Part 21 (2/2)
The next match was little better than the first, but with the third, the fighting became cleaner, more intricate. The later warriors performed unique moves with accuracy, strength, and speed. Lock took a step closer to the edge of the balcony as his interest rose. Namir touched his arm.
Lock glanced at the young slave who shook his head and whispered, ”Stay here.”
Lock nodded, shrugging his hand off. The men fighting below were worthy entertainment. Their movements reminded Lock of the skills he'd learned from the clan when he'd been s.h.i.+pwrecked. Still, Lock knew by watching he'd have beaten every man in the Empress's arena.
Below, two fighters, a redhead and a man with a black beard, grappled in the b.l.o.o.d.y dirt. Suddenly the redhead snapped the bearded man's neck. He dropped the body and staggered to his feet, blood streaking his face so it looked as red as his hair. The crowd roared, and he stumbled from the arena while the guards cleared away the body. Several servant boys hurried to rake the b.l.o.o.d.y dirt in preparation for the next fight.
”This is the last of the day,” the Empress said to Sparrow. ”Miska is my favorite warrior. He's fighting a gladiator owned by one of my cousins. She thinks her man will win, but she's been saying that for the past six months. Miska has killed more than a dozen of her slaves. You'd think she'd just give up and admit I've found the greatest warrior on the continent, perhaps the world.”
Lock felt his skin p.r.i.c.kle. We'll see about that...
A tall, thickly muscled warrior, his head shaved to reveal a tattooed scalp, strode into the arena. He wore a leather skirt and a metal breastplate. Knee-high leather boots covered his feet, and he carried a short, double-edged sword. Lock's interest piqued. Thus far, none of the gladiators had carried weapons.
A shout of animal fury echoed throughout the building as Miska charged through the door directly at his opponent. The favored gladiator's long red hair snapped behind him, his face a mask of fury as he skillfully swung his great sword. Blow upon blow struck his opponent, but the tattooed man blocked and countered with strength and agility. Miska whirled, the blade grazing his opponent's face, drawing blood from his cheek.
Lock felt his fists clench at the speed and power of the blows. He glanced at Sparrow, noticed the tension on her face, and felt guilty for asking her to come. Still, he had to know the extent of Miska's skill.
The fight lasted longer than the others, and even the crowd was uncharacteristically quiet as they stared in fascination at the men. Their muscled arms glistened with sweat and their grunts and battle cries filled the arena. The tattooed one showed the first signs of tiring while Miska appeared fresh as when he'd first stepped into the ring. He pressed his advantage, raining teeth-jarring blows until he knocked the sword from the tattooed man's hand. A collective gasp sounded from the crowd as Miska spun, slas.h.i.+ng his sword across his opponent's throat. The gladiator collapsed, his head half severed from his shoulders, blood pooling beneath his body.
Sparrow dropped to her seat, her hand gripping the wooden edge of the balcony.
The Empress turned to her with a smile. ”Exciting, isn't it?”
”I have to go,” Sparrow said.
”Wait! Will your man be entering my compet.i.tion?”
Sparrow glanced at Lock, her face pale. He resisted the urge to hold her and said, ”I can perform for her.”
”Yes. He'll enter.” Sparrow bowed to Daryn and hurried down the steps, Lock behind her.
Chapter Sixteen.
”Sparrow!”
Sparrow glanced at Lock, realizing for the first time he'd been speaking to her. She couldn't keep her mind off Miska. How he'd looked in the arena-so savage and overpowering-just as she remembered him when he'd murdered Thea.
”I said do you have money? We have to stop by the market before we go. I need something to wear in the compet.i.tion.”
”Lock, what exactly do you plan to do in the compet.i.tion? The only songs I've ever heard you sing are those awful rhymes.”
”I'm going to dance.”
”Dance?” Sparrow wrinkled her nose. ”Not like you did at the house for those women?”
”I was just playing then. Every Archipelago wh.o.r.e learns the Daggers of Desire from the time he can walk.”
”Lock, you're not-”
”Do you want me to win this or not?”
”Do you really think you can?” Sparrow couldn't disguise her hope. If he won his freedom, it would be like a dream.
”If I didn't think I could win, I wouldn't suggest entering. Now, I have to find some clothes.”
”What kind of clothes?”
He smiled, and as they entered the market, she was almost sorry she'd asked.
”But I want to watch this.” Sparrow placed her hands on her hips as she stared at Lock who stood in the center of the barn. Tools and animals had been pushed into corners or sent out to pasture while he practiced for the Empress's compet.i.tion.
A muslin cloak draped Lock's tall frame, his face concealed by a veil-like hood that left only his pale eyes visible. The muslin was for practice, since during the dance Lock would slash his clothing with daggers. For the compet.i.tion, they had bought yards of sheer black and blue silk. Sparrow had nearly choked on the price, but Lock insisted the costume must be right for the dance to be effective. To Sparrow's curiosity, they'd also bought a tight-fitting black loincloth and several strips of leather.
”For the last time, no.”
”Why not?”
”Leave us alone!” Shea-Ann shooed Sparrow with a wave of her hand. ”I'm dying to see a yak dance.”
Sparrow glared at Lock and pointed at her old nanny. ”Why does she get to watch?”
”Because I might be rusty and I need someone to tell me how the movements look.”
”I could tell you.”
”He's probably afraid you'll change your mind about the compet.i.tion if you watch,” Shea-Ann said. ”I can only imagine what this slab of sea sc.u.m is going to do.”
”You'd better watch closely, hag, because what you're about to see is probably better than any rutting you've ever had.”
Shea-Ann cast him a look that said she didn't quite believe him.
”Lock!”
”Sparrow, will you just go sew the leather to the loincloth like I showed you? And that silk needs to be hemmed.”
”I am not a seamstress!”
”Do you want me to win or don't you?”
”I want to watch you dance!”
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