The Stadium of Tarns

Last evening there was a filled house at the Stadium of Tarns. New frescoes were emblazoned on the outer walls, depicting popular jockeys astride their mounts. A realistically painted Porcinus glowers down fiercely from the saddle of Green Legend just above the maw of the entrance tunnel. The Silver Faction, my own, shows the bird Raptor streaking through a flaming ring. Feathers tamped down, beady black eyes blazing, his rider Lucius is depicted close against the saddle with the silver silken back patch that identifies his faction snapping in the wind behind him. I did not walk around the entire Stadium, but it seemed as if every faction was represented on that wall. Not one square hort seemed to be free of color, brushed by one of several highly-skilled artisans of Ar.

With a wallet-full of the earnings of Portia and the girl, Six, I made a bet of one Silver Tarsk that the bird Raptor would place. It was not the most ambitious wager. Of six birds, Raptor needed only to finish first, second or third. As the risk was minimized, the reward was similarly minimal. Still, it is always difficult for a man of low caste to let an entire Silver Tarsk slip through his fingers with only an indelibly marked ostrakon to replace it. It was crowded in the tiers, but I managed to find a seat a few dozen rows up from the rail. I squeezed three girls onto the floor before me. Men enjoy indulging their girls with such things as a trip to the Stadium of Blades or the Stadium of Tarns. It is good for them to be amidst such excitement. Some fellows even dress their slave girls in silk dyed to match their Faction colors. Neither Elise, Portia nor Six were so indulged. It did not seem to lessen their enjoyment of the spectacle, however.

And a spectacle it was. As the sponsor of the races dropped his arm, signaling the start of the race, the Green Faction rider employed the tarn goad on the arm of the Blue Faction rider. The fellow went limp in his saddle, well-stunned, as the bird screamed and flew off erratically, taking that team out of contention. The Yellow and Red Factions were able to take full advantage of the Green rider's preoccupation. Yellow team's Talon and Red team's Stealth streaked forward, jockeying for position at every turn. Porcinus of the Green did not have his fill of sabotage at the beginning of the race, however. Several laps in, employing a tarn knife, he slashed at the broad belt of the rider Relius who was riding Sabre for the Purple Faction. Relius tumbled from the saddle into the safety nets below as Porcinus kicked viciously at the saddle of Sabre. These are not war tarns, eager for battle, but it was still a bold move. Rather than turn on Porcinus, Sabre screeched and veered off the track.

By now, the blades were out on the rings in both straightaways, which demanded precision flying and nerves of steel. Feathers flew and punches were traded between riders. Lap after lap, Yellow and Red fought for the lead position as Silver pursued. Green trailed, depending upon malicious tactics over skilled racing. It was an odd tactic. Green Legend is, as the name implies, a fantastic mount. The speed of the beast is as assumed, legendary. Porcinus, however, employed a gameplan of treachery. In the end, it would be to no avail. As the rings were lit with blazing flames for the last two laps, he chose the desperate measure of turning on the field in order to take them out of the race as he had managed to do to the Purple and Blue factions earlier on. Yellow, Red and Silver were able to evade him successfully on the first pass. On the last lap, Darius took the Yellow Faction mount Talon straight at him, ducking under him in a breathtaking maneuver at the very last ihn. The bird surged straight up to the first perch. When Porcinus looked up, Herod of the Red and Lucius of the Silver were charging to the left and right of him. The Red Faction bird buffeted Porcinus and the Green rider swung the goad in a wide arc, catching the shoulder of the rider Lucius on the Silver bird. Red took the second perch. A moment later, convulsing and shaking in the saddle, the Silver rider and his bird were on the third perch.

It was a thrilling race and I was lucky not to lose my entire wager with the way it turned out. It turned out, however, the evening would be fortuitous in more ways than one. As patrons of the race were filing out, I spotted a fellow I knew by the name of Marcus. I offered him an inward palm and an affable greeting. Marcus is a good fellow with a regrettable job. He is the guardsman of the woman, Noemi Black. It so happens Noemi is under investigation that relates to the death of the former Kal-da Cafe proprietor, a man named Micah. That is no reason to be ill-disposed toward Marcus, however. As I said, he is a good fellow. I thought the woman with him was likely Noemi herself, but her garment was less...inappropriate...than it normally was, so I was unsure. At any rate, I addressed Marcus directly.

"I ask your favor," I said to him.

"I will be as accomodating as I can," he answered.

"I would like to speak to your employer, the Lady Noemi," I said to him. "I will expect her in the next few days at the Cylinder of Justice. Any help you can render expediting that request will be most appreciated. "

That was when I knew for certain it was Noemi concealed in the robes beside Marcus. The fellow glanced at her and chuckled as she squirmed in a frustrated manner, before he answered me.

"I will pass the word along," he answered politely.

I was well aware that the woman might resist granting my request of an audience with her, particularly one that took place in the Cylinder of Justice. I let Marcus know I was aware of his predicament.

"If you are unable to grant my request, I completely understand," I assured him. "Conflict of interest and what not. I ask only that you step aside when she is shackled and arrested."

It was more than the woman could stand and remain silent for, apparently, as she spoke up at the reassurance I offered Marcus. Apparently, she was not reassured in the least by my sentiment.

"And what pray tell my dear Poet would anyone be arresting me for?" she queried, trying her best to appear aloof and unconcerned.

I answered her honestly, saying, "Lady Noemi? Is that you. I beg your pardon. Dear woman, I hope that I do not have cause to arrest you. However, if you are unable to grant me a simple interview, I will have to bring you in for questioning in a regrettably less polite manner."

She went on as free women who have never been shown their place in the world often do. She questioned my authority to effect her arrest. She directed me to speak with others that, apparently, she assumed would vouch for her immunity. I will not go as far as to say that I felt sorry for her because I certainly did not. There was something pitiful in her ignorance, however. I have not yet ascertained her level of culpability in the matter I am investigating. I do know that she is complicit. While others may be inclined to allow matters of accountability in the areas under their purview to slip by unchecked, I am not so inclined.