FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“For heaven's sake, put some damn oil on that, will you?"

The only thing Thomas got in response was the clang of a cheaply made, metal sword falling against the dusty stone floor and the hollow sound of a small, wooden shield landing next to it. His complaint stemmed from the screech of the upper cell door hinge that crawled up his spine to between his shoulder blades each time it was moved.

The jailer, if you could call it that, was a mechanical being; some sort of steel android that stretched far beyond Earth's technology. Like most of the prisoners, the automaton had a body with four main limbs and a head arranged in a humanoid fashion. Unlike them, it betrayed no emotion and remained silent as it carried on with its tasks. Everyone, the jailer included, was completely uninterested in his complaints.

A ragged sigh escaped the man's lips as he looked at his calloused hands. They were once used in the physical labors of changing out the occasional failed motherboard or typing on a keyboard to diagnose a failed service; a way to make a living for himself. Now they were used directly in keeping him alive. With a small grunt of effort, he pushed himself off of the dry, scraggly straw that served as his bed and gathered the round shield up on his right arm, strapping it on tightly. He then pulled the steel sword up in his left hand, letting the tip drag slightly against the stone as he did so.

How many more times would he be walked out of this cell? The errant thought ended in the morbid conclusion of how ever many times he managed to win, or kill if it came to it. That was something he never thought he'd have to do, and certainly never wanted to. Sure, he imagined what it would be like to have to defend himself against some unknown assailant; what would happen if he was robbed or some other far fetched, life threatening scenario occurred. But that was it, wasn't it? Some far off, remote possibility? Maybe once long ago, but not any more.

Escape had seemed like an option, at least at the start of it all, but the futility of such an act became clear on his third night in this hell. One of the other prisoners, someone that looked like a light brown, very tall, very hairy version of a human, tried it. That night, the jailer wordlessly threw down a simple sword and shield and then waited, just as it always did, at the entrance of the cell. The not quite human took up both, and as the android turned to leave, he lunged.

Thomas had seen machines move fast, even on Earth industrial robots were advanced enough to move with both precision and speed; but when a threat was detected, the android spun around almost faster than his eyes could follow. Both of the jailer's hands were glowing by the time it completed its turn, making contact with the hairy man and scorching their way clear through his midsection to emerge from his back. The whole event lasted for less than a second, but the screaming and burning lasted far longer as the creature's fur ignited while it struggled in vain. The prisoner was reduced to a charred, smoking corpse that literally melted off those white hot fists.

Some in the cells jeered and cheered, others cried out in sheer terror. A few remained still, and like Thomas, watched with a quiet resolve to not meet a similar fate.

That night felt like an eternity ago. With no way of tracking time other than going day by day, there was no telling how long he'd actually spent locked away. He was taken within the first hours of Earth's invasion, and since then, he'd been hardened by the harsh realities of this existence. Both mentally and physically, he was a much tougher man than the system admin thrown face first onto the dusty, stone floor.

Thomas walked past the other cells, some empty, some filled with new faces, and others occupied by those he considered to be veterans of the place; the few who survived long enough to earn a few pieces of gear by winning as he had. His possessions consisted of a basic set of leather armor that fit over the rough fabric of his tunic and simple bracers of the same. The pieces might protect against a glancing blow from a dulled sword, but little else.

He stretched, letting more than a few pops come from his spine and knees, then followed the robot, just as wordless as it was, down the hallway of granite walls that gradually veered to the right. The light streaming in from outside was blinding compared to the relative dim of the prison, so he walked slowly in order to give his eyes time to adjust.

The jailer paused, turning its steel head just enough so that Thomas could see what he assumed were the cameras used for the the thing's vision. He thought it better to give a reason for his pace rather than be run through. “Can't fight if I can't see. My eyes need a moment," he said as he squinted against bright, orange hued daylight cast by the larger of the two suns in the sky.

Thomas had never been pulled from his cell at this time of day, noon by his guess, but maybe a human's struggles against the odds made for better entertainment than he thought. Unlike the low attendance of the late evening or early morning contests he'd been a part of, the arena was rather packed. He could hear the larger crowds all the way back in his cell if they really got excited, but hadn't witnessed one of this size in person before.

