The sun beat down upon the arena. Thousands lay in wait, talking and laughing and placing wagers in anticipation of the hopefully colossal fight that was about to come. So little they knew about what was really to come. Had they known, they might not have come at all - or perhaps they would have upped their wagers on the one that would come be called the true champion, one who had not only killed his opponent but slaughtered a dozen guards and more in a bold and successful escape attempt that would leave a bounty on his head so large kings would want him dead...or so the tales would soon say, at any rate.

The noise was already deafening, for many had come to witness the battle in which Talnash the Large would destroy yet another opponent. It was a wonder that he had been kept as a slave at all, and perhaps he might have escaped as well had he been able to do what his opponent would soon do: kill the sorcerer that had captured and enslaved him. But it soon got even louder as the guards brought weapons out. First there was the flail, and then the pike; both got uproarious cheers and applause. The big-gutted guard holding the weapons grinned; his mishapen beard was dirty and had bits of food in it from his noonday meal, and his yellowed teeth were black in spots and so filthy one might have thought he could kill just by breathing on you. He held up a broadsword and a greatsword as well, but they were both booed. A massive battleaxe was cheered. A glaive was not. Several other weapons were approved or denied by the spectators before the guard finally shuffled off the field and out of the arena. Then came the competitors.

What was deafening before was nothing to what the noise in the arena was now as Talnash the Large stalked into the arena. Powerful he was, and so large he blotted out the sun for any guards standing near him - though none were stupid enough to, of course.

But his opponent was almost as large as he, if not in the same manner. For Talnash was not a giant, but he was a giant of a man; he was a barbarian from a tribe deep in the heart of the mountains. But Antaneas Redpike was no man. Men feared him. Men didn't go anywhere near him. It was only the sorcerer that watched him, for he was the only one who could control him if he were to escape - or so it was believed. You see, Antaneas Redpike was a naga warlord. His great tail was ten feet long and as green as a jungle vine. He didn't walk as a man did, for he was a snake from the waist down; he slithered into the arena slowly, purposefully, a look of one that has held a silent rage for a long time upon his squarish face.

Both combatants were shackled by the arms, but only Antaneas did not wear leg shackles; he did not have legs. The gladiators placed themselves in circles of rocks marking their places for them. The battle was soon to begin. Already, the naga was getting the blunt end of the hoots and hollers. He was not very popular, and even if he had been, it was Talnash that was receiving the cheers today. The sorcerer smiled and called out his final words:

"LET THE BATTLE - BEGIN!!"

Both combatants rushed toward the weapons in the middle of the arena, the flail closest to Talnash and the pike closest to Antaneas. Antaneas reached the pike first, and he was thus in a position to launch a powerful strike against Talnash. Talnash rolled to avoid the blow and came up with a flail. Then they clashed at last.

As Talnash came up from his defensive roll, the flail came up in a broad swing with him that was deflected by Antaneas' pike blade. Fluidly as a river, Antaneas came around with the pike again to take full advantage of the seeming momentary weakness of the failed strike from his opponent - only to have the pike blade driven hard into the sand beneath the combatants by the overhead swing from the flail that had used the deflection's momentum to come around just as fluidly as Antaneas' own strike. But Antaneas was far from finished as the flail came up again to take off his head. He used the muscles of his tail to propel himself up and to the side. Then he came down on Talnash's other side and tried to wrap his coils around him. Talnash knew this trick well, for he had faced off against (and killed) several land nagas, and so he leaped high above the coils using his own heavily-muscled spring-like legs. He landed on the other side and quickly had to whirl and duck as the pike came his way. Then his flail caught the pike's blade and ripped it from the grasp of the naga. He laughed triumpantly though his own weapon was nearly ripped out of his hands by the force of his attack, and then proceeded to attack Antaneas again - but Antaneas dodged and fled, heading for the axe. Indeed, when he came about, he was wielding a massive battle axe even larger than the pike had been.

Talnash realized his peril only at the last minute and nearly lost an arm trying to get away from the downward-slash of the axe. As it was, he screamed in pain and anger at having his shoulder nearly ripped from his body; a deep, wide, bloody gash remained where the axe had struck him. His left arm was still functional, but barely, and he picked up a short war hammer to defend himself with. But how could one defend himself against an attack that could blast through most shields? It was in fact quite difficult, especially since each missed attacked threw up huge clouds of sand that made the battlefield from above look like a sandstorm was raging down below. This, however, only made the spectators roar even louder with their cheers, egging on the combatants - particularly Talnash, the resident hero of the ring it seemed - and place even higher wagers on the battle. Finally, metal clinked on metal as the flail head went flying; the chain had been cleanly severed by the axe blade and the reverse attack forced Talnash to fly backward to avoid it. He threw the hammer spike-first at the naga's head, but Antaneas dodged it easily and rushed forward. He only barely missed Talnash, throwing him to the ground with the force of his earth-striking blow, and watched with a sneer as the puny human scrambled away in terror.

