“None of it.”
The three girls gave her skeptical looks. Pashera felt her blood simmer. Then Enara proposed they talk about who was the great gladiator in the school, and that got them all sidetracked.
“I favor Rhu’anis,” Enar said. “She’s quite a bit older – only joined after she was widowed. But she’s very strong, and is the best with the long sword in the school.”
“Which one’s she?”
“You must have seen her. Skin the color of good earth. Unlike most of the saurian females, she wears her top-feathers styled – hers is in the shape of a black bird.”
“Oh, that one,” Pashera was sure she’d seen Rhu’anis.
“She’s like me – athletic because she grew up with a houseful of brothers,” Enara said.
“If you’re talking best with the sword, it’s Orm’ryn,” Angani said. “She’s a quiet one, but I’ve seen her fight. She never loses.”
“No, I don’t know her, either,” Pashera said.
“You’ve seen her – close-cropped top-feathers, they’re a downy brown. So is her skin. Anyway, she’s famous. She won the battle royale in the last games.”
“Why not pick a human champion?” Pashera said.
“I agree,” said Elmdra. “It has to be Tiniseph. She uses a trident. They talk about her fight against the giant bear as a way brains can beat brawn. That’s what I want to be. I want to win battles with my smarts.”
They all nodded at this. Then they heard it – a sound in the hallway. Quick as a blink, Elmdra, Enara and Angani were on their feet, noiselessly out the door and scurrying down to their cells. Pashera’s heart skipped a beat as she heard a cell door “clang” softly. She blew out the candle and waited.
Presently, Ang’ess came by, and saw Pashera sitting beside Dawatana. “Go to sleep,” Ang’ess whispered. “You can’t watch over her all night.”
“Yes, mistress,” Pashera said. She got up quietly and went to her cell.
Ang’ess shuffled off into the darkness, but not before saying: “The candle leaves a scent, you know. Don’t let Ang’kim catch you.”
Chapter 14. Birds in High Cages
For the next four nights, the girls met in Dawatana’s cell. Also, coincidentally or not, during the day, there was a change in the school routine.
There came to be short breaks in the training day, when the young girls gathered to hear the older gladiators get up and talk about themselves, their achievements, and their skills. Some were very shy, and Ang’ess had to practically pry the stories out of them. Some were self-deprecating, and it was rather funny to see Ang’ess correct a story and tell them what really happened. And what usually really happened was the gladiator was much more heroic than her original story would have the girls believe.
And sometimes the gladiators needed no urging at all. They got up there and showed their scars and told blood-curdling tales of battle, honor and sacrifice.
“And right then – right as the smiler bit my nipple off – I looked him in the eye, and I run my sword right through his stinking heart,” one of the older gladiators, Saytas, said, pantomiming a killing thrust. “And here’s the scar to prove it!” She lifted her left breast to show that, indeed, it had no nipple, just a white, puckered scar.
“Didn’t that hurt?” Pashera asked.
“Oh, it hurt like a demon, child,” Saytas said.
“How’d you keep fighting then?”
Saytas crossed her huge, scarred arms, cocked her blonde head, and looked like she was going to give a flippant answer, then she said: “When the blood’s pumping in your veins – when you’re certain that every breath could be your last – you find a way to get through the pain.
“And as for that smiler, I was going to be damned sure he didn’t eat the rest of me.” She laughed, and the rest of the room joined her.
Saytas started to tell the girls the stories behind some of the scars on her magnificently muscled back and buttocks, but Ang’ess shooed her off and put the trainees back to work.
At the end of seven nights of putting Dawatana to bed, Pashera was looking forward to going straight to sleep. Dawatana promised she’d try to tell herself the stories. And despite the fact that she enjoyed the comradeship of the other girls, Pashera felt the one she wanted to spend more time with was her mattress.
But as the other girls stumbled off to bed after dinner, Ang’ess signaled for Pashera to follow her. “You have a visitor,” she said.
Pashera’s heart leapt. Was Tol’zen here to free her already? She followed Ang’ess swiftly to a room near the reception area where she’d first entered the gladiator school.
