The Lost Throne(138)

Apollo had learned his skills from the greatest warrior culture of all time.

His opponent had not.

In Apollo’s mind, the outcome was all but decided.

Before Payne could recover from the previous assault, Apollo was upon him. Using his shield as a battering ram, he launched himself into Payne, knocking him onto his back. Payne skidded to a halt a few feet short of the chasm. A second later, Apollo was above him, swinging his sword as hard as he could. Somehow, through it all, Payne had held on to the tree limb. It was sturdy and knotted with age. He lifted it above his chest just in time to stop the path of the blade.

A mighty thump echoed through the night as the wood splintered from the force.

The unexpected block left the Spartan off balance. His weight was leaning forward, and his stride was too wide. Payne spotted the flaw and quickly took advantage. With a sweep of his feet, he knocked Apollo to the ground and rolled on top of him. The limb that had once been whole was now in two pieces. Payne dropped one and used the other like a crazed drummer. Time after time, he pounded on his opponent’s head and face, trying to beat him to death.

But the Spartan’s helmet held firm.

Though he was dazed, years of training told Apollo what to do. With all his strength, he used his hips to thrust upward, bucking Payne into the air. The maneuver worked better than he could have imagined. The slope of the hill coupled with the edge of the ridge cost Payne his advantage. One moment he was pummeling the Spartan, the next he was tumbling down the chasm, losing chunks of skin as he bounced between the narrow rocks.

With a loud thud, Payne hit the ground below.

Andropoulos reached down to help him, but his hand was pushed away.

Payne simply said, “That son of a bitch!”

Then, riding a burst of rage, he scurried back up the chasm.

Ready for round two.





Dial had his own battle to worry about. He had turned toward Allison when she screamed, which had allowed the other Spartan to slip in behind him.

Sword raised high, the Spartan was set to strike when Dial heard the clanging of armor. Instinctively, he dropped to his knees as the Spartan’s blade whizzed overhead. Momentum carried the warrior forward, but he remained balanced and under control. Planting his front foot and turning, he put himself into position to swing again.

Dial lifted his gun and got off a single shot that was deflected by the Spartan’s shield. A moment later he used his shield as a weapon, slamming it against the side of Dial’s head.

Stunned by the blow, Dial slumped to the ground.

Blood oozed from a gash on his cheek as he tried to regain his senses.

But the Spartan wouldn’t allow it. Even in the darkness, he recognized the dazed look in his opponent’s eyes. He knew it was time to finish him off.

With that in mind, the Spartan lifted his sword and prepared to strike.





After knocking Payne down the chasm, Apollo grinned in triumph. His opponent had been a worthy adversary, but like all the others before him, he had been vanquished.

Rising to his feet, Apollo searched the ridge for his next victim.

Only one person was not engaged in battle.

The woman.

The thought of fighting her disgusted him. His ancestors never had to deal with women on the battlefield, since they were all forced to stay at home. In his mind, they were good for only one thing: breeding. That had always been the Spartans’ stance on women. Mothers were loved. Wives were tolerated. And girls were a wasted opportunity to have had a son.

Still, in this day and age of modern weaponry, he knew women could be dangerous. They could pull a trigger just as easily as a man. Therefore, she couldn’t be overlooked.

She would be treated like all the others.

She would have to be killed at once.





Dial was dazed from the blow to his head, but somehow his instincts took over.

As the Spartan raised his sword, Dial raised his gun and fired two quick shots, just over the top of the shield. The first bullet hit the Spartan in his collarbone, shattering it with a sickening snap. The next one struck him right in the mouth. Teeth cracked like crushed ice and embedded themselves in the lining of his throat as the bullet tore through the back of his neck.

This wasn’t the movies, so the Spartan didn’t fly ten feet backward and die quietly.

Instead, he slumped forward on top of Dial, pinning him to the ground. The whole time the Spartan was spitting and gurgling and trying to breathe, and Dial was trapped underneath.

For the next twelve seconds, he listened to the man choking on his own blood until Dial was able to squirm away. Once he did, he fired his weapon again and ended the Spartan’s life.





Allison watched in horror as Payne tumbled down the chasm. A moment earlier, he had stepped in front of her and saved her from the muscular Spartan.