Tales of Erogenia

 

Episode 1: The Snow Princess

 

Chapter 14:  Arena

 

Food was brought to Zenaria shortly after she was placed in the cell, but she never saw who brought it.  It was pushed through a small opening at the bottom of the door along with a cup of wine.  Surprisingly, it was quite good wine and the food was a good as anything she had been brought in the tower room.  Apparently being thrust into the dungeons did not mean that she was to be denied proper meals. 

 

She ate and drank, and then with nothing else to do she tried to relax.  Sleep however, did not come easily.  She had been spared rape, but was what she faced much better?  She would be forced to go up against an unknown opponent.  But what then?  What was at stake and how many would she have to fight?  The thoughts kept her awake most of the night. 

 

Toward morning, or what she supposed was morning, there was a rattling outside her door.  Once again food and drink was pushed through the opening and Zenaria ate all of it.  There was no telling when she would be fed again, and as warrior she needed to keep up her strength.  With nothing better to do Zenaria composed herself, sitting cross-legged on the sleeping mat and waited for events to transpire.

 

She was less relaxed than her pose made her appear.  But after her mostly sleepless night, she found it easier to relax than she had thought it would be.  However, she was not given time to fully compose herself before footsteps sounded in the hall.  The door was thrown back and two guards stood in front of the door. 

 

One stood back and watched while the other entered the cell.  Producing a key he unlocked the chain from the collar around her neck, but left the collar where it was.  “Out, barbarian, and don’t think about escaping; there is no way past the other guards.”

 

Zenaria remembered the long blindfolded walk and the sounds of numerous doors being unlocked and then locked behind her.  She was almost certainly deep underground, probably in the lower levels of the Thuski’s private dungeons.  There were no doubt numerous guards between her and freedom.  She decided to cooperate and see where the guards took her. 

 

“This way, barbarian.”  He motioned down the corridor and pushed her in that direction.  Zenaria had to restrain the impulse to slam her fist into his smirking face, keeping in mind that she was nude and weaponless.  She also kept in mind that if what Tren said was true, both guards were probably eunuchs and had little personal interest in her beyond escorting her to where she was supposed to go.

 

The corridor was unlit, the torches of the guard providing the illumination as she was marched steadily forward.  The corridor ran on far beyond what she expected.  She passed door after door, wondering just how many people the Thuski kept imprisoned until she finally found herself in front of another door. 

 

The guards grinned at her.  “Good luck barbarian,” one of them said.  He pulled back the heavy bolt on the door and threw it open, motioning that she should proceed.

 

With no other option, she moved through the door and found herself in a small chamber.  It appeared that she had merely exchanged one cell for another.  The door slammed behind her, leaving her in total darkness.  There was just one strange difference.  The floor beneath her had changed from stone to sawdust, however, alone in complete darkness once again she shrugged and lowered her body to the sawdust and waited once again.

 

With no way to keep track of time, and nothing to do the wait seemed to stretch on endlessly, so it was with some interest that Zenaria detected a noise that seemed to be coming straight through the wall.  The noise was quickly identifiable as the sound of a number of people talking, and then the wall in front of her rose into the air, revealing a large well-lit open space.  As the sound of voices increased, there was no doubt that there was a large gathering of people surrounding the open space. 

 

Zenaria stepped forward and the wall closed behind her leaving her in a large sawdust-covered area.  She squinted as the light stuck her eyes; she had been in darkness so long that she had a hard time adjusting, but gradually her vision cleared. 

 

 “What is this place?” she muttered.  She was standing in a large circular enclosure about thirty yards across with walls about fifteen feet high above which were situated row upon row of stone seats, all of which were crowded with spectators.  Then she noticed that one section of the seating area was considerably more elaborate than the others.  Not surprisingly it was occupied by Ravar Kund.  As Zenaria stared up at him he raised his hand for attention. 

 

“Friends,” he shouted, as the crowd quieted.  “We have a bit of a treat today.  In the arena is a wild Erogenian barbarian.  She is reputed to be as fierce in combat as she is beautiful, something that will be proven today.”

 

A coarse shout followed Kund’s address.  “Looks like she’s more suited for the harem than the arena.  I’ll pay you a hundred gold for her.” 

 

Zenaria looked in the direction of the speaker and saw a man wearing robes so heavily embroidered with gold thread that he actually shone like the sun. 

 

“I’ll tell you what, Tanar,” Kund replied.  “I’ll put five hundred gold on her to last out this day.”

 

“Done,” Tanar responded, “but it seems a waste of woman-flesh.  I could spend an eternity between those thighs.”

