Ishbosheth followed the rest of the men into the main chamber. There he had expected to meet the women, but they were nowhere to be found. Instead, Antony stood in the middle of the room with a very muscular man wearing only black pants, his arms crossed, tattoos on his biceps. Antony, who had seemed so warm and welcoming last night, now stood with his hands behind his back and a stern expression on his face. He motioned to the muscular man, "This is Stark, my prized house fighter. He's never lost a fight for me."
Stark turned and walked through an open door into an adjacent room. Once he was gone, Antony scanned the crowd of men and pointed to one of them, then motioned him with a finger to come forward. Then he pointed to the door Stark had just gone through. The man cautiously glanced at the door, back at Antony, and then, seeing the insistent look on his master's face, slowly stepped toward the door. Antony followed him through, and shut the door behind him.
Torres put his hand up in the air as he yelled, "Sit down!" The men sat as one. Behind the door they could hear cheering and the faint sound of bodies pounding together. The sounds didn't last very long at all until there was sudden loud cheering and after it died down, Antony escorted Stark back out into the main hall. Stark had blood on his knuckles.
Shortly after the two men had come out of the other room, two more men came out of the room, carrying the other man in their arms, limp and bloodied. Ishbosheth watched the men carrying the man with a bloody face out. When he looked back up at Antony he was terrified to see Antony pointing at him, motioning him to approach him. Nervously, he watched as Stark reentered the fighting room, as he stepped closer to Antony. Antony's face didn't change at all as he pointed after Stark.
Ishbosheth trudged toward the door and entered the room, with Antony following him. He was surprised. It was more like a hallway than a room. The walls on either side were very tall, the ground was sand and there were observation decks on top of both walls. The decks were filled with people, beginning to cheer as Stark reached down and rubbed some sand between his hands. Stark's back was toward Ishbosheth, and he could see that Stark had many stripes on his back from a whip.
A bell sounded and Stark spun around faster than Ishbosheth had seen anyone move. Sand flew from his hands as he began to run toward Ishbosheth, his hands open, high over his head. The crowd cheered loudly. Ishbosheth quickly ducked and ran underneath his arms. Ishbosheth turned to look at Stark, just as he spun around again, clenched his right fist and punched Ishbosheth in his left ear. Everything echoed and the world seemed to move slower for the few split seconds of travel between where Ishbosheth's head was and where it struck the wall. He blacked out.
***
Slowly his vision became unclouded. He was laying on a bed in a room he hadn't seen before. He recognized the man on his left as the one who had faced Stark just before him. Bandages covered his face, with some blood seeping through.
Everything still echoed. Ishboseth reached up and felt a thick bandage over his ear that had been struck, and an even thicker one on his right temple, where it had hit the wall. He hadn't lasted very long, yet, he spied his name on a piece of parchment on the table next to his bed. On it, it read, "Given Name: Ishbosheth. Slave Name: Dorian. Class: House Fighter."
Ishbosheth's head boomed and felt as though his eyes were being pushed out of their sockets. He laid back down and fell back asleep.
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