Prax and Asur squared off, several paces between them, as was custom. They turned to face the editor, holding their blades aloft in salute. Then, as the editor called for the match to begin, the gladiators began to circle one another. Prax was the first to strike, feinting to the left then lashing out with both blades, though Asur was a keen gladiator, and brought his shield to block just as swiftly. Asur sent a counter-strike towards Prax’s head, not expecting it to land, though forcing Prax to step backwards and allowing Asur to begin to gain momentum. Asur pressed the assault, driving Prax backwards with a flurry of blows from his sickle sword.
Through the flash of blades Asur saw his opening, and swung his shield low, connecting with Prax’s ribs and hearing a satisfying crunch of bone as the blow sent Prax reeling. The dimacherus tucked his shoulder and rolled across the sand, using the momentum of the blow to carry him away from the Thracian, giving the gladiator time to spring to his feet and bring his swords up for defense. The crowd had been cheering as battle was joined, though their cheers became howls of delight, and both gladiators paused for a moment.
Low moans sounded, and from both of the main arena gates came several golems, five by Asur’s quick count. It was clear that the gladiators were meant to fight amidst additional enemies, and neither paused but for a moment before rejoining the bout. Prax, having had a chance to catch his breath, lunged forward with his right gladius, which Asur turned aside with his shield. Then with a fluid grace Prax lunched and stepped forward with his left gladius, which Asur parried with his sickle sword. Prax had managed to engage both Asur’s shield and sword with his own, and so unleashed a powerful stomp kick to the thracian’s chest.
Asur flew backwards and landed in a heap upon the arena floor. Prax closed the distance and just barely missed a downward stab into Asur’s neck a the Thracian brought his shield up for a hasty block. Prax then spun away as he turned his two swords towards the grisly task of butchering a golem that had managed to reach them. Asur rolled away from the bloodshed and got to his feet just in time to shield bash a golem that attempted to tackle him. The thracian’s sickle sword took off the top of the golem’s skull, revealing the ruined brains within as it slumped to the ground.
Asur pulled his shield around his left flank, sensing an attack, and caught the edge of Prax’s gladius before it sank into his calf. Asur took several wild swings with his sickle sword, only to have them all parried by the dimacheri’s spinning swords. Prax turned Asur’s blade a fourth time and landed a solid slash across Asur’s shoulder, cleaving away pieces of armor and drawing blood. As if the blood called to them, several more golems closed distance, and the two gladiators broke apart to engage the new threat.
Prax danced out of the way of two golems as they rushed him, raking his swords across the back of one, knocking it over with the force of his strike. The dimacherus was a flurry of blades as he cut away both hands of the next golem, then opened its throat with another strike, finishing it off with a mighty thrust through the open wound and into its brain. As the dimacherus recovered his sword Asur, the gore of another golem sprayed across his chest and arms, exploded from his right side and sunk his sickle sword into Prax’s arm.
The dimacherus yelled in pain and dropped his right gladius, though held his ground, sweeping his back leg outwards and landing a second solid blow upon Asur’s already injured shoulder. Asur dropped his sickle sword and staggered, the blood flowing freely from his injured arm, as Prax moved in for a killing blow. Asur dipped into a crouch and launched a powerful shield bash into Prax’s midsection that sent the dimacherus flying through the air, landing in a heap several steps away.
Asur saw the golem with the slashes in its back getting back to its feet and rammed his armored knee into its jaw. The golem fell onto its back and Asur raised his shield above his head and brought it down onto the golem’s throat several times until its head separated from its body. Asur then threw down his shield and picked up the gladius that Prax had dropped. By then the dimacherus had regained his feet and, with no golems left on the field, began attacking Asur. While Asur was not a left-handed swordsman, the dimacherus had been trained to fight with both hands, and after several blows had been exchanged the superior skill of the dimacherus was telling.
