"How fares my finest slave, this excellent morning?" Haru'Luk called out from the doorway.
Soon, it would be her turn to take the sands against another gladiator. The muffled roar of the crowd bespoke the climax of whatever fight now took place in the arena above her. Even so, she could only grind her teeth in suppressed rage when he presented her as his property in accordance to the laws of this barbaric land.
The shifty satyr had proven an adept manager, however, leading the two warriors to the highest profit at lowest risk. Haru was her master only in the eyes of the ruling satyr class, and barely that. All humans were slaves in Cashuun, at least nominally. Tanys and the tattooed dwarf Jorva had already reaped a modest fortune in jewels and gold simply by spilling the blood of fellow slaves in the gladiatorial arenas of the beastmen. Still, Haru had spoken the truth about the fighting pits of Cashuun. She had even, on occasion, questioned the wisdom of rescuing the conniving man-beast from the blood mages in the first place. Often over the past month, she had regretted the rash decision to follow Haru'Luk, the scheming satyr to his dry and shadeless homeland. Born in the icy wilderness of the far north, Tanys had been unprepared for the hammering sun of Cashuun.
The coolness of it on her skin felt good against the oppressive heat of the Rashaki desert. Two slave girls dolloped out cold globs of gold paint from earthenware jars and rubbed it onto her body. Tanys stood naked and spread-eagled, leaning with her hands against the rough wooden wall of the pen. Discover other works by Andrew Hunter at Chapter 1
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