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  With a full day to go before the contest, Jelkrael and she retired to the room at the Five Moons, leaving instructions that all who came for her where to be told she was elsewhere. All afternoon she lay quietly on Jelkrael’s couch, thinking of the situation she was in, and how strange it was beside her home life in Boreal. In the evening she ate lightly, and retired early, only to spend much of the night staring out of the window to watch the moons swinging slowly by through the sky.

  She awoke to brilliant sunlight, and Babalyn seated beside her with a tray of meat pastries and sweet jellies. Learning that it was nearly noon, she ate and prepared herself quickly, with Babalyn, Klia and even Yuilla fussing around her and doing their best to boost her confidence.

  Finally Jelkrael returned from the Great Pit, declaring that Cianna was expected there within the hour. They set off, riding the open wagon, with Cianna standing naked but not collared, and proud, her head held high, no longer embarrassed at the public exposure of her body.

  A thick crowd had gathered around the pit, greeting her mainly with cheers, along with a few taunts from Moloa’s more ardent supporters. The building was some twice the size of any other pit she had seen, but of the same design, only with a double set of public doors, for the commonality and the nobles. Within was again familiar, with a great dim chamber underneath the stands, which were already packed, with the massive beams that supported them groaning beneath the weight.

  Among the pit officials within she recognised Glaydrak, who greeted Jelkrael with a professional yet slightly condescending nod. Beyond him stood Moloa, a vast woman, nearly Cianna’s height, but broader, heavy with muscle and fat, her broad, flat face showing a cruel grin. Cianna gave her a nod, which only caused the grin to twitch up at one corner. A pit official approached Jelkrael, leaving Cianna alone with the other girls.

  ‘Have you seen her?’ Babalyn said, glancing back at Moloa. ‘She is a monster! Look at her eyes!’

  ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Klia urged. ‘She does it to terrify her opponents. She is as human as you and I.’

  ‘Give her a quick victory,’ Yuilla advised Babalyn. ‘Don’t get her temper up, then in with the capsule and she is done!’

  ‘Quiet!’ Klia hissed. ‘She is likely to toy with you for one round at the least, Babalyn, perhaps two, simply to warm her muscles, but if you don’t resist she won’t hurt you badly.’

  ‘Stop it, please!’ Babalyn said. ‘I’m terrified as it is! Look, what’s she doing?’

  ‘Stropping her cunt razor,’ Klia answered. ‘You wouldn’t want it blunt, would you?’

  Babalyn frantically shook her head as Cianna put an arm around her shoulder. In Babalyn’s bush of frizzy hair was the capsule, ready to be placed in her mouth before she stepped out onto the sand. Again and again they had rehearsed the manoeuvre, until Babalyn had brought the insertion to a precise art, using a capsule no larger than a pea.

  ‘Truly superb!’ Jelkrael declared as he joined them once more. ‘Never have I known so high a gate! Even at a sixth share we would stand to make as much as in three ordinary contests, four even. With a third of the gate and Yufal’s bets, I will be rich! He is in the stands, and signals odds of eight up to twelve.’

  ‘You are ready?’ Glaydrak enquired, appearing at Jelkrael’s shoulder.

  ‘As ready as I can hope,’ Jelkrael replied.

  Glaydrak nodded, stepping towards the corridor. Jelkrael followed, holding Babalyn by the hand. In the narrow mouth of the corridor, Cianna found herself shoulder to shoulder with Moloa, their flesh touching, the champion’s arm as thick and solid as a man’s. Pausing, Moloa looked at Cianna.

  ‘How old are you?’ she demanded suddenly. ‘You seem little more than a girl, for all your height.’

  ‘Seventeen winters,’ Cianna answered.

  ‘Seventeen?’ Moloa replied. ‘Run back to your nursery, little one.’

  Cianna stuck her tongue out, lost for a better response. Moloa made to reply, but Glaydrak was already on the sand, his hands lifted for silence. Cianna listened as he made a respectful address to the King and various nobles, then announced Moloa with a sweeping gesture to the corridor. Moloa stepped out, raising one massive arm to shake her fist at the audience in a gesture of utter contempt. Quickly Babalyn ducked down, then rose, winking at Cianna. Again Glaydrak spoke, announcing Babalyn, who walked out slowly, her jaw trembling. The audience cheered and laughed, many throwing coins. Glaydrak retreated, two placard girls stepped forward, made their pirouettes and once more crouched down, leaving the pit to the contestants.