The people watching him from the stands above were a vibrant mix of species; some were indistinguishable from human beings apart from the bluish pallor of their skin, and others, beastmen of various sorts, wouldn't be out of place in a fantasy light novel. Beyond these were oddly shaped individuals that put even the creative minds at the Lucas studios to shame. The stands held a blend of peoples and clothing that was dizzying to take in, but there was little point in staring long. He had a job to do if he was going to walk out of here rather than be carried out; if he'd even get that dignity when he lost. With his resolve steeled, he stepped forward onto the sand covered floor. The massive, iron barred gate dropped closed behind him with a muted thud that sent vibrations through the entirety of the man's body, sealing his fate.

An announcer's voice rang out over the crowd, cutting the noise of the arena to a modest din. Thomas still couldn't make heads or tails of the language; they hadn't bothered teaching it to him, nor had he really had the chance to strike up a conversation with any of the other inmates. Any time he tried, the other prisoners would mumble something and look away or scream at him with unbridled rage. Maybe he'd end up like that, his mind broken in some irreparable manner.

His thoughts wandered on while the announcer continued in the over excited tones used for sporting events. It reminded him of how things were back home in the few hockey and football games he'd been to, though he refocused himself as he heard the words “Earth" and “human" mixed in. Once his longer than usual introduction wrapped up, he waved to the masses wearing an inane grin for the gravity of the situation. Much to his surprise, a few of the spectators actually cheered for him.

It was something of an odd feeling, being urged on even before it came to the end of a fight. In his very first bout the other person was just as scared and nervous as he was. He tried talking, tried to keep his distance, but the reason for the arena and why they were there was obvious. His opponent was one of the beastmen that had the reddish orange and black fur of a fox with a slim build. Naturally, the fox also had sharp canines and claws that all of his kind possessed and a human lacked. Both of them were armed with only a basic sword, their wits, and natural weapons such as they were.

At first, the few that made up the crowd for the early morning fight shouted and hissed their displeasure, some even went as far as to throw things, while Thomas ducked, dodged, and backpedaled his way over the sand. It soon became clear enough that he'd die there. The fox wasn't running out of steam, at least not nearly as fast as the computer guy was, and it was swinging with a constant, reckless abandon that the human couldn't hope to match. Neither were trained fighters and both were well beyond any experience they'd had before. In one important way, they were fairly even. One would walk out and the other would die; it was as simple as that.

The fox lunged while taking a wild, horizontal swipe that was aimed clearly for the man's neck; it looked like more of a baseball swing than an actual sword strike. Thomas may not have been as fast, but he was heavier and put his entire weight behind his counter-swing. Metal clashed against metal and a sharp crack echoed off the stonework walls. The fox jumped back, staring briefly at the hilt of his broken sword. Both blades were equally cheap things, it was only dumb luck that the cutting edge of the human's sword made contact with the flat side of his opponent's, causing it to snap at the base.

It took a second for the pain to register, but the man cried out as it flared through his left thigh. The broken blade caught him as it sang through the air, slicing deep enough to cause him to stagger back and fall against the sand. It was then that the crowd cheered, laughing at the inexperienced blood sport on display. The fox seized the opportunity and jumped in with his fangs bared and claws spread wide. The human pushed back with his right foot to create whatever distance he could while bringing his sword up between them.

Thomas felt the blade get pushed back briefly, the pommel anchoring itself deep in the sandy floor just beside him while his adversary let loose with a ear splitting wail of pain and fear. He raised his right arm, fending off the scratches and bites that were growing fainter with each passing moment as a mixture of his own blood and the fox's dripped down on him. Cheaply made, but sharp enough to go into unguarded flesh; that was the quality of weapon that the two fighters in the arena were worth.

Eventually the fox stopped moving altogether and the man half slid out from underneath his foe. His right arm was shredded and had puncture wounds spread over it too. He glanced at the motionless fox laying on its side, its unseeing eyes wide and unfocused with the same terrified look it had at the start of the fight. Blood oozed out from the red-stained muzzle, the blade had penetrated deep into the center of its chest. Maybe the sword had pierced his heart or lung, possibly both. Ultimately, it didn't matter. Fate, it seemed, sided with the human that day.

