Previously On Clarkus Maximus:
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.
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Clark closed his eyes, awaiting the blow that would end his life. His head swam and he couldn't move against the shaky lightheadedness that had overtaken him. He felt frozen to the spot, as if his limbs no longer wished to obey his commands. He pictured Lois in his mind's eye, determined that, one way or another, she would be the last thing he would see before he died.
The blow he was expecting never came.
A hand came into his view as he hesitantly opened his eyes. He followed the hand with his eyes, up to the arm to which it was attached. From the arm, his eyes traveled to the body, neck, and finally face of the hand's owner. A snarling tigress face greeted him, though the eyes looked strangely familiar.
"It's me, Clark." The words were so low that he nearly missed them over the confused murmurs of the spectators in the stands.
"Xena?" he asked, the final pieces of memory locking into place.
Xena gave a minuscule smile and winked. Clark took her hand and she helped him to his feet. Clark glanced around, noting Alar's sprawled out body.
"Is he dead?" Clark asked, half fearing the answer.
"No. But when he wakes up, he'll have a headache so bad that he'll wish that he was." There was a note of satisfaction in her voice. "Stay close. Things are about to get ugly."
"I'll try."
"I want them both dead!" Caesar roared at his warriors, his voice shaking with rage. "Ten thousand dinars to the centurion who brings me their heads!"
A dozen armed warriors burst into the arena. Xena took a defensive stance, poised to strike at a moment's notice.
"Come on boys," she beckoned the warriors towards her. "Come and get me!"
Her sword was before her, the sunlight glinting from the sharp blade. The first of the men reached Xena. His blade met hers in a shower of sparks. She forced him back a step, then landed a swift kick to his midsection. The man crumpled to the ground with a grunt. A second kick to his head knocked him out completely. Two more reached Xena. She stamped her foot down on the tip of the fallen warrior's sword, flipping it up into her outstretched hand. She brought both swords up and deftly parried the blows that were aimed at her. She slashed at both of the men, dealing matching gashes to their shoulders. She thrust her blades behind her, impaling the two men who had been rushing at her back. They fell to the ground, blood gushing from their guts and forming twin pools of sticky crimson on the ground. They were dead before their heads hit the dirt.
The warriors with the wounded shoulders were up once more. Xena jumped straight up, flipped, and landed a heavy booted foot into their chests. The men flew backwards a couple of feet, landing painfully on their backs. In an instant, Xena was on them, her blades piercing their hearts.
From across the arena, one of the warriors hurled a spear at her. Xena tossed the extra sword at a centurion. It struck home in his throat. In the same fluid motion, Xena easily caught the spear, flipped it, and sent it hurtling back across the arena floor. The barbed end caught the man in his right shoulder. He was pinned against the wall. Another spear went flying towards Xena. It landed a foot from her, the end buried into the dirt. Xena ignored the spear for the time being.
Another warrior rushed Xena from behind. She brought her right fist up sharply. The man's nose broke as he collided with her hand. Before he could fall, she grabbed him by the collar and flipped him over her shoulder to the ground before her. With the hilt of her sword, she knocked the man out cold. She grabbed another man by his arm. Again using the hilt of her sword, she struck the limb. There was a dry crack as the bone broke. A swift kick to the centurion's leg broke those bones as well.
Another warrior rushed at Xena. She pulled her long knife, ducked into a roll, and jammed it into his thigh. Screaming, the man went down. A punch to his head ensured that he would not be rising again for quite some time. Xena pulled the knife from the man's leg and sent it flying at another man. The knife embedded itself into the middle of the man's forehead, piercing his brain and killing him instantly.
Clark, meanwhile, had managed to wrest another trident from one of the warriors. He swung it at the man he'd taken it from. The trident cracked across the men's head, sending him into unconsciousness. Clark panted with the effort and used the trident to lean on. His earlier wooziness came crashing back as his overall energy reserve depleted.
"Are you all right?" Xena asked, barely glancing in Clark's direction.
"Not really," he admitted as he brought the shaft of the trident sharply up into one of the centurion's groins.
"Well, just hang in as best as you can," Xena offered, as she brought her elbow into the chest of her current attacker.
"Like I have a choice?" Clark asked wryly. He stuck the trident out to the side, clothes-lining a centurion in his throat.
Centurions now closed in on all sides. Xena edged closer to Clark, so that her back was against his back. The spear that had embedded into the ground earlier was right before Xena.
"When I tell you to, duck," she instructed Clark.
