CHAPTER 1: TO THE DEATH

In which a Queen debases herself and squanders lives; a Chancellor despairs; a slavegirl is chosen.

Corinna was on all fours, her elbows resting on the edge of the arena wall. Behind her, a muscular youth pumped rhythmically, his cock sliding in and out like a piston. They were fanned on each side by a pair of naked slavegirls, each holding large feathered plumes, rising and falling in time with the thrusting buttocks.

Corinna's eyes were glued to the two women beneath her. One, a blonde, lay spread-eagled on the sand. Fine featured, with high cheeks and almond eyes, she was the loveliest of all the women who had fought that day. She was naked but for a small triangular chain mail loincloth and a diaphanous halter top that did little to conceal her quivering breasts. She glistened in the harsh morning light, covered in a slick layer of oil and sweat.

The other fighter was bearing down with her trident raised aloft, every sinew tensed in anticipation of delivering the coup de grâce. A long haired brunette, naked but for the flimsiest of loincloths and a tattered white cotton top, she was a vision of physical perfection. Her weapon plunged downwards, hungry for blood.

At the final moment the blonde rolled, and the tines struck into the packed sand with a dull thud. The fallen gladiatrix twirled, scrambling to her feet just in time to retrieve her lost sword. She whirled to meet her opponent.

"OH, nicely done, Celeste!" Corinna shrieked, her voice echoing around the small stadium. The place was empty but for herself, her slaves and the two gladiatrices. "Well Ursula? What are you going to do now?"

The Queen laughed at her own wit.

Celeste hopped over the corpse of a vanquished gladiatrix. She had known the girl - a pretty young thing, barely eighteen. A bright splash of scarlet radiated from between her breasts. It had been a quick death. She put thoughts of her fallen comrades out of her mind. The ground was strewn with six lithe bodies - the result of a single morning's entertainment for their bloodthirsty monarch. Celeste braced herself as her opponent advanced again.

Ursula gripped her trident in both hands and inched forward, her pulse racing. Each woman moved gingerly, avoiding the corpses and weapons strewn around the small arena.

"Come on! Get it over with!" Screamed Corinna. "Goddesses, I'm going to come soon..." she gasped, biting her lip. The slave kept his rhythm smooth and deliberate, as commanded. His eyes were tightly shut, as he desperately tried to control the moment of climax.

The clang of steel on steel cut the air once more, as Celeste parried Ursula's trident. Both women closed on one another, fearful of their queen's impatience. Ursula jabbed hard, but Celeste had recovered some composure, and dodged the attack. She grabbed the shaft and slashed Ursula across her unprotected left forearm, cutting deeply. The brunette screamed, dropping her weapon. Her eyes were wide in shock and horror, as she found herself with Celeste's sword at her throat.

Both women looked up to Corinna, awaiting her command. The Queen's face was wild, ecstatic, feral. Ursula sank to her knees, adopting the pose of submission. Her chest rose and fell, her breasts straining against her white halter top, nipples poking through the soft fabric. Celeste took her position behind the vanquished woman, holding her sword to the brunette's throat whilst cupping her chin in her hand, pulling her head back gently. A minute before, she was on the sand, facing a painful death at the end of a trident - yet her luck had held, and she had triumphed. Relief coursed through her body, as she thanked the Goddesses for their generosity.

The queen ravished them both with her eyes. Her gaze turned from Celeste to Ursula and back. Ursula's heart pounded until she thought it would explode; she watched as her queen approached her climax - at that moment, Ursula knew her life would end. It was a horrible way to die - for the last sounds in her ears to be this vile woman's gasps of pleasure - for her life to worth no more than a single orgasm for Corinna - a woman who, only years earlier had been a gladiatrix herself. Ursula swore that she would show no fear, even though it surged through her. She thrust her shoulders back and arched her spine. She had never looked more beautiful. The Queen's eyes widened in appreciation.

