Tanys Gladiatrix (The Chronicles of Tanys Book 2)

Tanys Gladiatrix

By Andrew Hunter

Copyright 2011 Andrew Hunter

Kindle
Edition

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Tanys stood naked and spread-eagled, leaning with her hands against the rough wooden wall of the pen. Two slave girls dolloped out cold globs of gold paint from earthenware jars and rubbed it onto her body. The coolness of it on her skin felt good against the oppressive heat of the Rashaki desert. Born in the icy wilderness of the far north, Tanys had been unprepared for the hammering sun of Cashuun. Often over the past month, she had regretted the rash decision to follow Haru'Luk, the scheming satyr to his dry and shadeless homeland. She had even, on occasion, questioned the wisdom of rescuing the conniving man-beast from the blood mages in the first place.

Still, Haru had spoken the truth about the fighting pits of Cashuun. Tanys and the tattooed dwarf Jorva had already reaped a modest fortune in jewels and gold simply by spilling the blood of fellow slaves in the gladiatorial arenas of the beastmen. Tanys still rankled at that arrangement. All humans were slaves in Cashuun, at least nominally. Haru was her master only in the eyes of the ruling satyr class, and barely that. The shifty satyr had proven an adept manager, however, leading the two warriors to the highest profit at lowest risk. Tanys could not fault him in that. Even so, she could only grind her teeth in suppressed rage when he presented her as his property in accordance to the laws of this barbaric land.

The muffled roar of the crowd bespoke the climax of whatever fight now took place in the arena above her. Soon, it would be her turn to take the sands against another gladiator.

"How fares my finest slave, this excellent morning?" Haru'Luk called out from the doorway. The shaggy-legged faun leaned against the doorframe with a rubied goblet in his hand and a crooked grin on his sensual lips. He was well into his cup already, and watched with interest as a slave girl's hands cupped Tanys' pendulous breasts smoothing the golden cream over her skin.

Tanys flinched as the other girl stepped behind her, bringing a handful of paint up between her legs. Slender fingers worked the cold gel between the folds of Tanys' womanhood. Tanys cast a reproachful glare over her shoulder. "What am I fighting today?" she asked.

"You stand against Baran, today, my dear," Haru said, dusting a few crumbs from his silk doublet, "He's good."

"How good?" Tanys stood up, turning to face the satyr as the slave girls' hands moved up her neck, smearing gold paint over her cheeks.

"Well... I didn't bet on you."

"What?"

Haru took a step back, defensively. "Don't worry! The match is only to first blood, and Baran is very professional. You just have to put up a good fight, and we'll make out quite well."

"You expect me to lose?" Tanys began to say more, but slender golden fingers pressed her full lips to silence.

"Baran is the first gladiator of the Malchesse House," Haru said, "It is an honor to fight him. It will open doors for us."

"I don't care how many doors it opens! I don't plan on losing."

"I admire your spirit!" Haru grinned, "Just try not to get hurt too badly. I can't afford to replace you yet."

Tanys smiled sourly at the faun as a girl dabbed indigo cream onto Tanys' eyelids. The other slave tied Tanys' raven black hair back with a thin golden chain. A gauzy scrap of linen was produced and tied about Tanys' waist to cover the hairless mound of her sex. Shaving it had been Haru's idea. The satyr had a lot of strange ideas about the proper presentation of a fighting slave.

The servant girls bowed their heads and stepped back. Tanys stretched her toned limbs, flexing her taught muscles. Her nudity no longer bothered her as it once did. Such was expected of the human slaves who served the depraved beastmen. Apart from the appreciative leers of the arena crowds, no one seemed to take much notice. The two slave girls were likewise naked but for brief sarongs. Their small breasts, streaked with paint, bounced lightly as they hurried away, a far cry from the fur-clad peoples of the north.

Tanys sighed, pushing back unbidden memories as she moved to stand before Haru’Luk. "Well," she said, "what am I fighting with?"

Haru smiled and bent to retrieve something from behind the door. He straightened, holding a small, spiked buckler.

"And what for a weapon?" Tanys asked.

Haru shrugged his furry shoulders and held out the tiny shield on the tips of two fingers.

