Triien's Unexpected Journey

Triien was 16, and proud of his new white wool tunic, which showed that he had passed the Adulthood Rites. They hadn't been much really, just some admonitions, some tests of physical prowess, a Medicine Dream, and a solo journey of 3 nights.

The medicine dream was the hardest. Not spiritually, he already had a firm goal for his future, the dream had merely given him reinforcement. But the drugs, forbidden to his people in non religious circumstances, had made him very ill, and it had been all he could do to avoid vomiting. The tests had been easy. And the ordeal merely boring. His father had given him grief over that statement. The clans were planning to move soon because the area was hunted out. But you never know where that last wolf might be hiding. Or a scout from another tribe eager to count coup. Or a foreigner. Never could trust them, you know.

"Oh lighten up, old man!", Triien thought but didn't say. Wasn't he the one of the strongest in the whole tribe, and hardy and fast as a true rinker should be? And smart and brave, as well? Nothing was going to shake his self confidence. He beamed at a passing group of youngsters. A few days ago they all were calling him "Triien", now to them he was "Warrior". Except for those to whom he might grant the privilege of addressing him by name, of course. Ah power! It suited him well. And he would soon have more.

His fellow initiates, formerly playmates, now constituted a troop within the clan. All except poor Tharm, who had a broken leg. She would have to wait until next year. But the rest were sure to recognize his natural leadership and elect him leader. From there, he intended to take every opportunity to attend the Truce Grounds. His superior qualities would soon see him appointed an adjudicator. And after that, Clan Judge, Tribal Judge, and perhaps even Intertribal Judge. That was unless he decided to create a new position for himself.

Come to think of it, he might as well start getting to know the Truce Grounds now. After pulling on his robe, the pale green with two long red stripes, he turned his horse and headed away from the clan encampment. Knowing that he was no longer required to inform anyone of his movements gave him a delicious thrill. Of course it was still strongly advised. But such advice was for warriors of lesser stature, not Triien.

The Truce Grounds were nearly empty, only a few tents and wagons present since nothing was currently scheduled. There was one large enclosed wagon off by itself at one end. It was brightly painted with multicolored flowers. A foreigner obviously. Well an adjudicator should know about them. So he reined in next to it and dismounted.

There was an ornate carved door in the wagon. Triien faced its closed surface with his hands on his hips, 168 centimeters of quiet menace. Whoever was inside would know they had met a rinker warrior! And unless they could give a proper accounting of their presence here, he would summarily order their departure.

As he took a breath for a resounding, no nonsense challenge, the door opened. A tall, scrawny looking man in loose floppy parti-colored robes hopped out. "Oh yesh! Sho glad cho shee you, yesh!" he bubbled, pounding Triien on the shoulders with his broad sinewy hands. Triien fell back a step as such contact was considered undignified among his people.

The stranger's dull, walnut colored features were hard to make out against his motley clothing. He had nothing like the noble distinctiveness of delicate yellow skin, proud jutting nose, and prominent forehead possessed by the rinkers. Just one more indication of the superiority of Triien's people to the other hyuumin races. Wherever this man came from, they obviously had no faces worth mentioning, no wonder they compensated with those crazy patterns.

The man continued, ignoring Triien's momentary grip on his saber hilt. "I need shome help from shomeone who knowzh horsh shtuff! Oh yesh, and zere would be a shubshtancial recompensh."

All rinkers "knew horse stuff", horses were an integral part of their culture. Triien was about to declare his willingness to help, with typical rinker graciousness, but stopped himself at the memory of one of his father's frequent sayings. "These city slickers are always out to cheat a poor honest barbarian." No doubt the old fool had been exaggerating but a little prudence was always warranted. "Show me this recompensh, er recompense!" he demanded. The stranger produced a pouch and poured out 20 gold pieces. A staggering sum for a simple favor, but Triien cannily kept his voice even, if the stranger didn't know how rare gold was in the Rinks, why enlighten him? "Fine" he said, "now show me the trouble." And if this dry stick of a person tried to renege, he'd learn what it was like to tangle with a full grown warrior!

