07-15-2019, 08:19 PM
Ocodus
by
Gladlover
Ocodus watches as the two gladiators that Cashius and he will fight today enter the arena. They carry shortswords and bucklers, as do their opponents. The crowds are looking for a good fight. If they wanted only killing, there would be no shields. The sun is high and hot. Sweat rolls down Ocodus' chest and across his belly. Only his headband keeps it from his eyes. He has convinced himself that the sweat is from the heat, but fear sits hard in his gut. He knows that he will die in the arena, he wonders if it will be today.
"Ocodus … do you know them?" Cashius asks.
"I've seen them before. The taller one is a Moor. He has a few kills, the other is an Arab, new to the arena," Ocodus replied. He deliberately lied. He knew both men had fought many battles before. Cashius, while lean and muscular, is a small man, and relatively new to the arena. Ocodus thought him to be unlikely to survive for long. Most of his kills have been against untrained slaves. He needed him to hold off the other man until I can kill the tall one. Both were strong men. Their shoulders and chests were developed from everyday practice with a sword, their bellies hardened through hours of grueling work. Cashius would be no match for either of the gladiators. He will be dead in a few minutes. If he can only hold off the other man long enough, Ocodus might survive. He gestured to the shorter man. "You take that one." He gestured toward the Arab, the stronger of the two, sending Cashius to his likely death. "And remember, if we both win, you'll have to fight me … and I will kill you if I have to."
"I know," Cashius replied.
At the sound of the drums the combatants stride before the emperor. They shout their pledge of loyalty in death to his majesty. They all know that three of them will fulfill that pledge. Ocodus turns to face the Moor as Cashius moves across the arena to face his opponent. Trumpets sound and the warriors drop into their fighting stance. Ocodus lunges quickly, hoping to strike a quick killing blow. His opponent sidesteps away from the attack. Ocodus backs away, to look him over. A dark man, deeply tanned, coal black hair and eyes to match. He moves in and slashes. Ocodus uses his buckler to block the stroke, jabbing toward the Moor's leg. He shouts as Ocodus' blade finds his thigh. The wound is not deep, but blood flows down his leg as he backs away. Ocodus presses the attack on his wounded adversary. He lunges forwarded again, thrusting his sword and forcing the man to raise his buckler to protect himself. The Moor brings up his sword to parry the blow, and slashes again. Ocodus steps into the Moor and shoves him back with his shield. The Moor stumbles as Ocodus presses the attack. Ocodus again uses the buckler, and strikes his opponent in the face. The Moor staggers, nose and mouth bloodied, heavily stunned, his sword and shield dropping to his side. Ocodus thrusts again. This time his blade finds the belly of the Moor. He cries out as the pain shocks him trying to raise his sword again. Ocodus knocks it from his hand with his buckler. He thrusts again, pushing his sword deeper in the Moors belly. The Moor groans loudly as the blade slices through him. He buckles over as the blade exits his back and the hilt of the sword strikes his belly. Ocodus twists the sword as he pulls it from the dying man. He grabs his belly and staggers toward Ocodus, who stabs him again, above the first wound. His whole body jerks at this new wound. He falls to the sand as Ocodus pulls the blade from him.
Ocodus watches as the Moor pulls himself into a fetal position, blood pooling around him. Ocodus kicks him onto his back. He groans again as his guts painfully shift inside of him. His teeth are gritted and his eyes squeezed tightly as he fights against the agony, squirming in the bloody sand. Ocodus can see his erect manhood beneath his breechcloth. "The gods reward for a warriors death," he thought. Ocodus puts the point of his sword against the Moors chest. His eyes open as the blade nicks him, and he looks his killer in the eye. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but Ocodus doesn't give him the chance as he drives the sword deep inside of his chest. The Moor grimaces again. Blood spurts from the wound when the sword is pulled from him, and he spasms as his heart beats his last. His features relax as death takes him.
Ocodus raises his bloody sword to the emperor. He has survived another match. Screaming from across the arena interrupts his adulation.
The other gladiator is killing Cashius. Cashius is on his knees, blood and entrails pouring from a long slash across his belly. He looks toward Ocodus, hoping for a salvation that will not come. The Arab thrusts again, this time into Cashius chest. He arches back as the blade finds its way inside of him. Cashius gasps for air but gets none. The sword is pulled from his body, and he falls back. The Arab puts the blade into the hollow of his throat and thrusts, ending his suffering.
"Goodbye my friend," Ocodus spoke to himself, "you have done well." He sees that the gods have rewarded Cashius in the same way that they rewarded the Moor.
