Madacran

Chapter Seven

Two guards held Sheppard firmly by the arms and another pair followed behind, pushing him so hard that he nearly stumbled. Well, it was understandable - he'd just denied them a peek show. They marched him along dark corridors, where occasional passing slaves, scurrying about their duties, were shoved to one side for daring to get in the way.

He toyed with the idea of making a break for it. He might as well die here fighting than as part of a show to please their lordships. But the old sense of self-preservation had kicked in and he guessed he'd just wait and see what else panned out. Here he'd taking on four heavily built, armoured guys with short swords. Who knew how many more were beyond these corridors? He'd been told he'd be up against one. A fight that offered a lot better odds even if he did have an audience. And he might win that.

They made it to the large hall, waiting just at the entrance as one of his guards went off, to inform this Lord Recito that they'd arrived.

He was already tamping down hard on the concern that he might not ever leave this room alive, so to keep his feelings even more in check was nothing. Much. He just wasn't going to let on that he was in any way surprised or even impressed with this room. But the disbelief was there inspite of himself. It wasn't just the brightness, though the party designers had gone crazy with the golden theme for the night, but the way the place just dripped with opulence. Everything here was a sickening stark contrast to the cell, to Jaleen's quarters and to Lower Madacran.

This was reality? A movie set it had to be and here he was in the middle of it all, with his best slave-led-to-the-slaughter gear on. Time after time, Pegasus never failed to throw these unreal situations at him. And time after time, Rodney had promised him a hologram deck like Star Trek... well, Rodney must have just activated it…

Wide pillars held the high vaulted ceiling, all carved out and painted with gold leaf. Scores of white statues stood in archways and alcoves. Gold candelabras, thick with candles added to the golden glow of the room. Deep yellow silks shimmered at windows that gave out views to lush green foliage, blossoms and fountains. Low tables along two sides of the room, draped in thick golden brocade, were laden with dishes piled high with exotic fruit and dishes and tall vases filled with flowers. Slaves ran round with giant platters of food or wine in large jars.

And the entertainment on the floor at the present... musicians, gold painted semi-naked dancing girls, all skirted by a couple of flame throwers who seemed to come dangerously close to singeing said semi-naked dancing girls.

It was kinda of a weird place to hold a fight in. Large enough sure. Plenty of space out there on the polished marble floor. Perhaps they were going to transfer to somewhere more... fighty. But these guys had to be sick, to want to watch someone die as entertainment. Hell, but it'd better not be him, though... and he didn't want to kill anyone either.

He wondered which one of his lordships gathered at the tables was the guest of honour, this Selemon. And he hoped that whichever one it was, hadn't gotten over the intrusion into his privacy of three nights ago. And there was an odd thought that crept in, that this guy's wife was with Rodney... no... don't go there...

His eyes narrowed as he now studied the guests more closely. He'd seen them already whilst scanning the room, but a second look…

Well, that was different... no... that was disturbing...

The far side of the room was lost in a smoky haze of some sort of pungent incense that burned from holders on the low tables where guests relaxed on sofa loungers. At first glance, Sheppard had assumed the gents were all toga'd or tunicked, and the ladies were all kitted out in next-to-nothing dresses. They were all having a good time, laughing, waited on by the slaves. They'd been a lot of... exposed skin... but hey, this was an evening function... no... he squinted… a closer look... another count... half were actually stark naked... the other half, nearly so... and a good quarter... heck, he'd come in half way through a damned orgy. Men with women. Women with momen. Men with men.

He quickly made out boredom and studied the walls instead. Jeez, but you couldn't escape it. Painted murals. Country scenes. Chamber scenes, but all scenes of... and he shuffled uncomfortably... well, perhaps they were gods or something and that's what gods got up to in their spare time. He wasn't going to be prudish. It was up to them what they painted on their walls, but it sorta went with the custom Jaleen had been trying to explain to him, the way that Clada had once kept eyeing him up, and yeah, the orgy...

He spotted Jaleen then, doing the hostess rounds, in a robe slung off the shoulder, her hair piled high, held with jewelled pins, not looking out of place among all those genteel ladies, the ones with clothes on, that is. Her attempts at smiles disappeared when she caught sight of him across the floor of the room and she immediately turned away, pretending to instruct another slave. It wasn't her fault. He didn't blame her that he was here. And he was actually thankful that she wasn't directly involved with whatever was going on at the tables but... he guessed that might come later.

