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The second man stood no chance. Neither did the third. She threw the fourth onto his stomach atop the second man before he could even get up. The lower fighters were truly pitiful. It wasn’t just that they were slower. They were sloppy. And fighting a girl made them sloppier. They’d been told their brute strength was enough, but it would never be enough against a more skilled opponent.
Kerrigan looked up from her last opponent to watch Cordon step out of the spotlight. He moved to Evander’s side, conceding his fight. It would have been nice to have an actual challenge.
Then, Myron finally stepped forward. His eyes were like ice. The machismo that radiated from him only made him more of a threat. He was angry with her. He had always been angry with her. From the very start. Perhaps because she appeared to be a Doma. Perhaps because the other men had accepted her presence easily. Perhaps for no other reason than that he didn’t want her here. And here she was.
“Come on,” she taunted.
She wasn’t even tired. Though sweat beaded on her brow and ran down into her eyes. She whirled her sword again, bending her knees and preparing for the first blow.
Luckily, he had a sword in his hand. She wasn’t sure what would have happened if he’d picked up a staff. Kerrigan was competent with a staff, but Myron wielded it as if he had been born with it in his hands. She’d have figured it out, but she hadn’t looked forward to it.
Myron took the bait. He stepped toward her with his sword at the ready. Their feet danced across the sand. He’d improved in the time since she’d arrived in Domara. Whether it was because she had pointed out his mistakes to Evander or just his relentless drive to win the tournament and prove himself, he’d really fought for it.
He was bigger and taller than her. Which meant he had longer reach. Everyone she fought were those things though. She had gotten used to dealing with opponents who outweighed and theoretically should have outmatched her. But she’d won every time through sheer force of will. She had to win. When there was no other option, that was when the odds worked in her favor.
Their swords clashed together, a ringing gong into the afternoon. Her arms shook slightly under the weight of the conflict. She needed to be smarter. She knew his weaknesses already, and she knew how to exploit every single one.
So, she backed off. Let him come to her. Let him think she was weak.
He hated women. He hated her. There was nothing she could do that would throw him off more than appearing like exactly what he was expecting. He saw her as the weaker sex, and thus his swagger did nothing for him.
When she went after him next, it was with all the calculated thrusts that he was the worst at defending. She’d seen Cordon block him into a corner with them, and she swiftly did the same. The shock on his face as he took one step and then another backward, away from her, away from the advantage she was carving out for herself was so satisfying.
He lunged for her, trying to use his weight to back her up. She sidestepped at the last minute. But the sword still whipped through the air. She hissed as it sliced through the meat of her upper bicep.
Red blood fell into the training ring. A hushed gasp rose from the crowd. She was still the general’s property. To them, she was still going to be bid upon by wealthy senators. She was still a Doma to probably half of them. That Myron would spill her blood was unthinkable.
She just smirked. Let them see her bleed. Let them understand finally that she was like them. And that she would keep going despite the pain. The pain that was nothing compared to everything she had endured to get to this point.
Myron took another step toward her. He thought he had victory already. Over one stupid cut. She would have laughed at him, but she was still too far into her blood haze. In his insolence, Myron took the same bad step she’d watched him take over and over again. His back foot was exposed. No amount of training had dispelled the worst of his habits. She moved like the wind was still with her and tripped up his misplaced footwork. He careened backward. Shock entered his eyes as he hit the sand with a hard thud. She thrust her sword toward his neck.
“Do you yield?” she snarled.
His eyes were hard and uncaring. “I yield.”
She let her sword arm drop and turned away from him. “Anyone else? Anyone else I can prove myself to?”
Cordon took another step backward in deference. The rest of the gladiators were sprawled out in the sand. They were looking at her with awe in their expressions. Possibly even … respect.
