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Vorn the Gladiator

Out of the night wind, a voice.

"Vorn, Vorn."

"Yes?" said Vorn.

In response, the shadows shaped themselves to light - the merest glimmering of light, a fragile luminescence suggestive of the decay of cobwebs, the moldering of senile spiders. A beggar lay there in the gutter. A very old beggar, his ragged hair hopelessly intertwined with his tottering rags. He smelt, oddly, as if he had been recently dipped in extremely strong soy sauce.

"Vorn," said the beggar. "You cannot escape."

"I cannot?"

"You cannot escape from your teeth."

So said the beggar. Then, having delivered himself of this prophetic warning, he slumped into the relaxation of death.

"I deny prophecy," said Vorn staunchly.

"How do you know it was prophecy?" said Sharla.

"Because the crocodiles are coming," said Vorn, pointing.

It was true. The blood-purple crocodiles of the Unseen River had pierced through the Invisible Veil which separates us from the World Beyond, and were coming to devour the corpse directly, a great honor which is accorded only to the greatest of prophets.

"And," said Vorn, "only the most merciless of truthtellers could have fallen to such a state of absolute degradation."

"True," murmered Sharla.

Then, as the crocodiles began to draw uncomfortably near - though the sacred crocodiles come only for the greatest of the dead, they tend to be promiscuous when it comes to the actual business of devouring - Vorn the Gladiator and Sharla the Swordswoman pushed on to the tavern known as the Blind Eye, hard by the east gate of the city of Chi'ash-lan. It was there that Jon the Ferret found them when he arrived late at night, bearing his warning. By that time, they were deep into their carousing, and were talking about the intimate things which only lovers can properly discuss.

"How many times must I tell you?" said Sharla. "I don't like it when you do that."

"But it feels so good," said Vorn.

What felt so good was gnawing chop bones. And he persisted in this habit even though his teeth complained. Then, unexpectedly, the bone found one of the rotten places, and the swooning pain made him stop.

Carefully, Vorn laid aside his chop bone and waited for the pain to pass. That was when Jon the Ferret breathed in his ear - which, in the city of Chi'ash-lan, is a sign that one has come bearing secret news.

"Yes?" said Vorn, turning to him. "Out with it!"

"Be warned, young lord," said Jon the Ferret. "Nazoora has persuaded Lord Hogadarnath to her will."

"And?" said Vorn, though in his heart of hearts he knew what was coming.

"He has decided that you will inherit the Empire."

"Ah," said Sharla, already dreaming. "Flowers and silk!"

"How can you say such a thing?" said Vorn. "For a start, you're a swordswoman, not a, a - you know. One of those mere females. And besides! There's me! The torture!"

As he thought about the torture, the sweat started out on his forehead. To be anointed as the official heir of the Empire would entail - at least in Vorn's case - the cruelest of all imaginable tortures. It would force him to confront the most unpalatable of facts: that he was mortal.

"But we are all mortal," said Sharla, reading his thoughts as lovers do. "We all get old, you know."

"But not yet!" said Vorn, in desperation. "Not yet!"

Grant me, at least for this day, the sweet denial of reality. Shelter me, at least for these few hours, from the merciless knowledge of the onset of age. Let me at least pretend to youth, even though my body has already announced its intentions, making patent the threat of the ultimate betrayal.

"They plan to seize you in the morning," said Jon the Ferret, sly and knowing. "They will drag you to the White Chamber. And then, once they have you in chains . | but you know what will happen then."

True. Vorn knew. Oh yes, he knew. He would be chained to the wooden table and forced to endure unspeakable tortures. Nazoora Petal, the cruel consort of Lord Hogadarnath, had long wanted to have him chained to that torture table. And now Lord Hogadarnath, the Tyrant of Chi'ash-lan, had decided to give her what she wanted.

"Time to be going," said Vorn, once Jon had left them. "We must flee Chi'ash-lan."

"No," said Sharla.

"You mean you're not coming?" said Vorn.

"I mean you shouldn't be going," said Sharla. "I think you should stay. Face up to it. It's only pain."

"Only pain!" said Vorn.

He was shocked and amazed. Only pain? It was torture. He said as much.

"So?" said Sharla. "Making our peace with pain is a necessary part of maturity."

"Are you telling me it's time I grew up?" said Vorn.

"Exactly," said Sharla.

But Vorn was still young - oh! let me be young! I deny age, I am not old, no! - and was not yet prepared to accept the unavoidable nature of his appointment with agony.

"No," said Vorn somberly. "I mean to flee to the sea and put myself forever beyond Nazoora's power."

