Christano stepped into the sunlight, raising his arms to the crowd as they chanted his name. In one hand he held his helmet and his curved sword in the other, another handsome young man, his second, carried his small round shield. He hadn't been a gladiator long, but he had had quick success, and was a crowd favorite. He was a beautiful young man of Greek descent, tall and athletic with long flowing black hair; one could see the out line of every muscle in his body. Both Gladiators had been wiped down with oil, and his skin glistened in the late afternoon sun. He fought as his people would have, as a Thracian. He had fought 6 times; always victorious with three kills to his credit. He now thought of himself as invincible. He was no longer a fighter, bound by the code of honor, but a stone killer.
Next to him, Razid stood waiting, watching out of one corner of his eye the show that Christano was putting on. He too had been wiped down with oil, mixed with his sweat, the thick black hair on his chest shimmered. He was a smaller man; muscular but sinewy. He was nimble and agile, characteristics that served him well as a Retiarius. Razid was a prisoner of war who had been relegated to the Arena rather than common labor. He was a good fighter, and his killing technique provided great entertainment for the spectators. His net hung over his shoulder as he held his weapon aloft for the crowd to see. His Trident had barbed tines on each side of the head and a long center spike, sharpened to a fine point, his net was weighted and was loosely attached to his wrist.
The two Gladiators approached the podium of the arena. They raised their weapons in honor to the sponsor and editor, and saluted them, acknowledging the chance, even the likelihood of death. As they turned, Christano turned to Razid and spoke to him under his breath; "prepare to die," As he reached the center of the arena He turned to his second and looked into his eyes: "we'll be together soon," he told him. This excited the young man as Christano was especially aroused after a victory, and doubly so after a kill. He put his helmet on. He didn't buckle the chin strap because he figured it wouldn't be long before he would be victorious. His second handed him his shield and gazed at him in awe and desire, dreaming of tonight's carousal, his manhood begin to stiffen. He turned and ran to the Porta Sanavivra (Gate of Life), as he believed, as his lover, in the quick victory, and the quick kill.
Razid said nothing, as he had heard the premonition of his death from many of his previous opponents: many of them dead themselves. He watched as the young gladiator swaggered to the center of the arena, mocking him with his pompous display of bravado. Razid understood that life is short for a gladiator; he decided that he could have no mercy, as this man saw him as another easy kill.
The signal was given and the two gladiators went into their fighting crouch and began to circle each other. Razid moved more quickly, continually jabbing toward his opponent to keep him back, and snapped the net back and forth, looking for an opening. Christano suddenly lunged forward and slashed from over his head and downward, hoping to hit his opponent's unprotected head. Razid had been caught off balance, and the Thracian was too close to counter attack. He spun clumsily out of the way, and the curved sword struck his Galerus. Christano followed through and cut a nasty tear on his opponents arm
He grunted loudly as he pulled back. The wound wasn't deep enough to cripple the arm, but blood gushed from the wound and soaked him. He showed no pain, as he backed away to regain his footing. Christano kept on the attack and quickly turned to pursue the Retiarius, slashing quickly and forcing him back. Razid used his trident to parry, and quickly stepped to one side as Christano charged. He threw the net, and it landed squarely on the Thracian. Still attached to his wrist, he pulled the Christano toward him, and thrust hard with the Trident. Christano pulled back to avoid the spikes, and had almost broken free from the net, when he felt a spike sink deeply into his thigh. He jerked back and the barb tore his leg open further.
Razid now had the advantage. The running and constant charging would tire Christano, and the bleeding from his leg was heavy, and would impair his performance even more. "Now I've got him," he thought
Christano stepped back to gather himself, and take a deep breath. The wound hurt, but he was unaware of the severity. He could feel the blood flowing from the wound, but thought it unimportant. He was angry now; he had yet to be wounded this badly, and would have his revenge.
Christano kept up the pursuit, slowed but still aggressive. Razid threw the net again and Christano managed to clumsily dodge away. Each step was agony for the young fighter and made the bleeding worse. He pressed on; attacking with his sword. Razid continued to parry the blade with his trident. He threw the net again and caught the Thracians shield. Both gladiators pulled against the other. Christano stumbled as his wounded leg gave out, and his shield went flying. "I won't need it," he thought. Razid had placed himself between the shield and Christano. The Thracian kept on the attack; sweat poured from his body; mixing with the oil it dripped into his eyes. He began to grow cold as a result of the bleeding.
