As Hern swung, Maddox parried so the swords clacked against each other.

  He had to escape from this place. Maddox was sure had to leave before the Leviathan assault vessels arrived in orbit. Did those of Gath have anything to defend themselves from space attack? Hern thought so, and he must be right after a fashion.

  Hern broke through Maddox’s distracted defense and whacked the edge of the wooden sword against Maddox’s gut.

  Maddox grunted, staggering back.

  Hern advanced, grinning, seeing his opening and landing a glancing blow against Maddox’s head.

  It was enough so Maddox dropped to the sand.

  A whistle blew. A trainer shouted at Hern to back off.

  “You’re lucky, you dog,” Hern whispered, kicking sand in Maddox’s face. “I could have killed you easy if we’d had real swords.”

  Maddox rolled over and climbed to his feet, his head throbbing. Dravek was there.

  “Are you okay?” Dravek asked.

  Maddox touched his head. A knot had already risen where Hern had struck him.

  The trainer stepped near, a squat, heavily muscled older man with short, iron gray hair. “How did that happen?” The trainer had a raspy voice.

  “Lack of concentration on my part,” Maddox said.

  The trainer shook his head. “Do I have to tell you how stupid that was?”

  “Apparently,” Maddox said.

  The trainer squinted at him. Putting the whistle in his mouth, the trainer blew a shrill blast.

  Everyone stepped away from his opponent and looked at the trainer.

  The squat trainer, a former gladiator, bellowed in his hoarse voice about the foolishness of letting distracting thoughts get the better of you. “It kills. Never forget that.”

  The trainer blew the whistle again. It meant get back to it. He told Maddox to go sit against the wall over there and rest a moment.

  Maddox did just that, brooding. He wasn’t thinking about Hern, the gladiatorial school or his head. He realized he didn’t know enough about the Heydell Cloud, how the various star systems operated and if any of them cooperated against Leviathan. Did Leviathan fear to send ships into the Heydell Cloud? It seemed like it did. Was the reason the vortexes, gravitational masses and other spatial anomalies or something else?

  Maddox’s eyes widened as he sat against the wooden boards of the wall. Spatial anomalies—could he use one to reach the Orion Arm in a short amount of time? Could any anomaly help shoot a spaceship across seven or eight thousand light-years in one go?

  Maddox rubbed his chin thinking about it.

  Dravek plopped down beside him. “You forgot this.” He pitched the wooden practice sword on the sand near Maddox’s feet.

  Maddox nodded idly.

  “Your head isn’t in the game, my brother.”

  Maddox looked at Dravek. “It is, just not about swords and spears.”

  “What then?”

  “The Heydell Cloud, Leviathan, getting home again.”

  “Your home.” Dravek made a broad gesture. “This spiral arm is my home.”

  “Do you want to live the rest of your days on Garth in the South Pole region?”

  Dravek grinned. “You mean this isn’t paradise?”

  Maddox had told Dravek about his encounter with Grandma Julia and the beautiful people she kept around her. He’d left out the part about Julia threatening to torture and kill Dravek. How would it help if he told the clone?

  “What happens when Soldiers of Leviathan come looking for us on Garth?” Maddox asked.

  Dravek shrugged. “They get shot.”

  “What if the assault ships brought a Strategist along?”

  “I get it. A Strategist might figure out something brilliant. You think that’s likely, though?”

  “Leviathan doesn’t normally send warships into the Heydell Cloud. They are now. Leviathan wants us. Yeah. I think a Strategist might be along.”

  “You, Leviathan wants you.”

  “Us,” Maddox said. “We’re both in this together.”

  Once again, Dravek shrugged. “We’re no longer free agents but slaves. What we think no longer matters.”

  “That’s why we need to become free agents again.”

  Dravek snorted. “I’d like to know how you plan to achieve that.”

  “One of the reasons I was distracted. I want to know, too. I’m trying to figure it out.”

  “And?” asked Dravek.

