Escape from Evil

by David Grimstone

  “Shhhhh!” Olu put a finger to his lips.

  “Just wait! We’re not out of the game, yet—my visitor should arrive any second n—”

  Skrag trotted out of the shadows, his claws tip-tapping on the stones. The little dog padded over to Olu’s cell door and sat down, his head bowed and his eyes turned hopefully upward.

  Olu reached under a hay sack and his arm came out holding the soup bowl. This time, however, he paused before the door, holding the bowl just beyond the little dog’s reach.

  “Get the keys, Skraggy,” he whispered, using his other arm to point at the iron ring in the middle of the corridor. “You see those, boy? Do you?”

  Skrag moved his head slightly, but his attention quickly returned to the soup bowl.

  “Over here, Skraggy!” Decimus whispered. He had crept across to the front of his own cell and was now reaching an arm through the bars to point at the ring from a second angle. “See them, boy? Can you get them?”

  Skrag was surprised by the second voice, and quickly trotted up to investigate Decimus in case he had his own bowl to offer. On the way, the dog stopped briefly to sniff the key ring, but quickly dismissed it in favor of the talking figure now crouching in the final cell.

  Olu continued to call softly, urging Skrag to make a second detour for the keys. In order to illustrate his point, he reached out again with the wood.

  Skrag looked from the edge of the stick to Olu, and back.

  “You KNOW what we want, don’t you, Skraggy?” said the slave, holding out the bowl with his other hand. “If you want THIS, all you have to do is bring them! Bring them, boy—come on!”

  “Go on, boy! Please! Get them for us! You can do it! Good boy! Clever Skraggy!” said Decimus.

  The little dog hesitated once again, then reached down and carefully fastened his jaws around the iron ring.

  “Good boy!” Decimus called, almost raising his voice in the excitement. “Goooood boy!”

  “Here, Skraggy!” said Olu. He put the bowl on the floor beside the bars. “Here’s your soup, you good dog!”

  Skrag trotted over to claim his reward, dropping the keys in the process. They weren’t near enough for Olu to reach, but he used the wooden slat to snare them, dragging the iron ring over the stones and snatching it through the bars.

  Decimus was shaking with anticipation.

  “Do you know which one it is?” he whispered as Olu rifled through the keys.

  The slave nodded. “I’ve been watching very closely,” he said, flashing the hyena grin once again. “You boys talk, Ruma listened, and I watch . . .”

  CHAPTER V

  THE SEARCH

  Decimus and Olu crept along the moonlit corridor, keeping their backs to the far wall as they progressed past rows of empty cells and a few that still contained the surviving slaves.

  Once they reached the end of the corridor, Olu made to turn left toward the arena, but Decimus grabbed hold of his arm.

  “Not that way,” he whispered. “That tunnel leads to the arena. The other must lead up to the stalls.”

  “But we need to get out into the arena!” said Olu, impatiently. “We can escape through the north portcullis!”

  “And wake half the guards in the process?” Decimus shook his head. “We wouldn’t get more than a mile away with Doom’s servants bearing down on us. Our only hope is to find another way out and do it quietly. If we can sneak out under their noses, we’ll be in Calabria by the time Truli makes his breakfast run.”

  Olu nodded, and the pair began to move along the corridor.

  They soon came to a set of stone steps that led upward. A sliver of moonlight played over the top flight, and the two slaves took the steps three at a time.

  They emerged through an archway that led out to the stalls, and it only took Decimus a second to realize that it was the very same arch through which Slavious Doom and Drin Hain had appeared before the Trial of the Hammers.

  A black sky yawned overhead and, if anything, the arena appeared even vaster in the moonlight than it had in the bright morning sun. To the fearful slaves, every shadow contained a watchful guard, and every noise was the jailer awaking to check on his prisoners.

  Decimus and Olu sped along the stalls, stopping at each intersection in order to race up a new set of steps. Eventually, they reached the highest circle . . . and yet another staircase that disappeared into the dark.

  “It leads to the roof,” said Decimus, visibly deflating. “It will have to do. There is no other way out.”

  He hurried after Olu as the quiet slave reached the top of the new staircase. The pair emerged onto the outer wall of the arena. Nearing the edge, Decimus peered over and studied the distant road below. Olu noticed that the shadow of another great arena loomed in the distance.

  “It’s too far,” said Decimus, heaving a sigh of despair. “If we only had a rope or something . . .”

  Olu thought for a moment.

  “There is something we could use,” he said as Decimus turned to stare at him. “You remember the ring Hrin dropped on the sand during the combat trials?”

  “Yes!” Decimus snapped. “I remember it because it was full of spikes! We can’t use—”

  “They didn’t run all the way along,” Olu interrupted. “There were gaps; hand-sized gaps between each two.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Olu shrugged. “As I said before, I watch things carefully . . . I pay attention to detail.”

  “That’s obvious—but how in the name of the gods are we going to find it?”

  “It can’t be difficult,” said Olu. “It has to be in the arena, somewhere . . . possibly in a supply room, though Ruma would probably have heard if such a place existed. It’s more likely that it’s kept in Hrin’s quarters . . .”

