Page 47 of Faithless
A group of four young men walked out onto the sand from one side of the colosseum. I recognized one as the sunburned fighter from the lineup yesterday. His shoulders had already darkened and began peeling.
The crowd’s low murmur shifted into loud booing. All four men huddled with their backs together, weapons and shields pointing outward. One yelled back at the crowd. Another waved his middle finger in the air. Some audience members even started throwing things down into the pit. I saw food, drink cups, crumpled paper programs, and all kinds of random items landing on or near the four men. The fighters raised their arms and shields against the thrown objects, protecting themselves as well as each other.
“They’re fighting as a team?” I wondered aloud.
“Doesn’t seem very gladiator-like,” Torr muttered, leaning forward.
Two figures emerged from the opposite side of the sand pit, and the crowd immediately shifted to cheering. The figures raised their arms, turning in circles as they looked back at the audience. These two were clearly seasoned fighters, covered in scars, muscle, and dark tans from long hours in the sun.
“Who are they?” Torr asked, leaning toward me to see the paper program.
“The Animal and the Hatchet,” I answered.
“And the four musketeers?”
I blinked at the written name. “The Maggots.”
“Huh, that’s harsh.”
There was no announcement, no referee to signal the start of the fight. The veteran gladiators simply rushed at the group of four, weapons raised while screaming war cries.
Two of the Maggots broke off from their tight formation to dodge assault, leaving their comrades exposed. One guy immediately got a sword through his gut, the sound of metal through flesh unmistakable.
I jumped in my seat, covering my mouth. The champagne I just swallowed threatened to come right back up. The sight before me almost didn’t seem real.
“Better get used to it,” Torr said grimly. “That was just the first strike.”
The man who got stabbed didn’t appear to believe it either. He just looked down at the bleeding wound on his stomach until his opponent withdrew the sword and stabbed him again, this time through the neck.
When he fell, bleeding from two mortal wounds, the gladiator who made the first kill of the night spread his hands to the side, waving them up and down as he spun in a circle, getting the crowd riled up. They started chanting“Ani-mal! Ani-mal! Ani-mal!”
The Animal’s partner, the Hatchet, went after one of the Maggots who had broken away from the group and was now running the perimeter of the sand pit. The running man grabbed doors and gates, trying everything that looked remotely like an exit. He jumped over a short fence and started climbing up the front of the stage where Torr and I stood yesterday.
I blinked and then there was a small ax in the center of his back.
“Oh my God!” I cried.
He was still trying to climb out, and the Hatchet only laughed, juggling two of his namesake weapons for a moment before the blades sailed through the air at the other man. The Hatchet’s victim fell, and he turned to one of the armed guards with tasers and batons at their belts.
“Aren’t you going to get those back for me? That last one was my favorite!” He let out a deep belly laugh, and the crowd’s chanting shifted to,“Hat-chet! Hat-chet! Hat-chet!”
Seconds later, the three hatchets sailed over the short fence and landed harmlessly at their owner’s feet. He picked them up and raised them in the air, the crowd’s noise reaching a new level of frenzy at the sight of those blades covered in blood.
In the middle of the pit, the Animal and one of the two remaining Maggots were trading blows. The Animal was big and slow but seemed to be biding his time, while the other man moved in quickly and took aggressive shots. The other guy’s emotion was clear on his face, his jaw clenched and the rage potent in his eyes. Whether his anger was directed at his opponent for killing his friend or at the two who broke away and ran off like cowards, it was hard to say. Probably both.
The newcomer was a skilled fighter but struggling on the shifting, sandy ground. I held my breath when he missed a forward jab with his sword, exposing his side to the Animal. The other gladiator didn’t hesitate and brought a meaty fist encased in brass knuckles to the man’s side. The crowd started chanting for the Animal again as the Maggot rolled and scrambled to get away.
“Come on, throw some fucking sand in his eyes!” I hissed.
Torr let out a mirthless laugh. “Rooting for the underdog, huh?”
“I guess so.” I chewed one of my nails and fully expected all ten fingers to be bitten down to stubs by the end of the night. “Those guys don’t belong in here. That one that ran was scared shitless.”
Finally, the man scrambling on the ground tossed a handful of sand up at the Animal, buying himself a few precious moments to roll to his feet. The two of them had neared our box, and I got my first clear look at their faces.
He’s kind of cute.The thought was more sorrowful than admiring. If he survived tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were added to the sexual services menu.
The Animal swung a spiked club, narrowly missing the other man’s head. The Maggot dodged low and drove his sword into the Animal’s gut. Smartly, he pulled away, withdrawing his weapon in the blink of an eye. The Animal was enraged, roaring wordlessly as he pursued the other man. His stomach was badly bleeding, but the injury didn’t seem to slow him down.
