Previously On Clarkus Maximus: Clark self consciously undressed and slipped into the tub on the left when directed to. He kept his back to where the veteran fighters were. He focused only on scrubbing away the layers of dirt, grime, and dried blood that covered his aching body. He savored the feel of the hot water on his tired and throbbing muscles. The thrill of a hot bath was short lived, however. Giron gave a signal and the prisoners were forced out of the baths.
Once the men were dressed, they were led back to their cells and let out of their restraints. Food was brought to them, the prisoners that were to fight the next day receiving better meals than those who would not be taken to the arena. Clark's eyes widened and his heart was grateful as he eyed his plate. Thick slices of venison, three small red potatoes, half of a loaf of bread, a thin soup, and a mug of cold water. It seemed a veritable feast. He ate with renewed strength.
By the time he had finished, however, he wasn't feeling right. He felt somehow weaker and more disoriented. A headache grew - a stabbing pain that felt as if it was right behind his eyes. He felt nauseous. A cold sweat broke out on his brow and he shivered despite the summer heat.
Worried lines creased Ren's brow. He called for the guards to help Clark, but his pleas were only laughed at or ignored completely.
With an effort, Clark laid on his bench in a nearly fetal position, too sick to keep his eyes open.
*****************************
Author's Note: Much thanks goes to KenJ for his help in constructing a realistic gladiator battle! KenJ, you rock! 
*****************************
"So what did you find out?" Gabrielle asked as Xena slipped back into the room in the inn that she and Lois were sharing. The place was called The Lion's Mane and was a neatly kept place a few blocks from the docks, though poorly furnished.
"The gladiator games are starting tomorrow," Xena sighed as she sat on the edge of Gabrielle's narrow bed.
"Starting?" Lois echoed. "What does that mean?"
"I overheard some centurions talking while I was out. Caesar's festival is going on for seven days."
"Let me guess," Lois sighed unhappily. "Every day has fights scheduled."
"You catch on fast," Xena said, with a hint of amused approval.
Lois had undergone a change since they had finally disembarked the ship. The panic that she'd been prone to had vanished. A cold determination had settled over her. This close to finding Clark, Mad Dog Lane had taken control. She was still worried about her husband, but confidence had grown in her. She truly believed that Xena would be able to save him.
"So who has him?" Gabrielle asked.
"I don't know," Xena admitted, guilt and frustration in her voice. She shook her head, annoyed with the lack of information that she'd gotten. "No one is talking. And, let's face it, the folks in this part of the city wouldn't be likely to know anything anyway. No one living in this section has the means to buy slaves, so they wouldn't bother with the auction house. The gladiator traders, however, are very wealthy. They don't live in this part of the city, and it's getting too late to track down where their villas and compounds are."
"What about the auction house?" Lois asked. "We could find it and slip inside to..."
Xena raised a hand to cut Lois off. "I already checked there. The place was empty. Everyone's preparing for the festival."
"What about records?" Lois asked, her investigative instincts taking over. She itched to be doing something proactive.
Xena shook her head. "I broke into the owner's office. Whoever that person is must keep the records with him. The office was empty except for old ledgers from years past."
Lois frowned. "No leads at all?"
Xena shook her head once more. "We'll have to go through with our original plan. You remember what we rehearsed?"
Lois nodded. "I just hope they buy it."
"That's why Gabrielle is going to do most of the talking. It's her strong point and I know that she can pull the act off."
"Hey!" Lois protested. "I've pulled off my fair share of cover stories before. Including passing myself off as a man to break into an all-male club."
"I'm sure you have," Xena said gently. "But this world isn't like yours. These people won't hesitate to kill you if any suspicions are raised. Plus, Gabrielle and I have used this ruse before. She knows the drill."
"All right," Lois relented. "I trust your judgment."
"Good. Now get some sleep. The games start early and we have to be there even earlier." Xena rose and opened the door.
"But how do we know that Clark will even be there tomorrow?" Lois voiced her concern before she even realized that she was speaking.
Xena turned, her hand still on the doorknob. "The centurions I eavesdropped on were talking about tomorrow's games. Caesar is kicking things off with amateur fights. With what you've told me about this Tempus guy, I'd bet good dinars that he's found a way to ensure that Clark will fight in the arena tomorrow." With that, the warrior princess was out the door, closing it softly behind her.
Lois found sleep to be elusive for a long time that night. Anticipation about what the next day would bring fueled her thoughts and robbed her of sleep. Would Clark really be there tomorrow? Would their plan to free him work? What if they failed? What if Xena couldn't get to Clark on time? Would Tempus be there? If he was, would he spot her and raise the alarm?
