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Bad, Bad Company
“Let's see what cargo we have here, “ Tsunacius said as he and other men collected around the wooden box containing Cyyerha. Two of the men pried open the lid to reveal the unconscious woman inside. “See? She slumbers. Lift her out and revive the prisoner!” Hands reached in then lifted up and out of the crate their limp package. One of the soldiers fetched a bucket of water. He upended the contents onto the prostrate female who coughed and struggled to rise as the water splashed.
“This one is strong, as well as comely. Get her a cell. Standard rations, but run her everyday. Also test her mettle during the gladiators' workouts.” Tsunacius turned away and smiled. Privately he said, “Entertainment value for the coming games now has a new twist.”
Days of solitary confinement fueled by rancid portions mixed with running and training at the gladiator school ironically gave Cyyerha renewed energy. Iron bars of the cell at night steeled her resolve, and the daily diet alone was enough to make anyone wish to escape. From what she could see of the sun's position and the foreign-looking land, Mannursian search parties would never find her. If she was to escape alive, she would have to do it on her own. Each morning, before the day's heat and tribulations of the school, she would be run between the same two horse-mounted guards along a bridle path, the topography of which remained a mystery,
The filthy leather toga flapped and muscles ripped as each morning's run brought more and more awareness of her new position.
Seeing her chance on one early run caught the horse-riders off-guard. The one on the right was easiest. With a sudden twist, she cupped both hands under the nearest boot and lifted. Off balance, the enemy guard clattered off his saddle and the horse. As the other reached down to grab her in response, she pulled him forward by the wrist. Both riders thudded to the earth. Rapidly mounting the horse on her right, Cyyerha did not see the first guard who had clamored to his feet and now savagely gripped the bridle with one hand, drawn sword pointed at her in the other.
“You will find that disobedience here does have its consequences,” Tsunacius said later. Cyyerha tried to clear her head following the blow. Chains locked her wrists to her ankles. The gloom reminded her of the cell atmosphere except that a caldron nearby glowed with fiery light. She flinched as fingers lifted up the short leather skirt, narrowed her scarlet silk undergarment. Goose-flesh pimpled her otherwise blemish free right buttock.
“You had better bite down on this, for the sake of all of our ears.” Others joined his chortle. From a corner of one eye, Cyyerha saw a heated metal rod lift from out of the cauldron, biting harder on the wood between her teeth as she saw its glowing tip approach closer.
Eyes waterering and heart racing, her body jerked as the heated metal touched. Cyyerha tried to gag. She endured the rod slowly trace a line from the top of her right hip downward.
Knees buckled, but locked. Aside from the dull ache and throbbing sensation that traveled down her entire leg, she stood and hobbled as she was led back up and into daylight.
Nagging pain from the burn and foiled escape kept Cyyerha off of her usual gladiatorial game. A pronounced limp persisted. For the most part, trainees used wooden swords, practiced tumbles in the sand, and generally followed shouted instructions. That afternoon, she was to wrestle two men: one an older prisoner with a flabby body and grayish beard; and the other, a younger native man.
Cyyerha saw the younger as her most threatening opponent.
She feigned a pronounced limp and general weakness. The younger lunged first. Slipping past his bulk, Cyyerha forgot her earlier burn and kicked up at the older opponent. Her sandaled foot caught his left knee, easily dropping him. Spinning, she grabbed the native boy and flung him into the crumbled old man. Picking up a wooden sword, she swung mightily, hitting his temple. He lay on the ground bleeding and unconscious.
Others approached the whirling female with lustful curiosity. Her unwashed hair whipped around. Sweat drenched. Cyyerha threw down the sword, rolled and grabbed a nearby staff. The staff arched as the first newcomer came forward, wounding his thigh. Jumping on a cart, she gripped the rod harder and knocked a blade from another's hand. Leaping to the other side, Cyyerha lunged with the staff at one of the instructors, smacking him between the legs. Dirt sprayed as his feet came out from under him and he too fell, writhing as he clutched his groin, bellowing in pain.
“It has become apparent that you are slow to learn,” said Tsunacius. The remoteness of his voice and the coolness of an underground darkness so disturbingly familiar again brought shivers.
Realizing that once more she was bent forward and chained, Cyyerha fought the restraints as the fuzziness between her temples cleared. The same cauldron with its horrid glow flickered in the corner of an eye, although her bent position seemed new.
“To make sure you do learn, this time you will get two brands. Two on the other side.”
To be continued…
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