Empire of the Worm by Jack Conner Read Free Book Online

gladiator wore golden armor
and his helmet was topped with a high plume of horse hair; he had a bundle of
spears with him, as well as his bow and quiver of arrows. As always, his curly
beard was as immaculately combed.
    The crowd roared their approval,
while the prisoners cringed and huddled fearfully. Weapons were tossed to them,
but the swords and spears looked pitifully inadequate when compared to the
vastness of the elephant.
    Davril shouted out for the games to
begin. The gladiator said something to the driver, and the driver tugged on the
reins. The elephant lowered its head and charged the prisoners, who scattered
like rats before it. The crowd cheered. Davril laughed as one rapist was ground
beneath the great bull’s foot. A servant girl served Davril honey-covered
dates, and for a moment the direness of recent events faded.
    The goal of the game was for the
prisoners to remove five colorful flags from their holders along one wall and reposition
them in the correct holders along the opposite wall. When this was done, the
game would be over, and their lives and genitals saved. Few usually survived
that long, but the chance of success was deemed better than the alternative. It
was a fantastic spectacle, watching the massive wooly elephant with its
gladiator slaughter the prisoners one by one, grinding them to paste, crushing
them in that long black tentacle-like trunk, or skewered by the gladiator’s
arrows and spears. The prisoners hurled their own missiles at him, but the
gladiator merely raised his golden shield and they bounced away.
    “He does make a fantastic gladiator,”
Qasan Ulesme commented, as he sipped wine from a goblet held by a serving girl.
    “So he does,” Davril agreed.
    General Hastus laughed and roared
atop his great black mount even as he hurled a javelin that skewered a fleeing
Avestine through the lower back. Writhing and bleeding, the man collapsed to
the sand. He did not struggle for long, as the elephant stomped on him even as
it chased down a scarred old rapist with one eye. The trunk curled around the
man and reeled him in, up to the General. Grinning, the General drew his sword
and hacked open the man’s throat. Blood sprayed him. The crowd cheered, loving
it. The elephant tossed the corpse away. Behold
my father-in-law, Davril thought ruefully.
    “Sometimes I think he missed his
true calling,” he said aloud.
    At last the game ended, and flowers
and coins were tossed to the General as he bowed from atop the elephant’s
litter. He left the Arena to much applause, and clowns amused the audience
while the corpses were hauled away. Only two of the prisoners had survived, and
they submitted to the city guard gladly.
    Still flushed from battle, his face
wiped but his body still reeking of sweat and blood, General Hastus joined
Davril and Qasan in their balcony. Smiling, Davril greeted him, and the serving
women offered the General refreshments.
    “Quite a sport,” Hastus said,
drinking his wine.
    “Yes,” Davril said. “Qasan and I
were just saying that perhaps you should retire from the military and take up
the Arena full time.”
    Hastus chuckled. “I would, but Qazradan
needs me. A pastime it must remain.”
    The earth rumbled suddenly, and the
floor under Davril’s feet shook. The audience cried out in fear.
    “Dark times,” the General said,
when the earth had calmed.
    “Davril and I were discussing that,
as well,” Qasan said.
    In the Arena, another pair of
gladiators emerged, and a new duel began.
    “Tell me about the disappearances in
the Palace,” Davril said.
    The General, Davril’s
second-in-command, nodded. “Aye, my lord. Servants who maintain the tombs in
the deepest levels of the catacombs report loud grinding noises in the lowest
level, as of a great door sliding open, but as no one save Your Grace is
allowed down there no one can corroborate this. Rumors have begun circulating
that the Great Tomb is opening of its own accord, and shadowy things have