Slave Unbound Ch. 05

Chapter 5

Barefoot on the Sands

**Characters and text are protected under copyright law

Disclaimer: This story is not meant as 'erotica', but dark adventure-fantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.

The sounds of screaming echoed in Leita's ears, her eyes shut tightly to ward away any chance of seeing the horror outside the barred gate leading out into the large space where she was to be forced to defend her life. The bitter taste in her mouth kept making her gorge rise, a mixture of her own bile brought up from fear and the aftertaste of the guard's seed still cloying there. Still, he'd come through on his promise. He'd given her something to wear and it had been worth the pride it had cost her to get it.

She ran her hands across the hard links of the chain shirt the guard had given her. It had been made for a much larger body and the underlining had been torn out of it, the metal links pinching in places as they shifted over her naked flesh. It was long enough on her to almost be a dress, but not too heavy for her to move in. There were a few rents in the chain, around which were brownish crusted stains from the last wearer of it. Regardless, Leita thanked the divines that it was actual armor, not just some thin rag.

She still held little hope that, armored or not, she would survive what was to come, each scream of pain from the man who'd preceded her out into the sands, punctuating that point. Regardless, the feeling of the steel shirt over her torso brought a strange feeling of comfort to her. She felt slightly insulated from what was about to happen due to it, though there was little reason for her to feel that way. In truth, she knew that the armor would likely more serve to just slow the process of her demise.

A sudden hoarse gurgling erupted from outside the gate and she felt her stomach clench and threaten to expel its undigested contents. The roar of cheers that overtook the sound made her feel even worse, but Leita fought to maintain her composure. Silently, she said a prayer for the poor soul that had just died, followed by one for herself.

All of a sudden, a hand was at her back, pushing her forward. "You're next." Came a gruff voice. She opened her eyes to see the gate opening and attendants going out to retrieve the body. A guard was ushering her towards the gate as well, where another attendant waited to unlock her shackles, flanked by two other guards. She watched as they drug the mutilated corpse back through the gate, one of them stabbing a spear down into the sand a dozen feet out from the gate.

She swallowed another rising lump of bile, the sound of it making the goatish-looking attendant smile malevolently. "Little thing like you, might be better you just fall on that spear out there." He chuckled meanly. "Though I am going to enjoy watching your pretty little body getting used out there."

She looked at him with disgust, unable to understand how anyone could be so hateful and ugly. He seemed to find her offended look to be funny and laughed, his teeth brown and jagged, breath smelling like curdled milk. "Maybe Maslo will leave you in a big enough piece I can take a turn after."

Leita deeply considered allowing her stomach to disgorge itself, if only to be able to spit the vomit onto the horrible man. Instead, she just forced herself to ignore him, pushing out any thoughts of what may come to her body once her soul had left it. She didn't even notice that she'd been released from her bonds until the guard gave her another hard push, sending her stumbling out through the open gate. She caught her balance and took another few steps, nearly stumbling again over something mostly buried in the sand.

She felt her toe sting from where her bare foot had collided with the object, but it was already fading fast. She heard the gate close behind her as she closed the distance to the weapon that they'd supplied her. The feel of the sand shifting around her bare feet seemed to ground her a little, making her feel a little steadier. Her focus was on only the spear and on summoning the will to put her hands to it.

She kept her gaze on the spear stuck in the earth before her, knowing that if she looked up at the murmuring crowds watching her, she might lose what nerve she'd managed to hold together. She wondered if the Baroness was surprised to see that she wasn't nude, as she'd requested, but refused to try to look for her and see what she might be doing. The spear came free of the sand almost effortlessly, though the weight of the weapon surprised her a little. It seemed lighter than she'd expected, though still plenty heavy. The wooden shaft looked worn and stained, but fairly sturdy. The spear's tip was tarnished from use, but looked recently sharpened. She gripped it in her hands tightly, tried to quickly get herself used to the feel of it, but before she could, the sound of the far gate opening caught her attention.