Ocodus and the Arab move to the center of the arena. Both drop into their fighting stance and begin the struggle. The Arab rushes and strikes first with an overhead blow. Ocodus is lucky to get his buckler up to block the sword. Ocodus tries a weak thrust but misses. The Arab strikes again, this time Ocodus dodges away and slashes. The Arab quickly parries that blow, catching Ocodus' sword by the hilt. The force spins Ocodus away, barely able to hold onto his sword, he turns to see the Arab attacking again. Again he parries the Arab's powerful blows. Ocodus steps into the Arab and locks swords with him. He steps forward and tries to trip the gladiator, but the Arab pushes him back, slashing again. Ocodus screams as the sword cuts into his pec. He feels the steel strike his breastbone as he jerks away, swinging his sword wildly. His shield arm is weakened from his wound, and blood streams from his chest. The Arab slashes again, now aiming for the shield. Each blow sends a blast of pain through Ocodus. Soon the shield falls from his hand.
Ocodus raises his sword, his shield hand pressed to his wounded chest. He knew his chances of survival were slim. He glanced over at the corpse of Cashius. "I'll be joining you soon, my friend," he thought.
He slashed as well as he could. The Arab used his shield to force him back. He was playing with him. Ocodus was weakening. Soon the Arab struck another strong blow, this time sending Ocodus' sword across the arena. Now he was doomed. The Arab rushed, and Ocodus grabbed his sword arm. Suddenly he saw stars as the Arab's buckler smashed into his head. His next sensation is white-hot pain in his gut as the Arab's sword slices inside of him. Ocodus freezes in agony and grabs the blade, slicing his hands. Arab continues his thrust, shoving the sword through him. His muscles clamp tightly around the blade.
Ocodus throws his bleeding hands over the Arab's shoulders and presses himself against him. More pain follows as the Arab jerks the blade up, and then out of his belly. Ocodus breaks his grip, and falls back to the sand. He arches back as his final agony overwhelms him. He bloody hands grab his wound, and he fights to sit up, hoping for relief. Through it all, he feels his manhood stiffen. "The gods … reward me." His thought was broken by a prick on his chest. Above him was the Arab. Ocodus lay back, his time was now. The sound of his bones breaking followed by the blade cutting inside his chest sent him into spasms of agonizing pain. He squirmed on the blade until the Arab pulled it free. His arms fell to his side and his body jerked in its death throes. Suddenly the pain subsided. His manhood was coming, the orgasm soothing his passage to the hereafter. Soon his body relaxed in the afterglow of death.
The crowds cheered as the corpses were removed from the arena. All were stripped of their breechcloths and loaded naked onto a cart and taken to a mass grave. It seemed ironic that men who were mortal enemies would lie together naked throughout eternity, but that is the way it always was.
by
Gladlover
Ocodus watches as the two gladiators that Cashius and he will fight today enter the arena. They carry shortswords and bucklers, as do their opponents. The crowds are looking for a good fight. If they wanted only killing, there would be no shields. The sun is high and hot. Sweat rolls down Ocodus' chest and across his belly. Only his headband keeps it from his eyes. He has convinced himself that the sweat is from the heat, but fear sits hard in his gut. He knows that he will die in the arena, he wonders if it will be today.
"Ocodus … do you know them?" Cashius asks.
"I've seen them before. The taller one is a Moor. He has a few kills, the other is an Arab, new to the arena," Ocodus replied. He deliberately lied. He knew both men had fought many battles before. Cashius, while lean and muscular, is a small man, and relatively new to the arena. Ocodus thought him to be unlikely to survive for long. Most of his kills have been against untrained slaves. He needed him to hold off the other man until I can kill the tall one. Both were strong men. Their shoulders and chests were developed from everyday practice with a sword, their bellies hardened through hours of grueling work. Cashius would be no match for either of the gladiators. He will be dead in a few minutes. If he can only hold off the other man long enough, Ocodus might survive. He gestured to the shorter man. "You take that one." He gestured toward the Arab, the stronger of the two, sending Cashius to his likely death. "And remember, if we both win, you'll have to fight me … and I will kill you if I have to."
"I know," Cashius replied.
At the sound of the drums the combatants stride before the emperor. They shout their pledge of loyalty in death to his majesty. They all know that three of them will fulfill that pledge. Ocodus turns to face the Moor as Cashius moves across the arena to face his opponent. Trumpets sound and the warriors drop into their fighting stance. Ocodus lunges quickly, hoping to strike a quick killing blow. His opponent sidesteps away from the attack. Ocodus backs away, to look him over. A dark man, deeply tanned, coal black hair and eyes to match. He moves in and slashes. Ocodus uses his buckler to block the stroke, jabbing toward the Moor's leg. He shouts as Ocodus' blade finds his thigh. The wound is not deep, but blood flows down his leg as he backs away. Ocodus presses the attack on his wounded adversary. He lunges forwarded again, thrusting his sword and forcing the man to raise his buckler to protect himself. The Moor brings up his sword to parry the blow, and slashes again. Ocodus steps into the Moor and shoves him back with his shield. The Moor stumbles as Ocodus presses the attack. Ocodus again uses the buckler, and strikes his opponent in the face. The Moor staggers, nose and mouth bloodied, heavily stunned, his sword and shield dropping to his side. Ocodus thrusts again. This time his blade finds the belly of the Moor. He cries out as the pain shocks him trying to raise his sword again. Ocodus knocks it from his hand with his buckler. He thrusts again, pushing his sword deeper in the Moors belly. The Moor groans loudly as the blade slices through him. He buckles over as the blade exits his back and the hilt of the sword strikes his belly. Ocodus twists the sword as he pulls it from the dying man. He grabs his belly and staggers toward Ocodus, who stabs him again, above the first wound. His whole body jerks at this new wound. He falls to the sand as Ocodus pulls the blade from him.
