SUNLIGHT BEAT DOWN on the white sands, hot and bright. The air was unusually warm so far into the autumn season. Birds circled above, oblivious to the activities below save for the food they could snatch from the unaware or unwitting. Far above, the ghostly figure of a dragon could be seen flying lazy figure eights.

Vocal demands for the next match shifted to cheers of anticipation when the gates swung open. Even with the announcer yelling at the top of his lungs, the crowd’s roar reverberated through the bowl-like arena and almost drowned him out. Stepping out first, Farn raised his arms as if he had already won. He scowled when their attention left him in favor of Tiwaz when she appeared. The crowd exploded into a frenzy when the woman walked out exuding confidence, modestly dressed in simple leather tunic, trousers, and boots, her hair loosely gathered into a ponytail hugging the nape of her neck.

The pair turned for the audience to examine them, the bookies calling out the odds they were offering for each combatant. Tiwaz smiled faintly, not having heard odds so against her since her early days on the circuit.

“Well, girl, yer a bit taller’n I like ‘em, but ye’ll suit ol’ Farn tonight.” She arched an eyebrow at his leer. “After we’re done, I’ll show ye what a real man can do to ya. I’ll ride ye hard and put ye away wet.”

Tiwaz frowned with disdain. “This is a gladiatorial arena,” she informed him, flicking her eyes over him with a dismissive expression. In a condescending tone, she added, “And you are not man enough to handle me.”

Farn’s eyes widened at her dismissive, condescending attitude. He bellowed, “I’ll teach you who’s a man around here, bitch!”

“How would you know a real man?” she replied in bittersweet tones. “Even those men who bed men have better taste than the likes of you. How much extra do the whores charge you?”

Farn roared and lunged at Tiwaz with bare hands, not waiting for the announcer to tell them to draw their weapons formally. The breech in protocol unsettled the crowd, but did not daunt Tiwaz. Waiting for him, she stepped aside just before he reached her and tripped him with the composure of a bull fighter taunting a maddened bovine. He went sprawling into the sand face first.

Pushing himself up and spitting sand, Farn’s rage burned hotter at the roar of laughter that filled the air. He lunged at her again and again and yet again, each time with the same results. When the bettors’ odds started evening out between them, the exhausted brawler finally drew his ragged battle axe.

Tiwaz ducked at the last possible moment, sliding under his swing and drawing her sword, cutting into the man’s thigh just enough to break his skin. “First blood: Kiliana!” the announcer’s voice rang out, setting off a new round of odds being called and bets being made, now favoring her. The crowd’s cheers for Farn turned to mocking jeers.

Enraged and humiliated, Farn glared at Tiwaz through a red haze of mindless rage. “I’m gonna kill you, bitch!” he roared, barreling towards her. Abrupt silence overwhelmed the arena before disconcerted chatter rose. The bettors clammed up, taking no new bets, setting no new odds and ripping up the forfeited wager notes. They headed out of the stands to turn over the monies collected for this match’s bets before the stunned crowd could think to try to mob them to take their lost money back.

Worry for Tiwaz colored the myriad of voices. The crowd, having quickly grown fond of this brazen woman for her style and audacity, feared that Farn would succeed in killing her. Fighters and trainers jumped over the wall and ran towards them in an attempt to halt the battle before things went too far.

The moment Farn shouted, everything changed for Tiwaz, instincts taking over. Her stance shifted subtly and, instead of dodging his swing, she blocked it jarringly against her blade, her off hand bracing the flat of the sword above her head. Stunned briefly, Farn suddenly went on the defensive as she brought the sword around. Before anyone realized it, Tiwaz had Farn backed against the wall, the tip of her sword held at his throat.

Those who had thought to save Tiwaz came up short, bewildered. “Well, hells,” Gareth grumbled. “Didn’t think we’d have to be saving him.”

Harther approached slowly. When he was close enough, he put his hand on her sword wrist, keeping his voice low and calm. “Lass. Don’t do it. He isn’t worth it.”

Gradually, she lowered her weapon, then shoved it back in its sheath. She spat on the ground in front of Farn and turned her back on him, a blatant insult between fighters. The filthy man roared, throwing a knife he had concealed in his boot. His shout ended in a gurgle, his eyes devoid of life and empty hand still outstretched. The bard pulled his short sword free with disgust, turning around in alarm when the crowd started shouting in distress.

Tiwaz stood, staring at the knife that had embedded itself in her side. While not fatal, it was obviously painful. The men and women on the sands suddenly made way for the looming, heavily cloaked Doom as he strode out onto the sands, scooped Tiwaz up, and carried her out. Unnerved by the strange giant’s unexpected appearance and subsequent disappearance with Tiwaz, the others turned to remove Farn’s body so the matches could continue before the crowd became unruly with agitation.

“Too bad Kiliana couldn’t kill the bastard herself,” one of the other competitors muttered. “She’d every right to it. Damned imperial laws.”

“Where is Kiliana?” Gareth asked, looking around. “Is she all right?” He headed towards the inside waiting area, stopping short when Harther blocked him with a hand.

“Keep out of it bard,” Harther stated. “You’re up next. Get out on the sands.” Gareth nodded with a sigh, knowing better than to argue with an arena master in his own arena.