Opening one eye and blinking into the flickering yellow light of the torches that were positioned around the circular arena, the gazelle spat out a mouthful of sand, blood and what felt like one, maybe two, teeth. Cuspids, her tongue confirmed to her as it prodded and probed the gap in her jaw.
- Ah well, I’ve got plenty spare; she thought to herself as she struggled to her hoofed feet, mind strangely calm but her vision still a little fuzzy after the impact. The gazelle grunted slightly at the flashes of light and colour that flitted across her sight with every slight movement of her head; they were annoying but they’d pass soon enough. She reached up to her closed eye and tenderly touched it with calloused fingertips, which came away bloody, then grunted again. Unlike the sparks flashing in front of her other eye, this eye would not be so expedient in returning to normal. A finger prodded again, more firmly, confirming that the eyeball was intact but that she had a severe fracture of the radial bones.
- Could be worse; at least I'm still breathing and moving.
Across the pit, her “triumphant” adversary had yet to register that his opponent wasn't quite as dead as that blow should have left her and had in fact got back to her feet, wounded and stunned but still capable of fighting. She looked out over the blood-stained sand flooring of the arena and at the now-bloodied mace that had launched her across the pit with a vicious backhand blow from its owner.
- I won’t survive another hit like that… so don’t get hit, stupid.
With a groggy, shuffling half-step forward, the young gazelle femme crouched down to retrieve the hatchet that she had let go of as she hit the hard floor. She hefted the small axe in her paw, testing the weight and her feel for it but ignoring the gradual end to the cheering of the crowd as they noticed that the match was not yet over. Winnings and betting slips were hastily snatched back by their owners and the eyes and ears of the bloodthirsty audience quickly turned back to the action.
So too did the bloodshot orbs of her opponent. With a snort of disbelief that such a puny creature could still be standing after being hit by the mighty and undefeated Thraan Headstomper, the bull turned and put his head down, charging head-first towards the much smaller gazelle, throwing all sense of tactics out of the window in his indignant rage. The green-hoofed slip of a girl might have got lucky against his mace, it must have just clipped her, but she wouldn't be so fortunate when it came to his horns.
Her one good eye focussing on the colossal figure lumbering towards her, the Thompson’s gazelle raised her hatchet and tilted her head back to let out a scream so infused with rage as to silence even the baying of the mob that watched the spectacle. The primal roar echoed across the pit and was heard reverberating through much of the district as the gazelle let her anger be known. Not just at the bull trying his level best to kill her – he was every bit as much the puppet as she – but at the crowd who demanded this bloodlust, the owner who sent her to the pits knowing that she might die but not caring so long as he made money, the society that decided her place in the world because of what her tribe ate and at the empire that gave birth to all of those bastards. Then, much to the further delight and surprise of the watching crowd, she set off at pace towards the charging bovine, frothed saliva on her lips and murder in her one still-functioning eye. Her hooves churned up sand stained with old blood and, barely a dozen paces away from what looked to be a rather mismatched collision of horns and heads, the gazelle raised her axe-wielding paw and let fly, sending the small weapon sailing end-over-end towards the rapidly-closing juggernaut.
The hatchet barely out of her paw, she launched herself into the air, knees raised and paws clasped together in a double-fist above her head. Her aim was true and a resounding crack raised a hushed gasp from the crowd as the flat blade of the hatchet smashed into the bull’s forehead, splitting the thick flesh of his knitted brow and whipping his head back. Before the blood had even started its downward arc, the airborne gazelle’s knees connected solidly and audibly with her stunned opponent’s massive chest, halting the charge of the already off-balance bull, sending him tipping backwards and her fisted paws crashing down upon his upturned nose to crush that pink flesh and shatter the cartilage behind it to start another fountain of blood and send the champion heavily down onto his back in a cloud of sand, blood and spittle.
The Tommy didn't give the downed bull a chance to recover his wits or senses – the wound in his forehead was only superficial, his skull being tougher than an axe as small as hers, and even the broken nose wouldn't slow him down much if he got back on his feet. Once up, and at these close quarters, the bull’s superior size, strength and weight would severely hamper the gazelle’s chances of seeing another sunrise and whilst that notion was not entirely without appeal to her she wasn't about to give up that easily. She drove her knees into his shoulders to pin him down with her weight and rained blow after blow down upon the blood-covered face of her stricken foe, fists smashing savagely against his already-busted nose, his throat and his eyes. The roaring, berserk antelope was a wet blur to Thraan and, with his own blood treacherously choking the breath in his throat, there was little that the still-dazed champion could do to even defend himself let alone attempt to fight back. His paws flailed ineffectually at the gazelle atop him, trying to dislodge the enraged antelope but failing abysmally as she dug her knees hard against the nerve clusters of his shoulders and even his frantic bucking could not unbalance her or distract her from her purpose. As the gazelle femme’s leathery fists continued to mercilessly pummel her opponent’s face and more and more blood soaked into the gritty sand of the pit floor, the bull’s eyes started to show more white as they rolled back in their damaged sockets and his massive paws went limp as consciousness started to desert. Less than a minute had passed since the gazelle had responded to the other fighter’s charge but it was already over – his jaw was slack, his severed tongue tip lay on his chest after having been snipped off by his own teeth, many of which were now strewn about the sand by his head.
Sensing her opponent defeated, the gazelle femme stood up, her chest heaving as she sucked in the hot, foetid air of the pit in great gulps. Blood dripped from her clenched fists to spatter onto the brown fur of the great beast below her and a raucous cry went up from the spectators at the unlikely but bloodlust-slaking victory – especially from those who had been brave, foolish or lucky enough to bet on the underdog. Victory, however, was not enough for the baying crowd – the hitherto undefeated Thraan was still moving and breathing, albeit barely. The people of k’Tacha did not want mercy, they wanted a kill and the gazelle knew this. With a cold, dead look in her eye she raised one hoofed foot and brought it sharply back down again with only the barest of pauses and even less regret. The wet, visceral sound of the bull’s passing was drowned out by the appreciative roar from the spectators. She neither mourned nor celebrated his passing - she had never exchanged words with the bull and now she never would. He was just one more poor, dumb bastard born as the wrong species but at least now he was free.
-
“You have done well, Jenna” observed the lion, grinning broadly as he slapped the victorious fighter on the back, leading her away from the pits and back home. “You shall be fed tonight!” By the standards of his nation, such munificence with one’s slaves was considered to be bordering on wildly extravagant – he had clearly won a handsome sum by backing her in the fight – but that didn't stop the gazelle from wanting to rip the smug bastard’s throat out with her bare paws. The only thing that stopped her was the belief that every day spent living was a day spent learning and one day she would return his generosity by showing him all that she’d learned. Him and every other sadistic, whore-worshipping bastard in this land.
***
No comments:
Post a Comment