  Maddox peered at the trainees as he listened to the clack of wooden weapons. Primus Hern battled another trainee. The gorilla-thick soldier hammered at the weaker man, battering the strength out of the man’s arm. Soon, the man would drop his guard and Hern would try to crack his skull. One thing about Hern, he went full bore at whatever he did. He didn’t care who he had to climb over in the process, either.

  Seeing a trainer glance at him, Maddox gingerly touched the knot on his head. After a moment, the trainer turned to watch someone else.

  “Staying in the arena will get us nowhere,” Maddox said. “I need to convince Grandma Julia to hunt for the weapon by using our help as guides.”

  “You mean the weapon in the mid-world desert?” asked Dravek.

  Maddox nodded.

  “Why do that?”

  Maddox eyed Dravek. The clone lacked Erill spiritual energy, and he didn’t think Dravek had Balron training. That hadn’t seemed to pass through with his other memories.

  Maddox frowned. How had Dravek received his memories in the first place? That wouldn’t have come through DNA. Oh, he remembered. It had been through a helmet.

  Hern’s head bash must have shaken his memories.

  “You don’t trust me no more?” Dravek asked.

  “Mara and Grandma Julia are sensitives or telepaths.”

  It took Dravek a moment. “Oh. I get it. I can’t shield my thoughts from them as apparently you can.”

  Maddox looked up at the sky. The sun shined brightly as a few fleecy clouds drifted. Remaining a gladiator was out of the question. He didn’t have much time left, though. A mere week had passed since leaving the Moray. That left him two and a half weeks at most before the assault vessels arrived in orbit here.

  “Do you feel like vomiting?” Dravek asked.

  “A little.”

  “You might have a concussion then.”

  Maddox sighed. He was sick of the Scutum-Centaurus Spiral Arm. He was sick of doing this alone. He missed Meta and Jewel. He missed the crew of Victory. What would Ludendorff suggest he do about now?

  “What are you grinning about?” Dravek asked.

  “Old times, old friends,” Maddox said.

  The answer made Dravek wistful. “I’d like to meet some of those people, the ones I remember from you.”

  Maddox concentrated on Dravek.

  “What now? What did I say?”

  Maddox felt sorry for the clone. But if the clone was enough like him, Dravek wouldn’t want to hear what he was thinking.

  “What just happened?” Dravek asked.

  “I’ll tell you what. I plan to go home, but I also plan to set you up with a spaceship and crew before I leave.”

  “Feeling sorry for me, are you?”

  Yes. Maddox was feeling sorry for him. But he didn’t want to say that. Instead, he held out his right hand. Dravek looked at it. Maddox shook it some. Dravek finally took hold. Maddox squeezed as he shook hands.

  “You’re my brother,” Maddox said. “I meant what I said just now about the ship and crew.”

  Dravek tore his hand free as the squat trainer marched toward them.

  Both men stood.

  “Enough of this,” the trainer said. “You have a fight tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” asked Maddox.

  “You two are going back to the cell. You can rest and think up strategies for your coming match. Dravek will go with you as your helper.”

  “Help me fight in the arena?” asked Maddox.

  “No,” the trainer said. “In preparing you and helping you when you get back—if you’re alive enough to help after the match.”

  “Who am I facing?”

  The trainer shook his head. “I have no idea. I think it’s a surprise.” The trainer stared at Maddox. “Someone powerful among the ilk doesn’t like you.” The squat trainer shrugged. “That means you’re going to be dead soon. So, get out of here, meat. Get some rest while you can enjoy it.”

  -41-

  The stadium was constructed from white marble and had many tiers and padded seats. It wasn’t large, as only half of the stadium had seats. The other half was marble wall. Awnings covered the padded seats. Perhaps a quarter of those seats held occupants.

  In the center box in front sat Grandma Julia with Gallant Ophir and Mara among her attendants. A few of the beautiful people wearing revealing garments surrounded them like a moat protecting a castle. Two other Old Ones sat in the special box. They also had personal attendants.

  The rest of the seats held regular Honey Men, or so Dravek suspected. It was a mix of men and women, no children. In the highest tier without seats stood pinhead giants wearing golden helmets and armor, holding their halberds.