"Shee?" the man asked. "Bad horshezh! Reinzh changled, but every chime i try to fix them, ze horshezh move. Zey won't behave for me!"

"Step aside!" commanded Triien. The two horses at the front of the flowery wagon were big, plodding brutes, fit company for their owner. Since Triien was used to handling his own people's high spirited, wiry mounts, he expected little trouble. These beasts might as well be cows for all the spirit they showed. He stepped in front of the horses and froze them in place with a single stern glance.

 Satisfied, he turned his attention to the reins. It wasn't just the reins, all the lines were in disgraceful shape, frayed and knotted and stiff. Well what could you expect from a foreigner? The rigging was unfamiliar but in a few minutes he had it figured out. He began straightening the lines and securing them.

As he bent to tug on the last harness strap, there was a soft thud behind him, then blackness.

Swiftly the stranger threw the mallet into the wagon, then heaved the unconscious rinker in after. Then he vaulted into the wagon and clucked his tongue. The horses, now perfectly obedient, begin walking swiftly away as he trussed the limp body of Triien securely. He examined his prize. Hmm, prime stock, if a little inexperienced. No doubt he wouldn't last long in the arena.

But for a while he'd make a great draw. Oh yes...

Waking up is Hard to Do

Triien awakened with a sharp pain in the back of his head, a sweet cloying smell in his nostrils, a foul taste in his mouth, cramps in his arms and legs, raw irritation in his wrists and ankles, and a harsh voice in his ears.

The voice roared again, but he couldn't make out any words, just noise. A sudden impact on his back sent him stumbling forward. For the first time he noticed that he was standing. How could that be if he had been asleep? Also his feet seemed to be entangled. Looking down he saw a blur which resolved itself into his familiar boots, with iron rings around them. Well no wonder his ankles hurt! He tried to reach down to remove them-- wait, where were his arms? They won't move. Another roar and another shove. This time he realized that his arms were bound behind his back and his ankles were chained together.

A captive in battle? There must be some mistake, the Warrior Code did not permit captives to be trussed up like this, unless of course they were not warriors. Someone was going to be shamed when they realize what a blunder they'd made.

He opened his mouth to protest this treatment in his strong rinker voice but all that came out was a harsh croak. The roaring voice sounded again, this time followed by a second, softer voice, apparently an answer. Someone came up and splashed him in the face. A thirst he had not been aware of took control and sucked down all it could get. Then the edge of a bucket was at his mouth and more water went down. As the bucket was taken away he fought a sudden feeling of nausea. The person with the bucket, apparently different from the roaring voice, said something that sounded scornful. This time he recognized some of the words. They were all derogatory and all used by some of the strangers who come to the truce grounds, people called chuudibs.

The fog lifted. He remembered the stranger. The man had had deep brown skin and hair, but come to think of it, it could have been a dye job hiding the distinctive raspberry color of the chuudibs. Then the blow-- why, those ancestorless chuudibs must have kidnapped him!

Well that was it then. Once he got back to his clan, he would call for a convocation of the tribes. The chuudibs would have their trading rights cut off. And he, Triien would personally lead a raid that the chuudibs would never forget!

More roaring, using some of the same words as the other voice. Then a sharp stinging pain in his back, enough pain to made him cry out, although a warrior should never do that. He moved forward, guided by a hand on his elbow. He found himself in a line with many others, similarly bound. Most were chuudibs, a few were unknown to him. He saw no other rinkers. They moved unevenly towards a small brick building.

Inside someone came up behind him and suddenly his arms were free. Two of the largest chuudibs he'd ever seen moved to either side of him and urge him forward down a dim hallway. No merchants these! They were each in leather tunics with steel helmets half closed in front by horizontal bars. Each carried a large tapered stick.

They urged him to a rough wooden door with a metal grill set in it. It opened. They all walked through and the door closed behind him. Behind a low table, a chuudib in some sort of fancy uniform questioned him in a bored monotone. Triien just stared. The woman shrugged and switched to the rinker language. "Do you understand me? Were you here by choice?" "Um--" he began, totally bewildered. "Good" she interrupted. Then she laid down a small scroll. "Name and clan?" "Triien Olush" he replied, too rattled to withhold his clan as he normally would among strangers.

