"Hand over the grain or hand over the women." Mandragos licked his thick lips as he stepped forward. "You know the rules, scrawny brat!"The musty stench of neglected leather armor mingled with the sour smell of cheap wine and rancid sweat, invading every corner of the rickety hut. Mandragos strutted inside with his chest puffed out. His narrow, watery eyes gleamed with hunger as he fixed his gaze on Shirin, who was curled up trembling on the dirt floor.His gaze traveled down the Persian girl's slender waist before lingering on the torn hemp fabric that revealed the generous curves of her breasts, pale and soft against the rough cloth. In the opposite corner, his eyes swept over Freya's defined abdominal muscles before tracing the powerful thighs of the female gladiator, marked with old sword scars.Mandragos's two burly subordinates lounged against the shattered doorframe. One of them spun a rusty iron chain around his fingers, letting the metal rattle in a deliberate rhythm meant t