It seemed that all his life he had been trying to escape the domineering influence of that woman, but with no success. Now, to make the final break - to break free from the influence of Nazoora Petal - he must quit Chi'ash-lan for good.

"And you," said Vorn. "Are you coming? Or are you not?"

"I will come with you," said Sharla. "This time."

And so, in the dead of night, Vorn the Gladiator left Chi'ash-lan with Sharla the Swordswoman, meaning to journey through the Shifting Desert to the shores of the Shining Sea. Vorn's plan was very simple: he would bribe his way aboard a boat and get himself shipped across the sea to the island of Remora Lindos, far beyond the reach of the power of Lord Hogadarnath and the evil Nazoora.

While the sky was still dark, they halted to grab a couple of hours' sleep. Vorn was woken at dawn by a sharp pain. Sharla the Swordswoman had just wrenched out one of the several strong, healthy hairs which sprouted from his nostrils in a virile, manly manner.

"Exactly what do you think you're doing?" said Vorn, short of sleep and decidedly peeved.

"Helping you tidy up," said Sharla.

"Well, stop it!" said Vorn crossly.

He did not want to tidy up or to be tidied. The whole tidy-and-respectable business was anathema. It was middle-aged. And to be middle-aged meant not to be young. And he was young, he had to be, only a young person could be crazy enough to head out into the wilderness on this mad adventure.

"Madness is youth," said Vorn, rising. "And - look! They pursue us!"

True. The dust of pursuit was rising in the clear morning air. It was time to mount up and ride.

Soon the walls of Chi'ash-lan were but a memory as they rode stolen grenderstranders deeper and deeper into the Peculiar Desert, losing the pursuit entirely.

Why is the Peculiar Desert peculiar? In that place there lives the rat-duck known as the platypus, but that is not the reason. In that desert there live also the Wild Tribes. The men tattoo their faces, the women give birth by laying eggs, and the children speak the languages of insects. But that, too, is not why the Peculiar Desert is peculiar.

The true weirdness of the Peculiar Desert resides in the fact that its geography changes every time you venture into it, in consequence of which fact Vorn and Sharla were soon lost.

They blundered by accident into the Swamp of Blood which was infested by carnivorous rats. Vorn killed rats by the thousands, and Sharla sewed their bodies together to make a raft on which they gently floated down the Slow River, exiting the swamp and arriving at the lair of Nopo-Nopo Angis Sting, the blood-eating ghost.

When the ghost came forth to devour them, Vorn drew his sword, the bright blade Zaftig. The ghost pounced. Vorn struck. His vorpal blade slashed through the air so fast that it drew blood from the very sky itself. Nopo-Nopo Angis Sting cried out in a high thin voice as Vorn hacked off his head. The head, assuming corporeal form, fell to the ground with a heavy thump.

"Yes," said the head. "But at least I don't have teeth."

Then the body fell too, and the head spoke no more, and Vorn stood triumphant, with bright dewdrops of blood glittering on his sword. Triumphant, but uneasy. Impossible to entirely repress that knowledge which was niggling away at the back of his mind: you do have teeth, you know.

"I suppose you think you're very clever," said Sharla the Swordswoman.

"I didn't do too badly," said Vorn modestly.

"Yes," said Sharla. "But if you hadn't run away, we wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place."

"What did you expect me to do?" said Vorn in amazement. "Stay in Chi'ash-lan? Be tortured to death?"

"Oh, stop being melodramatic," said Sharla. "Tortured to death! What nonsense! You wouldn't die, you know."

"Oh no?" said Vorn somberly. "They got hold of Mopple the Boot, he bled to death in there. I went to his funeral."

"That is true," said Sharla, forced to concede the point because Mopple's horrific death was common knowledge. "But most people survive."

"In body, perhaps," said Vorn. "But their minds are destroyed, they are shattered, broken, the torture is too severe for one to endure it and still remain human."

"Yet," said Sharla, "if you survive, you win the Empire. Is that not prize enough?"

"I am young," said Vorn, staunchly. "I can hack out my own Empire! Us conquerors need no inheritance! Besides, I am sure that there are nine chances in ten that the torture would kill me outright, so what kind of prize is that?"

And, such was Vorn's fear of torture that he insisted that they push on. So on they went, fighting their way past giants, dragons and vampires, until at last they arrived at Mazoora Lasagna, the seaport on the shores of the Shining Sea. There, true to plan, Vorn bribed his way aboard a boat which was bound for Remora Lindos. Two days at sea and he would be on that Island of Sanctuary, forever beyond the reach of Lord Hogadarnath and the evil Nazoora.

