Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

of courage and skill. Auric had chosen to challenge the Masked Gladiator. He didn't necessarily expect to win, but if he put up a good enough fight, the crowd would very likely turn their thumbs up for him, and he would become one of the very few people who'd fought
    the Masked Gladiator and survived. Clan Chojiro would come looking for him, then.
    And besides, he might win. He had an ace up his sleeve, and everywhere else, too.
    Skye was young, extremely muscular, and almost offensively blond and handsome.
    Like the champion, he was armed only with a sword. Clan Chojiro were somewhat old-fashioned in that they didn't approve of clones or espers or any other deviants from the human norm, but they had no objections to the gifts of technology. In this case, Skye was known to have had steel plates inserted under his skin to cover all his vulnerable areas and steel webbing everywhere else. A kind of internal armor, with no weak spots. The weight slowed him down, but he had ways of dealing with that. The Masked Gladiator had never fought such an opponent before. Even so, hardly anyone was betting against him.
    Skye advanced on the champion, who bowed courteously to him. Skye broke into a lumbering run, his sword stretched out before him. His weight left deep footprints in the sand, but still his movements were eerily fluid, and he covered the intervening distance surprisingly quickly. The champion smiled inside his helm. Whatever body shop had provided Skye with his exceptional muscles had done an excellent job. The Masked Gladiator stepped forward suddenly, catching Skye by surprise, and swung Morgana round in a whistling arc.
    Skye couldn't get his sword up in time, and the double-handed blow slammed into the side of his neck. The blow would have decapitated anyone else, but Skye just stood there and took it.
    He grunted softly at the impact and lurched one step to one side, but he had his balance back in a moment, and his free hand shot up to grab Morgana's blade. His
    bare hand closed on the steel like a vice, and the Gladiator had to use all his strength to pull the blade free. It emerged jerkily from Skye's fist, the sharp edges slicing through the skin only to grate against the steel webbing beneath it. Skye grinned quickly, ignoring the pain and the blood from his hand and neck, and brought his own sword up in a dazzlingly swift thrust at the Gladiator's gut. The champion blocked the blow as though he'd known it was coming, but had to fall back a step to do so. Skye pressed forward, and the Gladiator backed away. The crowd couldn't believe it.
    The champion quickly turned the retreat into a circular motion, and the two men circled each other, looking for an opening. Skye charged forward, and the two swords rang loudly as they slammed together again and again. Skye had the advantage in weight and strength, but the champion had the edge in skill. Again and again he turned aside blows that seemed unstoppable, but try as he might, he was unable to mount a counterattack. Skye wouldn't allow him the time or the space, pressing home his attacks with unflagging energy. The champion doubted Skye could maintain the attack for long, but then, he probably wouldn't have to.
    The Gladiator only had to make one mistake, and the match would be over.
    Unfortunately for Skye, the Gladiator didn't believe in making mistakes.
    Choosing his moment carefully, he stepped inside Skye's blows and launched a blistering attack. Morgana seemed to fly at Skye from every direction at once.
    He blocked most of the blows, but some got through. Morgana cut him again and again, but to the crowd's loud astonishment, he didn't go down. Wherever Morgana pierced flesh, it found only steel plates or webbing. Hardly any blood flowed, and Skye's face never flinched once. He and pain had become old friends in the process that had given him his internal armor. And then the Gladiator was just a little too slow in pulling back from a lunge, and Skye's spare hand shot out
    inhumanly quickly and closed on the champion's arm. Muscles bulged, and Skye threw the Masked Gladiator thirty feet across the Arena.
    He landed hard and rolled quite a way, but was back on his feet in a moment.
    Behind the featureless steel helm he could have been panting or scowling or grimacing with pain, but his stance was firm and his sword arm was steady. Skye lurched into a run again, building momentum like a runaway truck. The Gladiator shook himself once, as though to settle