jewels—” His eyes shifted back to them. “—the coin and the girl?”
Adria shuddered. Terror rushed through her like a monstrous ocean wave, threatening to take her down and drown her. She scanned the periphery of the room. A dozen men had moved to stand at intervals along the wall with three taking a stance at the open doorway. Each held a sword, knife or club and self-assured grins that made her blood run cold. The madman—barbarian, heathen, foreigner, thorn in her side—surveyed the scene with a casualness that made Adria want to scream. “You may have a wish to die,” she hissed beneath her breath, “but I do not. Release me!”
“Do you not trust me, thief?”
She could only stare at him in disbelief. Trust him? He’d handled her like a sack of turnips, forced her into confronting her enemy and had the gall to call her a slave. Oh, she trusted him as much as she did the man glowering at them from the dais.
“My time is valuable,” continued the barbarian to Tiege. “I will return your coin. You will return my jewels.”
“A better proposition,” countered Tiege, “is that you return my coin and the girl and I allow you to live.”
One of Tiege’s men rushed them from a hidden spot behind a post. The attack took Adria by surprise but not the barbarian. He unsheathed his gladius in one fluid motion, spun on his heel and thrust her behind the solid wall of his body. He let loose a shattering battle cry and slashed the first attacker across the chest.
Stunned, the man lowered his weapon and stared, mouth agape at the slash in his tunic, at the torn edges of the filthy material turning dark with blood. Adria watched his eyes fill with confusion, made all the more stark as the color drained from his face. He stumbled backward, fainting into the arms of his companions.
Her captor stood still as a statue, but with her hand pressed against his back Adria felt his muscles quivering, not from fear, she sensed, but from restrained power.
Tiege’s reaction was less stoic. “A very impressive display,” he said between clenched teeth, “but you are only one man against many. I will give you one last chance to leave with your life and only a few broken bones.”
The barbarian uttered a foreign word beneath his breath. “And I will give you no more. Return my property.”
“Master,” said one of his men sidling up to the dais, “I know of this man.” He sent a fearful look in their direction and swallowed hard. “He’s a gladiator, I saw him fight in the provinces. It’s said he has killed hundreds.”
Adria’s attention shot back to her captor. A gladiator? While she’d never attended a match, she’d seen them paraded down the streets many times. Men trained to kill, men considered too dangerous to be free of chains. She slanted a look up at his implacable profile then down at the sword, stained with blood in his hand. Dear gods.
“I care not if he is Jupiter himself,” ground out Tiege, slashing his hand through the air.
Immediately, six men advanced on them. The barbarian fell into a crouched position, both hands on the hilt of his blade. Heart pounding in her chest, Adria managed to take cover beneath a three-legged table and watched as he met the onslaught.
Adria had never seen anyone fight as he did. It was as graceful as a dancer at a banquet, long, muscled legs balanced in a wide stance, strong arms sweeping out in a deadly arc as he buried his weapon first in one attacker’s gut before spinning with a single leg extended to send another sailing across the room. When a third attacker thought to take advantage, rushing him from behind, the gladiator sent his elbow flying into his throat. In a matter of minutes the ground was littered with four injured men. The other two, Adria knew, would never follow Tiege’s orders again.
The barbarian turned to Tiege, barely winded. “My property. Now,” he demanded in a regal and ominous tone.
Adria’s gaze darted to the master
Adria shuddered. Terror rushed through her like a monstrous ocean wave, threatening to take her down and drown her. She scanned the periphery of the room. A dozen men had moved to stand at intervals along the wall with three taking a stance at the open doorway. Each held a sword, knife or club and self-assured grins that made her blood run cold. The madman—barbarian, heathen, foreigner, thorn in her side—surveyed the scene with a casualness that made Adria want to scream. “You may have a wish to die,” she hissed beneath her breath, “but I do not. Release me!”
“Do you not trust me, thief?”
She could only stare at him in disbelief. Trust him? He’d handled her like a sack of turnips, forced her into confronting her enemy and had the gall to call her a slave. Oh, she trusted him as much as she did the man glowering at them from the dais.
“My time is valuable,” continued the barbarian to Tiege. “I will return your coin. You will return my jewels.”
“A better proposition,” countered Tiege, “is that you return my coin and the girl and I allow you to live.”
One of Tiege’s men rushed them from a hidden spot behind a post. The attack took Adria by surprise but not the barbarian. He unsheathed his gladius in one fluid motion, spun on his heel and thrust her behind the solid wall of his body. He let loose a shattering battle cry and slashed the first attacker across the chest.
Stunned, the man lowered his weapon and stared, mouth agape at the slash in his tunic, at the torn edges of the filthy material turning dark with blood. Adria watched his eyes fill with confusion, made all the more stark as the color drained from his face. He stumbled backward, fainting into the arms of his companions.
Her captor stood still as a statue, but with her hand pressed against his back Adria felt his muscles quivering, not from fear, she sensed, but from restrained power.
Tiege’s reaction was less stoic. “A very impressive display,” he said between clenched teeth, “but you are only one man against many. I will give you one last chance to leave with your life and only a few broken bones.”
The barbarian uttered a foreign word beneath his breath. “And I will give you no more. Return my property.”
“Master,” said one of his men sidling up to the dais, “I know of this man.” He sent a fearful look in their direction and swallowed hard. “He’s a gladiator, I saw him fight in the provinces. It’s said he has killed hundreds.”
Adria’s attention shot back to her captor. A gladiator? While she’d never attended a match, she’d seen them paraded down the streets many times. Men trained to kill, men considered too dangerous to be free of chains. She slanted a look up at his implacable profile then down at the sword, stained with blood in his hand. Dear gods.
“I care not if he is Jupiter himself,” ground out Tiege, slashing his hand through the air.
Immediately, six men advanced on them. The barbarian fell into a crouched position, both hands on the hilt of his blade. Heart pounding in her chest, Adria managed to take cover beneath a three-legged table and watched as he met the onslaught.
Adria had never seen anyone fight as he did. It was as graceful as a dancer at a banquet, long, muscled legs balanced in a wide stance, strong arms sweeping out in a deadly arc as he buried his weapon first in one attacker’s gut before spinning with a single leg extended to send another sailing across the room. When a third attacker thought to take advantage, rushing him from behind, the gladiator sent his elbow flying into his throat. In a matter of minutes the ground was littered with four injured men. The other two, Adria knew, would never follow Tiege’s orders again.
The barbarian turned to Tiege, barely winded. “My property. Now,” he demanded in a regal and ominous tone.
Adria’s gaze darted to the master
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