Helm of Awe by D. L. Armillei

Author:D. L. Armillei
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: D. L. Armillei

Chapter

Thirty

Twelve massive Tarcs faced Van from across the surt.

Yeah, totally fair.

An ear-shattering shriek came from the head gaming official’s whistle. He ducked out of the arena.

The Tarcs rushed at Van.

Her mind blanked, and her body became paralyzed.

One galloping in front of the yoke twisted around and swung. He punched the Tarc behind him in the throat with so much force it made a crunch sound. The injured Tarc flew backward and smashed to the ground. Blood bubbled from his mouth.

The other Tarcs slowed down and glanced questioningly at the incident. Then a free-for-all busted loose and they began smashing fists into each other.

Van sighed in relief until several picked up their pace and barreled toward her.

With a jolt, she turned and ran. She came to edge of the surt and skidded to a stop, gasping to catch her breath.

The three Tarcs positioned into a semi-circle around her, trapping her against the wall.

Grunts blew from their dot-like nostrils as their chests heaved up and down from the exertion of running in the heat. They lumbered toward her, making her aware how much smaller she was compared to them and their bulky physiques… that made them slow and clumsy… Van dashed at the middle Tarc.

She dropped and somersaulted between his bowed legs.

Her game plan: outlast them. Let them kill each other. Then her fight would be against one, not three or eleven, increasing her odds at winning.

Van scrambled to run away. Her head jolted, yanking her body backward. Searing pain ripped across her scalp, like her skin was tearing from her skull. She smashed to the ground; the impact caused her to lose her breath.

The Tarc clutched a clump of her hair and used the force to hold her down, along with his knee pressed into her chest. He drew back his fist.

Unable to pull away, Van scrunched her eyes closed and braced for the blow.

“Oof,” grunted the Tarc.

She heard a thud. The pain in her scalp released, and the pressure on her chest let up. She opened her eyes. The Tarc who hit another player in the throat was grappling with the Tarc who had her pinned down.

Van leaped to her feet and dashed away. All around her, Tarcs battled one-to-one. By the time she reached the opposite side of the surt, her opponents had whittled themselves down to seven. Her plan was working.

The sound of wood sliding against the clay wall echoed throughout the arena.

Two Tarcs closest to a thick iron-studded door stopped fighting and hurried away as it inched upward.

One player muttered an expletive and then, “Vinegarroon.”

Two reddish-brown, hairy appendages pointed outward from the opening, followed by the head of a creature. Van thought spider. As the rest of its body emerged, she changed her assessment to scorpion. One the size of a house with a long, whip-like tail.

Six of its eight legs lifted and tapped against the earthen ground, propelling the creature into the surt. Its front two legs, three times longer than its walking legs, moved like antennas and had thousands of underside hairs.

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