  Moloa flexed her arms, not even bothering to crouch. Babalyn backed away, drawing ribald comments from the crowd. Moloa came forward, walking casually, only to suddenly lash out with an open handed slap. Babalyn jumped back, squeaking, as Moloa spun on her heel, snatching. Babalyn cried out, caught by the wrist, to be dragged in, grabbed around the waist and lifted bodily, her legs kicking madly as she was upended. Laughing aloud, Moloa threw up a knee, tossed Babalyn over it, delivered a dozen hard swats to the wiggling black backside and dropped her into the sand.

  Slowly Babalyn climbed to her feet, rubbing at her bottom. Moloa put out her hands, beckoning Babalyn forward, an invitation that was ignored. Instead Babalyn backed away, Moloa coming forward, great arms spread. Babalyn ducked, rolled, only for Moloa to dance back, planting a foot on Babalyn’s stomach. Immediately Babalyn was gasping out her submission, but Moloa merely laughed, reached down to fondle one fat brown breast before stepping back.

  Babalyn stayed down, Moloa standing over her, hands on hips. The crowd began to yell, calling on Babalyn to fight. Slowly, Babalyn pulled herself up, onto her elbow, onto all fours, only to have Moloa plant a foot on her hip and kick her over. Babalyn scrambled away, Moloa following, hand out, reaching down to slap at Babalyn’s bottom, once, twice, setting the full dark flesh quivering and leaving rich purple marks.

  The gong sounded, and immediately Babalyn collapsed into the sand. The placard girls ran out, holding water flasks, one going to tend to Babalyn. Refusing the water with a gesture, Babalyn pulled herself up, resting her arm on the pit wall. She was breathing hard, her skin wet with sweat and dark with bruises on her buttocks and thighs. Cianna made a sign, clenching her fist in encouragement, to which Babalyn responded with an exhausted shake of her head.

  As the gong sounded once more the placard girls skipped back. Moloa came forward, cracking her knuckles with her fingers locked together. Babalyn turned, ducked low and suddenly charged. Moloa stood firm, barely moving her body, but enough to lock one great arm around Babalyn’s waist. Again Babalyn was hauled squealing into the air, plump black bottom stuck out to the audience. Again she was spanked, hard, her legs kicking in desperation, her thighs and buttocks wide to show every detail of her sex and anal region.

  At last Babalyn was dropped, to lie panting on the sand. Her face was streaked with tears, her lower lip pouted and trembling. Throwing a leg across Babalyn’s prone body, Moloa looked down in disgust. Cianna saw the muscles of the big woman’s belly twitch, and a great gush of urine spurted suddenly from the thick forest of her pubic hair, full into Babalyn’s face. Babalyn’s hands came up to shield her eyes. Moloa laughed redirecting the stream to urinate in Babalyn’s hair, over her chest, her belly, and lastly her sex.

  Babalyn was left in a pool of steaming piddle, soaked from head to toe. Again she offered submission, and again Moloa refused, reaching down to pull Babalyn up by the hair. Gripped tightly, two fat fingers were pushed into Babalyn’s vagina and she was lifted, high over Moloa’s head, then sent crashing to the sand in a spray of droplets of piddle and sweat. Moloa lifted her hands in triumph, stamping across to Babalyn, who once more offered submission. Moloa gave a harsh chuckle and accepted it, the signal for ringing laughter, clapping, cheers and a shower of coins from the audience.

  Glaydrak stepped out, bowed briefly to the King and passed Moloa a box. Moloa took it, pushed a toe under Babalyn’s body and rolled her over, face up. Cianna fo
und her hand going to her mouth as Moloa sank down, into a squat, huge bottom poised over Babalyn’s face, then in it. A roar of delight went up from the audience, which Moloa acknowledged with a wave.

  Opening the box, Moloa extracted the folding razor she had been stropping earlier. Babalyn was taken by one ankle, her legs hauled wide, spreading her sex to the audience. Moloa spat, full into the curly mass of Babalyn’s pubic hair, then set to work, shaving.

  Cianna watched as Babalyn’s sex was denuded, the thick dark hair quickly scrapped away, to leave the plump brown mound she had kissed so often naked and shiny. The main mound done, Babalyn was rolled up, to have the hair between her bottom cheeks and on her sex lips shaved away, until her whole underside was entirely nude. By then, Babalyn’s sex was wet, white juice running from the hole, her nipples hard too, drawing yet more raucous comments from the crowd.

