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

by Angela Angelwolf

  Here and there, crowds spilled out of buildings to line the street at Tol’zen’s approach. Pashera saw some human faces in those crowds. The humans looked at her with a mix of expressions ranging from curiosity to hostility. They all seemed to wear skirts or kilts, sandals, and individual collars inset with metal rings.

  Many saurians hailed Tol’zen to talk, but he waved them off. Another half-hour journey brought them to within sight of a large building.

  Pashera guessed it was the palace. Her heart sank. The soldiers had dropped enough hints that the king collected the captives, and virginity seemed to be important.

  A wall surrounded the big building. It was in better shape than the city’s outer wall, not very tall and interrupted by a gate of metal rods. As if she couldn’t guess, the cart driver told Pashera this wall surrounded the palace. Tol’zen, leading the leatherback, made straight for the gate.

  The guards here seemed more relaxed, and even more fat. Tol’zen fetched Pashera from the top of the cart and led her through the gate. An escort met them. After formal greetings were exchanged, Tol’zen handed over his spear. The guards made a show of storing the spear in a place of honor, then told Tol’zen to follow them.

  “Will your king claim me?” Pashera asked Tol’zen. She clung pathetically to his arm.

  “Not if I can help it,” Tol’zen whispered in her ear in a low voice. “Follow my lead when we meet him. Speak only when spoken to.”

  After a quick walk through collections of flowers all in rows, past a statue of a huge saurian holding a lightning bolt and some device Pashera couldn’t fathom, then past a gigantic fountain whose water somehow changed lights, they entered the front door of the palace.

  The opulence was stunning. The walls were gilded in gold; lights poured out of the ceiling from fixtures studded with what looked like gems. Every wall was painted, and every painting told a story. Pashera didn’t have time to examine them but on one panel she could see saurian warriors battling fearsome beasts; on another wall, a crowd bowed before a saurian law-giver. They passed one fountain, then another.

  Elegant figures glided out of side passages to peer at the newcomers. These figures, all saurians, wore costumes of rich, even shimmering fabric, embroidered in elaborate patterns. The costumes wrapped around their torsos, then dropped to the floor. But the bottom half of the outfits were slit to reveal a lot of leg. Once it was on the floor, the material trailed off behind.

  Pashera focused on one clad in red and gold. Gold paint colored the saurian’s eyelids and accented its face. One half of its chest was bared –vertically – and a black, abstract drawing, perhaps of something like a snake with wings, coiled up from its waist. Gold jewelry wrapped around its arms and neck, and dangled from fan-shaped ears. Its feathers were not cropped short like Tol’zen’s, or the soldiers, but groomed into an elaborate cresting wave.

  Some saurians had lone human attendants. These were the cleanest humans Pashera had ever seen. Their skin was most often brown but occasionally black. And there were a few that were pale, and even lighter shades of pale than Pashera knew existed. All of them, whatever their color, fairly shone with cleanliness. Hair was usually done in in a simple, pulled-back style. Their faces sported similar – but less showy – patterns as the saurian they obviously served.

  Another saurian stepped forward; this one was dressed in blue and white. Pearls crusted around armbands and a heavily-laden necklace. Pearls dotted its head feathers and even showed on its bird-feet. Blue accents showed on its lips, eyelids, and in cryptic, artistic markings on its arms and exposed areas of its chest.

  “What are these creatures?” Pashera asked Tol’zen.

  “They are our females,” Tol’zen said. “Our women.”

  “But they don’t have breasts.”

  “We don’t have teats because we are not mammals,” Tol’zen said. “Nor are we any of the other lower life forms that have such things.”

  Then he leaned close to her and whispered. “But don’t mention it to our ladies. It can be a sore point.”

  Pashera stared at another saurian female who came on them abruptly out of an intersecting corridor. This female was a study in emerald. Luxurious green fabric, highlighted with gold trim, draped her form. She blinked at Tol’zen with gem-encrusted eyelids. More green ran from designs on her face up into her head feathers, which were dyed bronze and swept high above like a cresting wave. Her skin was jet-black, as were her eyes.