Inside was a figure in one of the tall hats that the head scientists wore. This figure was heavily robed and wore a mask or veil over the top half of his face as well.
“No funny stuff,” Ang’ess said to the masked visitor. “That stays in your robe,” she pointed to his crotch, “or I’ll rip it off.”
Then she nodded to Pashera and left, closing the door behind her.
The figure removed the veil. It was U’Chan.
Pashera’s high hopes were crushed, but she smiled anyway. It was good to see U’Chan.
“How are they treating you?” he asked, taking her by the hand. He seemed genuinely concerned.
“It’s tough,” she said, but decided whining was beneath her. After all, Ang’ess might be listening. “I’ll manage.”
She looked him over. “You’ve been promoted?”
He nodded. “Thal’tos is in a coma. He never woke up from the attack he suffered the night of the slave uprising. So, Kro’tos tried to push his own candidate on the Cogitorium. Next thing you know, U’Clee nominates me.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know why U’Clee suddenly found his spine, but it’s making life different. So, I’m handling Thal’tos’ duties now.”
Pashera nodded. She tread carefully, because she didn’t want to reveal she knew exactly why Thal’tos was in a coma. “That should please Tol’zen. He always said Thal’tos was in the way.”
U’Chan shook his head negatively. “I don’t have half the talent of Thal’tos; his absence is a loss. We’re all feeling it. And there are a dozen scientists who resent me because I was promoted over them. No, I don’t like it at all.”
“But now Thal’tos won’t be able to stand in the way of your plans,” Pashera said.
“Our plans,” U’Chan laughed sadly. He sat down on one of the two stools in the room. “Oh, how plans have changed.”
“Tell me everything,” Pashera said.
U’Chan sighed. “First,” he said. “Know that Tol’zen lo… he cares for you deeply. He wanted me to tell you that first thing.”
U’Chan tried to tell her the rest but she kept interrupting him with questions. Was Tol’zen keeping well (very). Was he eating? (As much as Sai’tan could stuff into him). Was he sleeping well? (no worse than usual).
Finally, U’Chan brushed aside her stream of questions to tell her the important news: Tol’zen had found a wife.
The news stuck a knife in Pashera’s heart, even though she’d accepted that he would never marry a human; that he would never marry her. The wedding was in 14 days.
“And then he’ll send for me?” Pashera asked hopefully.
U’Chan shook his head. First, the new mistress would have to set up the house. And then there would be constant politics. It would be much safer for Pashera, he said, if she stayed in the gladiator school as long as possible.
“How long?” asked Pashera, her heart falling again.
Tol’zen and his bride, Orm’rishet, would attend the first day of the games. Tol’zen would make sure that Pashera did not fight on the first day of the games. In the carnival atmosphere of the arena, a substitution could be made. Pashera would go back with Tol’zen on that day. U’Chan spelled this whole thing out slowly and reassuringly.
Pashera hugged herself and started to rock back and forth on her stool. “He’s not abandoning me?” she said.
She hated how her voice sounded like pleading. “You promise?”
“I promise,” U’Chan said, patting her shoulder. Then he said: “If it makes you feel any better, Tol’zen changed my plans in a big way, too.”
“How?”
U’Chan sighed and said: “Up until he declared he was running for king – and what a damned fool idea that is – we’d been working on another plan for 10 years. TEN. LONG. YEARS.” He emphasized each word.
The original plan was this, (U’Chan explained to Pashera). Buried deep in the Cogitorium, inaccessible by the Sumsentia or any normal means, was a way of getting off this planet.
“What way?” Pashera said in wonder.
“A way I am not, even now, at liberty to divulge,” U’Chan said. “But we would be able to bring thousands of saurians to the stars. All the members of the Remnant worth saving – Kro’tos and his ilk could go hang themselves. Or continue to turn this city into their toilet, which is more likely.
“But we lucky few, we would rejoin the Star-Folk. We were working on it. In another year, perhaps, we would have succeeded!
