The Old Realms - Chapter 132

Grimdux

I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck

 Touch O' Luck

II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.

It will be a superior reading experience

to start this story from the beginning

Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)

Chapter specific maps of the realms 

Maps of the Realms

Ziba-Ra

What one does with freedom?

A southern wind blew towards the Khanate Gulf. It skirted around the Wetull Straits, shying away from the sinister Torn Earth and found the Gulf’s narrow mouth, beyond the lonely ancient Wotcheki Castle on its east jaw, the primordial caves and hugged Whale’s Head peninsula on its west. Touched the bands of wild horses running free on its fertile ground and broke on the garish protrusion people called the Khan’s Way, standing across the slave-market port of Shao Na-Lan. The wind rapped at the dry granite rocks, twirled and twisted this way and that before dying out as suddenly as it had appeared.

And was no more.

Ziba-Ra that had rushed to Elusive Rose’s first deck, the moment that fiendish unfavorable wind had first appeared and the order was given for the rowers to work the Galley’s oars, let out a sigh of relief. All that horrible noise of many men slaving away at the drum-beater’s tempo ceased immediately and the big sails unfurled again catapulting them forward. Shao Na-Lan disappeared behind them and the waves lessened, as they sailed around the Stallion’s Rest, towards the mouth of Tani River and the jewel of Greenwhale Peninsula, the Grant Port of Ani Ta-Ne.

She felt sweat trickling down her shaved armpits, the stench of the large ship rubbing on her, after so many weeks aboard. Ziba wanted to dive into a cold water pool, or the sea and stay there forever, but couldn’t. There was no pool on the Galley and if she dared the sea, her master would surely kill her.

Perhaps Ziba could get away with a harsh beating, if she used every trick in her book to sway his decision the right way. Then there was her nasty mistress Shirin-Ra to deal with. While she was pregnant supposedly, Ziba wasn’t fooled to think Shirin’s dislike of her came from hormones only. She smelled herself again, the Cofol slavemaster, his mouth filled with silver teeth, watching greedily from his spot, right hand between his legs, the left still holding the five-headed whip he hadn’t gotten the chance to use earlier.

He always turned sour, when he missed on his ‘workouts’ and the opposing wind dying on them, had left him with nothing to do. Ziba changed her mind and wished the wind came back again. It was a nasty thing to wish for, but better the slaves under the deck to take the beating than her.

“What are you thinking about Pearl?” Hasti-Ra asked, painted eyes huge to look more like her.

“Sucking cock,” Ziba replied.

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, it was either that, or getting killed for jumping in the sea,” Ziba glanced at her shocked expression and grinned. “You look sweaty.”

“I was serving the guards,” Hasti rolled her eyes. She had a round and pretty Cofol face, her tan always coming without any discomfort, or burns unlike Ziba, who with her fairer complexion had serious issues from direct sunlight, when she was little. Growing up, she’d learned to deal with that too.

“How did it go?”

“Lots of groping, fingering, you know the drill,” Hasti explained, making a face at the gawking slavemaster.

“Shit, I need to check on the master’s lads,” Ziba said slapping her head, blond curls escaping her bun and falling on her richly tanned face. Her light blue eyes, the color of the open skies above their heads, a striking contrast.

“Better fix that, or I may have to cut them short again,” Hasti warned, with a lewd smirk. “Remember how that went? Everyone thought you were a very cute boy, hehe. Their enthusiasm was palpable.”

Ziba’s horrified buttocks clenched at the disturbing memory.

“I’m fixin’ the stupid bun, Hasti,” she announced and walked away, her cut shrill outfit, flowing over Ziba’s long fit legs, her many gold anklets ringing and she felt the man’s eyes burning on her exposed back pleased.

We can’t have me, fool, she thought. Not yet and not as long, as my master keeps me.

Ziba hefted the bucket with water in her right hand, clean cloth over her shoulder and pushed the cell door open with her left hand and knee. It creaked and groaned, everything rusty and rotting away until it opened up enough to snake herself inside, water splashing down as she carried the bucket with her, right nipple brushing the doorway, silver loop underneath her silk top, clanking on the iron latch.

Ouch!

The grizzly man, feet tied on the bench with loose rusty iron chains, turned his olive-black eyes on her. He’d a wild beard covering his lined face, sturdy straight Lorian nose, thick brows peppered with grey hairs, like most of his head.

“Sorry, girl caught on the door,” Ziba said with a grin, walking inside the small room, the stench of sweat horrible. She scrunched her nose and placed the bucket next to his crude bench. The man kept his eyes on her as she went about taking the empty bucket outside and the leftovers of his meal.

“You’re eating better,” she commented, looking him up close. There were three distinct, still healing, wounds on his broad hairy chest, one of them leaking. “What is it you do, when you’re alone, huh?” Ziba teased the silent large man in common, while she worked on cleaning the wound again. Probably working up, she thought, seeing as he is sweaty and popping veins everywhere.

The man grunted, when her white-lacquered nail touched cracked skin.

“You need to stitch it up again,” Ziba advised, disregarding his protests. “I have socks better stitched than this.” The man was looking down her sweaty bust now. “Does it work?” She asked and made to grab him between the legs, as he was only wearing a dirty loincloth. He pulled away abruptly, which Ziba found offensive.

“Listen, I know I smell bad now, but I washed up another ten like you, out there,” she protested wringing out the cloth. “And mister, you don’t exactly smell like roses.”

The grizzly man sat back down without saying a word, a scowl on his face.

Ziba sighed and kicked the bucket lightly. “It’s clean mostly. It will get hotter, we are nearing Ani Ta-Ne,” She made to walk away, but stopped and turned to give him another look. “I don’t know if you understand my Common, but all the other guys are younger than you. You’re not pretty enough to fuck and if you are too old to fight, the master will have no use of you.”

Whatever, Ziba thought, getting no answer.

On to the next one.

“Are you ready?” Hasti asked her, big grin on her face, her slanted-eyes looking much different without all that makeup and grabbed the rope with both hands.

“Just pull as hard as you can!” Ziba snapped and barely had the time to close her eyes, as Hasti pulled hard at the rope tied to one side of the cut barrel, they’ve lifted earlier on the table. Not an easy task at all. The barrel creaked and swayed right and left, the water inside splashing out, the moment dragging, small-bodied Hasti daggling, now suspended with both hands and feet from the rope over the deck’s floor, murmuring over and over a mantra learned from a rower she fancied.

“Gods give hope, to better cope.”

“For fuck’s sake, Hasti!” Ziba protested opening her eyes to see what was taking her friend so long and at that point the barrel toppled her way, thankfully bouncing once on the table and staying on it, its contents splashing out and smacking her in the face, as Ziba was kneeled right in front of it.

Water got in Ziba’s eyes, in her mouth, down her gullet, rapped her naked breasts alike a cruel whip and shocked her soft belly so much, she felt warm piss sprinkling out her carefully shaved tender folds.

“Gah!” Ziba cried coughing up and smacked Hasti’s hands away, as her friend had rushed, lathered cloth in hand, to work on her neck and face. “Get that thing away!” She screamed and rolled on the soaked decking, her feet slipping and a determined Hasti following her with a soaped cloth in hand. “I’m clean!” Ziba declared.

“Nonsense, we have another barrel,” Hasti protested, herself soaked from top to bottom.