Impressment by the Book

The uniformed chuudib opened the scroll. Triien could see marks on it, writing no doubt. He could only read a few words in the writing of his people, including his name, but he could recognize the shapes of the letters. This was a different language.

Quickly the woman wrote something on the scroll with a long brass tube. She turned the scroll around. Triien saw his name and some other words in rinker. He recognized "warrior" of course, also "showfight" which meant a mock combat for entertainment and demonstration such as the rinkers held at social gatherings, and "sacred obligation" which usually referred to the bond of loyalty between a warrior and a chief, or between a young warrior and a mentor. It wasn't not Triien's fault that his language did not contain words for "gladiator" or "contract".

"Do you understand?" the woman repeated. "No!" he replied "Good. This is for 5 years, do you understand?" "What?" "Good. You are swearing to this before witnesses, do you understand?" "Swearing? What do you--" "Good. Once you sign, there are severe penalties for breach, do you understand?" "No! I don't understand anything! You chuudib grasseaters better let me go or--" Thunk! In one smooth motion she picked up a ceramic paperweight, struck him on the side of the head with it, and set it down. Heavy hands prevented him from responding. "Good" she resumed. "And now you just have to sign." A guard slammed Triien's right hand down onto a large sponge on the front of the table, and then onto a blank space on the scroll, making a bright green print. The other guard did the same with his left hand. The woman picked up the brass tube again and wrote something below the prints. Then the guards each did the same while still holding Triien's arms tightly.

The guards turned Triien around and marched him out. The door was already open, blocking his view of whoever was operating it.

This time they led him to another door which opened onto a stairway leading down. From there they proceeded to what looked like a blacksmith shop. There an iron color was fitted on his neck. A thin steel plate hung from it.

Finally, dead on his feet, he was shoved into a large room full of bunks and people. A heavy iron bound door slammed behind him. His fellow inmates helpfully poked and kicked him until he found himself in one of the bunks. The loose leather webbing that served as a mattress was plenty soft as he dropped into oblivion.

The next few weeks were a little like the training sessions Triien had had as a youth. A gong woke everyone at dawn. And if not the gong, the ever helpful bucket. Later he learned that the sharp bitter taste was a combination bug repellent and antiseptic.

After wakeup and the free bath, it was time for breakfast: meat stew in a hollow round of bread. The first day Triien left the bread (warriors eat meat), only to see it gobbled up by his neighbor.

Then outside into a high walled courtyard. There they were urged by whips to shuffle around a track as fast as they could in leg irons. After that they had calisthenics, followed by simple drills with clothbound wooden sticks.

Eventually there was dinner, more stew, and another combination bath and drink. Then back to the bunks.

History Lessons

Encouraged by the whips of the overseers, Triien's small vocabulary of chuudib words began to increase, but not enough to join in any conversations. Besides he still couldn't bring himself to approach foreigners. He kept hoping to see other rinkers, their distinctive pale yellow skin should show up easily among the deep pinkish chuudibs. But all he found were a few of the dusky yellow people called gorvijes.

Eventually a chuudib who spoke rinker took the time to explain some things to Triien. Her name was Radlorn, and she seemed very old.

"This thing around our necks is called a tag", she explained. "That's because the Empire doesn't allow slavery." "We're in The Empire?" he asked. "Of course. Now the tags mean we're not slaves, just indentured. Let me see yours-- ah, this tag says that you voluntarily came here to settle a debt to... Hmm, that looks like a chuudib name, but it isn't, it's sort of baby talk, meaning `pigeon trapper'. I could guess what that refers to, anyone could spot your greenness at 10 kilometers. Anyway, you've supposedly agreed to stay for 5 years." Not that you'll make it, she added to herself.

But Triien was still fixated on what she had said earlier. "We're in the Empire! We rinkers are sworn enemies of the Empire!"

"Enemies? You silly fool, the Rinks have been part of the Empire for years now!" "B-But--" "But nothing, you were conquered." "No, the rinkers could never be conquered by--" "Hahaha! Raided anybody recently?" "Of course, we raided Drelii Clan last summer, took 25 cattle."