Back in the cell, he'd been adamant he was going to stick to his usual leggings and tunic, as much as defiance as anything, as much as a one fingered gesture to their lordships but had finally agreed to the wrapped round affair. He just didn't want to cause her any grief, sure that she'd get beaten if he refused. She was going through enough as it was, simply with the guilt of just handing him over. And she'd made a pretty good attempt at persuading him. It really hadn't taken much. All she'd had to say was, 'then they will make you fight naked.' But at least she'd fixed it for him so that the towel didn't feel like it was going to fall off any time soon.

There was applause suddenly and the floor cleared quickly. The betting had started, judging by the amount of paper slips and coins changing hands. Funny how that wasn't different no matter what society you were in. He fidgeted as all eyes seemed to turn his way and that made his guards tighten their hold on his arms. Snickers and guffaws came from the audience that didn't do a lot for a guy's confidence. He inwardly winced but heck, he could console himself with the thought that several guests had been forced to prise themselves away from their partners just to catch sight of him.

A commotion started up at another set of doors and everyone's attention, including Sheppard's, switched to a second group of guards. They'd spotted him too and suddenly there was an awful load of sizing up of the opposition going on... on both sides. He turned away and exhaled slowly... felt a heart beat loud in his ears... this wasn't going to be easy... anyone of them... built like Ronon or Te'Alc... but armoured with those breast plate things and helmets... carrying mean-looking half-swords in scabbards… shit... this was gonna be David versus effing Goliath...

The head guy, Lord Recito stood, pulling up a toga over his shoulder and trying to push some eager lady-friend away. He stooped to bang a pot down on the table. Conversation eased off.

Sheppard felt his stomach tighten. Stage fright, huh?

"Ladies and gentlemen... I give you, Daltheo..." A hand in his direction. Some applause. Well, thanks for that.

"And my champion, Hanan," he announced, pointing to the far side of the room, as one of the guards, wearing the full centurion stuff, came over to the centre of the floor, bowed and unclipped a purple cloak at his neck, throwing it off flamboyantly to the floor, to be scooped up by some slave boy. That was just plain showing off. But the room, loving, and intoxicated by the display, and whatever else, went crazy with whistling, cheering and manic clapping.

"Ladies and Gentlemen... to the death..." Further cheering whilst Recito seated himself once more. Sheppard hardly had time to register what those last three words meant before a nine inch knife was shoved into his hand and he found himself propelled forward to face his opponent. At least, Sheppard had a weapon. And he was grateful for that. He'd known the dice was going to be loaded against him in this game, but perhaps he should just throw the knife in Lord Recito's general direction and have done with it.

Hanan was now armed with a spear that he held stick fashion. Sheppard backed off a fraction, tentatively touching his tongue to his lips, feeling too damned close to the spear's point, not taking his eyes off Hanan a second, toying with the handle of the knife, getting used to it's feel and balance in his right palm... not bad... he'd rather have his 90ml naturally... no... he'd got to get that spear... improve... even the odds... he'd seen it done... he'd seen Teyla take down Ronon... piece of cake...

They were circling each other... caution... but heck, what had the other guy got to be cautious about? Catcalling started from the audience eager to see action... blood... a quick look... some were still engrossed-

Hanan lunged forward with the spear, and Sheppard, not paying anywhere near enough attention, only just darted out of the way in time. And that sent up a chorus of boos from the audience. They wanted this over now?... hey, give a guy a chance...

A second and third prod with the spear and Sheppard still kept that safe distance. This could take all week, but why should he risk his neck - or any other part of him for that matter unnecessarily- for entertainment?

And then he was taken surprise as guards from behind pushed him forward... Jeez!... and he jerked his body hard sideways as the spear swished by, close to his face. Hanan had missed but promptly swung the spear round much like a club. Sheppard went down low in an instant... the floor the only safe place to be... and used the floor to slide in with a footballers' tackle at the guy's stomach. But Hanan, finding his swing hitting air only, was quick to back off.

