Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sana’a crossed a wide ebony bridge into a complex that was a city unto itself.

The Sābər Arena was a massive and opulent edifice.

Sana’a spotted kondolars of revellers trawling its eye-popping canals that extended from the river into the colossal palatial setting.

She followed suit, her brow cocked as she took in the unreal decadence and unbelievable luxury.

The place was packed with Kākāpō artisans and creatives whose krests of amaranth, a reddish-pink hue, and magenta bobbed between gambling tables. Their koya exuded humour, silliness, and cunning.

Amongst them were the Kwāāa sporting all colours of the rainbow.

Their garish clothes hinted at their professions as entertainers, comedians, and mockingbirds.

She’d read somewhere that their stage shows opened many bouts in the arena.

Smiling at their showmanship, Sana’a searched for and found signs to the íkhara office.

Sana’a shouldered past punters crowded over table games in the vast gaming hall, feathers bristling in the chase for schills, Pegasi’s galaxy-wide currency.

Ignoring the pandemonium, she made her way towards a nondescript door.

She pushed in to find a sparse room with a tall desk. On it sat a small sign placard that read, ‘Kavaliers Wanted.’

A lanky, statuesque female Katánian perched behind the bureau, lean and whip-thin with muscled athleticism.

She sported a jagged scar on the left side of her face and wore her tresses shorn close to her head.

Her koya feathers, styled into a mohawk replacing her hair, were striped, something Sana’a had not seen yet.

The Katánian knifed upright, her eyes flicking over Sana’a as she approached.

The Shotelai woman came to a stop before the counter.

The two women sized each other, both radiating with a dangerous mix of beauty and brawn.

‘You’re seasoned,’ the woman behind the desk stated, giving her assessment.

‘Naam.’ Sana’a didn’t think she needed to say more.

‘How hungry are you?’

‘I could eat.’

They weren’t discussing food.

The woman jerked her chin at Sana’a. ‘We cover room and board and give first-timers twenty-five per cent of takings on their bout. Forty if you win, but that never happens. Plus, we tax xkénos another five per cent.’

Sana’a shrugged. ‘Suits me.’

She didn’t need the money.

As Mirage had promised, the Edenites had transported her kin to their rock.

Her family had been placed in comfortable housing and provided with Eden II’s brand of superior medical care for her mother.

Mirage had also deposited a generous amount of schills into Sana’a’s Sys account, ensuring she was liquid for a long time.

What she earned here, she planned to send to the Seif, the Shotelai’s relocation council. Her mother had set one up for the legions of scattered people she’d once ruled over to rehome them somewhere safe.

One problem, one oath, one slay, one fate at a time.

The woman lifted her chin. ‘I’m the vikάi on duty. The front-of-house welcome party. Your identikit.’

Sana’a flicked over her credentials. The woman’s brow rose.

‘A Sys-ID. Not many of those in these parts.’

Refugees throughout Pegasi had the choice to sign up for a galaxy-wide identity that hid their true heritage in case of reprisal.

Sana’a’s was a real one linked to a forged birth cert and a locked box address on Rhesia.

The vikάi went on, raking her eyes over Sana’a. ‘You going to cause me any trouble?’

‘Nada. Just here to try my luck.’

Her new companion raised a feathered brow. ‘You’ve either got the balls or musta done something shady to be seeking our fight halls. We only attract the most desperate, ballsy or overconfident xkénos. For our kavaliers always win.’

Sana’a shrugged. ‘Remains to be seen.’

The woman’s lips twitched. ‘Gutsy. But we need cocky fighters to keep feeding the crowds’ ravenousness for more bouts and bets.’

‘Not a hardship. ‘Specially in a venue like this.’

The vikάi took a fresh look at her surroundings, at the view of the arena gaming floor through the tiny office’s glass windows. ‘Indeed. The place has been themed on the luxury and decadence of the Empire at its height. The design features statues, columns, and iconography across the history of the great Katánian Realm. Its emperors, kings and notable politicians. As well as the most prominent of its fight masters and sābər koyakavaliers, the rock stars of ancient and present Katánē. Not a bad place to bout.’

The Shotelai woman cocked an amused brow. ‘Thanks for the tour.’

The woman rose from the desk and crossed to Sana’a, hands extended. ‘My pleasure. I need to frisk you down for hidden weapons. We have a strict policy on the use of external arms. We don’t allow them; any we find are stored until you leave the íkhara. Before I begin, anything to declare?’

Sana’a nodded.

With a twist to her lips, she pulled her phaser from her waist.

Followed by a thin rapier sword sheathed in her pants.

Then came a sizeable seif shortsword secreted in her left boot and a third mini gorade from under the back of her belt buckle.

She placed them all on the tray provided on the counter.

The vikάi shook her head in fascination. ‘That’s it?’

Sana’a lifted her arms. ‘I think I’ll pass inspection.’

On cue, her SHärd blades quivered against her side sheath and melted into vapor-synth mode.

The woman ran her hands over Sana’a’s body, patting at critical points down to her feet, and then she pulled back. ‘Clean.’

She nabbed Sana’a’s proffered weapons and slid them into a receptacle in the back wall, where they disappeared.

Turning back to the desk, her fingers flew across the holo screen as she entered Sana’a’s details.

When she was done, she waved a hand, and a feather rose from her desk.

‘You need to sign your life away.’

‘How?’ Sana’a shot back, eyeing the floating rachís.

‘It is a kwɪl, a feathered pinna. Speak to it, and it will inscribe your name in the íkhara’s books, signifying you’re now under contract to the arena.’