Asur fought as best he could, though for every strike he parried another found purchase in his flesh, and none of his own attacks got through Prax’s defense. Soon Asur was bleeding from many wounds, and finally collapsed to his knees. Without speaking the Thracian raised his two fingers to the sky, pleading for mercy from the editor. Prax stayed his hand and waited, as the crowd shouted for death. The editor, swayed by the braying of the crowd, made the signal for death.
Asur closed his eyes as Prax drove the point of his gladius into the thracian’s neck and downwards into his heart.
THE HOPLOMACHUS & MURMILONNE
At last, thought Bricius, a primus bout. The heavily muscled gladiator had long dreamt of this moment, though truth be told he never expected to see such creatures as the golems stand in the arena. Bricius had grown up in the shadow of the Coliseum, being born into slavery as the son of a gladiator in House Ursa. His father, Pwyll, had been captured during one of the many wars fought in Gaul, a region of the empire that needed constant quelling. Pwyll had taken well to the life of a gladiator, being a hard and pragmatic man, and made the best of it he could. The former warrior fought his best, and in time was granted privilege to marry, and sire a child.
Bricius thought little of freedom, as he had been born into slavery, so knew no other life. He attended his father and the other gladiators during their training. He fetched water, bound their wounds, oiled and polished their weapons, and learned the lore of the arena from the voices of the men who lived and died upon its sands. The boy learned to value honor and glory, to protect his brothers, and yet have it in him to slay them in the arena. There was a freedom in being a gladiator, his father used to say, for us there are no nations, or gods, or gold. We fight because we must, for no cause beyond glory, and so what victories we win in the arena are pure, and belong to us. We are the glorious dead my son, Pwyll had said, gods who walk among the living for a short time, and when we leave this world it is an honorable thing. The arena is a good place to die.
Bricius took a deep breath as he stood on the ramp leading to the arena gate, standing next to his opponent Agathias, the spear wielding hoplomachus. Bricius fought in the Murmillo style, carrying a gladius and large rectangular shield, and wearing a helmet with a fish crest. Typically the murmillo fought the retiarius, for it was only natural that the fish fight the net, though for the primus exceptions were made. Bricius had distinguished himself in the arena many times over, first as a provocatore fighter in House Ursa, fighting with blunted swords against other provocatore to get the crowd excited for upcoming bouts. Then, as his skills became more honed and he grew from a youth into a man, he was purchased by Lanista Laeca.
Pwyll had died some years prior, falling before the sword of a secutor known as Black Hand. It was on the night of Pwyll’s funeral that Lanista Ursa told Bricius that he would train to take his father’s place. On that very night the Black Hand and his dominus attended the funeral, and the Hand told the boy that his father had fought well. Bricius learned in that moment the true bonds between the gladiator brotherhood, that no man died alone, for his brothers all stood with him, in life and in death.
Bricius thought of this as he looked over at Agathias, resplendent in his polished armor, the hoplomachus having tied several ribbons of red upon his arms, legs, and spear. The hoplomachus insisted that it was all just theatrics, and the crowd did seem to appreciate the spearman’s sense of flair. Though Bricius knew better, that the ribbons also served as a distraction to the man’s opponents. The murmillo had never liked the flamboyant hoplomachus, though he did respect the gladiator’s skill with a spear. Agathias had come to the ludus several years past, already a distinguished gladiator in the provinces. Lanista Laeca had thought to bolster
his ranks of recruits with gladiators who had already been blooded in the arena.
Bricius and Agathias had been at odds with each other from the start. The murmillo was deeply committed to the lifestyle of the gladiator, and a believer in the glory of the arena. While the hoplomachus seemed to care little for discipline or honor, his tastes lying more in the realm of rutting with women and drinking wine. The other gladiators, even old bloody Heraus, all favored the man, and he was well loved by the crowd. Perhaps it was his casual manner, or his perpetual smirk, that tested Bricius so. Perhaps it was that they had such different ways of being gladiators, he thought, he the man who fought with determination and implacable endurance, and Agathias, a man who pranced and posed just as much as he fought.