“That’s enough laboring for me missy!” Ziba warned her. “Don’t pout, it don’t work on me.”

“What about the rest of the fresh water? Master will be angry, if we waste it.”

“Well,” Ziba stared at the cut barrel, then approached and stepped inside it. It was snug and she had to gather her legs to her chest, but… “Hey, give me some support, so I don’t topple back,” she said and Hasti came to assist her.

“How is it?”

Ziba wiggled her arse, so she could drop a bit lower and stared at her friend.

“Cool. Can we get another barrel?”

“Ahm. Mamel said he wrote that off,” Hasti replied thoughtfully sitting on the edge of the barrel, next to her head.

“Can’t he write off another?” Ziba probed, splashing water on her face, enjoying the relief after the inferno they had suffered all day.

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe polish his rod a bit?” Ziba suggested innocently.

“Did it twice,” Hasti replied, sounding pissed off.

So she had to back away.

Lanista Paikan Abu-Ra was a handsome man once, tall and clear faced, with eyes the color of warm-honey and a full set of white teeth, on a hedonist’s mouth. Fit and rich from running a small, but successful Ludus, a training school for Gladiators, he’d fallen into difficult times the last ten years. Nearing sixty now, he’d taken weight, lost most of his hair, his eyes had sunk, with only his trimmed painted goatee reminding Ziba of the man he once was.

Paikan had bought her as a baby from an escaped Rin An-Pur slave and kept her as his good luck charm. Almost twenty years later the aging Lanista had gotten himself a young wife of a rich spice Merchant family, in exchange for a solid gladiator, to solve some of his financial problems and sold off most of his other slave girls, in a last desperate attempt to turn his life around.

“Ah, there she is,” Paikan said, lifting his head from the large pillow. “How are my new lads Ziba-Ra?” He raised his big body on an elbow, to have a better look at her. “What you got under there?”

“Nothing master,” Ziba replied truthfully. “I’ll check on them later, but they seem fine.”

Paikan tapped an empty part of the divan he was reclined on, with a big smile. Ziba went to seat there, near his feet.

“Any champions in this lot?” Paikan queried and pulled her nearer to him, a big hand cupping her right breast and two rough fingers finding the ring adorning her engorged nipple. Whether he had planned it, or not, their relationship had turned carnal in time. In Paikan’s own words, if you truly love your slave, you bed him, or someone else will.

Foolish to spend coin, for another man’s pleasure.

Her master was never a poet.

“The two young Lorians, maybe the Horselord, if he doesn’t kill you first in your sleep,” Ziba gasped the last words, as Paikan reached calmly with his other hand, rough fingers snaking between her thighs, until they found her soft opening and paused briefly at the entrance.

“Nothing,” Paikan murmured in her ring-adorned ear and pressed one hard digit in without further warning. Ziba recoiled, the finger feeling like a thin knife, but he had a good grip on her and all she could do was grimace and nod with her head, fists clenched to combat the pain.

“You filthy pig,” Shirin hissed, her voice cutting through the fog in Ziba’s mind and Paikan let go of her with a sudden shove that send her bounce once on the divan, before stopping on its wooden armrest. Tit, cunt and arse on fire. “Lecherous philistine trash,” Shirin continued.

Oi.

Ouch.

Oh, fuck, Ziba cursed, staring at the enraged Cofol woman going on a cursing tirade. Shirin was all flushed, her black hair made in thick braids, entwined with red rubies and milky pearls, her thin tunic loose and her belly swollen. She wore no shoes.

“Haha,” Paikan guffawed taking her words in stride, sucking onto his index finger, the same that was inside her. “You can barely speak two proper words woman! Ziba-Ra knows perfect Cofol and common, even sings in Imperial and she’s but a slave!”

Yeah, not helping master, Ziba thought nervously.

“Get your whore out of our room!” Shirin warned him furious.

“Bah, you spice folk are all wound up dear, blinded by profits and too much cinnamon powder. Ziba, work on her cunt for a bit, to calm her down.”

Ziba eyed him, almost losing her temper.

How about, I fucking don’t?

“Of course master,” Ziba managed to whisper instead and got up.

“Keep that vile hag away from me,” Shirin hissed and Ziba frowned insulted. The slave girl could accept being called vile, as she’d done all manner of nasty stuff in her life, but a hag? Come on! “I don’t feel that well today. It’s the baby,” she added, as if anyone would believe that!

“Good gods,” Paikan gasped sounding alarmed, and got up, his robes opening to give them a view of his meaty dangling cock. “Sit down dear, calm yourself.”

Shirin with a pained fake sigh, did as she was told.

Oh, you stupid lying cunt, Ziba seethed and watched him fawning over her, before turning heel and leaving the Galley’s master quarters.

“Hey,” Hasti called her, large basket hiding her face, as she navigated the narrow corridors of the second deck. “Give me a hand will you?”

“What do you have there?” Ziba asked her.

“Food,” Hasti replied. “Help me bring it to our room.”

“Wow,” Ziba gasped, putting a hand under the large basket. “Is that wine?”

“Probably. Can you keep your darn voice down?”

“Apologies mistress,” Ziba teased, her mood improving. “Where do we hide the bottle?”

They both looked at each other for a moment, before speaking in unison.

“Throw it in the sea.”

Yep.

Abrakas loved his trash.

The Galley groaned alike a wounded beast, large beams squeaking, the decks creaking, as the sails ballooned when they burst out of the Gulf waters. The currents running through the Wetull Straits strong, light cerulean turning to a darker shade of blue, as the sea deepened, the flaring setting sun painted sanguine on them. The moment Elusive Rose turned north around the edge of Whale’s Head towards Ani Ta-Ne, the currents turned against them and the long oars got out. The drums started playing, a sonorous sound, sinister and scary.

The big ship turned into a giant centipede.

Ziba didn’t hear the door opening, but she heard it slamming shut and turned around.

“You’re not as smart as you think you are,” Shirin said, her voice dripping poison.

“Yes mistress,” Ziba replied with a bow of her head, a frown marring her face as she’d noticed the thin bamboo cane.

“I want you gone,” Shirin hissed and put the tip of the long cane under her jaw, to lift her face up. “Sold off, discarded.”

Fuck you.

“Get this off you, turn around and grab that armchair,” Shirin ordered her. “Hold on tight. You let go, I’m going for your face next.”

Ziba gulped down, got out of her short tunic, leaving her naked from the navel down and turned to present her backside to the angry woman.

“Count for me, you little market bitch,” Shirin spat, but the cane came down before Ziba had the chance to utter a single word.

Oi, fuck, dammit, Ziba cursed stumbling, while trying to hold on to the bucket. She put a shoulder on the cell door, her back greasy with sweat, her enflamed buttocks on fire, skin cracked and bleeding at several spots, the welts like cuts, but nothing hurting more than her poor mound, where the tip of the cane had curled and smacked her viciously, causing the area to swell an angry red.

It hurt to walk and peeing of all things, was a new kind of torture. The open seas and the salty moisture varnish of the Galley not helping at all. The door opened and she stumbled inside, water spilling and too hurt for clever words with the aging slave.

Ouch.

A new slave technically, a new lad, as Paikan called them.

Semantics.

“Let me see,” she said, through clenched teeth and the Lorian dropped his muscled arms to his sides to present his wounds. Less leakage, Ziba noticed. “You worked out again,” She told him, cleaning up his chest.

