The Lost Colony

Chapter 12

A frantic buzz of excitement, accompanied by an equally enthusiastic round of betting, swept through the crowd. Sparr glared at the Governor. The man sat stiffly, smirking almost imperceptibly toward the combatants. He must, Sparr thought, have planned this match from the first moment he had bought the two at the slave auction. He even placed a bet, although for which fighter Sparr had no idea. Guards closed off the pit. The fight was underway.

Sparr's gut was knotted, his mind racing. If it had been a blood match, either he or Efreem could have taken a cut to end the thing. The Governor was either too clever for that, or too cruel. He and Efreem would need to work together somehow. Sparr advanced.

Efreem advanced as well, looking about him and over his shoulder desperately. No fewer than eight guards were stationed around the pit. Exactly how the two might work together, even if they could speak, remained unclear. Neither could they hesitate long, either. Already, one of the handlers near Efreem's red banner was shouting him forward.

Sparr struck, an awkward attempt at a blow that he hoped Efreem would recognize as a ploy. The Olm swatted the blow away easily, and riposted. Sparr's ploy seemed not to have worked. The two crouched and circled, the encounter veering closer to authentic combat than Sparr was comfortable with. Efreem lunged, a tentative but skilled strike that forced Sparr back. No sooner had he readied his stance than Efreem attacked again.

The auctioneer, when selling the two, had used the term 'blade' in his description of their merits. Sparr's theory that the term solely had been applied to Efreem appeared to be correct. The man was skilled and swift. Nor were Sparr's attempts to engage him in conversation successful. The best he could do was survive while he thought up another plan.

"Efreem," Sparr hissed, trying to get his attention without giving away his intent. "Listen, I-"

The Olm lunged, feinted at a s***h, then lunged again. Blood welled up from a cut on Sparr's left arm, the consequence of too open a stance. He needed to think like a fencer, not a brawler.

Another roar of excitement shot through the crowd. The sight of blood fueled a new round of betting and drinking. Why couldn't he have been sold to a wine merchant? Efreem attacked again.

With a tighter stance and a focus on defense, Sparr could hold his own. He had the advantage of reach, which kept his opponent at least partially on guard. Efreem had excellent reflexes and seemed to be well practiced, but Sparr was stronger, and had the advantage of three weeks of training and competition. And, if he wasn't mistaken, Efreem seemed to be tiring. It might be a ploy, but Sparr owed it to the man to try.

Still dripping blood, Sparr adjusted his stance to expose his center. Obligingly, Efreem lunged. Sparr, waiting a fraction of a second longer than was prudent, finally leaned back. Sparr dropped his sword to tackle Efreem from behind. The man was slick with oil, but Sparr clung to him fleetingly.

"Efreem, listen. We don't have to do this. Together, we can-"

"No!" Efreem turned his head to Sparr. His eyes were wide, crazed. Sparr could see no trace of the quiet, kind man who had befriended him. "No!" Efreem twisted free, stumbled forward several paces, and turned to face Sparr. The latter barely had enough time to pick up his blade and defend himself.

Efreem was drugged. Sparr had seen it written clearly in the man's eyes, in his wild, unreasoning response. Someone who wanted the fight to take place without complications had seen that at least one of the fighters would press the attack. There would be no reasoning with the man.

What Sparr had mistaken for fatigue must be a side effect of the drug. Efreem's swordsmanship had already deteriorated noticeably since the start of the match. Muscle memory kept his moves true, but his attacks came sluggishly. With no way to cooperate with the man, Sparr could see only one option. The next time Efreem stumbled forward, Sparr parried, then swung.

The flat of Sparr's blade struck the side of Efreem's skull. At the very end of the stroke, Sparr turned the blade enough to slice the edge of Efreem's ear and leave a bloody gash on the back of his head. Efreem dropped.

The horn sounded.

The crowd broke into applause. Cries of Animal, Animal joined the more routine cheering and clapping. Nervously, Sparr performed the expected victory lap, the bloody sword held high. From the rail, Syreet grinned at him. The Governor's expression was unreadable. Sparr couldn't bear to look at Kess. He wished only to exit the pit.

He almost made it. Just before reaching the gladiator pen, Sparr was stopped by a sharp cry from the judge. Two of Efreem's handlers were crouched over his body.

"Wait" the judge commanded.

Slumping with dread, Sparr watched as the men confirmed what he already knew to be true.

"Alive," one of the men said. His look shifted between Sparr and the judge.

The bet takers stopped, mid-transaction. A few gamblers who had already collected began to scamper away, while others raised a chorus of indignant protests. The Governor launched himself upright, fuming. His eyes sought out Sparr.

"This is a trick," he said. "This one dies!"

Sparr froze. He had counted on leaving the pit before the discovery was made.

"No, no," shrieked one of the bet takers. "The horn has sounded! I have already paid!"

The Governor looked incredulously at the bet taker. Beside him, Kess spoke with urgency in Liette's ear.

"He dies," growled the Governor. "In a death match, one must die."

"You cannot," protested the other bet taker. "If you undo the result, I'll be ruined!"

The Governor was apoplectic. "Finish him, then! Confirm the result!" He wanted Sparr to kill the unconscious Efreem.

Sparr took a step forward, torn. He had done everything possible to save Efreem's life. He could either give the man a swift death, or himself be killed. His mission would die with him. It was an impossible choice.

"Hold!"

