Bahadir rubbed his wrists, surprised she had bothered to help him there. It had been a long time since he had spoken to a woman, and he had never fought alongside one. He had shown her some hospitality to spite the Sultan and Vizier, and yes, because she was beautiful. But now he was curious on other matters. He had picked locks like that as a child, but she did it so casually and without feat of any reprisal of the guards if they discovered his manacles had been undone. 

"I had expected to be back at sea, not in some thrice-poxed underground prison for the entertainment of the pompous elite that should be paying me, rather." She lamented, a piratical slur in her inflection. The dark woman crossed her arms, glancing at the ceiling. Bahadir had understood a small portion of that, but he felt like he got the gist of it. But her next words, he was not sure he understood. "How do you get out of a place like this?" 

Bahadir chortled. He said the word, and even were he fluent in Reikspiel, it would have sounded awkward. "Out?" He asked, and when she merely looked at him, he shook his head. "No out. Fight. Die." 

"I'll fight and die on my own terms, with a belly full of wine atop a mound of gold." She said. He was hoping he was interpreting her right. 

He decided to reply back in Arabyan, albeit slowly. "They wanted you dead enough to throw you in the cage of beasts. Tomorrow, you'll fight, and they will make you fight until you are dead. And if you live through all twelve days, they will simply kill you after." 

She seemed to get the last part, at least. "Not much incentive for me to stay then, is it?" She remarked, flashing a grin and leaning back, placing her palms on the stone floor. She eyed him up and down, her eyes lingering on his forearms. "I'm without a ship and a crew. If you're up to escaping with me, I'll make you first mate." 

"Madha?" He asked. She raised a hand to make it more clear, extending it. 

"Escape." She said, letting the word fill his mind with possibility. "Partners. Yes?" 

"You're crazy," He remarked in his native tongue. They would castrate him, then nail his hands to planks and let him rot in the sun until he was baked unto death. But, there was a glint in her eyes and a promise in her grin that he had never seen before. It had been too long since he had harbored feelings of escape. And so he slowly reached out and took her hand, and she shook it powerfully, needing to in order to move his big arm. Clearly handshaking was not a normal Arabyan custom. 

"We have an accord!" She exclaimed, flashing her teeth. "Once we're out of here, we'll celebrate with some rum. [sub]And once I get some revenge...[/sub]"