Chapter
11: Training
It took Shailaja and Vasanta
almost a full turn off the glass to reach the palace of the
Hector. They were paraded through
the streets under the heat of the afternoon sun; still clad only in the chains
they had worn to the auction. Their
passage attracted many admiring stares and not a few
comments. Many of these were
not in the common tongue, but by this time Shailaja had picked up a working
knowledge of Tharian and understood what was
said. She was not easily embarrassed,
but even so she flushed with anger at some of the
remarks.
Vasanta, as usual, was livid
with rage, even though she understood a good deal less than Shailaja, but
she had no trouble determining that what was being directed at her was hardly
flattering, except in the most prurient
sense. But like her companion
in misery she had little choice but to march on in
silence.
The closer they got to the
Hector’s palace the more magnificent were the buildings and both women
found themselves staring in spite of their determination to show little reaction
to what was happening to them.
However, impressive as the buildings were, they were quite unprepared
for their first view of the palace.
They came to a large open
space several hundred yards across.
It was a testament to the wealth of Thar that such a large area could
be found in the heart of the city.
But it was not an empty space.
Instead it had been planted with gardens and lawns that seemed to
completely surround the palace.
Large numbers of people were strolling in this area, taking their
leisure and enjoying the splendid fountains and
sculptures.
However, it was what was
beyond the park that held Shailaja’s astonished
gaze. Gleaming white in the Tharian
sun was an edifice so wondrous that all other marvels she had seen in her
travels paled to insignificance.
The palace of the Hector rose like a dream before
her. Surrounded by gleaming walls
of polished granite the palace itself rose
beyond. It consisted of a great
central dome surrounded by high sculpted
towers. It was an architectural
marvel that surpassed anything she had ever seen or
imagined.
Vasanta was just as
impressed. She gasped in wonder
as she gazed upon the palace.
“Surely the gods must have built this place,” she
muttered.
One of the guards laughed
at the gawking barbarians.
“Your new home savages.
I hope you like it.”
Whether they liked it or
not they were not allowed to admire this marvel for long, but were ushered
quickly toward it and through it gates.
Following the Hector’s representative, they were admitted to
the palace grounds, passing through several gates and dozens of
guards. Whatever the Hector was,
he valued his privacy.
They were taken deep into
the palace, entering through a narrow doorway that passed through an inner
wall and into what they quickly realized was the slave
quarters. Even here the architecture
was splendid with wide corridors and plentiful use of cut
stone. Soon they found themselves
out of the sunlight and in a long narrow passage that seemed to lead into
the heart of the palace. On either
side were many doors, which they supposed were either cells or passages leading
elsewhere. However, they were
ushered forward until they reached the end of the
passage. Here a door opened into
a small room occupied by several people.
From behind a desk a tall woman stepped forward to look them
over.
“So these are the latest
acquisitions,” she said. From
her colouring and dark hair Shailaja judged her to be
Tharian. She wore the same purple
and gold as the Hector’s guards, but more interestingly, she also wore
light armour of a silvery metal she did not recognize, but which she was
to find out more about later.
She looked at them almost contemptuously. “I am Olara-val-Jahr,” she said, “Arms Mistress to the Hector of Thar, Guered-mal-Far. From now on you belong to me and will do everything I say without question. To do otherwise is to invite the harshest of punishments. Am I understood?”
Shailaja said nothing, and for a change neither did Vasanta. However, Shailaja looked upon the woman with disdain. Olara came barely up to her shoulder and was twice her age. However, she was impressed with two things; one that a woman had risen to a position of importance in Thar; and two that Olara’s title was identical to the one the Queen of Uvar had bestowed upon her. That time in Uvar seemed so long ago now, even though it had been only about a year ago.
Shailaja supposed that ancient as Olara was, at one time she must have been something of a warrior. She was also well aware of the pain that could be inflicted by Tharian punishments and had no intention of giving anyone an excuse to use them on her again.
“First we must do something about those collars and chains,” Olara said. “You are the property of the Hector now and such clumsy attire is unbecoming. Follow me.”
Obediently, they stepped in behind the Sword Mistress as she headed out of the room and back into the corridor; not that they had much choice, as they were accompanied by a four guard escort. After a short walk and several turns they came to large an open area enclosed by four high walls. Shailaja noted as they walked that they passed through several guarded doorways, and tried to keep track of the twists and turns. Every bit of information would help when the time came to escape.
The compound they entered was one filled with smoke and noise, but it was one Shailaja was readily familiar with, having visited such a place on many occasions, the last being when her iron collar had been fitted. It was a placed occupied by smiths or more accurately weapons smiths. Here were manufactured the swords, knives, falchions, and numerous other weapons of war. However, it was on a scale Shailaja had never seen before.
They were marched toward one of the smithies. This time Shailaja did not have to be dragged as she remembered Olara’s words. She was taken to an anvil and the chain was detached from her collar and then, with a single blow, the smith sheered through the pin that held the collar to her neck.
Shailaja stood up from the position she had assumed over the anvil and slipped her fingers under the iron band. Tensing her muscles she bent the metal and for the first time in more than a month she was free of the degradation of the iron collar. Although she was far from being truly free she felt a tremendous sense of relief. Unfortunately, the sensation was to prove short-lived.
Vasanta too was freed, her iron collar requiring only the removal of the padlock, but the look of relief on her face showed she too was thankful to be liberated from her symbol of slavery. She rubbed her neck, although thanks to the padding there was no serious damage to their necks.
