"Avast!" Bahadir cried as he barreled toward the orc, unsure if he used the word correctly but confident the vibes were good. The bestial green monstrosity was so taken aback, it did not have time to realign its axe, and Bahadir full-body tackled the orc, slamming its thick, muscled body against the stone wall. Above, a Tilean man screamed in his native tongue something Bahadir could not understand, but it sounded very much like 'finish it!' to his ears. 

The orc was stunned for a moment, but recovered quickly. Bahadir only had time to knee it in the stomach before it bit his shoulder with hard teeth. The big Arabyan would have screamed had he not gritted his teeth, taking a big hand and poking the orc in the eye with his thumb. It squealed and unlatched its jaws, but shoved Bahadir away. The pit-fighter stepped back, pressing his hand on the meat just left of his right shoulder and felt sticky, wet blood on his hand. Bahadir growled, and the orc, having shaken off the pain, decided to charge Bahadir this time. 

Bahadir had fought in countless matches in the arena before roaring crowds. He had killed numerous men in nameless acts of violence beneath the streets and in the slave pens. He had been trained by whip and cudgle, taught the art of fighting over his many years under the lash. The orc, though powerful and naturally savage, had not the practice or discipline. As it bared its tusked maw and leaped at Bahadir, the swarthy skinned man deftly pivoted his foot and spun, leading with his free foot in the air and striking the orc across the jaw. The big green body continued on, even with its head in a fog, and it missed Bahadir completely, hitting the ground in a further daze. Bahadir leaped over its prove form, easily reaching three meters in the air, and landed his knee squarely on the back of the orc's thick neck, squashing it beyond hope or repair. The monster's upper spine and throat was severed, and it spasmed as it died. 

The jeers and screams of the crowd rose, and Bahadir did not know if it was because his narrow-minded focus was lifted, or if the final blow raised their volume. He turned, and saw Calliope just getting to her knees, rubbing her head. Bahadir walked over to her, and she squinted as he stood over her. 

"What in the bloody-" She began, but before she knew it, she was sitting atop his unbloodied shoulder, high in the air as the crowd screached, a wave of roars lifting to a crescendo as Bahadir and Calliope lifted their arms and waved. A few people threw bronze and gold coins onto the arena floor, something that was vehemently preached against by the Sultan's laws. Any monetary gift to a slave was seen as a grave offense, and the upending of social order. Calliope nimbly caught a few in the air, patting Bahadir's head so he could lifted and rise at opportune times to catch the wealth. As she did so, she dropped them into her shirt, laughing wickedly. 

In the balcony high above, the Sultan grew red and Azim watched with wrath in his eyes.