Agathias noticed Bricius’s gaze upon him, and spoke, “If ever there were two champions in House Laeca, it would be us brother. We have the primus.”
Bricius nodded grimly, “There will be no quarter today hoplomachus, a house can have only one champion. I’ve seen little in the way of mercy in those primus I have born witness too.”
Agathias threw his head back in laughter, making the arena tenders who crewed the wench step back warily. “Ever on the offensive Bricius, even beneath the arena you fight with words when swords are not yet drawn.”
Bricius bristled at that remark, then, as he saw no malice in the eyes of the hoplomachus, began to calm himself. “I have waited for this moment all my life Agathias, and one of us shall die today, perhaps I seek only to remain focused on the task at hand.”
“Once we step onto those sands we shall be like the titans of legend, and it will be glorious,” smiled Agathias as he fastened his helmet, “If ever a man must fight another, the primus is surely the greatest of contests.”
The platform began to move upwards, and Bricius spoke as he brought his own helmet down upon his head, “Well said hoplomachus.”
The gate to the arena opened, and the two champions emerged to the roar of the crowd. Some chanted the name Agathias, and other chanted Bricius. The editor spoke with a booming voice, calling out the great deeds done by each gladiator, painting a picture of two champions fated to do battle in the primus. At the center of the arena a great ziggurat had been built, shaped like a terraced pyramid, and standing nearly thirty feet tall. It had been constructed of wood and stone, and in several places on each terrace level was a short flight of stairs that led to the next terrace level. The top of the ziggurat was flat, and an eagle banner of Rome had been set in the stone. The first gladiator to free the banner from its setting was the victor, and the other, if he still lived, would be put to death.
Agathias was escorted to one side of the arena, and Bricius to the other, as over twenty golem gladiators were released into the arena. Then the editor gave the call for the game to begin, and the battle was at hand. Bricius felt as if his blood was on fire, this glorious fight being the moment his life had been building towards, and he reveled in it. The murmillo sprinted across the arena floor, sweeping the head off of a golem as he ran past it without pausing, having moved several steps beyond by the time the body hit the arena floor.
Bricius knocked another golem aside with his shield as he kept moving towards the pyramid, then another as he parried the golem’s sword and upper cut the creature with his shield, its head lolling as its neck snapped. Bricius kept his pace and continued towards the ziggurat, reaching it in several bounding steps. He slowed when he realized that the golem gladiator in front of him was the retiarius Octavian. The murmillo parried a surprisingly powerful thrust from the golem gladiator, and then he sidestepped the trident and sunk his gladius into the creature’s chest. Bricius had to move quickly to bash the golem with his shield before the creature could bring its trident around for another lunge. The murmillo could have kept moving up the pyramid in that moment, but chose to finish off the golem gladiator who had once been one of his brethren.
Agathias was visible for a moment as he cleared the first terrace of the ziggurat and moved to the second, and moments later Bricius hugged the wall as a golem came falling through the air from above. It landed on the ground one level below Bricius, its skull cleanly punctured by what could only have been a hoplomachus spear. Bricius had little time to think on it, as he was attacked by a large golem gladiator who wielded a heavy maul. The blow knocked Bricius off balance, his shield nearly flying from his grasp. The murmillo was a champion for no small reason, and let the momentum of the blow carry him into a crouching spin as he slashed the legs out from under the golem then drove the point of his sword into its skull in a series of fluid movements that garnered thunderous applause from the crowd.
Somewhere above Agathias screamed, and for a moment Bricius feared that the man had been killed by a golem, which saddened him, as the hoplomachus, flamboyant though he might be, deserved to die at the hands of a fellow champion. Bricius pumped his legs and sprinted around the terrace level, knocking a golem off of the pyramid as he moved along, sending the creature plummeting. He moved up the stairs and caught sight of Agathias locked in battle with another gladiator golem. The creature had sword and shield, and despite its clumsy movements had managed to slow the hoplomachus in his ascent of the ziggurat.