“Now to find you something more suitable,” Olara said. Her tone of voice alerted Shailaja to the fact that something was up; that and the fact that they were suddenly surrounded by men who quickly took hold of their chains.
“You will put these on,” Olara continued. “The emeralds for the Kaltaran and the diamonds for the Nahnian.” She set before them two finely crafted wooden boxes and flicked them open. Inside the boxes were two gleaming collars each constructed of the same silvery metal that Olara wore; one was studded with emeralds and the other with diamonds.
Each must have been worth a fortune, but to Shailaja they symbolized captivity and subjugation. “I will not wear that,” she stated. “I have just been freed from such a device and will not wear another.”
Vasanta was also adamant in her refusal, but Olara was insistent. “You will wear them, whether you like them or not.”
She said nothing further and she did not wait for them to reply. Suddenly the men surrounding them pulled them forward, using the chains attached to their wrists and ankles to pull them toward the anvil. Completely unappreciative of the honour being shown her, it took four men to wrestle Shailaja to the anvil so that the smith could fix her custom collar about her throat. It took an equal number to deal with Vasanta who was violently hostile to the symbol of her enslavement, fighting with everything she had including her fine, white teeth which she sank into the thigh of one of the men holding her. They fought to the point of exhaustion, heaving against the men holding them until their bodies were slick with sweat and they could hardly move due to exhaustion. Then they were bent over the anvil and the collars were applied.
Gasping for breath Shailaja was allowed to stand, the new symbol of her captivity firmly fixed about her throat. She was surprised at how light the metal band was. Even with the gems it weighed only a tiny fraction of what the iron collar had. Nevertheless, she despised its presence and glared her anger toward Olara.
She seemed quite amused by their resistance and impotent rage. “There,” she smiled, “that wasn’t so bad was it? You now wear the mark of the Hector and will be recognized wherever you go.”
It was an honour that eluded Shailaja. Just as galling was the fact that the heavy chain that had connected her to Vasanta had been replaced with a lighter version. It seemed to be made of the same silvery metal as the collars, but she soon determined that it was just as strong. For good or ill she was linked to the Nahnian princess for as long as her captors chose.
Olara now held out a bundle of clothing. “These should fit you,” Olara said. “Put them on.”
This time they did as they were told. There wasn’t much to the clothing. It consisted of a short skirt that came down to mid-thigh, soft leather ankle boots, and a crisscross breast band that fitted over their shoulders. It still left them mostly nude, but it was well suited to the climate as long as they kept out of the sun, and they felt a good deal better to finally be wearing something that covered the shaved area of their bodies. However, the humiliation of the jeweled collar still rankled and they could not hide their displeasure. Fuming they were taken back the way they had come and to the baths.
The gladiatorial baths were even grander than those at the slave pens, but their columned magnificence was lost on the two angry warriors. Even the removal of the connecting chain did not diminish their rage, however, Shailaja suppressed her emotions and stepped into the water, glad to be able to rid her body of its sweat and grime.
Vasanta followed, giving Shailaja a look of pure hatred as she entered the water. However, the redheaded warrior ignored her, stroking into deeper water and then turning to face Vasanta as she trod water.
The bitch can swim. Vasanta thought. Why does that not surprise me? She had only a casual acquaintance with water. Nahnians did not normally swim in the fast flowing and ice fed mountain streams of her homeland even though they bathed regularly. As a result she had learned little more than a dog paddle. Shailaja’s smooth overhand stroke had her envious and a little annoyed.
Shailaja ducked and disappeared, surfacing an arm’s length from her enemy, water dripping from her long red hair. In spite of herself Vasanta could not help noting her full lips and the curve of her breasts.
“Apparently your memory needs refreshing,” Shailaja said, as she raised her muscular arms to sweep the water from her hair. “I thought we had agreed to put the past behind us until we regained our freedom.”
“I agreed not to kill you,” Vasanta scowled, somewhat disturbed at Shailaja’s close proximity. “I said nothing about pretending to like you.”
“As I said before your desire for vengeance is a waste of time. We are still slaves. Our dislike for one another is being used by our enemies for sport. Why do you think that they chain us together? Don’t you understand that we have to work together if we are to get out of here?”
“I am sworn to avenge my brother,” Vasanta hissed. “However, I expect the concept of honour is something you don’t understand.”
“Your precious honour is worthless if you can’t carry out your threat. We are prisoners. If we don’t cooperate we will be here until we die. Kill me after we escape if your honour demands it, but in the meantime help me get out of here.”
Vasanta knew Shailaja was right. Even if she did kill her she would still be a slave. There was little point in vengeance if it resulted in a lifetime of captivity. Besides, the punishment for one slave killing another would be quite savage and she had already had more than enough of the stinger. However, she was no longer so sure about the possibility of escape. The palace complex of the Hector was huge; much larger than the village she had been born in. The section devoted to the gladiators and their training was enclosed by high vertical walls patrolled by guards. The area she and Shailaja were in was for the novice gladiators and was sectioned off from the rest of the complex.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of Olara. Vasanta had no idea why the Arms Mistress was taking such an interest in her and Shailaja, but guessed that she was carrying out orders from the mysterious Hector.
