Sinbad: Rogue of Mars. John Garavaglia
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attacked.
Sinbad felt the movement of Kasson’s sword before his eye had even registered that it had begun to move. Sinbad deflected the blisteringly fast swing with a powerful upward strike that made the muscles in his arms quiver. The two swords met in the middle in a blinding shower of sparks.
The battle was joined.
Grunting with effort, Sinbad twisted his sword away from Kasson’s with a squeal of metal on metal. The joints in his wrist and elbow stinging from the aftereffects of the mammoth blow sweeping around, he advanced to Kasson, his eyes glinting with anticipation.
Sinbad parried a second deadly blow, then another, and another, his sword moving faster and faster, until it was clanging and singing like a blacksmith’s hammer on sheet metal. Sinbad’s body became a blur of kinetic motion, as he cut, slashed and stabbed at the prison’s toughest inmate, driving him back. Kasson was fast, but Sinbad had fought his ilk before. His mind hummed as he parried Kasson’s fast
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strikes, glorying in the strength of his muscles, the steely power of his limbs as they whipped and cracked around him. He concentrated every fiber of his being on beating Kasson back, using an entire lifetime of determination to fuel his attack. An electric adrenaline sure drove him to attack again and again, not allowing Kasson a single instant to recover.
Kasson spun away and snarled at Sinbad, defensively swinging his sword up in a spinning strike that should have impaled the outlander through the heart. But Sinbad anticipated the blow even before it came and blocked it with a blindingly fast diagonal slash that almost knocked Kasson’s sword from his hand. Kasson had to duck to avoid being decapitated as Sinbad carried the blow through with a shout. His scimitar struck the side of the arena.
Kasson straightened up behind him, growling. Recovering from Sinbad’s onslaught in seconds, he whirled his sword downwards with inhuman speed, aiming to slice the outlander’s hands from his body.
At the last possible second, Sinbad whipped his blade in a sweeping arc, blocking Kasson’s strike and locking swords with him at close range. For a heartbeat, the pair was face-to-face.
Sinbad’s body thrummed with tension as he struggled to hold off Kasson. His arms were shaking with the effort as he felt the insane strength behind his opponent’s sword. He glared into Kasson’s bloodshot eyes and saw the conviction lurking there, as though he were an insect that had to be crushed.
In an instant, Sinbad realized what that frightening look meant.
This devil dog thought that he was going to win.
Sinbad bared his teeth at Kasson and snarled at him like a wild animal. Then he savagely twisted his sword free with a powerful upward jerk, deliberately slicing open Kasson’s cheek in the process.
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The wound was insufficient, but it stung in more ways than one. Kasson touched his fingers to the cut and licked mournfully at the lost blood.
Then he swiveled his head towards Sinbad, his face contorting into a rictus of hate. Kasson regained control of himself with an effort.
With a growl, Kasson threw his fist to Sinbad’s face. Before the outlander could defend himself, Kasson whipped around and knocked him sprawling across the arena with a savage, pile-driver blow. As Sinbad struggled to right himself, Kasson crossed the pit in a single bound and grabbed him by the throat, his fingers digging into Sinbad’s windpipe.
As Sinbad fought to free himself, Kasson brought his blade to his captive’s throat. He pressed the razor edge hard enough to break the skin and trickle blood.
Sinbad grimaced in pain.
He wrestled with Kasson, unable to break his hold on him. Gasping, Sinbad reached into his sash with his free hand and felt for the wooden spoon he pilfered from the guards when they had served him his meal the day before.
Kasson gave him a cruel smile. “Do you have any last words, outlander?”
Gripping the spoon, Sinbad replied, “Yes…if you can’t win, CHEAT!”
And with all his strength, Sinbad stabbed Kasson in the side of his right leg.
Kasson gave an ungodly shriek and released him. Sinbad rolled to one side and clapped a hand to his neck to stem the blood flow.
Kasson tore the wooden spoon from his leg with a howl and threw it across the arena. Then he came at Sinbad full bore, swinging his fist towards the outlander’s head in a murderous blow.
Somehow, Sinbad managed to duck. Kasson’s fist went straight at the wall behind Sinbad. Blood spurted out of his
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broken hand. Kasson gave out a guttural cry of rage, and held his hand in pain. Driven into a berserker rage, Kasson grabbed his sword with his one good hand in a blind fury. Aiming to crush the outlander to a bloody pulp.
Even Aella, from up in the royal terrace, thought it was clear that the outlander was still living. She watched as he dived out of Kasson’s way. Blood loss and exhaustion slowed the Earthman’s movements. But he kept moving, ducking and dodging so he could wind Kasson into a greater and greater frenzy as Kasson screamed in fury when he missed Sinbad for the tenth time in a row.
Despite the outlander’s best efforts, Kasson was throwing him around the arena. Sinbad’s senses blazed as the shock of the impact, whiting out the pain of his bruised and torn flesh. His body felt out of place, and a deadly exhaustion clouded his mind. It made it difficult for him to think, but he knew he had to keep moving.
Groaning, Sinbad gathered what little strength, he had left and tried to roll over onto his side. His body rebelled; a powerful quiver of exhaustion ran through him as his abused muscles complained. He felt like his body was moving through thick, clinging tar.
Sinbad knew he couldn’t take much more of this.
As he struggled to rise, Kasson pounced on him, dragging him to his feet and slamming him back against a wall. The force of the impact knocked Sinbad’s breath out of him. He was unable to muster the strength to defend himself as Kasson hammered a punch into his stomach and then a second at his face, bouncing his head off the wall. Sinbad’s vision filed with blinding flashes as Kasson hit him again and again, venting his fury on the struggling outlander.
In desperation, Sinbad lashed out and dug his fingers into Kasson’s eyes. The marauder roared in pain and threw up his hands, knocking Sinbad away.
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Sinbad saw stars as his head hit the ground. Despite his agony, Sinbad’s mind was floating, disengaged from the pain, and he realized an odd sense of calm that he was going into shock. Black speckles flooded the edge of his dimming vision as darkness threatened to steal what little consciousness he still had left.
Sinbad took a shuddering breath. He was fighting to stay awake, as Kasson’s stepped towards him, wielding his sword.
Snarling, he pulled Sinbad up. With a savage grin, the outlander head-butted Kasson, breaking his nose. Blood spurted and Sinbad howled in triumph.
Kasson’s eyes glinted as he swung his sword at Sinbad in a savage blow, which clearly meant to slice him in half. This time, Sinbad wasn’t quick enough. The sword caught him in a glancing blow in the ribs and sliced cleanly through his bare flesh, sending blood into the air. The force of the blow spun Sinbad around, knocking him off balance. He fell heavily to his knees, blood pouring from his side in a shady stream.
Up above, Aella’s heart pounded faster as she watched Kasson slaughtering Sinbad. She tried to look away, but she could not. She held on to every hope she had for the outlander, but she was well aware of Kasson Bay’s reputation. How he led a revolt against the slave traders in the dark mountains, the exact number of the many men he had murdered