This day, though, Thomas had no idea what sort of situation he found himself in. The only good thing was that the arena at least gave medical treatment to the fighters still living after their match. If this was considered prime time for an event, he was certain he'd end up with far more scars if he managed to live. The lighter colored streaks and dots that adorned his body were sure to be added to, even if they were tucked behind the wooden shield.

Once the crowd died down, the announcer picked back up again. While the man was surprised by the cheers he received, the reason soon became obvious even though he couldn't understand a single word coming over the speakers. Crowds sounded much the same, regardless of the language or even species present. Thomas may not have been popular, he certainly wasn't noteworthy, but nearly as soon as the announcer resumed, the people made their view of his opponent known. He'd heard taunts and jeers while fighting, but he'd never heard this level of vitriol cast at someone literally fighting for their life.

On the far side of the arena, from the gate opposite the one he was let out of, stepped a tiger beastman. Two others stood just short of crossing through the gate as it closed, both armed with what looked to him like ceremonial long spears. Perhaps his opponent had been escorted there by some sort of honor guard.

He wasn't clad in the simple, low grade gear Thomas held. No, this one was decked out in full dress regalia with a shining breastplate that proudly spanned his chest. His forearms were covered in studded bracers, and his legs were adorned with matching thigh and shin guards. At his hips swung two long, thin swords covered by finely carved, wooden scabbards. There was little that went unprotected. His neck and maybe sides, if there wasn't something like chainmail within the vibrant red undershirt, were the only places that appeared open to attack. He didn't have a helm either, but that was of little comfort given the impressive teeth revealed by his sneer.

The tiger was massive, standing a good foot, maybe two, taller than the human; broad and well muscled. The striped orange, white, and black fur shined with the bright sunlight, diffusing it so that he seemed to glow in his confidence. His black ears were folded back as he roared a challenging remark across the arena. The tiger's sharp canines gleamed as he shouted, as if to lend extra weight to the spoken threat. Whatever he said, the crowd went silent at his words.

Everything in the man screamed in protest at the situation. Fear, long ingrained in humanity when confronted with large, predatory animals, came bubbling up in nearly uncontrollable waves. Thomas knew something like this was bound to happen, someday.

“Well, shit," he muttered softly to no one but himself.

The man sucked his breath in between his teeth before exhaling in a large, open mouthed sigh. Even if they were both given the same things in terms of arms and armor, there was no doubt as to the mismatch between them. As afraid as he was, he repeated a simple mantra to steady himself: Don't let it show.

Thomas stood straight and speared the tip of his cheaply made sword into the sand, resting his hands on top of the pommel. “I move for no man!" He yelled the line across the arena as loudly as he could without his voice cracking. It was false bravado, he knew it just a much as the tiger surely did. The Black Knight would be proud, even if the ones watching from the stands didn't know the quote or even the words he spoke. It fit well enough, he was bound to end up bleeding out on the ground after all.

The tiger looked confused at first, his diminutive opponent shouting something back was probably the last thing he expected. The look of confusion was soon replaced by a grin that set the hairs of the man's neck on end. Within it was a glint of malice focused right at him, pure as the light streaming in from the cloudless sky. Perhaps that was what the tiger wanted, someone with enough grit to put on a brave face in front of impending doom. Maybe the chance to play with his victim…

“Human!" A voice shouted from somewhere behind him, disrupting his morbid procession of thoughts. Thomas looked up towards the spectators, as did his opponent.

Another tiger, wearing very similar garb to the one across the arena, stood in the box just above the gate and was staring down at him, but the glare from the two suns made it hard for him to really make out much more. Their eyes locked for a moment and Thomas felt as if he was being judged on the spot; an assessment based only on what he'd shown in the equivalent of a ring entrance at a low budget wrestling event. The tiger closed its eyes and uttered a few words, the meaning of which was simply lost on the man below. Once it finished, it took a thick scabbard from its waist and tossed it down. The crowd audibly gasped as the tiger moved back out of view.