Liette rose. The priestess stood half a foot shorter than the Governor, but her imperious bearing drew the crowd's complete attention. Kess stood with her, continuing to whisper in Liette's ear. At one point Liette snapped her head toward Kess as if she had said something preposterous. Kess simply nodded. Liette turned back to face the crowd.

"Two men fought a death match." She walked forward to where all could see her. "This man," she said, pointing toward Sparr, "has prevailed under an open sky. No one can take this from him!"

"Yes, yes!" One of the bet takers called out in approval.

"The other," Liette said, "is merely empty." She turned her gaze to where Efreem lay, unconscious and bleeding. "The Origin will take them both as a sacrifice. We shall make them whole."

The Governor, purple with rage, seemed about to break in. Liette silenced him with a gesture.

"But," the priestess said, "as we ask all of you to sacrifice, so do we ask ourselves." She extended her hand and, into the Governor's palm, pressed a few tokens. No doubt, thought Sparr, she had paid him the same measly sum that he had paid the Urst for him and Efreem just three weeks prior.

Liette, Kess in tow, turned to depart. Calling back over her shoulder, she said "Bring them. Bring them both."

"They belong to the Origin now."

***

"Hold still. No, I said... I said don't move!"

Sparr did his best to comply. The blade at his neck could end his life in an instant, and the swirling mist of the hot spring couldn't have been making it any easier for its wielder to do her work.

Phia hovered over him, brow knitted in concentration as she scraped and cut away at almost a month's worth of unruly beard. Dark whiskers fell away in clumps, some dropping to Sparr's chest, and some to the stone floor. When she was satisfied with her work, the young woman started on his hair with a blade, and a comb which looked as if it had once been the spine of a fish.

A deep sense of relaxation settled upon him. While Phia acted as barber, another temple maiden, Velyn, scrubbed him with a porous stone. It was this treatment that had caused Sparr to move earlier. Now, as the steam settled into his bones, even the occasional abrasion from the scrubbing no longer troubled him. Reclining against a woven back rest, Sparr had almost fallen asleep when he felt hands tugging at the simple wrap he wore around his waist.

"Let's see how much attention he needs... here." A note of surprise found its way into Phia's voice. Sparr's c**k was just as relaxed as he was.

"Oh," said Velyn, looking up from where she had been scrubbing Sparr's feet. The two exchanged a glance.

"Well then," said Phia, "this will take some time."

"Plenty," said Velyn. "Don't want to rush this, disappoint Liette." The redhead was grinning broadly.

Phia knelt, and applied a handful of lather to Sparr's groin. She spread it in a thin layer, and with great care, began to shave the thicket of hair surrounding his c**k. Sparr looked on nervously, afraid to do or say anything which might unsteady the girl's hand. Phia, however, had an aptitude for just this sort of intimate attention. She slid the razor expertly toward the base of his c**k, then with exquisite patience, scraped away at his sack. The brunette lifted his c**k to one side, cradling it in her hand.

A lazy arousal crept into him. Phia was as pretty as the rest of the temple maidens, with playful, short brunette locks, dimpled cheeks, and a sweet smile. Steam had pressed the flimsy robe against the contours of her soft body. Soon, Sparr's c**k began to grow in her hand. Phia noticed.

"Oh," she said, as if surprised. "Velyn, he likes it."

Velyn leaned forward, her copper hair tickling Sparr's thigh. "Don't stop, then."

The brunette happily continued, drawing the razor across the most vulnerable parts of Sparr's male anatomy. A small, polite, scraping sound indicated the hairs being cut neatly away from his sack and around his c**k. Locking her eyes on Sparr's, Phia rinsed the razor then resumed. Sparr's c**k twitched in her hand, continuing to swell.

"s**t," Velyn said softly.

"Mmmmm," said Phia. Her eyes widened. "Anyway... it's easier when they're hard."

That much was true. As Sparr's erection drew every wrinkle of loose skin from his balls, they became smooth and tight. Phia's motions became even more sure.

"Let me hold it," Velyn practically whispered. "He's huge!"

"I'm almost done." While Velyn hoisted Sparr's engorged rod, Phia finished her work. "Rinse him."

Without releasing her grip on him, the redhead poured warm water over Sparr's groin. As the last of the lather sluiced away, his c**k stood out in full relief, a straining shaft and head over a pair of clean, plump balls.

"f**k!" Phia stroked his shaft delicately, slender fingers just brushing the head. Her other hand began to slide up her thigh.

"Are all gladiators this gifted?" asked Velyn. Her hand looked tiny next to the fat, veined shaft.

"Gladiator is only my part-time job," he groaned. Being bathed, trimmed, and shaved by the two young women left him eager for release.

"Mmmm," said Velyn. She exhaled a soft breath against his sack. "What's your other job?"

"I'm a trader." Sparr had decided that passing himself off as some type of merchant might open doors.

"Boring!" declared Phia with exaggerated disappointment. Her fingers brushed his sack, sending Sparr a tingle of pleasure.

"Yes. You should have said you were an adventurer." Velyn gave his shaft a firm squeeze.

"I'm ready for an adventure right now," Sparr panted.

With no warning, Velyn lifted his c**k and popped the head into her mouth. After five heartbeats she pulled back. "Yes you are," she said sweetly.

Phia looked alarmed. "No, no, he's for Liette!"

Velyn shot a look over her shoulder. "We have a minute," she said. Again, the redhead pushed her lips over his c**k, held it, then withdrew. "Anyway, you don't have to. I think he likes me better."