From out of that gate came the man who would be her opponent. He wore a polished breastplate and helmet, though both showed the signs of prior use. He carried a small wooden shield and a long, serrated blade in his hands, moving towards her with a menacing cadence. It took her a moment to realize the sudden warmth that was running down her legs was her bladder letting go in fear, but she pushed that away immediately. Something inside her, some will to live, screamed within her that she had to fight. She had to ignore all else and just fight until she died.

A moment later, she was in motion, moving neither away from, nor towards the oncoming gladiator. Instead she raced along the perimeter of the arena, forcing the man to have to rotate to stay tracked on his target. She heard him chuckling, knowing she had nowhere to really go, but the feeling of just moving seemed to solidify her courage. She let her expectations of death go and took firm hold of the fact that she was not dead yet. Not yet.

For a moment, he just pivoted, watching her dash around him, preparing for her to charge him or him to come charging to her. After another moment of her aimlessly running, he chose the latter, coming at her with his shield up to block any attempt for her to use the spear against him. However, she had no intention of trying to bring the weapon to bear at the moment. Instead, she brought herself up short just before he reached her and threw herself backwards, out of the way of his sword thrust. She reeled further back as he quickly spun around, turning the thrust into a half swing, falling into a slow advance towards her, his wicked sword whipping back and forth.

Her bare feet seemed to grab at the loose sand as she struggled to backpedal away from the attacking man, his sword slashing inches away from her with each swing. She could tell he wasn't even really trying yet, enjoying keeping her on the retreat. However, with every step he took, she was watching him, studying him carefully. Despite all the fear she felt, something inside her, a deeper, quiet willpower, had stilled her mind. While he was making a meal of this, she was learning from his every movement. She noted how he placed his feet, how he held his body, what he did when he swung his sword. She didn't know where the grit came from within her, but she refused to go down easily.

Suddenly, the man's patience seemed to waver and he surged forward, thrusting with his sword towards her side. Perhaps, if he'd been striking to kill and not to wound, it would have been over there, but Leita reacted just fast enough to roll away and evade the attack. Without thinking about the action, she simultaneously brought the spear around with her twist, putting her weight into the swing. The side of the spearhead caught the gladiator full in the side of the helmet.

The impact of the blow, though doing no real damage to him, sent him stumbling to the side and off balance. Though she wasn't skilled enough with the weapon to make use of it in the opening, she was quick-witted enough to recognize it as an opportunity and surged forward herself, dropping her shoulder and colliding into him. If he'd taken her for a frail little girl, he learned suddenly that Leita was a lot physically stronger than anyone realized.

He collapsed to the ground so hard that he lost grip of his shield and his helmet bounced off his head. Though she might should have tried to use the spear while he was down and vulnerable, Leita quickly retreated away from the warrior again, gaining courage at having struck the first real hits between them. Suddenly, an impossible notion came into her heart. Maybe she could survive this.

The gladiator leapt quickly back to his feet, ugly face scowling in anger at the embarrassment of this little maidservant knocking him down. As she saw his anger rise, she felt her own emotions calm. Felt her mind sharpen. When he charged at her again, two-fisting his sword in another thrust, she evaded the attack even more deftly than the last, bringing the spear down across his blade. Though his grip on the weapon was too tight for it to be dislodged, she managed to send him stumbling forward.

Again, instead of taking advantage of the stumble she moved away from him, but this time with a destination. He regained his balance and wheeled back towards her again quickly, but not before she'd retrieved his shield from the ground. She had less control of the spear with just the one hand, but felt the protection of having the shield more comforting.

Again, now growling with anger and frustration at this unexpectedly elusive girl, the gladiator charged her. However, when she once more pivoted away from the thrust, it was his turn to surprise her. He whipped his sword towards her instead of thrusting it straight forward, the blade slamming hard against the shield. Unprepared for the hard hit, this time it was Leita taken off her feet and her turn to lose something. Though she managed to maintain her hold on the shield, her spear flew from her grasp.

