The Hunter on Arena (8 page)

Braldt, who was still taking stock of his own inventory of bruises, did what little he could for Allo, but other than requisitioning
a half-filled pail of murky water that was meant to serve the entire cell, he had no means of cleaning and dressing the wounds.
In the end, he could do no more than swab out the cuts and draw the edges closed by tying strands of Allo’s own fur together
tightly.

Randi had begged the guards for assistance, but they had ignored her request, even those few who had wagered on her and won.
Evidently more than a few of them had been misled by Allo’s appearance and had bet on him and lost heavily. Disgruntled over
their loss, they did not bother to reply. Several of them showed their displeasure by spitting on the ground before walking
away.

While they were tending to Allo’s injuries, there was a clattering at the bars and once again the inhabitants of the cell
surged forward. Braldt and his companions fell into defensive postures and only when derisive laughter broke out did they
realize that food was the attraction and not a second attack.

By the time they realized their mistake, the single bucket which was meant to feed the entire cell had been scraped clean
of the last scrap of food. Watchful eyes
regarded them above closely guarded containers, and from the grim expressions in their eyes, Braldt knew that what had gone
before was merely entertainment and that his cellmates would fight in earnest should any attempt be made to separate them
from their rations.

An uneasy, guarded truce descended upon the cells as the inhabitants took stock of their injuries and pondered the strange
turn of circumstances. The day passed slowly, the time made even longer by the unrelieved ache of their wounds and the discomfort
and horror of their surroundings. The single tiny window set high on the wall was stained crimson with the light of the sinking
suns when the denizens of the cells once more stirred to life. Seizing various cups and gourds, they pressed forward toward
the barred door. Braldt and Marin worked their way forward, earning themselves the hiss of bared teeth and open hatred, but
the pitiful collection of prisoners chose not to fight and Braldt edged his way to the entrance.

A creaking, wooden cart came into sight. It was little more than two large wheels, a small platform, and a ladderlike back
supporting a large barrel dripping with moisture. The primitive device was propelled by an odd, lizardlike creature swathed
from head to toe in a long cloak. Little could be seen of its features other than a single hooded eye and a long snout. It
trudged along the corridor, pushing the heavy barrel before it, muttering to itself and seeming almost unaware of its surroundings.
It seemed to carry on an angry, querulous dialogue with itself, all of its attention focused inward instead of on its duties.
The cart rolled past a cell, unmindful of the extended arms which waved wildly in an attempt to catch
the water carrier’s attention. Nor did the harsh clatter of metal cups banged against the bars break into its sorrowful litany.

It appeared quite possible that the water bearer would pass them by as well, and Braldt’s throat constricted, making him aware
of his need for water. His arm shot out between the bars, and lunging hard against them, he succeeded in grabbing onto the
water carrier’s cloak. Twisting his fingers into the fabric, he jerked the lizard to an abrupt halt.

There was no noticeable difference in its demeanor. The creature did not appear angry at such a rude interruption; it made
no hostile move, but merely swung about and trundled toward the cell where it filled the waiting containers with an absent-minded
air, all the while muttering to itself. Braldt studied the water carrier with interest, noting that beneath the heavy cloak,
it had but a single eye, almost covered by an opaque membrane; the other eye was missing entirely, with nothing but a scarred
hump to show where it had once been. Its gray muzzle was crisscrossed with ridges and welts of horny scar tissue. He also
noted with interest the heavy ring laden with keys that swung from a belt at the reptile’s waist.

Braldt’s action seemed to have lessened the hostility of his cellmates, for it was obvious to all that without Braldt’s intervention,
they would have gone without water. With little more than token hostility, he was able to fill the bucket and return to his
comrades with Marin still at his side.

The lizard never once raised its single eye, mumbling to itself in a constant monotone as though arguing
some ancient, unresolved grievance. Less than half the outstretched cups had been filled before the creature wandered off,
wheeling the creaking cart back the way it had come, still reciting its litany of woes. Some of the prisoners beat on the
bars and yelled at the retreating lizard, but it paid no attention and plodded stolidly out of sight.

