140AD - The Rise to Empress || [GxG] ||

Chapter 6

Translations:

Latin:

Domina = It basically means something along the lines of "Master", or in this case "Mistress". It's to show that someone has dominance. It's the feminine equivalence of Dominus.

Stigma = Tattoo / Branding.

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As the crowds and mobs began to filter out of the Colosseum onto the streets again, Lexa and Octavia were closely followed by Abigail's guards again. Lincoln and Thelonious violently pushed back against the crowds with their shields as the settlers of the capital were now drunk and tried to reach the victorious Gladiatrix's. 

The only remaining brute that shared in triumph with them was, unfortunately, a slave and after the Emperor left the arena; the brute was shackled again by the Praetorians and escorted back to the dungeons beneath the Colosseum where he would be fed well. Jake assured Lexa as much when she asked what would happen to the man. Apparently, he was to be treated better among the other slaves as a reward for his victory and the entertainment he brought to the crowds.

When they arrived at the palace staircase after the plebians were stopped at the gate, Lexa got the chance to look Octavia over, who seemed to be worse off than her. Octavia's face had already begun to bruise due to the brute's fists that connected with her jaw and one eye bank.

She had torn a piece of linen from her wrappings and pressed it to her temple to stop the bleeding. Truthfully, Lexa hadn't seen Octavia in such bad shape since her 18th year of life when she started to train with the men. They didn't take it easy on her and mercilessly swung their fists and blades at her during training. But soon enough Octavia learned how to counter their almost every attack.

Yet these brutes of the capital and from many primitive places in Italy were new opponents that both Lexa and Octavia had to learn.

Lexa was used to most brutes, but not all. She had tussled with a few at the academy. Normally the women weren't put against the brutes but Lexa insisted she learned such opponents as well. Her father always said to her that to defeat your enemy, you must know them better than you know yourself. That particular statement had saved her life more times today than she could have possibly counted. 

She didn't bother to try to subdue any of her gashes and cuts simply because she wasn't squeamish of blood. However, when she started to ascend the steps toward the entrance of the palace, she could feel the cuts pull and tear even farther but she didn't make much of a sound. Only her teeth ground on each other in frustration. By the time they reach the top of the stairs, she could feel the lone trails of blood speeding down her thigh and into the greaves.

Lexa could feel she had been hit on the jaw with the hilt of a sword more than once and on the other cheek, she could definitely still feel the iron shield that collided with her face. Yet none of these stinging sensations were new. 

In the academy it was fundamental moves to hit your opponent in the face with a shield or the hilt of your sword to disorientate them; to open them up to an attack that could end their lives. Whether it was a longsword through the gut or a short sword through the neck. In the same breath, she could say that she was guilty of something that still haunted her up until this day.

She was a mere child of 16 years of age when she was put against a slave boy of 17 years and he kept besting her on the training grounds. It angered and annoyed her because as he bested her, he mocked her for it. As her anger took over her, she swiped her shield at his head full force; and not as they were taught. When her shield connected with his temple, a sick cracking sound echoed over the barren training grounds, and the boy dropped to his knees then backward, no longer laughing and no longer moving.