  She had two human attendants, both dressed in forest green skirts to match the saurian’s green-and-gold outfit. They wore collars and bracelets of some gold material. A frontpiece of thin, green material ran from waist up to the collars, concealing their breasts.

  Behind the lead female and her two human attendants walked another saurian female. This one wore fabric as black as a night sky, with glittering constellations of small gems tracing patterns across it. A choker of multiple levels of pearls wrapped around her neck. Her skin was also black; her eyes a bold blue. But the most striking thing about her was her hair feathers – fashioned into the shape of a tarantula, and dyed black and blue, with brief highlights of red.

  This black-garbed female wore a silver belt, on which two silver-hilted daggers rested in an intricately carved sheaths. Her hands flew reflexively to the hilts of the daggers as the small party came upon Tol’zen and Pashera in the corridor.

  She was attended by a human woman clad in the style of the other two, except her garments were all in black.

  The lead saurian female waved hand for Tol’zen to halt.

  “Hail, my queen,” Tol’zen bowed as Pashera saw was the custom, forward, with both hands out and one foot forward.

  “You survived your quest, then,” the queen said. “No obstacles … stopped you?”

  “Not for lack of trying, my queen,” Tol’zen answered.

  “Did you recover what was required?”

  “Yes.”

  The queen’s eyes glinted darkly. “He’ll be especially displeased then. He’ll try not to show it. I must see this.” She held out a hand for Tol’zen to wait while she and her attendants turned the corner and swept down the corridor. One of the human females glanced at Pashera furtively, but only for an instant.

  Tol’zen kept his hand on Pashera’s arm until the queen was far down the hall, then released her to indicate they should continue.

  “Our ladies are the most dangerous of us,” Tol’zen whispered to her. “Remember that.”

  “Who will be displeased?” Pashera asked.

  “The king,” Tol’zen said. “Now, we’re almost there. Be quiet when we’re inside. Say nothing if you can. If you must talk, say very little.”

  At the end of the hallway, laughter, a babble of voices and music echoed out of large, guarded double-doors. The room was dark, but flashes of light illuminated it briefly. The queen paused at the entrance, turned to look slyly at Tol’zen, then went inside. A loud hail sounded at her entrance.

  The guards nodded at Tol’zen as he approached. Both were fat. Pashera found the idea of fat warriors most disturbing of all. One of the guards held up a hand and said, “I’ll announce you.”

  At the entryway, the smell of lizards grabbed Pashera by the nostrils. The smell was almost overpowering to her primitive senses. There was a riot of visual imagery going on inside the room, or at least what Pashera could see through the doorway. There was a big, circular open space, and someone speaking in it. Around the walls of the room, and as far as Pashera could see, raised seats were crammed with saurians. Their distant talk was like the buzz of bees.

  The guard stepped into the room. “Attention,” he said in a stentorian voice. “Tol’zen, son of Tol’karion has returned from his quest. He comes to report, my king.”

  A babble of voices greeted this news. Tol’zen gripped Pashera’s arm and stepped forward. Panic gripped her and her legs stopped working, so he ended up dragging her forward.

  The buzz quieted as the stoic saurian entered, dragging h
is obviously reluctant human charge by the arm. Her feet slid smoothly over the worn and ancient stones. The room fell into silence until there was only the measured step of Tol’zen's advance against the background of Pashera’s foot-dragging.

  The speaker in the center of the room – who was dressed gaily in outrageously bright colors of silver and orange – bowed low to Tol’zen and withdrew to a nearby bench.

  Tol’zen stepped forward until he was facing a large chair or throne set against one side of the open circle in the middle of the room.

  The room was huge. The walls rose precipitously on all sides, and all on sides were benches, and on all the benches were saurian in a seemingly limitless palette of colored dress. While at first it seemed the benches went all the way around the room, they actually stopped at a V-shaped structure that jutted out of one wall, with the truncated point of the “V” ending at the great throne.

  Above the throne were two more platformed tiers. On one, tough-looking saurians lounged languidly. Some of them held devices which the new knowledge in Pashera’s head recognized as musical instruments. On the other, higher tier, fearsome warriors stood with weapons ready.