 

“I suspect even the High Thuski might find sleeping with someone who is likely to bite off his manhood a bit daunting.” Kund returned.  “It is small wonder that the barbarian is still a virgin.”

 

“Is she now?” Tanar asked.  His voice betrayed more than common interest.  “And you haven’t forced yourself on her?  That seems unusual given your nature.” 

 

“My nature does not stoop to rape.  I have never taken a woman against her will.”

 

Tanar snorted.  “That is because they have been so terrified of you that none have dared refuse.  Is the barbarian the first?”

 

“You abuse your position and my hospitality with your coarse assertions,” Kund replied angrily.  “Even the High Thuski should display common courtesy.”

 

“I apologize, Lord Kund,” Tanar responded.  “We should not argue over something as unimportant as a barbarian, and a women at that.  After all she is merely one form of entertainment or another.”

 

The comments of her supposed master and the High Thuski had Zenaria fuming, but she was in no position to do anything about it.  She could only wait and see what was to come.

 

Kund returned to his seat and a hush fell over the crowd.  Zenaria looked around expectantly wondering what was about to happen.  There was a low rumbling sound and on the other side of the area a partition was raised.  A large shape loomed out of the darkness and stepped into the light of the arena.  He stood blinking in the sudden light just as Zenaria had.  He was a powerfully built man wearing nothing but a brief loincloth.  His swarthy body was marked with scars, indicating that he had been involved in numerous combats.  As his eyes caught sight of her and he smiled and licked his lips. 

 

“A woman,” he grunted.  “What did I do to deserve this?  Aroo be praised.”  He looked expectantly toward Kund who grinned down at him.

 

“A special prize for you today, Gundar.  Defeat her without killing her and she is yours.”

 

Gundar bowed, his hand on his heart.  “You are generous, Excellency.  I will remember you while I enjoy her.”

 

Kund rose to his feet once more.  In his hand he held two swords.  “To your places,” he said.

 

Gundar moved back to the wall of the arena, his body bent in a sprinting position, the heel of one foot touching the wall.  It was at that moment Zenaria suddenly realized what Kund was going to do.  Her lips tightened in a grim smile and she touched her heel to the wall. 

 

Kund arced the swords through the air.  Kund had aimed for the approximate centre of the arena and Gundar was moving before they even landed. 

 

Zenaria beat him by two full strides and in a single motion scooped up both blades.  Gundar slid to a halt, a look of complete surprise and consternation on his face; a look that quickly turned to rage and then fear as he realized he was completely defenceless against a barbarian warrior four inches taller than he was.  Laughing, Zenaria hefted the weapons, flipping them into the air and catching them as they came down.  It had been all too easy.  What sort of warrior did Kund think she was?

 

A quick look at the blades told her something else.  Except for their points they were unsharpened hunks of low-grade iron, almost incapable of holding an edge.  “What am I supposed to do with these, Lord Kund, bludgeon this fool to death?”

 

Laughter from the stands greeted this comment.  “The barbarian bitch has a tongue on her,” Kund,” Tanar jibed.  “Perhaps it should be put to use where it can do the most good.  How much do you want for her?”

 

“I will have her win my bet first,” Kund replied angrily.  It was more than apparent that he reacted poorly to barbarian slaves with a sense of humour.   He glared at Zenaria and then at Gundar.  “Kill that fool.”

 

Gundar fell to his knees, but he made no move to run away, not that the narrow confines of the arena would have given him any place to hide.  In the tradition of the gladiator he knelt and waited for Zenaria to deliver the death blow.

 

Disgustedly Zenaria tossed the swords into the sawdust.  “Kill him yourself.”

 

“The barbarian bitch needs a flogging,” Tanar shouted.  “Sell her to me and I will attend to it personally.  I will pay you double our bet.”

 

“If anyone flogs her it will be me,” Kund growled.  “But first she will win my five hundred gold.”  He signalled and the sliding door that had admitted Gundar was raised again and a second man stepped into the arena.  He was as tall as Zenaria and wore a studded leather harness that crisscrossed his torso, but like Gundar he was unarmed.  “I suggest you pick up one of those swords, barbarian.  You will need it.”  He tossed a third blunted sword into the arena which landed at the feet of the man who had just entered. 

 

Gundar stepped forward, with a grin he picked up both blades.  “Too late,” he grinned. You should have killed me when you had the chance.” 

 

The second man had already picked up his sword.  He looked first at Zenaria and then at Gundar.  “If she lives, I take her first.”

 

Gundar nodded.  “Sure, Dehn.  Just leave enough of her alive for me.”

 

Zenaria now understood the blunted swords.  Kund didn’t want her killed, he wanted her beaten and captured and then subjected to brutal ordeal at the hands of his gladiators. At best the Thuski was little more than a voyeuristic thug. 