"But you are too old," said the voices in the Cave of Insight.

"Too old?" said Vorn. "No! My swordarm is as strong as ever!"

"Too old," insisted the voices. "Too sensible."

Sensible? Impossible! Vorn was as crazy as they come, the wildest of all wild youths. His recent behavior had proved that beyond all possibility of doubt. And, so thinking, he set to sea.

The voyage began well. The sailors were bright and cheerful, and the weather was bright and cheerful likewise. A brisk, bright, cheerful wind heaped the sea into happily energetic waves. Upon those waves, their boat rocked alarmingly. It slopped from side to side, and Vorn's stomach slopped with it.

Abruptly, Vorn's stomach heaved, and he vomited into the sea. A wave caught the vomit and sloshed it back at him.

Sometimes - when you have drunk too much, for example, or have overeaten - the act of throwing up eases the flesh, purging it of unwanted sensations. But this was not the case with Vorn's sickness. It got worse. And, soon enough, Vorn realized he was dying. Very well. He was a gladiator. He had faced death more than once in the Great Arena of Chi'ash-lan. He was prepared to die. And, stoically, he reconciled himself to death.

Meantime, the sailors who crewed the boat were laughing. At Vorn. They thought it uproariously funny to see him sitting there suffering. Vorn was shocked at this vicious sadism, this fiendish delight in the torments of a fellow human. Never mind. Soon enough he would be dead.

But, as the torture dragged on, Vorn realized something was wrong. Despite his unbearable suffering, he was still fully conscious and as strong as ever. Earlier, he had feared himself to be dying. Now he began to be afraid that he would not die. He was going to live, a victim of the worst witchcraft imaginable - a torture which went on interminably without weakening the victim, leaving the body fully conscious and fully equipped to suffer.

"What is happening?" moaned Vorn.

"The gods are angry with you," said Sharla.

"Why?" said Vorn. "What have I done?"

"You have fled from Chi'ash-lan. You have rejected Lord Hogadarnath and Nazoora Petal."

"But," protested Vorn. "I had to! To escape torture!"

"And torture is your punishment," said Sharla.

"For how long?" said Vorn.

"Forever," said Sharla. "It will get worse and worse and last forever, unless you repent your sin and turn back."

Vorn had no option. He was caught in a living nightmare. A man who was truly young and truly wild would have persisted. But, in that moment of weakness, Vorn knew the bitter truth. The voices in the Cave of Insight had spoken the truth. He had grown too old and too sensible. By imperceptible degrees, a kind of maturity had crept upon him, sapping the madcap abandon which had characterized his true youth. A terrible thought! If this went on, in a couple of years he would be opening a bank account and buying life insurance.

"All right, old man," said Vorn to himself.

Then, yielding to the inevitable, he pulled out good gold and bribed the sailors to turn back.

When Vorn was dumped on the shore, he fell to his knees and kissed the earth. He hugged it. Then he lay on his back staring at the hot blue sea until, at length, the sky ceased to reel. Then he rinsed the sea from his mouth with cold water, which made his teeth hurt. He rinsed away the sea and spat it out.

"Okay," said Sharla. "If you're ready, let's get going."

"It was horror," said Vorn, hoping for some tender female sympathy. "It was living hell."

"You brought it upon yourself," said Sharla unsympathetically. "Come on. It's a long way back to Chi'ash-lan, and I want to get started."

"But," said Vorn, feeling stronger now the gods had released him, "I cannot go back. I will be tortured."

"You will be tortured if you stay," said Sharla. "You have found that out for yourself."

"No," said Vorn. "I have divined that the power of the gods prevails only upon the waters. While I have the good ground underfoot, I am safe."

And, while Vorn had no logical basis for this belief - logically, the gods are as strong upon land as they are upon water, so the premise upon which his reasoning was based was fatuous - he could not be moved from this position.

Still.

Though Vorn had found safety in the seaport of Mazoora Lasagna, he knew full well that safety was temporary at best. That night, Vorn dreamt of the Red Citadel, the palace from where Lord Hogadarnath the Merciless ruled Chi'ash-lan with an iron grip. He woke from his dreams in a state close to despair. He could not cross the Shining Sea because the gods would attack him again. And, if he lingered in Mazoora Lasagna, sooner or later Lord Hogadarnath would learn of his whereabouts, and would extend his power, and would have Vorn dragged back to Chi'ash-lan in chains.