"No, i mean have you raided anyone besides other rinkers?" "Certainly! There was, um, er..." "See? Your people used to raid north all the time. But the nildrer made you stop, didn't they? Your elders have told you about the Battle of the Barbed Wire, haven't they?" "Um--" "So what happened afterward?" "Well we attacked!" "No, first they attacked, and killed several of your chiefs. Deprived of your best leadership, and acting purely on anger, you attempted a counter attack at a time and place of their choosing. You then proceeded to fall into a trap!" "But wait, i remember now, we made a treaty, we stopped raiding them because they gave tribute instead! And we sold them horses. Not the best of course, those nildrer don't know anything about horse judging!"

"Hahahaha (cough) hahaha-- eek! your stupidity is too hard on my lungs, child! You never made a treaty, the nildrer gave you one. And then they gave you charity, to help while you rebuilt your social order, and let you give them some bum horses to save face. That's how the nildrer do things. Now you rinkers pay taxes, just like everyone else."

Triien took refuge in bravado. "Well someday, they'll be sorry! We rinkers will ride into their puny land and lay waste to it!" "Oh please!" Her scorn was like a slap in the face. "Don't you know the nildrer built the Empire on the backs of people who threatened `someday'? And all the somedays were forgotten and buried under the weight of new roads and good food and nildrerized businesspeople and schools that teach that there's more to life than fighting."

His first attempt to escape lasted just long enough for him to learn that the padded sticks the prisoners practiced with were too soft to do real damage. It took a full day to recover from the whipping. His second attempt was worse, he discovered that, armed with the dagger he'd seized by surprise, he was still no match for the now unarmed guard he took it from. It took 2 days to recover from that whipping. Afterward he spent a week digging latrines.

After a month he was surprised during a rest break by a guard throwing a leather cylinder at him. "Allow me" said Radlorn as she opened it. There were three pieces of parchment inside. The first, she explained was a copy of his contract in both chuudib and rinker, complete with witnesses and penalty clauses. The second reported that all relevant paperwork had been transmitted to a local provincial archive and to his home province. "What's a province?" "A piece of the Empire. The Rinks are provinces, you know? No i guess you didn't. Well they are. And you, my unlearned friend, are an imperial citizen with rights. So the authorities are required to account for your whereabouts. Even if they have to make up something, they aren't allowed to just make you disappear."

Radlorn looked at the third parchment and frowned. It was in rinker, but the first sentence contained words she was totally unfamiliar with. So she carefully sounded them out. Triien was shocked to hear a complex formal greeting to himself from his clan chief. "Close your mouth, kid" Radlorn chided him. "I suppose you've never gotten a letter before either." The chief was sorry to hear that the young warrior had gotten into so much trouble but applauded his doing the honorable thing in seeking to make good. The clan commended him to the protection and guidance of the Sacred Ancestors and looked forward to his joyful return, once his 5 year sacred obligation was completed. In an addendum, Triien's father promised to hold his place for him at the fire.

Looked forward to? Hold his place? For the first time in his captivity, Triien gave way to tears. It was one thing to think he was on his own, with no one knowing his whereabouts. But to think that his clan chief knew and had no intention of leading a rescue-- inconceivable betrayal! Forgetting all the strictures that upheld the dignity of a rinker warrior, he wailed out loud. Radlorn quietly walked away.

That night she found him withdrawn and silent. She put a hand on his shoulder. "You ok?" All cried out, he just moaned. "Did you expect more?" she asked. "They aren't going to help me!" he croaked. "How could they?" she answers. "They don't know exactly where you were, and they would not be permitted to just ransack the countryside looking for you, or surround this city and demand that you be produced. I know, you don't think that rinkers care about that, but they do. Your leaders are responsible for imperial law now and they take it seriously. The proper thing to do would be to send a single investigator, er that's a kind of scout. Or better still hire someone locally. Then when they had you located for certain, they could take legal action. You still don't understand, do you? No you don't and you probably aren't prepared to consider that your leaders might not consider you worth the bother." Triien began crying again, quietly.