  Suddenly, Pashera startled. In front of the throne lay a saurian corpse. Or parts of one. A leg and an arm were chopped off, and lying scattered across the stone circle in front of the throne. A large bladed weapon stuck right down through the hapless saurian’s chest, pinning it to the ground. Pashera tried to twist out of Tol’zen’s grasp, but he held her firmly.

  Everyone else around the throne ignored the corpse. It was freshly killed, and blood drained down into a thin ditch which ran off like a gutter to one side.

  The great throne had six other, lesser chairs beside it. Behind this row a group of servants mingled among a half-dozen warriors. Two more warriors stood on either side of the great throne.

  And on the throne itself was the biggest, fattest saurian Pashera had seen yet. He wore a large kilt that did little to conceal the bulk underneath. Old scars rippled across the surface of his bloated body. A colorful, predominantly purple sash crossed one shoulder, a jeweled dagger was thrust into a purple belt stretched around his vast middle, and his feet were clad in a fancy purple version of the sandals that all the warriors seemed to wear.

  His head was plucked of feathers except for a high, thick, purple row that ran along the center of his skull from front to back. He wore one gauntlet, embroidered in gold wire and purple stones. The other fist was naked and crooked around a large cup.

  The huge saurian wore a crown that was magnificent in its ugliness. Rough-cut jewels, polished to brilliance, encircled a black ring of metal which itself encircled a golden, open-topped crown with spikes around the rim. This crown sat tight on his great, fat head, encircling his purple stripe of topfeathers.

  The most striking feature of this saurian was not his girth but his face. His face had an evil cast, an inner brutality that even the most pleasant attempt at a smile couldn’t mask.

  The creature gazed from Tol’zen to Pashera and back again with gimlet eyes. It twisted its lips into a friendly smile.

  The king, for that is what he was, nodded in acknowledgment to Tol’zen.

  Tol’zen stepped forward and bowed formally. “Hail, Oh King,” he said solemnly. “I have returned, with what was required.”

  “Let me see,” the king said. His voice was baritone, like honeyed gravel. His long lizard tongue ran over his lips. He twisted his mouth into a smile again.

  Tol’zen released Pashera’s arm and she fell back, slumping to the ground. He opened the bag attached to his sash. He pulled out four objects. Two were wrapped in some kind of fabric. Two more were obviously metal. A smell of dead flesh hit Pashera’s already overwhelmed nose.

  The king snapped his fingers and a pair of figures rushed forward. These were dressed in robes of solid gold, robes that managed to be both simple and elegant at the same time. These new saurians were bald. Three-horned half-masks sat on their heads. The ornamental horns, gold-leaf feathers and strange symbols inlaid on the masks concealed their faces. They received the wrapped packages bowing with open arms.

  This left Tol’zen with the metal objects. He stepped forward, placed these devices near the king’s feet, then backed away. A servant – a very blonde, very pale human servant, Pashera realized with a shock, for she had never seen anyone with blonde hair, though rumors of such were part of her tribe’s legends – rushed forward and picked up the metal pieces.

  The servant carried these objects to a saurian sitting in a chair at the far end of the royal line. This saurian was obviously older, and somewhat frail. Over his kilt he wore a smock somewhat similar to that worn by the doctor who had inspected Pashera when she first entered the valley. But while the doctor’s smock was simple and workmanlike, this one was ornate and decked out with pockets upon pockets, and undefinable fripperies. The saurian wore a tall, four-sided gold-colored hat topped with a pyramid.

  The old saurian looked at the devices, then hissed and waved for two more saurians, in much simpler but still elegant robes, to step forward and take them.

  Meanwhile, gold-robed priests – for Pashera now knew that’s what the other two were – unwrapped the packages to reveal animal hearts. A realization hit Pashera like a thunderbolt – these were the hearts of the two leatherbacks she’d run into in the jungle clearing right before she met Tol’zen. That seemed like a lifetime ago, even though it was just a few days.

