I was beaten. For the first time since I have come to this place they used the goad on me. I do not know if I was punished for breaking the cup or the damage that I did to my hands and my chest. The cuts are not deep. My hands are the worst. But I was proud to wear my own blood. I painted myself with it as a statement. I am Ici. I am Red Savage. I am a man. In my pain I will remember. By the scent of my blood my ancestors will live again in my memory.

I will stand tall.

I am Ici.

They washed my body of blood. They bandaged my hands. They washed the markings from my cheeks. But I remember them. I feel them still.

I was hooded and taken to the arena again. Again I felt the press of people. Many people. I smelled the women. And I waited.

I waited until they loosed the chains and took off my hood. I waited until I was turned loose within the sands to fight and then I ran. I leapt out from the pit and I grabbed the railing. I am lean and strong and I hauled myself up and over and I grabbed a woman tearing her veils from her face and I had ripped her robes down revealing her full breasts when her guards grabbed me. They had to pry my hands from her throat for I was going to strangle her. This then was what I was waiting for. This was what I had planned for. Now I would kill them or they would kill me. I did not care which.

My move had not been expected. It was the only reason I got as far as I did before the guards laid their hands on me. Of all the things I could think of to incite their jealousies and rage it was to attack one of their women. Surely they would kill me.

It worked.

Only not as well as I had hoped. I landed a few good hits before they were able to separate me from the woman. They were too afraid to hurt me then for fear of killing her in the process. I know I hurt one of them badly before the other drove his sword through my chest and another clubbed me unconscious. My last thought was that I was going to die. And I was happy. I had been killed by the sword of a free man protecting his woman.

It was something I could respect.

I was taken to the arena to perform before spectators. I do not know who they were. There were women. I know this because I could smell them.

I was brought to this arena hooded and chained. My hood only removed when I was to fight. It took many times of blinking for my eyes to adjust and by then I was too busy to look upon the people who watched. But it was then that I could smell and almost taste the women that were there. It was maddening and distracting.

I fought and I fought well. I fought each man put against me. Some were men I knew from my training. Others I had never seen before. But each one I took. I do not remember the fights. I was angry. I remember only that I won. It was the only comfort to me in a day that was full of my frustration.

I was a beast. I performed like a beast for the pleasure of others. I had no choice. It was do or die. Win or lose. I do not like to lose. So I entertained. I could hear their yells. Some for me, some against. I could hear them laughing. I wanted to kill them. Unter's training showed for I did not try to escape I took out my anger upon the men who came against me.

As I sit in my cell I am angry still. Now I am angry at myself. Angry that I am a beast. A performing animal. I did not fight for my freedom today. I fought to win against fighters. I performed. I entertained.

There were women there. I could smell them.

Tonight I weep within myself for what I have become. For what I have lost. I scream like the larl against my own captivity. Tonight I wish to die. To be no more. I do not wish to face my own reflection.

I threw my bowl against the door and shattered the clay into tiny fragments. I then grabbed the sharp pieces and I let them cut and shred the rough skin of my hands. I drug the handfuls of shards across my chest until blood ran freely mingled with sweat upon the muscle. For the first time I used my voice since my capture. I screamed at the ceiling. I yelled at the Sky I could not see. I sang in my own language songs of battle and songs of love until I had no more voice.

I did not cry.

I do not deserve my own tears.

Tonight they fed me the same gruel they call food. I can not think they eat this. It is only for an animal like me. A beast. But I supplement my diet with the occasional urt. I used pieces of my leather loin cloth I am allowed. Pieces that I tore and chewed free to make a snare. I catch urts. Not many but enough that I do not feel that I starve to death. I grow lean however.

I have not spoken since I was captured. I try not to think about that moment, though when I do I am comforted by the memory that I sent many off to the other side before me. They were not very good warriors, but they were many in number and that is what I could not win over. Numbers.

The first thing they did to me was shave my hair. My long black strands had never known the sharp edge of a blade. It was long and I wore it in a thick braid down my back. But no more. They sought to wound my pride. They merely succeeded in stirring my hatred. For a long time I reached to my head and felt the smooth skin there. Then the prickle of new hair. Then the soft darkness as it began to grow again. Now it is nearly down to my shoulders. I use the length to mark my time in captivity.

Most of the time has been spent traveling. By caravan, ship and even tarn. Always I am hooded for this. Hooded and chained ankle and wrist. I tried to kill the tarnsman. I have the scar on my left cheek to remember it by. The traveling has ended for now. I know I am in Ar because I heard it spoken by Jorge my keeper to another guard.

Jorge is not as bad as some of them. He treats me with some respect and has tried to get me to talk to him and tell him about myself. Jorge is still a white man and I do not speak to him. It is beneath me. He does not beat me unconscious for it though as the others. He simply turns and walks away. I must respect him for that. I have not been able to make him angry enough to lose his temper. It means he is a strong man.
Tonight I ate an urt I snared. I eat everything but the bones and these I save to chew on during the time when I am not sparring. My stomach is full but I feel the darkness in my head spreading.

I am sick.

I buried myself into the straw like an animal. I ignored the urt droppings and piss. I ignored the smell of sweat from other inmates that were kept in this cell. Only after the straw shut out the lamp light from the Keeper's room did I curl into a fetal position, close my eyes and dream of the Sky. My beaten bloody and worn body wracked with silent sobs of misery for all that I had lost. Only for that few moments did I allow such a weakness. A moment I would not divulge in again for a long time.

I can remember a time when I did not feel the concerns of life. I was wild and free. My elders warned me I was on a fast path to destruction but with the wisdom of youth I knew better. There were battles to be fought, kaiila to steal, and women to win. I was never serious about anything. I traded my furs for paga and I stole women and enjoyed their pleasures before I traded them off as well. None ever touched my heart. I was free.

Then there was Dkhanni. She was beautiful. The daughter of a great warrior like my Father. I wanted her. I saw my own children within her eyes and I felt my chest swell and grow with pride at the thought. We were to be mated. But she wanted something she could get from no other man. She wanted a pretty silver ring from the city. Full of pride and arrogance I swore to get her one and I set off towards Fort Haskins to get it for her.

It was the last time I was to see her, or my Father or my People. They are memories now. Just like the grass, the Sky, the kailiauk, the herlit, and the kaiila.

I am in a cell in the city they call Ar. I am alone and in chains even though the brick walls provide no escape. I wish I had a window even with bars ... at least I could see the Sky and hear the rain. The straw stinks of sweat and urt droppings. I am sick of life but I will not give up my quest for freedom.