Quick for his bulk too. Sheppard had rolled and stood and found Hanan already facing him. Both of them now, seeking out the others' strengths and weaknesses. To Sheppard, it didn't seem like Hanan had any, except a tendency to get his pals to cheat. Sheppard had now got to watch his back too.

Some applause... but even more jeering to get a move on.

Four of them were in the space now. Circling still. This was getting impossible. Trying to keep Hanan well in front and trying to prevent his two guard friends slipping in behind him. The guards won and threw him forward again... the spear jabbing in his direction... over and over… and all he could do was to duck and dive to the side or low... or make some token effort with the knife... breathless now… mouth dry... hissing once as the spear cut into his forearm... steeling himself to not react other than that... no way could he make an offensive though... Hanan was always too far out of the reach of his knife...

He had to get a rhythm going then... lull the guy into thinking he was safe... introduce some lateral thinking… back to plan A... sort of... he'd have no weapon for a couple of seconds, he knew... but he had to take that chance... he swiftly sprung back between his two guards... and threw the knife with everything he had to offer straight at the guy's bare thigh...

The clapping went delirious...

Hanan cried and grabbed at the wound, wrenching out the knife. And Sheppard pulled a sword from one of the guard's scabbards... the guards still in stunned surprise seeing their champion so suddenly in trouble... Sheppard took his chance and sprinted forward…

But damn, that spear was up in his face again, ripping at the skin on his cheek. He yelled and instantly backed off. The guy was tough and hadn't dropped the spear. Plan A hadn't worked... ok… try again... they wouldn't be expecting it a second time... not immediately... and he swung round, bringing up the sword hard between the legs of the second guard... who screamed and clutched at his privates... hey... they should have armour there... and zipped out the guard's sword from his scabbard in the one easy move, hurling that at Hanan too.

The sword bedded itself into the same thigh. The guy was down and the spear rattled and slid across the floor. Sheppard ran again, launching himself down to the marble, skidding to retrieve it, only seeing the first guard out of the corner of his eye... too late... zapped of breath... stunned as the guard slammed a fist down hard on the back of his neck. His vision blanked out for a second. The cheering going quiet and fuzzy in his ears... He snapped himself out of it. Aware the guard was on top of him, straddling his shoulders somehow, kneeling on and crushing his right wrist that held the sword. He seized hold of Sheppard's hair, banging the side of his head... again... and again.... and again onto the marble... If Sheppard could only reach... with his other hand... reach for the spear... fingertips away... pushing up against his attacker so he could use his sword... but his attacker had now shifted and concentrated on raining down punches on his wrist, forcing Sheppard to release it.

The crowd were going wild with their approval.

Sheppard heaved hard and threw the guard off... scrambling to his feet... weaponless again... stumbling back a few paces... dazed... wiping at his cut and bruised face, at his nose bleed... trying to focus on the guard who'd retrieved his own sword... standing between him and the spear... gasping for breath... his back, jaw and wrist throbbing with the recent abuse they'd just received... this wasn't good... but at least reinforcements hadn't been sent in... it was just him and this guard... who advanced on him... toying with the sword, circling the blade round and round to within inches of Sheppard's face, grinning... Sheppard swallowed... retreated a step... a glance at the other guard who still screamed, still writhed, still clutched at his privates in agony as blood gushed between his fingers… and another glance at Hanan, moaning, now free of the sword impaling his thigh but out of the fight.

This should be over, but neither he nor Hanan was dead.

The abandoned sword at Hanan's side it had to be then, but he couldn't trust his own strength to get himself there... Pacing again... to get that respite he needed... drawing a hand across his eyes and nose again, wringing off the sweat... breathing deeply... feigning even more weakness than he actually felt... not exactly difficult... let the guy come real close... then… he was off suddenly to the left, ducking, feeling the blade miss him by nanometres, deftly picking up the sword by Hanan... and with both hands spun round to deflect the second following blow of the guard's, feeling the shock of the metal hitting metal reverberate from his aching arms right through to his skull... over and over he defended himself... breaking off but finding the guard right back at him... as clear as day though that the guard was gaining the upper hand... he was trained in this sort of fighting and Sheppard wasn't.