Radlorn sighed. "Don't let it eat you kid, we've all been there. Do you know about us chuudibs?" "Yeah, your traders always cheat the rinkers on your goods." "Haha, i'll give you that, although i should point out that cheated or not, your people are buying an awful lot of pillows and mirrors and chocolate, soon you'll be attending the theater. No, i meant the chuudibs and the Empire." Triien was puzzled. "Er", he began. "What do you mean, the chuudibs and the Empire? You are in the Empire, just like the nildrer and the gorvijes."

"In the Empire, yes" she replied. "We are in the Empire now, but we used to be independent. And in our first major conflict with the Empire-- well the fact is that we beat them." "Beat them?" "Invaded their territory, took 4 small cities and scores of towns, and defeated them in 10 pitched battles in the space of 2 years. We charged, they ran, we planted our flag."

"Thing was, each battle was just a little harder. So we kept needing more soldiers. And we got them, it's easy to recruit for a war when you're winning."

"Meanwhile back at home the farms and shops went untended because so many people had joined our victorious army. Folks were starting to feel the pinch while our commanders reckoned that just a little more effort would got them into a 5th city. So we tightened our belts and expended more resources."

"What we didn't know was that the nildrer had been dealing with the others. We call them the wild chuudibs, the ones who live out in the desert. They're kind of like rinkers except they have camels instead of horses and they like to hurl fire. And suddenly they hit us with a massive wave of raids. They were too few to overwhelm us, but they had learned from the nildrer that we were too weak to repel them. "They jeered at us from outside our walls as they destroyed our fields. That was too much, we were now faced with the prospect of starvation."

"Our leaders tried to recall our troops. But suddenly the nildrer army we'd been chasing turned around. They made one huge column and rammed through our forces, cut them off, and threw up a line of earthworks. They had our army, the one that was supposedly winning, trapped! In the end, we had to beg to join the Empire. So they chased away the wild chuudibs, and fed us. Then they gave us back our army, minus a few score they hanged for `war crimes'."

"And we beat our breasts and swore our `someday'. Someday never comes, kid. The nildrer make the rules in this world, the rest of us have to learn them."

Heading North

By the time Triien understood what a gladiator was, he was feeling as close to bored as one could feel under such a regime.

The people who ran this place, which didn't seem to have a name, were wholesale brokers, only concerned with the basic fitness of their merchandise. So while there were exercises with the sticks that seem to be related to combat, there was no real training. Radlorn explained that there were people there who actually needed the exercises because most of them were not originally meant to be fighters. Triien was shocked, he'd assumed that the others were in some situation equivalent to his. Oh no, said Radlorn. This far inside the Empire it's hard to shanghai someone the way it had happened to him, these were all real debtors or criminals. He looked at her pointedly "Me?" she chuckled. "I'm an embezzler." Then she sighed "Another word you don't know, huh? Ok, let's just say i was dishonorable and betrayed a trust for my own gain. What, are you going to spit on the ground and walk away from me now? Ha! you're learning, kid. You're not in the Rinks now and you have to be a little flexible in how you relate to people. But it doesn't matter, tomorrow's auction day."

The auction went quickly for Triien. At least he was spared the indignity of being forced to strip like some of the other prisoners. Not that the tattered remains of his once fine tunic really protected the strong rinker nudity taboo, but it was something. As it was several strangers poked and prodded at him in a very offensive manner.

Then he was dragged off and shackled as he'd been when he arrived, and marched out of the installation, with one stop at the office. There a jolly, middle aged chuudib in a heavy fur robe engaged in a paperwork ritual with the woman he'd seen the first time. Everything had to be in order, since after all, the woman in the robe was not buying him, just his contract.

Triien and 10 others traveled for 5 days in a large wagon, part of a small caravan. There were 2 short stops per day, during which he was expected to get his exercise, relieve himself, and help with various chores all while wearing the leg irons. Nights were spent sleeping on a large wool mat while chained to all the other prisoners and the wagon's rear axle.

