The clay mugs clinked against each other and the beer in them spilled over the edges. Squealing Roder laughs dominated the puck camp, but the rest of the people were also in high spirits. As rich as the smell of alcohol was in the air, so was the crispy meat. Whatever the diamond jungle had to offer rotated over the spits of many campfires.
Much more food, served on the finest silverware, was on the table in Nukzos private tent. He had gathered his assistant and a few of his faithful pucks around him, but he and they could never have consumed this abundance of food. It was nothing more than a symbol of their status, alongside the crates and chests filled to the brim with ancient gold coins, jewels and all the riches an adventurer could imagine in forgotten ruins.
“And that’s only the half of it!” Nukzos promised his partners. He was sitting at his work table and he was stacking towers of coins, only to laughingly punch them away. “I knew it would be the best deal ever! The whole thing can only get better now if we can take some of our fighters home alive!”
“I had my doubts,” admitted Nukzo’s assistant and he filled a small bag with coins, which he tied to his belt. “But I think you’re right. Our best can survive these testing days.”
“Of course I was right! That’s why I’m one of the heads of Khuwix!” Nukzos laughed and drank from his beer mug, overflowing with joy. “And the extra income here ... isn’t it just absolutely wonderful?”
The assistant nodded knowingly. His boss was talking about another payment he had received ten minutes ago and he stared at the showpiece. It was only a small bust depicting the face of some long-forgotten troll of Jatal, but the historical value alone made it extremely valuable. This was not even taking into account the fact that it was made of the purest gold, ornately beautiful and the eyes, tusks and ears were interspersed with blood-red rubies. Compared to the entire treasure, it was a mere trifle. However, the bust had been a special payment independent of the fighting, and like everything else in this tent, it had not been earned by the pucks.
However, the surviving fighters were generously rewarded. In their less crowded pens, the normal gladiators had the same feast as the puck workers to choose from. Light entertainment was not included, however, as the pucks had not taken any whores with them and the extremely low proportion of women among the workers provided enough excitement anyway. However, there were a few among the gladiators and in full celebratory mood, with the intoxication of victory and the prospect of possible death the next day, the pens went wild.
Cecil, Abaroth, the Swordmaster and Blood Tusk could not say the same, however. All four were still in their private pens, visibly separated by the sheets,
Their provisioning was first class though, almost as good as that of the puck leadership, even for Abaroth who had not shown up. “You made me a bag full of coins today,” the Setek praised, raising his goblet of wine. “And I heard how you did it. That, and nothing else, will win you the respect of your people.”
“I don’t want that at all,” Blood Tusk said impassively. He sat on a stone with his back to Abaroth’s pen while he tore a juicy and far too thick leg of meat into pieces. “But what’s up there by the waterfall, that’s what I want.”
“Really? Just that?” Abaroth hoisted his head in amusement before downing his goblet and immediately filling it up again. “I can save you the trip. More water, more river, more jungle and there’s a spring somewhere. It’s basically the same thing you’ve already seen, only it’s higher up.”
“Mhh, no,” Blood Tusk shook his head and looked at the veiling blanket of his pen. He was annoyed by the loss of visibility and did not share the setek’s disinterest. “I haven’t been able to see much yet, but even the little bit around us, every angle is different.”
“That’s just the curiosity of the explorer,” Abaroth said knowingly. Unlike the giant, he knew a world before the arena. “Is it normal to leave this phase behind as a young scaly?”
“Young scally?”
“Others say children, or you troll whelps. You know, when you’re still small and immature. It’s all just like that for you. Eh, no offense.”
Blood Tusk couldn’t keep up and scratched his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
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“Sorry,” Abaroth choked this part off deftly. “I’m not used to you speaking more than three sentences in an hour, but you’re right. Of course, it must be different up there.”
“Gods, I miss the women’s quarters in the pit of flesh,” Cecil sighed loudly, lying on her cot and she rolled her eyes, kicking her legs in the air. “Is this how you do it every night? You explain the world to our big boy? Only this time he’s not going through the stones in the arena for the umpteenth time because he’s finally come out of his cage and he realizes that there are three different kinds of trees?”
“And I thought no matter where the woman was from, you loved deep conversations,” Abaroth hissed sarcastically. “At least all three of my wives had that in common, because they loved to talk.”
“Wow, three of them put up with you?”
“Like I had a choice,” Abaroth hoisted both exhausted and dirty. “You know, in the setek culture, the women choose the man and three women wanted me.”
“You ... had three wives? At the same time?”
