“Wild” slaves such as myself, rarely found, even rarer they manage to survive the rapes and tortures suffered in the orgies, are branded by admission year plus a #-1, meaning number of ‘wilds’ and non-crèche raised. These brands are usually found only on the black women captured beyond the desert. For whatever reason, although they are physically taller, stronger and superior in weapons handling, the men of Malefactus have not seen fit to breed them. Or perhaps they have and the breeding program failed. They are moody and very dangerous. They seem to be missing an essential element of the ‘normal’ ISSA mental make-up due to breeding or evolutionary branching.
End blog post #92
Begin blog post #93
My first order of business is to contrive to have Tieka and the ‘Lover’ put in the same cage. Obvious – they must be able to plot together and must know each other’s abilities and weaknesses to a fault. Also they must know if they like each other and if both be willing to die for their love. Not such an easy task. Glad I am I don’t have Tiki to worry about anymore.
“You!” The overseer points at me. “Come here.” Oh-oh, what now. I walk slowly with head bowed to his private table under the overhang. He is chewing on some concoction that smells of onion. Even for this malodorous place, he stinks. Glad I am at the moment I am no longer sexually attractive or desirable. I stand a meter from him, stop and wait, head still bowed. A slave does not make eye contact with an overseer, at least not until he orders her to, then if she does not, he slaps her. If she does, he slaps her. It’s the no-win game they like to play. This one is the worst kind we’ve ever had running the compound. Not one redeeming quality have I ever observed in him.
“You ready now die old witch? Tomorrow get two challengers, they fight you together. They kill you sure this time. I tired you be around, cause trouble with young slaves.”
I know he’s the one who arranged for such an unfair fight, two men together against one woman. The gambling once more will go against me. What chance do I have to survive this? Especially if the two men are pros. It’s been many years since I’ve done two on one but after Warmo it’ll be either extremely easy or impossible. Which do I choose? No choice. I’m still needed here with the women, as Yoba stated. ‘I fight, I kill.’ It’s our mantra. I say nothing in reply, wait.
“You I hate more than others, old bitch. You ugly, disgusting krosspeeg. You think you man killer, huh? Maybe I kill you now.” He pulls a dagger from a concealed sheath in his belt under the soft overhanging paunch of a stomach. He points it in my direction, standing up slowly. Instinctively I jump back and spread my legs, poised to ward the thrust and take him down to fall on his own knife. He knows I can do it, and easily too. He grins, his yellow teeth sticking over his lips – yeah, who’s ugly! I think, ‘coward piece of shit.’
“They choose weapon already. Maybe I tell you, maybe not, huh?” Another violation of strict policy. The challenger must choose his weapons in front of the fighter.
“Must need know for weapons judge.” I reply simply, letting it hang there. Just a hint of a threat which I know he gets.
“One choose staff. Other axe.” But that’s a total violation of any regulation, an impossible conundrum for the fighter. Unless it’s two on two, they must use the same weapon. How do I choose mine now? Shithead. I want to jump at him and crush his stinking face in my hands. I feel the bionic circuits pulsing. Fortunately a red-robed judge walks by and I importune him, taking a considerable chance.
“Please sir, there be problem with weapons choice for tomorrow. I fight two men, same time. They choose different weapon. Which I choose? Legal problem, cannot decide.”
The judge turns on the overseer in obvious anger. “What’s that Achnarr? How can two challengers choose different weapons on one fighter? Who authorized this?” What a pleasure it is to see the overseer go weak with fear. Well, well, well. This fight is a more than personal hate on Achnarr’s part. It’s a put-up job, obviously, another assassination attempt on me, the winnings going to the overseer. No one obviously has been advised of Achnarr’s illegal manipulations in his favour. The judge’s face now matches his robe.
“Guards!” Five burly black-suited guards come running from their barracks, laser guns drawn. “Take this ‘dungut’ and lock it up.” Indicating the overseer.
“I, Algomo, authorize the arrest. Charged with crime of fixing fights. He’s been fixing the fights for himself.”
I just manage to lock eyes with Achnarr as he’s being put in restraints. ‘I want you now, Achnarr. See you in the arena. How brave will you feel there?’
The judge turns to me: “You slave, you say nothing. Tomorrow’s fight is cancelled until this is sorted out. I know you can understand my speech, no need to pretend with me. I know you well, Antierra. I know you by name and reputation. Doc Bal and I are friends. Tomorrow I get the challengers to choose weapons properly in front of you. Then we schedule this fight for next day if there is an opening for it. Can you handle two very good challengers on your own? I may not be able to change that part.”
“Yes sir, I can. I fight, I kill.”
“Good. You may go to your quarters. Do you have any requests at this moment regarding living arrangements? Do you need a lover? I hear you have given yours up to the ‘Concubine.’ You continue to amaze us Antierra, and maybe frighten us a little too, I don’t mind telling you. So? What do you need?”
“Ah, sir… you amaze me too. I don’t know; slaves do not ask.”
“I give you an order then. Tell me what you want done.”
“Slave #1336-14-09 would like trainee #1341-15-07 for lover.” He lifts the heavy sleeve on the red robe and activates a Datacom. He enters the numbers without asking me to repeat them. Pretty good, I think.
“It will be done. And you, I order you, ask.”
“Sir there be a matter of a corrupt judge who tried to have me assassinated during a training session. The fighter to question in this matter is #1341-29-03” (See blog post #86)
“That will be done.” He enters the numbers on his Datacom.
“More on this matter, please. If the judge is condemned to arena challenge I’d like for the fighter he implicated to be the one to fight him. A just exchange, I believe.”
He stares at me for some moments, eyebrows raised. “You have a sharp mind. I think Balomo may be right about you. You shouldn’t be here at all, but at the King’s palace and Council chambers making policy for this land. What a waste of good material. Sad. Now tell me about your current living arrangements. Would you like some change?”
“I’d like to have friend #1334-02-28 if it pleases.” He enters the numbers and motions me to head for the cages where the guards wait for further orders. He walks to another hut and two handlers walk to the cages behind me. I am let in to my space and soon the ‘transfers’ are done. I move into Swala’s cage; Tieka is moved to Zel’s cage.
End blog post #93