The gladiator, Maslo she thought she remembered the attendant calling him, smiled at her with a malignant look as he spun the jagged blade around in his grasp and reared his arms up to stab down at her. Though her first impulse was try and hide behind the shield, hope it held against the downward stab, she surprised even herself by instead using it as a weapon. With a snap of her arm, she sent the shield flying at her foe, the large missile smashing into his face with a loud bang and bouncing off.

As an attack, it wasn't particularly effective, but it caught him off guard enough that he staggered back, off balance. Leita caught the shield as it rebounded off him, rolling forward to coil her legs beneath her and vaulted forward, setting the shield out in front of her as she launched right into his knees. This attack proved far more effective and sent Maslo tumbling to the side, landing hard on the serrated blade. She heard him cry out in pain as his own weapon cut into exposed flesh on his arm, adding to her ever-growing sense of confidence.

She took the opportunity of his fall to look around to find where her spear had rolled away to, finding it not far away. She dove for it, reaching out for it desperately. Her hand found the shaft and wrenched it from the sand, rolling over and bringing up the shield on instinct. She'd expected the gladiator to be already on top of her, rage driving him into a fury, but she found he'd actually retreated away from her this time.

On his face was an expression of wariness. He was no longer seeing her as just some maidservant. He looked at her like a formidable opponent, jaw set, eyes fixed. A sudden wash of cold ran through Leita's body, not fully sure of just why. On some primal level, she sensed that her previous success had been based mostly on his underestimating her, that he'd not been really putting effort and focus on the fight. Though she could not put this into actual words or direct understanding, she recognized that she'd woken something up in the man. Understood that the danger was only just really beginning.

As if to prove this notion, Maslo launched forward, sword weaving through the air with practiced talent. Now in control of himself and no longer toying with her, the warrior left Leita with no time to get herself solidly planted back on her feet, his attacks coming with blinding speed. Splinters of wood sprayed against her face as the jagged sword struck the shield with brutal force, sheering off bits of the sides where she only barely managed to get it in the way of the swing. Her backward motion was an ongoing stagger, stumbling away from him without control or plan.

Only pure luck kept her taking a direct hit from his sword, the shield coming apart in her hand. Twice she failed to actually block the blade, one of which only narrowly missed her head and the other catching her across her side. Though her chainmail shirt held against the blade, she felt a couple of the teeth of the serrated edge slip between the links to clip her skin and the force of the blow bruised her enough to take a little of her breath away.

In an attempt to try and ward Maslo off, she thrust out with the spear, but lacking real control with just the one hand, her attack was poor and uncoordinated, making it easy for him to evade. Worse, as he sidestepped it with ease, he snapped down his sword, cleaving through the wooden handle hard enough to sever off the spear's head and force the remaining portion of the shaft out of Leita's hand.

However, turning his abuse to her weapon and off her gave Leita the momentary chance to get her balance back and firmly replant her bare toes against the sand. When he brought the sword back around in a savage swing, she ducked just beneath the high arc, the blade scrapping across the steel chain links of her armor. Stepping forward, she brought the shield up and into his plated sternum. If he'd forgotten that she was considerably stronger than she appeared, he quickly remembered as her powerful smash sent him crashing backwards.

Leita kept moving with her momentum, leaping over Maslo and rushing to put some distance between them, hoping to regroup herself. She dashed towards the iron gate through which she'd entered, wishing she could somehow pass back through it and out of the arena. Some tiny hope that maybe they would toss another spear out to her through the gate, since her foe had destroyed the other, passed meagerly through her mind as she sprinted. However, she knew, with a sick feeling, that no such mercy would come. She'd managed to hold out well, could feel proud that she'd not just dropped to her knees blubbering and died without a fight, but she knew that her last moments were now running out. The shield was little more than ruptured wood, almost useless to her now. She had no weapon, whereas he was still armed with that hideous sword.

