The Emperor's Gladiatrix

Two

I deflected the strike upwards easily, my shield vibrating my arm painfully as it clashed with the sword. Immediately I went on the offensive, ducking under my raised shield and slicing my sica through the air toward his bare abdomen. He was forced to take a step back, and I advanced toward him.

My next strike was at his shoulder, which he stepped away from easily. But I expected this, and my sword was already flashing toward his other side. Awkwardly, he was forced to wrench his body sideways in the opposite direction of his momentum, which left his ribs open to attack.

I managed to draw first blood, in the form of a thin slice along his lower ribs. The crowd went wild, with gleeful cheers and cries of disappointment from the gamblers. Brutal, violent excitement swept through the audience. A few droplets of blood dripped down the murmillo's side, glistening in the sun. He snarled, and set his stance again.

I didn't give him much time before I struck again. He blocked with his shield and attacked me. I barely managed to get my sica up to parry, and he used his strength to shove me backwards. I stumbled, tripping over the lumps of sand we had kicked up previously. Barely managing to keep on my feet, I looked up to find his sword on a path to meet my vulnerable stomach. With a cry, I twisted desperately, and the sword whistled by, leaving only a stinging scratch it its wake. Breathing heavily, I lowered my stance again, and let out a low breath.

We circled, like wild animals. I attacked, and he defended. He lashed out, and I sidestepped. I carved out another thin cut on his shoulder, and he opened a shallow gash on my thigh. We traded blows, his size and strength meeting my speed and agility.

Drops of red sizzled on the burning sand. A cut here, a nick there, they added up until we were both slick with sweat and blood. My arms burned, and my legs were growing sore. I panted, adjusting my grip on my light sica.

We were both tired, and now was when the mistakes became life or death. Reflexes slowed, energy dwindled, resolve faltered. Now it came down to spirit, to training, to the determination to survive.

I went in the offensive, to keep him in his heels. My sword whipped to his left side, then to his right, and step by step, he was forced to shuffle backwards. I was a hawk, with deadly claws and speed on my side, and he was a lion, with fatally sharp teeth and impressive strength. I ducked under his swing and my sica clashed with his shield. I darted back from his next attack and slapped his sword away from me with the flat of my sword. Our swords met once more, both of us straining. I slipped to the side and slashed at his shoulder, but he stepped back. Together our blades crashed, again and again. Speed against power. Agility against strength.

We broke apart, breathing heavily. The throngs of people roared, sensing the fight would soon be over. My eyes skidded over the crowd as my sides heaved, taking in the vivid colors crammed into one place, all the people, the culture, the beliefs. Then my gaze landed on the Emperor, and stopped. Unlike his friends, the Emperor wasn't cheering, or talking. As the people around him laughed and joked, he sat perfectly still, eyes trained solely on me. As if the distance between us was gone, our eyes met and I felt a shock run down my body. A breath of air escaped my lips. I felt paralyzed.

Suddenly, a clang snapped me back to the gladiator in front of me. There was no honor in killing me where there was no one looking. With a quick shake of my head, I raised my guard.

The gladiator attacked, and I stepped out of the way. I stabbed, and he hit my blade to the side easily. We danced around each other for a while, slashing and parrying, cutting and blocking.

But for some reason, my mind kept circling back to the Emperor - and his motionless stare. The intensity in his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks, the lift of his chin... it stuck in my head.

Suddenly, I was struck by a blow on my shield that sent me reeling. I tripped backward, sprawling onto my butt. I scrambled backward, as my faceless opponent stepped steadily closer. Quietly, I gathered my feet underneath me, and waited. When he got close enough, I sprang forward, keeping myself low, my small stature and speed sending me under his arm. As I passed, I sliced my sword out wide cutting deeply into the gladiator's thigh. He roared, and his whole body jerked in pain. His shield came rushing toward me like a battering ram, and knocked me violently onto the sand a few feet away. My head smacked into the ground, and my teeth rattled with the impact. I rolled a few times, before coming to a stop, feeling woozy. The crowd was too loud in my ears, their eager cries for blood piercing my thoughts, scattering them into the farthest corners on my mind. Sand scraped against my tongue. I felt a searing pain in my arm, and looked down to find a gruesome hole in my flesh, the wound blurring in front of my eyes. Sand and grit covered the bloody injury. Around the edges, the skin looked ripped and jagged, and you could see layers of muscle and sinews covered in a thick, dark red. Blood seeped out of the hole, splashing onto the sand below me. Coughing, I realized that of the ornamental spikes had punctured my shoulder when the gladiator had plowed into me with his shield.

His feet crunched toward me unevenly. Desperately, I looked around for my sica but found it had been knocked from my hand, and found it glinting at me an arm's length away. Too far to get without being gored by my enemy's sword. Not good.

As I tried to sit up, my vision blurred, and I lost my sense of up and down. I tried to scramble back, but my arm pulsed with a white hot pain when I tried to move it. My competitor leveled his sword at my throat. Weakly, I pushed myself to sit, and did the only thing I could.

Dropping my shield, I lifted one finger to the sky.

In a gladiator fight, this meant one thing. Defeat.

Now it was up to the Emperor and the crowds to determine whether I would live or die. The thought sent nausea to my stomach and a cold terror though my limbs. The owner of the sword pointed at my throat lifted his helmet off his head, and it dropped to the ground next to my foot with a metallic clank. Hissing, he adjusted his leg, from which blood dripped quickly.

Looking down at me, he nodded. "Good fight. I'm sorry." He sounded genuine, and I nodded. This was the way it was. None of us wanted to kill our opponents. None of us wanted to stay up late at night, scrubbing at clean hands, imagining the blood we'd spilled. None of us wanted this life.

Swallowing hard, I looked up at the crowds. Some people hung over the walls, yelling at the tops of their lungs, their arms outstretched with their thumb either up or down. Most thumbs were pointed up, a maniacal gleam in the eyes of their owners.

Thumbs up meant death. I let out a low breath, blinking tears out of my eyes. I had always known this was how it was going to end. I had accepted that every day was a gift, that I could die at any moment. But the sorrow that filled my chest, crushing my heart, was still there, mourning the fact that I would never see another sunrise, or smile, or fall in love.

Slowly, I turned to look at the Emperor. He had the final say, although it was rare for an Emperor to deny the public a gladiator death.

There he sat, in the shade, perfectly still again. The people around him laughed and spoke, but he was silent. He didn't even look at them. It seemed like forever that the Emperor watched me, eyes shadowed. Finally, he stood, and raised his arm. He seemed to pause for a moment, his gaze flicking to mine, before moving back up.

I let out a shaky breath. This was it.

Squinting against the sun, I gaped at him as he gave the crowd a thumbs down. I watched hazily as he shouted the word, "Mitte." Spare him. Or in my case, her. I could not hear him through the raucous yells of the crowd. After he spoke the word, he immediately turned, and sat down, speaking rapidly to the man next to him. The Emperor's shoulders were tight as he sat, making him look dangerous and unpredictable.

...Which is exactly what he was.

A/N: 

Did you know, Ancient Romans actually believed that drinking wine that wasn't watered down was barbaric?

I can only imagine what they would think of people now...

Anyway, have a great day and remember to comment and vote!

~UI