The half-horses came out about a third of the way across the arena. They twirled around and saluted the crowd, which greeted them joyously. As they turned, Pashera could see one was female, two were male.
Then they turned back, put arrows to their bows, and shot with savage swiftness.
There was no time to dodge. Three of the humans went down, dead or thrashing in agony.
The half-horses drew more arrows, aimed again, and shot again. And Amaz yelled a command, and the women charged. Two of them took arrows to the chest before they got two steps; a third took one of the big arrows in the shoulder.
The half-horses got off one more shot as the humans swarmed them. And then the battle was joined.
Pashera thought it would have ended when the humans reached the half-horses. But the half-horses had hooves, and they lashed out with them. Women went flying to lie broken on the sand.
But in seconds, one of the half-horses had a rider as one of the women jumped on its back. Tenrici! She took her sword and slit the half-horse’s throat from ear to ear. It fell down, gurgling and choking on a fountain of its own blood.
The other two half-horses broke with their attackers and tried to get away. Amaz speared one in the side; the other women leaped on it with swords, teeth and fists, and pummeled it to a stop. It fell over hard and they gutted it.
That left the last half-horse. It broke free and raced down the arena. At the far wall, it turned, blood streaming down its flanks, and looked at the women swarming toward it. It still had its bow, and it notched an arrow. It fired once. Again. Two women fell to the sand. The other women closed it on it but it broke to the side and raced around the edge of the arena. It shot another arrow, then another, firing as it galloped. One of the arrows slammed home, taking out another woman.
The half-horse reached the Hellgate again. It looked at the mutilated bodies of its two comrades and stopped, as if thunderstruck. It put its face up to the sky and wailed an eerie, ululating cry. Then it trotted forward and leaned down – very awkwardly, Pashera realized, the scientists obviously hadn’t designed it for that, and stroked the bloody face of one of the other creatures. It stood back up – the women were only seconds away. But the half-horse wasn’t trying to get away now. It fired once, twice. And then the women swarmed over it, and in seconds, they cut it to pieces.
The crowd in the arena jumped to its collective feet. They screamed as one, a joyful noise, a noise of pure triumph. The cheering went on long after the last half-horse had twitched its last.
Trumpets sounded. Pashera came to find herself standing beside Ang’ess, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the railing that her knuckles were white.
Ang’ess turned to her. “Exhilarating isn’t it?” she said. “Your friend Amaz did well. You did well.”
“Thank you, Teacher.”
“Pity we can’t save her.”
“What?”
“The word came down. If we choose one of the prisoners to join our ranks, it can’t be her,” Ang’ess shrugged sadly. “She led the rebellion.”
Ang’ess looked out over the sands. “A couple of the others show real promise, though. We’ll have to see who survives.”
Pashera excused herself. “I must go check on Amaz and the others.”
Ang’ess nodded. “Yes, give them my regards. They are brave. Especially Amaz.”
Pashera raced downstairs. But as she turned the corner at the first tier, she got confused where to turn. She’d come up in such a hurry that she’d forgotten which stairway led back to the She-Devil Gate.
As she turned around, breathless, she saw a rough-looking male human wave at her. On his hand was the ring of a freedman. She stopped.
“You look late for an appointment,” the man said. “You meetin’ someone?”
“Uh … yes,” Pashera said. If nothing else, the gladiator school had taught her to seize opportunities. She might as well see where this one went.
“But you don’t knows the way, right? To the tubes?”
“Uh … yes.”
“Right this way,” he said, and leaned back against a door, opening it.
The door opened to a furnace room. It was all stone walls, iron valves, grated pits for burning wood, and open vents over the pits. The vents connected to tubes that disappeared into the ceiling and walls. Piles of wood stacked against one wall. Her host shut the door behind them. One of the small magic lights shone weakly, but bright enough to light up the room.
“We only heats the tubes in the winter,” the freedman said. “So that leaves ‘em frees and clears in the summer.”
He opened an iron door that swung wide on a tube that looked big enough for Pashera to crawl down.