The young Thracian was growing more and more frustrated. The Retiarius would thrust his trident, drawing him out, and then throw the net, or try to trip him with it. He knew that if he could just fight the Retiarius straight up, he would kill him quickly, but Razid would have none of that. He knew that his light armor and his speed was his advantage in the fight, and he used it well. The Thracian charged and slashed furiously. He stumbled slightly and Christano knew it was time to move in for the kill. He jabbed over and over again; first high and then low, forcing his opponent back. Without a shield Christano had no choice but to retreat. Christano had lost his bearings and did not know where he was. Razid used the net as a whip and it wrapped around the curved sword of his opponent.
Christano tried to pull away as his only means of defense was wrapped in the net. Razid released the net, and Christano fell back expecting to fall to the sand, and was startled when he crashed backwards into the wall of the arena. His helmet flew from his head and he was stunned. His arms fell to his side, the net and his sword fell free, and his head spun around, blinded by the sun. He became aware of the screaming of the crowd; he had heard it before, as he was about to kill.
Just then the razor sharp center spike of the trident reached his muscular flat belly just below his navel and tore inside him. The barbed spikes entered a second later. Razid didn't stop until he felt the spike hit Christano's backbone.
He threw his head back and shrieked …Aiiiieeeee. He reached forward and he grabbed the shaft of the weapon in a futile attempt to pull it free. Razid pressed harder. Christano's intestines wrapped around the spikes buried deeply inside him. Razid pulled the weapon back slightly and thrust forward several times. Christano gasped each time the spikes tore him further. He grimaced in agony.
Razid dropped the shaft of his weapon, and watched as Christano leaned against the wall, holding the shaft, fighting against the torment, he pulled the spikes from his body, doing even more damage and causing greater pain. The shouting of the crowd drowned out his screams of agony. He grabbed his belly with both hands, desperately trying to seal the wounds, but blood flowed freely soaking his crotch. He staggered forward, holding his guts in as he moved aimlessly toward the center of the arena. Razid stood back and let him go. He wanted him to suffer, and wanted to give the spectators a good show when he finished him. He picked up his
Christano finally dropped to his knees. He fell over and he supported himself with one hand, as blood dripped from his belly onto the sand below. Razid stepped forward and kicked him over on his back. Christano writhed in the sand groaning, arching his back in hopes of relief.
He looked at the sky and breathed deeply and quickly, knowing that this would be his last taste of air. His cock began to stiffen, just as it had when he had killed others, the pleasure tempered the pain. He squirmed in pleasure as much as agony. He would savor his final orgasm.
Razid enjoyed watching his agonizing spasms, but he didn't want him to die without his help. He wanted to finish him with a killing below. Christano had a smooth muscular chest, strained to it's limits his exaggerated breathing. Razid thought it to be quite beautiful. He placed the long middle point right in the middle of his victim's chest. Christano slowed his breathing when he felt the point prick his skin. He looked to his killer, knowing that his time had come. His cock stiffened even harder.
Razid looked to the editor, and received permission to finish Christano. He leaned on his weapon, driving it straight down. His sternum popped as Christano drew a large breath and flexed upward, throwing his arms to his side, almost welcoming the spikes into his chest. The other spikes tore his nipples and broke ribs as well. He couldn't exhale and squirmed deeper into the sand as his cock began to come. He fought for air, and got only the taste of blood in his mouth, as it pored over and flowed down his cheek. The final pleasure subsided as he slumped back to the sand, arms and legs splayed out. His eyes widened and stayed open as his head rolled to the side. Razid began to cum as he savored Christano's death throes. He leaned harder against the weapon, the spikes a metaphor of his cock penetrating a man, like a lover. He too breathed deeply as the waves of pleasure overwhelmed him. They began to subside when he pulled the tines from the young mans chest. When the barbed tines caught on Christano's ribs, Razid jerked, raising his chest. Christano's chest was expanded and was hanging on the trident. It was a beautiful sight in Razid's eyes, a perfect way for his orgasm to end.
Razid held his weapon over his head, with Christanos blood and viscera dripping from the tines and drew in the adulation of the crowd. He began to slowly walk toward the gate of life, acknowledging the cheers as he left the field of battle, cum flowing down his thighs.
Arena attendants, one dressed as Charon hurried to the corpse; Charon would not have to use his hammer, as there was no doubt that that this man was dead. The others tied a rope around Christano's ankles, and drug him toward the Gate of Death (Porta Libitnensis). His arms dragged behind his head. What blood was left in his body smeared the sand, and other slaves raked it under. When he arrives at the spoilarium, he will be stripped naked of his armor and what little clothing he had on. He had no colleagues to claim his body and no money provided for his funeral; his body would go into the mass grave filled with the dead naked gladiators who had died as he had.