"Cut her top off, Celeste. Let's have one last look at her."

The blonde slid her blade between Ursula's deep cleavage and yanked forward, easily severing the thin fabric. Large round breasts shook free, revealing two strawberry nipples, perfectly centered. The kneeling amazon blushed in shame.

"Oh! What an animal!" gasped Corinna, delighted.

She fell silent now as the ultimate release approached. She focused on the shaft sliding between her thighs, on the beautiful arrangement beneath her - six women slain and another soon to join them, merely for her morning's amusement. She had the power of a Goddess - she held these womens' lives in her hands, and as she looked at the kneeling girl, desperately attempting to contain her terror, Corinna felt the familiar fire between her thighs.

Celeste once again held her blade at Ursula's throat. The Queen did not object - it would be a slit throat - a quick death for the brave gladiatrix. Corinna held out her hand, thumb horizontal.

"Faster, slave!" she hissed. "Harder!"

He obeyed instantly. His life depended upon it.

"OH!" the queen cried out harshly. "YESSSS!"

A whimper escaped Ursula for the first time. Celeste tightened her grip on Ursula's jaw. "Pull yourself together." Then "Don't worry - it'll be quick."

The Queen jabbed her thumb down, and in that moment the victorious gladiatrix slid her blade across the loser's throat. As she cut, she tightened her grip on Ursula's chin with her left hand, holding her fast. The brunette buckled and heaved instinctively, as a crimson wave pumped from her neck in rhythmic spurts. Her eyes widened in shock as her mouth filled with the taste of her own lifeblood. She gargled wildly as vermillion jets erupted from her throat and mouth in large gobs, hot and thick.

Held in place as she was, her last sight was the face of her queen, a contorted mask of ecstasy. She was soaking in the agony of the woman before her. Ursula's heart beat, and with it another scarlet ribbon erupted, splattering her breasts and the sand beneath her. She tried to breathe, but only blood filled her throat now. Her mind raced, desperately clinging to her last moments of life. She cursed the fate that doomed her to such a wretched and shameful death - when she sold herself to the gladiator school she was young and foolish. She believed then that nothing would stop her - that she was immortal. The leering face of Corinna exposed the cruel lie.

As the body of the Empress filled with her slave's seed, the body of the gladiatrix drained of blood. Ursula's last moment of consciousness was filled with the sight of her Queen smiling blissfully, submerged in the instant of her climax. Behind her, the relieved face of the youth, finally daring to open his eyes - even he took a moment's delight in the spectacle before him - better you than me, he seemed to say. In that final, ghastly second, the vanquished gladiatrix experienced a rush of emotions and sensations: terror, regret, hope, and, most powerful of all, hatred - hatred of this foul woman, and a final prayer to the Goddesses that the wretched Queen would suffer a humiliation as great as her own.

Oblivion finally came, and with it, no more thoughts.

Celeste released her grip, letting the dead girl slump onto her back, her face facing the sky. Her knees folded beneath her, arching her spine and presenting her breasts, even in death. She was still a magnificent sight to behold, and retained the intense beauty of the vanquished amazon. The victrix placed her right foot on Ursula's bloody chest and saluted her Queen, the bodies of seven of her sister slavegirls strewn about her.

"Yes. Yes. Very good." Corinna whispered, her voice a ghost of what it had been only moments ago. She waved the gladiatrix away.

Celeste walked backwards from the Royal box, only turning around when she had entered the tunnel and was safely out of sight. Once in the shadows she was enveloped by a wave of cool air. She leaned against the wall, and sagged, all energy gone. She felt as dead as the seven women on the arena floor. Her pulse was racing; survival against such odds made her dizzy. She pressed against the cold walls of the tunnel as the world spun around her.