The man pressed his lips stubbornly, those black eyes penetrating her skull.

“Are you going to fight for him?” Ziba asked, but he just got a grimace in response.

With a grimace of pain of her own, she tossed him the towel.

“Finish it up yourself.”

He’d snatched that wet cloth out of the air, his reaction impressive. Ziba raised a trimmed brow and examined his rugged face. “You were a soldier?”

The man used the cloth to wipe his face and neck without answering.

“Do you even speak Common?” Ziba taunted him. “Or am I losing my time?”

“Yer common is fine,” The man rustled, rich cavernous voice, touching the very fibers of her soul. “What happened to you?”

Goddess.

“I made my mistress angry,” Ziba replied taking a step back, the rawness of his reaction scaring her.

The man snorted and eyed her revolted.

What in tarnation? Ziba thought, her face flushing.

Who do you think you are?

“It was my fault,” She explained, getting even less sympathy. “I’m a foolish slave.”

“No Lorian lady would ever debase herself thus,” the man said, all serious. Ziba stared at him stupefied. Was he for real?

“I’ve no idea, what a Lorian lady would, or wouldn’t do,” Ziba replied narrowing her eyes. “But Lorian girls on the Peninsula are even worse than me.”

“At whoring?”

“Hah, yeah. It’s part of the deal, without the coin.”

“Have you no shame?”

“For getting beaten up?” Ziba retorted.

“At least make an attempt to escape—”

“This is my home, old man,” Ziba stopped him. “It’s what I know.”

The man grunted and made a dismissive gesture with his hand, for her to leave him alone.

As if he could command her!

“You’re a slave too you know,” she showed him the ugly branding on his right arm and lowering her top next, presented her own. Right above her right elbow. A simple square around the letters RA burned on her skin, Paikan’s family name. “You’ll fight in the arena and probably die there before this year is over. Perhaps sooner if the master’s finances worsen.”

“What if I don’t?” The man queried, his raspy voice as exciting to her senses as the first time.

“They’ll throw you to the leopards.”

“Mayhap it’s better to end in a beast’s jaws,” the man said, rubbing his forehead, deep in thought.

Ziba sighed, shook her blond head and turned to leave him to his misery. She stopped at the door and looked back, saw him still sitting on that small crude bench, staring at his cell’s rotting wall. His eyes already dead.

Or perhaps just really sad and defeated.

Aimless.

“It’s not, just so you know,” Ziba had told him, remembering the beasts ravaging the butchered slaves in the arena. The grand opening for the games. “It’s not better.”

Ani Ta-Ne was a sprawling city port, built next to the mouth of Tani River, the lush Dates Forrest on her east side and Hippo’s Nest mountain range shielding the fertile basin from the scalding winds coming from the Desert Sea. With its five markets, two of them for slaves, the biggest animal market of the peninsula, large port facilities and four districts, starting from the common houses near the sea and the large villas on the soft slopes of the mountain, it was always growing year after year. Ruled by the great noble Zeke Leta-Kin, the Khan’s Sea Master and its family, it dominated this part of Greenwhale Peninsula economically and politically. In all other aspects really, but for one quite important for the local Cofol society. Despite its many efforts and the gold poured into its many Ludi, Ani Ta-Ne couldn’t rival the only other city facing the inhospitable Wetull lands across the straits.

Ridiculed and belittled behind their backs, but also feared for their cruelty and military acumen, the Garites were somehow a thorn to the larger city’s sides. While half its size and less cultured, the rivalry between the two cities was palpable on every discussion inside the markets and local taverns, fueled by the fact that the biggest games every year, were alas held in the vaunted arenas of Fu De-Gar.

“Only the best make the journey,” Lanista Paikan explained to her, observing their slavemasters gathering the slaves to lead them towards his Ludus. “Very few of them return.”

“When is the next event?” Ziba asked standing next to him, low key avoiding doing any work, while the others unloaded the ship.

“When Ani Ta-Ne has a new champion,” Paikan said, smacking a fly away, the sun burning over their heads.

“Win against the best five, to be the city’s champion,” Ziba droned, the party line. “Best the five champions in the Pits to earn everlasting glory. Riches and as much slaves as your heart desires!”

“Or freedom,” Paikan added with a smile at the fake enthusiasm. Ziba never knew, if he saw through her, or not. Or whether he cared.

“Does anyone take it?”

“They do sometimes,” Paikan said. “If they have half a brain, most don’t.”

“What one does with freedom?” Ziba probed genuinely curious, putting a plump date she’d stolen in her mouth.

“You know what I do with it,” Paikan noted.

“Train gladiators, then watch games,” Ziba replied.

Putting babies in Shirin’s stupid belly.

“Make good coin, hopefully,” Her old master added.

None of the above held any interest to Ziba, so she kept working on the tasty date, while the other slaves were… well, slaving away.

The sun sent his strong light over the training ground. The men were working under the Lanista’s watchful eyes, fit torsos glistening sweaty, strong arms flexing and feet dancing on the fine white sand. Jason the Issir, teaching Lou the young Lorian how to work the spear being the highlight. Ziba turned her eyes to the side where the benches were, caught the man watching and crossed her legs provocatively, to give him a good glimpse of her tanned thighs.

The more he scowled at her antics, the more she teased him. Paikan who’d seen her playing with his new slave grunted and send another juicy sliced peach down his gullet.

“He won’t fight,” her master commented.

“Maybe he can’t,” Ziba said, examining the rings on her toes.

“Khan’s war flooded the market with worthless slaves,” Paikan griped. “It isn’t worth the coin selling him for beast fodder.”

“What does he want?” Ziba asked, eyeing the grizzly man, frowning disapprovingly at the men working out.

“I’ve no fucking clue,” Paikan admitted. “Told him he could win his freedom fighting, but I’m inclined to believe he’s differently motivated. What did he say to you?”

Ziba saw her master looking intently and gathered herself.

“Nothing much.”

“You know how I kept other men from having you,” Paikan said and Ziba stood up straighter alarmed. “Watched you growing up, fed you, not many treat their slaves thus.”

“Master is magnanimous,” Ziba whispered and put her small hand on his sweaty thigh. He was wearing the short tunic his gladiators wore to train. “He forever holds my affections.”

“Hmm, I want him to fight, Ziba-Ra,” Paikan said, removing her hand. “I’m in a kind of a dilemma here. My wife wants you gone,” Ziba froze and stared at the white sands under her feet alarmed. “I’m going to have a child, a son gods permitting.”

Shit, you conniving bloated bitch.

“Wonderful news master.”

“It is,” Paikan smiled and reached for another peach. “I don’t want to let you go though. I have a couple of good offers, but this isn’t about coin,” Ziba felt her head spinning and her stomach turning, as if she was sick. “You’re a Lorian, as he is,” No, I’m not, she thought furious. “I think he’s interested.”

“In what way?” Ziba croaked trying to think of a ploy to get her out of trouble, but her mind had turned to mush and she was about to puke over her master’s fruit salad.

“Who cares? I just want to entice him.”

Ziba licked her lips, tasted them bitter.

“I don’t think he likes me that way,” Ziba murmured. Perhaps he doesn’t like women at all. What then?

