Gladiatrix

Prologue

The Province of Averia, Roman Empire.

Make quick, but right decisions.

Concentrate on the weak spots.

Escape if you can.

If you cannot escape - never, ever, hold back.

These were not the rules. They were sacred prayers, and the eight year-old daughter of a respected equestrian religiously chanted them in her mind.

Waiting for the next strike and aware of her surroundings at the same time, she held her dainty fists in front of her tanned face. Her hands were wrapped in the protective bandages. Her father smiled, the edges of his lips curving delicately under the Mediterranean sun.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Always," the girl professed, her pulse throbbing harder and harder, "don't spare me."

The man swung his arm back and aimed for his child's unconsciously exposed abdomen. She was holding her arms too high, her torso vulnerable and suitable for internal bleeding. The speed of his motion was almost imperceptible; but his hand stopped one inch from her skin, and tickled her.

The child squealed, bending and crouching from laughter. She was expecting this, but was too slow to react, compared to her father.

"Shield your tummy next time, bear." The father pointed out as they made themselves comfortable on the askew, rugged embankment under the aqueduct. Another one of their usual and playful combat drills was over, and the exhilaration they both felt after could never be replaced by other games.

The girl raised her head towards the arch of the aqueduct, her bright eyes hungry for the clouds and birds and wonders of the sky. Whenever she caught the beauty in the world, she was careful not to miss it. It was almost as if she was constantly painting landscapes and portraits with her dreamy eyes.

Time flew faster than a morning dew, and they jumped on their feet to return home.

Then her father stopped to tell her something she would never forget.

"Bear," he began, "you might think that absolute aggression is the solution whenever you find yourself in front of a merciless opponent. But it is not."

"Then what is it, father?"

"It is patience," he told her as her attentive eyes followed the movement of his lips, "patience is the key that will open many great doors for you. But know as well that, without resilience, patience is simply a fool's errand."

"What is reesileence?" the child asked, confident in her correct pronunciation of the word she heard for the first time.

The father smiled, without letting her know why. "Resilience... it's when you're so strong that you get up even after you fall as many times as you have fingers on your paws, bear."

"Strong like that Spartacus gladiator you told me stories about?" The girl's eyes lightened up.

"Not exactly, bear," the father said, pointing towards his forehead, "strong here."

Then he took her tiny hand and rested it gently on his chest - where his heart was. "And especially here."