Read In His Arena 1: Slave Eternal for Free Online

by step, they backed him to the glittering blades of the Hail. Twenty feet from the wall, he hesitated, and the weighted end of the chain crushed down on his shoulder.
    Hektor staggered, his fingers touching the sand.
    “Our primus palus is besieged again!”
    He felt rather than saw the myrmidons move. They dashed in, weapons flashing.
    Hektor waited, one breath, two, grasping a handful of sand. They came just as he’d thought—maces in the middle, chain and katar on either side. The big man attacked first, bellowing, his lion’s-head helm a golden glare in the sun. Through the open mouth, Hektor glimpsed the man’s eyes.
    The sand exploded in a burst as he threw it in the myrmidon’s face.
    With a cry of surprise, the man turned his head, the sand and grit fouling his vision, smearing the lion’s head. He stumbled and swung clumsily.
    A quick sidestep, Hektor evaded the twin maces. But before he could close, the chain whistled in, cutting him off. Sand kicked up near his feet, and Hektor danced back, looking with reluctance at the huge myrmidon. If only I could finish him.
    But the other two crowded in, protecting their comrade. The chain whirred as the beast-man swung it, lashing Hektor back and back. The katar fighter crouched low, creeping closer, his griffin head obscuring his face, giving Hektor no hint of his next move. Hektor feinted, and the chain bit the sand at his feet. He darted a step left, and the katar fighter moved to block him. He darted right. The chain again.
    The lion-man cleared his eyes and brought his twin maces to bear.
    Slowly, the three backed Hektor up—fifteen feet to the Hail. Ten. Five.
    Hektor’s options were running out. He glanced at the beast-man, chain flicking back and forth. Would the same trick work twice? Time to find out.
    Gritting his teeth, Hektor stepped in. Immediately, the chain came whistling down, a weltering slash that bruised bone and tore flesh. He did not waver. Working fast, he wound the chain about his forearm. The blades sank deep, and blood welled. A mighty yank, and Hektor brought the man staggering to him.
    And as the crowd cheered, Hektor struck the beast-man a stunning blow to the jaw. Before he could recover, Hektor grappled him and spun, heaving him up and into the wall.
    Onto the blades.
    The smack of flesh and bones against wood was sickening. Blood burbled from the myrmidon’s mouth and ran down his chest. The crowd exploded in a fury of bloodlust, several men rushing to the edge of the stands to catch a closer glimpse at the mighty Hektor Actaeon. Most kept their polearms well out of reach—it would not be the first time a powerful gladiator had hauled an unwary citizen into the arena.
    And the Empress had no mercy. Those who stepped onto the hot sands of the Grand Theatre showed their quality. Or they died.
    Most of the citizens stayed clear. But one… One dared too close. With ease, Hektor reached up and plucked the polearm from unskilled hands. He could have twisted it, knocked the man off-balance and tumbled him into the arena. He did not.
    A wave of disappointment came over the crowed, rife with shouts of “Hektor the Merciful!” and “Victory to the primus palus!”
    Hektor stuck the dagger into his wide leather belt and took a two-handed grip on the polearm. Victory, indeed. He turned to face his two opponents. They stayed back, not wanting to wage war with the wall and its pitiless inhabitants. Black hair flying, he darted in. He dodged the maces, took a glancing blow on his shoulder, and focused on the weaker of the two—the katar-fighter. Grunting, he thrust in, the curved blade of the polearm making his strike slow and unwieldy.
    The man backed quickly, his parry and retreat desperate in the face of Hektor’s speed. Hektor struck again, forcing the katar-fighter back, taking an angle to prevent the lion-man from flanking him. He attacked again and again, and the katar-wielder parried again and again. The twin punch daggers beat a