The crowd gathered around the edge of the fighting pit is stunned and silent as Draven moves down below – dancing like that matador of old, in and out, and suddenly cutting Daroo’s hamstring with a wicked slash of that rapier.
Even I wince as I watch the bigger man drop to his knees – instantly crippled.
With the cold-hearted efficiency of an Aurelian, the human swordsman makes his coup de grâce – slashing his rapier across Daroo’s throat.
Gurgling, the stunned warrior slaps his hand over his gaping jugular, trying to stem the flow of life-blood filling his lungs.
Within a second, the big man falls forward, onto the sand, pouring his life into the grains.
Up beside us, the four Bullfrogs all start to croak and warble in anger. The leader wheels around, yanking on the leash he holds in fury. Danielle – the poor slave at the end of it – chokes and splutters, and Ashley takes a step towards her before Evander can rein her in.
As Ashley stumbles to a halt, Evander turns to the casino host. “You guaranteed the bet, correct?”
The casino host is white as a ghost. He did indeed guarantee the best – for his percentage, of course – but now he has to administer it, that’s a different story.
But he shows courage. With a trembling hand, the casino host points to the girl the Bullfrogs had wagered.
“S-Sir? Don Sloor, sir? The agreement was set. This was no set-up. I vetted the gladiators myself.”
Don Sloor. So, that’s the name of the Bullfrog leader.
The Bullfrog’s jowls jiggle with anger, but he reluctantly motions to one of his three subordinates. The Bullfrog undoes the leash from the black-haired slaved, and she runs towards us. She even holds up her leash eagerly to Evander – assuming we’re cold-blooded slavers just like the Bullfrogs are.
“Take her,” telepaths Evander to Conan. Conan nods, and leashes the woman to his own wrist. She seems utterly relieved to be away from the four Bullfrogs; even if – in her mind – she’s trading one set of owners for another.
The girl leans over to Ashley, and our beloved gives the dark-haired slave a tight smile. “Lisa,” she clearly knows her from working with her at Peter Paradooli’s mansion, “it’s going to be okay. They aren’t bad.”
They. She means us – and Ashley is whispering just low enough that only we can hear her.
Don Sloor looks at the slave with thin, angry eyes.
“Don’t get too comfortable, slut,” he warns. “You’ll be back in my aquarium by night’s end.” Then he turns his blubbery face to Ashley. “So will you, sweetie.” His fat lips jiggle as he leers at Ashley.
Rage boils up inside of me. I know that’s exactly what the Bullfrog is trying to trigger – but he still has no idea just how close he’s coming to having his throat ripped out.
But Don Sloor is still steaming himself, from losing what he’d thought was a sure thing in that initial gamble.
Four-thousand credits is a huge amount even to a Bullfrog – even to a crime lord like Don Sloor – and he’s already been steaming all night long from hours spent gambling.
So, if we are going to come out of this night on top – or even just alive – I need to rein my own emotions in. I need to keep calm – even if it goes against all my instincts.
Evander steps forward before I can lose my cool any further, and he stares down the Bullfrog leader.
“I think I’ve developed a taste for your other slaves, now. Why would I buy them in an auction – when I now know I can just win them off you?”
Don Sloor jiggles with barely-concealed rage, and he yanks the leash – pulling Danielle closer to his disgusting bulk. Ashley can’t hide the pain in her eyes as she sees her friend forced to gasp for air.
“Poker,” Don Sloor gurgles angrily. “In the private room. Interstellar rules.”
Interstellar rules were created because of Aurelian telepathy and sub-communication devices. It involves a team setup – where two opponents will play heads-up, meaning one-against-one, so nobody can tip the scales by teaming up around the table.
It’s one-against-one, but both sides can have advisors to give them strategy and advice during each hand.
Evander doesn’t even try to hide the hint of his smile this time, knowing it will only infuriate the Bullfrog more.
“Here are my terms,” he counters. “We’ll play tournament format. My choice of two of your slaves, gambled against the two of mine.”
Don Sloor considers, his jowls jiggling as he thinks.
He looks over at the slave that was not purchased at today’s auction – the one he’d brought from his own private stock.
“She is off limits.”
Interesting. Bullfrogs don’t generally develop attachments to human females.
“Very well,” Evander raises an eyebrow, clearly curious about the same thing. “Then, let us do battle – over the table, of course. Take us to the private room.”
10
Evander
I sense the emotions of my battle-brothers through our bond.
Augustus is still filled with rage, but he’s reined in his fury; discipline tempering the steel of his will.
Conan has a thin thread of fear running through him – although far less than the constant terror that he’d been radiating through the Bond ever since the horrors of the Scorp cave.
Ashley has given them both strength and purpose.
Me, too. I feel certainty.
I’m calm, sure, and ready. My mind is sharp. Either I’ll beat the Bullfrogs in their tournament, or I’ll calmly excuse myself and step outside, to our ship. There, I’ll gather our weapons, and return to coldly cut down anyone who stands in my way.
We will leave here with the prize we came here for – one way or another.
But I’d prefer the first way.
The problem with the second strategy – bloodshed – is that it will leave Ashley with the Bullfrogs for at least ten minutes while I plan my attack. I know it’s not long enough for them to do anything to her,