“Come with me,” Olara ordered, and waited while Vasanta and Shailaja dressed. Then she took them down several corridors and through several doorways. The two warriors noted that none of the doors were locked and wondered a bit about this until Olara explained. “As gladiators in training you are allowed access to any part of the complex including the baths and gardens, and of course the dining areas. You will encounter other gladiators in training and will treat them with proper respect. Any conflict will lead to punishment of the sort you have already experienced. Your conduct today has not been the best, but I am prepared to overlook punishment this one time. There will be no further repetition of your disobedience if you wish to avoid further pain.”
They stopped in front of a cell and Olara motioned for Shailaja to open the door. “These are your quarters for the moment,” she explained. “If you prove worthy you will be given better.”
Shailaja stepped inside followed by Vasanta. The cell was similar to the one in slave quarters they had shared, but it had one significant difference. There was no lock on the door of the room, allowing them to come and go just as Olara had promised. They would have appreciated this more had they not been chained to one another, but there was nothing they could do about that.
“Get some rest,” Olara ordered. “Tomorrow you train.” With little choice but to obey Shailaja and Vasanta took to their bunks. Olara nodded her approval and closed the door behind her as she left.
A guard awakened them long before dawn. They were escorted to the dining hall where they were given a meager breakfast and then ordered to the training area. It was a large enclosed place within the palace grounds. It was easily large enough to hold several thousand persons, however, on this day they found themselves in the company of only a few dozen other warriors, both male and female. Olara was there as well and although it was still two turns of the glass before dawn she put them through a rigorous workout.
“Today,” she said, speaking only to Shailaja and Vasanta, “I will first judge your fitness. Then I will test you further as warriors.”
Shailaja found her attitude insulting as did Vasanta. But she soon learned that what Olara meant by training was beyond what she had expected.
It began with a series of exercises designed to test their flexibility and endurance. Lined up with the other trainees they were worked until their bodies dripped with sweat. For this they were released from the chain that joined them, but released from their clothing as well. Stripped to the skin they were forced to stand in place and respond to Olara’s shouted commands.
In this Vasanta and Shailaja were at a slight disadvantage, as those training with them were already aware of the routine. However, they were both trained warriors and Shailaja’s career as a mercenary and her disciplined existence meant that she quickly adapted to what was expected of her. Vasanta responded well also, holding her own in spite of the strangeness of the regimen.
However, the calisthenics were just the beginning of what Olara had planned for them. Next there was a special course consisting of a number of obstacles to be overcome. Shailaja was somewhat bemused at this as she had never before encountered such a novel method of training. The obstacles were designed to test their strength and agility and consisted of a variety of artificial devices that they had to climb, jump, and even swing across using ropes. The course ended with a swim down a long pool.
Shailaja did not realize it at the time, but there was a penalty for finishing last. It explained the eagerness of the other trainees as they rushed through the course at the highest possible speed. However, she had no intention of being shown up and a result she competed as hard as she could, finishing fifth in spite of her lack of familiarity with the competition.
It did not go so well for Vasanta. The princess had little familiarity with water. In spite of doing well in the obstacle course, she was overtaken and passed by every other competitor, a situation that did not sit well with her. It went even less well when she was required to pay the penalty which turned out to be completing the course a second time while the rest of the trainees were treated to a hearty second breakfast.
Arriving after everyone else had finished, Vasanta was given only a few minutes to gulp down a few bites of food before the training began again. This time they were lined up in rows and put through a series of repetitive drills. Shailaja could see what they were for, having engaged in similar routines for most of her life. By now they were almost second nature to her and she had no trouble keeping up in spite of the fact that she had not been able to practice her martial skills for more than a moon.
Vasanta too excelled at these exercises and they could feel Olara’s eyes upon them as she assessed their level of competence. However she said nothing that day nor the next. As a matter of fact she said nothing at all until the day that Vasanta finally managed to complete the obstacle course faster than the other trainees. She did this not by virtue of suddenly becoming adept at swimming. She floundered the length of the pool with all the grace of a yegger. However, she flew through the other obstacles with such speed that her lead was too great for the others to catch her in spite of her ineptness in the water.
There was only one who could surpass her, and to her undisguised anger that other one was Shailaja. They reached the long pool together, but the Kaltaran’s familiarity with water gave her an easy victory, one that Vasanta would not be able to overcome until she improved as a swimmer. As a result Shailaja waited placidly at the edge of the pool as Vasanta splashed toward her.
Even then Olara did not acknowledge them, but the next day their training changed. Instead of being taken to the training yard they were taken to the outer courtyard of the palace. There the outer gates were opened and they were ordered into the streets. Olara and two guards accompanied them on the backs of horses. For Vasanta and Shailaja there was no such luxury, and to make matters worse the chain was not removed from about their necks. Instead they were ordered to run in tandem through the streets of the city while Olara and their escorts rode after them.
There was no chance of escape. While Olara rode behind one of the guards rode in front and showed the way. They ran down the main boulevard and completely through the city without stopping, until they reached the main gate on the far side of the city. It was here that they learned something else about Thar and discovered the foundation of its existence.
The gate they passed through was on the opposite side of the city from the side they had entered. Beyond it loomed the mountains that abutted the city on that side, and something else as well. As they passed through the gate and up the road that ran toward the mountains they saw something completely unexpected. It was a large lake, its surface reflecting the sky as a deep blue that seemed to hint at a great depth. The lake came right up to the walls of the city and extended for several leagues beyond it until it ended against a steep cliff that contained the lake like the sides of a gargantuan bowl.