“That was the plan, anyway. Now, Tol’zen has put all our plans aside and is gambling everything on a tumble of the dice. Tol’zen wants to save EVERYBODY,” U’Chan said derisively. “Even those who would gladly see his head on a stick.”
Pashera considered this. “Is Tol’zen in great danger?”
“Of course he is! Even with the precautions we’re taking. By Darklu’s balls, you should have seen the dinner party we had the night you left. A dozen courses! It was a duel of poisoners. My face was paralyzed overnight, and Kro’brin was left senseless under the table.”
“Why would you possibly eat such a meal?” Pashera demanded, getting angry at the thought of Tol’zen dining on poison. Surely, that was dangerous.
“Well, the food was delicious,” U’Chan winked. “But also we had to find out who was best at concealing poisons and who was best at counter poisons. It turns out it’s Sai’tan. But the lady that Tol’zen is going to marry, Orm’rishet, she’s pretty good.
“That’s just what Sai’tan told Orm’rishet when she picked her head up out of the pudding. ‘Orm’rishet, by all the hells, you’re pretty good.’ And then Sai’tan propped Orm’rishet back up in her chair so she wouldn’t drown in the pudding.”
Pashera shook her head and sighed. “It sounds like madness. I wish I was there. Tol’zen needs me.” She sighed again. “You’re sure he won’t leave me here to die? He’ll come get me on the first day of the games?”
“That, I promise you,” U’Chan said. He brought the veil over his eyes. “I should get you one of these, Pashera, it tells you information on your surroundings and everyone you meet.”
Then he hugged her, a bit stiffly, and left.
Ang’ess was waiting outside the door. She escorted Pashera first to the baths, then to her bed. She talked mainly about which girls were doing well in the training, and which not. Pashera was tired, but tried to give opinions where it seemed warranted.
Ang’ess did not ask about what Pashera had discussed with U’Chan at all. And that left Pashera wondering: how much had the tough teacher heard?
Ten days after Pashera arrived in the school, two important things happened.
First, two weavers came to the yard. They looked different than the ones Pashera had met in the hollow mountain. Then she realized that these weavers wore clothing. Not just ordinary clothes. It had intricately designed trim.
Ang’ess and Ang’kim divided the girls into two groups. One group was most of the professional gladiators, and a few of the new girls, including Pashera. The rest, the larger group, was those remaining professional gladiators who were saurians, most of the new girls, all the female prisoners from the palace revolt, and any other convicts.
Pashera hadn’t talked to any of the palace slaves since she’d arrived at the school. She was trained in a separate group, there simply wasn’t any real free time, and fraternizing wasn’t encouraged in any case. But now, she could feel the eyes of Amaz and the other palace women on her. Those eyes burned into her as the weavers moved through the rows of her group. One would smush a woman’s breasts against her chest, then measure her dimensions. The other weaver kept scratching on a piece of slate.
“We’re all getting battle tops,” Pashera realized. And it hit her just how much she missed that chest support during some of the more wild exertions on the exercise field.
And she guessed that other girls, who had bigger breasts, would like the new garment even more.
Tol’zen was keeping his word to underwrite equipment for the games. A secret thrill stirred in Pashera’s heart. That meant that he would keep his other promises. She just knew it!
Shortly after that, a new group joined the crowd on the exercise field. It was four figures, a saurian and three humans.
“These are the latest – and last – recruits to the professional ranks this season,” Ang’kim told the crowd. “Make them welcome.”
Pashera gasped. For there, looking miserable, was Gwettelen, Kro’tos’ most loyal slave.
Amaz saw Gwettelen, too. Shouting an oath, she bolted from her position and ran toward Gwettelen. Amaz screamed a war cry as she closed the distance. Gwettelen was shocked at first, then readied herself to receive the other woman’s charge.
Ang’kim moved as Amaz ran by, closing the distance between them at nearly impossible speed. Ang’kim’s fist shot out, connecting with the side of Amaz’s head with a loud, hollow “clunk.” Amaz flew off her feet and plowed face-first into the sand. She flipped over on her back and flopped for a few seconds, then lay still as a stone.
“That’s not what I had in mind,” Ang’kim said dryly.