“How about we ask him? Hmm?” Paikan asked with a naughty smile. He’d thought about this for a while, Ziba thought. While she understood it was Shiri’s fault, she felt a bit of anger for her master for going along with her.

Please gods, have her lose the baby.

Better yet, slip and drop down the estate’s stairs, break her neck a bit, while losing it.

I know it’s a horrible thing to ask, but I’ve asked it already and now there’s nothing to be done about it. I will just have to live with the guilt.

“Lorian,” Paikan said, then looked up and squinted his eyes, the sun brutal once you stepped out of the veranda’s shade. “Where are you from?”

“Does it matter?” The man rustled.

“Not really,” Paikan agreed. “You know Ziba-Ra?”

The man glanced at her.

“We’ve met.”

“There are games afoot,” Paikan started with a sigh. “I’m not going to lie here. I want to win,” The Lorian crooked his mouth. “There’s coin, there’s fame and there’s the chance for my lads to make something of their situation at jeopardy here.”

“I won’t kill a man for sport,” The grizzly man grunted. “Better to face ‘em beasts, I reckon.”

Oh, gods the stubbornness!

“Yes, uhm. Well, you might think that, but what are we, barbarians? Another Lanista would’ve just sold you for a couple of gold pieces and be done with the whole thing. I can’t do that. My consciousness won’t allow it.” Ziba almost rolled her eyes at that. “But on the other bloody hand, getting equipment, arrange for a caravan to tour the many arenas. That’s a lot of coin down the fucking drain.”

“Seek a loan,” the stranger deadpanned.

“Haha,” Paikan slapped his thighs, sweat dribbling down his bloated face, his goatee losing some of its paint and running as well. “There’s spirit in there! Right?” He glanced at her, big smile on his face, his eyes distant, calculating.

What did you do, Ziba wondered, fear creeping up her spine.

“I have to find another way to support my family, Lorian,” Paikan continued. “The lack of coin, can make a man cruel,” He added. The aging soldier, clenched his jaw. “A couple of merchants want to buy Ziba-Ra. Young guys, their minds on many a nights of passion.”

Eh, if that’s what is coming might as well embrace it, she thought. Young cocks surely are more interesting than old ones. The man was staring at her now, almost furious.

As if could read her darn thoughts on her face.

Huh?

“However,” Paikan continued, breaking their silent staring contest. “Karit-Ki Tsuparin had tragedy befallen on him. Lost a son, is the word. Now, I don’t give a rat’s arse about them Garites, but the old man wants a big funeral to honor his memory, or whatever the fuck, these savages do over there. Since that cocksucker was unmarried, that old hideous piece of shit wants to send him off with company. Three maidens, to be thrown in his sendoff pyre.”

What?

Ziba looked at her master shocked, trying to understand, if he was being serious.

“Since maidens aren’t going to take up the task and nobody wants to lose a good slave for nothing, the Tsuparin’s are paying something.”

Goddess he’s serious!

“You’ll have her burned alive,” the man queried. “For coin.”

“For a substantial amount of coin, so we can take solace at that. They also usually kill the slaves first, but don’t quote me on that one. It’s second hand knowledge,” Paikan added, the attempt at making light of it not appreciated, by the scowling Lorian. Ziba was too shocked to react either way. “It hurts my soul, but if I don’t participate and win something this time, this Ludus is in trouble. In order to participate, I need the coin. The competition is killing me, Lorian.”

It’s killing me more!

Ziba was hyperventilating, her knees shaking, shrill dress soaked in sweat and she stumbled to the side, the sun over her head impossible to bear for much longer.

“These men can’t win,” the man said, looking at the gladiators training. “Even if they do, they won’t make it till the finish.”

“Why?”

“They fear death too much, to succeed.”

“You don’t?”

“Man dies, when he fails.”

Are you fucking kidding me? Ziba glared at him. What manner of bullshit is this?

“And you’ve already failed,” Paikan noted, with a grimace of understanding. “Will the boy make it?” He asked.

The man scrunched his jaw this way and that, wild beard moving angry.

“No. Don’t let him fight.”

“I have to try,” Paikan insisted.

“What about her?”

Paikan looked at her and she looked at him hopefully. Surely he was playing with the old brute before. Right? Then her master sighed and wiped his sweaty face, smearing some of the goatee paint on his neck.

“I’ll take Tsuparin’s offer.”

Fuck me.

“Are you serious?” Ziba growled and punched his shoulder, her fist bending the other way, as if she’d smacked a wall. Groaning she started rubbing at her wrist, even more furious with him. “Why couldn’t you just accept?”

“Accept what woman?” He rustled and she realized the Ludus cell was too small and she couldn’t get away from him, if things turned sour.

Like more sour, than they were.

“Fight? Help him?”

Help me?

“Help him? He just told you, his plans.”

“Right. Because you’re not doing what he asks—”

He cut her off raising his hand. “I won’t do his bidding, lass.”

Ziba exploded.

“You think… goddess, you are a darn slave! You miserable old fuck—” she yelled in his face, stopping abruptly when he snatched her jaw with a big hand, rough fingers covering her cheeks. The strength behind them monstrous. “Please… don’t hurt me,” Ziba pleaded, tears in her eyes.

Those dark eyes examined her for a bit and then let her go. She almost went down on her knees. Darn things had turned to jelly.

“He’s gonna do it,” Ziba whispered, wiping her face, lower jaw feeling numb. “Because of his wife. She hates me. I ain’t worth the trouble.”

“What’s yer plan?” The man asked her, looking out the barred window of his cell.

“Suck your cock?” Ziba chanced, being deathly serious.

“What if I refuse?” He said crooking his mouth.

Why in all hells would you refuse that?

She hang her head in despair.

This floor is horribly dirty, she thought, the random detail confusing her.

“Ye need a better plan.”

Ziba sniffled and got up slowly.

“This is all I know,” she admitted. “What’s it like to be free?”

“Life is hard, there’s no running away from it.”

“Where are you from?” Ziba asked and the grizzly man walked to his bench and sat down.

“Ballard,” He rustled, looking at his hands. Cuts and marks on them, up to his thick wrists. A couple of his fingers crooked as if they’d been broken before and never healed up proper.

“What’s it like?” Ziba probed and went to sit next to him, putting her small hand on his.

“It’s a tidy place, a yard shaded by lemon trees. Rochestab River at the near, its banks all green, all manners of trees sprouting everywhere. Hot in the summer, but not like this,” He commented. “It’s very far from here.”

“When was the last time you saw it?”

“Nigh fifteen years.”

“Why did you leave?”

“I made a mistake, tried to atone for it,” the man from Ballard, wherever that was, answered. “Failed at that too.”

“Is this what free people do?” Ziba probed. “Fail?”

“Sometimes. It makes winning the more sweet.”

Ziba liked that. She smiled.

“What else?”

“Travel, learn to love and built things. Fix wrongs.”

Ziba thought about it. Traveling sounded nice as well. See the Realm, perhaps build something of her own, to last well after she was gone.

Eh, the other stuff not so much.

“Sounds nice,” Ziba said simply.

Dreams are cheap, Hasti always said.

She sighed and wiped her running nose with a hand. Everything on her sticky. The man was staring at her intently.

“Will he keep his word?” He asked her.

Ziba thought about it.

“If he wins and makes coin, probably.”

“About you, was my meaning.”

