Page 69 of The Prisoner's Gambit
The bellow he let out to the delight of the raucous crowd made it clear that was precisely his intention.
“And his opponent, recently arrived and ready to rumble, Bodok!”
All eyes turned to the tunnel’s mouth. Nothing happened.
“Bodok!” the announcer said again, a slight nervous twitch tugging at his lips.
A displeased murmur rippled through the crowd, words of frustrated annoyance. They ceased abruptly, a hush falling over the audience when the cobalt-blue-skinned man, shirtless and oiled for battle, walked slowly from the tunnel.
He looked around, scanning the crowd, ignoring the audience. He was searching for something. Someone. And the pull of his Infala told him she was there, somewhere.
Maureen shifted on her feet, not daring to wave or make any overt gesture. Her own Infala was flaring with energy at the presence of her man. At long last his gaze shifted in her direction, his eyes falling on her, locking her own in a fiery stare.
Bodok knew her situation was tenuous, breaking their contact before it could upset the mistress of her house further. He rolled his shoulders a little, as though loosening up, but nothing more.
The crowd began to boo. They wanted a fight, not a slaughter.
The announcer watched with disbelief, unsure what he could do to salvage the spirits of the crowd and bring them back to a cheerful demeanor. Seeing how disgruntled they were, he quickly decided to throw in the towel and simply let the foolish man perish.
“Begin!” he bellowed, eliciting a roar from the spectators.
Navaris grinned a pointed-tooth smile and charged, swinging his hands fast and furious. Bodok ducked and weaved, somehow avoiding the flurry of attacks, diving aside in a roll, hopping safely back to his feet, unscathed.
The crowd booed even louder, urging him to fight. Navaris seemed to thrive on their energy, redoubling his attack.
Again, Bodok parried and blocked, moving aside as fast as he could. Even so, a few blows landed, but they were mere glancing ones causing no real damage.
“Fight back, you coward!” a woman shrieked.
“What the hell kind of fight is this?” an angry man joined in.
The announcer looked nervously at the crowd. Fans were getting angry now. This wasn’t how a fight was supposed to go, and their agitation was growing by the second. He silenced his microphone.
“The crowd wants action,” he hissed at Bodok. “You must fight or you’ll forfeit.”
Bodok shrugged.
The announcer felt panic welling up in his belly. The crowd was getting out of hand, and this fool was going to turn it into a full-on riot with his refusal to fight. In an instant the man made a decision, norms and standards be damned. He waved to the workers at the weapons racks. They knew better than to question him.
“Hooah!” the weapons handlers bellowed in unison, alerting the crowd, and more importantly the fighters, that weapons were being added to the mix.
A variety of dangerous implements were hurled into the arena. Nothing with blades—those were reserved for the later matches—but heavy clubs, lighter but faster batons, and an assortment of other less lethal goodies to choose from.
Navaris smiled from ear to ear, racing to snatch up the biggest, heaviest, most dangerous-looking club in the arena. He swung it over his head and let out a whooping howl. The crowd went nuts in reaction, further fueling his exuberance.
Bodok, on the other hand, stood his ground. He looked at the weapons strewn about the arena. There, close to the wall, a metal rod with a hefty ball on the end lay in the dirt. Like a space-age shillelagh, it begged for action.
Navaris saw his gaze lock on the weapon and charged, shouting out a fierce battle cry as he ran.
Bodok reacted immediately, sprinting toward the weapon.
Navaris was a much faster runner, but the huge club in his hands slowed his pace just enough to make it clear Bodok would reach it before him. Navaris pushed even harder, swinging his club high, knowing full well his speed and the club’s weight would smash aside the smaller weapon with ease.
The crowd was screaming so loud the entire structure shook. This preliminary match was turning into something far more interesting. Even Mistress Tormik slid toward the edge of her seat, subconsciously anticipating a brutal end to the battle.
The two men were almost upon one another when the unexpected happened. Navaris was a blur of fury and aggression charging at full speed, but Bodok abruptly dug in his feet, stopping in his tracks well short of the weapon.
Navaris saw what had happened but had already fully committed to his attack. The club arced through the air but met no opposing force, the kinetic energy yanking its wielder clean off his feet. Feet that were propelling him ahead at an almost impossible speed.
