The Lost Colony

Chapter 6

"Blood," said Jinn.

The Urst kept up his aggressive, boasting persona, calling out a string of taunts. He rushed his opponent, then jumped back laughing and pointing. The youth kept his guard up, flinching if the Urst feinted too boldy, but mostly keeping his distance. At last he lunged, a feint of his own which earned an immediate response. The Urst threw himself forward, bringing down a savage stroke aimed at the youth's head. The younger man deflected the blow, but was sent staggering.

Again, the Urst leapt forward, and the two traded a flurry of blows. The youth gave ground steadily, stumbling to the side. Just when Sparr thought the Urst would press his advantage, the squat man instead stepped back. He gestured dismissively toward the youth and raised his hands to the crowd for encouragement. He was rewarded with a modest chorus of cheers.

That's when the youth struck. Aiming low, the young man threw himself toward his opponent's blind spot. The Urst noticed, frantically spinning and sweeping down clumsily with his sword. The square rang with the sound of blades colliding. The youth fell to the ground. Enraged, the Urst turned to raise his blade for a final strike. Before he could land it, the sound of a horn filled the air. The judge had called an end to the match.

The Urst spun toward the judge, confused. Only when a gasp went up from the crowd did the gladiator look down to see the blood pouring down his leg. He cursed. A keeper rushed forward to escort him away as the youth stood. He seemed stunned by his victory.

"Blood," repeated Jinn, nodding somberly.

"Blood, no death," added Ast, seemingly disappointed.

A banner with two diagonal stripes signified a match held to first blood, though Sparr learned that judging could be somewhat subjective. In the next match two men faced off with long knives, spinning, leaping and wildly slashing each other as they danced about the pit. Both men took several minor cuts, seemingly of no interest to the crowd or the judge. Only when one took a gruesome looking cut to his forearm did the judge call a halt. All the while the bet takers and wine merchants conducted a brisk trade.

Jinn was up next. The man shrunk back when his name was called but the guards hustled him forward. The judge raised a banner with a circle as both fighters were given stout wooden staves. The bet takers collected at most a few tokens.

"Down," said Ast morosely.

Jinn faced a taller but stooped man who looked no more pleased to be fighting than Jinn himself. The two listlessly circled each other, jabbing with the staves. After a minute of this, the crowd began to get restless. A growing barrage of jeers and insults issued forth, accompanied by a rain of fruit rinds and bones. Still the men were tentative. Once Jinn darted forth to deliver a cautious blow to his opponent but, as if surprised by his own boldness, quickly skittered back.

A piercing whistle rang out across the pit. For the first time Sparr noticed that the Governor had joined the spectators. He stood now, his imposing figure drawing attention to him much as had his shrill whistle. The two fighters stopped, staring at the man in fear.

"Jinn," he commanded. "Now!"

Jinn was little more than the Governor's property. If the stooped man wasn't alarmed at the Governor's anger, Jinn certainly was. He leapt forward, pressing his attack with a series of artless but enthusiastic blows. The stooped man fell back at first, blocking clumsily, and taking as many blows as he deflected. Then, perhaps fueled by pain, he fought back, matching Jinn. The two men tore into each other, grunting with pain and panting with exertion. Only when Jinn struck a seemingly random blow against the stooped man's knee did the fellow finally drop. Jinn had won.

The Governor clapped once, then sat, shaking his head. There was an empty seat beside him. Either the blue-robed woman disliked combat, or perhaps planned to arrive fashionably late.

Two more bouts were fought, each to first blood. Ast spoke with great animation toward Jinn, who sat panting and bruised at the end of the wagon, but Sparr watched the fighters carefully. He looked for moves he hadn't seen in training sessions, for strategies permitted by the size of the pit, and for the effect the crowd had upon the contestants. He saw how some fighters, even in blood matches, still sought to deliver a killing blow.

As Sparr considered what he had learned, a murmur ran through the crowd. Immediately, the onlookers broke out into a hundred exclamations as a new warrior entered the pit. "Syreet!" they called out. "Syreeeeeeeet!"

At close to six feet tall, Syreet was as imposing a woman as Sparr had ever laid eyes on, confident and strong. Like an sss, she went bare breasted and wore only a pair of short, billowy trousers fastened by an ornate clasp. Her body was strong and taut, with prominent abs and flashes of muscle at her shoulders and back. Light brown hair spilled past her neck, mostly wild, but bound with a gold ring. Sparr watched in admiration as she leapt into the pit, performed a flip, then raised her hands to the crowd. Cheers rained down.

Sparr found her intoxicating. Syreet had rubbed her skin with something like the gold chalk that Sparr used, but smoother and oilier, with a shine which glinted in the sun's orange glow. As the gladiator pranced around the pit her breasts bounced enticingly. Syreet's grin as she drank in the crowd's adulation was half sweet, half lupine. She was a creature of violence and desire.

Only once the crowd favorite had finished her dramatic entrance did the judge call the other contestant forward. Slyn looked as thick and sluggish as Syreet was graceful and swift. She must have outweighed her competitor by at least thirty kilos, most of which, even if concealed by a layer of fat, no doubt was muscle. Not bothering to seek the approval of the crowd, she stood glowering and still.

"Blood," said Ast, noting the judge's banner. The match had begun.

The competitors each wielded a curious weapon, a staff with a hooked end. But while Syreet brandished her weapon with both hands, Slyn carried a thick shield in one hand and wielded the staff with the other. No sooner did they face off, Syreet bounded forward. She feinted to Slyn's right, then, even as the other woman moved her shield for a block, changed direction. Syreet's blow just found Slyn's left shoulder, landing with a slap.