  “Right,” Decimus nodded. “But so is Hrin . . . and I really don’t want to go sneaking around in a room where a trial-master is sleeping.”

  Olu smiled nervously. “Do you think we have a choice?” he said.

  The handle turned, and the door creaked open on tired hinges. When the gap was just large enough to accommodate a head, one appeared through the gap.

  “Any luck?” Decimus whispered.

  Olu withdrew from the doorway and quietly closed the door behind him.

  “It’s Mori’s room,” he explained, speaking so silently that he was almost mouthing the words. “Shall we go in?”

  Decimus shook his head. “We could search through all of them, but I really don’t want to do that unless we draw a blank with Hrin. The combat trials are his, after all.”

  “The room seemed pretty bare, anyway. If there was a massive spiked chain in there, I’d have seen it. Let’s move on.”

  The next three doors revealed two separate servants’ quarters and the private chamber belonging to aging trial-master Falni. There was no sign of Hrin or the chain.

  “This is insane!” Decimus whispered when they arrived back at the intersection with the arena and the main cell corridor. “We’ve checked every room! In the name of the gods, where IS he?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t live here like the others. It’s pretty obvious that Slavious Doom and his weird friend don’t!”

  Decimus thought for a moment. “You could be right,” he said. “He always seemed to be dressed a bit grander than Mori and Falni . . . and his breastplate looked a lot more expensive. Maybe he was the chief trial-master? He’s probably got a house in town or something! This is a nightmare!”

  “Shhh!” Olu waved down his companion. “What about that other door—the one back in the prison block?”

  “That’s Truli’s chamber,” said Decimus sarcastically. “I doubt Hrin sleeps in there.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s the only room we haven’t tried so what have we got to lose? It’s either that or the portcullis . . .”

  “Fine, let’s go . . . quietly.”

  The two slaves retraced their steps and crept along the cell corridor, amid the distant sounds of sno
ring and groaning wood.

  Decimus put his hand on the door handle and slowly turned it clockwise. Fortunately, the door didn’t creak as it was opened.

  Truli was sprawled on a makeshift bed that wasn’t greatly different from the ones in the cells. The jailer’s massive stomach looked like a small mountain rising and falling in the shadowy room. The chamber itself was immense, at least twice the size of the others they had seen. One wall was stacked with the wooden platforms that had claimed Gladius, and the floor next to it was piled with the long poles that had supported them. At the back of the room was a collection of shields, hammers, and, curled in the farthest corner like a giant python, the spiked chain from Hrin’s combat trials.

  Decimus froze when he saw it, and made a quick and silent gesture to Olu, who tried to sneak past him but found his way barred.

  “No,” he whispered. “Let me go. You watch the corridor.”

  Olu nodded, and looked on nervously as Decimus sneaked deeper into the room. There was a brief moment of concern when Truli stopped snoring abruptly, but the danger soon passed and the hulking brute rolled onto his side.

  Decimus moved over to the far wall and began to creep toward the corner. When he arrived beside the spiked chain, he crouched down and tried to lift it . . . but the thing weighed a ton.

  “Olu!” he called, one eye on the sleeping giant. “I’m going to need some help.”

  The other slave tiptoed into the room, knelt down beside him, and carefully took hold of the chain.

  “Together,” Decimus muttered, and the pair began to lift the immense chain between them. They got as far as the bed when Truli suddenly rolled over and sat up.

  Decimus started, and Olu gasped. They only just managed to hold onto the chain as, to their horror, the immense jailer climbed off his ragged bed and slammed across the floor toward them.

  Frozen with fear, the two slaves looked on, powerless, as the ugly giant pulled a heavy-looking sword from a wooden barrel at the end of his bed. He advanced on the duo, raising the blade above him to strike them down.

  “Move!” Decimus hissed, but Olu was absolutely rooted to the spot with fear.

  The sword came down in a direct strike . . . and stopped inches from Olu’s head.

  The two slaves ducked to avoid the blow, and both of them gasped as the moonlight illuminated Truli’s face. The jailer was fast asleep, but he was also preparing for another strike. Whatever enemy he was facing in the dreamlands, he seemed determined to overcome it.

  Olu put all his strength into hoisting up his part of the chain. “Is he—”

  “Sleepwalking,” Decimus finished. “We need to get out of here, before he walks into something solid and wakes up for real.”

  They hurried from the room, barely supporting the enormous chain between them—and made for the roof of the arena.

  CHAPTER VI

  THE DESCENT

  Decimus hooked the end of the chain around one of several stones that adorned the circular roof of the stadium. He and Olu managed to haul the incredible bulk of the chain over the edge of the arena roof, but neither had considered the noise it might make as it unraveled. The resulting clatter was enough to wake half the surrounding town, not to mention the many inhabitants of the arena below.

  Sure enough, several torches struck up in the darkness as the two slaves began to descend, pausing carefully between each section to ensure they didn’t grab a handful of spikes by mistake. The distant sound of slamming doors signaled that the servants were now aware that something was happening, but Decimus and Olu were already more than three-quarters of the way down the chain.

  “Drop!” Decimus cried, as the sound of the great portcullis rumbled nearby. “Now, Olu, While we’ve got a headstart!”

