The Gladiatorial Games had been going on all day. Long hours of hearing battles going on over head – armor clashing, weapons firing, crowd cheering – had seen fit to give Terala a headache. Well, either that or the tight braid she put her hair in before battle. She flexed her hand, stretching the long fingers back as far as they would go. Her first battle would be soon. When evening began to fall, and they opened the overhead dome, she would fight. It was that battle that marked the change from the second class gladiators to the first. It was when the Phaezor and his entourage would arrive.

“Readying for battle, my love?” Ariax’s voice startled her. She could see him in her mirror, standing at the doorway to her changing room. She bared her teeth at him in what might pass for a smile.

“Don’t you have someone else to go bother?”

“Why would I want to be elsewhere, when the most beautiful woman in the world is here?” he asked.

Once, she’d found that charming. Now, it was tiring. “Leave me alone, Ariax. I’m not your mistress.”

“Oh, but you are,” he smiled. He was a handsome man. He was Malvan, like she was. The pinnacle of years of breeding and beauty. Like she was. They had a lot in common. “You, my Golden Lady, belong to the winner of the games. And I always win.”

“Ha. Tarrec wins nearly as often as you do. And – that fiction goes no further than the walls of the Arena. You know it.”

He frowned briefly. “Tarrec doesn’t win that often. And I’ll win tonight,” he smiled again. “The Phaezor is holding a fete tonight for the winner and the Golden Lady. At the palace. Which is, you will note, outside the walls of the Arena.”

Her heart began to sink. “You’ll keep your paws to yourself,” she told him.

“I’ll be as much a gentleman as anyone else at the fete,” he promised, his hand over his heart. Knowing the Phaezor’s parties, there wasn’t likely to be much gentlemanliness there. More like a lot of groping and writhing. Which the guests of honor would be expected to partake in.

“Terala Shain, Terala Shain, Terala Shain,” an Arena runner caroled out. “Terala Shain!” The little white furred humanoid skidded to a stop at her door. “Your battle with Malachite begins!”

Normally, knowing she was fighting against a worthy opponent like Malachite would make her happy. At the moment, she couldn’t ignore the emptiness in the pit of her stomach.

“I hope Tarrec wins,” she said.

“He won’t.” Ariax was far too certain.

And then she was off, bustled by the runner towards the Arena. She took a deep breath and clenched her fists tight, before releasing them. It was time to dance.

Drogen had been watching the games all day from Tateklys private balcony. He was itching from inaction.”No, not yet, my dear boy,” was all Tateklys would say. “That competitor is hardly worthy of you. No, you’ll fight Tren Tarrec Dazeur or Ariax Thone. No one less.”

Drogen snorted. Tateklys was so sure of him. He had no idea why. It wasn’t like the Malvan had seen him fight. He’d simply offered him a contract, gotten him kitted out, and taught him the rules of the Arena. With no real questions.

“Ah,” Tateklys said, leaning forward and looking down at the Arena. “At last.”

Drogen followed his gaze, and nearly lost his breath.

“Three Godesses of Mercy.” The long legged warrior striding onto the sands looked like something out of legend. Her golden braid whipped out behind her like a living thing. Golden skin shone under the lights of the Arena. She wore ancient armor, like that Drogen had seen before only on statues. A short gladiator’s skirt left her legs plenty of room for motion. She looked like one of the Three Goddesses.

“And there’s Malachite, too,” Tateklys said with satisfaction.

“Malachite?” Drogen hadn’t noticed the other gladiator entering the Arena. He was quite large, nearly as large as Drogen himself. And completely green.

“A decent gladiator,” Tateklys said. “Not the best, but quite respectable.”

“Who is she?” Drogen asked, looking again at the golden colored woman.

“The Golden Lady, they call her. Terala Shain, a Malvan by birth. She is the daughter of an ancient house, although they are only minor nobility.”

Nobility. Of course. Drogen’s barely conceived hopes were immediately dashed. He could hardly approach a woman of the nobility.

Tateklys was smiling that self satisfied close lipped smile at him. “Indeed. She is magnificent, isn’t she? She will fight a few bouts. And then she will preside over the greatest challengers. The winner gains her hand, until the next challenger wins it from him.”

He watched her launch into battle with the green Malachite. She was nearly a blur moving around the slower fighter. She landed one blow, two. And then Malachite hit hard enough to fling her backwards into the sand. Drogen winced.

But she was up again, dusting herself off and smiling. She said something, he had no idea what. Taunting the other fighter, perhaps?

Then the two truly began to fight, and it was a glorious dance across the sand. Malachite was the anchor, and she whirled around him, shepherding him this way, then that. Around the Arena, people were chanting, “Golden Lady! Golden Lady!”

Malachite grabbed hold of her, swung her into the Arena wall.

Drogen held his breath, shocked that he cared. Nothing, since the night he’d left his father with Rhega, had moved him to this level of anxiety. It seemed impossible that the delicate woman in the Arena could compete with someone so massive. And yet she did. And she gloried in it. He could tell from the way she moved, the way she laughed. Hers was a true warrior’s spirit.

Drogen blinked his inner eyelids down. “She goes to the winner?”

“Well, not completely. She’s not a courtesan, after all. But yes. The winner takes her favor. And serves as companion and escort, should she require it,” Tateklys answered.

“And who usually wins?”

When he looked at Tateklys, that worthy’s face was split by a wide grin. “Why, Tren Tarrec Dazeur or Ariax Thone.”

To be continued….