LEANORE 15
By Heck



Comments to heck@beadyeye.net

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PYRRHUS STRODE CONFIDENTLY into the arena, holding his hands high to accept
the adulation of the enthusiastic crowd. Smiling, and nodding so that the
flamboyant plume atop his gleaming polished helmet caught the light in a way
that he knew would cause iridescent oscillations, he flourished the net and
trident in his hands arrogantly.

He was a crowd pleaser, and he knew it. He was seeded very high in the ranks
of gladiators throughout the Empire, having twice challenged for the
championship and, although today's contest was no threat to his status, pitted
as he was against an unranked novice, he saw no reason not to give the crowd
their money's worth.

There would be a death in the circus today, and it would not be his.

His patron, he knew, had been tricked into accepting a challenge and a
veritable fortune rested on the outcome, not to mention devastating losses in
credibility and prestige if he lost. But Pyrrhus was not about to let that
happen. His master provided well for his comfort, and allowed him the
luxuries, women, and virtual freedom his status deserved. He had no intention
of letting some upstart take that away from him.

Like a colossus, he marched across the arena to stand before, slamming his
fist against his own chest in salute to the dignitaries therein. There was
pride and defiance in the gesture; this was his world, and in it he could do
no wrong for the throngs of cheering fans.

Colossus was about the right word to describe him. He was a giant of a man,
close to seven feet tall with mighty arms and legs that seemed hewn from the
living oak. The girth of his thighs was greater than that of most men's
waists; the circumference of his arms thicker than most men's thighs.

He stood patiently while the enthusiasm of the audience subsided. All he knew
of his opponent was that she was a woman. That was no concern. He held no
scruples about killing unless he was endangered; no-one survived when Pyrrhus
was in the ring, and he had slaughtered women before, as well as children and
animals, often with Nerovian cruelty, and it made no difference to him. They
all died just as easily.

His eyes were focussed on a point in the middle distance, far beyond the high
arena wall, as he mentally cleansed himself in preparation. He was aware of
the arrival of a dark figure on his left, aware that it made a gesture of
salute to the elite, but paid no heed. He liked to give his opponents the
impression that they were of no importance to him, beneath his notice.

Leanore was not so arrogant. As she took her place at his side she took full
notice of the man she was to fight, taking in every nuance of his stature,
attitude, and bearing.

Gods, he was a monster! She had been warned he was big, but was not prepared
for the actual sight of him. Leanore was a big woman, and it wasn't often she
was made to feel small, but standing next to this near giant she almost felt
like a little girl. His back seemed as wide as a barn door and the depth of
his barrel chest elephantine. He carried an impressive gut, but Leanore could
see that it was not fat. It was the kind of gut developed by some very big,
very strong men. The great trident looked like a toasting fork in his huge
paw.

Julia Domina had done her research and had passed on what she had learned.
Which was, basically, that the man had no weaknesses. He had won nearly every
fight, and the fact that he had been a gladiator for over ten years and had no
major injuries, let alone that he was still alive, was an impressive statistic
in itself. He had spread the blood of his opponents across the entire country
in amphitheatres both near and far.

If he had a weakness at all, it lay in his over-confident arrogance and his
love of grandstanding for the benefit of the spectators. He was as unsurpassed
as a showman as he was as a gladiator.

Formalities over, the pair turned to face each other. Despite himself, Pyrrhus
could not help but be impressed by the stature, physique, and facial beauty of
the woman before him.

For all that he stood a full head taller, his opponent was nonetheless a very
tall woman. Dressed in the purple colours of her patronne, with her dark skin
catching the light, there could be no doubt that she was a supremely beautiful
and desirable specimen of femaleness, and the slabs and full roundness of the
muscle that clad her strongly built frame spoke of great strength and
athleticism. For a moment, Pyrrhus thought it would be a shame to destroy her,
when there were so many other, more pleasurable, uses to which her lush body
could be put.

But only for a moment.

Leanore held her small, round shield and short stabbing sword like a
professional. Her eyes betrayed no fear, no emotions at all in fact, unlike
those of her opponent, which flashed between desire and anticipation of the
kill.

