change of heat and dust. The townspeople opened the windows to let fresh air into their homes, filled with the smell of flowers and young foliage. The parks and alleys were filled with importantly walking grandees, who had left their stifling palaces, and now fashioned each other with expensive clothes and ornaments, to which the thieves also turned their attention.

Dorna ragged the clothes brought to her, trying to find a dress suitable for a walk in the catacombs. The wardrobe was modest, but the former warrior managed to choose her outfit to suit her taste. From a small pile of rags, she pulled out a black leotard and a spacious shirt.

Having made several strokes with her hands, the woman was satisfied. The clothes did not constrain movements and did not rustle. Girdling a wide leather belt, Dorn placed a dagger behind her back and hung a narrow long sword to her thigh. Out in the middle of the room, which served her and Medea’s bedroom, the gladiator pulled out a blade from the scabbard with a quick, habitual movement and waved it several times.

- LITTLE! She heard a man’s voice behind her.

Turning quickly, the woman saw Horn, propping up the wall of the cave with her shoulder. Without a word, she put the sword in her hand, then threw it lightly and deftly grabbed the handle. The weapon was balanced perfectly. It was immediately obvious that the master of his craft made it. Raising a thin eyebrow, Dorn sheathed the blade.

“I'm ready,” the woman said in a guttural voice.

- Will you go barefoot? - grinned the young man.

“No,” Dornna pulled neat leather boots from under the bed.

“The meeting is scheduled for midnight,” said Horn, “Let's move when it gets dark.”

Dorn nodded. When the young man came out, she tied a black kerchief on her head, so that her bright red hair did not attract the attention of passersby and did not give out the warrior in the dark corridors of the maze. Medea, sitting down on the couch, watched with all her eyes as a friend carefully examined the weapon and put the clothes in order. She was particularly struck when Dorn, scooping up soot with her palm, applied several oblique streaks to her face.

“So that white skin does not glow in the dark,” the woman explained, “So I can sneak up on the enemy unnoticed.”

“I’m scared, madam,” Mi said thoughtfully. “I’m afraid for you.” Be careful.

“What kind of lady am I to you,” the woman grinned and sat down on the edge of the bed, “We're friends, aren't we?” You can call me by name.

“Yes, madam,” the girl nodded. “That is, Dorn.” But I will still worry for you.

The entrance to the maze was a narrow gap between two stone walls that miraculously did not affect the destruction. Dorn looked into the darkness of the aisle and waved her partner with her hand. Stepping carefully on the stone steps, they descended into a narrow corridor. The horn wanted to light a torch, but the gladiator shook her head.

They slowly moved along the damp, rough wall and soon found themselves in front of a massive iron grate.

“Shhhh,” Dorna put a finger to her lips, “There’s someone there.”

She pulled a dagger from behind her back and picked up a small pebble from the floor. There was a quiet knock. Voices followed him. A dim light appeared in the doorway, and soon a man appeared in front of the bars with a candle in his hand. He was tall and sturdy, a short sword jingling on his belt. Most likely, he had to guard the entrance to the catacombs.

- Whom bears? He asked in a choked voice, lighting up the passage.

Dorn, with the agility of a wild cat, threw her left hand forward and grabbed the guard by the throat. The blade of the dagger flashed, and the guard slowly fell to the ground, wheezing softly.

Silence fell again. The woman threw another stone. This time the steps were heavy and fast. As soon as the second guard appeared near the grille, Dorn pierced him with her sword.With a dull moan, the bandit sank onto a stone floor.

“Look for the keys from him,” the woman ordered, “Otherwise, we will have to break the grille, but she’s strong.”

The horn patted his pockets and soon pulled out a large metal rod. The lock yielded, and the heavy door opened almost without squeaking. The path was clear. Dorn, cautiously peered into the dark gallery and beckoned the young man with her hand.

Soon a dim light dawned ahead, and they saw a wide aisle, next to which, like guards from fairy tales, there were two giants, holding in their hands huge clubs, completely studded with spikes. Their faces were covered with masks, and scars and scars were visible on the bare torsos.

“I'll take care of them myself,” the warrior whispered, stepping forward. “Boldly go ahead.” They will not touch you.

Horn, trying not to look at the guards, walked into a brightly lit room. In the middle of it was a huge oak table filled with dishes with fruit, roasted meat and other culinary delights. A crystal decanter of fine work rose from the side, most likely taken away from some rich nobleman. The decanter was filled with a dark, almost black liquid.

At the table on rich carved chairs were four people, dressed in camisoles, embroidered with gold thread, snow-white shirts with lace collars and cuffs and wide-brimmed hats with colorful plumes. The young man could not hold back a smile, looking at the robes of "kings", which looked more like parrots than the rulers of the city.

“What amused you so much, stranger?” Came a creaky voice from the darkness.

The horn turned around and saw a tall thin man dressed in a strict suit of black velvet. His thick gray hair was collected in a thick tail, tied with a wide ribbon to match the clothes. The narrow, almost female waist was intercepted by a wide leather belt, and the chest was crossed by a richly decorated pendant with a light sword with an ivory hilt. His narrow, colorless eyes expressed curiosity, but the man knew how to hide his emotions.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” he went to the table and sat down in the middle.

“My name is ...,” began the Horn.

“We can do without names,” the “king” interrupted him, “Especially since we do not intend to introduce ourselves.” You wanted to meet us. What do you expect from this conversation?

“Aid,” the young man answered shortly.

- Which one? - With a slight smile asked a man sitting on the right side.

“I intend to attack Lazar’s castle,” he boldly looked into the eyes of the “king,” Horn explained.

“Attack if you want,” said the extreme left with a grin, “And why do we need you?”

- I have few people. One can not cope, - the young man felt the growing tension in the views of the people sitting at the table.

“Then don't attack,” said the chief.

“But he stole my slave!” Exclaimed Gorn.

“At first you stole it,” a man in a black suit remarked in a low voice.

“I picked her up in the woods,” the young man began to make excuses. “She ran away from her master.” I saved the girl's life.

“The life of a slave is worth nothing,” said the “king,” sitting at the right hand of the chief, with an edifying tone.

“The life of this slave is worth a lot,” Gorn raised his voice slightly, but quickly pulled himself together, “I love her.”

- Go to the market, buy yourself a girl and love, how much will fit! - Chief laughed.

“But Lazar still owes me something,” answered the young man in a firm voice. “He ...”

“We don’t care what your score is with your brother,” the “black king” raised his hand.

- Do you know everything? - Horn was amazed, - Who told you?

- The audience is over! - proclaimed the chief, - piss off, or my guards tear to pieces you. Hey, loafers! Get this jerk out of here!

There was a romp in the dark, but instead of the giants guarding the entrance, Dorn entered the arena, holding a dagger in one hand, from which oozing blood and the other clutched her sword. The kerchiefs on her head were gone. She probably flew off during the fight. The red-haired mane of hair flashed by the light of torches, like a fire in the night.

- I am Dorn-Satan! - the woman said loudly, heading for the table, - you know me! Especially you, Barat. After all ... Read more →