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The cruel warrior only laughed at him, making more jeering remarks, but then suddenly, that soldier was grabbed by his long hair and jerked away from Blake, who fell to his knees, unable to stand. There had been a comical look of surprise on the Tygerian soldier’s face as the Dyson flung him several feet away, and the soldier sprawled out on his ass in the arena. The crowd went wild, laughing and jeering.
The officer whirled around to look at Blake, but the expression on his face hadn’t been kind. Neither was what followed, though it had ultimately saved his life. The Dyson himself began to circle him tauntingly. Blake turned as he did, trying to keep the huge warrior in front of him. He made a few feints at Blake, showing off for the crowd, but Blake didn’t react. He kept breathing slowly, steadily, his eyes trained on his opponent, the way he’d been taught. He noticed what he thought was a grudgingly approving look in the Tygerian’s eyes. He turned his back on Blake, deliberately playing to the spectators.
The posturing reminded Blake of pictures he’d seen of old-time bullfighters in Europe, the matador showing the spectators that he wasn’t afraid of the bull he was about to battle and tempting it to make a run at him. Blake refused to be baited. Instead, he picked up a big rock from the gravelly arena floor and hurled it at his opponent, striking him in the back of the head. He’d thrown the rock as hard as he could, but it bounced off the thick mane of hair, causing no discernible damage whatsoever.
The Tygerian whirled around though, as the crowd shrieked their pleasure, and the Dyson laughed, giving Blake a look of amusement and satisfaction. He seemed to welcome the spirit and fight left in his opponent. For the first time he spoke to him in Earthan, a mixture of several of Earth’s primary languages, with a deep, melodious voice tinged with a strange accent.
“So, little human, you have claws after all.” He made another mock-feint at him, smiling as Blake scrambled backward. “Time to see how sharp they are.” He bared his teeth at him and bent down, Blake thought, to charge him and finish him off. He did run at Blake, but grabbed him around the waist, twisted him around so he was facing the crowd, and held him aloft. He yelled out some unintelligible phrase in Tygerian. Still holding him above his head as Blake tried ineffectually to kick his feet back at him, he turned to each corner of the arena, displaying him to the crowd, who responded by screaming and holding up one fist. At first Blake thought they were shaking their fists at him, but a snatch of memory came back from his training on these Games, and he remembered that the closed fist was a sign of approval. A sign to spare his life.
In a sudden move, the Tygerian threw him over his shoulder facedown, his bare ass on full display to the spectators. The Dyson brought his hand down in a hard slap on Blake’s ass, causing the crowd to go wild with laughter. Despite Blake’s fierce struggles, he held him across his shoulder with little effort, walking around the arena, spanking him in front of the crowd.
After about four of these stinging, humiliating blows, Blake stopped struggling and gave up, dizzy with fatigue and stress. Almost at once, perhaps as soon as the Dyson sensed his body going limp, the blows stopped and became almost playful, like little taps. As they finished their circle around the arena and came close to the gate, the man pulled Blake down from his shoulder and held him facing outward in his arms, his head lolling down in exhaustion. Hooking an arm around his waist, he held him up effortlessly with one hand, while with the other the Tygerian reached down between Blake’s legs and found his soft cock, giving it a few hard strokes for the amusement of the crowd.
In Blake’s ear, he growled, “Turn around and wrap your legs around my waist. I’m going to do this for the crowd, but I won’t hurt you if you follow my commands. Do you understand? Their mood is ugly tonight. I have to do something to convince them you’ve surrendered. Do it now—wrap your legs around me.”
Blake turned in his arms to face the Tygerians, and with his assistance, he did as he’d asked. The crowd laughed and stomped their feet with glee, and Blake felt the man’s huge cock, which was fully erect, brush near his bare entrance. The short, skirt-like teruga the Tygerian was wearing hid exactly what he was doing from the crowd. It must have looked like Blake was being fucked, from all the noise the crowd was making. The alien pinched his ass, hard.
“Cry out when I thrust against you. As loud as you can.”
The Tygerian never entered Blake, though he thrust his hips and urged Blake to scream and howl. Everything was all for show, yet only the two of them knew it. The crowd ate it up and stomped their feet for more.
The warrior leaned down to yell at him over the noise of the crowd. “Listen to me. I’m an officer in the Tygerian command, and if you’re my enemy I’ll have to kill you. Do you understand? I’ve been trying to appease them with your surrender. I had to convince them and me that you’re not my enemy anymore, and they think I’ve taken you for my sex slave. My love slave. You must immediately surrender and drop all resistance. Comply with my commands at once, and I may be able to save you.”