Ocodus watches as the Moor pulls himself into a fetal position, blood pooling around him. Ocodus kicks him onto his back. He groans again as his guts painfully shift inside of him. His teeth are gritted and his eyes squeezed tightly as he fights against the agony, squirming in the bloody sand. Ocodus can see his erect manhood beneath his breechcloth. "The gods reward for a warriors death," he thought. Ocodus puts the point of his sword against the Moors chest. His eyes open as the blade nicks him, and he looks his killer in the eye. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but Ocodus doesn't give him the chance as he drives the sword deep inside of his chest. The Moor grimaces again. Blood spurts from the wound when the sword is pulled from him, and he spasms as his heart beats his last. His features relax as death takes him.
Ocodus raises his bloody sword to the emperor. He has survived another match. Screaming from across the arena interrupts his adulation.
The other gladiator is killing Cashius. Cashius is on his knees, blood and entrails pouring from a long slash across his belly. He looks toward Ocodus, hoping for a salvation that will not come. The Arab thrusts again, this time into Cashius chest. He arches back as the blade finds its way inside of him. Cashius gasps for air but gets none. The sword is pulled from his body, and he falls back. The Arab puts the blade into the hollow of his throat and thrusts, ending his suffering.
"Goodbye my friend," Ocodus spoke to himself, "you have done well." He sees that the gods have rewarded Cashius in the same way that they rewarded the Moor.
Ocodus and the Arab move to the center of the arena. Both drop into their fighting stance and begin the struggle. The Arab rushes and strikes first with an overhead blow. Ocodus is lucky to get his buckler up to block the sword. Ocodus tries a weak thrust but misses. The Arab strikes again, this time Ocodus dodges away and slashes. The Arab quickly parries that blow, catching Ocodus' sword by the hilt. The force spins Ocodus away, barely able to hold onto his sword, he turns to see the Arab attacking again. Again he parries the Arab's powerful blows. Ocodus steps into the Arab and locks swords with him. He steps forward and tries to trip the gladiator, but the Arab pushes him back, slashing again. Ocodus screams as the sword cuts into his pec. He feels the steel strike his breastbone as he jerks away, swinging his sword wildly. His shield arm is weakened from his wound, and blood streams from his chest. The Arab slashes again, now aiming for the shield. Each blow sends a blast of pain through Ocodus. Soon the shield falls from his hand.
Ocodus raises his sword, his shield hand pressed to his wounded chest. He knew his chances of survival were slim. He glanced over at the corpse of Cashius. "I'll be joining you soon, my friend," he thought.
He slashed as well as he could. The Arab used his shield to force him back. He was playing with him. Ocodus was weakening. Soon the Arab struck another strong blow, this time sending Ocodus' sword across the arena. Now he was doomed. The Arab rushed, and Ocodus grabbed his sword arm. Suddenly he saw stars as the Arab's buckler smashed into his head. His next sensation is white-hot pain in his gut as the Arab's sword slices inside of him. Ocodus freezes in agony and grabs the blade, slicing his hands. Arab continues his thrust, shoving the sword through him. His muscles clamp tightly around the blade.
Ocodus throws his bleeding hands over the Arab's shoulders and presses himself against him. More pain follows as the Arab jerks the blade up, and then out of his belly. Ocodus breaks his grip, and falls back to the sand. He arches back as his final agony overwhelms him. He bloody hands grab his wound, and he fights to sit up, hoping for relief. Through it all, he feels his manhood stiffen. "The gods … reward me." His thought was broken by a prick on his chest. Above him was the Arab. Ocodus lay back, his time was now. The sound of his bones breaking followed by the blade cutting inside his chest sent him into spasms of agonizing pain. He squirmed on the blade until the Arab pulled it free. His arms fell to his side and his body jerked in its death throes. Suddenly the pain subsided. His manhood was coming, the orgasm soothing his passage to the hereafter. Soon his body relaxed in the afterglow of death.
The crowds cheered as the corpses were removed from the arena. All were stripped of their breechcloths and loaded naked onto a cart and taken to a mass grave. It seemed ironic that men who were mortal enemies would lie together naked throughout eternity, but that is the way it always was.
Morituri Te Salutamus - Those about to die salute you.