Here; is this setting better?

Tala tracked the vorn through the hellish inferno that was the Seething Sands. The crowd flocked along behind her, held back at a reasonable distance by humourless guards in immaculate uniforms; sweat beaded their brows and formed undignified stains under their arms, but they gave no sign of their discomfort. The crowd rode an odd assortment of beasts, each of which grunted, snorted and lashed its tail testily according to its kind. The crowd knew better than to make any noise themselves, yet their presence still irritated Tala. Vorn were elusive prey at the best of times, and Tala’s life was forfeit if she did not find and kill the king’s vorn. She had seen no sign of the it since that lone, long foot print some distance back, but that did not worry her as she had a way of knowing animals that ran deeper than most. To those who knew her it was as if, having observed an animal, she could imprint the essence of it upon her soul; so that if she knew one vorn she knew on an esoteric level all vorn. This allowed her to now pick her way through the troughs of sand dunes, always choosing as the vorn would have chosen. Time passed wearily and the huge orange sun broiled overhead, the dark miasma that marked its heart seemed to do nothing to lessen the strength of its rays. The crowd wilted a little as they travelled, and some of them grew restive with the chase, but Tala thrilled knowing that the vorn too would be feeling the effects of the midday sun. Suddenly she halted the mount she had been given to ride, throwing an arm out imperiously behind her to halt the guards and crowd. The guards immediately followed suit and the crowd jostled to form a semicircle around them. The mare she sat astride was finely bred and formed an impressive sight, but Tala knew the poor beasts wind had been broken through cruel use, and that there would be no hope for her escape should she decide to suddenly go galloping off. She dismounted, swinging her leg wide over the silver-worked saddle, and letting the tasselled reins fall to the ground. The horse blinked exhaustedly in the desert heat and seemed relieved to no longer bare even Tala’s slight weight. Tala pushed back her silver diadem as it dug painfully into her temples. Irritably she flicked back her cape, and pulled from her scabbards two knives as long as her forearm. The silver blades flashed in the sun, their deep set sapphires and moonstones suddenly alight with sunfire. Tala looked back at the crowd that followed her. The king’s bookies travelled up and down the line riding reluctant grey mules and exchanging money and slips of paper. The king sat alone in the space between Tala and the crowd. He rode the largest and most magnificent of all the horses, a powerful chestnut trained in the arts of war. The king himself was round bodied and swathed in white cloth from head to toe, yet despite his weight he moved with deadly grace. Even from this distance his hard, black eyes and savagely beaked nose were clearly discernible as he watched Tala expressionlessly. This was the seventh time that he had set one of his precious pets free in the desert and forced her to hunt it down or forfeit her life. Now that they had halted the crowd fairly crackled with anticipation; these hunts made a novel change from the arena matches they were used to. The king nodded to Tala and she turned from him to scan the sands around her. They had gathered on the crest of a dune which dipped into a trough and then rose up again on all sides, forming a dimple in the sands. Tala’s intuition told her that the vorn was somewhere nearby. Moving carefully and never taking her eyes off of the sands she scanned from side to side, looking for the slightest disturbance in the dirt. The crowd held its breath as she reached the bottom of the trough, but nothing happened. After carefully casting an eye over the ground around her Tala started ascending the far side of the depression. She paced slowly, knives clutched in both hands, her body held in a low crouch. She reached the peak without seeing any sign of the vorn. Slowly she straightened, staring about her puzzled. For long moments she stood like that, slowing turning on the spot as she searched. Temporarily defeated she looked at the king, and saw him smile grimly. Then the world exploded around her. A plaintive wail filled the air and sand flew as if she stood in the arms of a vortex as the vorn burst free from beneath the sandy back of the dune. Blinded, she crouched low, and was hit with a massive thud that sent her tumbling backwards down the dune. The vorn chased after her, the tall reptile holding itself upright and moving with a bounding motion balanced by a thick, clubbed tail. Black, lethal talons swiped after her as she fell. Its pointed snout was filled with jumbled teeth, more numerous than the stars. Yellow froth dripped from a mouth that was lashed by a pointed tongue. Tala came to a stop in the centre of the depression with the vorn looming over her. Forcing gritty eyes painfully open she saw its jaws reaching for her, spit sizzling as it hit her skin, and then tucking tight she rolled towards the creature, under its plated belly and between its scaly legs. As she rolled she slashed with her blade, partially hamstringing the creature above the hock. Wounded, the creature raised its snout to the sky and opening its lethal jaws, it roared into the heavens. The watching crowd roared back in appreciation. This agitated the creature and it started running in a long, awkward strides, the sinew of its legs disintegrating further with every movement. The crowd murmured with fear as the vorn raced blindly in their direction, and some started tugging on the reins of their beasts, trying to drag them around. The guards and those that kept their heads started shaking rattles, blowing horns and banging drums. Confused and dismayed the vorn turned away from them, and half ran, half stumbled back down the dune. Tala’s cape flapped in a sudden breeze and the vorn honed in on the movement. Incensed with pain the vorn summoned up a deadly rage as it raced toward Tala; she cut a small and desolate figure as she withstood its charge. Overeager as it reached for her, its hamstrung leg finally gave way beneath it and it toppled towards her like a felled tree. She ducked to the left as she slashed right with both arms and the creatures neck slammed into the dirt where she had just stood. The creature screamed in pain, and a small part of Tala’s mind had time to feel pity for the creature, as she stepped back a distance, keeping a wary eye on the prone vorn. It seemed like it was not going to rise again; it lay there bleeding and writhing in the dirt, alternating between screeching and moaning piteously. Only death would bring a swift end this chase and Tala couldn’t bear to see the creature suffer further. She approached cautiously and the vorn seemed oblivious to her presence. As she neared its head and prepared to slit its throat it suddenly rallied, swinging its club tail along the ground towards her as it tried to strike. Again instinct saved her and she leapt into the air even as the tail skimmed the ground from behind, trying to sweep her off her feet. The vicious spines of the tail sliced passed her, and she managed to leap over them and land on the blazing sand unharmed. Not wasting a moment she leant in and sliced the vorns throat, stepping back quickly as it’s hot, dark green blood pumped out, sizzling as it kissed the hot sand. Tala solemnly watched the dying Vorn and said the words of the Fallen Warrior for it before raising her knife in the air and pivoting on her heel to salute the crowd. A roar went up into the air. Some people were yelling victoriously, some were yelling with anger. This was Tala’s seventh hunt undefeated and as many people like to bet against her as for her; hearing the noise she smiled grimly to herself. As soon as Tala had raised her guards and the vets had rushed over to see if they could save the vorn. In an environment as harsh and unforgiving as the Seething Sands all resources were precious and conserved where possible. King Solinde ruled the Seraglio with an iron fist, and funded these matches and the fighters. Although the matches appeared to squander resources in a way that made the narrow-minded gasp with wonder, the king in fact utilised every resource meticulously; the matches were a way to display his wealth and to consolidate his power.