However, they were given little time to take in this startling panorama. Instead they were run along the road above the lake until their lungs were bursting and still they did not stop. By this time the sun was beginning to edge above the horizon and they knew that they had been running for a couple of turns of the glass, however, Olara did not relent. She kept them moving along the road until they were close to collapse. Only when Vasanta began to stumble did she rein them in.
“Not bad,” Olara said, from the back of her sweat-soaked horse. “You are in better shape than I had supposed. However, you are not yet fit enough. Before your real training begins you must make this run without effort. Take a short rest, and then we start again.”
Shailaja took this remark as an insult, but was too short of breath to reply. As for Vasanta, she was bent over, her hands on her knees, her breath coming in gasps.
Olara was true to her word. She let them regain their breath and then urged them into motion once again. This time she ran them downhill. They found this somewhat easier, but realized that they would eventually be forced to return the way they had come. It soon became obvious that they were headed for the shore of the lake and soon the edge of the water was within sight. There was a small stone dock that ran out into the water and Olara ran them out onto this until they were next to the edge. However, she did not intend that they stop there. She looked at Vasanta. “Your ability in the water is far below that of your companion. You will be allowed a short rest and then you will practice your swimming until your skill improves.”
“A warrior needs no skill in the water,” Vasanta retorted. “I fight on land.”
“I will decide what level of skills you require,” Olara replied. She turned to Shailaja. “It will be your duty to ensure that your companion learns proper technique. The faster she learns the quicker you will be spared this task.”
From her remarks it seemed that Olara understood the animosity that existed between the two women, a not surprising fact considering how little they did to disguise it. By now Shailaja was heartily sick of being chained to the Nahn princess, but it was something that seemed to amuse her captors.
Olara soon decided their break was over and Vasanta and Shailaja were urged into the water. By now the sun was up, promising the usual hot day, and although the water had cooled somewhat overnight, the top few feet were pleasantly warm. However, the temperature of the water was not Shailaja’s greatest concern, it was convincing Vasanta to accept her tutelage in the art of swimming.
It was not an easy task, but with Olara watching Shailaja managed to get Vasanta to attempt the techniques she demonstrated. The Nahn princess eventually managed to achieve an approximation of Shailaja’s stroke and once she found that she could not only swim more quickly, but also with less effort, she took to it well.
Olara, however, was relentless, insisting that they continue to practice for the rest of the morning. It would have been considerably easier if the chain connecting them had been removed, but that was not to be. As a result whenever Vasanta practiced her technique Shailaja had to swim alongside her.
With the arrival of
When they finally returned to the compound that was now their home they were both exhausted and more than ready to head for the baths and a rubdown from the attendants. Still connected by the chain they lay side by side and Shailaja took the opportunity to voice her thoughts about their training to Vasanta.
“There is something more to our training than what is being presented to us,” she said. She did not speak the common tongue not wishing the women rubbing sweet oils into their skins to understand her. In addition to the common tongue, Vasanta spoke her own language and a bit of Belusendran, and Shailaja used the latter to speak to her, knowing that they could not be understood.
At first Vasanta merely scowled, but finally curiosity got the better of her. “What do you mean?” she answered.
“Just this. Have you not noticed that we are the only slaves to wear these jeweled collars? And do you not think it strange that the Arms Mistress herself attends to our training? Surely she has better things to do than look after a pair of lowly gladiators.”
“I noticed that,” Vasanta agreed grudgingly. “I suspect the Hector is behind it. Have you any answer?”
“No, Shailaja admitted. “But it would be useful to keep our eyes and ears open. We might learn something of our fate.”
Vasanta said no more, but nodded her agreement. As it turned out they were given clues by their fellow trainees.
Although they were trained hard, there were times when they were allowed to relax, especially in the baths, where they bathed communally. The clue was delivered to them by two hulks called Tyros and Amba.
Both were fully trained gladiators and were formidable in appearance. Tyros was huge, standing a head taller than Shailaja and although Amba was only Vasanta’s height he seemed almost as wide as he was tall. They were lolling in the baths when Vasanta and Shailaja returned from another of their grueling workouts.
“Well, I see the Hector’s pets have returned from their run,” Tyros observed, from where he lay in the shallow end of the bathing pool. “Did Olara give you some raw meat as a reward?”
Shailaja did not like his sneering tone and her glare told him so, but he was undaunted, confident that a mere woman could do him no harm. “Look how she glares, Amba,” he laughed. “Can you imagine what it would be like to shove your staff into her?”
“I think I would prefer the dark-haired vixen,” Amba drawled, his eyes fixed on Vasanta. “I expect she would wiggle her backside most agreeably.”
“They’re not for the likes of either of you,” a blond-haired woman interjected. “The Hector’s going to put his brand on both of them once Olara’s got them properly house-trained.”
In spite of the fact that they were both exhausted from their day of training, Shailaja and Vasanta bristled at the casual and insulting discussion of their use. In spite of the restrictive chain connecting them they both stepped toward the two male gladiators, intent on taking matters into their own hands. They were only stopped when the blond warrior steeped between them. “Take care. There is no fighting among gladiators outside of the arena. You will be punished severely for such action.”
Both Shailaja and Vasanta knew all about severe punishment. They halted, but not before Vasanta expressed her opinion of the two male gladiators. “You are cowards who hide behind the rules. I look forward to the day when I will face you with a sword in hand.”
