with a hippopotamus. This was far too horrific that even he could have imagined. The moktar’s long inverted tusks were both dilapidated from when it was captured. Its left tusk was broken in half during the pursuit from Akhdar’s elite hunters. Ever since it was first brought into captivity, the zhar made sure the
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beast was abused as much as possible. So it would be in the right mood for the games.
Azrak watched the rampage from his cell. His eyes widened in terror as he gripped the bars tightly.
“Run, Sinbad. Run!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
The moktar raised its head in attention. Its wrinkled trunk waved hysterically on picking up Sinbad’s scent. The moktar’s head jerked swiftly and its black beady eyes caught the small man brandishing his sword.
The gargantuan quadruped dug its feet to the ground, like a bull ready to charge. Sinbad took a defensive stance with his sword in the air. With a loud, spit-spraying snort the moktar drove angrily towards the human gladiator on a gaudy snarl.
Various alien life forms from all over Mars and neighboring planets cheered chaotically for the well-awaited battle. Countless wagers were in favor of the monster. Some said Sinbad would fall as soon as the fight would start. But others were wary when they heard about the Earthman’s extensive reputation.
There was something in the red murky eyes, its clumsy posture, and its whole appearance that set apart from the truly animal. That monstrous body housed a brain and soul that were just budding awfully into something vaguely human.
Sinbad stood his ground as the moktar boomed across the arena. He remained still as a statue. Just waiting to find his window of opportunity on when he should strike. He could hear the viewers’ vicious barbs against him. How he had cheated death for the final time, and he had outlived their amusement. He seldom heard the very faint cheers from his very few admirers. He wasn’t there for their entertainment. He was there to complete a task to save his friend Azrak’s life.
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The moktar made its move on a killing stroke to the right. Sinbad quickly dodged the slash and rolled aside. The beast turned around and saw Sinbad getting back to his feet. It stampeded toward the sailor again, but this time Sinbad made his attack. While the moktar jumped over him, Sinbad came at it like a charging bull. His head was down, his scimitar low for the disemboweling thrust. The moktar sprang to meet him, and all the outlander’s strength went into the arm that swung the sword. The outlander moved in a blur of blinding speed. In a whistling arc the great blade flashed through the air and sliced through the monster’s flesh. The blade scratched through the flesh like it was butter. Blood squirted through the large laceration on the moktar’s hind leg, while it let out an awful wail.
The monster was dazed. It limped over to its right side, trying to find some support. But it wouldn’t go down without a fight. Blood was in the moktar’s eyes now. All it wanted was to impale its aggressor on its one good horn. With all its strength and fury, the moktar began its counterstrike.
Sinbad felt his blood freeze as he looked at the horror that seemed to be staring directly into his eyes. Involuntarily he recoiled, while Sinbad thrust his head truculently forward, till his jaws almost tended the surface, growling. It was some sort of threat or defiance in his own native tongue.
Sinbad found an opening and leapt upward into the air to deliver a swift slash to the moktar’s throat. Hot red blood came gushing out and blemished the sands of the arena.
The crowd’s cheering and applause abruptly ceased, and an eerie silence filled the air. It was as if people were trying to figure out whether they’d actually seen what they thought they saw. Not once in Akhdar’s games they have seen a gladiator slay the fearsome moktar. The stillness carried from the first row, to the betting booths, to all the way to Zhar Akhdar’s terrace.
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* * *
The green-skinned ruler was appalled on this incredible feat. His sister Aella shared the same feeling. However, she was eager to see the striking warrior escape the ferocious tribulation.
“Impossible!” Akhdar bellowed. “How could this be? No one has ever bested the moktar—NO ONE!”
“Oh, hush now, brother dear,” soothed Aella, taking his hand. “Don’t you fret. This man—this Sinbad has proven to be quite the cunning warrior. Would you like to see him fight again?”
Akhdar heaved an irritating sigh and managed to squeeze out a patronizing smile. “Well, sister, perhaps you’re right. This oddity might still prove promising.”
One person shouted, “Sinbad!” and then “Sinbad! Sinbad!” over and over again.
The chant was picked up, resounding throughout the audience, and people were clapping and shouting. The guards who had arrived upon the scene, weapons at the ready began to lower them, and joined in the cheers and ovations from all around the arena.
Sinbad remained right where he was for a few moments. Akhdar surveyed the damage his prized beast had sustained. He saw all the wounds and huge lacerations in its body, and the rivulets of dark crimson blood.
Azrak smiled with joy inside his cell. “I-I can’t believe it!” he exclaimed with glee.
“What? What happened?” the elderly Azurian beside him asked groggily
“Sinbad has slain the moktar!” Azrak replied in astonishment.
The old man heard the applause, the shouts, and as crazy as it seemed the name “Sinbad” being chanted over and over again.
He moved around a corner just in time to see Sinbad standing over the vanquished monster.
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The ancient Azurian scratched his head, and had an epiphany. “Perhaps he is the one of whom the prophecy speaks.”
Azrak looked at his elder in uncertainly. Before he could even reply, Azrak’s attention was shifted back into the area as he saw Sinbad tower over the moktar with his sword in his hand.
The immense animal fell onto the bloodstained sand. It breathed heavily and then it became shallow. The crowd cheered in approval. They all go out of their seats and began to chant, “Kill, kill, kill!”
Sinbad took no joy in this victory. There was no thrill of battle. It was all about survival. Before he put the poor beast out of its misery, Sinbad silently prayed to Allah for forgiveness.
He grit his teeth and drove the sword deep. Blood streamed over the blade and his hand, and the monster started to convulse, and then lay back quite still. Sure that life had fled, at least what he understood of it, Sinbad set to work on his grisly task.
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CHAPTER TWO
MISTRUST BEFORE YOU TRUST
Sinbad