“Ahm,” Ziba blinked and looked into his rugged face. “I don’t understand.”

Ziba realized, she’d never asked for his name.

The man from a faraway place called Ballard got up, pulling his hands away. She was holding on to him all this time. He pushed his wild hair back, black mixed in with plenty of grey and grimaced, as if fighting with himself. An internal battle whether to commit, or not. A moment went by, then another, until he turned and stilled those black eyes on her so intently, Ziba almost fainted right then and there.

“What is it you want, lass?” He asked all serious, as if testing her.

So the alluring young slave answered truthfully and from her heart.

“I want to taste this freedom, see and feel it. Build a myth,” Ziba-Ra ‘the Pearl of Ani Ta-Ne’ had said and just like that Lanista Paikan’s modest Ludus entered the most famous chapter of its history.

Embellished by

Lord Sirio Veturius

Circa 206 NC

The Fall of Heroes

Chapter XXIV

(Sir Emerson Lennox,

Tales of Greenwhale Peninsula

-Pale Jackal & the Pearl-

Last month of summer,

189 NC)

END

OF

~ACT II~

The Allure of War

Grimdux I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck Touch O' Luck II It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series. It will be a superior reading experience to start this story from the beginning Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience: Chapter specific maps of the realms Maps of the Realms Ziba-Ra What one does with freedom? A southern wind blew towards the Khanate Gulf. It skirted around the Wetull Straits, shying away from the sinister Torn Earth and found the Gulf's narrow mouth, beyond the lonely ancient Wotcheki Castle on its east jaw, the primordial caves and hugged Whale's Head peninsula on its west. Touched the bands of wild horses running free on its fertile ground and broke on the garish protrusion people called the Khan's Way, standing across the slave-market port of Shao Na-Lan. The wind rapped at the dry granite rocks, twirled and twisted this way and that before dying out as suddenly as it had appeared. And was no more. Ziba-Ra that had rushed to Elusive Rose's first deck, the moment that fiendish unfavorable wind had first appeared and the order was given for the rowers to work the Galley's oars, let out a sigh of relief. All that horrible noise of many men slaving away at the drum-beater's tempo ceased immediately and the big sails unfurled again catapulting them forward. Shao Na-Lan disappeared behind them and the waves lessened, as they sailed around the Stallion's Rest, towards the mouth of Tani River and the jewel of Greenwhale Peninsula, the Grant Port of Ani Ta-Ne. She felt sweat trickling down her shaved armpits, the stench of the large ship rubbing on her, after so many weeks aboard. Ziba wanted to dive into a cold water pool, or the sea and stay there forever, but couldn't. There was no pool on the Galley and if she dared the sea, her master would surely kill her. Perhaps Ziba could get away with a harsh beating, if she used every trick in her book to sway his decision the right way. Then there was her nasty mistress Shirin-Ra to deal with. While she was pregnant supposedly, Ziba wasn't fooled to think Shirin's dislike of her came from hormones only. She smelled herself again, the Cofol slavemaster, his mouth filled with silver teeth, watching greedily from his spot, right hand between his legs, the left still holding the five-headed whip he hadn't gotten the chance to use earlier. He always turned sour, when he missed on his workouts' and the opposing wind dying on them, had left him with nothing to do. Ziba changed her mind and wished the wind came back again. It was a nasty thing to wish for, but better the slaves under the deck to take the beating than her. What are you thinking about Pearl? Hasti-Ra asked, painted eyes huge to look more like her. Sucking cock, Ziba replied. Sounds fun. Yeah, it was either that, or getting killed for jumping in the sea, Ziba glanced at her shocked expression and grinned. You look sweaty. I was serving the guards, Hasti rolled her eyes. She had a round and pretty Cofol face, her tan always coming without any discomfort, or burns unlike Ziba, who with her fairer complexion had serious issues from direct sunlight, when she was little. Growing up, she'd learned to deal with that too. How did it go? Lots of groping, fingering, you know the drill, Hasti explained, making a face at the gawking slavemaster. Shit, I need to check on the master's lads, Ziba said slapping her head, blond curls escaping her bun and falling on her richly tanned face. Her light blue eyes, the color of the open skies above their heads, a striking contrast. Better fix that, or I may have to cut them short again, Hasti warned, with a lewd smirk. Remember how that went? Everyone thought you were a very cute boy, hehe. Their enthusiasm was palpable. Ziba's horrified buttocks clenched at the disturbing memory. I'm fixin' the stupid bun, Hasti, she announced and walked away, her cut shrill outfit, flowing over Ziba's long fit legs, her many gold anklets ringing and she felt the man's eyes burning on her exposed back pleased. We can't have me, fool, she thought. Not yet and not as long, as my master keeps me. Ziba hefted the bucket with water in her right hand, clean cloth over her shoulder and pushed the cell door open with her left hand and knee. It creaked and groaned, everything rusty and rotting away until it opened up enough to snake herself inside, water splashing down as she carried the bucket with her, right nipple brushing the doorway, silver loop underneath her silk top, clanking on the iron latch. Ouch! The grizzly man, feet tied on the bench with loose rusty iron chains, turned his olive-black eyes on her. He'd a wild beard covering his lined face, sturdy straight Lorian nose, thick brows peppered with grey hairs, like most of his head. Sorry, girl caught on the door, Ziba said with a grin, walking inside the small room, the stench of sweat horrible. She scrunched her nose and placed the bucket next to his crude bench. The man kept his eyes on her as she went about taking the empty bucket outside and the leftovers of his meal. You're eating better, she commented, looking him up close. There were three distinct, still healing, wounds on his broad hairy chest, one of them leaking. What is it you do, when you're alone, huh? Ziba teased the silent large man in common, while she worked on cleaning the wound again. Probably working up, she thought, seeing as he is sweaty and popping veins everywhere. The man grunted, when her white-lacquered nail touched cracked skin. You need to stitch it up again, Ziba advised, disregarding his protests. I have socks better stitched than this. The man was looking down her sweaty bust now. Does it work? She asked and made to grab him between the legs, as he was only wearing a dirty loincloth. He pulled away abruptly, which Ziba found offensive. Listen, I know I smell bad now, but I washed up another ten like you, out there, she protested wringing out the cloth. And mister, you don't exactly smell like roses. The grizzly man sat back down without saying a word, a scowl on his face. Ziba sighed and kicked the bucket lightly. It's clean mostly. It will get hotter, we are nearing Ani Ta-Ne, She made to walk away, but stopped and turned to give him another look. I don't know if you understand my Common, but all the other guys are younger than you. You're not pretty enough to fuck and if you are too old to fight, the master will have no use of you. Whatever, Ziba thought, getting no answer. On to the next one. Are you ready? Hasti asked her, big grin on her face, her slanted-eyes looking much different without all that makeup and grabbed the rope with both hands. Just pull as hard as you can! Ziba snapped and barely had the time to close her eyes, as Hasti pulled hard at the rope tied to one side of the cut barrel, they've lifted earlier on the table. Not an easy task at all. The barrel creaked and swayed right and left, the water inside splashing out, the moment dragging, small-bodied Hasti daggling, now suspended with both hands and feet from the rope over the deck's floor, murmuring over and over a mantra learned from a rower she fancied. Gods give hope, to