Allo drank a little of the water, then lapsed into a feverish sleep. His large figure was racked with fits of chills and violent
shivering as darkness filled the room. Torches were lit in the corridor but did little to alleviate the deep gloom of the
cells. The prisoners seemed to grow more melancholy as darkness pervaded the cells and their cries and shrieks grated on the
nerves. A pair of heavily armed guards patrolled the corridor at infrequent intervals, taking no notice of the prisoners’
wails.

First Braldt and then Randi attempted to call attention to Allo’s worsening condition, but the guards paid them no mind and
it became obvious that no help would be forthcoming. It was equally obvious that Allo would die if nothing were done, even
though the injury did not seem very serious. Marin had turned his broad back on them and was lost in his own surly thoughts.
Randi and Braldt took turns trying to soothe Allo’s restless stirrings. None of them even noticed when Septua crept backward
and disappeared into the black shadows.

The cellblock was far from silent, echoing with moans and groans of pain and misery; somewhere close by a man was weeping
in utter desolation. Therefore Braldt took no notice of the occasional cry or curse that rang out in their own cell. Only
when Septua crept to his
side and pressed a hard crust of bread into his hand and covered Allo with a coarse, stinking blanket did Braldt realize what
the little man had done. The lamps flared briefly and the dwarf looked up from the bit of bone he was gnawing and winked at
Braldt, a broad grin stretching across his face.

“What was it Allo said?” he whispered. “Patience rewards victory, right? Well, I were patient and when nothin’ happened, I
just thought I’d give it a ’and!”

Morning arrived after an eternity of the dark night. The guards returned in force, led by the same officer. Braldt and his
companions were motioned out of the cell at swordpoint, the other inhabitants cringing back against the walls and making themselves
as still as possible, obviously fearful of the soldiers.

But Braldt and the others stood by Allo’s side and refused to move, although Marin had hesitated for a moment as though undecided.
Braldt turned to him and said in a low tone, “Think, this could just as easily be you lying here.” The big man nodded slowly,
his small, dark eyes registering the thought, and without a word he turned toward the soldiers and crossed his arms over his
chest, completing the unbroken front.

For a moment it appeared as though the officer would order his men to drag them out by force, then the point of his sword
lowered and he spat on the filthy stone floor and gestured toward Allo. “Pick him up,” he said in a guttural tone. “Bring
him with. He will be of more interest alive than dead.”

They did as they were ordered, and staggering under Allo’s great weight, they retraced the steps they had
taken the previous day, emerging into the hot glare of the rising suns which quickly burned away the damp chill of the prison.
The officer gestured for several of his men to take Allo, but Braldt, distrusting the officer, refused to relinquish the body
of his companion who shook beneath his hands with uncontrollable, feverish tremors. The gentle being had lost consciousness
some time during the night without muttering a single word of complaint.

The officer stared into Braldt’s eyes. “If I wanted him dead, I’d’ve stuck him back there or let him die on his own. It don’t
take much to kill offworlders; they don’t have any resistance to foreign bugs. But it don’t matter to me one way or the other;
give him up or tend to him yourselves.”

It was clear that Allo would die if he did not receive medical attention and equally obvious that they had no way of administering
it themselves. They had no choice but to trust the man. Reluctantly, they stepped back and let the soldiers carry Allo away,
although in the end, it took six of them to lift his furry bulk.

The rest of them were ushered across the red sand of the arena and led through an open arch which bustled with activity. Two
forges were situated in the center of the huge room. Heavily muscled men, naked but for leather loincloths and dripping with
sweat, beat upon bars of flaming metal with steady rhythm. A lizard creature and a half-man/half-cat being operated the bellows,
keeping the coals glowing red. Others stood waiting their turns in long, patient lines, carrying a variety of broken weapons
and pieces of armor, all in need of the smithy’s attention.