The thing landed with a heavy thump against the sand that spoke volumes to its weight. What was probably a standard size sword for the tigers equated to something exceeding a long sword for the human. “Well, that's something at least." He reached down, took the sheathed sword, then tied it firmly to his belt, its bulk pulling the leather strap downward several inches. Sure, he could pick it up, and maybe even swing it, but he doubted how effective it'd be in his hands.

Thomas had two choices: The simple short sword that stood little chance of breaking through the tiger's defense, let alone stopping a strike from one of those twin swords that hung confidently from its hips, was one of them. The second was drawing this new sword and trying his luck. He took a deep breath and watched his opponent's reactions closely while he reached for the hilt of his gifted weapon.

The metal sang with far more confidence than the human felt as it was drawn from the decorative scabbard. Little glyphs were etched across the side of the blade and these flashed a brilliant blue against the orange sunlight as he held it before him. Much to his surprise, he was able to draw the sword and even hold it fairly steady, though he'd need two hands to really make use of it. The round buckler would come in handy only if he wasn't able to swing the great blade and may even protect his arm, assuming it'd stand up to a blow from the tiger's weapons; a prospect which was doubtful at best.

His opponent's expression morphed throughout the series of unusual events, going from a sadistic smile to a look of anger at the disruption, and then slack-jawed shock while the blade was drawn. Maybe this thing did give him something of an edge he was unaware of. Whatever the case, the tiger's features hardened into a massive ball of striped fury directed squarely at him. Even with the distance of the arena between them, the human could see the muscles straining underneath the shiny fur and fabric of the red undershirt. He could practically hear the tiger's teeth grinding, at least until the announcer signaled the start of the bout. The crowd erupted, the tiger charged, and hell was unleashed against the Black Knight wannabe.

Thomas barely had enough time to jump to the side, grabbing the short sword out of the sand with his left hand after switching the great sword to his right. The tiger's twin blades impacted the ground just where he'd been standing.

If that had connected... well, better to not dwell on the thought of being neatly sectioned off into thirds the long way down. The sand that was kicked up in his foe's mad dash across the arena hadn't even settled yet before those blades were brought back up in a horizontal swipe, howling through the air in a mad accompaniment to the tiger's throaty growl of frustration at the near miss.

Fear made the human's moves faster than ever before. He bent backward and to the right, twisting himself to stay out of the deadly arcs that promised a swift and brutal end to his life. The short sword offered little resistance as he tried to parry the dual blows, getting sliced neatly with a shower of sparks serving as the final testament to its existence.

The lower of the twin blades was shifted ever so slightly upward, just enough that the human passed mostly underneath it. He could smell burnt hair and felt a surge of stinging pain as his left ear was seared instantly by the slightest touch of the blade. Each of the swords produced a thin strip that glowed brightly along their cutting edge. Those damned things had the same power as the jailer's arms and the tiger moved nearly as fast, if not faster, than the android.

Half a dozen swears waited for the chance to explode from the human's mouth, but his body was too busy doing its best to remain in tact and avoid being carved to shout them. The onslaught of blows threatened to overtake him, raining down and coming in from both sides without pause. It all seemed surreal; his mind perceiving the movements with just enough time for his body to react though the margin grew ever thinner. In a last ditch effort, he threw the remnant of the short sword and backpedaled again, switching the longer blade to his left hand as he tried to get more distance between his attacker and himself.

In less than half a minute he had several shallow cuts that went through the leathers, but remarkably nothing had gone beyond more than a few millimeters of skin and the flesh below. It stung like hell, but the pain of each small glance prodded him into moving with ever greater speed.

If the tiger started off by toying with him, it seemed to grow weary of its own game as it launched a new series of strikes with far quicker strokes. Thomas tried to keep pace, managing a clean dodge, followed by a shallow slice to his thigh from the second of the tiger's blades.

