There were more than pits beneath the arena. Thousands of years of erosion and wind had buried forgotten tombs and palatial buildings not seen since the age of nehekara. Once, long ago, the city's first founders had stumbled upon these ruins and had built atop them. The enterprising arabyans had merely carved out around them and utilized them for their own purposes, and now, with the Arena above, they used the forsaken wonders of the ancient world to house their beasts. 

One such chamber, now fallen into disarray, was shaped like a senatorial forum, or a council chamber made from unknown hands. Erected pillars shaped like desert wyrms, sinuous and coiling, stood in a ring around forum. Five wide steps in a full circle surrounded the round central floor, where a pale light shone from above. Beyond the light, the shadows grew increasingly darker in all save but a few nooks and crannies above in the rock, where men slept or spoke in hushed tones. None dared step foot off their ledges and onto the ground floor, they merely waited for the next show. 

Most slaves slept in their pens, and the most problem ones were locked in there. But the guards had long since given up making such a practice mandatory for the majority. There was no way out, and to go further below only promised starvation or the awakening of deadly monstrosities even the arena fighters had never imagined before. And if violence ever did break out, as far as the masters were concerned, it made for better fighters. 

At this time, most of the slaves were asleep. But a few stayed awake, speaking in hushed tones and playing bone dice. Bahadir could never sleep after a day of fighting, at least not early. He played the matches over in his head, thinking on where he could improve, and sometimes wondering who it was he had killed. He tried not to, but his mind inevitably asked the question. As he lay there, propped against the stone in the shadows, he noticed something. At first he didn't realize what exactly, but he sat forward and peered over the side, and realized the pale light at the center of the ruin was marred by a slim shadow from above, and suddenly coarse laughter followed that reverberated through the deep. 

The shadow became a woman bound by a rope, slowly lowered in the very middle of the forum, until ten feet above the floor, the rope was cut. She fell heavily to the floor, and Bahadir heard the men below and around him begin to murmur excitedly. Satir the Gambler raised his voice, calling for bets on the newest victim. Bahadir loathed Satir, the crooked man with the sharp nose loved betting on men's lives, so much so that he became a broker for the other slaves. No one killed him because he provided much needed entertainment, and it was not even his callousness that had given Satir his ire. The gambler was dishonest, and lied on the winnings, pocketing more than his share. 

"A woman this time! Shall we say the beasts will not even fill their bellies?" He mocked loudly. Bahadir ignored the taunt, and blinked when she woman lifted her head. He recognized her from the Sultan's court! The foreign woman he had been trying to impress. What could have brought her to lose favor so quickly? Even as he watched, a rolling growl carried over the floor, and large, lithe figures began to coalesce from the shadows around the prone woman. Impressively, she didn't even look. Instead, she rolled over, curled her legs up, and slipped her bound hands above her legs with an uncomfortable effort, before finding a fallen scimitar amongst the fallen items upon the ground, shoving her bonds against the iron blade to free her hands. Only then did she bother to glance at her situation. 

A striped cat from the jungles of Ind, a dozen feet from nose to tail and heavier than five men, languidly moved into the light, the rippling muscles in its back causing the gorgeous stripes to dance. A maned cat from the lands south of the desert loped into view opposite the other, stalking back and forth, equally large and golden furred, its every breath audible even from the slaves watching. Four more cats of varying variety appeared, each pacing, wary of the other cats, each eager to fill their empty stomach. The Sultan only dropped in those who had truly angered him. Technically, if they were lucky, they would make it out alive and join the others in the arena, but Bahadir had never seen anyone survive the punishment. To her credit, the woman sliced through her bonds and lifted the scimitar, calling for the beasts to stride forward. Allah, she was brave. 

And whoever had pissed off the Sultan and his vizier, Bahadir liked.

As she readied herself for battle with the striped beast, the maned one saw its opportunity and charged, moving off the upper steps and reaching her in the span of three seconds. It leaped to bowl her over, only for its powerful maw to be halted by the thick chains that still bound Bahadir's wrists, bronze meeting fangs as the large fighter stubbornly held his ground. Above, men gasped and hooted at the new turn of events, some laughing and others crying out the game was rigged. A claw drew a jagged line across Bahadir's chest, but he held the cat back with all his might, letting the woman keep her eyes on her front.