Slaves were rushing past to clean up the arena. Celeste couldn't move. She stood motionless as teams of girls dragged each fighter from the sunlight into the tunnel, impaled on a hook. Only half an hour earlier they had all waited in this very spot, beautiful young women in the prime of life. The Queen's lusts had to be sated, and they were the sacrifice. Celeste knew it was her job to fight and die without complaint - but to do so for an audience of one demented woman was an obscenity.

She had killed three of the fighters herself. The first was dragged past. Celeste couldn't remember her name. She was young, too young. This had been her first real fight, and her last. Spiky blonde hair framed a lovely face - given the right chance, she would have been a prime talent. Now she was meat on the end of a hook.

Anyssa followed. A veteran gladiatrix, she had been vanquished by Ursula prior to the final combat. Three bloody holes in her chest marked the killing blow. Blood splattered her feline face, her dark hair matted with sand and gore. Her eyes stared upwards lifelessly.

More bodies came, their heels dragging small troughs in the dust. Celeste had begun to calm down by now, and she watched the women without blinking as they passed by. Finally, Ursula. The woman had been so close to finishing her with that trident! Celeste owed her survival more to luck than skill, she knew that. Ursula could just as easily been the one standing here, watching Celeste's carcass dragged past - another skull to line the walls of the catacombs.

Soon, Celeste knew, it would be her - she would not be able to cheat fate for ever. Soon, she would be vanquished, and in the Queen's arena there was no mercy. She could only hope that it when her time came, it would be quick - a thrust to the chest, or a slit neck...the same death that she had given Ursula.

Celeste handed her weapons to the lanista and headed back to her quarters. The others would be curious about the outcome. Most would be disappointed to know that their friends had been killed, though not surprised. She would have to give her account of the fights to her questioning team-mates.

At that moment, Celeste wished that it was her on the end of the hook, being dragged into the darkness for ever.

* * *

"Oh, marvelous. Didn't they die well, Grano?" The Queen lay sprawled on her pillows, radiant in the afterglow of her orgasm. "That Ursula really put on a show. Too bad she's dead." She caressed the youth's thigh. He obediently ran his hand along her breast.

Corinna turned to look down on the bodies in the arena. She was always impressed by the speed with which the slaves cleaned up the mess. Separate teams of girls ran out and impaled each body on a hook, then dragged them out, head first.

Corinna sighed. "There really is something beautiful about it. It's hard to understand if you've never fought yourself."

"Yes, Majesty."

The Queen turned to look at the two slavegirls fanning her. They were slender and pretty, with soft features and shoulder length brown hair.

"I like these two. Do you, Grano?"

"Yes...Majesty." Grano tried to keep fear out of his voice, without success.

"I wonder how they'd do in the arena. What do you think?"

"I don't know, Majesty..." he replied, stammering.

The girls' eyes widened, but their fanning continued. The inhuman eyes of the Queen continued to wander, finally resting on her slave.

"I wonder how you'd do down there, Grano. A MAN fighting women. Would you like that, slave?"

"I...I only want to please you, Majesty..." he whispered, his face pale. The Queen laughed.

"Yes. Yes...why didn't I think of that before?" she giggled hysterically. "Let's see how you fare against the two girls here. What do you think, ladies?"

The girls seemed on the brink of tears, but they simply nodded their assent. They had no choice.

"Splendid."

Corinna clapped her hands. Instantly, servants appeared from the shadows. "Have these three taken down to the arena and armed. We're having some fun!"

The trembling wretches were herded away, to be readied for combat. The Queen was delighted. The day was still young, and she had time to kill.

* * *

"Seven gladiatrices dead in one morning. Not to mention the three slaves she's set to fighting. By the Goddesses, do you know how much she's costing the Treasury?" The Chancellor cradled his head in his hands. He seemed to be aging by the day, disappearing beneath the mountain of scrolls piled on his desk. He picked one up and flung it to the ground at Sasha's feet.

"Orgies! Games! Mock battles! Every day!" he spat the words out. "The city coffers aren't deep enough for this to continue..."