“Now, here’s how it works,” he said. “Your friend or whoever. They tells you to meet them somewhere, right?”
“The royal box,” she said.
“Oh, that’s good piece of me traffic.” He said, flashing a faded smile. “Them rich toffs that cluster around the king, they all want that forbidden gladiator crinkum-crankum.” He emphasized his meaning by repeatedly thrusting his groin.
Pashera swallowed and nodded. “Do a lot of gladiators come through here?” she asked.
“Oh, a handful every festival,” he said. “The smart ones, who want to exit the games with some jingle-jangle in their purses. They’re not the only ones, of course. All sorts use me tubes to meet at the festivals, for all sorts of narking and skilamalinkin’. Why, you wouldn’t believe –” he caught himself. “Not that I’d drop any names, mind you.” He winked at her. “Your secret is safe with me. I don’t knows your nanty, anyhows.”
Pashera nodded. Could this be her way to go meet Tol’zen? She’d have to be quick. And how could she get past the dozen or so people in the box. And that wasn’t counting guards or serving slaves.
That’s it! She’d disguise herself as a servant.
Despite the madness of her plan, Pashera knew in her heart of hearts that she just had to kiss Tol’zen one more time. Just in case things didn’t work out in the Battle Royale.
“What’s some rich toff giving you for your time, some silver? Jewelry?” The man said conversationally.
Pashera remained silent.
“Well, you don’t have to tell me,” he said. “But I needs me payment, don’t I? So, either give me half of what he’s givin’ you, or give me some’in now.” He wiggled his eyebrows in such a manner that left no doubt what he meant.
“How will I find my way there?” Pashera said.
“Oh, that’s easy-peasy. Follow this big tube to the first branch. Take the left branch. It will branch twice more on the right. Take the second one. If you take the first, you’ll end up in the cesou behind the royal box. You don’t want that, eh? Unless your feller is into that. I’m not one to judge.”
Pashera was silent as she considered her options.
“You’re heading for the dressing rooms, right?” he prompted. “That’s the second tube.”
“Right,” she said.
“So,” he licked his lips. “Payment.”
“I’ll show you my breasts,” she said, lifting up her battle shirt. Her breasts bounced free. Her nipples were hard, reflecting the tension coiling up in her body. “That’s all I have time for.”
“Very nice,” the man said appreciatively. “But I’ll need more than that. Use your mouth or some’in.”
Pashera reached a decision. She swallowed again. Then she forced her mouth to smile. She put one hand on the freedman’s greasy shoulder, another on his stubbly face. She smiled, moved her hand from his shoulder up to his neck, and leaned up as if to kiss him.
He closed his eyes and leaned down. That put him slightly off balance. Pashera seized him by the ear and the neck, and slammed his head into one of the iron valves. “CLANG!”
“BITCH!” He yelled, rearing back. But she just pushed, using his momentum to slam his head against another iron valve. “CLA-CLONG!” That impact echoed in the room. Pashera winced, even though
she was the one dishing out the punishment.
“You …” he started but his voice was already woozy. She slammed his head into the first valve again. “CLANG!”
He slumped to the floor, moaning and coughing. Blood from the gashes on his forehead streamed into his eyes, blinding him. His breath came in great gasps.
Pashera looked around and saw a likely looking piece of wood. “I’m sorry,” she said. “And I don’t mean to cheat you, but I’m short on time.” She swung the timber into the back of his head. This thudded home with a meaty yet hollow “CLONK!”
He went down like a pile of laundry. He twitched, but otherwise was still.
Dropping the wood, Pashera pulled her battle shirt down over her breasts again and practically dove into the open tube.
The tube was big enough that she could crawl along fairly briskly. The tube was clean, which surprised her; she thought it would be choked with soot. Soon enough, she came to a T-intersection, and she turned left as instructed.
This tube was slightly smaller, but she could still climb along easily enough. Then, her heart leaped into her throat. She realized she was hearing the sound of someone coming the other way!