In the next instant, she felt something impact into the back of her leg at the upper thigh, a sharp point coming through the chainmail and stabbing to her flesh. In the same instant, her foot connected with same mostly buried object she'd initially tripped over coming out. She collapsed to the sand in a heap, the impact taking all the wind and drive out of her.

He'd thrown the spearhead at her from across the arena and she heard him coming towards her, laughing at her. She half rolled and tried to rise up, dizzy from her landing, only half registering him charging at her with his sword ready to bring death. She registered also what it was she'd tripped on, as the impact with it had been enough to nearly break one of her toes, but also mostly dislodge the object.

Feeling a gut-wrenching stab of pain from her dislocated toe as she put her feet under her, she sprung towards the object as Maslo bore down on her, abandoning the remains of the shield. Her hand wrapped around its handle and she rolled her body, putting down a knee and forcing her body upwards with all the strength she had left. Her arm snapped out towards the oncoming gladiator, sending its load flying.

The dagger caught Maslo in the throat two strides before he was on top of her. His eyes bulged and his mouth opened in a gagging wail as he reflexively swallowed against the sharp blade already buried in his neck, completely severing his windpipe. He staggered the remaining steps, his sword coming down in a limp parody of an attack. Leita easily got out of the way of the incoming warrior, watching him crash to his knees into the sand, his hands releasing his weapon to involuntarily scrabble at the knife in his neck, cutting off his air and filling his lungs with blood.

Leita got to her feet painfully, driven by pure adrenaline, and grimaced at the feel of her injured foot as she stood. Limping over to the gladiator, still in a kneeling position and weakly trying to lift his arms to fumble at his neck, she reached down to pick up his sword, as if still afraid he might recover from the injury and take it up again. All at once, it hit her that she'd effectively killed him, in another minute he'd be dead and she'd be the one who'd done it. She staggered away, turning so not to see him, and vomited.

For a moment, the realization that she'd just killed someone nearly overwhelmed her. And then a roaring sound pierced through it all. A moment later, she realized that what she was hearing was the arena crowds cheering for the show of blood and death. Cheering for her. Though it brought no comfort to her, gave her no feeling of glory, the cold fact that she'd just taken the man's life drove home a revelation that gave her back her composure.

She'd lived.

She turned back to face the man. His name was Maslo, she remembered again. Already, his eyes had rolled back into his head and his hands had fallen limp at his sides. If any life remained in him, it was too fleeting now for him to do more than sit there, balanced in a kneeling position. Catching her nerve, Leita stepped over to him and grabbed the short handle of the blade in his neck, put her uninjured foot to his chest, and wrenched the dagger out of him, the force of it sending him falling over to the sand.

The memory of something the Baron had told her at the window came to her mind and she quickly spun about, looking up the walls of the arena. She spied the large ornate crest quickly, the symbol of Careunos, God of Conflict and Battle, mounted in prominent display over the ring of battle. She hefted the weapons in both hands towards it, not really knowing the proper way it was meant to be done, making clear her intention of saluting the divine patron of this place.

Above her, the audience roared out a deafening undulation of cheering. This demure-looking, young girl, standing triumphant over the corpse of a seasoned gladiator, his jagged blade in one hand and a bloody dagger in the other, drove them into a frenzy of excitement. It made her want to vomit again at the idea of their glee at this man's death, but she was shored up by the knowledge that she'd not just survived her trial in the arena, she'd won.

In fact, she'd won well.

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Cornelius sat in his private box high above the level of the arena wall, mouth slack and stunned speechless. He heard not one bit of the deafening roar of the crowds. His mind was simply too shocked to comprehend what had just unfolded before him. In his years as a Housemaster of the Grand Arena, he'd seen slaves manage to triumph against trained gladiators, but those were slaves who'd once been warriors themselves, savage Oruhks or Orlings, ex-soldiers sentenced to defend their lives, powerful laborers who'd learned to fight in tradeyards or slave pins. Even then, the fights were usually hard won and close.