She pointed to Tooloosa, then indicated Amaz. “Put that one in a high cage.”
Then she turned to the assembled gladiators. “Back to your studies, everyone.”
That night, Pashera heard someone sobbing in a cell down the hall. She slipped out of her own cell and tip-toed across the stones to listen at the bars. “Hey, who’s there?”
The sobbing stopped abruptly.
“It’s okay, I’m a friend,” Pashera said.
“You’re no friend of mine,” Gwettelen rasped back in an anguished voice. “I’m only here because of you.”
Gwettelen! “What do you mean?” Pashera asked.
“I’ve been sent here to kill you … or die trying.”
Pashera considered for long moments what to say next.
“You’re free now, you know,” she said finally. “Of him. Of Kro’tos. He can’t hurt you here.”
“Shows what you know,” Gwettelen shot back. “He can get to anyone – anywhere.
“And anyway,” she said miserably. “I love him.”
Pashera tried to start up a friendly or at least calming conversation several more times. But Gwettelen wouldn’t respond with anything but curses or grunts.
Finally, Pashera went back to her own cell and settled back on her own mattress. She tried to wipe Gwettelen’s angry voice from her mind, and somewhere, she went to sleep.
In the morning, Tooloosa was outside in the hallway. But she was waiting for Gwettelen, who was brought into Pashera’s training unit.
Pashera endured many more days of the toughest physical conditioning. Over the course of the entire first moon, Pashera lost fat she didn’t know she had and built up muscle. She did not win all the physical combats, especially with the larger, heavier women who could still push her around. But she was stronger than anyone near her weight, and as agile as a cat.
Gwettelen did not have the physical ability of Pashera. Gwettelen was at least 10 years older, and she’d been a pampered palace slave for too long. But what she lacked in physical ability she made up for in sheer viciousness.
In one wrestling contest, three days after she came to the gladiator school, Gwettelen was clearly bested by Dawatana, who put her heavier build and farm-bred muscles to good use. Dawatana not only
bested Gwettelen, she beat her quickly, too. When Tooloosa called the match, Dawatana turned to walk away. Gwettelen, who had been flat on the ground, sprang to her feet and slammed her foot right to the back of Dawatana’s head.
This time, it was Dawatana’s turn to go face-first in the dirt. “Make way,” Tooloosa yelled, and inspected her. “Bring a stretcher,” she shouted at two of the girls. “Get her to the medic.”
When Dawatana was being lugged away, Tooloosa stood up, walked over to Gwettelen and slapped her hard. To her credit, Gwettelen did not go down. Tooloosa unleashed a flurry of blows that were so fast Pashera could hardly see the other woman’s hands move. Gwettelen went down in a heap.
Tooloosa stood over the other woman, her chest heaving, clearly angry.
“Congratulations on being the first to figure out how to beat Dawatana – or any much bigger opponent,” Tooloosa said through gritted teeth. “But your hit was illegal. Now, I’ll give you time to think about how to do it without sending one of my gladiators to the medic.” Tooloosa pointed to Pashera and another, older gladiator, the saurian Orm’ryn. “Put her in one of the high cages. Let her think about it overnight.”
“Think about what?” Gwettelen raged as they dragged her off. “I won!”
“Late hit, ain’t worth spit,” Orm’ryn said.
“I won,” Gwettelen looked at them, honestly confused.
“Save it,” Orm’ryn said. “You made a late hit after the match was called. Learn this much: You break the rules in the arena, you’ll die.”
Pashera had no idea where the high cages were, but Orm’ryn knew the way. Wordlessly, she led them down one corridor, then more, and they finally opened up on a wide, sand-floored auditorium. Pashera knew this had to be the great arena itself. This, she realized, is where so many of the women she trained with would fight, and potentially die.
The arena was eerily empty. Birds didn’t even bother to fly over the lip of the high seats and into the pit. A great column stood in the middle of it. Three stories tall, pitted and scarred from uncounted collisions, the column was covered all over with elaborate carvings of saurians and beasts, all engaged in great battles.
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