Finally they reached a city, and entered through a gap in an old and crumbling wall. The prisoners were formed into a line and marched inward along a radial avenue. The crowded buildings seemed vaguely menacing to the young rinker who had never seen anything larger than a rural border town before and that only from a distance. He'd never seen so many people before, either. The party crossed 4 great intersections with ring roads before reaching the center. There Triien saw the largest building yet, a deep red bowl pierced by arches. And some distance away were several low squarish structures apparently built from the same material. The prisoners were herded towards one of these.

Ducks and Horns

The front of the building had chuudib lettering. By now Triien could speak the language a little, but the letters were still a mystery. He did admire the fine fresco of ducks and water, though.

Inside, the woman in the fur robe speaks to the prisoners for the first time. "My name is Aglrab Aafhlinril Flavrel. You will all address me as `Flavrel'. When speaking of me in the third person you will either use my full name or else call me the flavrel." Triien was just as happy to use the one name, the things that chuudibs did with their `l's and `r's seemed to require a double jointed tongue.

The flavrel continued. "Now for those of you new to this business, this is a gladiator school, often referred to as a `pit'. It is my responsibility to keep you fed and cared for. It is your job to fight when told to. You'll fight because if you just stand there you'll get killed, and because you want to please me, not to mention our employers. I won't tell you who our employers are, if they want to introduce themselves they will. But if their team, that's me and you, do well, it's good for them. Those of you who do well enough could earn bonuses and possibly an early release from your contract."

"Now here's where those pesky nildrer stick their noses in. By imperial law i am required to offer you an alternative. You may at this point choose to opt out. In that case your contract will be turned over to a labor broker and you will go either to the mines or the road crews. And your term of service will be increased by up to one half. Needless to say, there are no bonuses or early releases available there. Anyone? No? Great, you've got that Duck spirit already! That's our team, see? The Ducks!"

Then it was back into line again. When Triien's turn came he found himself in a room with the flavrel, two competent looking assistants, and a clerk. The assistants removed his shackles while the flavrel inspected him. "Hmm, a barbarian eh?" she said. "A rinker, Flavrel" replied the clerk. "A nomadic rider from the southern grasslands." He shuffled through a large book. "Chief weapon is a peculiar type of bastard sword..." "Good" snapped the flavrel, "get him a bastard sword!" One of the assistants went over to a heavy door with a slot in it. He came back with a large sword which he handed to Triien. "Can you use this?" asked the flavrel. "Yes. Ah, yes Flavrel." Holding the sword made Triien wonder what had become of his own flying pennant and other weapons. The abduction had left him with only his boots and tunic.

"Now what else?" mused the flavrel. The assistant went to the supply door again and returned with a necklace of teeth and claws, which he put over the rinker's neck. "Good, but we need something identifiable from a distance." This time the assistant brought back a strange conical helmet with two big horns on it. "Perfect!" exclaimed the flavrel.

Triien refused the helmet. "But it would make you look fierce, like a real barbarian!" the flavrel insisted. "I don't know what a real barbarian is!" Triien exploded. "I don't know anything about this crazy place and i wish i could go home! But i do know that horns on a helmet aren't fierce, they're weak!" "Listen, rinker. First off you do not yell at me. Secondly, you call me Flavrel when you speak to me. Thirdly what do you mean by weak?" "These horns are from cattle, er, Flavrel. Cattle horns, or deer horns or whatever, mean weakness because they come from prey. When people are shown with horns it means they are like cattle, fit only to be slaughtered! Um, Flavrel."

She pondered this for a moment. So all those depictions of bloodthirsty marauders with horned helmets were really saying "i'm a cow, come kill me"-- a strange perspective. "Things must really be different in the rinker lands" she said at last. "Nonetheless, i still want you to wear that helmet. Trust me, it'll work. Bewildered he took the helmet. They ushered him out to the bunk room.

Life once again settled into a routine for Triien. It was different though. First of all there was more food and a wider variety of it. Triien learned to appreciate the compressed handsized objects called nildrer ration bars which were kept in barrels in the main room. Like the others he always kept a few with him at all times. He continued to think about escape but escape to where? He knew he was north of the Rinks but had no idea what route would get him back there. Besides to return now when the clan believed him bound by a sacred obligation would make him look like an oathbreaker. No, for now it would be "watch and learn" as his father would have said. For once it seemed the old grouch had had something there.