When the dust had settled, both combatants were once again armed - Antaneas still with the two-handed battle axe and Talnash with an equally massive double-axe - a very deadly weapon indeed. It seemed that a chain-blade had made its way over near Talnash, though - probably due to the immense blows striking the ground - and he now picked it up with a grin as filthy as the one worn by the guard that had brought out the weapons at the beginning of this gruesome match. It also seemed that Talnash had uttered some kind of healing spell, for now his wound was altogether gone and his arm looked almost as though it was merely exhausted - not freshly repaired after being nearly cleaved from Talnash's body.

Fool, Antaneas scowled. Nagas you may have slain, but I will kill you today.

Though he could not have, it was almost as though Talnash had peered into Antaneas' thoughts, for suddenly he returned Antaneas' scowl with one of his own and rushed forward with a scream. Antaneas readied himself. He was too quick for his opponent as he rushed forward and leaped aside as his opponent rushed by - and then sunk his axe into the man's back. The man barely had time to scream as he slammed into the ground, but then he was uttering something - and managed to roll out of the way, weaponless, just in time to avoid an axe cleaving his head from his broad, fur-covered shoulders. The axe came down again and again, and it was soon quite apparent that his wound had been healed just as his first wound had been; he had never needed to use healing spells in a battle before, yet now he was glad he had memorized them. Antaneas, after all, was as brutal an opponent as he had ever faced.

Indeed, Talnash had faced off against nagas that were only warriors or hunters. He had never faced off against a warlord before, yet a warlord Antaneas Redpike was. He was so named for the high number of kills he'd had in his already long lifespan - over three thousand - yet now he had been overwhelmed and enslaved. He'd been the most heavily guarded of all the prisoners and kept in solitary confinement deep underground. Now he was proving his worth as he had done countless times before, only this time there was an audience. But he would not be caged. He would not be enslaved. He simply refused to do the bidding of an evil sorcerer who wished for nothing more than to make a few pieces of silver or gold off of a naga killing a powerful warrior - albeit a human one - like Talnash. Indeed, his time was about to come. As Talnash finally rolled away and came slowly and shakily to his feet, nearly twenty yards from the land naga that he now stared at with a wary determination and quite a bit of trepidation in his eyes and in his face, the axe came up again - and flew from Antaneas' hand. The sorcerer was not paying attention - he was deep in conversation with a fellow spectator and deep in his cup besides - and so he reacted far too slowly. He was completely astounded - and so was the crowd - when the axe buried itself in his chest.

Even Talnash was surprised. The crowd began to quiet down as the body slowly but surely fell from its previous perch high above the battleground far below. As the body fell faster and faster, the silence deepened. Finally, the only sound in the arena was the dull thump as a small cloud of sand was kicked up by the corpse landing on the battlefield far below. Complete silence dominated the arena. Long had the sorcerer provided entertainment to countless thousands of spectators, making himself and others exceedingly wealthy and - according to the spectators - providing decently priced, yet high-quality entertainment. Long had he been overpoweringly popular amongst all the fans of the arena - and now he had been murdered in cold blood: the same cold blood that flowed through the veins of the land naga Antaneas, who had slain him.

Antaneas snorted and smirked. Then he looked to his opponent, a man that had actually become friends with the idiot sorcerer. Talnash was gazing dumbfounded at the silent dust cloud now slowly dissipating. Thus it was that he never saw the weapon that Antaneas had secretly picked up and hidden in his coils. He never saw the rushed strike until it was too late. He turned almost as though in slow motion, and his features were a mask of horror and terror mixed as the razor-sharp spikes of a finely-worked mace's head slammed into Talnash's skull. Then another, smaller thump was heard - this one as a result of Talnash's corpse hitting the ground. Suddenly the crowd erupted, but not in cheers. If the noise was deafening at the start of and during the match, it was nothing to the hatred and rage spewed forth the way a violent volcano releases ash and lava now. Over four thousand people were now threatening the land naga, but he was not going to care. He used the blade of the fallen pike to cut his chains, and that's when over a dozen guards rushed in - and where the real battle began...