“Nothing but trouble and work, I’ll tell you that. Cheers,” he toasted his goblet, the wine sloshing over the rim.
Cecil was not the typical woman who enjoyed a chat. Separated from the arena and the rare female company there, however, she took what she could get. “So the women had you under their boot?”
“Setek don’t wear boots,” Blood Tusk commented light-heartedly. It earned him a laugh from Abaroth, a sigh from Cecil and a barely noticeable smirk from the book-reading swordmaster.
“Yes, when it comes to family and choice of partner, women have absolute power,” Abaroth said wistfully. He clearly needed to drink more to shake off these thoughts quickly. “Such are our laws, commanded by the gods.”
“Let me guess,” Cecil joked meanly, pouring herself a sip of wine into a small cup as well. “Your wives got fed up with you at some point and sold you to the arena?”
“Mhh, not quite. I was happy with them until a high priestess laid claim to me as well,” Abaroth said freely. The wine played a part here, but the way Cecil felt, at least, it could all be over tomorrow. So why should he take secrets to his grave? “My three wives said no, and a few days later the high priestess has them slaughtered for blasphemy. Then she comes before me while I am drenched in the blood of my recently deceased wives and makes another claim and I said not even if she was the last of our kind. So I too become a blasphemer and am sold as a slave. That’s how I ended up here.”
“I thought that was a stupid joke when you just said trouble,” Cecil puffed. She then had to empty her cup in one go. “So the three of them brought you here.”
“So to speak, but at least I’m still alive.”
“You’re strong, Abaroth,” Blood Tusk added to the conversation. He was not effusive in his praise, but spoke sober facts for him. “Why didn’t you just kill everyone who threatened your females?”
“That might work against a small group in the arena, but you’ve never faced a horde of soldiers,” Abaorth continued to remind himself, and he hissed bitterly. “There must have been about 40 or 50 of them and I was unarmed and unprepared and even if I had slaughtered them all, there would only have been more. Imagine cutting down the trees around us, but no matter how many you cut down, there’s always a new tree waiting behind.”
Insults were far from Blood Tusk’s mind and he didn’t even see it as one, but he was so used to winning, no matter what the odds were. “Or if you weren’t strong enough on your own, you should have fought with someone else, like we already did,” he said. They were pretty rare spectacles, but there were also various team fights among the gladiators. Abaroth and Blood Tusk had already been a team twice and had fought against a superior number of opponents. “Anything is possible. I would stand at the end, as always.”
“Yes. Yes, I really do think that’s possible,” Abaroth agreed. He did not hold it against the troll that he had not been called strong enough. Rather, he toasted the suggestion that he should not have fought alone. “Together with you, I would have defeated an entire army. Here’s to us.”
“I can’t toast with you,” Blood Tusk mentioned in passing. He had never touched any intoxicating substances. Not even a drop of beer.
“I know, so I’ll drink for you and the swordmaster, and I’m sure Cecil will too.”
The swordmaster was just as sober and teetotal as Blood Tusk, a true reflection of discipline and fighting skill. He answered the setek’s words with a silent prayer.
“I’ll only get drunk after we leave here,” Cecil snorted, before throwing one of her knives audibly into the edge of the pen. “I just drank a cup of wine out of respect for your women. I won’t end up like them, though.”
“Oh come on, we all end up sometime, somehow, somewhere-”
“I get it,” Cecil sighed in frustration. “I’m telling you, I’m sure you always talk like that in the arena. You’re totally bringing my mood down.”
The conversation was interrupted when part of Blood Tusk’s leather cover was moved and one of the Roder guards unlocked his pen. “Out with dyou,” he grunted urgently. “Come on, come on! Woman’s waiting for you!”
It was a rare moment, but for once Blood Tusk’s thoughts had not been so meticulously focused on his reward after the victory. “I thought we didn’t have any females with us?” he asked, wiping bits of meat and juices from his mouth as he put down the half-eaten leg.
“Boss just ordered me to get you! Don’t bitch!” grunted the Roder in a huff. “Otherwise i′ll go into the tent for you! There really aren’t any women here and I’d love to stick my cock in one!”
“Waaayyyyyyyy too much information!” moaned Cecil. She threw herself onto her cot and her pillow over her head. “At least he’s not staying in his pen.”
“That makes you happy that he’s having fun somewhere else and you can’t hear it?” Abaroth joked with mock sadness. “Well, if that didn’t lift your spirits, you’re colder between the legs than the iciest night in the desert.”