The vikάi shooed the feather along, and it hovered closer to Sana’a and her mouth.

Still staring at it with a wary expression, she stated her title. ‘Sana’a, The Switchblade of the Shotelai, first daughter of the Selassie and Sinqueda,’ she hesitated for a second before completing her nomenclature. ‘Of the Siltan Clan of the Seven Wonders of Shotel.’

The Katánian woman gestured, and the kwɪl jumped above the pages of a thick, open book. The tome glimmered and glittered with the same aurous energy everything on the damn planet contained.

Sana’a’s name was written with an enchanting gold flourish.

The implement lifted into the air and slid back into its inkwell with a neat swirl of its flowing plumes.

‘Always a first time,’ Sana’a quipped, amazed at the small yet mesmerising display.

The vikάi smirked and pushed to her feet. ‘With me.’

She paused midstep and stuck her hand out. ‘My kína is Kaniz. I’m not just playing receptionist. I’m also one of the old hands around here, a Kəthi.’

Sana’a lifted a brow as their fists shook in a powerful grip.

Kaniz caught the Shotelai’s silent question. ‘As well as my front-of-house duties, I’m one of the resident for-hire koya and sword fighters. The majority of us are ex-Kɛstrəl and Krypóswarriors. Their most celebrated are those you might have already heard of, the kavaliers. But we, Kəthi, are the ultimate hardcore quorum of arena brawlers, and we don’t do it for fame.’

‘Impressive,’ Sana’a drawled, wondering what they did it for.

Kaniz guided Sana’a towards a nondescript door that led into a winding corridor.

Hanging from the walls were canvases and holos of fights and figures embroiled in various combat scenes.

It opened out into a central reception from which other corridors snaked.

Behind a sizeable transparent plex sheet were shelves. Each was packed with merchandise, from stamped glassware, lamps, flasks, and holo books.

Above was a gallery of still images and moving screens on which contemporary chroniclers recorded the fighters’ exploits.

They strolled through the vast complex past jogging cadets and an extensive, well-equipped gym. A half-naked, dusky-skinned colossus sauntered by with a grin, a towel wrapped around his midriff.

Kaniz nodded to the man in acknowledgement. ‘Kiho.’

‘Brought us fresh one, Kaniz?’ He rolled to a stop when he focused closer on Sana’a, his striped gold and black koya bristling against his dark, bejewelled mohawk. ‘She’s no Katánian.’

‘Nada, I am not.’ Sana’a murmured.

His lodestone glittered as his eyes raked over her. ‘Haven’t seen your kind before. You a bleeder or a brawler?’

The shikari shrugged.

He scanned her for a moment longer, lingering on her lithe muscles and stance. ‘There’s a predator funk about you.’

Sana’a narrowed her eyes. ‘The better to slay you.’

He laughed and nodded, flicking his eyes back to Kaniz. ‘I like her. Put her against Keb. It’ll give us some idea of what she can do. Something tells me I need to place my wager on her. Perhaps even tussle with her myself.’

Sana’a met his cocky grin with a grim smile of her own. ‘I look forward to it.’

He leaned into Sana’a. ‘Get Kaniz to share some tips. She is, pound-for-pound, the arena’s premier female fighter. Amongst the best koya wielders to grace its fight cages and air rings. Her sābər record is unbelievable, and she’s got quite the collection of procured koya. Potentially, you can learn enough from her to not humiliate yourself.’

He grinned and strolled away.

‘Does he speak the truth about you?’ Sana’a asked.

Kaniz shrugged, watching him leave. ‘Some. He’s famed for his exaggeration.’

‘Who is he?’

‘He’s one of the kavs and also a Kəthi master. Cocky as shit, but he’s got a good sense of what’s what.’

They tracked past a spacious changing room.

It was packed with every luxury, from heated towels to steam rooms to sunken baths. The room was filled with more giant silhouettes and vibrated with the shouts of hyped-up warriors.

Sana’a’s eyes were drawn to the muscular bodies, male, female and everything in between. Sweat glistened on their skin, and the predatory power of their vast forms was arresting.

A few curious eyes followed the pair, with some of the elite fighters nodding to Kaniz.

‘One thing,’ the Katánian woman said, pausing in the corridor and nailing Sana’a with a severe gaze. ‘We don’t kill in this arena. They’re secret slaying rings across Katánē, but not this one, so I’d keep words like slay out of your mouth.’

‘Flay then?’

Kaniz sniffed. ‘If you insist. The rule here is we can wound and draw blood but never maim or murder. Both have serious penalties should they be violated. There’s be a handbook in your room locker. Read it.’

Kaniz strode down a new walkway into a dormitory lined with well-lit cubicles, each with a good-sized bunk bed and sink.

Every single one looked clean and was well-maintained.

While all had a door, they also were sectioned from view by silk curtains.

Kaniz slowed at one, closest to a bathhouse. ‘You’re in here.’

Peeking inside, Sana’a noted it was much smaller, darker and more humble than the expansive ones she’d seen a few minutes ago.

When she raised a brow, the woman shrugged. ‘Newbies get the end cubicles. Prove yourself; over time, you may even live like an elite kavaliers, treated like royalty and with private quarters. Until then, suck it. For now, put away your gear and follow me.’

Sana’a threw her scanty belongings away in the locker above the single bed, which had a rudimentary lock and key. She strung the latter onto the chain around her neck for safekeeping.

She locked her door, jogging to keep up with the fast disappearing Katánian.