The men stood at the ready in the hallways located at the perimeter of the arena, as the Vice-Captain paced patiently. The Captain would let them know when it was time to check the crowd for evidence of gambling. But not until then.
One of the men pointed, and the Vice-Captain looked in the direction he was pointing to. The Captain was walking towards them, still looking at the fight. It appeared that the fight was about to be over. The Vice-Captain raised a hand, ready to signal to his men to begin their orders.
But before he dropped his hand, the Captain signaled that he stop. Confused, but not letting it show on his face, the Vice-Captain waited for orders.
The Captain made a motion for the Vice-Captain to go join him, with an incredulous look. Curious, the Vice-Captain went over to join the Captain, where they can see the fight.
The Captain pointed at the arena, without saying anything. The Vice-Captain viewed the scene, taking in all the information. The Gladiator was visibly there, the Swiftblade was gone. A tell-tale sign to the pitfall trap lay out, with some dust rising from the cavity, the only visible proof that it had been laying hidden under all the sand and gravel.
But the Captain kept pointing. And he saw why.
Dust was rising from the sides of the pitfall, while the ones in the middle were being sucked back in. Something was happening.
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She was falling. She knew what had happened; the Gladiator had steered her into a pitfall, and then trapped her on top of it using his whip to hold her still, while daring her to escape by running at him with a brandished cutlass. She had hoped to pull him down with her, but his whip escaped her grasp at the last second when she had fallen, and she had been unwilling to let go of her swords.
She did not need to look down to view the sharpened spikes that awaited her below. She herself had caused more than enough opponents to meet their end in a pitfall as well.
It was too far from the sides of the pitfall to attempt jumping using the walls.
What were her other options? Think. There had to be some. She had a full second to think. That should be more than enough. In battle, life and death is but a mere second away. Every warrior knows that.
And she knew what to do. Throwing out her arms, extending both Sange and Yasha, she dug their tips at an angle into the sides of the pitfall, finding purchase.
And she spun.
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“I…I cannot believe it,” stammered the Vice-Captain.
“She is a resourceful one,” observed the Captain. “Using her blades and turning herself into a drill to escape the pitfall? Impressive.”
“Do we still proceed with the plan?”
With a wave, the Captain dismissed the question. “No. The fight has yet to be finished. I want to see this.”
With a bow, the Vice-Captain stood dutifully by his Captain as the two men watched the fight unfold.
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The Gladiator watched impassively as the Swiftblade rocketed out of the pitfall.
It was only a slight movement, but she sensed it. Immediately, she turned around and deflected the whip, which gave her enough force to be propelled to the side, avoiding having to fall back into the pit.
“Quite the quick thinker,” was the comment.
She was slightly winded with the extreme movement involved in spinning her way out, but she could respond, “Not enough to avoid falling into the trap you set.”
“I had wanted to avoid killing a woman with my own hands, but you are an exception. I acknowledge you as a warrior.”
She bristled with annoyance. All of her past opponents had treated her as a weak female.
Readying her stance, she retorted, “Then let me show you the skills of a female warrior!”
The Gladiator inclined his head just slightly, raising his cutlass tip. “Yes. That is exactly what I want!”
And they clashed again, her with gritted teeth, him with a primal roar.
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The two men watched in wonder at the spectacle below. The Gladiator gave no ground, but the Swiftblade was not hasty in taking it. She dodged and she countered, she parried and she danced. The larger, heavier blade drew wide arcs in the air, meeting the cutlass at every turn, while the shorter, lighter blade sought entry through the Gladiator’s defenses.
“Her style is unique,” commented the Vice-Captain. “I daresay even our men would not be a match for her in numbers. She would make an excellent guard for the Chaplains, if only she was not associated with the arena.”
“She is but a slave to the system,” replied the Captain, his eyes not wavering from the fight, “And has not committed any sins. When the arena crumbles, she is not to be harmed or taken. Am I understood?”
The Vice-Captain dipped his head in acknowledgement, but snapped it up again when the crowd roared.
It was a quick strike; hardly worth mentioning. But blood was spilt, and the wound was visible, as the blade that had wrought it drew an arc in the air with the blood flowing from its tip.
The crowd was visibly in a frenzy now. This had been unexpected.
The Swiftblade had drawn first blood.