  Dravek reported all this to Maddox in his underground ready room.

  Maddox shadowboxed before a body-length mirror to warm up his muscles. The knot was still there on his head, and a bruise had formed on his stomach where Hern had whacked him. Maddox wore a loincloth and sandals, with crisscrossing leather straps across his torso. He didn’t have a helmet. Nor had he received any arms yet.

  Occasionally, as Maddox readied himself, he heard trumpet blasts and roars from the crowd.

  Maddox glanced at Dravek. “Is something on your mind?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it now. You have a fight soon and need to concentrate on that.”

  Maddox nodded as he continued to shadowbox in front of the mirror.

  Finally, three quarters of an hour later, there was a knock at the door. Dravek opened it.

  “He’s next,” said a woman in a short skirt, knee-high leather boots and with a mass of dark hair.

  Dravek turned to Maddox.

  Maddox pivoted and came to him. “Let’s go.”

  They followed the woman to an armory. Three bruisers stood behind steel bars there.

  “What do you want?” one of the bruisers asked.

  Maddox blinked. He hadn’t realized he would have a choice.

  Dravek asked the woman, “Who is he fighting?”

  The woman shook her head.

  “You don’t know or won’t say?” Dravek asked.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I could have you flogged for addressing me like that. Have him choose a weapon now.”

  Dravek turned to Maddox.

  Maddox stood to the side, with his head cocked as he used his intuitive sense. What would be the best weapon?

  “Give me a stout spear,” Maddox told the bruiser. “But make sure it has balance so I can throw it.”

  The lead bruiser looked at the other two. One picked up a pike.

  “Too long,” Maddox said.

  The other showed him an eight-foot spear with a razor-sharp head of steel.

  “That one,” Maddox said.

  “You haven’t trained with a spear,” Dravek said.

  Maddox snapped his fingers at the head bruiser.

  “Don’t get nasty,” the bruiser said. “Otherwise, next time, we’ll give you a faulty weapon. You won’t like that.”

  Maddox grinned at the bruiser.

  One of the others handed him the spear butt first.

  “Hurry up and follow me,” the woman said.

  Walking swiftly, she brought them to a large box. “Both of you are going through. You—” She pointed at Maddox. “Will enter the arena when they open the chute. You—” She pointed at Dravek. “Can watch through the slit and learn for him.”

  She unlocked a hatch, opening it.

  Maddox and Dravek entered the boxed area.

  She closed the hatch and locked it, no doubt leaving.

  Maddox clutched the spear, his palms sweaty.

  “Good luck,” Dravek said, clapping him on a shoulder. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Maddox nodded.

  “Why a spear?”

  Maddox shrugged. He was in no mood to explain.

  Trumpets blared from outside. The chute opened. Maddox trotted out onto the hot arena sand. He scanned the watchers in the tiers, the Old Ones in the front central box and the empty floor of the arena, empty but for him. There were damp patches in places covered with new sand. Those would be bloody places, possibly slippery places. He should avoid those.

  As per his instructions, Maddox approached the central box with the potentates. Grandma Julia had her needler. Guards with hand catapults tracked him closely, their weapons aimed at him.

  Gallant Ophir stood in his swirling red robes and red turban. He wore his ruby rings. “Captain Maddox, my friends. He fought with Legion Culain only a week ago trying to steal our honey.”

  There were a few boos and catcalls from the sparse crowd.

  “He will face three dreadfangs,” Ophir said, “as they scavenge upon others the way legionnaires try to harry us here in the Highlands.”

  Cheers erupted from the tiers.

  At the same time, a gate opened. Three long-legged dreadfangs trotted out, squinting at the bright sun reflecting off the scintillating sand. They were furry beasts the size of large timber wolves with bigger jaws full of incisors. They had large ears and small tails. Each must have weighed a solid one hundred and thirty pounds.

  The dreadfangs zeroed in on Maddox standing on the other side of the arena. Two lowered their heads. The other snarled, spitting saliva.

