Prisoner Of The Colosseum

Chapter 6

Hearing the keys in the lock, Liza sat up groggily, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes. Her head still felt way too big for her body, but at least her stomach wasn't hurling in pain any more. She pushed her hair from her face, and felt rough hands hauling her to her feet.

"I can stand by myself." She growled, shaking herself loose from the two guards that had entered the cell.

"Sheeesh, this one's got an attitude." The guards snickered, before one of them continued, "We've come to take you upstairs. It's time to fight."

"Right now?" Liza paled. She had no plan. Not one single thought in her mind came to her rescue. Her whole brain was too busy screaming in panic and setting off alarm bells that rang in her ears.

"Yes, right now." The guards prodded her with their swords, so she grabbed her helmet and walked slowly out of the prison cell.

As they walked towards the main arena, she forced herself to walk in a straight line when all she wanted to do was to run as fast as she could as far as she could away from the Colosseum. Away from all these narrow-minded barbarians who wanted to watch her die a slow, agonising death. She would be outright lying to herself if she thought she wouldn't smack some sense into people. She would kick them until they were wheezing on the floor, begging for mercy while she drew her dagger, placing it delicately on their throats as they quivered with fear, their eyes like that of a cornered animal as she lifted her dagger and -

Liza shook the dark thoughts that had swept into her mind, enveloping her for a second with an intense desire for revenge. She wouldn't do that. She was better than them. She wouldn't kill.

Right?

She squared her shoulders and looked up from her feet just as they entered the arena. The daylight blinded her, and she blinked the dark spots that danced across her vision. Her heart plummeted to the ground. Her fingers twitched, and she tried to hide them behind her back, clasping them together to stop herself from trembling. Her throat went dry and she willed herself to keep looking forward and not transfixed on the thousands of people who had gathered at the stadium to watch her die. They were cheering and hooting, their sounds harsh and grating, and she cringed slightly as the cacophony beat against her like a drum. But she stood straighter, not wanting anyone to see just how much fear she was suffocating in. She couldn't give them the satisfaction. Even if there were so many spectators, they were like little pin-pricks crammed together on fabric that slowly wound itself around her like a snake, wanting her to collapse on the spot so that they could feast on her trepidation.

She barely felt the guards fall back, closing the gate behind them so that she had nowhere to go but the pit of sand in front of her. She definitely didn't hear the scraping of chains as the lion stalked out of its cage. She didn't notice the iron shackles fall.

Until the lion roared, and then she stumbled backwards, acutely aware of the beast in front of her and the lunatics in the crowd that were egging it on. She ran over to the weapons that were stacked on her left, adrenaline coursing through her veins and blocking all the thoughts that were telling her that this was her doom. She was in survival mode.

Scavenging through the rusted and limited variety of weapons in various states of disrepair, Liza decided on a sword. It was heavy, and she dragged it behind her as she skirted around the edge of the arena, trying to find a way out.

She was fiddling with the lock on the gate when the lion pounced on her. She ducked and skid underneath its belly, stones scraping against her exposed skin and sand flying as she jumped back up.

The lion bared its teeth. They proceeded with a deadly game of tag - Liza armed with her sword, and the lion with its claws and an assortment of sharp pearly whites that could easily press her into olive oil. Liza tried thrusting her sword at the lion, but it was mainly theatrical. Her heart wasn't in it. The lion had scars running down its matted hazelnut fur, and they stretched painfully whenever the lion undulated its muscles, his skin rippling and stretching his wounds, causing him to yelp in agony.

She tried to dodge his strikes, but one of the lion's claws pierced her skin. Her arm erupted in pain, and that was all she could see. Pure pain that blocked out everything else. She thought she heard Jane and Dante, but she dismissed it as a hallucination. She struggled to focus her eyes on the lion, and spotted a net lying on the ground a couple metres away.

Gripping her arm tightly, she tightened her hold on her sword, and waited for the lion to come closer. He lumbered towards her, his steps calculated. He thought he had his prey.

Liza held her breath trying to stay rooted to the spot as the lion drew closer. Three metres. Two. One.

Diving out of the way, Liza skidded towards the net, the rocks slicing her skin as she did so. She grabbed the net, twisting slightly as she did so. With one swift move, she threw the net. It soared through the sky, and began falling down to earth. The lion stumbled, off balance from lunging at thin air, and the net landed right on top of him. Liza got to her feet, hefting her sword as she stumbled over to the lion. Her arm was bleeding profusely now, and she felt slightly light-headed as the crowd began whooping and clapping.

The lion stared at her, his eyes were full of misery, and he lay his head down on the ground, his muscles relaxing as he gave up. The crowd was deafening now. Liza lifted the sword.

And let it fall to the ground.