And a cry going up from the audience... "Kill him! Kill him!" and no, the guard didn't need that kind of coaxing... he was just doing grand... and Sheppard's arms becoming heavy with the constant parrying and trading blows... he was sure he couldn't keep this up... and then someone yelled, "Daltheo! End this! You must kill Hanan to end this!" Jaleen... and then the penny dropped... 'kill him' had meant kill Hanan... these guys were going to play fair?... stick with that?... But how could he strike down a defenceless, injured man?... Damn... He backed off gasping, swaying on his legs, sweat stinging his eyes again, the calling of 'kill him!' ringing in his ears... he couldn't... he couldn't...

And the guard made at him again. There was just going to be no let up in this... left and right... left and right with the swords... he couldn't keep up this momentum forever... he had to kill Hanan... he had to get to Hanan and finish this... no half measures... him or Hanan... and he hated it... hated that he was even contemplating this... he let out a no! with an angry strike of the sword... and more... no!... no!... to the shouts that cried for Hanan's blood... No! But with both hands, he made one final swing upwards with the sword, pushing the guard's sword away from him, shoving his body forward hard against the guard's. The guard quickly tried bringing up his weapon but found he had little room to move it. Hilt pressed up to hilt, with both men grunting from the effort... With every last ounce of his strength, Sheppard finally forced the guard to stagger away from him.

Speed now... and he slid round the back of the guard, half stumbling to the last few feet to Hanan. Sheppard wasn't going to do this... he'd appeal to the crowd for mercy... that's what they did in gladiator movies, wasn't it?

But Hanan had hitched himself up off the floor and twisting round, kicked at Sheppard's feet with his good leg. The blow sent Sheppard tumbling forward, crashing down over Hanan's body and Hanan was soon at him, punching him hard whilst scrabbling for Sheppard's sword... somehow he'd still held it... he wanted... he just wanted to say... just say... I'm not going to kill you... but the hits he was taking... Hanan was desperate... fighting like a madman... fighting for survival... the cries still echoing through the hall. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Hanan holding on to him... getting in more punches... wrestling, grappling on the floor... rolling and rolling together... Sheppard's head banging against the floor... more dazed than ever... head and body... mind... confused... pain... couldn't seem to defend himself... only telling himself to hold onto the damn sword... must hold the damn sword and keep it clear of Hanan... keep the damned sword away from Hanan... but it made him one handed... only the one hand to fight Hanan off... and the other guard would be helping out soon... and however much he turned to escape... couldn't escape... but he managed to get himself on top... but Hanan's hands were at his throat now... tightening... and the world going quiet and black... and heck... he wouldn't mind... he wouldn't mind quiet and black right now… it'd be an the end of all this... but somehow... he strained against the strangle hold, arcing backwards to loosen the grip at his neck... and swiped the sword across Hanan's throat...

The wave of cheering hit his brain like some kind of aftershock... well, if you'd bet on Daltheo winning you'd probably be making a fortune right now...

He crawled on all fours away from Hanan's body... hearing out the last of the gurgling... watching the dark blood spill out from Hanan's neck... adding his own dripping sweat and blood to the mess on the floor... from cuts he didn't even realise he'd taken... half expecting the remaining guard to thrust his blade into his exposed back... he glanced that way... but the guard, breathless, probably glad of a break himself right now, simply pursed his lips, nodded, sheathed his sword and walked off to help others with his injured friend.

Sheppard tossed his sword away from him in disgust.

And trembling, he reached over to Hanan, a silent apology as he closed the guy's eyes... wondering about his life story... hating himself for the choice he'd just had to make... hating the whole damn Madacran society... He rolled over and lay on his back... closing his eyes... letting the coldness of the marble bliss out some of the ache and pains in his body... yeah... there was something to be said for wearing only a towel... conversations over who'd won what bet reached him... and he felt more sickened than ever... a movement close by... and he lifted his head and peered over... Jaleen kneeling beside him... a basin of water beside her and a cloth in her hand... And he could nearly laugh... it was sort of becoming her trade mark... her thing... though he had refused earlier in the cell.

"You're going to bathe me again? Here?" he asked, looking round the room, wincing, the question hurting his cut and bruised face. Talk at the tables, had returned to normal. With the odd laughter and giggle. As before. As if nothing had happened. They were probably all back at their orgy already.

