Seven Swords by Michael E. Shea (digital book reader .TXT) 📖

Though quiet at first, Adrin spoke more and more as they walked. Adrin would point out various mercenary guilds and standards. He pointed to the booths selling the best weapons, describing each of the strange implements in vivid detail. Vrenna found a vendor selling a palm spike that looked suspiciously like the one she had used just a short time earlier. A silent bargain took place and she bought back the weapon with only a single coin of the dead man’s purse. Adrin continued his monologue, describing the grizzly murders that took place in the deep of night in the brothel district.

“Have you been to the pit fights?” asked Jon.

“Once or twice, but they seem more show than battle,” said Adrin. Ca’daan saw the smile on Jon’s face but Adrin apparently did not. The young swordsman continued. “I saw two spearmen kill a horned and tusked war brill called Dunelord.”

“Is that where we’re going?” asked Ca’daan.

“Yes,” said Jon.

As they drew closer to the edge of town, the pens of slave warriors grew thick. Huge men with golden skin stood next to smaller darker men of thinner build. They displayed tattoos of strange script and horrifying images on their arms, backs, chests, and faces. Some shouted obscenities, especially at Vrenna, who simply ignored them. Others watched them with cold eyes and expressionless faces. These silent killers frightened Ca’daan most of all.

“These come from the far pits of Gazu Kadem,” said a slavemaster with a braided beard. “They can kill twenty of the local stock or will give you a bloody show if they fail.”

Slavery had been eliminated from Fena Dim when Ca’daan was just a child. A collapse in one of the mine shafts had killed most of the ones Fena Dim had kept and the aftermath was so horrible the elders decided never to employ forced labor again. The village never spoke of it. Ca’daan always felt sorry for the men and women in bondage. What separated him from them? What if not the lack of being conquered in war or captured on the road? What made them deserve such a fate while other men grew fat from their labor?

In the distance, Ca’daan heard the ring of steel on stone and the cheer of a small crowd.

“I heard the fighting pits of Gazu Kadem are something to see,” said Adrin. “Or Tog Veel. I would like to see them sometime.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Jon. “They don’t care much for northerners out there. You might just as likely find yourself in the pit instead of watching it from above.”

Adrin shrugged.

Fena Kef had three fighting pits. Two minor pits sunk eight feet below ground. Sharp spikes lined the pit aiming both in and out. Gates on the two sides of the pits let combatants drop in and fight their battle.

“Once I heard of a fine swordsman who traveled halfway across the desert to fight his nemesis in these pits,” said Adrin. “He had hunted down his nemesis for two years. He fought his way up the ranks and finally faced his eternal foe. Alas, he broke his ankle falling into the pit. The opponent laughed so hard that he couldn’t get himself to brain him with his hammer. They had to haul the man out with a rope. How about that? You train all your life and cross leagues of barren desert to break your ankle on the way in. Hell, even you could fight better than that, Ca’daan.”

They laughed, even Thorn who let out a deep “Hah!” that made Adrin jerk.

“The giant speaks!” said Adrin. Thorn smiled and clapped Adrin on the back. Adrin winced and rolled his shoulder twice.

Slaves dueled among the filth of the smaller pits. One man in a helm shaped like a snarling dog fought another taller dark man with a chain. In the other pit a big man fought a large dog in leather armor. The man appeared to be losing.

Most of the attention, however, focused on the largest of the three pits. This pit dropped down twice the height of a man and stretched more than fifty feet across. Dirt mounds surrounded the pit so that the spectators stood five or six people deep around the edge of the pit. As Ca’daan and the others approached, the crowd cheered. Adrin pushed through and the others followed to get a view, the crowd around them complaining of the jostle. When people saw Thorn, they stopped complaining.

Inside, a huge mountain of a man, even bigger than Thorn, fought with a huge two-handed axe. He wore a helm shaped like the head of a lion complete with a mane of real fur. He wore golden armor dented and splashed with blood.

As they watched he raised his axe and hammered it into the dirt floor of the pit. They saw his opponent roll outside the blow and come out on his feet.

Though dwarfed by the mountain, this man was quite large as well. Twin leather straps crossed his chest and he wore leather breeches cut above his knees. Leather sandals were tied to his feet with laces that ran up his muscular calves.

Strangest of all, his lower jaw appeared to be encased in a curved plate of iron. Leather straps held the plate in place, strapped around the back of his bald head. Tattoos of snakes circled around his chest and shoulders.

As they watched, the two men circled each other. The man with the iron jaw carried a large knobbed war club. Black leather wrapped the handle and a leather strap held it to the man’s wrist.

“He’s not even trying.” complained one of the spectators. “He hasn’t swung a single blow.”

Ca’daan saw it was true. The iron-jawed man dove as the huge axe swung in and shifted as the mountainous man advanced but he did not swing. Once, the huge man swung so hard he lost his balance and stumbled forward. The crowd went silent but the expected counter-attack never happened. Instead the iron-jawed man waited for him to recover.

“The Kal is awful,” said one man, pointing at the man with the iron jaw.

The two men circled once again. It was hard to tell but the man they called the Kal appeared to be smiling. With only his upper lip exposed, it was difficult to look at.

The battle’s end happened so quickly that Ca’daan almost missed it.

The mountainous man roared, the effect in the lion’s helm being quite convincing. He kicked fast, catching the Kal in the groin. The Kal doubled over, his war club hanging from his wrist. The crowd cheered, seeing a killing blow coming soon.

The lion helmed man raised his axe high, red sunlight gleaming on the tip of the broad head. He swung down hard. The Kal shifted back and the axe buried itself to the shaft in the ground. It would take the mountainous man a long time to pull it free but he never got the chance.

Time seemed to slow as Ca’daan watched. The crowd was silent. The Kal straightened, the kick to the groin seeming to be much less debilitating than it had appeared. He leaped up, one foot planting off of the shaft of the buried battle axe. As he jumped, he swung his war club back into his palm.

The Kal soared into the air, war club back and high over his head. The moment seemed to freeze. The mountain with the lion’s head looked up helplessly as the iron-jawed pit fighter hung over him with his club poised to crash down.

And that crash came down hard. Ca’daan’s vision sped up as the club hammered down. The sound of wood and stone against the metal helm was deafening.

The man’s helm caved in, the sculpted growl bending into a twisted smile. The eyes bent together in a strange look of sadness and confusion. All at once blood erupted from the eyes and mouth of the helm. It rushed down the man’s chest and back.

Ca’daan didn’t want to know what had happened inside that helm and thinking of it made his stomach turn.

Slowly the lion-helmed man’s grip on the haft of his battle axe relaxed and he fell dead to the dirt in a pool of blood.

The crowd roared. The Kal stood tall, his eyes focusing first on the corpse at his feet and then on the crowd around him. Money exchanged hands and the disappointed walked away, heads low.

The Kal took a running leap and caught the lip of the pit’s gated entrance. A small man in a tall hat opened the gate as the Kal pulled himself up.

It took a long time for the spectators to depart. Six men tied ropes to the dead combatant to drag him from the pit. Blood continued to stream from the helm’s eyes and mouth as they pulled.

Jon led their group to the Kal as the large man talked to the man in the tall hat. The Kal’s attention left the man and focused on Jon and then Thorn.

“No more fights today,” said the small man.

“We are not here to fight,” said Jon.

“Vrenna!” shouted the Kal. His gaze had found the woman in her gray cloak and hood. The Kal pushed Ca’daan aside with one powerful hand. Adrin’s