The flavrel's assistants served as trainers. Every morning one of them would hand Triien the bastard sword. He had to return it each night, but in between they let him do his own drill just as if he were back in the Rinks. Having pronounced Triien's technique as `adequate' they spent most of their time with some of the other trainees, who still seemed uncomfortable with even padded sticks in their hands.

The trainers even fulfilled his request for a horse skull after the clerk confirmed that it was typical for a rinker to have one. The skull they brought him was cracked and somewhat more massive than he expected, apparently the horses in this part of the world were larger than those in the Rinks. That evening he broke into the quiet conversation of the other gladiator trainees by requesting that someone give him a coin so that he could tell a story. Someone produced a copper, which he put into a scrap of cloth and then wedged into the horse skull. Eventually he'd have to find some leather strips to make it into a proper bank.

Then he recited the story of his life, his becoming a warrior, and the deceitful ploy that brought him into bondage. "And today, i got this skull" he concludes. "A horse skull, fixed up and decorated, is sacred to my people. And when any of us tells a story of misfortune or shame involving us, we must first receive a donation from the audience, which we place inside the skull. Thank you for making me feel more like myself again." Some of them thanked him in turn for the story, but most just shrugged. They all had their own stories.

After a week the trainers began making up a schedule of sparring and hands on instruction. Experienced fighters from the main stable would be helping out. Triien felt a rising excitement at the prospect of new experiences, but the others became subdued. The further along the training got, the sooner they'd be in the arena facing death. But at least they'd have some say in the matter, snapped one of the trainers. It would be better than going out with no training!

But later that day there was a sudden blare of horns outside. "Blrarrrrrn!" cursed the flavrel, "it's a school challenge!"

Ducks and Pigs

A school challenge involved several single matches between students of rival gladiator schools. These were not intended to end in death, or even serious injury, but things could happen. Also, the combatants were matched by time of training in school, regardless of previous experience. In the beginners' category, this put the Ducks, who employed mostly white collar convicts, at a disadvantage with respect to schools that used the more usual busted mercenaries and young toughs. The Ducks always got the sympathy vote from the audience, especially for those of their students who showed talent, but the process was very hard on those who didn't. Dlerleth Flavrel of the Pigs was a frequent contributor to that process.

Aglrab Flavrel ran outside to meet her opposite number, a nondescript man who had arrived in a fancy litter covered with orange and yellow brocade. The argument that ensued sounded like one long trill to Triien, his limited understanding of the chuudib language failed him utterly. As they all watched through the open front door, one of the trainers casually tripped someone who had started thinking of running away.

Eventually the palatal exchange ended. Dlerleth's bearers hoisted him up and strode away.

Back inside the flavrel looked around. "I've agreed to 4 matches: you, you, you, and you." She pointed to Triien last. "In 2 hours."

Defeat but no Dishonor

The bokken was disturbingly light in Triien's hands, but it was the closest thing to a bastard sword among the permitted weapons for a "nonlethal" match. The training ground was quiet, with only a few spectators, mostly members of the two schools, some tourists who couldn't wait for the Arena to open, and several bookies. Triien's opponent was a tall copper skinned woman with a rough mane of straw colored hair. On each wrist she had a broad bracelet of pinkish metal and in each hand a long baton. "Let's made it look good, kid" she hissed. "I promise not to hurt you very much."

But Triien wasn't interested in making it look good. He leapt and brought the bokken down at her head. Her cross block held but she stumbled back a few steps. As he swept in with his next attack, she sidestepped easily and jabbed him in the ribs. She hissed again, angrily. "Fool! My people live for the battle circle, you should have taken my offer!"

The two batons slammed together, catching his arm, his knee, his temples. Half blind from the pain he lashed out again and again until a feint with one baton left him over extended and the other struck his knuckles. The bokken dropped from his numbed fingers. He screamed a rinker warcry and charged her bare handed. As he reached for her throat a double thump to the head felled him. The judge declared the match ended even as he seized his opponent's ankle and tried to haul himself close enough to bite.