Finally, around midnight, exhaustion overtook her and she slept. The sleep was not restful though. Lois was once more plagued by nightmares. She awoke once in early pre-dawn hours, tears wetting her cheeks, her entire body shaking with fright. Tattered remnants of her nightmare fluttered and snapped at the edges of her mind. She'd dreamt of a shredded and bloodied Superman cape. She could see Tempus gloating above it while lightning flickered in the cloudy gray sky above and thunder cracked loudly in the distance. As Tempus laughed over his victory, it began to rain and he pushed his booted foot down on the ruined cape, pressing it further and further into the muddy ground.
When morning finally came, Lois' stomach was twisted in anxiety. Part of her wondered if her nightmare had come strictly from her own distraught mind or if Morpheus, the god of dreams, had decided to torment her during the night. With an effort, she pushed aside the thought and forced herself to try and forget the vivid nightmare. She ate a hurried breakfast, which she did not taste at all, then dressed in the wine colored dress that Gabrielle had purchased for her in Kratos. Gabrielle helped her with the veil. In a polished bronze mirror, Lois took in her appearance, and noted with satisfaction that the thin material managed to obscure most of her facial features. Tempus would need to be right on top of her to recognize her.
Better than putting on a pair of glasses, she thought ruefully to herself. A small, sad smile touched her lips as she thought of Clark.
She and Gabrielle met with Xena in the stable that stood next to the inn. The warrior woman was unrecognizable in the new armor that they'd purchased as a disguise. Her dark leathers had been replaced with deep red ones, bringing to mind the red of the centurion uniforms. Her golden armor was polished and brilliantly reflected the sunlight. The snarling tigress helm obscured her features, allowing only her piercing blue eyes and her mouth to be seen. Her sword was sheathed and slung across her back, the hilt sticking up above her right shoulder, as she usually wore the weapon. A long knife hung at her left hip. A breast dagger was hidden beneath the shining breastplate that she wore. She did not wear her chakram. The unique weapon was known far and wide. Though Caesar had never seen it himself, Xena was sure that he had at least heard of it. To carry the weapon would be to blow their carefully constructed plans.
A beautiful picture of violence, Lois thought to herself, as she silently appraised Xena. The thought surprised her.
They mounted the horses and made their way through the streets, following the steady stream of people headed to the Coliseum. It was still very early, but the gladiator fights were taken seriously. Everyone wanted to get a good seat, as close to the action and blood as possible. Lois and Gabrielle rode in a side-saddle fashion, as they were posing as women of wealth. It would be unseemly for them to straddle the saddle between their thighs. Xena, however, rode in a regular fashion, as she was acting as a slave and gladiator.
They halted as they approached a side entrance. Two centurions stood guard. Most of the gladiator owners were well known to the guards. They simply nodded to one another as the chained fighters were shuffled through the arch and into the arena. Those who were not known to the guards were stopped and questioned. Names were checked off on a piece of parchment.
The older of the two centurions put up a hand to halt Lois, Xena, and Gabrielle as they approached. His uniform suggested that he was a captain of the guards.
"Whoa there," he commanded. "You are not known to us. State your names and business."
"My name is Mimosa," Gabrielle said, in as haughty a voice as she could muster. "And this is my sister..." she faltered a moment, grasping for a name.
"Sangria," Lois supplied, mentally smiling at how easily she'd come up with the name.
"We have travelled far in hopes of entering our gladiator into the games here in Rome. The great Caesar is known throughout the world as having the finest of fights here in this arena."
"These fights are by invitation only," the man said. "You may watch the fights, if you wish. But no one fights unless it is by Caesar's command. And Caesar has not requested that your warrior fight today."
"Then
ask for permission for our gladiator to fight," Gabrielle pressed, before the guard could turn them away. "I assure you that she will not disappoint."
The centurion eyed Xena with speculation. "Why? What's so special about this fighter?"
"Well," Gabrielle said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial tone, "it has been my understanding that Caesar has always wished for an
Amazon to fight in his arena."
Lois was impressed at how easily the lies dripped from Gabrielle's tongue. Xena was not, nor had she ever been, one of the Amazons.
The centurion looked at Xena with renewed interest. "And by what name does your gladiator go by?"
"We just call her Blade," Lois said, her tone conveying that their slave was unworthy of a true name. She gave a long, drawn out sigh. "Come, Mimosa," she said in a bored tone. "If there is no interest in having Blade fight in this arena, we will find a more worthy setting."