Slyn grunted in pain, raised her shield, and resumed her stance. The style of the two combatants was starkly different. Whereas Syreet kept her staff forward, Slyn kept hers pulled back, ready for a powerful strike. The two circled each other as the crowd cheered them on. Twice more Syreet attacked, each time aiming at Slyn's head or upper body. The second time Slyn counter-attacked, crashing her shield toward her athletic opponent, then delivering a powerful, sweeping blow. Syreet was knocked back, but leapt easily over Slyn's staff.

Sparr noticed a pattern. After each of Syreet's leaping attacks, Slyn lifted her shield higher than before. The thick-set woman would move it aside to deliver her own assault, before swiftly returning to a guard stance. Syreet's approach seemed doomed. How, Sparr wondered, could such a seemingly accomplished gladiator waste so much of her energy? He got his answer almost immediately.

Slyn lumbered forward, delivering two more heavy attacks, then raised her shield. With a war cry, Syreet leapt up, then dropped. Her low swing snuck under Slyn's shield and caught her leg. Syreet pulled back, hooking her opponent's ankle, then twisted hard. Slyn shrieked, striking wildly at Syreet's staff, but to no avail. She fell, rolling in an attempt to free her leg. Slyn wriggled free, but Syreet immediately struck her twice on her weapon arm, eliciting a howl of pain The judge quickly sounded the horn.

But was it over? Sparr watched in confusion as Syreet pulled a knife from her waist and, with Slyn offering no resistance, drew it across the woman's fleshy shoulder. She held the dripping blade aloft.

"Blood!" laughed Ast, enthusiastically slapping Sparr on his back.

The crowd erupted. What had only a few minutes earlier been an almost docile gathering turned into a circus. Observers applauded frantically or gestured wildly toward their companions. The boys serving wine scrambled to keep up with the sudden thirst of their customers. Sparr noticed the Governor smiling. Syreet performed a prancing victory lap, brandishing the bloody knife and winking at the crowd. Her barely contained hair bounced crazily behind her. Her performance was captivating.

"Alain. Alain!" Someone was calling to him.

"Huh?" Sparr tore his attention from Syreet.

"You!" The weapons master gestured at him frantically. Sparr's turn had come all too soon.

A guard handed Sparr a weapon he had practiced with in training. The long club had a piece of blunt scrap metal embedded in one side of the head. The weapon was plenty dangerous. In the hands of a skilled warrior it could break bones long before drawing blood. Sparr hefted it with a growing sense of foreboding. Sighing, he entered the pit.

The judge moved to raise a banner, but stopped. To Sparr's astonishment, Syreet slunk back into the pit. A murmur once again rose in the crowd. The warrior woman, still bare breasted and glistening with oil, approached Sparr. Syreet pursed her lips, looking him up and down as if assessing a piece of meat. She gestured toward one of the guards, who practically fell over his own feet to obey. In no time, the man brought forth Sparr's black and gold chalk.

"Mmmmm," said Syreet, running her fingers down Sparr's chest and abs, stopping just short of his belt. Before he could react, she took the black chalk and continued a stripe from Sparr's neck to his waist. Syreet switched chalks, this time to extend a gold stripe Sparr himself had started earlier. Her free hand drifted toward his c**k. She pressed her glittering breasts against him.

"Ooooh," she said. Syreet had a playful look in her eye and his c**k in her hand. As she slowly fondled his organ through his pants, the sss drew the rest of Sparr's tiger stripes. When she finished, he was striped from his eyes to his waist. His c**k was achingly hard, its outline obvious against his pants. Someone in the crowd gave a cheer.

Syreet leaned close against him, pressing her lips against Sparr's ear. Her breasts were soft and inviting. "Blood," she whispered, close and wet against him. "Fuck."

By the time Sparr reopened his eyes she was gone.

***

The fight was over in seconds. Sparr, aroused and energized by the unexpected encounter with Syreet, charged toward his opponent. The man fell back frantically, blocking Sparr's first attack and barely dodging the second. He swung at Sparr, and missed. Before the man could recover his guard Sparr leapt forward again, striking his upper arm. His opponent let out a hiss of pain and tried to spin away. Sparr's final blow just caught the man's side, opening up a gash with the metal edge. The horn sounded.

A cheer rose from the crowd, modest at first then swelling. Stunned at his sudden willingness to commit violence, Sparr gazed up at the spectators. Most were cheering or clapping, while a few whistled. The Governor met his eye, nodding. Sparr felt a strange joy. Some combination of relief and lust surged through him. He had triumphed, and now basked in the adulation of the crowd. One word stood out in the ringing cheers, a word which his implant translated as animal.

Sparr was painted like a tiger, dripping with sweat, and holding a bloody club. The word fit.

The festive atmosphere carried into the night. Back at the compound, the gladiators were treated to an unusually rich meal of sausages, game, and fresh bread. Wine appeared. Men to whom he had barely spoken clapped him on the back or raised toasts. Ast, who had won his blood match almost as efficiently as Sparr, drunkenly embraced him, then insisted on downing another cup. Even Jinn, obviously still hurting from his bout, offered a thin smile.

An unfamiliar visitor drew Sparr's notice. The youth, wearing tight black trousers, a gusseted silk tunic and an emblem on his breast, stood nervously in the corner of the hall. First a guard, then the weapons master spoke to him. The youth produced a piece of parchment which the master reviewed carefully before returning it. He motioned Sparr over.