The taunt had Amba and Tyros on their feet, water dripping from their powerfully muscled bodies. However, they made no attempt to approach either of the two angry women, instead Amba laughed. “When that day comes I will have you on your back in less time than it takes to break a sweat. Then you will make a noise much more to my liking.”
Once again the blond gladiator intervened. “Enough foolishness,” he cautioned. “Do you welcome the stinger?”
By this time their posturing and angry shouts had drawn the attention of one of the guards. As he stepped toward them Tyros and Amba left the pool and Shailaja and Vasanta moved into the deeper waters. The encounter was over, but of more importance was what Shailaja and Vasanta had learned about their future. If what the blond gladiator had said was true, then they were intended for the personal use of the Hector, a man they had yet to meet. After what had been said it was something that neither of them were looking forward to. Vasanta and Shailaja exchanged a quick glance. Enemies they might be, but they were united in one purpose and that was to escape from Thar at the first opportunity. Waiting until the Hector turned his attention upon them might be too late.
However, they had little chance to even think of escape for the next moon. Each day Olara’s smiling face appeared and their strict training routine continued. At the end of that time Olara was apparently satisfied that they had reached a suitable level of fitness. It was then that they were allowed the use of weapons for the first time. This did not mean that they were excused from their daily run. It just meant that now they had something else to occupy them once they had finished.
Shailaja had to admit that she was fitter than she had ever been in her life, and she had thought herself fit before, but Olara had shown her that there was another level she was capable of reaching. She was now as lean and trim as a lioness and weighed several pounds less than when she had arrived.
The change was also easy to see in Vasanta. Before she had reminded Shailaja of a panther, and her sleek and powerful physique now resembled that beast even more. However, it had not lessened the hatred between them. The two warriors did not engage in idle conversation, and when they did converse it was short and to the point. In spite of their mutual bondage there was not the least feeling of companionship between them.
They were taken to a special training compound before being handed weapons. Shailaja was less than impressed with the quality of the blade she was given. However, it seemed that they were not going to be given real weapons until Olara was satisfied that they were competent to use them properly.
It took only a single training session before Olara was convinced of their abilities. In spite of the crudity of the swords they were given, they had no difficulty demonstrating their ability, completing the basic exercises asked of them with ease.
“I see you have some skill with weapons after all,” Olara commented. “Perhaps it is time to try you against a real opponent.”
“I look forward to it,” Shailaja replied, provided I am given something better than this useless chunk of iron.”
“A true warrior makes the best use of what she is given,” Olara retorted, but I have a match in mind for you. Tomorrow we will test your metal.”
Shailaja looked forward with some excitement to the following day, but not so much so that she did not get a good night’s sleep. She was not an unseasoned recruit; new to battle. However, when the day came she did not get quite the match she sought.
Still chained to Vasanta she entered the training area only to find it deserted except for Olara and two guards. She looked toward the Mistress of Swords curious as to whom she was to meet. To her annoyance Olara grinned. She ordered one of the guards to remove the chain from their collars and then tossed a pair of wooden practice swords on the sand between them. “Now,” she said, “show me what you can do.”
Shailaja looked at her in dismay, but had little choice in the matter as Vasanta darted in to pick up her blade. A moment more and she would have had to face her unarmed. Vasanta faced her with a confident little smile on her face. It was one of the few times Shailaja had seen that expression and knew that it was the intention of the Nahn princess to teach her a painful lesson if she could.
The wooden training swords with which they were armed would make it difficult to deliver a killing blow, but they were quite capable of breaking an arm or fracturing a skull. As usual they were nude other than their jeweled collars and a single covering for their loins. It consisted of a single length of cloth that was worn by being placed in the small of the back and then wound about the waist with one end falling in front and the other behind. It allowed some tantalizing glimpses of the exquisite area between their thighs as they went at one another, provided there was anyone other than Olara watching.
For a half turn of the hour glass, they hacked, slashed, and parried, until
even with their superb conditioning they were soon approaching the edge of
exhaustion. But neither would
give in to the other or admit that they were too tired to
continue. Shailaja, however,
had been in this situation before.
The victory did nothing to improve relations between the two women and when they were given permission to continue Vasanta was back for vengeance. To her continued chagrin and anger, however, Shailaja won again, and this time even more quickly. Twice more they went at it with the tall Kaltaran winning each time, until eventually Olara stepped forward.
“You are very quick,” the Arms Mistress commented, looking at Vasanta, but your opponent has spotted a weakness. She will win every time until you correct it.”
Olara’s observation was accurate. Shailaja’s experienced eye had noted that Vasanta leaned slightly in her efforts to overcome Shailaja’s longer reach. It gave her an unmistakable opening that Shailaja had quickly exploited. “Use your quickness and agility to stay out of the way and then close when your opponent has executed her attack. It is the only way you will ever win.”
It was sound advice, but Vasanta did not score against Shailaja until the third sparring session, finally delivering a stinging blow to her forearm as Shailaja struck and missed. Shailaja was not hurt, but she was irritated that Vasanta had scored against her. However, she was enough of a veteran to recognize that for all of her inexperience Vasanta’s skill with a blade was at the highest level.