"Don't worry, Joral." The red haired woman replied. "The Goddesses will provi..." she trailed off at as the Chancellor rolled his eyes. She was dressed in a tight fitting leather outfit, an elaborate series of straps that criss-crossed her body, revealing tantalizing glimpses of flesh. Her breasts were sheathed by a series of thin silver chains, but quite visible. Joral was far too old to care or even notice.

"You've had time to recruit replacements for the dead gladiatrices, I hope?" he mumbled, not bothering to look up from his current parchment.

"Yes. Some good women."

"Well, at least try to keep them alive this time."

He walked to the window, and stared over the city. The white towers and domes of Mantissa were the loveliest sight in the world.

"The worst thing is, she'll probably outlive me..."

Sasha bit her lip. The lanista feared these kinds of discussions - the punishment for treason was impalement - a slow and excruciating death.

Joral sighed, and returned to his chair.

"Well. Do your best. We will speak tomorrow." he groaned.

Sasha left the chamber, closing the door quietly so as not to wake him. The Chancellor's quarters were at the top floor of a soaring marble tower - one of the tallest in the city. The view from this perch was spectacular. She opened a door and walked onto the balcony, savoring the cool air that washed over her. The platform completely circled the tower, and as she walked she could see a spectacular panorama of the city. The river Mantissa, from which the city took its name, wound gently through the valley. Built on a promontory into the slowly flowing waters was the citadel - the walled heart of the invincible metropolis - a profusion of palaces, arenas and temples, each in a contest to outdo its neighbors in grandeur - or grandiosity. The roads were paved with the finest stone, and the larger were adorned with pillars, each surmounted by a marble statue - a Queen, a Goddess, or, more often, a gladiatrix from times long past. Sasha could glimpse the shimmer of the canals, and occasionally an ornate barge, doubtless carrying an aristocrat from orgy to arena and back again. In Mantissa, there were countless ways for the rich and powerful to slake their lusts.

Outside the city walls, to the South, was one of the great slave-markets. Tents fluttered in the breeze as caravans gathered and assembled their merchandise. The finest flesh in the Realm was bought and sold in the Mantissan markets; the lines of traders stretched to the horizon, it seemed. Far to the North was the ominous silhouette of Bone Island - the final resting place of slain gladiatrices. Barges left the arenas late at night, packed with the remains of the vanquished. Silently, the vessels would carry the remains to the main pier, where they were transferred to a ferry. This boat, long and black, could hold up to three hundred corpses in a single cargo.

"She's gone with the Ferryman." was a common expression among the gladiatrices of Mantissa. All knew what it meant - and dreaded the day when their turn would come to cross the waters to the island. It was said the the place was haunted with the spirits of the dead fighters - unable to cross the river to escape to the underworld - their souls enslaved, even in death. It was why, some said, Mantissan gladiatrices fought harder and fiercer than any others: their fear of spending eternity in that evil Necropolis.

Sasha looked to the opposite bank of the great river. Fertile fields of wheat glowed like gold in the mid-day sun. Those stalks were the source of the fabulous wealth that radiated from the citadel. Mantissa fed the world, and the world paid in coin. From Grain to Gold to Gladiatrices, this had been the Mantissan way for countless generations. It was an honest trade in a savage world, and they were proud of it.

Directly beneath the Chancellor's tower was the Royal Arena - with seating for fifty thousand, it was by far the largest in the city. Even from her great height, Sasha could clearly see the women training below. Hundreds of gladiatrices were honing their skills for the Summer Games. There were many types of fighter - most were armed with sword and shield, and of course there were several dozen equipped with net and trident. There were other, more exotic combinations. A woman armed with a shield almost as tall as she was, chained to a gladiatrix bearing a long spear. There were several pairs armed thusly; Sasha wondered how this clumsy configuration would fare in the heat of battle. Further away, women who had a long, slender spike affixed to each arm, their heads and arms heavily armored, their torsos almost entirely naked. Sasha did not think that such a foolish configuration would survive long.

