Chapter 7 - The Arena

The unbearable stench of ogre dung bit the noses of the party as they descended the stairwell that led to the lizardmen’s arena: a narrow corridor leading straight downward, only wide enough to walk single-file. The walls and stairs were made of slick black marble-like material. The warmth of blood and sweat thickened the air, making it stuffy.

Auric’s concern fell upon Zengrath and Racti. He knew they weren’t fighters, and he already mourned for them. He knew the lizardmen wouldn’t listen to any pleas now, so he decided to wait until they reached the arena to bargain for the fate of the wizard and thief.

“The rules of the arena are as follows,” explained Tok from the front of the line of lizardmen and prisoners. “There will be one man to every ogre. The fight will be to the death. Your possessions will be held by your companions in the waiting room, and all you are allowed for weapons are a spear and a wooden club.”

At the sound of the word “spear,” Martell’s brown eyes lit up like sparkling amber. He was an expert with a spear; he’d do well in this arena.

* * *

After the long descent, the party was stopped in a long T-shaped room with wooden doors to the left and right. The walls here were made of a dry, stucco-type material, which was full of small holes. Tok mumbled something in the lizard tongue, and Auric and his companions were ushered through the left doorway into a small room lit in the middle by a bluish-white floating orb. The door was shut and locked behind them.

Tannyr lowered himself angrily onto one of the benches that lined the walls of this room. “So this is our fate — imprisoned in an arena forced to fight ogres.”

No one said a word, though everyone felt the same as Tannyr. Martell sat hunched on one of the other benches, hugging his legs with his chin buried between his knees. Zengrath stared blankly at the glowing orb, while Auric paced aimlessly around the middle of the room.

“Do you smell that?” Racti was the first to pick up the stench of old worn leather. He looked in one of the corners of the room and spotting a pile of torn leather armor that was caked with blood and covered in sweat. “One of the last losers in the arena must have been wearing it.”

The door suddenly flung open, and two burly lizardmen guards entered, each carrying a suit of leather armor, a thick wooden club and an iron spear. One of the guards handed Auric a piece of paper with crude handwriting on it.

Auric cleared his throat and began reading aloud. “This is your equipment for the Arena. Leave all your possessions in this room with your other companions. If every one of you wins in the Arena, you may go. May the best man, or ogre, win.”

“So there is a chance!” Martell’s eyes brightened, but lost their glow as he remembered the thief and wizard, exactly the same thought that Auric had been thinking during their descent. Then he recalled the fight with the lizardman in the library. Racti was a formidable fighter then, and it was Racti who charged the lizardman and saved his life.

Auric confirmed Martell’s response with his next words. “I’m concerned for Racti and Zengrath. While Zengrath is powerful in the magical arts, he is not adept with weapons, and I doubt that magic is allowed in the Arena. Racti fights well with a sword, but lacks complete warrior training as well as muscle.” At this, Zengrath and Racti nodded. Auric took a deep breath of relief that he did not offend or discourage his friends. He only looked out for the best for them, and he realized that fortunately they had seen that.

“Who will go first?” Everyone turned to face Tannyr, who had spoken from his bench on the far side of the room.

“If no one else volunteers, I will,” Martell said as he beat his fist against his chest. Looking around, he noticed that none of the others had stepped forward nor raised their hands.

“I don’t know whether you are a fool or very honorable.” Auric laughed and patted Martell on the back.

The warrior tried on both suits of the armor, but neither fit his large muscular figure. He selected the more bearable of the two. Martell put his gear into a pile on a bench near where Tannyr sat and, taking a spear and club, nodded to show he was ready. The lizardmen guards led him out of the room.

Once Martell was gone and the door shut and locked, Tannyr spoke up. “I think that Martell fellow is allied with the lizardmen. We didn’t encounter them until after meeting Martell, and he is so eager to go to the Arena, I bet only to watch us die.”

Racti was about to say something, but stopped. He turned away.

“I just don’t like him. In my opinion, he is untrustworthy…”

“I think we should focus our thoughts on getting out of here instead of arguing about whether Martell is trustworthy or not,” Zengrath interrupted, raising his voice.

“I agree with Zengrath,” Auric added, nodded. “That should be our first priority.”

Tannyr nodded. He knew Auric was right.

* * *

Martell stepped eagerly toward the entrance to the Arena, anticipation burning through his veins and muscles. He grasped the spear with a firm grip from both hands. Already the sweat soaked his bare skin, and he hadn’t even begun to fight.

It was impossible for Martell to see what was going on in the arena, but the crack of bones followed by a blood-curdling scream clearly indicated that the previous competitor was the loser. A chill ran up Martell’s back and down again, but he stiffened his posture. He couldn’t fear anything now; this was going to be his moment of triumph.

The iron door slowly opened, and Martell caught his first glimpse of the arena. The room was a massive dome, and the spectator area that circled the room was raised six feet from the ground. A wire mesh canopy covered the fighting area, through which Martell could see the eyes of lizardmen peering down into the center of the Arena, where a limp body was being carried off. From the glint in the eyes of the spectators, Martell could tell they wanted to see blood.

Martell stood in the center of the Arena, watching as the iron door was shut behind him. His warrior nature surged through him. He turned around, hearing Tok’s voice from somewhere in the crowd above him. A door across from the one from which he had entered slowly creaked open.

* * *

Racti toyed with the lock on the door, to no avail. The chisel did nothing to the sturdy hardwood door. He stood and walked back to one of the benches, dragging his feet.