Each near miss, each brief exchange, dragged out like an eternity before the human. He watched it all in an almost detached fashion, his limbs moving agonizingly slow compared to his thoughts as his internal lamentations flowed at a rate exceeding what he was physically capable of. Even the tiger seemed to slow down, though he knew it was impossible. At that moment, he was in the biggest endorphin rush of his entire life. His mind had gone into overdrive, leaving the fight lagging far behind. Briefly he wondered if this was how people's lives flashed before their eyes; seeing and understanding the inevitable result but being unable to do a single thing about it.

His mind acted like it had all the time in the world to spin off on useless thoughts and memories until something forced its way through the unfocused mess. It asked a simple question: Do you seek power?

Given everything, he felt oddly at ease with with this random question popping into existence. No, he thought in response.

The thing seemed curious by this, Then why have I been drawn?

What? The sword? I'd rather not die right now, that's pretty much it. Thomas could see the tiger's muscles beginning to bunch, telegraphing the incoming swings. The first strike would come from the left then a following blow from the right and the human's balance still wasn't fully recovered from his last swerve. He'd be hit, badly, if not killed outright. But I'm not sure it matters much now.

His attention diverted from the thing talking to him and more towards the tiger when a sudden wave of animosity crashed over his consciousness. The crowd disliked his foe, maybe deservedly so, but it seemed his odd companion of sorts had an even lower opinion of the striped adversary. Doesn't it? You could strike him down. I could.

It'd be enough to just stop him if I can. He felt what would have been an incredulous snort in response if it had any sound. Was he really discussing this with a sword? Maybe it didn't matter that he was losing his mind in the final moments of his life, but it mattered that he kept his morals. He hadn't ever set out to kill anyone, even here. Forcing an opponent into surrender worked well enough, granted it wasn't a popular end, but he'd managed it more often than not. His foe seemed to hold the polar opposite view. The tiger's own blades had begun their motion, just as ruthless in their desire to cut as the look on their master's face; he didn't want to be like that.

Thomas concentrated on bringing his weapon up to block that first strike. Maybe he could turn his body enough to make the impending cut shallow. His own movements were agonizingly slow compared to the tiger's, but the great sword had started on its way. The beastman's leading blade already cut the distance between its edge and his body by half. Even in slow motion it was frighteningly fast compared to his own clumsy movements and he could see the white hot glow tracing along the razor sharp edge.

The etchings on his borrowed blade shined brightly against the light of the cloudless sky. To think you'd even try to harness my power without asking. There was a mocking reproach mixed in with the statement. To what end?

The muscles in his arms ached and burned with a ferocity he hadn't felt before, but the sword appeared to accelerate in spite of how slow the world was moving. To stay alive, he answered flatly.

And after that? The great blade actually had a chance of making it.

Then keep on living. Just before the first of the twin blades made contact with his body, his own came crashing into it. The sudden explosion of sparks at their collision made him wish he could squint faster.

You lack ambition. Rather than mocking Thomas, it tried a different track. You could have much more, be much more. It felt like his arm was going to tear itself apart as the contest between the blades raged on. You could stand on a mountain of your foes.

No, he answered readily. I know there's blood on my hands from just surviving here but what else can I do? I'm not going to let myself be killed, not as long as I can do something about it, but it's not like I want to hurt anyone. I'd rather save a life if I can. Even in the slowed state of the world, he could hear the sharp crack of a blade snapping. That sound was something he'd never forget.

Rather than the taunt he half expected, there was a feeling of acceptance, or perhaps relief, that flowed in with the next words to enter his mind. An honest answer and given freely. Though you did not seek it knowingly, my power, for now at least, is yours. It shall be so for as long as you can endure it.

One final thought crept into his mind, though the contents and rawness of it scared him almost as much as the tiger's assault. Worry not, the blood spilled here will not stain your hands, it is mine alone and I drink greedily.

The world instantly resumed its normal pace, shocking him by the sudden reality of the first of the twin blades breaking while the second raced at his chest. He had all but forgotten the parting words in his mind, focusing only on the deadly steel bearing down with all the force a nearly eight foot tall tigerman could muster. There was no way he'd block the second strike, but he'd give everything he could in the effort.

