The Rebels' Assault (7 page)

Argon was running out of energy in his bid to escape the pit. The walls were too rough; every time he made some sort of progress, he slipped back down amid an avalanche of dirt. To make matters worse, several of the smaller snakes had bitten his legs . . . and a network of pain was beginning to creep through his body. His legs felt like dead weights.

With one final burst of energy, Argon scraped, clawed, and heaved his way up the side of the pit.

Then . . . all at once . . . he could do no more.

His eyes fixed on the light and the noise above. He could only watch himself slowly slip back into the writhing furor of the snake pit.

Argon closed his eyes, prayed to his god . . . and let himself fall.

A hand closed around his wrist.

Argon started, and his eyes flicked open. He found himself staring at a very familiar face: Olu had a smile that was simply unforgettable.

“Come on!” said the slave, hauling his friend out of the depths. “I thought you Gauls were supposed to be strong.”

Argon spat out an entire mouthful of abuse, but he also found an extra reserve of strength. He and Olu rolled onto the stage and tried to get to their feet, but, as they did so, they were greeted by a truly dreadful sight . . .

Ruma was sitting on the ground beside the trapdoor, rocking backward and forward in the dirt. His eyes were streaming with tears, and his entire body was shaking. Above him, Teo hung motionless from the scaffold. He was dead.

Drin Hain staggered back, his hood falling away to reveal a plain and unmarked face that was full of surprise, confusion, and anger.

Decimus gritted his teeth and stepped forward, driving his elbow into the assassin's jaw and knocking him to the ground.

Drin Hain, great killer of slaves and shadowy apprentice to Slavious Doom, curled up like a newborn baby and clutched at the sword that protruded from his stomach. His eyes flickered for a moment, and then focused in a terrible, distant stare.

Decimus stepped around the fallen assassin and moved over to crouch beside his friend.

“Gladius,” he said, speaking slowly and carefully. “It's Decimus. Can you hear me?”

Gladius moved his head slightly. His breathing was measured, but he was out cold. His face was covered in blood from Hain's assault, and his lips trembled as if he were suffering the worst kind of nightmare.

At least he was alive.

As Decimus hauled the unconscious slave off the dirt, he glanced over at Argon and Olu, who were helping Ruma to free Teo from the noose. Decimus guessed from Ruma's tear-streaked face that Teo was dead. Now they were five.

Gladius was a heavy burden. Decimus looped the big slave's arm around his neck and tried to move him toward the edge of the stage, but he soon froze.

On the opposite end of the scaffold, Ruma, Olu, and Argon were equally still. They had managed to get Teo's body to the ground, but Argon had spotted the scene unfolding around them and had alerted the others.

Nobody moved.

Around the edge of the tower courtyard, some twenty guards surrounded them. Some were armed with swords, many with spears, and a few carried the deadly combination of trident and net. All were advancing toward them, poised for combat.

Slavious Doom strode through the great doors and held up an armored hand.

“Wait!” he cried, pointing across the courtyard as he approached the gathered slaves. “Will you look at this: The great Decimus Rex has returned . . . precisely as Hain predicted. His plan worked beautifully . . . such a pity he will not be around to see it bear fruit.” Slavious stared down at his fallen apprentice, but he didn't look even remotely concerned. His attention quickly shifted back to the young gladiator. “Now, you are mine once again.”

Decimus felt himself begin to shake with anger, but he knew that any strike against the overlord would be futile. They were impossibly outnumbered, and Doom fought like a lion. From what Decimus had seen, the overlord was equivalent in strength to ten men.

“You didn't really presume that a handful of ship slaves would be any match for me?” Doom continued. “Oh certainly, we suffered some losses . . . and I doubt the merchants will be happy unless we return their precious money . . . but then I see you have your own small . . . hmm . . . disappointments?”

The armored giant nodded at Teo's corpse, and it took the combined efforts of Argon and Olu to keep Ruma from racing at him.

“You will suffer more losses if I advance now,” said Doom, his voice almost casual. “I can get my men to cut down your friends, leaving you utterly alone to face my wrath.”

Decimus raised his sword as the guards began to move forward, but he knew they really didn't stand a chance.

Doom's face was consumed by a sickly, almost demonic smile.

“I'm not going to kill any of your friends now,” he boomed as yet another group of guards arrived at the gates. “For they will be far more useful to me back at Arena Primus . . . as bargaining tools.”

“Bargaining tools?” questioned Argon. He, Ruma, and Olu were all staring over at Decimus, whose own expression indicated that he didn't have the slightest clue what Slavious Doom was referring to.

“Bargaining tools against whom?” Decimus shouted as he felt Gladius begin to stir.

Doom released a sarcastic cackle. “Against you, my boy. This entire event was arranged to bring YOU back to me. Did you believe I arranged all of this simply to stop two ordinary slaves escaping my grasp? Hahaha! MANY slaves have escaped me over the years, my young friends, and I can assure you I made no such efforts to recapture them. You are special, Decimus; it is a pure and simple fact. I need you to complete a task for me—a task that you alone are able to complete . . . a task that is your DESTINY.”

“I would kill myself before I helped you do anything,” Decimus spat.

Slavious Doom shrugged.

“Then do it now,” he yelled. “For you will watch your friends suffer and die one by one unless you do exactly as I command.”

In the silence, Doom turned and strode from the courtyard.

“Take them back to Arena Primus,” he boomed. “ALL of them.”

Decimus Rex is once again back in the clutches of the evil Slavious Doom. Tasked with entering the catacombs beneath the arena to bring back the fabled Blade of Fire, Decimus immediately demands the release of all his friends in return for agreeing to take on the mission. Doom, however, has other plans . . .

Get ready to challenge your friends! Each
Gladiator Boy
book will contain a different trial. Collect them all to run your own Arena of Doom—either at home or on the playground.

 

 

In this book, one of the young slaves meets a grizzly fate and all of the others escape theirs only by the narrowest of margins. It all seems to come down to luck in the end.

 

You will need either two, three, or four players, ten pieces of paper—all the same size—and a container or box of some kind.

In this trial, the players imagine themselves walking through a room full of snakes. Most of the snakes are harmless, but one is poisonous. If the players are bitten, they are eliminated and lose the trial.

 

 

One selected player writes the word “harmless” on nine of the pieces of paper. He then writes the word “poisonous” on the remaining piece.

 

The pieces of paper are then placed into the box.

 

Decide who will go first by flipping a coin.

 

The first player dips his hand into the box and draws out a piece of paper. If he draws the word
harmless
, he keeps hold of the piece of paper and the next player takes a turn. If he draws the word
poisonous
, he puts the piece of paper back into the case and is eliminated from the game. Play then passes to the next player.