better cope. For fuck's sake, Hasti! Ziba protested opening her eyes to see what was taking her friend so long and at that point the barrel toppled her way, thankfully bouncing once on the table and staying on it, its contents splashing out and smacking her in the face, as Ziba was kneeled right in front of it. Water got in Ziba's eyes, in her mouth, down her gullet, rapped her naked breasts alike a cruel whip and shocked her soft belly so much, she felt warm piss sprinkling out her carefully shaved tender folds. Gah! Ziba cried coughing up and smacked Hasti's hands away, as her friend had rushed, lathered cloth in hand, to work on her neck and face. Get that thing away! She screamed and rolled on the soaked decking, her feet slipping and a determined Hasti following her with a soaped cloth in hand. I'm clean! Ziba declared. Nonsense, we have another barrel, Hasti protested, herself soaked from top to bottom. That's enough laboring for me missy! Ziba warned her. Don't pout, it don't work on me. What about the rest of the fresh water? Master will be angry, if we waste it. Well, Ziba stared at the cut barrel, then approached and stepped inside it. It was snug and she had to gather her legs to her chest, but Hey, give me some support, so I don't topple back, she said and Hasti came to assist her. How is it? Ziba wiggled her arse, so she could drop a bit lower and stared at her friend. Cool. Can we get another barrel? Ahm. Mamel said he wrote that off, Hasti replied thoughtfully sitting on the edge of the barrel, next to her head. Can't he write off another? Ziba probed, splashing water on her face, enjoying the relief after the inferno they had suffered all day. I don't think so. Maybe polish his rod a bit? Ziba suggested innocently. Did it twice, Hasti replied, sounding pissed off. So she had to back away. Lanista Paikan Abu-Ra was a handsome man once, tall and clear faced, with eyes the color of warm-honey and a full set of white teeth, on a hedonist's mouth. Fit and rich from running a small, but successful Ludus, a training school for Gladiators, he'd fallen into difficult times the last ten years. Nearing sixty now, he'd taken weight, lost most of his hair, his eyes had sunk, with only his trimmed painted goatee reminding Ziba of the man he once was. Paikan had bought her as a baby from an escaped Rin An-Pur slave and kept her as his good luck charm. Almost twenty years later the aging Lanista had gotten himself a young wife of a rich spice Merchant family, in exchange for a solid gladiator, to solve some of his financial problems and sold off most of his other slave girls, in a last desperate attempt to turn his life around. Ah, there she is, Paikan said, lifting his head from the large pillow. How are my new lads Ziba-Ra? He raised his big body on an elbow, to have a better look at her. What you got under there? Nothing master, Ziba replied truthfully. I'll check on them later, but they seem fine. Paikan tapped an empty part of the divan he was reclined on, with a big smile. Ziba went to seat there, near his feet. Any champions in this lot? Paikan queried and pulled her nearer to him, a big hand cupping her right breast and two rough fingers finding the ring adorning her engorged nipple. Whether he had planned it, or not, their relationship had turned carnal in time. In Paikan's own words, if you truly love your slave, you bed him, or someone else will. Foolish to spend coin, for another man's pleasure. Her master was never a poet. The two young Lorians, maybe the Horselord, if he doesn't kill you first in your sleep, Ziba gasped the last words, as Paikan reached calmly with his other hand, rough fingers snaking between her thighs, until they found her soft opening and paused briefly at the entrance. Nothing, Paikan murmured in her ring-adorned ear and pressed one hard digit in without further warning. Ziba recoiled, the finger feeling like a thin knife, but he had a good grip on her and all she could do was grimace and nod with her head, fists clenched to combat the pain. You filthy pig, Shirin hissed, her voice cutting through the fog in Ziba's mind and Paikan let go of her with a sudden shove that send her bounce once on the divan, before stopping on its wooden armrest. Tit, cunt and arse on fire. Lecherous philistine trash, Shirin continued. Oi. Ouch. Oh, fuck, Ziba cursed, staring at the enraged Cofol woman going on a cursing tirade. Shirin was all flushed, her black hair made in thick braids, entwined with red rubies and milky pearls, her thin tunic loose and her belly swollen. She wore no shoes. Haha, Paikan guffawed taking her words in stride, sucking onto his index finger, the same that was inside her. You can barely speak two proper words woman! Ziba-Ra knows perfect Cofol and common, even sings in Imperial and she's but a slave! Yeah, not helping master, Ziba thought nervously. Get your whore out of our room! Shirin warned him furious. Bah, you spice folk are all wound up dear, blinded by profits and too much cinnamon powder. Ziba, work on her cunt for a bit, to calm her down. Ziba eyed him, almost losing her temper. How about, I fucking don't? Of course master, Ziba managed to whisper instead and got up. Keep that vile hag away from me, Shirin hissed and Ziba frowned insulted. The slave girl could accept being called vile, as she'd done all manner of nasty stuff in her life, but a hag? Come on! I don't feel that well today. It's the baby, she added, as if anyone would believe that! Good gods, Paikan gasped sounding alarmed, and got up, his robes opening to give them a view of his meaty dangling cock. Sit down dear, calm yourself. Shirin with a pained fake sigh, did as she was told. Oh, you stupid lying cunt, Ziba seethed and watched him fawning over her, before turning heel and leaving the Galley's master quarters. Hey, Hasti called her, large basket hiding her face, as she navigated the narrow corridors of the second deck. Give me a hand will you? What do you have there? Ziba asked her. Food, Hasti replied. Help me bring it to our room. Wow, Ziba gasped, putting a hand under the large basket. Is that wine? Probably. Can you keep your darn voice down? Apologies mistress, Ziba teased, her mood improving. Where do we hide the bottle? They both looked at each other for a moment, before speaking in unison. Throw it in the sea. Yep. Abrakas loved his trash. The Galley groaned alike a wounded beast, large beams squeaking, the decks creaking, as the sails ballooned when they burst out of the Gulf waters. The currents running through the Wetull Straits strong, light cerulean turning to a darker shade of blue, as the sea deepened, the flaring setting sun painted sanguine on them. The moment Elusive Rose turned north around the edge of Whale's Head towards Ani Ta-Ne, the currents turned against them and the long oars got out. The drums started playing, a sonorous sound, sinister and scary. The big ship turned into a giant centipede. Ziba didn't hear the door opening, but she heard it slamming shut and turned around. You're not as smart as you think you are, Shirin said, her voice dripping poison. Yes mistress, Ziba replied with a bow of her head, a frown marring her face as she'd noticed the thin bamboo cane. I want you gone, Shirin hissed and put the tip of the long cane under her jaw, to lift her face up. Sold off, discarded. Fuck you. Get this off you, turn around and grab that armchair, Shirin ordered her. Hold on tight. You let go, I'm going for your face next. Ziba gulped down, got out of her short tunic, leaving her naked from the navel down and turned to present her backside to the angry woman. Count for me, you little market bitch, Shirin spat, but the cane came down before Ziba had the chance to utter a single word. Oi, fuck, dammit, Ziba cursed stumbling, while trying to hold on to the bucket. She put a shoulder on the cell door, her back greasy with sweat, her enflamed buttocks on fire, skin cracked and bleeding at several spots, the welts like cuts, but nothing hurting more than her poor mound, where the tip of the cane had curled and smacked her viciously, causing the area to swell an angry red. It hurt to walk and peeing of all things, was a new kind of torture. The open seas and the salty moisture varnish of the Galley not helping