The Darathi Vorsi Prince (Song of the Swords Book 0) by Tameri Etherton Read Free Book Online Page B

new age, my Surtentse. I will never leave you.
    Rhoane steadied himself and eyed his challenger with the cunning of a grierbas stalking his prey. The man was enormous. His arm span was the width of Rhoan e’ s height, his bicep easily as large as one of Rhoan e’ s legs. But what the man had in brute strength, he lacked in speed and dexterity.
    The oaf grinned stupidly, thinking Rhoane weak. He pretended to stagger, all the while surveying his opponent. Around his waist, a thick band of leather held a swath of cloth that covered the ma n’ s buttocks and manhood. Other than that, he was naked. Weapons adorned the leather belt, including a mace and several small daggers. Rhoane had not been granted the use of weapons, despite the fact h e’ d won many over the course of his fights in the arena.
    The sand danced in a frenzy with each foot the man placed upon the ground. With every step his bulk shifted from one leg to another, and Rhoane studied each ripple of muscle as he moved. The crowd roared their approval of the imminent attack, chanting the ma n’ s name .“ Kragor! Kragor! Kragor ! ”
    Kragor sneered, his smugness fueling Rhoan e’ s ire.
    When he was two paces away, Rhoane acted, springing from his stupor to dash toward Kragor. The stunned expression on the ma n’ s face would have to be savored another time. Rhoane had mere moments before Kragor would grasp him around the neck and shake the life from him.
    As the brute paused, Rhoane used the ma n’ s bent leg as a step, grabbed a dagger from his belt,and vaulted up Krago r’ s body. The brute resumed his step and slammed his foot hard upon the sand, jostling Rhoan e’ s tentative grip on his shoulder. Rhoane almost slipped, but managed to pull himself over the giant. Kragor flailed his hands, trying to reach Rhoane, who used his legs like a vise and clung to the ma n’ s back.
    H e’ d planned to slice the ma n’ s throat, but the thick muscles and frantically waving arms prevented an opening. A moment of panic swept over Rhoane. The small blade would do nothing to the man if Rhoane stabbed him. Except for one possibility.
    Rhoane ducked from being blindsided by a huge fist and strengthened his grip on the man. He grasped the hilt of the gian t’ s dagger with both hands and thrust upward into the base of Krago r’ s skull.
    A hush fell over the spectators as Kragor screeched in panicky pain.
    The blade sliced upward, through the soft tissue of the ma n’ s brain and out through his mouth, slicing his tongue in two. A horrible wailing started in the crowd, women trilling and men shouting. Cobalt blood sprayed over the sand in a wide arc, lengthening as Kragor keeled forward, taking Rhoane with him.
    The Eleri loosened his hold a heartbeat before the brute collapsed on the ground and sent dust high into the air.
    Rhoane rolled to all fours, coughing against the sand lodged in his throat. His body shook from the rush of adrenaline. He knelt there, gasping and trembling, while the crowd roared. Approval, disapprova l— he did n’ t care. H e’ d killed a man. Never before had he taken a life. Not even in the arena, where it was encouraged of the victor. Always, h e’ d spared the opponent, ignoring the demands of slaughter from the spectators.
    But now he had taken the gian t’ s life without so much as a thought. If he had n’ t, it woul d’ ve been him lying in a heap on the hot sand. Better his opponent than him.
    Rhoane took a last shuddering breath and rose to his full height. Chest out, arms at his side, legs planted firmly, he raised his right fist in the air and brandished the bloodied dagger. Sticky blue fluid oozed over his hand, burning his skin. He stood taller, absorbing the pain the other ma n’ s vital fluids inflicted. H e’ d won the fight. H e’ d not show weakness now.
    The tribe clamored loud enough to deafen Rhoane. He stood resolute. They could kill him or no t— he did n’ t care. He was done fighting for their