Free Escape from Evil by David Grimstone

CHAPTER I
    THE GREAT FALL
    D ecimus closed his eyes. He was fighting for his life against a fellow slave. He wasn’t sure he was going to make it. Locked in a powerful choke hold and lifted from the ground, Decimus found himself rushed toward the edge of the combat circle in the mammoth hands of Boma Derok.
    Screaming with rage, Decimus shifted his weight several times to no avail—the big slave was so strong that it was like trying to struggle against a moving boulder.
    The two combatants had nearly reached the spikes when Decimus suddenly snaked down a hand and raked his fingernails across Boma’s eyes. The big slave dropped his opponent immediately, and raised both hands to his scratched face.
    Decimus landed on his feet, hopped around behind the wounded fighter, and threw all his weight at him. Boma staggered forward, palms still covering his eyes, and tripped on the line of spikes. He was doomed.
    As the fickle slave crowd roared its approval, Boma Derok plunged face-first into the sand.
    The combat was over.

    Decimus wasn’t quite prepared for the admiration and cheers he received that night in the cell section. Gladius couldn’t stop talking about the fight, Olu and Ruma both offered Decimus their own soup, and even Argon reached through the bars and shook his hand. Farther down the corridor, whispers and distant shouts could be heard. The name Decimus was spreading along the corridors like wildfire. Boma Derok’s fate would now be a subject few discussed, his name forgotten by all but his cellmate and presumably—in some distant town—his family. Meanwhile, he would rot in the underground prisons.
    Decimus knew he could easily have suffered the same destiny and, to Gladius’s surprise, decided to scratch the big slave’s name into the cell floor with his spoon. Boma didn’t deserve to be forgotten. No one did.
    â€œThere’s something going on out there.”
    At first, Decimus thought the words had been spoken by Gladius, but his friend was staring past him. Turning, he saw that Gladius’s eyes were on Ruma, who had squeezed himself against the barred door of his cell and was straining to see down the far end of the corridor. Behind him, Olu had drifted off to sleep.

    â€œWhat’s up?” said Argon, getting to his feet and heading across to the front of his own cell.
    â€œWhisper,” said Ruma, holding up a hand in order to keep the others quiet. “Apparently, there’s a lot of noise coming from the arena.”
    â€œFighting?” Decimus asked, sharing a hopeful glance with Gladius.
    Ruma shook his head. “No, more like building. You know, hammering and work noise.”
    Argon was now pressed against the barred door separating his cell from the corridor. “What’s that?” he said.
    â€œJust wait,” snapped Ruma as Olu began to stir. “I can’t hear anything with you talk—”
    â€œNo, not the noise. What is that?”
    Ruma tried to follow Argon’s pointing finger and squinted into the shadows. “I don’t know what you’re looking at!”
    â€œOn the wall! Just up the corridor!” Argon sneaked a hand through the bars and extended his finger as far as it would reach. “THERE!”
    Ruma squinted harder. “Keys,” he said, eventually. “It’s a hook. Truli keeps his ring of cell keys on it.”
    â€œCan you get to it?” Gladius hazarded.
    Ruma laughed. “Are you crazy? Do you think I have ropes for arms or something?”
    They all burst into fits of laughter . . . but Decimus said nothing. He was staring very thoughtfully into the shadows.

    When the slave horde arrived in the arena the following morning, Master Falni had taken control of the trials. From what Decimus could tell, this wasn’t good news. A series of giant poles had been erected, each supporting a circular wooden platform at its summit.
    â€œThey get smaller and