“And if-if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll have to kill you and these men too, because the spectators will demand it. Surrender and you might all live to fight another day. Be smart about this, little warrior. It’s the only way to save both them and you.”
Blake nodded his head in sick defeat, and the Dyson threw him over his shoulder again and made another round for the crowd. Blake closed his eyes and simply endured.
Finally, it was over, and he carried Blake through the gate and behind the fence. He set him on his feet and looked down at him. It was then that he did the most extraordinary thing. Cradling Blake’s face in his hands, he bent down and brushed his lips once and then twice over Blake’s mouth. Kissing wasn’t a Tygerian custom, but these aliens knew humans did it and seemed to like it. Blake was so stunned that he didn’t even try to move away. In fact, he didn’t want to—the Tygerian, though lethal and frightening, was the only security he’d found in this nightmarish place. When the kiss was over, Blake lifted his lips for another one.
The officer bent and kissed Blake again, and this time Blake kissed him back. The officer’s mouth, which had been cool and sweet and scented like the strong Lycan tea the Tygerians were known to drink, suddenly became rougher and more demanding. Impossible to say no to. The Tygerian ground his lips hard against Blake’s, pushing his knee between his legs and making Blake ride it. Hot kisses began raining down on Blake’s neck and he arched to meet them. The alien pulled Blake’s hips tight against his own and his teeth nipped against Blake’s neck, drawing blood. He licked at the small wound, moaning as if he were in pain, and slipped one finger inside Blake, who gasped with shock. But instead of pulling away, Blake pushed himself down on it more fully and felt himself being swept away, engulfed by some big wave of emotions that he’d never felt before. When Blake tried to pull his head back after a time, the Tygerian growled at him and held him even tighter. It was probably all over in a matter of seconds, but it seemed much longer. Blake looked up into his eyes and suddenly it was hard to breathe.
It seemed like a long time later that the officer led Blake back to the holding cells, left him there and simply walked away. He’d never looked back.
But the Tygerian kept his word. He’d sent Blake and the other soldiers home on the next prisoner exchange just a week or so later. Blake never forgot how close he’d come to being either killed in that arena that night or living the remainder of his life as the slave of the man now known as King Davos.
For a long time afterward, the other men who’d been with him in the ring that night had wondered openly about their survival too. They asked him why Davos had spared him in particular, and there was even some brief speculation that Blake had been recruited and sent back home as some kind of spy. No one had been able to figure out why Blake’s life had been spared that night. Not even Blake himself.
There had been intense interrogation after his return, and finally, his superior officers were satisfied that Blake hadn’t done anything to merit the release. They chalked it up to the strangeness and unpredictability of the Tygerians. Blake had gone back to his unit, and the whole thing had eventually blown over.
A loud voice from the front of the conference room startled Blake into paying closer attention to what was happening now and not lost some twenty years in the past. General Kaloz was on his feet, making his announcement about the new easing of the curfew laws.
“The previous curfew inside the city will now be extended to the hours between ten p.m. and six a.m. There will be no exceptions. The penalty for violating the curfew will be a fine for the first violation, which can lead to a suspension of the offender’s citizen’s license to use the public streets. Unless you have a work permit or some other really good reason to be outside on the public streets after that time, you’ll be subject to arrest.”
Since the current curfew was now between the hours of seven p.m and six a.m., it was a slight improvement. But not much. There had been hope the curfew would be lifted altogether or at least extended to midnight. A flurry of questions started up after the announcement. Blake raised his hand and was surprised when the General looked directly at him and nodded.
“You. Ask your question.”
“Yes, sir, thank you. Blake Cameron with the Broadcast News station. You stated that a citizen would need a good reason to be outside on the public streets between the hours of ten p.m. and six a.m. Can you elaborate on that a bit? What exactly would constitute a ‘good reason’ and who would be the arbiter of that reason?”
The general started to answer but was interrupted by King Davos. “What is ‘arbiter?’” he asked. “I’m not familiar with that word.”
“An arbiter isa person that has the legal authority to decide a dispute,” Blake replied. “His decisions are made based on the rules of law and equity.”
“Equity?” Davos frowned. “There is no equity, Mr. Cameron, between Earthan citizens and a Tygerian soldiers. The soldier’s word is final.”
A flurry of other questions started up, but Blake’s voice rose over them. “But why? Why is the soldier’s word final, as you say? Just because he’s a Tygerian?”