  Had the beasts eaten legionnaires on the way from the jungle battlefield to the gelding pens?

  In his heart, Maddox wiped away any personal animus he might hold for the predators. They were animals, trained for the arena, no doubt. No, he took that back. The dreadfangs slunk toward the walls, not him. Maybe they weren’t trained to fight before a watching crowd like this. That seemed odd.

  Maddox considered that. Could these be untrained beasts? Or was their telepathy at work to trick him?

  Heading for the center of the arena would be a mistake against trained dreadfangs, as they would circle him, coming at him from all sides. Yet, the only way he could perceive winning was by killing a dreadfang fast. He had to whittle their numbers down before they acted in united hound fashion against him.

  Thus, Maddox trotted into the center of the arena.

  The dreadfangs looked up, noticing him again, growling. The beasts glanced at each other as if confirming an idea they had. Immediately, they set out for Maddox.

  Maddox looked up at the central box. Mara had her eyes screwed shut. Two others like her did the same thing. He had the feeling each witch controlled one of the beasts.

  Maddox looked back at the predators.

  They trotted, fanning out. Two obviously meant to circle him. One came straight at him, probably to focus his attention.

  Without yelling, Maddox increased his pace and then broke into a sprint. Did his speed surprise the telepaths operating the dreadfangs? He closed the distance with the one heading toward him even as the other two circled wide.

  He had a moment then before the others could race in to help the first. Trusting in his skills, Maddox heaved the spear, his only weapon. It sailed flat and fast, a perfectly balanced spear. The steel head missed the dreadfang’s head but pierced its shoulder and slammed it down onto the sand. The beast whined in pain as it flopped in agony.

  Maddox reached the beast before the other two reacted. He grabbed the end of the spear and yanked it hard, withdrawing it from the dreadfang. In an instant, he drove the spear through its torso, reaching the heart and killing the beast.

  Now, the other two dreadfangs turned toward him.

  Maddox laughed with predatory glee, charging the nearest. It set itself as it watched the spear. Maddox hefted it back as if to hurl, and he faked a throw even as he sprinted again.

  The dreadfang lowered its head and shifted to the right. Then, it raised its head and snarled, seeing the man was almost upon it.

  Maddox didn’t fake again. He raced straight at the beast like a killer and thrust, spearing it through the mouth. It was a brutal and savage kill. He put a foot on the warm and twitching carcass and removed the spear.

  Maddox whirled around as the last dreadfang launched airborne at him. The beast had raced as fast as it could. Maddox ducked and rolled, with the spear in hand. The beast landed on the sand, scrabbling to turn and renew the assault. Now, however, Maddox faced it at near range. The beast snarled and snapped, circling the man.

  They both faked lunges at each other. Then, the dreadfang miscalculated, or the telepath running it did. Maddox skewered the beast in the side, driving the carcass to the sand. It wasn’t a pinprick assault, but a deathblow.

  Maddox raised his bloody weapon high, and he approached the central box.

  The crowd watched in anticipatory silence. The Old Ones watched coldly. The guards with the hand catapults had raised their weapons. Gallant Ophir had clenched his right hand into a fist, the ruby rings aimed at Maddox.

  Their fear of him felt good. Maddox hated this place and loathed the Old Ones who had made it so. Did Grandma Julia feel his hate? He would think yes.

  Maddox stood before the box, triumphant. He slammed the spear into the sand and raised his hands in the air.

  “I’m Captain Maddox. I come from the Orion Spiral Arm. I can show you how to defeat the approaching assault vessels of Leviathan. I can kill them as easily as I slew these three dreadfangs.”

  He pointed at Mara.

  Most in the central box flinched at the rude and possibly deadly gesture.

  “I know you controlled one of the dreadfangs.” His finger swept across the box. “I know others controlled the rest. It didn’t matter. It won’t matter that Leviathan assault vessels have better weapons than you do on Gath. I can defeat them, too—if you desire. Don’t waste my expertise. Don’t—”