In the center of the notables was a mass of purple and silver that Blade had not seen before. Even in the pale light he saw the sheen of the armor of infantry surrounding that section, and of dismounted Guardians drawn up on the sand in front of it. His Most Sacred Majesty, Jores VII, Emperor of Karan, the fifty-seventh to sit upon the Coral Throne, was indeed in attendance today.
The distance was too great for Blade to even make out the Emperor, let alone get a good look at him. All the tales Blade had heard suggested that Jores VII was a well-intentioned youth, barely nineteen. He was not stupid, but he was inexperienced, and unreasonably determined to make a mighty name for himself in a short time. He was not at all the man to clamp down with an iron hand on the intrigues of his nobles or compel awe and obedience from the mob. If Princess Amadora did aim at sitting upon the Coral Throne herself, Jores VII would not be the strongest opponent she faced.
Blade's political calculations were cut off by more trumpet calls. This time they seemed to be trying to play a light, lilting tune. They did not succeed very well. In any case another burst of cheering promptly drowned them out. A gate in the wall of the Arena opened, and a light two-wheeled cart rumbled out, drawn by two white horses. Two soldiers in polished silver armor stood in it, one driving and one holding a girl dressed in a nearly transparent white shift. The cart rumbled up to the stake and stopped. The soldier holding the girl grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to the sand. Blade felt his breath stop in his throat and his insides go first cold, then blazing hot.
The girl was Tera.
Even from twenty yards away Blade could see that she had been beaten, starved, and abused. She stood as though those beautiful legs could barely support her, head drooping and hair flowing down over the breasts clearly visible through the silk. She made no resistance as the soldiers tied her to the post.
By the time the soldiers had finished, Blade's first blazing rage was under control. In its place was an icy, chill determination that the Three Iscaros had sent out to kill him and rape Tera in the Arena were not going to live much longer.
No doubt Iscaros had tired of the girl, or found it unwise to keep her around. He knew that sooner or later Pardes' gladiator Blade would come up against the Three. So why not make that fight a Game of Rescue, and kill Blade, dispose of Tera, and score a move against Pardes all at once? Why not indeed, particularly when the sight of Tera would doubtless drive Blade into a mad rage and make him fatally careless?
It was not Blade who would be fatally careless today. It was Iscaros who had just been so. Blade would fight with all the skill and all the power at his command. What Iscaros had hoped would be Blade's death sentence was going to be a death sentence for the Three.
Chapter 12
Blade knew that he would still need all his skill to put a scratch on any of the Three. There would be quite a fight before all three of them were stretched out dead on the sand.
So let the fight begin, Blade said to himself. He strode forward out of his circle, toward the Three. He met Tera's eyes briefly as he passed the stake. She seemed half-numb with exhaustion and terror, but he thought a smile flickered briefly on her lips. If she said anything, it was drowned out at once by the shouts of the Three as they rushed forward.
They doubtless hoped to frighten Blade. He decided to make them think they had succeeded, and further increase their overconfidence. He backed away as they came at him, looking in mock terror from one to another. Blade was agile enough to back away almost as fast as he could move forward. The Three came on, shouting war-cries and also obscene references to what they would do to Tera.
One thing had killed most of those who fought the Three before. While an opponent was attacking one, the other two could close in on him. Then the man could either die then and there or break off that attack and die later. Blade had seen both happen.
As the Three approached, Blade suddenly swung to the right and leaped as high and as far as he could. His trained muscles sent him a good fifteen feet. He landed beside the man carrying the two-handed axe. The man started to raise the axe, then realized that he would leave himself wide open if he did: He held the six-foot handle across his body like a quarterstaff as Blade came at him.
Blade's broadsword crashed into the axe head with a shower of sparks. His short sword drove through the man's defense and tore into his right shoulder.
Now the other two men were swinging around to move in on Blade. He quickly backed away. As he did the axeman raised his weapon and let loose with a full swing. Blade leaped aside as the steel head whistled down and half buried itself in the sand. Then he closed, his short sword stabbing at the man's throat and his broadsword slashing down at one arm. He could not quite reach the man's throat without closing too much, but his broadsword bit deep into an arm. The axeman let out a howl of agony and waved an arm that gushed blood and now ended in limp and useless fingers. Blade sprang backward at full speed as the swordsman and the trident man dashed at him. He barely escaped being impaled on the trident. His broadsword whistled in an arc that forced the swordsman to raise his shield and stay at a distance. Then Blade was backing off to a moment's safety.
All around the Arena the crowd was howling in surprise and delight at seeing bloody wounds on one of the terrible Three. It had been months since this happened. By all the gods, this Blade was going to give them a spectacle that no one here would ever forget as long as he lived!
Blade grinned wolfishly at the Three. That was why he had taken a real risk to give one of them a serious wound. It wasn't just a matter of weakening one opponent. It was getting the crowd on his side, as far as the bloodthirsty mob of Karanopolis could ever be on any side but their own. This was worth a fortune to him for what it could do to the courage of the Three when they heard the crowd clamoring for their blood. It had been months since they heard cheers for anyone but themselves.
If any of the Three had to leave the Arena, it would count against them. So the wounded axeman bound up his bleeding arm and shoulder and stayed on his feet. By bracing his axe across his wounded arm and swinging it with his good one he might even be able to fight. But he would be weakened by loss of blood, slowed by the pain, and no longer even half as dangerous as he had been. Blade now focused his attention on the man with the sword and shield.
This man was the largest of the Three. As far as they had a leader, he was it. He was also the fastest on his feet, and probably all-around the most dangerous. Blade knew he would have to mix caution with speed against this man.
He moved straight in against the swordsman. The man stood shoulder to shoulder with the trident man. The wounded axeman stood behind the others, where he would not have to face Blade's first rush.
As Blade closed, the trident man swung out with his net. The weighted mesh sailed at Blade, to entangle his head or arm, slow him, destroy his balance. Blade ducked under the net, pivoted, and did a quick exchange of swords between hands as he did so. Now his broadsword flashed in his left hand and his short sword thrust forward in his right.
Cheers rose from the crowd again at this performance. The cheers were even louder when Blade thrust with the shortsword, nicking the swordsman beside the knee. There was hardly any place where a light wound would slow a man more.