However, there was one thing that Shailaja kept back from her captors and that was the fact that she could wield a sword with either hand. It was a secret she thought might be useful if the opportunity arose for an escape. Unfortunately, however, it prevented her from practicing the technique openly. She had to be content with going through the motions of her two-handed sword drill in the confines of her cell. It was something that Vasanta found somewhat peculiar.
“Why do you do that?” she demanded as Shailaja worked herself into a sweat. Vasanta was clearly annoyed at her tall companion especially as her movement at the end of the three yard chain connecting them made it hard for her to rest.
“In combat, as in all things,” Shailaja explained, “practice is critical. I may not have a pair of swords, but in my mind I do, and I intend to keep as sharp as I am able.”
Vasanta was tired, and knew that she faced another day or arduous training tomorrow, but she was not about to admit to any weakness in front of Shailaja. “All right then,” she said. “If you are going to deny me sleep, then show me what you are doing.”
Shailaja hid her surprise at Vasanta’s demand. It was the first time the Nahn princess had spoken to her about anything other than matters of routine or to issue threats of violence. “All right,” she answered. “I will show you. It will not be easy without real weapons, but I can show you how to stand and explain the basic movements.”
It was a slight break in the animosity between the two women, requiring that Vasanta control her temper and take instruction from Shailaja. It gave Shailaja hope that matters between them might yet improve.
They trained against one another for the next ten days. Most of the time Shailaja won, but occasionally Vasanta’s quickness got in a strike she could not avoid. Since they dueled only to the first touch neither of them was hurt much in this sparring, save for a few bruises, and on the tenth day Olara nodded her approval. “You have little you can learn from one another. It is time to put you up against something a little more challenging. Tomorrow you fight Tyros and Amba.”
Shailaja shrugged. In spite of Tyros’ imposing size and his boastful manner she had beaten men like him before. She had not seen him fight, but suspected like most big men he would rely more on his size and strength than his skill. She was not quite so sure about Amba. The man was big and strong, and in spite of his bulk she suspected he was quick.
Olara gave her a hard look. “You seem unimpressed. You may be interested to know that you and your companion have been promised to your opponents should either of them defeat you. Of course, it is just possible that you might enjoy losing even more than winning. Still, it is something for you to think about.”
Vasanta spat into the dust of the arena as Olara departed. “I would like to meet this great ruler they call the Hector,” she growled. “He has not even deigned to show us his face and yet he decrees that we may be taken like whores if we lose this fight.”
“It seems,” Shailaja mused, “that cooperation is forced on us whether we like it or not. We must find a way to escape this trap or we will be whored out on a regular basis.”
“Perhaps,” Vasanta agreed. “But not by either of those fools. I have a score to settle with both of them.”
In spite of the threat of once again being taken against their will, they both slept well that night. They arose early the next morning, but this time they were spared the usual pre-training run. Instead they were brought food and drink and then taken to the training area. Waiting for them were their two huge opponents and the equipment they would wear for the contest. What neither woman saw was the hidden alcove where the Hector of Thar sat.
Olara stood next to Guered-mal-Far as he sat overlooking the combat area. “You are sure of this, My Lord?” she asked.
“Why should I not be sure?” Guered answered.
“They are not like the others you have had in your stable,” Olara said. They are special. They adapted to the training faster than any I have trained.”
“Then what better way to test them than to try them out against Tyros and Amba?”
“I question putting them against anyone, My Lord. These two women are trained killers and were brutalized by their former owners. They might not take kindly to being promised to their adversaries should they lose.”
“I want them desperate,” Guered replied. “I want to see how they fight with something more than their hatred for one another on the line. Sending them up against Tyros and Amba will do that.”
“My Lord, we have already ascertained that they are faster with a blade than anyone else in your stables. I fear you may be out a property as a result of this contest.”
“They are using practice weapons,” Guered responded. “I see little chance of harm coming to anyone.”
“As you wish, My Lord,” Olara agreed. “But I hope you are happy with the consequences.”
Guered regarded his Arms Mistress fondly. He was almost tempted to invite her to his bedchamber for old times’ sake. However, he remembered that she was now married to his Sergeant-at-arms. It was probably better to leave things as they were. Besides, he had a dozen women in his harem who were more than willing to please him.
However, he knew from her tone that Olara was not pleased. The training of his gladiators and the members of his guard were her life and she hated to see any of her recruits injured unnecessarily. She had judged the two barbarians to be dangerous; however, Guered doubted that much damage would be done using the wooden practice swords. He raised his hand and signaled that the contest could begin.
In the arena below the four combatants faced the screened balcony as Olara stepped into view. Although the Hector was hidden, but they bowed as they had been taught to show their respect to the Sword Mistress.
They were all identically armed with practice swords fashioned from a tree called greenwood. It was a hard dense wood that actually matched the weight of a real sword. Although almost indestructible, its rounded edges and blunted point could not normally deliver a killing blow provided the combatants’ heads were properly protected. For this reason all of the warriors wore padded steel helmets that protected the head and the back of the neck. They were also equipped with elbow length leather gauntlets reinforced with metal studs, and padded, boiled-leather cuirasses, and their legs were guarded by leather greaves and thigh pads. Thus protected the four combatants faced off in the arena.
At least we don’t have to fight bare-breasted, Shailaja thought. She was less than happy with having Vasanta as a partner. The woman had agreed to stop trying to kill her, but that didn’t mean she might not watch while someone else tried to do it.
