Rick Riordan
The Battle of the Labyrinth - 04
bird, reptile, insect, mammal.
But the creepiest things were the skulls. The arena was full of them. They ringed the edge of
the railing. Three-foot-high piles of them decorated the steps between the benches. They grinned
from pikes at the back of the stands and hung on chains from the ceiling like horrible chandeliers.
Some of them looked very old—nothing but bleached-white bone. Others looked a lot fresher. I’m
not going to describe them. Believe me, you don’t want me to.
In the middle of all this, proudly displayed on the side of the spectator’s wall, was something
that made no sense to me—a green banner with the trident of Poseidon in the center. What was
that doing in a horrible place like this?
Above the banner, sitting in a seat of honor, was an old enemy.
“Luke,” I said.
I’m not sure he could hear me over the roar of the crowd, but he smiled coldly. He was
wearing camouflage pants, a white T-shirt, and bronze breastplate, just like I’d seen in my dream.
But he still wasn’t wearing his sword, which I thought was strange. Next to him sat the largest giant
I’d ever seen, much larger than the one on the floor fighting the centaur. The giant next to Luke
must’ve been fifteen feet tall, easy, and so wide he took up three seats. He wore only a loincloth, like
a sumo wrestler. His skin was dark red and tattooed with blue wave designs. I figured he must be
Luke’s new bodyguard or something.
There was a cry from the arena floor, and I jumped back as the centaur crashed to the dirt
beside me.
He met my eyes pleadingly. “Help!”
I reached for my sword, but it had been taken from me and hadn’t reappeared in my pocket
yet.
The centaur struggled to get up as the giant approached, his javelin ready.
A taloned hand gripped my shoulder. “If you value your friendsss’ livesss,” my dracaena
guard said, “you won’t interfere. This isssn’t your fight. Wait your turn.”
The centaur couldn’t get up. One of his legs was broken. The giant put his huge foot on the
horseman’s chest and raised the javelin. He looked up at Luke. The crowd cheered, “DEATH!
DEATH!”
Luke didn’t do anything, but the tattooed sumo dude sitting next to him arose. He smiled
down at the centaur, who was whimpering, “Please! No!”
Then the sumo dude held out his hand and gave the thumbs down sign.
I closed my eyes as the gladiator giant thrust his javelin. When I looked again, the centaur
was gone, disintegrated to ashes. All that was left was a single hoof, which the giant took up as a
trophy and showed the crowd. They roared their approval.
A gate opened at the opposite end of the stadium and the giant marched out in triumph.
In the stands, the sumo dude raised his hands for silence.
“Good entertainment!” he bellowed. “But nothing I haven’t seen before. What else do you
have, Luke, Son of Hermes?”
Luke’s jaw tightened. I could tell he didn’t like being called son of Hermes. He hated his
father. But he rose calmly to his feet. His eyes glittered. In fact, he seemed to be in a pretty good
mood.
“Lord Antaeus,” Luke said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You have been an excellent
host! We would be happy to amuse you, to repay the favor of passing through your territory.”
“A favor I have not yet granted,” Antaeus growled. “I want entertainment!”
Luke bowed. “I believe I have something better than centaurs to fight in yo