Tanys groaned. "You're serious?"

"Baran is a valuable slave. The Malchesse aren't taking chances."

"Why don't you just tie me face-down in the middle of the arena with a 'bugger me please' sign on my ass?"

"So you've heard about next week's match then?" Haru grinned wickedly.

Tanys snatched the buckler from him and dealt him a stinging backhand blow with the rim of it. The satyr hopped away, wincing.

"Careful there, slave, I'll have you thrashed!" giggled Haru as he disappeared up the narrow staircase to the stands. Tanys' exit would be through the arena.

The crowd was chanting Baran's name when Tanys stepped out onto the hot sand. The midday sun gleamed off her golden body. She glistened and shone like a goddess of lust. Across the octagonal arena stood Baran, a gilded god of war. Baran was another human. His perfect features and chiseled muscles, solid but not overdeveloped, promised speed as well as power. He stood, like Tanys, nude but for a white loincloth, and painted everywhere except his mane of curly brown hair. His eyes turned from the adoring crowd to her. They did not fall to her glorious breasts as most men's eyes would, but remained locked to her gaze. Baran's head tilted slightly, as though he saw something he was not expecting in her. His golden lips split in a feral sneer.

Tanys did not hear the droning voice of the satyr Caller, did not care what honors the voice heaped upon the combatants to rouse the crowd. The world constricted around her, narrowing to the eight-sided pit and the sword in Baran's hand. The blade dance would soon begin.

The voice stopped talking, and Tanys sprung to the center of the arena, eyes blazing, her bladed shield held high. Baran made no counter move, only smiled.

"I won't be needing this!" Baran said, dropping his curved sword into the sand.

The crowd roared with laughter and blood lust as the pretty boy gladiator walked calmly away from his weapon, stretching and flexing like a bored cat. Tanys growled at the insult, diving for the fallen sword.

Baran rolled and was there before her, pinning her outstretched hand, burying it in the sand with the weight of his knee, even as he snatched the buckler from her grasp. Laughing, he started to speak before the heel of Tanys' palm smashed into his lip.

Tanys jerked her pinioned hand free and scrambled away as Baran stood, wiping his lip. He raised the trace of red on his fingertip to show the crowd. Only their jeers answered.

"I think they want more blood than that," he said, "I think they want some of yours."

Tanys bared her teeth, crouching low, awaiting his next move. Baran's nostril's flared, as though catching her scent, and his eyes burned hungrily. He slipped the spiked buckler into place over his knuckles and advanced on her. Clearly he meant to bleed her with her own weapon. Tanys fought to control the rage that surged in her breast.

Baran lunged at her, leading with the bladed boss of the tiny shield. The rim of the buckler brushed across Tanys' midriff as she dodged aside. Tanys' fist shot out, hoping to land a solid blow to his temple, but succeeded only in mussing his silky brown hair.

Baran's free hand closed on her wrist as she pulled back her fist, stepping behind her with his arms under hers, locking her in a wrestler's hold. Tanys struggled against the strength of his arms, all technique lost in her humiliation. How could she be taken so easily?

Baran's lips pressed close to her ear. "Take control of yourself," he whispered, "You're not strong enough to break free like that."

Tanys' eyes flashed. The man dared to scold her like a schoolmaster. She concentrated on her footwork, shifting her weight. Unbalanced, his hold on her loosened, and she slipped free. Baran was grinning when she spun to face him.

"A slippery little mouse!" he shouted for the crowd's benefit, and they roared in response.

Tanys looked up over the high walls of the arena to see, as if for the first time, the throng of beastmen calling for her blood. The horned and hooved satyrs of Cashuun clad in bright silks and glittering jewels, howled and jeered. Their lust-mad eyes devoured her body like a sweet morsel offered in prelude to the feast of carnal pleasures that invariably followed every match. Even now, naked slaves moved through the stands, attendant to the satyrs' every appetite. Tanys hated them.

"Don't look at them," Baran said, his voice different, almost friendly, "Keep your eyes on me."

