Perseus and The Gorgon

Theia sat bolt upright, white light flooding her slitted eyes as they opened. The sound of the roaring crowd filled her ears, and she could feel sand beneath her. As her eyes adjusted, she could well see that she was in the center of the city-state's coliseum. Stone walls rose twelve feet to surround the massive pit of black sand, stained a darker shade of charcoal where bodies fell to rise no more.

She couldn't believe it. As a house slave, Theia waited on her drow masters and mistresses, tending to all their needs as she was commanded. Her place was not in the arena. Not among the vicious pit fighters of the noble houses. What had she done to displease her domina? Perhaps the matron mother had taken issue with some action, some sin she had committed. What could have landed her here, to undoubtedly die beneath the jeers of a hundred thousand drow commoners?

Theia was an exotic creature for the Darklands. Pale green-gray skin on a lithe and supple frame. Yellow, slitted reptilian eyes stared wide at her environment. Short black curls hung in a slaves' imitation of a bob. The mark of her mistress, a thin blue strip, was tattooed over her lips and chin. To make matters worse, she was dressed in only a leather bodice and a swaying skirt made of leather strips. Not ideal armor for the arena.

She jumped to her feet and tried to run forward, only to fall flat on her face. The bronze chain on her right wrist had gone unnoticed. Her gaze followed the chain to where the other end rested, attached to the left wrist of a prone figure. The body belonged to a drow. Skin the color of the charcoal sand, with silvery-white warpaint across his chest. A visored and crested helm obscured his facial features. He wore a loincloth, a pair of knee-high steel greaves, and a leather harness that connected to a metal manica on his right arm. A small square shield and a short, curved sword lay scattered around him. Theia's movement made him stir.

The vishkanya stared at the gladiator for all of a moment before the giant iron gates at opposite ends of the arena began opening. The roars of the crowd gained volume as several more armored and armed figures stepped onto the sand. The sound died down as a drow in the orator's box began speaking, giving some speech about the fight about to begin, no doubt. She looked back at the fallen drow and ran forward to him, shaking him by his shoulders and helmet. "Wake up, wake up! Gods, please wake up!"

As the speaker's oration ended, the gladiators began to circle the pair. Theia looked around frantically. To her right was another short sword, it must've been left there for her. Careful not to end up falling again, she walked as fast as she could to it and picked it up with both hands, holding it close to her to try and block any incoming strikes.

Chuckles and growls came from the gladiators. There were five, total. One was dressed similar to the prone drow she was chained to, except this human carried a spear and circular shield. Another one, a wood elf, wore a mask covering the lower portion of his face and two gladii. A third was dressed in nothing but spiked leather bands around his legs, arms, feet, and head, and carried flail in his hands. A sickly grin plastered his face. The other two carried a shield and gladius each. They drew in closer for the kill.

The spear-wielding human, hoplomachus they were called, jabbed towards Theia, the spear point clanging off her sword. She flinched and the gladiator laughed. Another jab grazed her arm, leaving a cut in her green flesh. On the third thrust though, she swung the sword, turning the spear aside. The hoplomachus sneered at this, obviously angered. A cry came from behind her, and she ducked instinctively, allowing the flail of the banded man, a repentor, to pass over her. In doing so, it caused her untrained feet to slip in the sand, worsened by the fact they were bare compared to the pit fighters' sandals.

As she fell, her elbow dug into the prostrate drow's abdomen, eliciting a gasp from him. Grabbing her by the arm, he threw her to the side and rolled to a knee. The dual-wielding elf came forward slashing down at him. The drow sought to bring his shield up, only to find his hand hindered by the chain. His other hand brought his sword slashing towards his opponent, knocking both arms to the side and throwing the elf off-balance.

The drow stood up to the cheers of the audience and yanked Theia to her feet so that they were back to back, surrounded by their enemy. The drow was now armed with both his shield and sword. He turned his head slightly to speak to her. "Steel yourself, girl! They will have our heads if you act afraid!"

"I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to be here!"

"No? Then why are you here," the drow hissed, before adding more calmly, "What is your name, girl?"

"Theia," the vishkanya replied. "Bodyslave for Mistress Malythia, House Shial."

"Damaros," he said. "Gladiator in the style of thraex for Moradyn, House Chaexis."

The hoplomachus roared a warcry and charged the pair. Damaros deflected the spearpoint with his shield and struck with his sword, the blade clanging off his opponent's own shield. Theia felt the chain tighten as he moved forward, away from her. One of the shield-bearing gladiators came hacking at her. She caught the blows on her blade, but the relentlessness of the attack drove her from her feet once again. Frantically, her instinct kicked in and with a burst of concentration, she spat a wad of toxic saliva at him. It landed across his visor and seeped in through the eye slits and breathing holes. The caustic fluid bored into his eyes and nostrils. He screamed and dropped his weapons to claw at his helmet.

