Dark Sun - Gladiator

[j0lt]

 

The red sun beat down mercilessly on the arena floor, baking the sand and sending ripples of heat up into the stands. Even the nobles sitting in their shaded viewing booths were sweating freely despite the slaves waving scented fans. On the floor of the arena a dune reaper was busily devouring the body of a gladiator while its handlers tried in vain to get it back into its pen.

 

Brom stood, his eyes closed while a pair of slaves oiled his coppery skin until it reflected the flickering torchlight that barely suppressed the gloom pervading the underground slave pens. Memories of practicing drills from first light until dusk danced in his mind’s eye, weapons of blunted wood and bone grazing his skin, leaving no more than welts and bruises. Attacking in time with his master’s call, the sweat pouring off his body as his endurance was tested again and again.

 

Movement broke him out of his reverie. His master approached with a bundle in his hands. He stepped into the light to reveal glittering blades of obsidian curving out from a wide leather bracer. “In honour of your first games, I present you this gift.” Pride filled his master’s eyes as he wrapped the wrist-razor around Brom’s hand and forearm, tying the leather straps tight to prevent any movement.

 

The sudden blare of horns from the arena above signaled that it was time. Brom slid a protective vest of inix hide over his shoulders and started towards the gladiator’s gate. Just before the gates, he stopped at a large rack of weapons and chose a carrikal - a type of battleaxe with two forward-facing blades made from the jawbone of a Lirr and marched out into the heat and glare of the midday sun, a cacophony of noise assaulted Brom’s ears as a wave of heat threatened to suck the air right out of his lungs. A psionically amplified voice boomed out over the arena, drowning out the crowd. “Trial by combat! A pair of thieves will face House Shom’s newest gladiator in a fight for their freedom, and survival!”

 

The ripples of hot air rising from the hard packed sand of the arena floor made it difficult to make out the tall figures that were emerging from the far end of the arena. As they drew closer, Brom noted that they were a pair of Elves. He tightened his grip on the carrikal in his left hand and stood ready.

 

The two elves split, one circling around to Brom’s left, the other advancing with his shield held protectively in front of him, a one-handed spear held low by his side. As Brom started towards the elves, the one with the shield charged and thrust at him wildly. Brom swatted the attack wide with his carrikal and looped it around for a big downward smash with both hands, but before he could complete the strike, he felt a sharp pain as the other Elf dashed by, slashing him across his exposed shoulder with his bone short sword. Blood ran down his arm and dripped onto the floor of the arena. Brom turned to attack the other Elf, but he was already out of range.

 

The Elves moved apart, trying for another flanking attack, but Brom was waiting for them. Moving sideways, Brom tried to keep the Elves in a line, as his training master had taught him, waiting for an opening. The crowd was cheering at the sight of blood and calling for more. Suddenly, Brom switched tactics and went on the offensive. He battered at the Elf, gouging the Agafari wood of his shield and driving both Elves back towards the center of the arena. With a roar, he brought the carrikal down, the haft cracking with the impact.

 

The Elf’s shield arm hung limp as he screamed and lunged forward with his spear. Brom easily sidestepped the Elf’s clumsy attack, bringing his carrikal around with both hands to connect with the side of the Elf’s head, the audience erupting with a roar as the axe shattered sending the Elf sprawling onto the hot sandy floor. Without losing the momentum of his swing, Brom let the bone handle of his carrikal fly, taking the other Elf high in the chest. The Elf staggered back a step, and Brom charged the Elf, grabbing his sword arm and slamming the heavy leather strap of his wrist-razor across the Elf’s throat, knocking him to his knees. As the Elf struggled to break free, Brom brought his knee up into the Elf’s jaw, putting him on his back.

 

The Elf scrambled to his feet and circled wide, not wanting to be trapped in close quarters against the Mul’s superior strength. Brom stepped over the body of the downed Elf, moving forward in a predatory crouch. The Elf leapt forward, feinting with a wild slash at Brom’s head, then reversing his blade and driving it with all his weight into the leather protecting Brom’s chest. The force of the blow staggered Brom and his foot caught on the leg of the downed Elf behind him as he tried to move back.

The Elf was on him as soon as he hit the ground, a drop of blood hung from the tip of the blade inches from his face as Brom held the Elf’s wrists in his iron grip. Brom brought up his knees and threw the Elf off of him, rolling to his feet. The Elf seemed to barely touch the ground as he came up into a low defensive stance.

 

The combatants circled each other feinting, looking for an opening, Brom with his wrist-razor and the Elf with his short sword. With a shout, the Elf kicked up a cloud of sand into Brom’s face and lunged, sinking the point of the bone short sword into his thigh. Brom roared and slashed blindly at the space the Elf had just vacated.

 

Vision still blurred, Brom managed to get a glimpse of movement as the elf darted towards him again. He threw himself to the side, the Elf's blade whistling harmlessly past. The Elf pressed the attack, coming after Brom with an intensity that belied his size. Brom dodged and parried as best he could, and though he was quick, the lithe Elf was faster still. Finally the Elf faltered, slipping on a patch of loose sand and Brom was quick to capitalize, raking the side of the Elf’s face with his wrist-razors.

 

Brom was bleeding from half a dozen new wounds, and the Elf was bleeding heavily from the gashes left by the mul’s obsidian blades. His ear was missing. The sound of their laboured breathing almost blocked out the screaming of the crowds. With a grunt, Brom lunged at the Elf, who stumbled backward to escape the Mul’s fury. Obsidian and bone chips fell to the ground with each parry. Suddenly the Elf gasped as Brom’s wrist-razor bit into his flesh, the bone sword falling from the Elf’s lifeless fingers as he dropped to his knees. Brom pressed the obsidian claws against the Elf’s throat. “Egotti…” was all the Elf could utter between clenched teeth. The obsidian bit into the Elf’s flesh. Brom turned to face King Kalak’s nearly completed ziggurat and saluted before turning back towards his master’s pen. The Elf’s lifeblood pooled on the ruddy sand of the arena floor as he walked away...