They trailed past the waiting lines; curious and hostile eyes assessing them, sizing up their strengths and weaknesses as
they made their way into the shadowy reaches under the stands of the coliseum. Leaving the smithy’s chambers, they entered
a broad, curved corridor carved from the solid earth, also bustling with activity. Humans, half-humans of all descriptions,
and strange animal types that defied description, as well as multitudes of soldiers and hard ones traveled along the corridor
in both directions.

No one took note of their passage as they joined the flow of traffic. By pokes, prods and guttural grunts, they were herded
into a good-sized room that smelled sharply of astringent. A number of metal tables of differing sizes and heights were bolted
to the stone floor. A line of windows lined the upper reaches of the walls allowing the hot, red suns to till the room with
stains of crimson despite the heavy bars across the glass.

Allo was stretched out on the largest of these tables; it was barely long enough for his immense form. A man wrapped from
head to toe in a single, form-fitting garment with a large, glass lens strapped over his eyes, was bending over Allo, probing
his injuries with gentle hands.

The rest of Braldt’s group was examined less than gently by a man with a healer’s touch, but lacking his caring concern. Their
clothing was stripped from them and their bruises washed with foaming suds and rinsed with a stinging antiseptic. Their bodies
were explored from head to toe, eyes, nostrils, mouths, ears, and other orifices clinically inspected despite their protests.
Ever present were the guards with their swords and their
watchful eyes, waiting for the slightest sign of rebellion. The officer remained by the door, discussing them with the primary
healer, making notations in a small book.

When the ignominious inspection was over they were taken, still naked, to a much smaller room. The sight of his own body and
those of Marin and Septua were of little concern to Braldt, but he could not help but notice that Randi’s slender, muscular
build in no way detracted from her attractiveness. Feeling his eyes upon her body, Randi blushed deeply, then raised her chin
and glared at him defiantly.

Before he could speak, a tall and impossibly slender being that resembled nothing so much as a leaf-eating insect grown to
gigantic proportions entered the room and began to measure them with a strange, silver square that emitted a thin, red beam
and registered an ever-changing stream of figures on its face. Even though it bore the now-familiar silver implant, its voice
and language were little more than a series of querulous chirps and clicks.

It seemed aggravated when they did not understand its commands to lift their arms or legs or turn as directed. It aided their
comprehension with sharp pinches from its ratcheted pincers and flailed them with its whip-like antennae if they did not move
quickly enough. The resulting bruises and stinging, red welts were painful as well as unexpected, and provided the guards
with much cause for merriment. They quickly learned to anticipate the creature’s demands, and with the exception of Septua
to whom the bug-like being seemed to have taken a special dislike, they escaped without further injury.

But Septua was not entirely without means of his
own, and as they were about to leave the room, the little man leaped on the back of the unsuspecting insect, wrapped his thick,
muscular legs around its chest and squeezed, bringing it to its double-jointed knees, gasping for breath. The guards sprang
forward, then stopped, eyeing the rest of them nervously. It would be necessary to break through their ranks if they were
to rescue the insectman. Perhaps he had caused them pain in the past, for after a quick glance among themselves, they stood
their ground. They did not retreat, but neither did they go to the insect’s aid.

Septua took advantage of their brief hesitation and his thick hands flew. When he sprang aside wearing a wide grin, releasing
his prisoner, the unfortunate creature lay gasping on the ground, its delicate antennae tied in a series of complex knots,
the fragile length forever broken and bent.

The soldiers grinned at Septua, all but slapping him on the back, and made no attempt to help the fallen insect as he lay
there chirping in distress. Nor did they interfere as their prisoners put on their clothing; Septua’s action seemed to have
won them a small amount of approval.

Their next stop was an armory, and here they were let loose to wander among an impressive array of weapons, many of which
were entirely unfamiliar to Braldt. He was immediately drawn to a rack filled with swords of every description, crafted of
gleaming metal completely unlike the dull, bronze weapons he was accustomed to. These weapons were bright and shiny and bore
a razor-keen edge that would deflect the hardest blow without
sustaining damage. There were short swords and long swords, curved blades, tiny, wavy-edged daggers, and immense, two-handed
swords that even Braldt with all his strength could not have lifted.