The other gladiator facing her hesitated, giving Theia time to slash at his legs, the point of her sword catching his calf. The gladiator stumbled in pain as she got to her feet, backing up towards Damaros.

The drow was currently engaged, ducking under the repentor's flail, while the hoplomachus thrust a spear past his shield that nearly caught his thigh. He stumbled backwards from Theia's resistance on the chain, barely managing to block another flail swing with his shield. He snarled behind his helmet's visor, lunging forward to strike again, catching the repentor across the abdomen.

Theia felt him move, almost jerking her from her feet again. The gladiator in front of her had gotten to his feet again and was stumbling forward. With one downward strike he knocked the sword from her hand. He'd overextended however, and she was able to sink her teeth into his bicep, tasting the bitter salt of his sweat and the copper tang of his blood as she ripped his flesh away. A cry of anguish escaped his lips as he reeled from the bite.

Damaros moved to try and finish the repentor. Another lunge into striking range, the weight of the woman behind him hampering his agility. His swing went wide, and a low strike from the flail knocked him off his feet. He came down hard, flat on his back.

The elf with the two swords leapt into the air, over the repentor and swung his blades down, his blades bouncing off the drow's iron-reinforced shield. He rolled head-over-heels to his feet and recovered to meet the now-standing Damaros.

Theia delivered a kick to the groin of her attacker and scrambled backwards. As Damaros repelled the elf's next attack, he turned to her. "We have to stay close so we can maneuver!"

With her sword back in her hands, Theia caught the gladiator's next attack on its edge. She backed towards Damaros, as the crippled fighter relentlessly followed her, his shield dangling from a limp arm by his side, his sword forward. He took a wide swing, the tip of the blade drawing a long cut across her bare thigh. Simultaneously, Theia plunged her weapon downwards into his back. The fighter let out a final gasp of air as the ribcage was punctured on both sides of his torso.

Damaros' shield came up across the elf's chin, the drow ducking his head as the repentor's flail came over the back of his head. His sword sliced the hamstring of the elf, and a backwards stroke split the vertebrae in his neck. The masked gladiator dropped dead at Damaros' feet, while the repentor delivered a kick to the side of his helmet.

Theia had barely pulled the sword back out when the hoplomachus' shield came across her face, leaving a gash in her lip. The weapon tumbled from her grip onto the sand. Before she could react, the gladiator thrust his spear into her abdomen. She screamed as the spearpoint pierced her flesh, the force of the blow driving her to the ground once again. The hoplomachus tore his spear from her body and raised it to strike Damaros in the back.

Her scream and the new tension on the chain warned the drow that something was amiss. His silver warpaint, now splattered with dark blood, glinted in the flickering lights of the arena as he ducked, the hoplomachus' thrust going over his shoulder, into the face of the scantily armored repentor. Damaros roared as he turned, swinging his sword to knock the spear from the hoplomachus' hand. The blow from his sica split the wooden shaft in two. Shocked, the other fighter retreated, drawing a dagger from his belt, his only other weapon.

The drow stood to his full height and sauntered towards his disarmed enemy. He came to where Theia's sword lay, taking a moment to glance at the injured girl. She was still conscious. Still breathing. His gaze came to sword in the sand as the crowd's roars escalated to a crescendo. He looked back up at the hoplomachus and grinned behind the helmet's visor. In one swift motion, he brought his leg back and struck the pommel of the gladius, sending it flying forward. It passed between the small shield and armored arm of the hoplomachus and sunk into the flesh of his abdomen. He stood for a moment, before sinking to his knees.

The crowd was on its feet, clapping and screaming. Damaros walked to the fallen man's side and tore his helmet off, so that he could grip him by the chin. He looked up at the nobleman in the orator's box. The white-robed drow smiled at the gladiators and pointed his thumb down. The gesture for death.

Damaros raised his sword and plunged it down through the hoplomachus' collar, piercing his throat and heart in a single strike. He ripped the weapon out and let the man drop He knelt and picked up the fallen weapons before returning to Theia. He hauled the vishkanya girl to her feet, placing the gladius and dagger into her hands. "Come now, girl. It isn't over. Not yet."

Theia steadied herself against the drow's back. She watched as the arena's massive iron gates swung open again, and presented her blades as bestial shapes came prowling towards the chained duo.

"I'm not supposed to be here," she mumbled to herself. "I don't want to die."

"Today's as good a day as any," the voice of Damaros came amusedly behind her. "Welcome to the arena, Theia of House Shial."

Fin