Opportunity Declined

Two days after the match the flavrel came to see Triien. With her was a stranger dressed in gray and blue silk. "This is Nereth Darvuu Dom" said the flavrel. "She is in need of a bodyguard for the day. There's gold in it for you, if you promise to keep her safe and to return here afterward." "Uh sure, i promise" replied Triien, studying the stranger. Blocky of build, square faced with black hair, gray eyes, and skin like dark sandstone-- a gorvij.

Outside, Darvuu said little except to direct him. They entered a market near a city gate. After wandering a while, Triien's employer stopped in front of a large tent painted in colorful swirls that reminded him uncomfortably of the floral decor sported by his abductor. She smiled broadly and exchanged whispers with someone just inside. Then she turned to Triien and handed him a small pouch. "I have some business to discuss. A tricky bargaining i'm afraid, with coffee and chess involved. It'll take about 2 hours so meantime take this and buy one of those big striped parasols. You can wait for me at that refreshment tent afterward." So saying she ducked inside.

As Triien approached the parasol stand a man grabbed him by the arm. "You-- are you with Lruurp?" he demanded hysterically. Triien just stared. "Lruup's Express Caravan?" the man continued. "I'm the trail boss. We've got a load of eggs and fruit that absolutely *must* be in the Rinks in two days! Lruurp told me she'd hired some rinkers as guards and guides, are you one of them? We're supposed to leave immediately! Don't give me that barbarian inscrutability-- answer me!" Triien hesitated, then shook his head. "Sorry, you must be looking for some other rinker, now please excuse me."

Opportunity Accepted

Triien's employer of the day found him sitting dejectedly in the refreshment tent playing with the parasol mechanism. "Ah there you are!" She clapped him on the back. "You must be thirsty, give me the rest of the silver and i'll order something." The drink came in a tall cold glass. "This is a nildrer coffee striper" she explained. "Coffee at the bottom, then a layer of sweetened fermented cream, then some raspberry syrup, and a scoop of snow tops it off. You're supposed to admire it for a moment, then stir it all together." She shrugged. "I have as little to do with the nildrer as possible, but they certainly have an interesting cuisine."

"So, what's got you down, huh? Was it giving up a chance to went home?" He looked up, startled. "Oh, that was my doing, that bit with the caravan. You see, i saw you fight and you showed great spirit. I need a few people like you in my own entourage. But first i needed to test your character. I have heard much of the famous rinker honor, now i have seen it. You promised to return to the Ducks, and despite incredible temptation you are still here. Most people, probably most rinkers even, would have run off with that caravan."

Triien clenched his teeth, not trusting himself to respond. He was a little angry over being set up but he was also embarrassed by the compliment. He would have taken the opportunity but for the poor reception he'd get in the Rinks. He remembered a saying his father liked to quote: "far more hurtful than having your honor falsely impugned is to have your honor falsely praised". Finally he said stiffly "i would not want my clan to think i had run out on a sacred obligation".

"Ah, i see. Well then, how would you like to have that obligation reduced? That includes doing all the paperwork to make it right." "I, uh--" "Do you know of my people, the gorvijes? No? Well let me tell you, we have a long tradition of honor ourselves. But lately that tradition has been disrupted. Now the gods are angry at my people, and it is up to our warriors, the harmerangees such as myself, to lead the people back. You can be part of this. If you agree, i will buy out your contract here. Instead you will swear allegiance to me for a period of two years. During that time i will take care of all your expenses. At the end, i will pay for your transportation back to the Rinks and give you 500 gold pieces, possibly more depending on how well you serve me. Or you can just go back to the school, i will tell the flavrel that you did a good job today.

So what's it going to be?"

Triien thought for a minute. Fighting for honor was always a desirable goal and always rewarded in the epics. But epics were not written for those who died early in the story. Still, he could die as a gladiator as well, most likely would die he thought touching his bruised head, and there would be no honor at all in it. "I will go with you" he said decisively.

"Great!" she exulted. "We will go and take care of it now. Then you'll need to start learning my language."