 

The two gladiators came directly at her, completely lacking in subtlety.  It was a normal reaction when confronting a single unarmed nude woman even if she was a barbarian. 

 

Zenaria had never seen two warriors move more clumsily.  A twelve-year-old warrior of the Snow Leopard could have beaten them.  She took them out in seconds through the simple expedient of kicking Dehn between the legs, twisting the sword from his hand even as he clutched at his genitals, and slamming the blunted blade into the side of Gundar’s head.  The heavyset gladiator toppled sideways, blood streaming from a gaping wound. 

 

The crowd reacted in stunned silence, and then there was the sound of a single audience member slowly clapping his hands.  “Well, Kund,” Tanar’s sardonic voice sneered, “it appears you may yet win your five hundred gold.  “What else do you have planned?”

 

Kund gestured and the doors opened again, however this time no armed men appeared, instead two unarmed men entered, and crossing the arena dragged the two gladiators, one still, gasping in pain, from the arena.  They also took the other weapons, leaving Zenaria holding her crude sword.  “Hmm,” she muttered.  “Perhaps I should have made that look a bit more difficult.”  It had suddenly occurred to her that there was nothing to stop Kund from sending fighter after fighter against her in increasing multiples until she was eventually either worn down through sheer exhaustion or overwhelmed by superior numbers. 

 

She appeared to have guessed Kund’s intentions correctly.  The door opened again, admitting a man that by any definition was truly stupendous.  His physical proportions dwarfed Zenaria, standing at least a foot taller than she was and probably weighing three times as much.  He was not Sandakar, his features completely unlike any person Zenaria had ever seen.  His face was dark, not black like, Sorvat, but closer to the colour of the spice called cinnamon that Tren had pointed out in the market.  His body was covered with tattoos depicting serpents; they writhed down his body, encircling his arms and thighs, and even extending to his face.  He was armed with a single weapon, a huge mace, studded with sharp iron spikes.  A single blow would be all that was needed to crush her completely.  Strips of leather studded with bronze were wound around his arms, and legs, as well as his torso.  They offered some protection against a slashing weapon, although a straight thrust would find his flesh. 

 

Unfortunately the crude sword that Zenaria held had no more chance of being used as a thrusting weapon than a garden hoe.  It was a clear mismatch, and the hushed hush that fell over the crowd as the monstrous gladiator entered was clear proof of that.  Only Tanar spoke up.  “Kund, what kind of a contest is this?  The girl can have no chance against a beast like Krang.”

 

Kund laughed mirthlessly.  “Are you going to withdraw your wager?  I would expect no more from a man of so little honour.”

 

“It is you who are sullied by this display,” Tanar rejoined.  “I thought you at least would match the barbarian girl against opponents who were at her level.”

 

There was a murmur of agreement, but Kund did not relent.  “Take her, Krang.  She is yours to do with as you wish should you take her alive.”

 

“Uhh!” Krang grunted.  “She will live, but she will wish she had not.  I’ll split her tight cunt like a piece of kindling.”

 

Zenaria stared calmly at her gigantic opponent.  The first rule of battle was never to allow fear to rule.  She faced death, or worse, but giving into panic would almost certainly guarantee defeat.  She could not hope to match Krang’s strength.  If she was to survive she would have to use superior skill to bring him down.

 

“You mine, bitch,” Krang said as he moved toward her. 

 

“Not yet,” Zenaria replied as she moved away from him.  She studied him carefully, looking for any weakness that she might exploit.  In spite of his huge size, Krang was light on his feet, as she suspected he would be.  Even someone as big as he was could not depend entirely on steer strength and power to defeat all opponents.  She would just have to hope that he had never come up against anyone as quick as she was and that his overconfidence would give her a chance to defeat him.

 

There was at least one factor in her favour.  It became immediately obvious that Krang wanted her alive, and his first crude comment had left little doubt about why.  Lust twisted his features as he lunged toward her, balancing lightly on his toes.  He resembled some huge demonic dancer, terrifying in appearance, and intent on brutally tormenting her in front of the assembled audience.

 

Zenaria continued to move away.  In this, she was helped by the size of the arena.  A good thirty paces across, and circular in shape, it would be difficult for Krang to corner her and there was lots of room for her to avoid any mad rush he might make at her.

 

She soon found that simply backing up was not good enough.  Krang suddenly lunged toward her, covering the intervening space in just three huge strides.  His speed was astonishing, and had she not been expecting such a tactic he would certainly have gotten close enough for him to catch her. 

