Stories for everything

By a good-hearted nobleman

The emperor held his annual tournament to determine which of the poor souls forced to participate would be granted citizenship and thus escape slavery. I was a mere bystander in this spectacle, one who had to attend to maintain appearances and avoid the emperor's wrath.

Despite my reservations, I entered "The Stable," an underground dungeon with grimy wooden and iron cells that held this year's slaves fighting for their lives. I observed emaciated men and women, as well as broken and disheartened individuals. Some slaves no longer cared about their lives, while others prayed or muttered incoherent words in dark corners.

As I walked through, I distributed bread and water, following the example of some nobles before me. They aimed to nourish these slaves, hoping to increase their chances of success in the upcoming battles.

In one cell, a particular man caught my attention. Food and wine lay untouched in front of his cell, but he didn't partake. His eyes met mine, and I was taken aback. He wasn't particularly robust, but his eyes conveyed experience and determination. He raised an eyebrow at me as I lingered too long with my gaze. I turned away, but something compelled me to stay. Then he began to speak.

"It seems you are different from the other passing nobles; I sense shame and guilt in your demeanor. I shall share my story with you."

I hesitated to face this man, whose voice had shaken me to my core. I planted my feet firmly and stared down the candlelit hallway. The dancing flames setting the scene grimly.

"This is not my first battle, nor my first time in chains. I'll recount my story, so you can share it if I don't survive tomorrow. It took place in a distant land with endless golden sands, a palace resembling your emperor's abode in the heart of an arid, unforgiving landscape. I became a slave after surviving a shipwreck and ending up not far from that paradise. They showed no mercy to outsiders. I was trained mercilessly and relentlessly, my feet and hands bloody, my body covered in mosquito bites, and the whip marks etched into my skin."

He paused, lost in memories of a simpler time. I dared to glimpse at his face, which was serene, his eyes closed as he sat in meditation, yearning for the sky he hadn't seen in weeks.

"One day, I awoke in a daze, blinded by the blazing sun. I struggled to open my eyes and found something or someone pressing on my chest, making breathing difficult. I turned my head, and the scorching sand seared my cheek. The crowd cheered, some jeered, but then everything fell silent. I gazed up to the highest point of the arena, where the king of that forsaken land stood, hand raised. My tormentor loomed tall, sword pointed at the sky."

I held my breath, knuckles white from clutching the bread and water.

"Then came the king's verdict: my death. Panic gripped me; I couldn't voice a word. My throat dry and raw. 'Not here! Not now!' echoed in my mind as the sword's circles tightened above my chest. Desperation guided my hands; I gripped the sword about to impale me and reached for the hidden dagger at my hip. I found it and thrust it into my tormentor's leg, through the muscle. A scream rang out, not only from the fallen man but from the entire crowd."

The scene played before my eyes, and I struggled to contain my surprise, my breath shallow and quick, my heart racing. The flames dancing across the walls.

"I rose to my feet, swaying in the sweltering sun, only to retrieve the fallen sword. In a trance, I stabbed him repeatedly, faster, deeper, and with mounting fury. This man, like me, sought only to survive. And there we stood. Then, a sudden silence enveloped me, pierced only by a relentless ringing in my ears, the sun blazing down upon me."

I longed to express my compassion and pity but turned away as he silenced me with a raised hand.

"The noise returned, thunderous cheers and vibrant flowers raining down amidst the golden sands. In that moment, memories flooded back. He was my friend, on that ill-fated voyage. He shouldn't have met his end by my hand. The king bore the blame; without him, I would never have endured the forsaken arena, never become a slave, and never taken my friend's life. Dropping the sword, I sank to my knees, the unforgiving sand scorching beneath me. I gazed up at the king, lowering my head in reverence as he descended the long golden staircase. My hand clutched the dagger, and my resolve grew. It all felt like a haze. The noise echoing through me."

He chuckled through tears, and I knelt in front of his cell, my gaze fixed upon him.

"When my blade severed his throat just as he was about to set me free, I felt nothing. Only silence enveloped me, so eerily quiet. Back then, I nearly perished, drenched in his blood. I don't know how I escaped or who aided me, but now I find myself in the same predicament."

I placed the bread and water on the ground, gripping the cell bars, my mouth opening and closing as I struggled to articulate my thoughts and emotions. He turned away, lost in thought, his focus on a dagger. I stood and left, quietly.

The next day, I didn't attend the arena. I remained in my opulent chamber, with delicate bread and fresh water, watching the dancing candle flames as the message reached me: "The emperor is dead; long live the emperor."