  The priests held the hearts up with great reverence and exhorted the crowd in prayer. Another priest – this one so old he looked like a strong wind would knock him over – stepped forward. The old priest had a mask of gold so thin, so perfect, that it was translucent. The three horns on the mask were almost comically large. But because they burdened his head not at all, those horns must be hollow, Pashera reasoned. The other priests deferred to him. He waved a hand over the hearts. Then the priests fed the hearts into the fire.

  The prayer turned into a chant that rose as the flames consumed the hearts. Then it stopped suddenly.

  The king heaved himself up from his throne. Standing, he was at least a head taller than any other saurian Pashera had seen. Fat hung off his frame in slabs, and his enormous belly bobbled pendulously as he stood up. The blonde slave kneeled at his feet. The king waved his hand for silence.

  “Lord Tol’zen has done what honor required,” he told the room. “He was sent to retrieve the holy beasts, or failing that, their hearts. This, he has done. Let us honor him.”

  At that, a wild cheer rose up in the room. Three times, it swelled, and individuals shouted Tol’zen's name into the maelstrom of sound.

  Pashera got to her feet again. As soon as she did, Tol’zen clamped a strong hand on her wrist.

  The king signaled for silence again. “Many said that Tol’zen would fail,” he told the crowd. “They said it was too long since our race had ventured through the Dragon Gate, and to ruined Tartessos. Tol’zen has gone to Tartessos and beyond.

  “Many said the path of our ancestors was closed … that the dangers had grown too numerous and too deadly. Tol’zen’s presence here tonight shows that to be a lie!”

  Again, the crowd cheered.

  The king turned to look squarely at Tol’zen. “What would you have as your reward?”

  Tol’zen bowed formally to the king. Then he spoke: “I faced dangers on my journey. But none more perilous than the sky pirates.”

  At this, the room seethed with hisses and murmurs. The king signaled for silence again.

  “Go on,” he told Tol’zen.

  “They grow bolder every day. This menace must be stopped,” Tol’zen said. “I would lead an expedition to destroy this threat. And I want the full resources of the army and the Cogitorium at my disposal.”

  Another uproar. This one was a mix of voices for and against. The king didn’t seem in any hurry to quiet this down. Perhaps, Pashera reasoned, he was judging the mood of the crowd.

  Two figures moved
from the balcony overlooking the throne hurrying down a narrow set of stairs. The king saw them coming and sat his bulk down on his throne with a huff.

  The figures stepped out in front of the king – but kept their distance from Tol’zen and Pashera – and presented themselves with low bows. At this, the king motioned to quiet the crowd.

  One of the newcomers wore a scientists’ smock trimmed in lavish fabric and studded with shiny bits of tech. On top of his head he wore a 4-sided, pyramid-topped hat that was not quite as tall as that worn by the old saurian.

  The other who now stepped before the throne wore a soldier’s kilt and armor cut generously to accommodate his bulk, which was substantial, though in no way near the king’s own dimensions.

  The same guard who had heralded Tol’zen stepped forward.

  “Thal’tos, eurikot of the Cogitorium, and Dam’ian, serdar of the army,” he said in his stentorian voice.

  The king smiled wickedly, looking from one to the other. “How strange to see you two together.” Something in the tone of his voice told Pashera it was not strange at all.

  The soldier saluted. “King Kro’tos,” he said. “We all support Lord Tol’zen’s brave ambitions. But the army is stretched as it is. We can’t take more men away from the defenses to the South.”

  The scientist made some complicated gesture that might have passed for a salutation. “King Kro’tos,” he said in a voice that was high and scratchy, like the scraping of windblown branches, “Lord Tol’zen has tried to impose his schemes on us before. He would risk irreplaceable machines. Some of those machines date back to the Golden Age. If they are damaged, the loss to our people … to our history and culture … would be worse than any harm the sky pirates inflict on us.”

  King Kro’tos grimaced. His evil gaze fixed on the scientist. “It’s always the same with you,” he said. “Every time my warriors want to use some piece of technology, you say it can’t be risked. What’s the point of having fighting machines if you don’t use them to fight?”

  At this a sound picked up in the gallery as the crowd roared its approval. It was a baying, “hoo-hoo-hoo” noises that reminded Pashera of dire wolves on the hunt. She shuddered.