  The shaving done, Moloa made an elaborate show of lighting her cigar, striking the match on Babalyn’s newly shaved skin and blowing a triple smoke ring with the first puff. Beneath her, Babalyn had lain inert, allowing her body to be handled to Moloa’s amusement. Now, as the big woman wiggled her bottom, Babalyn’s arms came up, taking hold of Moloa’s huge thighs. Cianna realised that Babalyn had began to lick, and after a moment Moloa reached down, spread her sex with two fat fingers and quite casually began to masturbate. As Moloa rubbed herself she continued to smoke, also the flick ash onto Babalyn’s breasts and belly. When at last she came it was with no more than a low sigh.

  Eventually Moloa dismounted and stood up, revealing Babalyn’s juice smeared face. Slowly Babalyn rose, falling back twice but finally managing to stagger to her feet and stumble to the corridor entrance.

  ‘You did it?’ Jelkrael demanded. ‘The distillate is in her?’

  ‘No,’ Babalyn gasped. ‘I didn’t. I swallowed the capsule, when she threw me…’

  Babalyn went limp, falling into Cianna’s arms. Looking up, Cianna found Jelkrael white in the face.

  ‘Over three thousand standard Yufal has on you,’ he said weakly. ‘Our whole fund! Promises from our gate also. I am ruined!’

  Cianna gave him a weak smile, even as Glaydrak appeared, giving Jelkrael a nod, then a puzzled look as he stepped past them onto the sand. Cianna watched him, suddenly confused, still holding the sleeping Babalyn.

  ‘Lord King,’ Glaydrak began, making a sweeping bow to the royal box, ‘Exquisite nobles, Elite gentlemen, men and women of Kea and Makea beyond. I trust you have been amused by the rapid despatch of our haughty little Aprinian girl, which, while a mere taster, had, perhaps, a certain style. Now though, I give you no over cultivated weakling for the She Troll to devour, no soft product of a society in decline, but a true barbarian, a creature of the northern wastelands! With thirteen victories to her name, and undefeated, I give you, Cianna, the Ice Cannibal!’

  He made a sweeping bow, gesturing towards the mouth of the corridor. Seeing her cue, Cianna hastily dropped Babalyn and ran out. A cheer greeted her, and a few coins, then sudden, expectant silence. She turned, to where Moloa was lifting her bulk from the sand, grinning. Glaydrak retreated, the placard girls skipped out and back. Cianna was alone with Moloa.

  Moloa stood, spreading her great arms, then crouched low. Cianna touched a finger to her necklace, drawing a picture of her grandfather to her mind, then also ducked down, waiting. Moloa came on, a pace at a time, stamping, and lashing out with her open slap. Cianna caught the arm, wrenching, only to be thrown off her feet. Rolling, she bounced back upright and danced away before Moloa could touch her.

  Once more Moloa spread her arms, moving forward. Cianna ran immediately, ducking as Moloa moved to cut her off, only to twist back, kicking out hard at Moloa’s midriff. Moloa staggered back with a grunt, snatching for Cianna’s feet, an instant too late. Cianna scrambled away, jumped up, amazed that Moloa had not gone down to the blow.

  Twice more they came together, both times with Cianna striking by pure speed, but with no effect on Moloa. After the second Moloa was grinning, her eyes bright as she again fell into her crouch. Cianna fell back, glancing at the placard girls from the corner of her eye, even as the gong struck. Breathing deeply, Cianna stood away, taking a flagon from a placard girl. Moloa was not only heavier, but stronger than her, unlike every other girl she had fought in Makea. To bring her down by skill was highly unlikely, by force impossible. Moloa would also know every trick, every facet of Makean wrestling. In sheer strength she was no match for Moloa, yet she was faster, more agile. She could hold her own, but only for so long, then the huge buttocks would be settling over her face and the razor scraping at the hair of her tuppenny.

  The gong sounded and again they faced off. Cianna began to dodge, using her speed to avoid Moloa, a tactic that quickly had the crowd frustrated, yelling for more contact and more display. Ignoring them utterly, Cianna continued to twist and duck, run and leap, until at last the gong rang again. Moloa was chuckling as she drank her water, draining the flagon, then spreading her sex lips to Cianna. Cianna swallowed, remembering how Babalyn had been urinated over on the ground, but returned the gesture, then spun, spreading her buttocks to show Moloa her anus and briefly allowing the ring to pout. The crowd laughed, clapping too, but Moloa merely grinned.