They faced off across the arena, waiting for Olara’s signal. Tyros grinned at her through his face guard. “In a few minutes, red, I’m gong to be between those long thighs. Why not make it easy on yourself. If I don’t have to beat you up too bad you might still be conscious when I enjoy you.”
“I doubt that I’d enjoy it whether I was conscious or not. I’d get a better fuck out of a camel,” Shailaja responded.
Beside her Shailaja could hear Vasanta stifle a chuckle. So she does have a sense of humour, she thought. She focused her attention on Amba. For all of his size, she guessed that Tyros was the less dangerous of the two men. Amba moved like a killer. She had seen warriors like that. She was one herself, as was Vasanta. There would be no posturing or dancing around when he fought; simply deadly purpose. Vasanta is in for a tough fight. It would be useful to keep her eye on her partner, but doubted that she would have the time until she finished with Tyros.
“Begin,” Olara signaled, dropping her arm. Shailaja and Vasanta moved quickly to the centre of the arena. Against an opponent the size of Tyros, keeping him from penning them in was critical. But Amba was there just a quickly. As Shailaja had surmised, he was quick, and as strong as either of them. And then Tyros lumbered into the fray.
As intended Shailaja engaged him while Vasanta attended to Amba. Confident of his size and strength, and seeing only a woman before him, Tyros charged forward, intent on overwhelming his smaller opponent by sheer force. He swung his sword two-handed in a blow that would have knocked Shailaja halfway across the arena if it had landed. However, Shailaja had survived a hundred battles throughout Vedra and she had not done so without learning how to survive so clumsy an assault.
Sidestepping to her left, she forced Tyros to turn, a position that would have left him open to an attack from Vasanta had not Amba been pressing her so strongly. As Shailaja had surmised, Amba was quick and had delivered a series of feints and blows that had Vasanta on the defensive. However, like Shailaja, she was not inexperienced in melee combat. Stepping back under Amba’s quick onslaught, she turned away one of his sword stokes and came back with a slashing attack that drove him back across the arena.
Refusing to let up, she continued the attack, swinging her blade two-handed and changing the direction of each blow so rapidly that he was forced to step back again and again until he was almost pressed to the wall of the arena. At that point he seemed to stumble, going to one knee. Vasanta pressed forward just as he came up and hurled a handful of arena sand into her eyes. It was an old trick, and one Vasanta should have seen coming, but it caught her off-guard and she scrambled back, blinded by grit and tears. She was wide open and her frantic blind attempts to survive by swinging her sword in front of her were useless. Amba batted aside her defence and drove in ready for the kill.
Seven yards away, Shailaja dealt Tyros a vicious cut across his left forearm, a blow that would have broken his arm had it not been for his armoured gauntlets. Cursing furiously, he backed away, giving himself space to recover.
Shailaja followed, looking for an opening that would bring down the tree-sized hulk she was fighting. Without a real sword, Tyros was not a man she could cripple with a single disabling blow. However, even as she followed she was aware of the flow of combat across the arena. She saw Vasanta drive Amba to the wall, saw him fall, and saw the flick of his hand as he threw the sand. It was with some surprise that she saw Vasanta disabled by the cheap trick and laid wide open for a blow that would have taken her out of the fight.
She reacted almost without thinking. Taking a step back she brought back her arm and sent her sword spinning across the arena. It flew end over end and struck Amba just as he readied his sword arm for a stroke that would have left Vasanta hors de combat.
Protected by his armour, Amba hardly felt the wooden sword as it glanced off his shoulder, but the surprising attack threw him off balance, spoiling his aim and allowing Vasanta to escape the intended blow. It gave her enough time to clear her vision and scamper back out of the way.
“Bastard,” she growled. “You'll wish you hadn’t done that,”
A few yards away Tyros stared in amazement at Shailaja, hardly believing that she had just thrown away her sword, but he was quick to take advantage of it. “I’m not sure what you’re up to, red, but you’ve just insured that I’m going to spread your legs.” He moved forward, his sword raised for the kill.
Defenceless, Shailaja backed away as Tyros closed in on her. Her desperate attempt to aid Vasanta had left her without a weapon. All she could do was retreat as her huge opponent tried to box her in. Her sword lay just yards away, but Tyros was careful to make sure that he kept her away from the wooden blade. Backing her up, he moved side to side, trying to run her out of room.
Shailaja danced away, hoping that Tyros would make some sort of mistake that would let her get to her sword, but the huge warrior was equally determined that she would not. He tracked her relentlessly, almost trapping her several times. Shailaja, however, always managed to skip away at the last instant, avoiding Tyros’ wicked swings by fractions of a finger length.
Frustrated, Tyros stalked her, trying to find someway of delivering a disabling blow. By the rules of the competition he did not actually have to injure her, just show that he could and have Olara declare him winner. Back and forth across the arena the cat and mouse game continued with Tyros becoming increasingly more frustrated. Twice Shailaja almost got to her sword and three times he almost cornered her, but each time the other was denied.
Just a few yards away, Vasanta and Amba still battled, but Tyros made no effort to help his partner, realizing that it would enable Shailaja to get to her sword. Instead he continued to pursue her, leaving Amba to deal with Vasanta.
He was almost staggering in the heat of the arena, but no more than anyone else. The sun’s rays reflecting from the floor and walls of the arena added to the general misery, pushing all of the fighters to the limit. It finally led Tyros to abandon his cautious approach. “Bloody bitch, stand still,” he raged. Swinging his sword in wide sweeps he charged toward her, hoping that what he had so far failed to do would be successful this time. But he was neither as successful nor as safe as he hoped he would be.