By the time Bricius reached the terrace just below the summit Agathias came around the other side, having dealt the golem gladiator a deathblow and sending its corpse rolling down the shallow staircase into the massing horde below. “Good to see you at the summit brother! Shall we commence upon one another or dispatch these golems first?” asked the good-humored hoplomachus as the grim murmillo looked at the eleven creatures swarming up the ziggurat.
“I would have proper contest Agathias, let us slay these golems,” shouted Bricius as he saluted Agathias with his sword, the salute returned by spear.
The two men remained on opposite ends of the summit, keeping with the sport of the event, not overtly working together, though not yet attacking each other. Bricius and Agathias defended the summit against the eleven golem gladiators as the creatures rose to meet them, sometimes in pairs and sometimes alone. The crowd was howling with bloodlust and cheer as the gladiators stood like titans upon the ziggurat and cast down the golems as they came. Soon the last of the creatures toppled over the side as Bricius kicked its body and wrenched his sword from its skull.
The two gladiators began to circle each other at the summit, both consummate showmen, allowing the crowd to howl with praise as they drew out the tension. Bricius had been bitten on the arm, though he was so covered with gore that it was difficult for the crowd to notice, though it did not escape the attention of Agathias, who met the murmillo's eyes with pity in his own.
“I am done for Agathias, even if I win here, soon I’ll be a golem just the same. It is a shame we must both die today, the games will be poorer for it,” said the murmillo as he circled his enemy.
“Then let us embrace. The arena is a good place to die is it not?” smiled the hoplomachus as he readied his spear.
“It is.”
With that battle was joined as the champions surged towards one another, deadly weapons whirling. Their contest was worthy of tale and song, two skilled warriors in their prime. The murmillo fighting stoutly with shield and sword as the hoplomachus moved in circles, constantly lunging with spear. Bricius stood resolute behind his shield, using it to deflect a flurry of spear thrusts then rushing in with his gladius for repeated attempts at stabbing the other gladiator’s mid-section. Agathias cleanly blocked all of the murmillo’s stabs with his small buckler, then swiftly changed his stance and swung the spear in a wide arc at the other man’s legs.
A moment too late Bricius realized that the spear had been a ploy to draw his sword into a parry, and the hoplomachus smashed his buckler into the side of the murmillo’s helmet. Bricius reeled from the blow, almost losing his footing, and that was when he saw the hoplomachus gather his legs beneath him, and knew the thrust was coming. Bricius started to move his shield into position, but a moment to late, and the
spear thudded into his chest. The gladiator’s form was perfect, thought Bricius hazily as he began to fall backwards off of the summit.
The murmillo’s heart was cleanly transfixed, his body leaning backwards, then falling off the edge of the summit as Agathias pulled back on his spear. The gladiator’s corpse tumbled down the ziggurat to fall in a pile alongside the many slain golems below. Before pulling the eagle banner from its setting the hoplomachus paused to hold his blood spear aloft in salute to the fallen murmillo. The arena was indeed a good place to die.
THE ESSEDARI
He had been a druid once, in the days when his name had been Maedoc, when his family lived under a roof built by his own hands, and his gods spoke to him with voices of wind, root, and hoof. He spoke the tree language, and he wore the white robes on feast days. Then the Romans came to the Green Isle, and they cared only for gold and slaves, and knew nothing of the gods. Their red armies had always stayed in Pictland, and the folk of the island were unprepared for the onslaught.
Maedoc’s family had been put to the sword in the first days of a war that seemed unending. Like the picts the island folk were a hardy race, and not suited to life under the iron rule of the Roman. Maedoc walked among the villages, and raised many swords to his banner, and a mighty revolt they fought. Yet for every Roman slain another took his place, and soon the rebel strength was spent, and Maedoc himself was captured.
Gladiators vs Zombies Page 5