Lord Hogadarnath. Nazoora Petal. How could Vorn avert their wrath? Would it help if he offered them his honor, his fealty, his undying love? If he promised to do anything, anything? Probably not.

The problem was, those two construed the initiating tortures as an act of love. They thought the torture would be of inestimable benefit to Vorn. And who can argue with love? Thanks to the warped and twisted mentality of his parents, Vorn was doomed to be captured, to be strapped to the torture table, to have unspeakable torment inflicted upon him.

And, on top of all that, today he had a throbbing toothache.

"What you need," said Sharla, "is somewhere to hide."

"Hide?" said Vorn.

"Yes," said Sharla. "Hide until they die. They're not immortal, you know."

"Yes," said Vorn. "But they're not old, either. They're only middle-aged. We'd be talking about years! How could I possibly hide for so long? Besides, hiding is a non-gladiatorial idea."

"My sister could hide you in the Temple of Truth," said Sharla.

"Where the vestal virgins are?" said Vorn, perking up.

"Been studying theology, have we?" said Sharla.

"I am not entirely dead to the world of the higher scholarship," said Vorn with dignity.

"I bet," said Sharla, making no effort to conceal her scepticism.

Vorn thought about it all that day. Hide in the Temple of Truth? Well, it was a possibility. And what other options did he have? Briefly, he toyed with lurid schemes of assassination - but knew he did not have the temperament of an assassin. To duel in the Great Arena was one thing, but to kill someone in cold blood was something else entirely. In the past, true, there were times when he had thought about killing Lord Hogadarnath and taking Nazoora to his bed, but such daydreaming fantasies of murdering one's parents are the kind of thing one entertains as a child then grows out of in the normal course of one's development.

"Okay," said Vorn. "The Temple of Truth. I'll hide out there, it's the only way."

So back they went to Chi'ash-lan. While Vorn bivouacked outside the city, Sharla took their grenderstranders and ventured secretly to the Temple. She returned with two donkeys and assured Vorn that all necessary arrangements for his concealment had been made.

Disguised in the robes of a traveling mendicant, Vorn entered the city of Chi'ash-lan humbly, mounted on a donkey. Sharla, likewise disguised, led the way to the Temple of Truth. And there, in the Square of Bright Light outside the temple, they were surrounded by soldiers. The leader of those soldiers was Akiz Jakiz, otherwise known as the Master of Death.

"Stand aside, Sharla," said Akiz Jakiz.

And Sharla the Swordswoman ran for safety. The ranks of the soldiers parted, letting her through. Vorn was alone. He realized he had been betrayed. In order to see the show, Sharla scrambled up on the back of one of the stone lions which decorated the Square of Bright Light.

"You!" shouted Vorn. "It was you! You betrayed me!"

"I'm sorry, Vorn," said Sharla. "But it's just time you grew up. That's all."

"Grow up!" said Vorn wrathfully, drawing his sword. "I'll show you growing up!"

Then he launched himself upon the soldiers, meaning to fight to the death. Give me death rather than maturity! If I cannot be forever young, let me at least die young!

But the soldiers had come prepared. They had brought tridents and weighted nets, and Vorn was soon struggling helplessly on the ground. He had not been able to so much as scratch a single of his enemies. They disarmed him, they loaded him with chains, and then - with much gleeful laughter - they dragged him to the White Chamber. To the White Chamber! The very room of horror where poor Mopple the Boot had bled to death, expiring after being racked by agony for hour upon screaming hour!

Helpless on the torture bench, Vorn strained against his chains. To no avail. Out of his peripheral vision he could see glowing braziers where implements of torturer were being heated. Other instruments sat in cauldrons of bubbling, boiling water. As he was lying there, Sharla entered, a mocking grin upon her lips.

"You!" said Vorn. "How could you do this?"

"Very easily," said Sharla. "Now - it really is time you tidied yourself up. Don't struggle, or this will hurt more than it has to."

Then she produced a pair of tweezers. Ruthlessly, she grasped one of the black hairs which was protruding from Vorn's nostrils and tore it out by the roots.

"Ah!" yelled Vorn. "No! No!"

"Stop making a fuss," said Sharla. "It's uncouth to have hairs growing out of your nostrils, it makes you look like a barbarian."

"But I am a barbarian," protested Vorn.

"No, you are not a barbarian at all," said Sharla. "You are the civilized son of a very civilized family and it's time you put aside these childish games and grew up."

Then, remorselessly, she tore out all the rest of his nostril hairs, one by one.