“All sorts use my tubes to meet at the festivals,” the man’s voice rang in her memory. Damn! She dare not meet someone else in here. She was right by the first turn-off, the one to the royal box cesou. She popped through the pipe and climbed down it.
She knew by the smell of tainted air where she was even before she ran out of pipe. And then she came upon a grate that looked down on a room with multiple cesous. Curtains could be drawn across for privacy.
A shadow moved in the room and she shrank back. Then she blinked. It was Tol’zen!
She was about to cry out. But just then, the door opened. She froze. Tol’zen turned. “Oh,” he said, looking toward the door. “It’s you.”
“Kings and madmen have the same plumbing,” the other voice said with boozy geniality. She recognized the voice. It was Kro’tos!
Pashera made herself as small as possible. If Kro’tos caught her here – even in front of Tol’zen – he’d have her skinned!
“Do you want to talk?” Tol’zen said. “Or do you come with dagger drawn?”
“Oh, calm yourself,” Kro’tos said. “We’re talking, aren’t we? I invited you to my box, didn’t I?”
“And you know nothing about the two attempts on my life,” Tol’zen snorted.
“Oh, blame me for every overzealous hot-head,” Kro’tos replied. “Anyway, they had no official connection to me. And they missed! My warriors wouldn’t miss. No, those were kooks.”
“Too bad they died in custody,” Tol’zen said mockingly. “Now we’ll never know.”
“Yes,” Kro’tos’ voice was mocking in return. Then he seemed to get more serious. “How have we come to this, Tol’zen?”
“You mean the cesou or …”
“I mean politics!” Kro’tos fairly spit the word. “We didn’t have to be enemies. We could have been great friends. You think I didn’t know about your little secret project, the one the scientists were working on? Of course I knew.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Now it was Tol’zen’s turn to be evasive.
“Oh, come on!” Kro’tos said. “Let’s talk truth for just a moment. I know the scientists are salvaging some old spaceship. I know about the plan for 5,000 souls – yourself included – to fly off to join the Star-Folk. I was giving you every opportunity to proceed with it. You think I didn’t see those expenses? You think I’m blind?”
“But if you knew about such a thing,” Tol’zen said. “Why didn’t you stop it?”
“Stop it? Why would I stop it? You’d take 5,000 of the worst troublemakers and shoot them off into space. I think that’s a GREAT scheme.”
Kro’tos laughed at this, and Tol’zen joined him. The shared laughter seemed genuine, which made it sound all the more odd to Pashera’s ears.
Then Kro’tos got serious again. “But you went and pushed that plan aside. What was it, a lack of resources? Name the resources you need, and I’ll give them to you.”
“The problem is,” Tol’zen said, and sighed. Then he continued: “The problem is, I now have an opportunity to save everyone. Not just the 5,000.”
“Save everyone? From what?”
“From you!” Tol’zen’s voice heated up. “You and your cronies are bleeding the Remnant dry. We don’t even have the money to repair things anymore, never mind build anything new. You channel all the wealth into your pockets. What you don’t take for yourself, you spend on pointless extravagances like these games.”
Kro’tos was silent for a bit. Then he laughed long and heartily.
“You think I’M the problem?” he said finally.
“Yes.”
“Tol’zen, look around,” Kro’tos said. “Our civilization is banjaxed. It is grinding to dust beneath the wheel of time. It has been on a downward slope for hundreds of years and the abyss draws ever closer. Sure, I throw a lot of parties and festivals and games. It’s the only way to distract the people from the doom hanging over all of us.”
“I refuse to accept that,” Tol’zen said. “The future isn’t written. The final chapter of the Remnant isn’t foredoomed. I’ll end corruption. I’ll show people it’s more rewarding to build than destroy. I’ll make the Remnant great again!”
Kro’tos laughed low, and long, and he did a slow-clap. “Nice campaign speech,” he said. “I almost believe you myself.”
“If I say I will do it, I will do it,” Kro’tos said, sounding heated again.
