Why had she been so open with him today? Maybe he affected her the way the animals did—as a safe place to be herself.
He found himself hoping that was the case and spent the rest of his day berating himself for forgetting their relative positions in the world. He was only a step above the residents of the zoo, if that and for all her kindness and soft words during the morning rounds at the zoo, she had the power of life and death over him. He might wish otherwise but facts were facts. He needed to be careful. This was far and away the best situation he’d landed in since his first awakening and he shouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.
In the afternoon he restocked the supply cabinets at the zoo and thereby created the opportunity for himself to go by the training ground where Samyra and her team of gladiators worked out, on his way to the warehouse. She was in mock combat with two of them and driving them hard, plainly the superior fighter. Although they were using wooden swords, one of her opponents was bleeding and the other was limping and she was screaming at them, telling them where their weaknesses were and that they’d be dead in the arena before the first trumpets sounded most likely. Her two most senior gladiators were standing by, laughing at the trainees.
He lingered, watching Samyra and the new man parry and thrust but he couldn’t help listening to the other fighters. He was far enough away across the field the men probably believed he couldn’t hear them but his hearing was like his eyesight—much keener than humans possessed.
“See? There,” said one man triumphantly. “She’s pulling her stroke on the right side.”
“You’re right,” agreed the other reluctantly. “Not every time but clearly there’s something?—”
“I noticed it in the last bout with House of Minca. She covers it up well but there’s a vulnerability.”
“Tirion would pay a fair credit to know about this before their scheduled bout.” The second man’s tone was tentative.
“Or maybe a smarter man keeps it to himself and bets wisely.” The first speaker clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s the favorite of course so the odds will be heavily loaded.”
“You’d bet against our own House?”
“To make enough credits to buy my freedom from this place, you’re damn right I would.” Now the fighter leaned closer but Jamirr could still hear him. “Whether we tip off anyone or not it’s clear she’s losing a step and it’ll become obvious to the world soon enough. Even the great Samyra can’t stay at the peak forever. Better to bail from this House while it’s on top than to become a man wearing the badge of a loser.”
Jamirr suspected he’d lingered long enough and moved on with his errand but he mulled over the words the rest of the day. He did two things as a result. First, he started making time to watch Samyra train with her fighters. He was sure she wouldn’t object because she’d take it as a sign he was interested in fighting, which was not the case. He hated to admit it but now the problem had been called to his attention by the gossiping gladiators, he could see she was quite skillfully covering up some kind of weakness. Not every minute, not even every day but often enough to be concerning.
Second, he began watching his trideo in the evenings, focusing on sports channels, although he picked up a lot of general information along the way. He hadn’t been interested enough in the subject before to care but now he absorbed the details of the gladiatorial system from the endless series of expert commentators blathering away on the various networks. Samyra, or the Beast Lady as she was indeed known, was undeniably at the top of the violent ‘sport’. She was everywhere, doing interviews, attending events, signing autograph holo chips, endorsing products, taking bit parts in big budget trideos (playing herself usually or a gladiator exactly like herself). There was even a Samyra doll, with accessories and a miniature Jaxur. The arena was where she shone, however, and Jamirr was able to find holos of many of her most famous fights, including a number of to the death contests, which this world and its circuit were avid for.
She was merciless, highly skilled and charismatic in the arena. Jamirr suspected she won on at least several occasions because the men and women sent against her were so afraid of her reputation. They in essence defeated themselves.
He had great difficulty reconciling the woman he watched on the holos and trideos with the one who worked by his side in the zoo a few mornings each week. Eventually he concluded Samyra only showed that side of herself to him, which made the time even more precious.
She certainly showed no sign of it when he was taken along on excursions to handle the animals. Samyra would walk the red carpet or chat with the show host or whatever the event might be, with at least three of her giant pets on gem studded leashes at her side. As soon as she was finished with the task at hand, she gave the leashes to Jamirr and he was left wrangling the animals into the groundcar and getting them home safely. Fortunately he and Jaxur had a terrific relationship and the two big alien canines regarded him as dominant and gave him no trouble. He’d showed them his fangs and claws a few times in private at the zoo when the occasion called for it, done some growling and the duo accepted his place at the top of their hierarchy.
Samyra was generous with her praise for his skills, although the tone was clipped and businesslike in public or backstage. He treasured the moments on the morning zoo rounds more.
One day a new litter of kittens was old enough to be handled and Samyra had plunked herself down on a cushion to play with them, using a long scarlet-and-gold feather one of the exotic birds had dropped and which Jamirr had saved for her. She was laughing and the kittens were adorable and he wished with all his heart he had a holo to help preserve the memory.
His heart was becoming a problem and he acknowledged it but did his best to hide his growing attachment. It made no sense at all to be infatuated with the woman who owned him, or so he told himself, but it was more than infatuation or even physical desire. His heart ached when she left the zoo after each visit.
He was also required to accompany her and her entourage to the arena and those were the days he dreaded and loathed. She would do her entrance into the arena with at least five of her animals walking beside her while the crowd screamed her name. The pets were edgy and difficult for him to get onto leashes and control once she dropped them off in the arena waiting room. He would then spend the next few hours tending to the beasts and watching the fights, nerves on edge. Jamirr hated the fact she was out there risking her life to entertain the crowd, which he suspected would turn on her as fast as they currently adored her. He had to fight to keep his fangs and claws retracted especially when a match went on too long and Samyra had to really work to win.
“Relax, man,” Darryl would tell him with a laugh. “The mistress always wins these things. Your job and your place are safe.”
Biting his tongue, Jamirr wanted to tell the man his own life was the least of his concerns. He had a visceral fear of Samyra being seriously injured or even killed and his world without her would be bleak indeed, whatever his physical circumstances.
The day for the much touted match with the House of Tirion finally arrived. Jamirr hadn’t heard any more gossip or conversation from the two gladiators of Samyra’s House but he suspected at least one of the men had indeed shared details of her new vulnerability with her rival. He seemed even more arrogant than usual in the days leading up to the fight and talked openly about buying his freedom soon.
Ironically, the boaster was the first man cut down in the battle on the sands, with a grievous wound to his leg that might leave him unable to ever fight again. He was carried off by the arena attendants and taken to the medical station. The match was approved for fights to the death so he was lucky Samyra had drawn off the gladiator who’d injured him.
Jamirr paced the backstage area, tips of his fangs protruding, talons scraping at his fingertips to be deployed. He could hardly bear to watch the screen and occasionally looked out at the sands. He could see Samyra was tiring and his impression was that Tirion was toying with her. His team had reduced hers to only three now, including herself and the outcome was very much in doubt. As one of the remaining men fell, Jamirr had had enough. He ripped off his shirt and grabbed a sword from the rack on his way to the gate leading to the sand.
Darryl got in his way. “What the seven hells are you doing, man? You’re not a fighter. Go tend to the animals.”
“She’s going to be killed,” Jamirr said, pointing at the arena with his sword. “I need to be out there. I wear the badge—I qualify to enter the combat for our House.”
“You don’t know how to fight,” Darryl said scoffingly.
With a loud roar, Jamirr deployed his talons and stood to his full height, fangs on display. “I can fight. She needs help or don’t you care?”
For answer the overseer stared at him, mouth open in astonishment and then stood aside. “Open the gate, let our substitute fighter out.”