Control of the situation was ripped from him instantly. He couldn't see it happen, simply because the speed eclipsed his visual capability to track motion, but he sure as hell felt it. His arm whipped the sword with a force that nearly pulled it free of its socket as it moved, arcing high and racing down to intercept the tiger's remaining blade. Rather than stopping at that, his blade immediately reversed direction; a motion which did fully dislocate his shoulder and hyper extend his elbow as it arched back over the length of his body. He didn't even have time to scream properly.

The twin blades flew off harmlessly, one broken, and each spiraling towards the sand; both hilts still held in the massive hands of his foe. The tiger suddenly lost all coordination, his legs limply following through their motion as if they were attached to a marionette whose strings were abruptly cut mid stride. The tiger's eyes went wide, only then realizing what transpired, as crimson lines blossomed across the span of the breastplate and his thick, striped neck.

Thomas fell back in shock, landing flatly on the sand covered floor while the remains of his adversary cascaded down around him. He could do nothing more than stare up at the towering walls of the arena as the spray tinted his vision red; his battered mind and body shutting down then falling into blackness as the crowd watched in stunned silence from above.

***

He woke with a start by rolling off the bed and landing on soft carpet rather than the hard stone of his jail cell. Come to think of it, his cell didn't even have a bed, only some thin straw. His left arm and shoulder ached with a dull throb throughout the limb, but beyond that he didn't seem to be injured.

His eyes finally adjusted to the light of the room, giving him an altogether unexpected sight. The bed was nearly oval in shape and large, far bigger than anything he'd seen on Earth. He'd been sleeping on the right side of it and rolled off the edge, pulling most of the thick, white comforter with him. Once he got himself free of the covers, he stood up and glanced back at the bed and the room he was in, taking note of the red velvet carpet that spanned the entire floor. It was plush, luxurious even, and pleasant feeling under his bare feet.

As if to match the floor in grandeur, the walls were finely crafted from wooden panels, each stained a beautiful mahogany color without any of the patterns in the grain repeating, nor was there even a hint of blemish on their surface. The only markings on them were two rectangles composed of thin, metallic strips, each about eye level and on the side across the bed from where he stood.

He walked towards the head of the bed and ran his fingers across the smooth paneling behind it, then tapped lightly on the spotless surface with a single knuckle. “Huh, real wood."

“Of course," a voice coming from behind him replied to the observation.

Thomas turned quickly to see who was speaking. There wasn't anyone that knew English here, or at least none that used it around him back in the arena. He had no reason to believe he was still there, but he had no reason to assume anyone on this planet could, or would, speak to him either. He nearly jumped back at the sight of the expressionless, metallic jailer standing near the room's doorway.

The robot cocked its shiny, steel gray head to the side; a questioning gesture given the lack of movable facial features. Within a few seconds it nodded at him, “Ah, you've only seen the protectors working within the coliseum so this explains your worry. Fear not, Master Thomas, I am at your command."

The man was dumbstruck. He didn't know the thing could talk, nor did he know that there were more than one of them. After several moments of his mouth opening and closing wordlessly, he finally settled on, “You said you're at my command?"

Another brief nod as it reiterated, “Yes, of course."

Thomas licked his lips in thought, “Then would you mind getting me a glass of water? After that, I'd like to hear exactly what's going on." He motioned towards a round table with two rather large stools sitting in the corner of the room across from the doorway. The whole set was made of highly polished wood and looked to be an exact match to the variety used for the walls.

“At once, though your question is more than a little open ended. Perhaps we can narrow it down in scope after you've had a moment to collect yourself." With that, the android gave him a slight bow and turned to leave.

The human watched silently as the machine exited the room, presumably to go fetch him, a prisoner, a drink. He glanced down, noting that he was no longer in the rough fabric of his arena gear. These clothes were crafted from a light, flowing fabric; soft and simply cut. It was large in the body and waist, but the sleeves and pant legs had been quickly hemmed to fit his shorter limbs though he had a comical amount of the draw string in the pants pulled. For all intents and purposes, he was in an expensive set of pajamas. And even more amazing in his view, for once in a long while, he was clean and well groomed. It was a feeling he sorely missed.