at all. The door opened and she stumbled inside, water spilling and too hurt for clever words with the aging slave. Ouch. A new slave technically, a new lad, as Paikan called them. Semantics. Let me see, she said, through clenched teeth and the Lorian dropped his muscled arms to his sides to present his wounds. Less leakage, Ziba noticed. You worked out again, She told him, cleaning up his chest. The man pressed his lips stubbornly, those black eyes penetrating her skull. Are you going to fight for him? Ziba asked, but he just got a grimace in response. With a grimace of pain of her own, she tossed him the towel. Finish it up yourself. He'd snatched that wet cloth out of the air, his reaction impressive. Ziba raised a trimmed brow and examined his rugged face. You were a soldier? The man used the cloth to wipe his face and neck without answering. Do you even speak Common? Ziba taunted him. Or am I losing my time? Yer common is fine, The man rustled, rich cavernous voice, touching the very fibers of her soul. What happened to you? Goddess. I made my mistress angry, Ziba replied taking a step back, the rawness of his reaction scaring her. The man snorted and eyed her revolted. What in tarnation? Ziba thought, her face flushing. Who do you think you are? It was my fault, She explained, getting even less sympathy. I'm a foolish slave. No Lorian lady would ever debase herself thus, the man said, all serious. Ziba stared at him stupefied. Was he for real? I've no idea, what a Lorian lady would, or wouldn't do, Ziba replied narrowing her eyes. But Lorian girls on the Peninsula are even worse than me. At whoring? Hah, yeah. It's part of the deal, without the coin. Have you no shame? For getting beaten up? Ziba retorted. At least make an attempt to escape This is my home, old man, Ziba stopped him. It's what I know. The man grunted and made a dismissive gesture with his hand, for her to leave him alone. As if he could command her! You're a slave too you know, she showed him the ugly branding on his right arm and lowering her top next, presented her own. Right above her right elbow. A simple square around the letters RA burned on her skin, Paikan's family name. You'll fight in the arena and probably die there before this year is over. Perhaps sooner if the master's finances worsen. What if I don't? The man queried, his raspy voice as exciting to her senses as the first time. They'll throw you to the leopards. Mayhap it's better to end in a beast's jaws, the man said, rubbing his forehead, deep in thought. Ziba sighed, shook her blond head and turned to leave him to his misery. She stopped at the door and looked back, saw him still sitting on that small crude bench, staring at his cell's rotting wall. His eyes already dead. Or perhaps just really sad and defeated. Aimless. It's not, just so you know, Ziba had told him, remembering the beasts ravaging the butchered slaves in the arena. The grand opening for the games. It's not better. Ani Ta-Ne was a sprawling city port, built next to the mouth of Tani River, the lush Dates Forrest on her east side and Hippo's Nest mountain range shielding the fertile basin from the scalding winds coming from the Desert Sea. With its five markets, two of them for slaves, the biggest animal market of the peninsula, large port facilities and four districts, starting from the common houses near the sea and the large villas on the soft slopes of the mountain, it was always growing year after year. Ruled by the great noble Zeke Leta-Kin, the Khan's Sea Master and its family, it dominated this part of Greenwhale Peninsula economically and politically. In all other aspects really, but for one quite important for the local Cofol society. Despite its many efforts and the gold poured into its many Ludi, Ani Ta-Ne couldn't rival the only other city facing the inhospitable Wetull lands across the straits. Ridiculed and belittled behind their backs, but also feared for their cruelty and military acumen, the Garites were somehow a thorn to the larger city's sides. While half its size and less cultured, the rivalry between the two cities was palpable on every discussion inside the markets and local taverns, fueled by the fact that the biggest games every year, were alas held in the vaunted arenas of Fu De-Gar. Only the best make the journey, Lanista Paikan explained to her, observing their slavemasters gathering the slaves to lead them towards his Ludus. Very few of them return. When is the next event? Ziba asked standing next to him, low key avoiding doing any work, while the others unloaded the ship. When Ani Ta-Ne has a new champion, Paikan said, smacking a fly away, the sun burning over their heads. Win against the best five, to be the city's champion, Ziba droned, the party line. Best the five champions in the Pits to earn everlasting glory. Riches and as much slaves as your heart desires! Or freedom, Paikan added with a smile at the fake enthusiasm. Ziba never knew, if he saw through her, or not. Or whether he cared. Does anyone take it? They do sometimes, Paikan said. If they have half a brain, most don't. What one does with freedom? Ziba probed genuinely curious, putting a plump date she'd stolen in her mouth. You know what I do with it, Paikan noted. Train gladiators, then watch games, Ziba replied. Putting babies in Shirin's stupid belly. Make good coin, hopefully, Her old master added. None of the above held any interest to Ziba, so she kept working on the tasty date, while the other slaves were well, slaving away. The sun sent his strong light over the training ground. The men were working under the Lanista's watchful eyes, fit torsos glistening sweaty, strong arms flexing and feet dancing on the fine white sand. Jason the Issir, teaching Lou the young Lorian how to work the spear being the highlight. Ziba turned her eyes to the side where the benches were, caught the man watching and crossed her legs provocatively, to give him a good glimpse of her tanned thighs. The more he scowled at her antics, the more she teased him. Paikan who'd seen her playing with his new slave grunted and send another juicy sliced peach down his gullet. He won't fight, her master commented. Maybe he can't, Ziba said, examining the rings on her toes. Khan's war flooded the market with worthless slaves, Paikan griped. It isn't worth the coin selling him for beast fodder. What does he want? Ziba asked, eyeing the grizzly man, frowning disapprovingly at the men working out. I've no fucking clue, Paikan admitted. Told him he could win his freedom fighting, but I'm inclined to believe he's differently motivated. What did he say to you? Ziba saw her master looking intently and gathered herself. Nothing much. You know how I kept other men from having you, Paikan said and Ziba stood up straighter alarmed. Watched you growing up, fed you, not many treat their slaves thus. Master is magnanimous, Ziba whispered and put her small hand on his sweaty thigh. He was wearing the short tunic his gladiators wore to train. He forever holds my affections. Hmm, I want him to fight, Ziba-Ra, Paikan said, removing her hand. I'm in a kind of a dilemma here. My wife wants you gone, Ziba froze and stared at the white sands under her feet alarmed. I'm going to have a child, a son gods permitting. Shit, you conniving bloated bitch. Wonderful news master. It is, Paikan smiled and reached for another peach. I don't want to let you go though. I have a couple of good offers, but this isn't about coin, Ziba felt her head spinning and her stomach turning, as if she was sick. You're a Lorian, as he is, No, I'm not, she thought furious. I think he's interested. In what way? Ziba croaked trying to think of a ploy to get her out of trouble, but her mind had turned to mush and she was about to puke over her master's fruit salad. Who cares? I just want to entice him. Ziba licked her lips, tasted them bitter. I don't think he likes me that way, Ziba murmured. Perhaps he doesn't like women at all. What then? How about we ask him? Hmm? Paikan asked with a naughty smile. He'd thought about this for a while, Ziba thought. While she understood it was Shiri's fault, she felt a bit of anger for her master for going along with her. Please gods, have her lose the baby. Better yet, slip and drop down the estate's