The shadow under the walls of the arena merely muted the heat, it did not erase it. But to Bahadir, he felt his heart still pulsing, the realness one felt during a life and death struggle palpable, as if his senses were honed to a razor's edge. His eyes adjusted to the darkness swiftly, and mercilessly the tunnel ended in a large stairway that fed into the underbelly of the arena, where the temperature dropped a few precious degrees lower, and where slave-fighters were fed and given small respite, where the beasts lurked in cages ready to be unleashed. Bahadir heard the ringing of metal and the cracking of a whip, the echoes of a cry of pain reverberating off the ancient stone. 

The central chamber was large, its immensity barely illuminated by torches, leaving large pockets of shadows where slaves in chains hid for privacy or sleep. Mamluks stood guard as slave masters patrolled the underways, the network of tunnels laced across the underground that led to different gates around the coliseum. The fighters were sequestered in different groups of large numbers, always coming out of the same gate. 

At the bottom, a stout figure stood awaiting the survivor of this latest blood bath. He had one eye and a black beard, his burly arms scarred, one ensconced with brass rings. Moredek smiled, showing a mouth full of ivory and gold teeth. "Not bad up there, boy. You performed that right hook like I taught you." He gestured to the guards that had followed in Bahadir's wake. "But you didn't keep your eyes on the norseman. He nearly had your head." 

"Can't be perfect all the time," Bahadir said, knowing where the Mamluks escorting him would stop. The silent figures turned about face, and walked back up the stairs. All save four, who noticed a signal from the dwarf and waited. Bahadir noticed it too. "What?" 

"Sultan wants to see you." The Dwarf announced, raising his head up and waving over another slave. The lean, shaved man struggling to carry a collection of thick chains in his arms. "Now put yer shackles on, and don't speak unless spoken to. If you insult him, we both lose our heads." 

[hr] 

The laughter of the Sultan and the simpering snickers of his courtiers were drowned out when the sound of weighty chains clanked against the marble floor. Two Palace Guards opened the doors that led into the upper floors proper, and into the Sultan's resplendent waiting area walked Moredek, who gave a bow at the doors, and then gave an even lower bow when presenting himself before the Sultan. The dawi had been training fighters and serving the sultans for close to a century. Muradi Al-Man clapped when he saw the dwarf, smiling widely. 

"My old friend! Good it is to see you!" The Sultan exclaimed in accented reikspeil. "You have done your wonders again, I see." 

"I've done me best to aid yer lordship in his wishes." The Dwarf remarked back, knowing they spoke in this manner so all foreign guests may understand. "I present ye with me prized fighter, Bahadir..." 

The sound of clanking chains began again, and the pit fighter strode into the light. He wore simple tan trousers, his waist wrapped in a red sash. His legs were hidden, but his upper body looked like sculpted bronze, herculean, and yet marred by scars from swords and whips. His skin was baked and dark, and his mane of black hair reached his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the floor until he reached his trainer, and fell to a knee before the Sultan. 

"Rise," the Vizier commanded in Arabyan, bumping the bottom of his oaken staff against the floor. Some spell caused his voice to sound more clearly, though he did not raise his voice. 

"Rise, slave!" The Sultan prompted in the same tongue, before realizing he had forgotten his own theater and spoke again in reikspeil. "Rise and be proud. You have survived the first day of the games!"

Bahadir did not know the speech, but he rose all the same. The Sultan spoke again, but the slave did not understand. Luckily for him, he saw the Sultan speaking to everyone around him rather than to him. He elbowed the Vizier and said something, and the Vizier feigned a small laugh. It was then the Sultan pointed at one of the foreigners, a few of the courtiers moving out of the way to give them space. Bahadir saw it was a woman, darkly beautiful, but wearing the trousers and attire of a corsair, with calculating eyes. Her skin would have been fair if not for the kiss of the sun from long hours at sea. She seemed to entertain the Sultan, speaking back in the same tongue and giving a tight lipped smile. Bahadir had to keep a grin from his face. Tolerating the Sultan was something foreigners would have to get used to, not that he had ever been this close to the ruler of Copher. But as a child, running through the streets and nabbing pieces of bread and lamb to survive, everyone saw the Sultan every few months. The rulers liked to show everyone in Copher they were alive and ready to cast their eyes on the unworthy at their leisure. The Sultan raised his hands forward, indicating Bahadir, before he waved dismissively. 

Bahadir and Moredek bowed again, their heads so low Moredek's beard brushed the floor and Bahadir almost felt the chains would make him fall forward, but the two were then escorted out, the doors of the room slowly closing behind them like a portcullis. 

"That was not so bad," Moredek said. "Walk you around like a horse, let people look at the blood as if they got their hands dirty themselves! We'll put some food in you and send you to the hall of trials."