“You’re going to wipe out corruption? Just by saying so?” Kro’tos spoke with mirth in his voice. “I had you figured for an opportunist; now I know you’re a fool. You’re going to rebuild? With what money? All the wealth has been siphoned away, all of it. The power elite have had centuries to do it. Now, they sit on big piles of wealth in their high castles, and they’d never let go of a copper if I didn’t pry it loose.”
“But YOU are the power elite,” Tol’zen said, clearly exasperated. “You and your cronies are the ones siphoning away the wealth.”
“Ha!” Kro’tos answered. “I started as a poor warrior, the son of a poor farmer. I started with nothing. I could hoard my weight in gold every year on the throne, and it would still be a molehill compared to the wealth of the power elite. I only get rich because I show them I can make them richer.
“But an idealist like you wouldn’t have a clue as to who really runs our nation,” Kro’tos continued. “In a way, I almost wish I could hand over the reins of power. I wish you could be in charge for just one moon’s time. Then you could see how I face the impossible task of keeping a lid on a boiling populace with scant resources. We’d see if your views changed then.”
Kro’tos sighed. “Your father understood the way of things. We were great friends, you know.”
“My father,” Tol’zen hissed the word, “would have befriended a night ape as a means to an end.”
“No, we were real friends,” Kro’tos insisted. “Oh, the adventures we had. I wish he was here now. Tol’karion would talk sense into you.”
“If you liked him so much, you shouldn’t have gotten him killed,” Tol’zen said hotly.
“What? That? You’re going to blame me for THAT?” Kro’tos protested. “I tried to talk Tol’karion out of it. He wanted to go. He insisted.”
“I hardly remember my father,” Tol’zen said, his voice dripping with angst. “I do remember growing up without a father. How hard that was. How hard it was on Mother.”
“Your mother was wonderful,” Kro’tos said. “You do remember that I helped pay for her funeral? I would have paid for the whole thing, if you’d let me, for the sake of old times.”
“We’re getting sidetracked,” Tol’zen said. He sighed. “We can still have a peaceful transition.” There was almost empathy in his voice. “This doesn’t have to be violent.”
Kro’tos also sighed. “My people
are talking to your people about terms in the unlikely – very unlikely – potentiality that I lose. You know that. But I can tell you this, Tol’zen. I’m going to win.”
There was silence for a bit. Pashera dared not breathe loudly, for fear they’d hear her in the absence of their own noise.
“Well,” Kro’tos said. “I believe the phrase ‘shit or get off the pot’ really fits this circumstance.”
“I’m done here,” Tol’zen said. “But considering the previous two attempts on my life, I’d rather you go out the door ahead of me.”
“I tell you, that wasn’t me,” Kro’tos barked, angrily. “If I try to kill you, you’ll know it. And I’m not going out. I came in because I really have to shit.”
“I’ll go then,” Tol’zen said. And he walked out.
The door closed behind him. “Idiot,” Kro’tos said. “To throw it all away.”
He stomped over to one of the cesous and pulled the curtain behind him. Pashera heard fumbling of clothing followed by grunting.
Slowly, as quietly as she could manage, Pashera eased her way back down the heating tube. She backed out into the branch she’d traveled previously. She had a nearly overwhelming desire to take the other branch, the one to the dressing rooms. But she knew that time ticked away, and she would soon be missed by the gladiators. And if her ruse was discovered, she would die. Probably very painfully.
She slithered back to the main tube, then into the heating room. She rolled out the entrance and sprang to her feet, quiet and cat-like.
The freedman still lay on the floor, moaning. Another figure crouched over him – patting him down, apparently looking for his purse.
Without a word, Pashera bolted out the door. “Hey!” she heard the other figure call behind her.
Pashera stumbled onto a familiar stairway, and whisked down it. Soon, she was back at the She-Devil Gate.
With all the excitement on the sands, she hadn’t been missed. She began to breathe easier. But she also kicked herself for not pressing on and meeting with Tol’zen in the royal box.
She went to check on Amaz and the others. The female prisoners were kept in a separate area from the professional female gladiators, through the unimaginatively named Jailgate.
Slave in the City of Dragons (Dinosaurs and Gladiators Book 1) Page 38