Traditionally retiarii, the combatants with the net and trident, had the
advantage over the secutor who was armed with the gladius and the small
shield. Abraxas had deliberately chosen the combination, to give his man both
an actual and psychological upper hand. The retiarius had the comfort of
weapons that could hold the opponent at bay, or bring him down entangled in a
strong mesh. The net was heavy and cumbersome but, in the hands of an expert,
could be used to trap, trip, strike and entangle. The trident was long and had
three razor sharp, wickedly barbed tines that could do more damage being
ripped from the body than they did in piercing it to begin with.

The avenues of attack for the secutor were limited, and relied on speed and
agility to a huge degree. They involved moving inside the reach of the
retiarius' weapons, or to his side or back. Naturally, a skilled retiarius was
aware of this, and defended against it.

To start, the pair feinted and dodged, each getting the feel of the other's
range and speed. Pyrrhus was huge and lumbering, but could whip out his net
with a flick of the wrist, while Leanore was nimble and agile by comparison.
As was his wont, Pyrrhus could not resist taunting his opponent with harsh
words and cutting comments, while Leanore remained tight lipped and silent.

"So, bitch". His heavy face had a look of utter contempt and disdain. "Think
you can come in here and do a man's job, do you? Well, Pyrrhus is here to show
you different. This is my world, and a slut like you has no place in it. I've
got better things to do than play with little girls. Tell you what, just stand
still, and I'll make it quick and painless".

Leanore was by no means a 'little' girl, but by the standards of this great
bullock of a man.well, she'd let him have that one.

Pyrrhus was a skilled fighter, without any doubt. There was no sign that
telegraphed his move, but with the speed of a striking snake his net whipped
round at ankle height while, at the same time, the trident stabbed forward at
just the point where Leanore's belly would have been. Her lightning reflexes
took over band she sprang into a flickering backflip that carried her clear of
both weapons.

She landed lightly on her feet, staring him defiantly in the face. But he was
not a favourite for nothing, and she had to throw herself flat to avoid the
net swinging at her head.

As soon as she was clear she lifted her legs and, with an astonishing display
of strength, levered her entire body up onto her elbows, clear of the ground.
The muscles of her upper arms uncoiled like steel springs, launching her into
a high arc, slamming both feet into his barrel chest before setting her afoot
once more.

The big man was unprepared for such acrobatic skill and the blow knocked him
back, staggering unsteadily for several paces, and it was more by luck than
judgment that he did not go down.

Leanore was not about to let any advantage go unused. She powered forward as
he reeled. Throwing herself into a slide that smashed his feet out from under
him, and she rolled clear as he toppled like a felled tree.

She came to her feet quickly and raised her sword to follow through, but was
amazed to find him already up on one knee, trident extended to ward her off.

"Good", Pyrrhus admitted grudgingly. "But not good enough. I won't be caught
like that again, girlie".

Dancing around, Leanore looked for another opening, but he was too skilled,
too experienced, to underestimate her again. He kept his trident toward her,
not allowing her any closer than its long range would permit, twirling the net
above his head.

She began to run around him in a tight circle, hoping to dizzy him. But again,
he was too clever to be caught like that. He simply followed her with his
eyes, bringing his body round in short arcs, never letting himself actually
spin.

She tried to attack his flank, hurling herself in at an angle, slashing with
her sword, but he blocked with the haft of the trident and stepped away,
laughing without real humour but trying to humiliate her in the eyes of the
crowd.

Leanore's mental discipline allowed her to stay detached, and his jeering
laughter merely washed over her without effect. She danced, ducked, and wove
around, while Pyrrhus stayed more or less in one spot, waiting for her to give
him an opening.

The contest was already one of the longest the crowd had seen in a while.
Normally, contests between retiarius and secutor were brief affairs, the life
expectancy of the swordsman being short at best. But these two were going at
it full tilt, neither giving nor receiving any respite, and the audience was
on its feet, cheering madly. They were certainly getting their money's worth
today.

The battle continued well into the afternoon. By appearances, the contestants
were very unevenly matched and all the smart money was on the huge male. The
newcomer, although obviously very powerful and a formidable contender, was not
considered to have much of a chance. In fact, she had surprised everyone by
lasting this long.