Then Sharla departed, and Bill the Butcher - most feared man in all of Chi'ash-lan - stalked into the White Chamber. The very passage of his shadow was the stuff of nightmares. There had been times when he had haunted Vorn's nightmares, and Vorn had woken screaming. The very thought of him his bloody trade was enough to make Vorn cringe. But here he was in the flesh, in the flesh!

"Don't do it to me," begged Vorn.

"But I must," said Bill the Butcher, brisk and businesslike.

"What have I ever done to you?" said Vorn.

"You were born under one of the signs of the zodiac," said Bill the Butcher. "You were born of woman. You breathe air and you eat butter. And, besides, you chew chop bones."

"That's wrong?"

"You offend my god," said Bill the Butcher gravely.

Then he forced Vorn's mouth open with a set of mouth-forcing levers. He took a pair of tongs and seized a tooth. And tore it out by the roots. Pain tore the cosmos in half. Vorn screamed and sobbed. Then Bill the Butcher grabbed another tooth. But this one did not come so sweetly. Instead, it resisted. Sheets of white and red pain went blasting through Vorn's skull. The sweat bulged on his forehead then went skidding down his face. He screamed, helplessly. He was going to die, he was going to die of sheer agony. In a brief pause in the torture, he sobbed and begged.

"Not again," he said, "not again, no, no, I'll give you gold, diamonds, anything, just don't hurt me any more."

"Ah," said Bill the Butcher, shaking his head gravely. "I'd like to let you go, young master. But Lord Hogadarnath himself has personally charged me to do my duty."

Then he grabbed yet another tooth with the tongs. This tooth was totally rotten and immediately shattered into fragments. Vorn screamed.

"A grim business," said Bill the Butcher, seeing that the base of the tooth still clung to the jawbone.

Bill the Butcher went to work on it with a cunning set of sharpened steel tools, rooting out the last remnants of the fractured tooth. Incoherent with agony, Vorn howled. And, sometime during the procedure, fainted clean away.

When Vorn recovered, his chains were being undone. Strong men grabbed him and hauled him out of the White Chamber. Outside, he was given a hearty push. He went reeling into the sunlight and crashed into the street. Weakly, he lay there in the dust, with the hot sun beating on his back.

"Vorn," said a familiar voice. "Get up."

Vorn knew that voice. Oh yes, he knew it! It was the voice of Lord Hogadarnath, the Tyrant of Chi'ash-lan, the Chief of Destiny, the Slayer of Dogs. Groggily, Vorn got to his knees. He looked up. Lord Hogadarnath was waiting, mounted on a white horse. Seated on a second horse was Nazoora Petal, the cruelest woman in the universe. Mounted on a third horse was Sharla the Swordswoman, an empty mount beside her.

Nazoora looked down upon the brawny young man who lay sprawled in the dust.

"You," she said, "must stop gnawing chop bones."

Vorn did not answer.

"Do you hear me?" said Nazoora sharply.

"Yes," said Vorn weakly.

All the right had gone out of him.

"You are destined to inherit the Empire," said Nazoora. "Do you understand?"

"If I must," said Vorn, yielding.

He would grow old, and his paunch would swell, and colors would fade, and he would come to prefer calligraphy to copulation. The gaudy brilliance of his youthful feats would become just a memory, and in time he would come to disdain that memory. He saw it all. And he accepted. He had been defeated by his enemies, and he must accept the consequences of defeat.

"Very well," said Nazoora. "Then get up. There's not much time. We're having a banquet this evening, and you must have a bath before then."

"A bath!" said Vorn in horror, remembering the pain of the grease scrapers and the flagellating leather straps. "But I had a bath last year!"

"Exactly," said Nazoora. "Last year it was. Now stop sniveling and get on your horse."

"Yes, mother," said Vorn.

And, obediently, he got on the spare horse and, riding beside Sharla the Swordswoman, he began to follow his parents back to the Red Citadel, the ruling palace of Chi'ash-lan.

"And one more thing," said Lord Hogadarnath, as they rode along. "This nonsense has got to cease. Next time, my son, you will go to the dentist when you are told to."

"Yes, dad," said Vorn.

And began to concentrate on gathering his courage to endure the ordeal of the bath which yet awaited him.

The End

This story, "Vorn the Gladiator", was first published in Vampire Dan's Story Emporium No. 10, Winter 2000 (ed. Daniel Medici) (Syracuse, United States) (pp 33-43; 4,364 words) (fantasy). Published for a second time (first British publication) in Legend Issue 3 (received June 2001) (ed. Trevor Denyer) (Aldershot, United Kingdom, ISSN 1471-7786) (pp 13-17; unchanged 4,364 words) (fantasy).

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