“Hey? Why are you so happy?”
“Just so. Good song, commander,” answered one of the unclean. The fangs on his lower jaw were so long that they protruded from his mouth, making him look like a boar. Others began to grin even harder.
Kors even thought it somehow disrespectful – they seemed to sneer at him. He snorted in displeasure, pushing Nik slightly away from him:
“Pfff, I, apparently, am too noble to experience such unclouded joy from this stupid song of the poor.”
And Nik looked at him with a sly and slightly sly gleam in his eyes, smiling. “Why are you so happy, after all!” Kors couldn’t resist.
They all laughed.
“It’s okay, Vitor,” said Nik and pressed closer to him.
A red slave was sitting by the fire next to Parky. She was without a bag on her head, her dress was torn, and her long auburn slightly curly hair was disheveled. A steel bracelet with a chain was fastened on the wrist of her left hand, and the opposite end of the chain was fastened to the belt at Parky’s belt. But the girl didn’t look as intimidated and hunted as before. Tyutya watched as Parky drank cup after cup of unclean moonshine, and her expression was more displeased than frightened. At some point, seeing that Parky was already drunk thoroughly, but continued to drink, despite the fact that his movements became confused, the girl suddenly pulled the cup out of his hand and angrily threw its contents into the fire. At the same time, in response to Parky’s surprised look, the girl sharply ran the edge of her palm down her throat, clearly making it clear that she was sick of it all. Stunned, Parky froze, and Kors, seeing this slave’s attack, literally choked on wine and laughed sincerely:
“A-ha-ha, Parky, she’s commanding you!”
“Tyutya…” said Parky in complete confusion, “Tyutya, what are you doing?”
But he didn’t look angry and didn’t hit her, although everyone sitting around made fun of him, laughing at him and the wayward slave. The girl, not at all frightened, defiantly turned away from the unclean, and her face was still the same displeased.
“She doesn’t like that you drink so much,” Kors said, “and she’s right, you’ve already had enough. Do you have a wife, Parky?”
“No.”
“Well, now you’ll understand what it’s like to have a wife,” Kors laughed, “everyone knows that the reds have a bad temper, they are aggressive, and now the red Tyutya will show you the heat!”
“No,” Parky protested.
“Yes, Parky, yes,” Kors continued to laugh, “they are completely unpredictable, maybe that’s why men began to restrict them so. All blacks have known this for a long time, and red women are never married. No black man has a red wife. And you have fallen in love, right?”
“I like her.”
“Do you know the story about the red girl named Iridia?”
“No.”
“A guy planned to marry her, but the girl didn’t want to. When her fiancé came, she asked him: :Why do you want to marry me and thereby give me so much grief and sadness?” He replied: “Truly, when I see you, Iridia, I become all like a fiery one!” She asked: “What is it about me that attracts you so much?” And he, as expected, politely replied, (though not what he really thought), he said: “I am seduced by your beautiful eyes!” Hearing such an answer, the girl immediately grabbed the candle from the candlestick and gouged out both of her eyes.”
The unclean ones who listened to the story froze. Seeing that his story had an effect, Kors grinned contentedly.
“Those are the reds, so be careful, Parky.”
Parky turned away. He didn’t drink any more, took out a small piece of wood and a knife from his pocket, and began scraping over the piece of wood with the blade. After a while, he handed the girl a bird carved out of wood. The toy was rude, but the fact that it was a bird could be guessed without a doubt. It had a small beak and a rounded plump body with a small forked tail. Parky handed the bird to the slave, and she took it, squeezed the round bird in her fist and smiled happily. Realizing that Tyutya was no longer angry with him, Parky happily grabbed the girl in his arms and hugged her. So they sat, she – squeezing a wooden bird, and he – squeezing her.
Chapter 7
After a couple of days they returned to Crimson Rock and stopped for a while at the Fort. As before, people settled on the right side of the camp, and the unclean ones near the menagerie, and Zaf was very happy to see that everything was fine with his favorite bear.
Kors, Nik and Arel again occupied their room with the painting on the wall.
The days passed lazily and calmly. Most of the time, the three of them lay on the bed, fucked and slept. Prince Arel drove around the neighborhood on his horse.
Kors watched as his Nik in the arena on the left side of the Fort fought with the unclean ones, participating in their battles. Kors understood that the spirit of the Colosseum warrior was strong in him and didn’t disappear anywhere. Nik didn’t need to work now, he didn’t need to earn money for his living, but he did it anyway: he fought for the amusement of the crowd, just like that, just because he wanted it. And of course, because he did it very well. In minimal ammunition, stripped to the waist, with a shock of white disheveled hair and long bangs falling over his eyes, Nik made precise and powerful blows, defeating rival after rival, some in a matter of minutes, moving closer and closer to the final.
Kors watched his dangerous entertainment anxiously, admiring his son and his skill at the same time. He admired his every movement, tense muscles in his arms, he enjoyed how concentrated his expression was when he fought.
Once – and the enemy is already lying overturned on his back, crushed by a heavy boot, two – and the next warrior with his face distorted from pain is holding his right hand, and the sword knocked out of his hand is lying far to the side. Three – at some point, getting too close, the opponent receives a crushing blow with his fist in the face, falls backwards and hits the back of his head, losing consciousness.
The unclean ones screamed incessantly. When Nik once again forced the enemy to lie at his feet, he, smiling, took off his glove and walked around the circle, raising his hand with an open palm, and his unclean ones with their palms and paws beat on it, shouting words of praise. The fights became more and more difficult, the warriors who had defeated the others fought to knock out each other, and in the end there was only one left. At some point, a very bulk and powerful unclean one hit Nik in the gut so that he literally flew backwards, bent over, and crashed into the surrounding howling crowd of unclean ones. They supported him, preventing him from tipping over on his back, as the enemy expected, and pushed him back into the perimeter of the arena. Kors turned pale. This unclean warrior was very bulk and strong, and Kors had no idea how it would be possible to overwhelm him at all. But damn it, his Nik did it, despite the fact that he missed a few more blows. The spectators rejoiced; they jumped, howled and shouted like animals: “White Lord! White Lord!” Nik didn’t leave the arena, waiting for the next fighter to win him over again. And he won. Again. This time, however, he got such a blow in the teeth that bloody splashes flew out of his mouth. And Kors involuntarily screamed along with everyone. Next, another unclean one was supposed to conduct several fights, with whom Nik was supposedly to meet in the final.
Breathing heavily, Nik approached Kors, whose face was literally twisted:
“Is that all?! Have you lost your expensive teeth?”
“No,” Nik shook his head and bared his teeth and showed Kors that his teeth were intact. Kors saw that his mouth was full of blood, and his teeth were also covered with it.
“Get some water,” he handed Nik a flask.
“Is