Razid walked through the Gate of Life. To the side, he saw his opponent's second, eyes full of tears. "What shall I do now," he asked? Razid looked him up and down; "You belong to me." He wrapped his arm around the young man. They walked away together.
Next to him, Razid stood waiting, watching out of one corner of his eye the show that Christano was putting on. He too had been wiped down with oil, mixed with his sweat, the thick black hair on his chest shimmered. He was a smaller man; muscular but sinewy. He was nimble and agile, characteristics that served him well as a Retiarius. Razid was a prisoner of war who had been relegated to the Arena rather than common labor. He was a good fighter, and his killing technique provided great entertainment for the spectators. His net hung over his shoulder as he held his weapon aloft for the crowd to see. His Trident had barbed tines on each side of the head and a long center spike, sharpened to a fine point, his net was weighted and was loosely attached to his wrist.
The two Gladiators approached the podium of the arena. They raised their weapons in honor to the sponsor and editor, and saluted them, acknowledging the chance, even the likelihood of death. As they turned, Christano turned to Razid and spoke to him under his breath; "prepare to die," As he reached the center of the arena He turned to his second and looked into his eyes: "we'll be together soon," he told him. This excited the young man as Christano was especially aroused after a victory, and doubly so after a kill. He put his helmet on. He didn't buckle the chin strap because he figured it wouldn't be long before he would be victorious. His second handed him his shield and gazed at him in awe and desire, dreaming of tonight's carousal, his manhood begin to stiffen. He turned and ran to the Porta Sanavivra (Gate of Life), as he believed, as his lover, in the quick victory, and the quick kill.
Razid said nothing, as he had heard the premonition of his death from many of his previous opponents: many of them dead themselves. He watched as the young gladiator swaggered to the center of the arena, mocking him with his pompous display of bravado. Razid understood that life is short for a gladiator; he decided that he could have no mercy, as this man saw him as another easy kill.
The signal was given and the two gladiators went into their fighting crouch and began to circle each other. Razid moved more quickly, continually jabbing toward his opponent to keep him back, and snapped the net back and forth, looking for an opening. Christano suddenly lunged forward and slashed from over his head and downward, hoping to hit his opponent's unprotected head. Razid had been caught off balance, and the Thracian was too close to counter attack. He spun clumsily out of the way, and the curved sword struck his Galerus. Christano followed through and cut a nasty tear on his opponents arm
He grunted loudly as he pulled back. The wound wasn't deep enough to cripple the arm, but blood gushed from the wound and soaked him. He showed no pain, as he backed away to regain his footing. Christano kept on the attack and quickly turned to pursue the Retiarius, slashing quickly and forcing him back. Razid used his trident to parry, and quickly stepped to one side as Christano charged. He threw the net, and it landed squarely on the Thracian. Still attached to his wrist, he pulled the Christano toward him, and thrust hard with the Trident. Christano pulled back to avoid the spikes, and had almost broken free from the net, when he felt a spike sink deeply into his thigh. He jerked back and the barb tore his leg open further.
Razid now had the advantage. The running and constant charging would tire Christano, and the bleeding from his leg was heavy, and would impair his performance even more. "Now I've got him," he thought
Christano stepped back to gather himself, and take a deep breath. The wound hurt, but he was unaware of the severity. He could feel the blood flowing from the wound, but thought it unimportant. He was angry now; he had yet to be wounded this badly, and would have his revenge.
Christano kept up the pursuit, slowed but still aggressive. Razid threw the net again and Christano managed to clumsily dodge away. Each step was agony for the young fighter and made the bleeding worse. He pressed on; attacking with his sword. Razid continued to parry the blade with his trident. He threw the net again and caught the Thracians shield. Both gladiators pulled against the other. Christano stumbled as his wounded leg gave out, and his shield went flying. "I won't need it," he thought. Razid had placed himself between the shield and Christano. The Thracian kept on the attack; sweat poured from his body; mixing with the oil it dripped into his eyes. He began to grow cold as a result of the bleeding.
The young Thracian was growing more and more frustrated. The Retiarius would thrust his trident, drawing him out, and then throw the net, or try to trip him with it. He knew that if he could just fight the Retiarius straight up, he would kill him quickly, but Razid would have none of that. He knew that his light armor and his speed was his advantage in the fight, and he used it well. The Thracian charged and slashed furiously. He stumbled slightly and Christano knew it was time to move in for the kill. He jabbed over and over again; first high and then low, forcing his opponent back. Without a shield Christano had no choice but to retreat. Christano had lost his bearings and did not know where he was. Razid used the net as a whip and it wrapped around the curved sword of his opponent.