  The third round started, Cianna again ducking and weaving, occasionally putting in a kick or a slap, but doing her best to avoid contact. With Moloa’s reactions always a fraction slower than her own, she began to grow confident, adding the occasional rude gesture, somersaults, or flaunting her bottom to the crowd. Moloa failed to rise to the bait, steady, determined and patient.

  In the fourth round Cianna began to strike in more, wondering if she might not wear Moloa down by sheer persistence. Twice she got good kicks in to Moloa’s midriff, although with little effect. On the third attempt her heel came down on a coin buried beneath the sand. For an instant she was off balance, and Moloa was on her. Slammed hard into the sand, Cianna’s leg was twisted up, and locked. Red pain hit her, and anger. Striking back at Moloa’s neck, Cianna hit out, twice, but the blows where ignored.

  ‘Submit!’ Moloa grunted, shifting to bring her face clear of Cianna’s reach.

  Cianna hit out, lashing frantically at Moloa’s arm and hip, to no effect. The hold tightened and Cianna cried out, gritting her teeth in pain. Again the hold tightened. She closed her hand on her necklace, praying, forcing herself to push the agony from her mind. Moloa chuckled and tightened the grip yet more.

  ‘Submit, little one,’ she grated, ‘and maybe I won’t piss on you after all.’

  Cianna said nothing, mumbling prayers through a haze of pain, her vision blurred, her hand gripped tight on her necklace, everything concentrated on thoughts of her family, until she seemed to be in Boreal, but above it, high over Sulitea’s meadow, floating in silence…

  Suddenly she was back on the sand in the Great Pit at Kea. Moloa was sitting back, the hold released, the placard girls coming out from the corridor.

  ‘Tough little brat, aren’t you?’ Moloa said.

  Cianna said nothing, filled with anger as she imagined her brothers laughing at her, or her grandfather turning away to hide an expression of shame as she lay defeated in the dirt. Stretching out her leg, she reached up for a flagon being offered by one of the placard girls. Sat up, she took water, drinking some and pouring the remainder over her head. The tone of the crowd had changed, voices raised in doubt, hissed demands for the bookmakers to take money on Moloa, derisive grunts in response.

  She got up, wiping sand wet with sweat from her legs and buttocks. Opposite her Moloa had her hands raised to a section of her supporters among the crowd, who returned a cheer. Cianna touched her necklace, uttered a prayer. The gong sounded and she bared her teeth, wiped a tendril of hair from her face and crouched down, her eyes locking with Moloa’s. Moloa returned the grin, squatting to begin her stamping advance. Cianna screamed, hurled herself forward, driving a fist into the centre of Moloa’s chest even as the great arms clo
sed on her. Moloa grunted in pain, but held, crushing Cianna into herself, only to scream as Cianna’s teeth clamped into her neck.

  Hurled back, Cianna sprawled on the sand for an instant, bouncing up and once more darting forward. Her fist drove up, her knee also, Moloa staggering back, unable to keep the hold. Immediately Cianna darted back in, hacking and kicking, throwing herself down to avoid a crushing back handed slap, then up, driving both fists into Moloa’s ribs. Moloa screamed in pain and fury, clutching for Cianna’s body, catching her and hurling her away, to strike the wall, following with a roar of pure fury. Cianna ducked, twisted, planting her foot hard into Moloa’s bottom to send her crashing into the pit wall.

  Not waiting, Cianna hurled herself onto Moloa, punching, kicking and biting, only for the assault to be returned with equal fury. The crowd forgotten, they tore at each other, rolling in madden frenzy on the sand, one on top, then the other, without thought for holds, let alone displaying themselves. Cianna was screaming, her vision red, her pain faded to heat, indifferent to everything but Moloa’s body, striking and clawing and biting, until at last hands were gripping at her shoulders, pulling her back, Moloa also. She stood, finding Jelkrael and his two male slaves clutching onto her. Glaydrak had Moloa, also a pit official, pulling her up from the sand.

  ‘The gong went,’ Jelkrael explained.

  Cianna spat at him, catching him full in the face, and wrenched herself back. A gasp went up from the crowd, Jelkrael standing pop-eyed in astonishment. The male slaves let go of her and she snatched a flagon from a placard girl, upending it over her head. Across the pit Moloa was with Glaydrak, her body wet with sweat, Cianna’s war paint and also blood, her face set in fury. Cianna laughed.