 

He held his mace like a staff, intending to simply knock her down and then leap on top of her, using his superior size and strength to bend her to his will.  Zenaria darted to one side, and then stepped past him, striking at the back of his knee with all of her strength as she did so.

 

Her aim was good, but the blunted sword did not cut through the leather strips that were wound around his leg.  Her blow was deflected and instead of hamstringing him she mere made him angry.

 

“Aaawwrr!” Krang growled.  He whirled and swung his huge mace where Zenaria had been.  “You bitch.  I hurt you.”  He came at her, his club arcing through the air. 

 

The blow was too quick for her to avoid by stepping back.  Instead she leapt as high as she could, striking at his wrist as the club passed under her. 

 

Krang seemed to lose all control.  The blow to his wrist seemed not to bother him at all, but now he attacked without the least hint of finesse, sweeping his mace from side to side.  Zenaria dodged back.  Each swing of Krang’s weapon described an arc of about ten feet and her only chance was stay as far away from him as possible. 

 

She danced nimbly back, using to her advantage the fact that each of Krang’s swings left him slightly off-balance and cut into his forward momentum.  It enabled her to retreat faster than he could advance, until with a howl of rage he charged right at her.  She escaped only by ducking under his attack and once again darting behind him, but she still managed a cut with her sword as she skipped away from him.  This time she changed her target, and her sword blade struck his Achilles tendon. 

 

Krang howled with rage.  Had Zenaria had a properly sharpened weapon, it would have severed the tendon, but even so it left him limping.  “Bitch!” he screamed.  “I not fuck you.  I kill you.”

 

He proceeded very hard to try to do just that.  But his injury seemed to slow him just enough that Zenaria was able to keep up her deadly game of mouse fleeing the cat.  But it was a close thing.  Not since she had been humiliated by Garrod had she been so close to exhaustion.  There was no shade in the arena except near one of the walls where there was a patch of shadow.  However, there was no way that Zenaria could take advantage of that, and the sweat streamed from her body. 

 

However, she was not the only one suffering.  Krang was staggering with exhaustion, his enraged rushes having taken much more out of him than Zenaria’s controlled responses to his attacks. “Get you bitch,” he gasped, charging toward her once more.  This time as Zenaria managed to once more avoid him, he went down, falling to his knees, his mace lowered. 

 

It was the opportunity Zenaria had been waiting for and she leapt to the attack, her crude sword raised.  Only at the last instant did she catch the gleam in Krang’s eyes.  She had just enough self-control left to shift her body away from the mace as it came up with incredible speed.  Krang was down, but he was not yet out. 

 

“Bitch,” he gasped again.  He lurched to his feet, his chest heaving.  For a second sweat dripped into his eyes and he raised a forearm to wipe it away.  It wasn’t much of an opening, but it Zenaria took full advantage of it.  She took two steps forward and swinging with both hands cracked her sword across the lower wrist of the hand that held the mace. 

 

Again, the dullness of the blade prevented a cut that should have taken his hand off, but it achieved its purpose.  Krang howled in agony, the mace dropping from numbed fingers, and clutched at his shattered wrist.  His eyes wide in disbelief and fear, he backed away from Zenaria. 

 

She followed.  For all of his howling, the injury was slight.  She needed to finish him off while she had the chance and not prolong the fight, but at that moment Kund’s voice rang out.  “Hold!  I’ll not have a barbarian bitch damage my best fighter.”

 

“Not your best fighter anymore,” Tanar laughed.  “Looks like the barbarian is.”

 

Zenaria halted.  Staggering from the heat and exertion, she was not in condition to pursue the fight much farther, and she allowed Krang to lurch toward the now open door that had admitted him to the arena.  “What now, Kund?” Tanar’s mocking voice asked.  “She looks like even the stable boy could take her now.”

 

Kund motioned angrily.  Several gates around the side of the arena opened, admitting a flood of guards.  They surrounded her with a hedge of steel, pinning her in the centre of the arena.  “Chain her, and take her out of here.  But make sure she is well treated.  I want her ready for next week.”  He turned to Tanar.  “A challenge, Tanar.  My champion, the barbarian against yours.  First to draw blood three times wins and the loser is forfeit to the winner.”

 

“Tempting,” Tanar replied.  “I will take your bet.  Your barbarian is much better than I had imagined, but still no match for my fighter.”

 

“Agreed then before witnesses,” Kund finished. 

 

Zenaria dropped her sword.  She offered no resistance as she was chained.  As she was led from the arena the last thing she saw was Kund’s face glowering down at her.

---

PREVIOUS CHAPTER WIZARD'S LAIR MAIN PAGE   L'ESPION'S STORY PAGE   NEXT CHAPTER