Sa’manatha hurried through the halls. Her hair was dripping wet, she had been bathing with the help of the fairy girl while the young man had been training with the soldiers. He still had not given his name, considering how he was brought here she did not blame him. She had heard about a number of the injuries he’s taken in the fights, some of the other slaves had been watching him for her when she was bathing, since she usually chose to bath when he was training that meant she mostly heard about the sword fights second hand. Some of the injuries he took over the past 15 days were bad enough to require one of the wizards to heal. Still, he apparently was starting to hold his own. She was surprised to learn there were no swords and bows in the wars of his home. Apparently he was almost a complete amateur.

Yet here he was, just 15 days fighting with a blade and he was holding his own against professional soldiers. She knew several of the male slaves who knew what they were talking about said that some of the soldiers lead by Teral were trying to bully him on the training field. Strangely he seemed to seek them out for training, and even thanked them for their efforts if they harmed him.

She wondered why he’d do that.

The reason for her hurrying now was she was informed of an argument that had sprung up. Apparently a number of soldiers were at arms against each other over something that occurred. But she didn’t understand what the slave had tried to tell her about it. She just was worried about him

This was the strangest part, she actually was worried for him, not worried because she was supposed to watch over him. Not worried because of the project. But worried for him. He spoke the language well enough to demand some answers from the sage. Frankly all she had to teach him now was more of the writing and any uncommon words that might not be used in normal conversation. She expected this process to take much longer. When she reported this to the Sage he explained to her that he actually expected it to take less time. Apparently one of the requirements for the summons was a natural talent for languages. He had hoped the boy would have improved enough to ask his questions a month ago. Instead he asked for a bed in half broken speech.

She didn’t like the sage’s impatience. She thought his demands that she keeps him in the room until he either gave her a child or could speak the language unreasonable. It wasn’t a cage; they already had harmed him enough taking him away from his life. Would they take away his freedom as well? Was his body no longer his as well? Was she supposed to rape him in his sleep for his seed? When she made those very arguments with the sage he got very mad with her. It terrified her when she saw the look on his face.

Hurrying through the halls she found the assembly hall and saw a large crowd. Teral was walking out of the hall. His eyes found her’s and he brightened into a smile. Changing direction, he moved straight for her, she paused not really seeing the crowd and the argument happening in the hall.

Teral closed in on her and using his body to shield his hand from sight of the men behind him and brushed his hand over her crotch, a wicked grin on his face, as his hand slid off her hip, he brushed past her and whispered “you’ll be under me crying soon enough”

Before he could take another step a voice cut through the echoing voices. “TERAL!”

Teral’s snake like smile grew larger, then turned around, Sa’manatha used the opportunity to step away from him, her skin crawling and unable to hide the revulsion on her face.

The tall young man stepped out the crowd and said “I accept, we play Meri’ack”

Terals smile took on a gleam of glee. “Of course of course. But what are the stakes?” He looked over at Sa’manatha and licked his lips.

“Not mine for bet Teral.” The young man’s face looked a bit red, she started when she realized he was furious. Something clearly had happened earlier to enrage him.

“Oh? Then why is she wearing that? She certainly is yours to bet as long as she wears that she is anyway.”

“Your Balls.”

“what?”

“I clear. If bet Sam, you bet balls.” He smiled viciously. “Well? Or can you only rape?”

“She’s not worth my balls”

“Ooooh? You say I was boy-girl fagot? Have you not been raping girls to prove you’re a ‘tough’ man?”

“Lies, those bitches lied. But you are a fagot. You cry like a little bitch bleeding for the first time too whenever you’re hit by a blade.”

“Then what you afraid? How could you lose?”

“Fuck you.” Teral snarled

“You not my type [sweetie]”

"I will hear you scream for mercy. Fine! My balls vs this slave cunt. I get her till she’s pregnant if I win, you get my balls if I lose.”