She brushed the hair from her eyes, and breathed deeply. She was eager for the games to begin - the spectacle and the savagery were like a song to her. Sasha had once been one of those women - a mere gladiatrix. In spite of this, she felt no sympathy for the females beneath her. She had fought and clawed her way to freedom and power; if they wanted to live, then they could do the same. She watched them with eyes as pitiless as the stones of the arena itself. She remembered her arrival in the city almost ten years earlier. She had been a trembling slavegirl, naked but for a tattered loincloth. Sold and branded, she had become the property of the Imperial Arena. She remembered her training, her first fumbling attempts at combat. It seemed so distant, as though it had happened to a different person - and in a way, it had. She had soon proved herself to be a great gladiatrix - and many women had fallen to her. Yes, it was so very long ago, and yet the memories didn't fade. Faces flashed before her - numerous conquests. Some pleading for mercy, others defiant, a few were supremely indifferent and went to their graves without a murmur. She had no doubt however, that all had known fear in their final, agonizing moments of consciousness.

After four hundred kills she was given her freedom. Joral, seeing her cold but sharp mind, hired her as lanista of the Imperial School - the Queen's personal stable. It was Sasha who kept the Queen's team well stocked with prime talent...a job which was becoming increasingly difficult as Her Majesty stooped to ever greater depths of cruelty and debauchery.

Footsteps. A panting slavegirl appeared, pausing for breath as she reached the top step. She was wearing a plain white tunic, belted at the waist. Seventeen or eighteen, Sasha estimated. Very pretty, with shoulder length blonde hair.

"M...Mistress..." she gasped.

"Yes?" Sasha raised an eyebrow.

"The Queen has summoned you. She wants another spectacle for tonight's banquet. Four pairs of gladiatrices, to fight to the death."

A wave of fatigue washed over Sasha, and for a moment she felt as weary as the Chancellor. Then anger - and the mad thought that she could throw this silly blonde over the balcony. The fit passed. She took a deep breath and began to descend the spiral stairs, the pretty slavegirl in her wake. By the Goddesses, how many more gladiatrices would be slain before day's end? She wondered how much longer they could afford this bloodshed.

"What are you called, slave?"

"Chanel, mistress."

"A beautiful name. How long have you served?"

"As long as I can remember. I was taken as a child." She spoke without feeling - in the manner of slaves who had never known freedom.

"You are a messenger?"

"Yes. The queen likes me because I am fast." She spoke with pride.

"Tell me, Chanel, have you been to the Games?"

"Yes, mistress!" The slavegirl's voice was eager, her cobalt eyes widening at the memory. "Her Majesty wanted messages sent to her friends during the contests - to place bets. I saw many fights."

"And what did you think of them?" Sasha's voice was impassive.

"At first I was frightened ... so much blood." she paused. "But the second day, it didn't scare me. I wanted to see more." Chanel gushed. "They were so beautiful, and they fought without fear! I never thought I would enjoy ..."

They had come to a landing. Sasha stopped to take a short rest. She turned her attention to the blonde slave. The girl fell silent under the attention, blushing.

"You found them exciting?"

"Y...yes, mistress..." Her voice was quiet now. "I was sad when I had to leave."

"Naturally." Sasha smiled, but her eyes were cold. "And did you see many kills?"

Chanel swallowed. "Oh yes! Twenty - maybe more. They were all very brave..." She couldn't bring herself to meet the penetrating green eyes of her mistress. She bowed her head, silent now.

"Good girl. Run along, I can find my way from here."

Sasha watched as Chanel skipped down the steps. The girl was sure-footed, and fast. She would be a fine addition to the stable. Sasha sized her up in the brief moments before she disappeared around a corner. Slender build - agile - fast.

"Net and trident. Net and trident..." the redhead murmured to herself.

Chanel's fate was sealed.

Edited by Julian Apostata, 1 year(s) ago