Meanwhile, Auric leaped and tumbled about the room, his mind intent on practicing for the coming battle. He stopped suddenly, noticing that Racti had given up. “Nothing, Racti?”

“Not a thing. These walls don’t even have a mousehole.” Racti sighed, and then began knocking on the stone walls of the room.

Zengrath sat next to Auric, seeing the look of worry on his face. “I wonder how our warrior friend is faring.”

* * *

The savage cries of the lizardmen echoed like one deep drone that hung in the air in the large room, and grew louder as the door opened. The gigantic form of an ogre emerged from the darkness of the doorway before him, standing at twice the height of Martell. The creature had thick yellowish brown skin that was covered in black stains of blood. Its head resembled a homely cross between a boar and a dog, and from its growl and thick teeth Martell would have suspected the former. The ogre wielded a large knotted club, worn with the dents of battle.

Martell took a few steps back, pointing his spear toward the approaching ogre. Come and get me, you dirty thing. Martell felt almost at home here in the Arena. The ogre was just bigger game for him, and this would be his zenith moment.

Roaring hungrily, the ogre stomped toward Martell. It swung its club in his direction, making a whoosh as loud as a hurricane wind. The swing just passed over Martell’s head. The warrior rolled away and rose onto one knee, still keeping the spear pointed at the ogre.

An intense heat filled the Arena, even though the room was deep below the world’s surface. It was the heat of battle, causing both of the combatants to sweat. The next hour was drawn out with many missed blows and furious brawling. But the spectators wanted blood, and like a plague the feeling had spread to Martell. He had had enough of the brawl; this was a death match!

Martell charged at the ogre, howling like an angry hound. He stabbed the spear into the ogre’s side, but the spear merely stuck there like a thorn. The raging ogre slammed its club into the front of Martell’s head, sending the warrior flying across the room.

* * *

“Martell will be fine out there. He is a typical fighter: he loves to fight, and is good at it.” Auric laughed. “I bet they have to send out another ogre or two just to keep him occupied.” Auric knew that this wasn’t true, but he hoped the joke lifted his friends’ spirits.

“Auric, I was thinking lately that that orb serves another purpose than just lighting this room.” Zengrath pointed to the floating orb of light.

“What do you plan to do, Zengrath? Disenchant it, and put all of us in the dark?” Tannyr tried to disguise his bad-mood statement with a laugh, but he could tell it didn’t work. He caught his breath and remained silent.

“Maybe someone should inspect the floor and ceiling around the orb. It may serve as protection for some sort of secret door.” Zengrath scratched his beard, pondering.

All eyes turned to Racti. The thief looked up at everyone, the brightness returning to his blue eyes. His face beamed as he leaped to his feet and to the orb.

* * *

Martell rose, rubbing his face. He felt the long gash on the side of his face near his eye, and as he removed his hand he noticed that it was soaked with blood.

The spear was still deep in the ogre’s waist, so Martell reached behind him and grabbed the club that was slung over his back. This time he would not be so foolish as to charge the monster again. Instead, he would let his opponent charge him.

Already approaching Martell, the ogre growled with delight at the thought of the coming victory. It held its club over its head, ready to pound Martell into the Arena’s dirt floor. Yellow drool ran from the ogre’s crooked grin.

Martell was at an advantage this time. He had his opponent approaching him, and with the ogre’s weapon over its head, its lower body was vulnerable. Suddenly, the ogre ran toward Martell, surprising him. Thinking quickly, Martell leaped into the air and flipped across the ogre’s shoulder as the creature ran past where he stood. Martell scanned the beast from head to toe for a good place to attack. Smiling devilishly, he whacked the ogre on the back of its feet, just above the heel.

The ogre let out a deafening yelp of pain as it stumbled to the ground. The spear was jostled from the ogre’s side, and Martell rushed to retrieve his lost weapon. As the ogre lay on the ground, Martell beat it several times with the club. The ogre responded with a low groan after each hit.

Martell smiled with pride. He had won, and he looked around at the crowd of lizardmen waiting for cheers, but instead heard gasps of terror. He felt a fist from behind crash into his back. Falling onto his chest, Martell turned to see the ogre alive and full of rage.

By the gods!

Martell’s breath grew short and choppy, the wind slightly knocked out of him. He scrambled to stand, weakened a bit from the blow. His back still stung from the shocking punch that had been sent up his spine. Picking up his weapons, he stood ready for the ogre’s next attack. This time the ogre refrained from another charge. In the midst of this stasis, Martell thought out his own next attack. Would he charge again, only to be foolishly knocked out again by the club? Or would he throw his spear? His face lit up with the thought. He slung the club into its sheath on his back, just in case this plan would fail. Then he positioned himself kneeling on one knee, and held the spear one-handed, like a javelin.

Surprisingly, the ogre was confused. Apparently none of its former challengers had tried this kind of attack on it. The ogre stood dumbfounded with its club in front of its body, eyes focused on its opponent. Martell, seizing the opportunity, flung the spear at the ogre’s head. The spear whistled as it soared through the air, and THWOK! It pierced the ogre’s right eye and penetrated through the back of its skull.

The ogre screamed as it attempted to pry the spear from its eye. Since it could not see, it grasped at the air. Thick red blood oozed from the front and back of the ogre’s head as it flailed about the room, coating the floor of the arena. A round of bloodthirsty cheers resounded throughout the room. As the ogre fell to the ground face-first, Martell quickly stepped out of the way so he would not be caught under its hulking body. The victorious warrior leaped onto the fallen ogre’s back, waving at the spectators above and grinning triumphantly.