"What?"
"Now!"
Clark threw himself to the ground as Xena threw down her sword, point first into the dirt, and lunged for the spear. She caught the shaft as she propelled herself forward, then used the spear to swing her body around in a circle. She let out a war cry as her feet lifted off of the ground and connected with each of the men who had encircled her and Clark. Centurions went flying in every direction. After a moment, she let go of the spear, flipping twice as she landed on her feet by her fallen sword. She snatched the weapon up again as a fresh wave of centurions took to the arena.
"Is this the best you can do?" she taunted the centurions.
Clark forced his weakening, disoriented body up off of the ground. He glanced at Xena, noting the feral grin that she wore. Her eyes sparkled with battle lust and she was actually laughing as she beckoned the new warriors forward. Clark realized with a start that Xena was enjoying the fight; she'd been laughing for a lot of the fight. She was completely within her element, doing what she did best. Clark wasn't sure whether he should be grateful for that fact or if it should make his blood run cold.
Quickly, Clark put his back to Xena's. He helped to knock out a few more warriors before another dizzy spell took him to his knees. Once more, his vision went in and out of focus. He retched violently in the dirt and a cold sweat broke out over his body. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of fighting; the harsh clangs as metal met metal, the sharp thuds of falling bodies, grunts of pain, screams of death, and Xena's grim laughter.
Long minutes passed as Clark fought to master himself. At last, the dizziness passed and he forced himself to stand. He looked around once he was back on his feet. At least a dozen centurions lay dead, their bodies sprawled in every direction. Another twenty or so lay about in various states of consciousness and with a variety of wounds. Clark had no doubt that some of those wounded soldiers would be dead by that night. The spectators in the stands had never ceased their ruckus. Clark could hear cheers mingled with boos.
"Enough!"
The voice rang out over the arena, silencing most of the crowd. Clark's head snapped up to the balcony. He would know that voice anywhere.
"Tempus," he growled.
"Archers!" Caesar cried, in a desperate attempt to appease the time traveler masquerading as a god.
All around the front of the arena, archers took their places and fitted arrows to their bows. Clark could hear the creaking of the bows as they were drawn. The first arrows were released with a twang. Xena dropped, rolled, and grabbed at one of the dead centurion's shields. She brought the heavy shield up just in time to deflect the arrows. Some skipped harmlessly off of the thick metal. The rest embedded themselves into the shield and surrounding dirt.
Clark cried out in pain.
Xena had deflected all of the bolts except for one.
That bolt had pierced Clark's ill-fitting armor where his right shoulder met his chest.
Xena turned towards the source of that arrow. Tempus stood on the balcony next to Caesar, fitting another bolt into a crossbow.
He took aim even as Xena's eyes searched him out. Xena's hand shot to her breastplate, pulling out the dagger that lay hidden beneath the metal. She brought her arm back, then snapped it forward as Tempus squeezed down on the trigger of the crossbow. Tempus saw what was coming even as Xena drew her arm back in preparation to let fly the dagger. He dropped his bow and touched his time window. In a flash of light, he was gone. An instant later, the dagger struck the wall that he had been standing against. It was buried to the hilt from the force of Xena's throw.
The arrow that Tempus had let fly came screaming at Clark's chest.
Xena reached out a hand and deftly caught the bolt, seconds before it could pierce Clark's chest and heart. Clark let out a sigh of relief, then swayed on his feet and went down on his knees, as pain and illness crashed in on him.
Xena gave a sharp whistle. A moment later, Argo burst into the arena from one of the access tunnels. Xena mounted in a flash, then bent and grabbed Clark under his armpits, hauling him up to sit before her on the horse's back. She had a moment of difficulty due to his dense molecular structure, which made him heavier than he appeared to be. Luckily, Clark was able to help her, though he sagged forward as soon as he was seated in the saddle. Gently, Xena pulled him backwards so that his back rested against her chest, then threaded her arms around his body to hold him steady and to grab the reigns. She loosed a war cry as she spurred the mare into a dead gallop.
Panic broke out in the stands. Spectators screamed and fell over one another as they tried to make their way to the exits. Surely the crazed gladiator woman would come for them next.
Lois and Gabrielle were swept up in a current of bodies. Lois did note, with immense satisfaction, that the swell of panicked spectators was making it all but impossible for the rest of the centurions to get out of the arena. For the first time, she felt as if they were in the clear. Still, she could not stop thinking about the arrow that Clark had taken in his shoulder. And, there was his strange behavior on the field. They had been sitting close enough to the front for Lois to see that Clark was weak and unsteady, and not from exertion in the fight. Her heart thudding in her chest like a blacksmith's hammer in a forge, she allowed Gabrielle to grab her wrist and pull her through the crowd to their horses.