Shailaja ducked beneath his wild swing, dropping to the floor of the arena; and then seeing her chance, rolled toward him and used her legs to sweep him off his feet. Overbalanced, Tyros went down like a falling mountain, crashing to the ground just as Shailaja rolled out of the way. She was on her feet in an instant and moving to finish him before he could recover. For this she did not need a sword.
She struck at his throat, her fingers rigid as daggers and used in the same way. There was an ugly crunch as she shattered the larynx of her opponent and an even uglier gurgling sound as Tyros thrashed on the ground as he kicked out his life.
Several yards away, Vasanta and Amba were still locked in their duel, but the death throes of Amba’s partner caught their attention. Lowering her blade, Vasanta stepped away just as Olara shouted for them to stop.
The command was too late for Tyros. He had stopped moving by the time the Arms Mistress and the medical staff reached him. Olara knew death when she saw it. Glaring at Shailaja she motioned to the medics. “Take him out of here.”
She turned to Shailaja once more. “Return to your quarters.” She ordered, including Vasanta and Amba in her command. “Wait there until I send for you.”
Vasanta followed Shailaja back to the equipment room where they were stripped of their armour and their wooden practice swords were reclaimed. She was rankled by the fact that she had escaped a beating and further humiliation due to the actions of the redheaded barbarian. Even worse than agreeing to a temporary truce with her was the humiliation of having to be saved by her. What was she trying to accomplish? To throw away your sword in combat is an act of the greatest stupidity. Certainly she would have suffered had the woman not made the sacrifice, but it was a bizarre act of heroism.
“Why did you do that?” Vasanta demanded. “No true warrior would throw away her sword.”
“You are right,” Shailaja snorted. “I should have let Amba have his way with you.”
Reminding her of that made Vasanta even angrier, but their budding argument was halted when they were interrupted as they entered the baths. There were several other female gladiators there and they looked at Vasanta and Shailaja with interest. One of them, the tall blonde woman who had spoken with them before, waded toward them as she slipped into the water. “I hear that one of you killed Tyros, today.” She looked at Shailaja as she spoke; clearly indicating that she knew exactly who it was.
“What of it?” Shailaja asked. “He was a fool who would not have lasted a quarter turn of the glass on the battlefield.”
“I am Ladan,” said the woman said, extending her hand in apparent friendship. “From Lakzee. Tyros was not only a fool; he was a pig who abused women as I had the misfortune to find out. I congratulate you on your kill.”
Shailaja clasped her hand. “I am Shailaja of Kaltara. I am happy to have been of some service.”
“And this one?” Ladan asked, nodding her head toward Vasanta.
“My companion,” Shailaja answered, “Although as you see it is a forced companionship.” She gripped the chain that once again joined her to Vasanta.
For some reason Vasanta did not take the opportunity to accuse Shailaja of murder. Instead she introduced herself. “I am Vasanta, princess of Nahn.” She offered her hand and then sank back into the pool.
“You are quite the pair,” Ladan observed. “The Hector must be very pleased with you.”
“Why would he be?” Shailaja asked. “I just killed one of his best gladiators.”
Ladan smiled. “The Hector likes strong women. Olara was once his you know.”
“Olara?” Shailaja asked, surprised. “The Arms Mistress?”
“She bore him three children before he tired of her. But they still have a close relationship.”
“What is this to me?” Shailaja answered.
“Just this,” Ladan smiled, “I suspect he has you and your dark-haired friend in mind as replacements. You know that you are watched don’t you?”
“Watched? Of course we are watched. The Hector’s guards are everywhere.”
“I mean watched by the Hector,” Ladan grinned. “The gladiatorial quarters are riddled with spy-holes. “I expect that the Hector has had his eyes on you for most of your stay here. You are rather impressive.”
Shailaja found herself looking around the area of the pool. Ladan laughed. “You won’t see him, but rest assured he has almost certainly been watching you. I have no doubt he will soon want an even better view of you.”
Shailaja did not care for her tone or her suggestion, but was glad of the information. It filled her with further resolve to escape. And now she had a plan; one that had come to her during the last few days. It was somewhat desperate, but Ladan’s words galvanized her. It was clear that if she did not act now she might never get the chance.
Wary of the fact that the Hector might be watching, Shailaja moved away from the other women, dragging Vasanta after her. She stopped next to a place where water splashed into the baths from some unknown source and told the Nahan princess of her idea. Much to her surprise Vasanta made not the slightest objection. “Let us do it,” she said. “The sooner we are out of here the better.”
“Tomorrow then,” Shailaja said. “Tomorrow we leave Thar.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but I believe I warned you.”
Guered-mal-Far watched as the attendants dragged Tryos’ body from the arena. “You did, Olara, and I should have listened,” Guered replied. “That was an incredible waste of a good gladiator. And it told me nothing that I really did not know. It is time to put them to the real test.”
“How soon, my lord?”
“Since neither of them seems to have suffered in the latest debacle have them ready for the next games.”
“That would be in just three days,” Olara said. “But I see no problem. There is little to teach those two.”
“Then I leave it to you,” Guered said, rising from his chair. “In three days the two barbarians will begin to pay for their keep.”
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