Part 21 (1/2)
Chapter Fifteen.
Lock tried his best to ignore the looks of anger and hurt Sparrow flung at him as they followed Daryn through the palace halls. He knew she hated the thought of seeing Miska again, but Lock wanted to measure the man's fighting skill. If his plan worked, Sparrow would have, without danger to herself, the revenge she so desired. Outside, a carriage waited. The Empress invited Sparrow to ride inside with her while Lock followed on foot along with the two effeminate servants.
Sparrow's got more muscle than they do, he thought with disgust. Even when out of the Empress's presence, the men walked with their gazes cast down, their expressions impa.s.sive.
”So what are these games like?” Lock asked.
The slave closest to him replied in scarcely a whisper.
”What's that?” Lock spoke louder.
”Shhh!” The other man shot Lock a furious look. ”Do you want to get us punished?”
Lock raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice to a mock whisper, ”So what are these games like?”
”Any man can compete in the games, even slaves if their mistresses allow,” the first said. ”It's the Empress's favorite kind of entertainment, other than making love.”
”Brawling and s.e.x. Wonder if she's related to my mother?” Lock muttered.
The slave continued, ”The winners of the games earn prizes. A skilled gladiator can become very wealthy.”
”So Miska must be rich?”
”Miska is the Empress's most revered fighter. No one has beaten him since he arrived a year ago.”
”So anyone can challenge him, then?”
”No. That would only waste his time. A fighter begins in the lower ranks and works his way up.”
Lock's brow furrowed. ”That could take a while.”
”Is your mistress interested in sending you to the games? Is that why you're asking so many questions?”
”I don't think that's what she has in mind.”
”Pity.” The slave's large, dark eyes raked Lock from head to foot, lingering over the crotch of his soft leather pants. ”You look like you'd do well. Will you be staying at the palace? You could share my room in the slave quarters.”
The slightest smile touched Lock's lips as he glanced away. ”I'm too old and wise for you, boy.”
”Will you both be silent!” The second slave snapped. ”The Empress will-”
”You be silent!” Lock's admirer glared at his companion. ”He was simply asking a question. It's only common courtesy to answer.”
”Would you show him the same courtesy if he looked like a pantry rat instead of a breeding bull?”
”Quiet, both of you!” Lock raised his eyes to heaven.
”There's the ring,” the slaves chimed.
Lock stared at the square stone building on the cliff at the edge of the city.
Outside, several horses stood fastened to posts, stable boys tending them. Men and women mingled and entered the building through two wide wooden doors held open by guards dressed in red silks and chain mail with swords at their hips.
The carriage stopped, and the two slender slaves hurried to a.s.sist their Empress down the steps. One of them-the annoying one who kept motioning for silence-offered Sparrow his hand, but Lock b.u.mped him with his hip, sending him stumbling into the mud by the carriage wheel. Lock extended his own hand to Sparrow.
Her mouth opened in shock as she glanced at the little servant who pushed himself to his feet, brus.h.i.+ng dirt from his white tunic and firing an enraged look at Lock.
The Empress glanced over her shoulder at the slave. ”Theodore, will you stop being so clumsy! Pay more attention to Namir. See how nicely he carries himself?”
The other slave looked down his nose at his companion and offered Lock an enticing smile. Lock curled his lip, Can't wait to get out of this crazy city and back in the ocean where there's sanity. Typhoons and tidal waves, but sanity.
The Empress strolled to the entrance, her slaves behind her.
”Lock, why did you do that?” Sparrow whispered as they followed Daryn.
”You should have tried walking with those two. They could make a monk turn murderer.”
Sparrow tilted her head. ”I think they're kind of cute. They look like little matching candlesticks.”
”One of them offered to share his bed with me if we stayed at the palace.”
”Why is it that everyone wants to bed you down?”
”It's my masculine prowess. I've got virility flowing out of my a.r.s.e...”
”Stop it!” She half giggled, half hissed. The man was incorrigible. ”I still don't know why you wanted to come here.”
”I'll explain in good time.”
They stepped inside the building and found themselves in a narrow corridor with a stairway leading upward. Namir stood at the landing, beckoning them. At the top, they found themselves in a balcony running along the perimeter of the building, several feet above the vast room below. A single row of chairs lined the balcony, all filled with onlookers-lords and ladies judging by their dress. The room below had a dirt floor, one tiny section separated by iron bars that created a cage in front of an oak door. Two guards, heavily armored and carrying spears, stood inside.
Sparrow sat beside the Empress, Lock, Theodore, and Namir behind them.
”The gladiators enter through there,” Namir whispered, pointing to the guarded door.
Theodore raised a finger to his lips, pretended to stamp his foot, and cast a worried glance at the Empress.
Namir looked disgusted but fell silent.
At a cheer from the crowd, Lock focused his complete attention on the room below. A burly blond flung open the door and rushed to the center of the floor. A tall, muscular, dark-skinned man followed. Both wore leather trousers, metal chest plates, arm bands, and helmets. They attacked each other, the blond aiming his fist at the darker man's face, the darker one dodging the blows and kicking his opponent in the stomach, knocking him onto his back. The blond leapt to his feet as the dark man kicked again, his heel smas.h.i.+ng downward. For several moments, the men traded blows until the dark one wrestled his heavyset match to the dirt. The sound of snapping bone followed by the blond's bellow of pain echoed through the arena. The lords and ladies cheered.
Sloppy fighting, Lock thought, very sloppy. If they're all like this, no wonder Miska is the favorite.