  The slave lowered himself through two further links, then let go of the chain and plunged to the ground. He landed awkwardly, but seemed to be unharmed.

  “It’s not that far, and the ground is soft!”

  Decimus released his grip on the link and dropped after his companion.

  “The town,” he said, stumbling as he landed and quickly bursting into a sprint. “We need a place to hide.”

  The two friends picked up their pace, and dashed off in the direction of Avellino.

  Several hours later, in a palatial room at the top of a vast manor on the edge of Amalfi, two servants admitted trial-master Hrin to a private audience with Slavious Doom.

  As the doors were closed behind him, the tall master moved into the center of the room and bowed low. He did not raise his head as he started to speak.

  “My lord,” he began. “I have grave news to report.”

  Slavious Doom, resplendent on a golden throne, didn’t bother to rise in response to the statement. Instead, he yawned a little, removed the golden helm that adorned his head, and focused his eyes on the trial-master bowing before him.

  “Do not raise your head until I give you permission to do so,” he said.

  Hrin said nothing. He maintained his position perfectly, his ragged breath alone betraying him as a living creature.

  Doom blinked only once. “Continue.” “Two slaves have escaped Arena Primus,” said the bowed master.

  “I see. How, exactly?”

  “Well, my lord, they . . . stole a spiked chain from the jailer’s quarters—one used in the trials—and—”

  “How clever.” Doom’s voice was silky, almost snakelike. His lips split in a sickly smile. “It is no great surprise that a slave would escape eventually . . . even two. They must be incredibly resourceful.” He leaned forward on the throne. “You will find them, of course?”

  “Of course, my lord.” Hrin paused. He was beginning to shake slightly. “But . . .”

  “There is something else?”

  “Yes, my lord. One of the escapees is a boy called Olu. The other is . . . that is . . . he—”

  “Well?”

  “He is the boy you personally requested that we find, my lord: The one who the scriptures say will . . . retrieve The Sword.”

  “Decimus Rex,” said Doom, slowly rising from his throne. The grand master drew a stout blade from a silver box beside him and, very slowly, progressed down the half dozen steps that separated the gleaming dais from the floor. “Decimus Rex . . . is . . . gone?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Hrin confirmed, a bead of sweat forming on his brow as he finally dared to raise his head. “If I may remind Your Excellency, Master Mori and I did suggest he be quartered separately but y-y-you did specifically request he should be treated like all the oth—”

  Hrin froze, his eyes wide and his smile a sinister mask.

  For the briefest of seconds, nothing happened.

  Then the trial-master’s gaunt head slipped from his shoulders and rolled across the marble floor. The body collapsed after it.

  Slavious Doom looked down at his handiwork and smiled. When he turned back to face his throne, a dark figure had detached itself from the shadows behind the dais and was standing mere feet away. It moved like a ghost, and was dressed from head to toe in a flowing black cloak.

  “Decimus Rex has escaped us, Drin,” Doom growled, every hint of pleasantry draining from his voice. “He is in the company of a fellow slave. Find him, and bring him back—at all costs.” He ascended the dais and replaced his sword inside the silver box. “You may kill the other one,” he muttered.

  STOWAWAY SLAVES OUT NOW

  When Decimus Rex and his friend Olu escape the dreaded Arena Primus, overlord Slavious Doom is furious and demands their immediate capture. A frantic and determined search follows. From the wild dogs running riot in the sewers to the soldiers scouring the towns above, it seems only a matter of time before they are caught. Can the pair evade Slavious Doom’s dreaded servant, Drin Hain? Find out now in ...

  ARENA COMBAT

  Get ready to challenge your friends! Each Gladiator Boy book will contain a different trial. Collect them all to run your own Arena of Doom—either at home or on the playground.
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  TRIAL 2

  HAMMER AND SHIELD!

  You will need three players—an attacker, a defender, and a referee. This game is easy to play, but difficult to win! The attacking player decides whether he will strike from the left, the right, or straight ahead, and indicates by raising either his left fist, his right fist, or both fists together (as a straight attack).

  The defending player must close his eyes and announce whether he is blocking left, right, or straight ahead. If he shouts “left” and the strike was to the left, he has blocked it! Otherwise, he takes a “hit.” The attack then passes to the opponent and the game continues.

  Here are the hand signs:

  LEFT OF THE PERSON

  RIGHT OF THE PERSON

  STRAIGHT AHEAD

  The first player to win three of five games is declared the winner!

  You can either play the game as yourself or, when you have collected all the books, you can take on the roles of the slaves and use their special character profiles to fire your imagination!

  CHARACTER PROFILE ARGON

  WEAPON PROFILE: THE HAMMER

  The hammer has always been used as a tool for making an impact on a difficult surface or for driving in a nail. However, it was once used as a weapon and known variously as a “great-hammer” or “war-hammer.”

  There are few versions of the weapon as the design was so simple. However, the handles of these hammers made them different from one another. Handles tended to be either long (great-hammer) or short (war-hammer). The hammers used in Gladiator Boy are great-hammers.

  A WAR-HAMMER

  A war-hammer can be used with a shield as it requires only one hand.