stairs, break her neck a bit, while losing it. I know it's a horrible thing to ask, but I've asked it already and now there's nothing to be done about it. I will just have to live with the guilt. Lorian, Paikan said, then looked up and squinted his eyes, the sun brutal once you stepped out of the veranda's shade. Where are you from? Does it matter? The man rustled. Not really, Paikan agreed. You know Ziba-Ra? The man glanced at her. We've met. There are games afoot, Paikan started with a sigh. I'm not going to lie here. I want to win, The Lorian crooked his mouth. There's coin, there's fame and there's the chance for my lads to make something of their situation at jeopardy here. I won't kill a man for sport, The grizzly man grunted. Better to face em beasts, I reckon. Oh, gods the stubbornness! Yes, uhm. Well, you might think that, but what are we, barbarians? Another Lanista would've just sold you for a couple of gold pieces and be done with the whole thing. I can't do that. My consciousness won't allow it. Ziba almost rolled her eyes at that. But on the other bloody hand, getting equipment, arrange for a caravan to tour the many arenas. That's a lot of coin down the fucking drain. Seek a loan, the stranger deadpanned. Haha, Paikan slapped his thighs, sweat dribbling down his bloated face, his goatee losing some of its paint and running as well. There's spirit in there! Right? He glanced at her, big smile on his face, his eyes distant, calculating. What did you do, Ziba wondered, fear creeping up her spine. I have to find another way to support my family, Lorian, Paikan continued. The lack of coin, can make a man cruel, He added. The aging soldier, clenched his jaw. A couple of merchants want to buy Ziba-Ra. Young guys, their minds on many a nights of passion. Eh, if that's what is coming might as well embrace it, she thought. Young cocks surely are more interesting than old ones. The man was staring at her now, almost furious. As if could read her darn thoughts on her face. Huh? However, Paikan continued, breaking their silent staring contest. Karit-Ki Tsuparin had tragedy befallen on him. Lost a son, is the word. Now, I don't give a rat's arse about them Garites, but the old man wants a big funeral to honor his memory, or whatever the fuck, these savages do over there. Since that cocksucker was unmarried, that old hideous piece of shit wants to send him off with company. Three maidens, to be thrown in his sendoff pyre. What? Ziba looked at her master shocked, trying to understand, if he was being serious. Since maidens aren't going to take up the task and nobody wants to lose a good slave for nothing, the Tsuparin's are paying something. Goddess he's serious! You'll have her burned alive, the man queried. For coin. For a substantial amount of coin, so we can take solace at that. They also usually kill the slaves first, but don't quote me on that one. It's second hand knowledge, Paikan added, the attempt at making light of it not appreciated, by the scowling Lorian. Ziba was too shocked to react either way. It hurts my soul, but if I don't participate and win something this time, this Ludus is in trouble. In order to participate, I need the coin. The competition is killing me, Lorian. It's killing me more! Ziba was hyperventilating, her knees shaking, shrill dress soaked in sweat and she stumbled to the side, the sun over her head impossible to bear for much longer. These men can't win, the man said, looking at the gladiators training. Even if they do, they won't make it till the finish. Why? They fear death too much, to succeed. You don't? Man dies, when he fails. Are you fucking kidding me? Ziba glared at him. What manner of bullshit is this? And you've already failed, Paikan noted, with a grimace of understanding. Will the boy make it? He asked. The man scrunched his jaw this way and that, wild beard moving angry. No. Don't let him fight. I have to try, Paikan insisted. What about her? Paikan looked at her and she looked at him hopefully. Surely he was playing with the old brute before. Right? Then her master sighed and wiped his sweaty face, smearing some of the goatee paint on his neck. I'll take Tsuparin's offer. Fuck me. Are you serious? Ziba growled and punched his shoulder, her fist bending the other way, as if she'd smacked a wall. Groaning she started rubbing at her wrist, even more furious with him. Why couldn't you just accept? Accept what woman? He rustled and she realized the Ludus cell was too small and she couldn't get away from him, if things turned sour. Like more sour, than they were. Fight? Help him? Help me? Help him? He just told you, his plans. Right. Because you're not doing what he asks He cut her off raising his hand. I won't do his bidding, lass. Ziba exploded. You think goddess, you are a darn slave! You miserable old fuck she yelled in his face, stopping abruptly when he snatched her jaw with a big hand, rough fingers covering her cheeks. The strength behind them monstrous. Please don't hurt me, Ziba pleaded, tears in her eyes. Those dark eyes examined her for a bit and then let her go. She almost went down on her knees. Darn things had turned to jelly. He's gonna do it, Ziba whispered, wiping her face, lower jaw feeling numb. Because of his wife. She hates me. I ain't worth the trouble. What's yer plan? The man asked her, looking out the barred window of his cell. Suck your cock? Ziba chanced, being deathly serious. What if I refuse? He said crooking his mouth. Why in all hells would you refuse that? She hang her head in despair. This floor is horribly dirty, she thought, the random detail confusing her. Ye need a better plan. Ziba sniffled and got up slowly. This is all I know, she admitted. What's it like to be free? Life is hard, there's no running away from it. Where are you from? Ziba asked and the grizzly man walked to his bench and sat down. Ballard, He rustled, looking at his hands. Cuts and marks on them, up to his thick wrists. A couple of his fingers crooked as if they'd been broken before and never healed up proper. What's it like? Ziba probed and went to sit next to him, putting her small hand on his. It's a tidy place, a yard shaded by lemon trees. Rochestab River at the near, its banks all green, all manners of trees sprouting everywhere. Hot in the summer, but not like this, He commented. It's very far from here. When was the last time you saw it? Nigh fifteen years. Why did you leave? I made a mistake, tried to atone for it, the man from Ballard, wherever that was, answered. Failed at that too. Is this what free people do? Ziba probed. Fail? Sometimes. It makes winning the more sweet. Ziba liked that. She smiled. What else? Travel, learn to love and built things. Fix wrongs. Ziba thought about it. Traveling sounded nice as well. See the Realm, perhaps build something of her own, to last well after she was gone. Eh, the other stuff not so much. Sounds nice, Ziba said simply. Dreams are cheap, Hasti always said. She sighed and wiped her running nose with a hand. Everything on her sticky. The man was staring at her intently. Will he keep his word? He asked her. Ziba thought about it. If he wins and makes coin, probably. About you, was my meaning. Ahm, Ziba blinked and looked into his rugged face. I don't understand. Ziba realized, she'd never asked for his name. The man from a faraway place called Ballard got up, pulling his hands away. She was holding on to him all this time. He pushed his wild hair back, black mixed in with plenty of grey and grimaced, as if fighting with himself. An internal battle whether to commit, or not. A moment went by, then another, until he turned and stilled those black eyes on her so intently, Ziba almost fainted right then and there. What is it you want, lass? He asked all serious, as if testing her. So the alluring young slave answered truthfully and from her heart. I want to taste this freedom, see and feel it. Build a myth, Ziba-Ra the Pearl of Ani Ta-Ne' had said and just like that Lanista Paikan's modest Ludus entered the most famous chapter of its history. Embellished by Lord Sirio Veturius Circa 206 NC The Fall of Heroes Chapter XXIV Sir Emerson Lennox, Tales of Greenwhale Peninsula -Pale Jackal & the Pearl- Last month of summer, 189 NC END OF ~ACT II~ The Allure of War