Story #1

Free or Dead

Junia stepped into the arena to the howling of a bloodthirsty crowd. Her three opponents carried axes and swords. She was armed with a knife and buckler. Her opponents wore steel breastplates. Wearing a cotton shirt and trousers, she stepped across the sand of the arena, stained rust red by the past fallen. She approached the men, proud and unyielding.

The men were seasoned gladiators, scarred and ruthless; their eyes were dead like a shark’s. They looked at the waif of a woman with hungry expressions, eager for the bloodshed to start. Junia eyed them with icy contempt, secure in her skill. She held a battle stance as she waited for the bell to sound. The men gripped their weapons tightly in anticipation, as if straining at invisible leashes. Those leashes were loosed by the tolling of the bell. The men charged forward like a tide of steel and muscle.

The leader of the charge took a powerful chop at Junia’s head. She rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike. With her shield, she barely deflected a downward thrust by the next man. Junia got to her feet in time to sidestep the axe of the last man. A vicious slash opened him from shoulder to shoulder. Howling in pain, he dropped his ax to clutch his wound. At the sight of first blood, the crowd cheered excitedly. She whirled around as the other gladiators came to their comrade’s aid.

With no time to evade them, Junia was forced to defend. Her arms blurred as she desperately blocked and deflected the men’s furious assault. Despite her spirited defense, she was forced to give ground. Her clothes were soaked with sweat and stained red by minor cuts. As she fell back and the men rushed to pursue, one gladiator tripped on the ax his wounded comrade had dropped. Eager to take any advantage, Junia rushed the tripped warrior. She slammed her buckler across his face, dazing him and then stabbed his kneecap for good measure. The overwhelmed fighter dropped to the ground.

By this point the first injured gladiator had recovered somewhat, a short sword clutched shakily in his hand. The two wounded warriors eyed her wearily now, a new respect for her capabilities in their eyes. Breathing calmly and watching her opponents carefully Junia maintained her calm, the two men circled, trying to flank her. She stood still, her confidence unshakable. The frenzied spectators screamed to charge her. The man she wounded on the chest ran at her howling, his sword swinging with wild abandon. Junia ran to meet him. The two charged one another, one a mad dog, the other, a graceful gazelle. They met in a storm of clashing steel, his enraged flailing met by her measured strokes. By the time the other gladiator joined the fray, his ally was bleeding from dozens of wounds and looked ready to drop. Junia engaged them both now, the last unwounded warrior and his much diminished compatriot.

She nimbly avoided the unwounded man’s lead stroke and stepped inside his reach. Junia could smell his sour breath as she leaned in. Her knife darted forward, seeking his unprotected armpit. The blade struck true, piercing his lung. With a twist, the woman removed the knife. Her opponent collapsed, choking on his own blood. The spectators cried in dismay as only one of their chosen fighters remained standing. Tipped by the sound of his heavy breathing, Jade barely ducked beneath the last fighter’s swing. Staying just ahead of his thrusting blade, she rolled to the side. Still on the ground, she slammed her heel into his shin. She was able to regain her feet as he howled and cursed.

 With the same calm precision she possessed throughout the fight Junia collected an ax from one of her former enemies. She hefted the ax, checking its weight and balance. The fighter, distracted by his pain, had nearly forgotten about her. He turned to see her give the ax an experimental swing. Only then did he realize what was coming. He ran towards her as fast as he could, desperation fueling his speed. He was still twelve paces away when she released the ax. It whirled end over end like a pinwheel before slamming into his chest. The force of the blow blasted him from his feet. Desperately, he died trying to take one last breath.

Junia sheathed her knife and picked up a dropped short sword. She turned defiantly to the jeering rabble, saluted them mockingly. “You shall not break me!” she shouted. “I will not rest until I am free or dead!” As she finished her declaration the far entrance to the arena opened.  Driven forward by pitiless handlers, a pack of starved wolves were released. Eager for meat, the beasts charged her.

“One round down, nine more to go,” she told herself.