Pyrrhus was beginning to get frustrated. It seemed to him that, no matter what
he threw at her, this damned woman had an answer to everything. Although she
was sweating freely in her helmet, as was he, she was hardly breathing hard at
all. She was strong, fast, and tireless.

Finally he saw a chance. He stabbed the trident at her belly, causing her to
jerk backwards, sweeping it aside with her little shield. In that tiny
instant, when her attention was momentarily on the three nasty points, he let
loose the whirling net. Expertly flung, it billowed out into a wide circle,
falling neatly over her head and settling about her. One of the weights around
its edge struck her sharply on the wrist, and her sword fell from her numbed
fingers. The mesh entangled quickly around her and she overbalanced, wrapped
tightly in its encumbering strands.

The net was made of quite heavy cord and was proof against wild animals as
well as humans. Once the retiarius had snared his victim, the fight was all
but over.

The crowd knew it. A great roar rose from their throats as they applauded
wildly. In her seat, Julia Domina covered her eyes with her hands.

He had won! It had taken much longer than he had anticipated, but he had won!
Raising the trident high, Pyrrhus strutted around to accept the adulation of
the crowd. His face wreathed in smiles, he yelled back at the cheering faces,
picking up a thrown flower, tucking it behind an ear as he turned to face the
senatorial box.

A hush fell as he stood to attention. The senator rose magisterially to his
feet and raised both hands. Everyone expected the thumbs down.

Pyrrhus waited sombrely, expectantly.

An odd sound filled his ears.

A roar came from the crowd.

Pyrrhus turned frowning. His mouth fell open.

Gods! The woman was tearing open the net! The bloody bitch was tearing the net
apart!

Teeth clenched as a straining, hissing growl was forced between them, the
straplike muscles of her forearms standing out in deep relief, Leanore came to
her feet as the heavy strands of the strong net parted in a series of
'twangs'.

He had known she was strong, but during their battle there had been no direct
contest of strength between them, so he did not know exactly how strong she
was. This ... this was unbelievable! Rooted to the spot, he could do nothing but
watch as this incredible woman shed the ruined remnants of his net. Big as he
was, he seriously doubted that even he could have duplicated the feat.

And then she was free. Panting, and slightly purple in the face, but she was
free. The crowd, already mad with delight, were whipped into frenzy.

Pyrrhus snapped out of it. She might be free, but she was unarmed and
vulnerable. He lowered the triple point of his weapon and, with a yell of
rage, charged her.

The two were several yards apart. Leanore did not move while he bore down on
her. She's too exhausted, he thought as the gap between them closed.

The trident was about to strike. The three barbs were about to skewer her
through the belly. Leanore moved. She neatly sidestepped the weapon, and
grabbed it just above the fork as it passed. She threw herself to one side,
and Pyrrhus' own momentum swept him round in an arc.

She pulled the weapon toward her, not out of his hands, and rammed it back so
the butt end struck him in the pit of his stomach, doubling him over.

For the first time since the battle began, Leanore vocalised. It began deep in
her chest, quietly at first, swelling to become a full-throated, ululating
battle cry.

The great curving muscles of her thighs drove her forward and she began to
move, forcing her opponent back at the end of the trident. Her legs powered
her on, still yelling, driving the big man back, always back. His feet
scrabbled in the dirt but, despite his advantage in height, size, girth, and
just about everything else, he was powerless to resist the tremendous strength
of the woman.

She was at full run, now, and Pyrrhus was being all but carried along on the
butt of the trident. Screaming at the very top of her lungs, Leanore drove him
back until, finally, she slammed him into the arena wall.

She slammed him into the arena wall with such force, such almost inhuman
force, that the blunt butt of the trident was driven through his thick belly,
through his spine, and deep into the mortar of the wall behind him. A gurgling
scream arose from his throat as a projectile gout of arterial red spouted from
his mouth and covered the front of the gladiatrix.

She left him there twitching, skewered to the wall like a grotesque, obscene
butterfly. Turning her back, she leaned her hands on her knees as she sucked
welcome, refreshing oxygen deep into her chest while the crowd, Julia Domina
among them, gave her a yelling, screaming, standing ovation.