Everything within the room was a grander scale than he was used to. The stools were taller than his waist, larger than most bar stools, and the padded seat was far thicker than normal. For that matter, the table was easily a foot plus a few inches taller than anything he used back on Earth. It was all, well, confusing. Just what the hell is going on, he thought to himself. He walked over to the set and pulled one of the stools back, taking a seat. The size mismatch made him feel like a kid sitting at the adults table for the first time during a family function.

Thomas closed his eyes and leaned his head into his hands, then breathed deeply to collect his thoughts. The robot was right, he did need a moment. Several moments, actually.

A rough sounding, though not unpleasant, voice brought his attention back to the door. Through it strode one of the tiger people, carrying a large glass of the requested water. It wore a similar uniform to the one he faced off against, complete with armor and bracers, but it had a slightly slimmer build and less angular features on its face though it wasn't any less tall, standing at nearly eight feet. One thing that this one lacked was the evil glare of his foe from the arena. If anything, the forward set of the tiger's ears and whiskers showed an intense interest, perhaps one of concern, as it spoke while setting the glass down.

Following closely behind the tiger was the android, “Mistress Tersa expresses her congratulations on your victory. She also asks if you are feeling well."

The man glanced between the robot and the tiger. Tigress, he corrected himself. He stood up and held his hand out, “Um, Miss Tersa, it's a pleasure to meet you." He hoped the android was playing the part of interpreter. “And thanks, I'm doing alright. Far better than dead, anyway." He added the last with a sidelong smile. Hopefully humor was a thing for these people.

After the robot finished echoing his thoughts, Tersa pulled her whiskers back in something of a grin which showed off her impressive canines. Her ears swiveled towards him, standing mostly upright and framing the slightly longer, striped fur between them. As she replied, she clasped his forearm, encasing it completely in her paw-like hand. He tried to do the same, figuring it was a greeting of sorts, but his fingers came up well short of encircling the furred appendage by about half.

“Feel free to take your seat, Master Thomas. You requested the water after all, so you should have the chance to drink it." The android motioned to the stool he occupied moments ago before continuing, “While she has little time to spare now, she also wishes to convey her willingness answer any immediate questions you have, and any remaining after her duties are concluded for the day."

The tigress waited for him to sit and start on his drink before taking her own seat. While the stools were rather tall for him, they seemed just about the right size for her. Everything here was built with the tiger's proportions in mind. Perhaps this was her house, or maybe a place of business. It lacked any personal touches; no photos or even really much of a décor apart from the functional, albeit comfortable, bed and table set.

He set the half empty glass back on the table. The amount the cup could hold was more than he could possibly drink, but his thirst was settled all the same. “You'll have to forgive me if I'm wrong, though I'm pretty certain you threw the sword down to me. If so, then thank you again. I'm not really sure about what happened, but I do know I'm here because of it."

Tersa blinked slowly as the robot finished conveying his words. She closed her golden hued eyes, letting out a brief chuckle that held little warmth before she spoke with a fair amount of ire in her tone. It was a rather lengthy response.

The android turned to face him again, “Master Thomas, you'll find that gratitude rightfully runs both ways. Mistress Tersa, and I'll be charitable in my translation here, is no longer wed to that coward because of your victory. In short, General Stross was stopped from reclaiming his veneer of public honor. Given your size and limited experience, it was a plainly rigged contest that held to the letter of the court's orders though no where near the spirit of it. Her public support of you, and the presentation of the very sword that had rejected him as its partner, was a final act of defiance toward his shameful conduct."

It took the man a moment to find any words. “Hold on, so I killed her husband?"

The android gave a single nod as it answered, “True, but this is one of many areas that are different from your culture, Master Thomas. The upper ranks of Ocellia's military are run by sanctioned pairings. Mistress Tersa's first husband died honorably in battle, fighting beside his troops to the last. Stross was her second, and once his cowardice was made clear, she was the one that brought the charges. While it is unusual for a spouse to bring such accusations to the courts, what he did is inexcusable. He fled his post, directly leading to the loss of several hundred men and women, friends and allies of the mistress all."