Not long after, they were free from the fleeing crowd and making their way back down the streets to the inn. They forced themselves to keep the horses to a trot, so as not to draw attention to themselves. It seemed to take forever to reach the inn, at least to Lois.
As soon as she dismounted and let a stable boy take the chestnut gelding, Lois was racing up the stairs to their rooms. She burst in through the door, breathless. Gabrielle was moments behind her.
Lois nearly cried as she took in the sight of Clark. He was laying on one of the beds, his eyes closed. He was covered in sweat, dirt, and blood. He'd taken a few hits from the centurions. One long, bleeding gash ran nearly the entire length of his left arm. Three others marred his right arm. His skin was ashen. He'd lost some weight too. Lois guessed that fifteen or twenty pounds must have slipped from his body in the time they had been apart. Dark circles ringed his chocolate brown eyes, which snapped open at her strangled gasp.
Clark managed a weak smile for Lois. It wasn't his usual thousand watt smile, but, to Lois, it still lit up the room.
"Lois," he said, joy dueling against the pain in his voice.
"Gabrielle, get a fire going," Xena instructed, as she tore strips of cloth.
Gabrielle bent in front of the small hearth in the room and began to get a fire going. Without being asked, she stuck a poker into the flames, once the fire grew to a sizable blaze. She poured water from a dented, silver ewer that was in dire need of polishing into a wide bowl.
Xena gently worked the armor from Clark's body, undoing the buckles and straps that held the breastplate in place. Clark winced as she broke the red feathered end of the arrow off. He winced again as she removed the piece of armor completely, sliding it up over broken shaft. She took a small knife and cut away the thin leather jerkin and cloth tunic that he wore beneath his armor. Lois nearly cried as she saw the yellow-purple skin of his chest as the clothing came away. It was as if his entire chest were one big bruise.
"What did they do to you?" Lois whispered in horror.
"The arrow has gone almost completely through you," Xena said gently to Clark, overriding Lois. "I'll need to push the arrowhead out through your back. It's the easiest way. Ready?"
Clark drew a deep breath and gave one sharp nod.
"Get the poker," Xena said over her shoulder to Gabrielle, as she helped Clark to sit up in the bed. "Hold him steady," she told Lois.
Lois stepped to Clark's side and helped him to remain sitting. Xena gripped what was left of the arrow's shaft. With a grunt of effort, pushed it all the way through Clark's shoulder, until the barbed point poked out of the back of him. Xena snapped the arrowhead off, and Clark winced. Xena then grabbed the arrow from the front and began to pull the rest of the shaft free of his body. Lois paled as she watched the scene play out. Clark grunted in pain, refusing to allow himself to scream, though tears flowed from the corners of his eyes. At last, the wooden shaft came free of his body and his blood began to flow faster. Gabrielle handed Xena the poker, and the warrior woman used it to cauterize the wound. As the scorching metal touched his flesh, Clark did scream out.
Lois stepped back as Xena eased Clark back so that he could lay down once more. She watched as Xena took the bowl of cool water and dipped a rag into it. With infinite tenderness, she cleaned the wound and surrounding skin. Satisfied, she gently used one of the strips of cloth to bandage the wound. She did the same for the wound on his arm.
Clark marveled at way Xena handled his wounds. He could scarcely believe how gentle her touch had been after he'd seen those very same hands maim and kill with such ease.
"How did you know what to do?" Lois asked. "You never said anything about being a doctor."
"I'm not a healer in the usual sense of the word, no," Xena agreed as she tied the bandage on Clark's arm. "But I have many skills. I've spent a lot of time healing on the battlefield. It comes with the territory when you've lived the life that I have. Now, Clark, tell me about these other symptoms you're having."
"It all started last night after they fed me," Clark said, his voice still thick with residual pain. "I feel weak, disoriented, my vision keeps going blurry, cold sweats, headaches, nausea...," his voice trailed off. "I felt a little better this morning when I woke up, but it came back after they gave me some water to drink."
Xena frowned and alarm grew in Lois. "What's wrong?" Lois asked.
Xena sighed and her voice took on a hard edge. "Whoever had Clark wanted to make sure that he lost today. He's been poisoned."
To Be Continued...