Christano tried to pull away as his only means of defense was wrapped in the net. Razid released the net, and Christano fell back expecting to fall to the sand, and was startled when he crashed backwards into the wall of the arena. His helmet flew from his head and he was stunned. His arms fell to his side, the net and his sword fell free, and his head spun around, blinded by the sun. He became aware of the screaming of the crowd; he had heard it before, as he was about to kill.
Just then the razor sharp center spike of the trident reached his muscular flat belly just below his navel and tore inside him. The barbed spikes entered a second later. Razid didn't stop until he felt the spike hit Christano's backbone.
He threw his head back and shrieked …Aiiiieeeee. He reached forward and he grabbed the shaft of the weapon in a futile attempt to pull it free. Razid pressed harder. Christano's intestines wrapped around the spikes buried deeply inside him. Razid pulled the weapon back slightly and thrust forward several times. Christano gasped each time the spikes tore him further. He grimaced in agony.
Razid dropped the shaft of his weapon, and watched as Christano leaned against the wall, holding the shaft, fighting against the torment, he pulled the spikes from his body, doing even more damage and causing greater pain. The shouting of the crowd drowned out his screams of agony. He grabbed his belly with both hands, desperately trying to seal the wounds, but blood flowed freely soaking his crotch. He staggered forward, holding his guts in as he moved aimlessly toward the center of the arena. Razid stood back and let him go. He wanted him to suffer, and wanted to give the spectators a good show when he finished him. He picked up his
Christano finally dropped to his knees. He fell over and he supported himself with one hand, as blood dripped from his belly onto the sand below. Razid stepped forward and kicked him over on his back. Christano writhed in the sand groaning, arching his back in hopes of relief.
He looked at the sky and breathed deeply and quickly, knowing that this would be his last taste of air. His cock began to stiffen, just as it had when he had killed others, the pleasure tempered the pain. He squirmed in pleasure as much as agony. He would savor his final orgasm.
Razid enjoyed watching his agonizing spasms, but he didn't want him to die without his help. He wanted to finish him with a killing below. Christano had a smooth muscular chest, strained to it's limits his exaggerated breathing. Razid thought it to be quite beautiful. He placed the long middle point right in the middle of his victim's chest. Christano slowed his breathing when he felt the point prick his skin. He looked to his killer, knowing that his time had come. His cock stiffened even harder.
Razid looked to the editor, and received permission to finish Christano. He leaned on his weapon, driving it straight down. His sternum popped as Christano drew a large breath and flexed upward, throwing his arms to his side, almost welcoming the spikes into his chest. The other spikes tore his nipples and broke ribs as well. He couldn't exhale and squirmed deeper into the sand as his cock began to come. He fought for air, and got only the taste of blood in his mouth, as it pored over and flowed down his cheek. The final pleasure subsided as he slumped back to the sand, arms and legs splayed out. His eyes widened and stayed open as his head rolled to the side. Razid began to cum as he savored Christano's death throes. He leaned harder against the weapon, the spikes a metaphor of his cock penetrating a man, like a lover. He too breathed deeply as the waves of pleasure overwhelmed him. They began to subside when he pulled the tines from the young mans chest. When the barbed tines caught on Christano's ribs, Razid jerked, raising his chest. Christano's chest was expanded and was hanging on the trident. It was a beautiful sight in Razid's eyes, a perfect way for his orgasm to end.
Razid held his weapon over his head, with Christanos blood and viscera dripping from the tines and drew in the adulation of the crowd. He began to slowly walk toward the gate of life, acknowledging the cheers as he left the field of battle, cum flowing down his thighs.
Arena attendants, one dressed as Charon hurried to the corpse; Charon would not have to use his hammer, as there was no doubt that that this man was dead. The others tied a rope around Christano's ankles, and drug him toward the Gate of Death (Porta Libitnensis). His arms dragged behind his head. What blood was left in his body smeared the sand, and other slaves raked it under. When he arrives at the spoilarium, he will be stripped naked of his armor and what little clothing he had on. He had no colleagues to claim his body and no money provided for his funeral; his body would go into the mass grave filled with the dead naked gladiators who had died as he had.
Razid walked through the Gate of Life. To the side, he saw his opponent's second, eyes full of tears. "What shall I do now," he asked? Razid looked him up and down; "You belong to me." He wrapped his arm around the young man. They walked away together.
Morituri Te Salutamus - Those about to die salute you.
Excellent story. Actually believable