Gabrielle nodded and made ready to turn her horse around.
"No, wait, please," the centurion asked, suddenly unwilling to let them leave. He was picturing the praise he would receive if Caesar chose to have the woman fight. Gabrielle stilled her horse once more.
He sent the younger guard running with the news that an Amazon gladiator was being offered to fight in the games. Long minutes passed. The horses stomped and snorted impatiently. Lois felt a tiny trickle of sweat roll down her back, though the day was cloudy and a cool, refreshing breeze was blowing. She wondered, suddenly, if Xena was hot in her armor. She shot a discreet glance at the woman, but Xena was sitting motionless on Argo.
Finally, the young guard returned, panting and red faced from his run. "The great Caesar...wishes...for the...Amazon...to fight." He choked out the words in heavy, halting gasps.
The older guard moved to one side and motioned for the three women to ride on through. Once inside, they dismounted and liveries took their horses to a corral. Xena followed the groups of gladiators to where they would sit on the sidelines, awaiting their turn. Each warrior was locked in a cage while they waited. Lois and Gabrielle turned another way and made their way into the stands. They purposefully chose seats as close to one of the exits as possible. Lois looked on with disgust as the spectators placed bets with wandering officials of the arena.
Soon enough, trumpets blared. The crashing sea of voices surrounding Lois came to a lull and then utter silence. The men taking the bets stopped in place. Old women put down their knitting. Lois looked towards the balcony at the far end of the arena. She had to turn her head slightly to the left in order to see it clearly, since they were not directly across the way from it. She could see a tall, handsome young man in rich white and crimson robes step out onto the balcony. A circlet of golden laurel leaves encircled his head. He raised his hands, palms out towards the gathered crowd.
"Citizens of Rome," he began, his strong, rich voice carrying easily over the arena.
"That's Caesar," Gabrielle whispered into Lois' ear.
"Really?" Lois mouthed silently. The man looked far too young to be the world's most powerful leader. In fact, he was probably a couple of years younger than Clark was.
Gabrielle nodded.
"I bid you welcome to this auspicious event," Caesar continued. "Now is a time to rejoice in the prosperity of Rome. The gods have indeed smiled on this fair city of ours, and on our righteous warriors who battle in foreign lands to extend our power. As you know, for three long years we have battled in the provinces of Gaul. And now, two of the three provinces belong to us! It will not be long now before the third province falls!"
There was a burst of excited cheers in the gathered crowd. Lois' eyes skimmed the massed people. There didn't seem to be a free seat in the entire place. Lois moved her eyes back to the balcony. There was a flash of silver in the darkened archway behind Caesar's throne. She leaned in to whisper to Gabrielle.
"I think Tempus is here."
Gabrielle nodded so slightly that Lois nearly missed it. "I saw the flash."
On the balcony, Caesar paused, his eyes roving over the entire Coliseum. He smiled a self satisfied grin.
"Let the games begin!"
A centurion entered into the arena to the blare of trumpets. "Our first fight today pits two amateur fighters against one another. Ren the Young and Tydus the Violent!" He exited as soon as the announcement was made.
The two fighters were forced onto the field at sword point. Lois watched in horror as the two men were handed weapons. Tydus rushed at Ren, beginning the fight. The fight took longer than Lois had expected. Ren took a bad gash across his head, the red blood flowing into his eyes and dripping into the dirt of the arena. The crowd went wild as the bloodshed began. Tydus rushed him again, and Ren reflexively raised his hands to protect himself. Tydus was impaled on the short sword that Ren had been given to fight with.
Ren dropped his sword, horrified, then promptly passed out from his wound. The crowd screamed in pleasure. Two guards hooked Ren under his armpits and dragged him from the arena. Lois watched as the man was brought to a healer, who roughly bound the gash on the fighter's head. Ren was then locked back into his cage, still unconscious. Tydus' body was dragged off the field, much to the delight of the onlookers.
The same centurion reentered the field. "Our next fight pits Alar the Cruel against Clarkus Maximus!" He turned on his heel and strode from the arena floor.
Lois gasped and her heart leapt into her throat. She clutched Gabrielle's hand. Mad Dog Lane had vanished once more, leaving only a frightened Lois behind. She chanced a glance at the balcony where Caesar sat, presiding over the fights. His attention was focused on the two men entering the field. Behind him, with a smug smile on his face, stood Tempus.
From her cage, Xena watched as Clark was forced to take to the field. She redoubled her efforts in trying to break out of it. Every eye was fixed on the arena floor. No one noticed as she worked her dagger into the metal lock, working the inner mechanisms.