"The auction will follow shortly." Was all she said. He sat up. Watched a couple of slaves drag Hanan's body out of the hall by his feet. Followed by another couple mopping the blood up. "Please, you will permit me?" And she held up the wrung out cloth and he reluctantly allowed her to start on his face. Wincing as the cloth smarted against his cuts and bruises... gone before he could even say 'ow' … she was healing him...

"Why should I? Why should I honour their customs?" A question to himself as much as to her. They value human life as nothing.

"For now, it keeps you alive, Daltheo," she reminded him, beginning to sponge down the arm with the gash. She touched it and he glanced down, watching it heal instantly. "And there are those of us who would be pleased that you remain so."

And he looked at her, at her face now turned to wring out the cloth once more, at her throat, at her arms working with the cloth, noticing things for the first time and trying to read what he was sensing here. "Jaleen..." But she said nothing and he allowed her to clean down his legs, amazed as more cuts and scratches disappeared under her hands.

Another couple of slaves passed by, these two pulling at what appeared to be a mattress positioning it to the centre of the floor. Another fight? Acrobats? "I could have done with one of those," he remarked eyeing up the softness of the fabric. Then he wouldn't have taken half the battering he had.

"No, it is not another fight. Please... stand now and I can... wash the remainder?"

He got himself to his feet, surprised by how easy it was. "It's ok. I really can do this for myself," he said, offering to take the cloth.

"No... Daltheo... Please... you do not understand..."

"What don't I understand?"

"You... you must go to the cushion... you... and I… both..."

And he looked over to the mattress, slowly comprehending. And his stomach lurched at the idea. She had said she was his... reward. He had expected it to be later, back in the cell if he'd survived, and he would have refused again.

"You're kidding me?" he breathed out hoarsely. "Here?" was all he could ask again, scanning all the faces in the room, though few were actually looking their way. Like the killing of Hanan, this was nothing to them.

"Please... Daltheo... it is custom-"

"It's not my damn custom! And as I recall, I'm not even a slave!" And yeah, he was raising his voice, and yeah, he was getting attention from the guests now... guards... even Recito, but pardon him for interrupting their bodily pleasures...

Jaleen looked over at Recito anxiously.

"Do not make this difficult. Please. Before the auction commences, they have to see that you can... perform... function... You must do this, Daltheo. Please. Please go to the cushion. Please allow me remove your clothing and complete your bathing." Her hand reached for the knot at his waist but he beat her to it, barring her from going any further. She looked at him, startled, frightened even, then turned away, confused and wouldn't meet his eye. "It is my work, Daltheo," her voice falling really low. "It is what I do. I will ensure that it is pleasurable for you. I promise. Please. You will not like the alternative..."

The odd taunt started among the guests. And she moved in closer, trying again to untie the knot. But he still held the cloth tightly at his waist preventing her.

"No. I won't do this. I've provided them with one show tonight. They're not getting anymore out of me!"

"Please! It is your reward. It is the custom! It is recognised that after such a fight… a man… can be… roused."

"Which man? Those guys!" he hissed back at her. No way was he going to do this in public. No way was he even going to do this, period.

"Please!" Her hand resting over his on the knot. "Please! Do this for me! It will appear you're refusing me. The shame will be reflected on me. They will think I am no longer capable of my duties." And he could sympathise with that. She'd saved his life twice, but he still couldn't give in.

Perhaps she was right to worry. Lord Recito stood and indicated to two much younger females to approach the centre of the floor. Twins. He must have sensed that something was wrong and was already blaming Jaleen.

"Perhaps you would find these more to your taste?" He shouted out. "And a pair? What more could a man want?" Much laughter. Whistling. A slow clap.

Jaleen left him to make room for the new arrivals. Pity in her eyes. He watched her back away to the side of the hall, allowing the two girls to each take one of his arms and playfully tug him over to the mattress.

One began fondling the hairs on his chest.

"Oh, but you are still all so bloody! We will really have to finish bathing you!" pouted the other.

"No. No. Not tonight. Not that I'm grateful." And he still held on tight to his towel and pushed them away. And they pouted some more.

