Jeffrey Lord Blade 31 Gladiators of Hapanu

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middle. Blade had seldom seen such an impressive collection of weaponry in the
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hands of men who looked so fit and ready to use it.
Down the middle of the room ran a line of well-made litters. By the head of
each litter sat two of the men told off by lot to act as litter-bearers and
first-aid men in today's Games. Each had a leather pouch slung across his
back, holding bandages and medicines. The medical care the fighters in the
Games received was definitely on the rough and ready side, as not only the
first-aid men but the "doctors" were entirely self-taught. However, they got
plenty of practice, and they had to learn fast. If they didn't, they were
likely to die in their next fight or even in a "brawl" in the barracks. Blade
hadn't seen anything like the Shield of Life in Gerhaa, but he was reasonably
confident of receiving decent medical care if he had the bad luck to be
wounded.
From beyond the mouth of the tunnel Blade heard the swelling rumble and murmur
of the crowd as it gathered in the amphitheater overhead. Women's voices rose
high and shrill, vendors praised their fruit, wine, and sweet cakes, pet dogs
and monkeys barked and squealed. Just as the din seemed to be getting out of
hand, a drum began to roll. Then horns sounded and two huge brass gongs began
to boom.
No words were needed. Except for Blade, all the men in the room had gone
through the ritual many times, and Blade had heard it described until he could
have done it all in his sleep. They marched out of the waiting room, onto a
wooden drawbridge forty feet long and thirty feet above the water. Underneath
two boats full of soldiers rowed back and forth, and Blade saw Ho-Marn sitting
in the stern of one. The officer recognized him and called out cheerfully,
"Good blooding, Englishman."
"As Hapanu wills it," Blade shouted back. It was a ritual response to a ritual
good wish, but then
Ho-Marn could hardly do or say anything for Blade here that would call
attention to himself.
Blade looked over his shoulder at the amphitheater. Not quite a full house no
more than half of the ten thousand seats were filled. A good crowd, though,
for a Game where the Protector wasn't attending.
The nobles' seats at the front of the great bowl carved into the side of the
cliff were almost filled. Blade
saw ranks of colored silks and velvets, veils and scarves floating in the
breeze, noticed the sun winking from brooches and jeweled rings, could almost
smell the heavy perfumes. The only thing the noblemen of
Gerhaa spent more money on than their own vices was the vices of their wives
and mistresses.
The gladiators carefully avoided keeping in step as they crossed the bridge.
This was a point of pride with them, for each man to march at his own pace. It
showed they were not the soldiers, let alone the
Protector's Pets!
At the other end of the bridge a flight of stone steps led down to the sandy
arena covering most of the Island of Death. A low fence of pointed iron stakes
surrounded the sand. It did not block the spectators' view of the blood and
death on the Island, but it kept gladiators from falling into the water
lapping around the Island.
In the water lay a more certain death than any a man could face in the arena.
The waters of the Great
River around Gerhaa swarmed with hungry life a variety of Horned One, sea
snakes, giant eels, things like sharks and barracuda, dozens of kinds of
smaller creatures with large appetites. Anyone who found himself in the water
would die quickly if he was lucky.
As the last man reached the arena, the drawbridge rose with a clatter of
chains and a creak of timbers. The cheers of the crowd drowned out the
drumrolls and horn blasts. Blade looked across the arena as the gladiators
spread out along the railing. The trampled yellow sand was beginning to blaze
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like a pool of molten gold as the sun grew brighter. Out there on the
hundred-yard circle lay the only way back across the drawbridge for every man
now standing by the railing. Some would return on their feet and others on the
litters, to live or die as their wounds and their comrades' skill dictated.
Those whose lives ended on the sand would not return at all. They would still
be lying on the sand when darkness came. Then the Horned Ones would also come,
slithering and snuffling through the gaps left in the fence just for them.
When they slipped back into the water, the bodies would be gone.
The whole system of the Games in Gerhaa and the Island of Death was an ugly
one, reeking of a sadistic imagination. No doubt it was supposed to fill the
gladiators with terror and a degrading sense of being doomed and helpless. In
fact, it only gave the gladiators an even stronger sense of being men apart,
standing together against that doom, only able to trust one another. Blade
wondered how long it would be before someone outside the fighters' barracks
discovered what a deadly thing the people of Gerhaa had created in the pursuit
of their own amusement.
The Captain of the Games was always an experienced fighter, often one of the
Ten Brothers. Today the Captain was Kuka of the Banum. He was assisted by two
Lesser Captains and the Crier of the
Games. The Crier was always chosen for his loud voice, and was given a large
gold-mounted seashell both as a badge of office and a sort of megaphone. He
was supposed to be heard in the most distant seats of the amphitheater and
usually was.
Kuka marched out into the center of the arena while the Crier climbed back up
the stairs and announced the first fight. "Three on three, with casting spear,
short sword, and shield. Wearing the red " three names Blade didn't catch.
"Wearing the green " three more names, the last one producing a mixture of
cheers and boos. There was a short pause as the six fighters marched out onto
the sand.
Kuka stepped back, and the last bets were made in the audience. Then Kuka
raised his spear of office and the fight began.
After a short time Blade stopped paying much attention to it. The six men were
all well-matched, past the beginner stage but none of them real experts. One
of the men wearing green seemed to be fond of tricky swordwork. No doubt he
was the one who'd been cheered and booed by the crowd. He was spectacular to
watch, but Blade suspected the man would soon be crippled or dead if his skill
didn't catch up with his desire to show off.
The first fight of the Games was seldom more than a warming-up for later,
bloodier events. When it was over, four of the six fighters walked out of the
arena on their own feet. Neither of the two who came out on litters was
dangerously hurt. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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