There’s no time for these thoughts – but they’re the only thing that give me my courage as I follow the casino host into The Star.
9
Augustus
I let my mind fill with cold hate. Hot hate is useless – it takes away your perception. Cold hate, however, is a tool. I’ve hated the Toads with a passion ever since a young age. I’ve only met a few of them – traders, for the most part – but they always gave me a feeling of pure, skin-crawling disgust. It’s probably a good thing that we had to leave our Orb-Weapons in the ship, or there’d be no guarantee that I didn’t slit some Bullfrog throats and spill their acidic blood before we’d even dealt the poker cards.
But I relish the idea of matching up against Bullfrogs – both in the games of chance and war. The rest of their species is weak and slovenly. Bullfrogs, however, are powerful and slovenly; and they know how to battle.
But, even more so, they know how to gamble.
I follow behind Ashley and Evander, and I try to focus. If I let myself be hypnotized by the sway of her hips, I’ll lose sight of any potential threats lurking in the shadows of the casino – and ever since that Scorp nest, I’ve been convinced those threats always exist – that they’re always lurking there.
We step into the main floor of The Star, and it’s as if everything around us was designed to distract and grab attention. Slot machines, an ancient technology that has remained virtually unchanged even after thousands of years, jingle and ring as humans and Toads sit in front them – mindlessly feeding coins into the ever-hungry slots.
In the middle of the casino is a fighting pit – where a well-muscled human, covered in scars, goes up against a thin man with a mustache and a too-pretty face. The one with the scars has a brutal wooden club in his hand, with nails sticking out. The mustached man has a long, thin rapier which he wields with precision.
“I’ve got my money on scarred one,” I telepath, drawing my triad’s attention to the pit.
Evander pauses, his head scanning the room for signs of danger. “That one is a survivor – but the other is unscathed.”
He turns to the casino host. “Put one thousand credits on the man with the mustache.”
The casino host laughs. “The odds are ten to one. Are you certain? Daroo has never been defeated - not in twenty-two bouts.”
Daroo. The scar covered one isn’t from this planet, not with a name like that.
Evander doesn’t respond. The casino host takes his silence for whatever he wants it to be. “Very well. I’ll book the bet.”
It’s packed around the fighting pit. As we approach, the casino host yells out to make way for his honored guests. He didn’t need to, though. Humans instinctively part as we approach.
A man with a full beer in his hand lets out a low whistle as Ashley passes by – but he never finishes it…
That’s because, with no thought running through my mind, I snatch my hand out and wrap my fingers around his throat. The man tightens his grip on the glass of beer and gurgles as I lift him up by the neck – before effortlessly throwing him into the pit.
He falls ten feet to the hard ground below and lands limply, his body loose from the alcohol. Somehow, though, he managed to keep his beer glass half-full. The crowd laughs at the spectacle – but waste no further time in parting completely, giving us a wide berth as we stride through.
“I apologize for his… indiscretion,” the casino host clears his threat. “I hate to insult a guest, but that one had imbibed a little too much.”
From down in the pit, Daroo looks up and grabs his club menacingly. “Want me to end him?”
The man with mustache saunters over, grabbing the half full-beer from the stunned drunk and gulping it down. Then, wiping the foam from his mustache, the swordsman opens his arms wide and addresses the crowd. “Would you kill this man for enjoying a drink? What one of us hasn’t had too many and whistled at a pretty girl?”
Bravado. I detest bravado.
Evander leans forward and calls into the pit: “Let him live.”
Some of the crowd boos. The bloodthirsty sort would have preferred to watch the drunkard be butchered in front of their very eyes. The drunken man, however, instantly sobers up – realizing the sudden gravity of his situation.
Daroo gives the unfortunate man an educational kick up the ass – and he stumbles out the bottom doorway leading from the fighting pit.
We stand above the gaping pit, leaning over the railings, and as I look down I feel my bloodlust bubbling up inside of me. Put me down there – against any man in that pit – and I’d come out victorious.
“Why are we wasting time at the pits?” Conan demands telepathically.
Evander hadn’t smiled since the brutality in the Scorp nest. Now, since he’d met Ashley, the hint of his old, easy grin has been returning ever more frequently.
“Two reasons,” our leader telepaths. “Firstly, we need to see which doorway the winner leaves through. There will be a weapon there – rudimentary, but useful – and we should be aware of it.” He pauses, that smile flickering. “And the second reason? It’s coming towards us now.”
There’s a commotion and the crowd turns to the four Bullfrogs now approaching across the casino floor.
The commotion they cause is only slightly less than that of our dramatic entrance. The four disgusting, glistening creatures part the crowd the way we did – but you can see the disgust on the faces of the casino patrons as they stumble aside to let the Bullfrogs pass.
Each of the towering, warty Bullfrogs has a long leash around their wrist, with a woman at the other end. Three of the slaves I recognize from today’s auction – and the fourth is
