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Chapter 3
“Guards!”shouted thevizier.
In seconds, two more of the sultan’s soldiers entered thecell.
“Take her to the pit,” growled thevizier.
My stomach locked tight. “No.”
Panic kicked in as they removed myshackles.
The slums were wild with stories about the sultan’s pit, which consisted of towering walls with a sandy surface in the middle. Gladiators fought to the death there. Rich, fat cats crowded the stands overlooking the pit, betting money on thewinners.
Hands as strong as steel clamped down on my arms, cutting off thecirculation.
The chasm in my stomachdeepened.
“No,” I shouted, as I was dragged out of the cell. The vizier’s dark flame had drained me of energy, leaving me as limp as a week-old sprig of parsley. I couldn’t fight if I wantedto.
Pain flared in my ankle as my feet bumped in grooves in the stone. The guards carried me out of the dungeons, down darkened corridors, and out along columned walkways. Up ahead, a massive, circular structure, like an amphitheater, roseup.
Thepit.
Terror slashed at my insides as they tossed me in, and I landed on my hands and knees. I flinched as the doors slammed closed behindme.
The walls were made of some sort of slippery cladding with no indents for grip. Pretty much impossible for me to climb out ofthere.
The vizier sat up in the stands overlooking the put. No fat cats surrounded him. Guess my death was a private affair, designed for the vizier’s eyesonly.
Something crashed against the steel roller door to my right. Growls sounded from behind thebarrier.
An icy fear clamped around myguts.
Chains rattled to my right as someone opened the rollerdoor.
Adrenaline pumped power back into my body. Muscles taut, I backed away, preparing for theworst.
“To a long and painful death, street rat,” said the vizier, menace ripe in histone.
My heart felt as if it stopped for a moment, as three tigers trotted into thering.
Shishkebab.
Somehow, I had to survive before my heart exploded fromterror.
Two of the felines crept toward me, shoulders and head hunched. Claws slashed the air, and I leaped backward. I landed badly on my twisted ankle, and Iwinced.
The vizier clapped andlaughed.
I would have made a run for the door, but the guards slammed it closed, and I jolted. My head spun with terror. I was dead for sure. Unlike the evil vizier, I wasn’t convinced the genie was coming to my rescue, which meant I had to find a weakness in the pit’s walls and fast. As a thief, I was the queen of exploiting these kinds of situations. But these walls looked well engineered, smooth and solid and without a single flaw I might take advantage of. Bottom line, no one was getting out of there. To even try such a feat with three tigers stalking me would lead to certaindeath.
When one cat swiped at me again, I kicked the air, eliciting a snarl from the beast that curdled my blood. The move cost me dearly, pain wise, and my ankle almost gave out. I cried out in pain andterror.
All this entertained the vizier greatly, and he hooted. “There’s no escape, little street rat,” heshouted.
If I ever got out of there alive, I’d kill that sickcreep.
A squeaking sound from the opposite side of the pit caught myattention.