Thomas sat silent for a moment, trying to settle on which one of his many questions was most pressing. “Just so I'm clear on things, the court ordered him to fight as a punishment and I was a convenient way to throw the match?"

“Not exactly. Trial by combat is something of a final appeal that is always available to avoid the worst of fates, but there is a rarely used, frankly archaic, condition that both combatants can agree to before the start of the fight. Your death would have seen his full position restored and forced Mistress Tersa to accept him again. Should you win, and in doing so kill him, you would gain all that he lost. In short, it was a death match with both conditions and rewards that you knew nothing about."

Thomas sat stunned. He argued about not killing the tiger with the sword, something that seemed less far fetched than he previously thought, all while the damned tiger was plotting to use his death in a rather shitty way. “Then my little outburst..."

The machine nodded, “Yes. I knew what you said, and through me, so did Mistress Tersa. But the crowd saw it as an acceptance of the terms rather than a taunt; a criminal reaching for a chance to gain his freedom from the coliseum, and more, in exchange for a life or death contest. One that you've won."

The man let out his breath in a much needed sigh, “For heaven's sake..."

“No, Master Thomas, for Mistress Tersa's sake as well as your own. She has much to do, and starting tomorrow, you will too. The generals of the Second Imperial Division lead busy lives, after all."

Thomas nodded, not catching the full meaning of the android's statement at first. “I bet they do… Wait, what?!?"

The throaty chuckle from across the table showed that while the tigress may not know the language, she caught that he finally realized the major point of the situation. She reached across the table and gave his shoulder a firm pat that threatened to fold him sideways. After giving a few parting instructions to the robot, she stood and gave the human an approving nod.

Thomas, while still trying to process by the revelations just handed to him, somehow managed to give her a nod in return and watched in silence as Tersa walked out of the room. She seemed rather pleased, at least with the final outcome of things, though he still didn't know what to make of it all. There wasn't any tension in her posture and much like a relaxed cat back on Earth, her striped tail was held slightly out with its tip curved upward as she strode back to whatever business needed her attention.

The android remained standing beside the table, its camera eyes fixed on the man. Thomas reasoned it was giving him a chance to come to terms with his newly acquired position. “So, what now?"

“That depends entirely on what you wish to do." A completely unhelpful answer.

He pursed his lips in mild annoyance, “I don't even know where to begin. Hell, I don't even know the language."

The metallic head nodded, “A prudent thing to know, of course, and one of many areas Mistress Tersa is working to resolve."

“I'm guessing that it's rare for someone other than a...tiger person?" Thomas shrugged, failing to find any better words.

“In your language, the easiest action would be to call Mistress Tersa an Ocellian."

“Right," he answered. At least he had name for the people he was dealing with. “So is this a rare situation? Me not being a Ocellian, and if I'm following right, a general... Oh, but before that, what's your name?"

The robot cocked its head to the side again, “I can answer to a variety of generic calls, though the closest protector unit will respond. There are many of us here; we are all one and the same."

“Networked, huh?"

Another nod gave quick confirmation to his guess. “That would be a fairly accurate description."

Thomas couldn't help but smile, “Mind if I call you Jeeves?" The robot certainly had the proper manners and voice that would belong to a man of that name.

“Jeeves." The robot repeated, “Ah, yes, I see now. We don't have the concept of a butler, not exactly, but the comparison isn't far off. I can add it as an alternate designation, if you wish."

“That I do," the human answered as he stood up. If the machine was networked, maybe it was answering based on information from Earth that it somehow had access to. It could speak English, fluently at that, and seemed to get many of his obscure references and inflections. Having someone he could actually talk freely with was a welcome change and one that he'd take full advantage of.

His stomach seemed to have other ideas as it growled in protest from going without food for too long. It was probably for the best to get that taken care of. “I'm not even sure what time it is, but trying to learn on an empty stomach seems like a bad idea to me. So food first, if that's possible."

He still had countless questions and a nagging feeling that he was truly in over his head, but anything beat being a prisoner in the hell hole he'd come from. Whatever the case, however he found himself here, at the very least he'd never have to hear that damned cell door again.