Clark was handed a net and a trident as he stepped into the arena. He was wearing black leathers, over which he wore a dull silver breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves. The armor was less ill-fitting than what he'd been forced to wear at Tersius' compound. Even so, the breastplate fit too tightly across his pectorals and too loosely across his stomach. A dull silver helm with long cheek guards and a heavy nose guard completed his ensemble.
Alar wielded a large battle axe, and his left arm was protected by an armored sleeve. Clark tightened his grip on the trident and clutched it defensively before him. He wasn't sure that he was comfortable with the unfamiliar weapon. Alar eyed him and grinned a smile that was missing several teeth. Clark eyed his opponent intently. The man he faced was easily twice as broad as he was and well outweighed him. His arms and legs looked more like tree trunks than human limbs. Scars crisscrossed his bulging biceps. Clark planted his feet and took a defensive stance, just as Ching had taught him. Briefly, he wondered if Ching's instructions would be helpful against such mismatched weapons.
Alar lunged at Clark with speed and agility that belied his hulking form. He swung the broad axe above his head and down before him. Clark brought his trident up, catching the axe between the tines. Alar twisted his wrists to allow the axe to continue its motion. Clark, however, used the momentum against Alar, forcing the axe head to become buried in the floor of the arena. While Alar paused to pull the axe free, Clark used the base of the trident shaft to strike Alar in the chest, causing the large man to stumble back a few steps. Taking advantage, Clark repeated the motion, jamming his trident shaft into the man's midsection, but the heavy breastplate stopped the weapon from doing much damage. Alar quickly regained his footing and Clark had to jump back as Alar swung the axe at his chest. The blade missed him by a hairsbreadth.
Clark swung his net in a low arc, catching Alar in his legs. The huge man stumbled forward a step, then regained his balance as he escaped the net's embrace. Clark sidestepped as Alar swung the axe at Clark's own knees. He swung his trident, the solid wood of the shaft connecting with a thud against Alar's unprotected right shoulder. Alar's lips curled up in a snarl. Clark twisted the trident in his hands, bringing the sharp tines up. He knew that if he could disable Alar's right arm, he might have a chance. Perhaps Alar wasn't as adept at fighting with his encumbered left arm. Alar raised the axe once more, cleaving the air between the men. But Alar's aim was off in his rage and the injuries that Clark had inflicted with the trident. The blade sunk harmlessly into the dirt. Clark didn't stop moving. He brought his trident across Alar's back, earning another snarl of pain and rage.
Sweat poured from Clark. Weakness and dizziness were threatening to overtake him. He recognized the symptoms as matching what he had felt the night before in his cell. He was certain that he wasn't sick, though he had limited experience in being ill. And the symptoms did not match what he usually felt when there was Kryptonite around. His vision was moving in and out of sharpness. At times, Alar seemed to split into two distinct people. Clark gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue fighting, knowing that if he stopped for a second, it would be the last thing that he would ever do.
Alar was moving again, his axe above his head. He brought the weapon down in a swift stroke. Clark barely had time to raise his trident. This time, however, Clark was only able to deflect the blow, failing to catch the axe in the tines. Clark nearly dropped the trident in surprise as he jumped backwards. His astonishment lasted only for a split second. A determined glint flickered in Clark's eye. In a flash, he brought the haft of the trident into Alar's unprotected shoulder, earning a grunt of pain from the hardened gladiator. Clark's eyes widened as he realized that he was, in fact, causing damage to the man's right arm. Clark used the man's momentary loss of concentration to his advantage. Mustering his strength, Clark brought the solid wood of the trident's shaft into the right side of Alar's neck.
A look of shock passed over Alar's features. The battle axe slipped from his hands. Clark swiftly bent down to grab the axe and toss it aside. But Alar recovered too quickly and reached the axe first. Clark's mind raced. He wanted to subdue his opponent without bloodshed, if at all possible. He thought that if he could ensnare Alar with the net or disarm him by entangling the axe in the tines of the trident again, he could win without killing or maiming the gladiator.
A severe wave of dizziness crashed over his body even as his thoughts raced. For just a second, Clark faltered. Alar took advantage. With a swift, swooping kick, Alar brought his foot across the back of Clark's knees. Clark was unable to stop himself from collapsing onto his hands and knees in the dirt. Alar laughed cruelly, then kicked aside the trident that Clark had dropped. Alar raised his axe, ready to strike the blow that would sever Clark's head from his body.
To Be Continued....