"Perhaps tonight's champion prefers male companionship!" And the laughter was even louder and drink tankards were being banged on tables. And Lord Recito clapped and summoned over a young man.

"God, Recito, what you have to do to please a slave these days!" bawled out one of Recito's buddies.

The girls skittered off and the young man, also wearing the compulsory towel, approached Sheppard, smiling, letting the towel drop to the floor only a couple of metres away...

Damn. How the hell was he going to get out of this?

And he bolted for the exit.

Sometimes... the only plan isn't always the best one.

Four of the guards blocked his way suddenly, and yeah, they stopped him. And held him. One by using a neck lock. Two others by twisting his arms sharply behind him.

Cries of 'poor show!' and 'shame!' and booing from the guests.

And a fourth guard whisked off Sheppard's towel with a grin. Because this guy, Daltheo, had killed one of their own and had crippled another.

"You bastards! You freaking bastards!" clenched out Sheppard, straining against the guards' grip on him.

Cheering and clapping now. They were getting something of a show.

The guard threw aside the towel and pulled out a knife.

"It's castration for those who refuse!" he said, virtually smacking his lips in anticipation of some nice juicy revenge.

The two at Sheppard's arms, each used a foot curled round his ankles to force his legs apart. And he was getting nowhere struggling as the knife came in closer.

"No, wait!" shouted Recito, who didn't really want the goods damaged. "Jaleen! Since the man is clearly deranged and has refused all partners, let him do this on his own."

"Oh no, Recito, you're not going to use moton?" came a call from the audience.

"That's sort of like cheating, old chum!"

"Wouldn't waste good moton on a slave!"

"Come on! I wanna watch this! He'll want to fuck a trowsy by the time he's done!"

And Jaleen was there, kneeling before him, holding a syringe. This had to be a bad dream. These guys weren't technologically advanced but they had syringes? She looked up with those round brown eyes of hers and whispered sorry, before jabbing the needle hard into the inside of his thigh. And the men held him tight and he was tense trying to fight them off so... jeez it hurt.

And he was pushed down to the mattress, still struggling like fury but he guessed that was half the fun for these guys. His hands were tied behind his back. Then his wrists tied to his ankles. And they made him lay on his back, all his limbs trapped... but... his body exposed...

Some jeering now... waiting for the drug to kick it. Which wasn't long... little by little a warmth seeping through... and he relaxed into the warmth... even his eyes seemed to get all wrapped in a cosy heaviness... and he moaned... couldn't help himself... and they cheered... and he writhed over to his front... and moaned again into the silkiness of the mattress... so, so good... limp into the mattress...

And all hell let loose... screaming, shouting, banging... what the heck?

Like he cared... he just had to... had to... and he twisted and squirmed... fighting the bindings... wanting to... wanting to... see what was going on... tables… stuff on tables, crashing, spilling over in escapes... Jaleen?... blood curdling screaming... a soldier... soldiers running past.... clatter of spears... ringing of swords... screaming... and he twisted and writhed more... because he just had to... do something... do something about that... that... breathing rapid... snorting… snorting into the softness... wanting… biting into mattress… tossing his head from one side to the other... desperate... sweating... heat… heat between his thighs… pushing his body down into the soft, soft oh so soft mattress... against his chest… his face… his lips… heat... hot... desperate... a desperateness matching the fighting, turmoil all around... Jaleen?... escape… good time to escape... couldn't... couldn't... heat... so wanted his hands free to... to... damnit... he needed his hands free... wanting to... wanting to feel the touch of hands on his own skin... wanting... wanting... the feel of the mattress against his skin... oh yes... good... good... oh so good... an attack... men dying... weapons clanking... men screaming... his own guttural noises... the mattress in his face... gainst his lips... wanting... wanting... writhing, twisting... damn them, damn them doing this to him... must... must... so good... so good... oh god, so good... oh god... rubbing his face... his neck... pressing his chest... his thighs... forcing, thrusting his hips down... must... must... must... thrusting... thrusting… shuddering... thrusting... oh hell!... oh hell... oh hell, so good… oh please... oh hell...

And the fighting seemed to reach a sudden climax, falling silent, ending with Recito's decapitated head rolling to a stop in front of Sheppard's panting face...

-oAo-