Sam had the strength leave her legs and sat down hard on the floor after hearing the wager. The young man looked over at her, a look of apology on his face, almost embarrassment. She wasn’t sure what that look meant. She did know she had suddenly became a wager. The problem of course was this stupid white robe the sage had pressed her into. An innocent lie he had said. But a lie that made this wager possible.

Why he was so hung up on this “rape” however was something that puzzled her. Was it worth it to get this mad? She had heard rumors Teral had been treating the girls very poorly recently. But nothing that would endanger someone’s life. He tried explaining it once to her, but it sounded sort of absurd to her. A woman’s having a choice in who she lay with? Maybe for a married free woman. She didn’t know what a marriage was like and never would. It sounded strange and went against even the laws humanity lived under.

The two men sat down facing each other. Both removed their shirts, exposing their chests. Teral drew his ragged edge dagger, and started carving his own arm. Two long vertical slices, followed by him wiggling the knife under the skin, then ripping it off in a long thin strip. The whole process was completed in seconds, his face didn’t even twitch.

The young man’s face paled. And he drew his hunting knife. The edge was sharp and the knife looked well maintained. It should cut easily.

Then he suddenly smiled, and looked to the man next to him. “Jerhel? Meri’ack doesn’t actually specify when I have to cut myself correct? Just that I can’t stand up until the match is over right?”

Jerhal nodded.

“Perfect. Sam, I’m thirsty, can you get me some Curran? Take your time”

Teral’s face turned green when he heard those words he opened his mouth but no sound came out. The rules of the game were clear. Once a cut had been made no noise could be uttered.

Sam took her time getting a pitcher of Curran. She also let other know of the kindred game of Meri’ack being played. It was an unpopular game to play, conversely it was a VERY popular game to watch.

She handed the pitcher to him after taking the long way back. He smiled and drank most of the pitcher in one go. Then he washed the dagger in the alcohol and washed the back of his arm with the rest. He simply sat their watching Teral sweat and bleed as time passed slowly.

Finally, his face started to flush, she figured the alcohol was finally kicking in. He took the knife and carefully drew it along his arm. He made a second cut as well. Sweat beading on his forehead. He paused a long moment then worked the blade under the skin and with a quick pull yanked the strip of skin off his arm. The only sound was a long exhale of air.

Teral picked up his knife. His hand was trembling. The knife caught on his skin causing a brief intake of breath. It wasn’t enough to lose. But it was close. His hands trembling grew worse, as he made a jagged cut. Then he started to wiggle the knife under his skin. He tried to rip the strip of flesh off but it slipped out of his bloody fingers, he then pulled the strip made a small noise. As the strip ripped halfway through the pull.

It was enough noise to lose. You could see it in Teral’s face that he knew it. However, you can’t lose in this game if your foe can’t make a clean cut either. He watched as the tall young man picked up the knife and washed it in the dregs of the jug. Then he lay if on his skin and with a swift pull, created a clean cut. He wiggled the blade under the skin and pulled a flap of skin, tearing down he pulled off a second flap of skin, and dropped it on top of the first one. He smiled and calmly stood up and walked over to Teral, the bloody knife still in his hand.

Teral turned green in the face. “Impossible…. Impossible. You’re a crying bitch. How?”

The young man actually laughed. Two strips of flesh flayed from his skin by his own hand and he laughed. “I tell you the trick but you no have anything I want for secret.”

Teral reached for his knife, hand moving light lightning. The young man looked like he had been waiting for that moment. He pounced on Teral and punched him in the face. While stomping down on the hand holding the blade, he grinded the hand into the stone floor causing Teral to let out a clipped scream. Still smiling he rested his blade against Teral’s pants. “Want to expose your balls to me now, or you want me play ‘round with knife without sight until I find your balls?”

Teral was sobbing now, whether from the pain of his hand being ground into the stone, or from the pain of the flayed arm… or fear of having his balls amputated she didn’t know. Surprisingly he actually unbuckled his pants with his free hand, and worked them down exposing himself. Reaching down with both hands he seized his balls in one hand and with the knife made a cut.

Teral’s shrieks echoed in the hall