Tanys shut out the noise of the crowd and regained her fighting stance. Baran nodded, advancing again. This time, as he stepped in, she rolled away, coming up from the sand with the curved sword in hand. Tanys' blade lashed out, ringing on the brass rim of Baran's buckler. With viper's speed she struck again. Baran twisted as the tip of her blade raked across his chest, leaving a track across his bronze skin, scraped bare of golden paint.

Baran's eyes widened, and he laughed. "Nicely done! Perhaps you do have spirit after all."

Tanys slashed out again. Baran leapt backwards, just outside the arc of her cut. The flap of his linen breechcloth fluttered, torn by the strike. Tanys grinned fiercely as Baran's hand covered his groin, taking quick inventory of his privates.

"Not funny!" Baran chuckled, "I see it's time I stop playing with you."

Tanys jabbed the point of her blade at Baran's face, then twisted the cut down toward his stomach. He wasn't even there anymore. Tanys' arm stung as the knife-edge of Baran's hand came down on her wrist. The sword tumbled from her nerveless fingers. His leg slipped between her thighs and hooked the back of her knee. Tanys landed hard on her back in the sand with Baran astride her. How had he moved so fast?

Tanys growled incoherently as he pinned her arms above her head, her golden breasts heaving, defenseless. She looked up at the conquering war god, silhouetted against the noonday sun, his curly hair a shimmering halo. His strength held her as surely as iron bands, and she could do nothing but kick helplessly at the sand, her hips grinding uselessly between his toned thighs. From her lips erupted the mighty war shriek of the Raven tribe. Her back arched, and, for a moment, his grip loosened against the power of her rage. Then her strength faltered, and she lay, gasping, in his control once more.

"You have it in you," Baran said; sweat dripping from his brow, "but you'll never beat me unless you use it."

"Use what?" Tanys hissed, breathless from the heat.

"Your animal spirit," Baran said, "I can smell it in your scent. I can see it in your eyes. You are like me. You just don't know it yet."

Tanys' mind raced. Was this the true reason that the men of her tribe had shrunk from her, branded her an outcast? More than just her father's marriage to an outsider, was she somehow not even truly human? Once, in the pits of the blood mages, she had found in herself a strength to survive which had come to her from... somewhere else.

The memory of that strange force flickered through her body, thrilling her. Her skin tingled, every sense sharpened. Her eyes focused on Baran's face, his handsome features intense as he regarded her. She could taste his musky scent, and it aroused in her something unexpected, yet not unpleasant. Tanys' hips moved again, not with the desperate struggles of a captured hare, but rather the slow writhing of a mounted vixen.

Baran could feel it as well. The vice grip of his sinewy thighs loosened, and the heavy bulge of his loincloth lowered to brush her skin, just below her navel. The thin linen sack strained to contain him as his body answered to hers. His breath grew shallow. One hand released her wrist, finding her swelling breast. He squeezed and tugged, rolling her soft flesh between his thick fingers. Tanys' mind bade her hand to move, to take advantage of the opening, but her body did not obey. Her hands stretched out, clawing at the sand as Baran's mouth closed upon her breast. Tanys shivered despite the heat, delirious with pleasure as Baran's rough tongue licked clean the golden paint from her swollen nipple.

She felt his leg lift, relieving the pressure on her hips. His knee came down again between her legs, gently nudging them apart. She did not resist as Baran moved into position between her thighs. His fingers slipped beneath the thin string binding the cloth that covered her sex.

"Tanys, move your ass!" Haru's voice snapped her mind back into focus.

Tanys levered her legs up and kicked Baran backwards off of her. He landed a few feet away, sprawled in the sand with a bemused look, his codpiece stretched skyward with an enormous erection. With a grin, he raised his hand triumphantly. Tanys' loincloth dangled from his fingers. The crowd hooted with laughter.

Tanys' skin flushed with shame for more than just her nakedness. What was wrong with her? She glanced up to the stands where Haru was giving her his most pained look of exasperation. She looked away, her hand covering her breast. She rubbed at the nipple, impossibly hard and cold where Baran's tongue had stripped the delicate organ of the sun-baked paint that slowly roasted the rest of her body. Her thoughts shimmered in and out of focus, though from the heat of the sun or the heat of animal passion, she could not guess.