“They make a slave’s body respond in a fashion stimulating to those who paid to have use of it, yes,” she replied candidly, caring little for whatever punishment such brazen insolence would earn her.
And, indeed, the man looked angry, but his eyes remained on the collar. “And all the while your mind knows exactly what’s going on, doesn’t it?” he asked, understanding the hidden meaning of her words, and Teresa nodded. “As if rape itself is not vile enough,” he all but growled and snatched the pleasure-collar off her neck. “You will never be forced to wear one of these again,” he said and threw the collar away. “Not as long as I live.”
Taken aback by his words and actions, Teresa rose, her hand reaching for her now bare throat. “Who are you to make such claims?” she asked.
He stood up then, the light finally catching his face, and Teresa uttered a little gasp as a pair of gold and green eyes, slit in the middle with a vertical iris, locked onto hers.
“I,” he said, “am your new master.”
Chapter Four
Kenner could not blame the woman for the confusion and fear she felt. She had proved to be a skilled, intelligent fighter today, but also not the kind of person who could hurt another without having it affect her. Splendid as it had been to watch her fight with the Firuzian, he had not missed the tragically vacant look on her face after the fight was over or the mechanical way she bowed and left the Pit. And her former mistress clearly hadn’t warned her of this new change in her life, most likely out of spite. The woman was furious when the Emperor made it clear pleasing the Kinai with a tribute took precedence over her wishes, but she did not hold enough power to fight him on this.
Thus, that afternoon, money and papers had exchanged hands, and this voluptuous beauty now belonged to him.
He resented having to keep himself as her master, even if just nominally, but there was no such thing as manumission in the Skatian laws, so the only way she could have her freedom was to remain Kenner’s slave on paper, and to get as far away from the Empire as possible.
“What is your name?” he asked, but she only seemed more confused at the question.
“They call me Hele,” she replied, clearly going with the safe answer.
“Yes, but what’s your name?” he repeated.
Her eyes narrowed a bit suspiciously, but eventually, he got his answer. “Teresa,” she told him. “My name is Teresa.”
“Teresa,” he repeated, committing her name to memory. “I am Kenner,” he told her. “I’m supposing from your reaction to me that you haven’t been introduced to the Kinai,” he mused, taking his seat again, and gestured to the chair across from his, a small, ornate table between them. Teresa threw him another wary look but sat down.
“I’ve never heard of the Kinai,” she told him.
“I’m not surprised,” he admitted. “We are... a private folk. But this is what you need to know. In our homeland, we hold no slaves, do not indulge in blood sport, have no caste system, and grant positions based on merit rather than bloodline or gender. I must take – and keep – you there against your will, but otherwise, you are free to organize your life as you see fit. If you prove yourself useful, you’ll easily find gainful employ, but I’ll support you until then, however long it takes. I understand if trusting me doesn’t come easily to you, but I fear you have no choice in this matter. You either make Kinai your home, or you’ll just be captured and re-sold again.”
She looked down to her lap, where her hands rested, thinking his words through, and he let her. All things considered, she was taking this remarkably well. “Why don’t you just take me back to my home?” she asked, raising her head, her large, russet eyes meeting his again. “Since it seems like freeing me is the reason you bought me.”
He sighed. “I’m afraid that simply isn’t possible,” he told her, honest in his regret. “A passage fee for the Portal is more than I can afford, especially now.”
Teresa looked defeated. “No... that would simply be too much to ask for,” she said, with a sigh of bitter resignation. “But I suppose it’s for the best. I have no idea how I’d get to Earth from the Crossroads.”
It was Kenner’s turn to be confused. “Earth?” he asked, repeating the only word she had said that was not of the Common Tongue.
“My planet,” she explained. “I was... I’m sure you have them on Elamaren, but I don’t know the word for the profession. ‘An officer of the law’, we call it. We investigate crimes, locate and apprehend criminals and make sure the laws of the land are obeyed.” Kenner nodded in understanding, but said nothing, allowing her to tell him her tale. “I had just started my second year when my partner and I were called in to look into what we thought was someone’s bad idea of a joke. See, all this – life on other planets, spaceships, sentient races other than our own – it’s fiction on our planet, nothing more. But it turned out that the person who called us to investigate the strange lights and incredibly fast aerial vehicles on the edge of our city wasn't joking.”
She looked sad. “I don’t know who took me exactly. They hit my partner and me with a small cloud of gas that made us lose consciousness, and I didn’t wake until I was in a cage at the Crossroads. It was... a maddening experience. No one understood me... I understood no one... they hit me to force me to do as they wished... and my partner was already gone. I don’t know if he died or was sold before I made it to the slavers’ block, but... honestly? I don’t know which I should hope for. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve this.”
“Neither did you,” Kenner told her, hoping to give her some comfort. It was not something he was good at – fighting, leadership, strategy, those were his strong suits. When it came to emotions, he always felt like a bumbling oaf.
But what a tragedy, what stress Teresa and her partner had been forced to endure. He tried to imagine himself so utterly lost, his entire world turned upside-down, completely out of any sort of control over his own destiny, and found himself amazed by Teresa’s inner strength. To survive such profound duress and adapt as well as she had showed an indomitable spirit.
“You speak the Common Tongue very well,” he complimented her, feeling the need to lift the conversation and make her feel better about herself. Her eyes were still sad, but she offered him half a smile and nodded. “I’ve always learned languages with ease,” she told him. “But Lady
Esplyn favored my physical talents.”
“Of which you have an abundance, it would seem,” Kenner said, cursing the Skatian bitch for forcing Teresa into the Pit when she could’ve used her sharp mind instead. It would’ve made her no less a slave – and perhaps prevented them from ever meeting – but her life would’ve been incomparably easier if she had been trained as a clerk or a tutor rather than as a fighter.
Teresa shrugged. “Military training,” she told him. “I had no family other than my parents, and when they died, I had just reached the age of maturity. I had nowhere to go and no way to fend for myself, and the military in my homeland was recruiting, so...” Hearing this only made Kenner’s opinion of her grow more. She was a survivor, this one, resilient and well-versed in making do with what she had.
She will fit perfectly among the Kinai, he thought, with no small amount of pride.
“That is good,” he told her, “We are very much a military-minded nation.” Teresa cocked an eyebrow quizzically, allowing him the first glimpse into her sense of humor.
“A private, yet military-minded nation...” she mused. “Many would call that a historical oddity.”
Kenner barked a hearty laugh, his head falling back, which seemed to help relax her a bit more. “I doubt many nations have our particular peculiarities,” he said. “But those are something you cannot know until you are one of us.” With that, he stood up, and Teresa followed suit, probably out of habit. “Something tells me it won’t be long before that happens, though,” he told her, with his best attempt at a reassuring smile. “You should rest now,” he said, gesturing to the bed. “We leave before dawn, and the voyage to Kinai is long.”
