Gladiator

In my eighteenth year, the soldiers tell us my father is dead. No money is paid to the Romans. The soldiers rape my sister and me. Then, take us to slave market,"

Twenty three's eyes filled with tears and her voice was cracking.

"I am sold to this gladiatorial school. My sister and brother are sold. For twelve months now I don't see my brother and sister. I don't know where they are..." she cried and couldn't go on.

As twenty three regarded me with sorrowful eyes, she pulled me close in a gentle embrace.

In the days that followed, I learned that twenty three lived in a less restrictive part of the gladiatorial school. She had proven her worth in the arena and was accorded many privileges.

Although she was a slave, she was allowed to keep most of the purse money from her appearances in the arena. Most female gladiators fought once every eight to twelve weeks. Because of our popularity and scarcity, we were too valuable a commodity to our owner to risk more than was necessary.

Twenty three befriended me and took me under her protective wing. We trained in the same fighting discipline and her insights and advice were invaluable. Under her tutelage, I achieved a greater amount of skill.

At her request, I was permitted to spend one night per week with her. Later, I learned that she had to bribe the matron and guards for the extra privilege. I was glad for that.

On the eve of twenty three's departure for gladiatorial games sponsored by a wealthy landowner south of Rome, I was allowed to visit her. When I entered her room, her beautiful face and radiant smile greeted me.

I was giddy with happiness and ran to her arms.

"You are in high spirits, my fiery Gaul," she said caringly.

In the short time that we had known each other, twenty three had awakened the female side of me that I had repressed as a warrior with my people.

I was number eleven; the barbarian from Gaul, easily tamed by the majestic dark skinned woman. I was acting and responding like a female for the first time in many years.

As I playfully nuzzled her wonderfully scented neck, my hands massaged the bumps on her front.

"You are eager tonight," she breathed in my ear.

My fingers found their way under her tunic and caressed the small mounds on her chest as my lips grazed the silky skin of her cheeks and forehead eliciting a few moans.

When I looked into her eyes, my heart was pounding in my chest. Words could not describe the joyous feeling inside of me but I think she knew.

For a long time, my lips slid over twenty three's velvety skin. When I reached the hard little bumps, I used my tongue tip. She gently held my head all the while panting and groaning.

Twenty three's hips were undulating and she was pushing the place between her legs against my thigh. I felt something wet and was curious to see what she looked like. I knew she was different from me but I wanted to look more closely.

Twenty three's skin was darker there and her pubic hair was wound in very tight curls. I saw that the center was open a little with a pinkish inside and was damp with moisture.

Whatever want or desire took hold of me, I can't be certain but I reasoned that if my tongue tip felt good on other parts of twenty three's body it would feel just as good there.

Slowly, I ran it up twenty three's center and kept repeating it. She cried out with pleasure as I worked more of my tongue into the wet groove. Some of her wetness trickled into my mouth and although it tasted strong, I found I liked it.

Twenty three was bucking her gluteus maximus and pushing more of her center against my lips. I wanted to please her in the worst way and kept at her groove. It wasn't long before she cried out again and her body shook.

Some of her wetness clung to my lips and when she sat up, she slowly licked it off.

"Was it pleasing to you?" I asked shyly.

Twenty three's answer was to pull me on top of her and hold me tightly with her impressive strength. As we lay facing each other with our arms wound tightly together, she seemed sad.

"Are you afraid?" I asked referring to the journey and gladiatorial games in a different arena.

"No, I am confident but I dislike causing another's death," she said with distress in her voice.

I was looking at twenty three curiously. I had killed many in combat as a warrior for my people but always out of necessity.

"My people believe that how a person conducts their life in this world determines their fate in the next. I have brought dishonor on them and myself by fighting and killing for the enjoyment of others," she said solemnly.

I gazed into twenty three's dark troubled eyes. "Often, I see the faces of the lives I ended and it shames me," she whispered with heart rending sadness and lowered her tear filled gaze

My heart ached for twenty three and as I held her firmly against my body, tears coursed down my cheeks.

For two long weeks, I waited impatiently for twenty three's return. On several occasions during training, I was verbally reprimanded for not paying attention. I was thinking about twenty three.

When twenty three returned, I heard whispering in the bath house that her first opponent was inept and the crowd demanded death. She hesitated in executing the woman and was being reprimanded and confined to her cell.

It was nearly another two weeks before I saw her.

When the guard closed the door, I fell into twenty three's arms. Overcome with emotion, my tears stained her bare shoulder.

"Why do you cry?" she asked me tenderly.

"I am glad to be with you," I blubbered like a child and held on to her as though my very existence depended on it.

"You have much feeling in your heart for me?" she asked in the sweetest voice.

My mind searched for the Latin word.

"Love," was my one word answer.

"My fiery Gaul, I have allowed you to enter my heart. Love for you has grown there and grows stronger each day," she said with emotional yearning.

At that moment, I knew that I loved and cared for her and always would. Passionately, we explored each others bodies until we were too tired to go on.

As my initial training reached its conclusion, I was informed that I would fight my first combat in the Coliseum. When I learned that twenty three was fighting also, it took some of the edge off my nervousness.

On the eve of the contest, a banquet was given by the school for the gladiators scheduled to compete. Outsiders and Roman citizens were allowed to mingle with us.

Several men and women went up to twenty three or Amazon, her arena name, and complimented her on her fighting style. She graciously thanked them with a smile.

Later, I was accorded the privilege of spending the night with twenty three. Her demeanor was serious and she insisted that I spend time reviewing the skills of our fighting discipline.

As twenty three went through the various moves from basic to complex, I watched transfixed as her lithe body moved with an elegant, fluid style that resembled a graceful dance and not combat.

"You are not paying attention my fiery Gaul," she lightly admonished me.

"I think I will do well tomorrow," I stated with some confidence.

"I have seen you in training. You are quick to anger and have a savage way of fighting. It can be both good and bad for you," she said with caring in her voice.

"Will I have to fight you someday?" I asked in a somber way.

"There may come a day when we face each other. It will be a sad day for me," she said with quiet despair.

I clung to twenty three like a baby to its mother. Her brutal honesty made my heart ache the likes of which I had never known.

A contingent of guards and slaves marched beside us through a tunnel that connected the gladiatorial school to the sub basement of the Coliseum.

As we emerged into a labyrinth of poorly lit passageways, the smell of death hung heavy in the stifling air. The roars and cries of various beasts were deafening and resonated in air.

Gladiators stood impatiently as slaves working wondrous machines and devices lined the corridors leaving little room for passersby.

Twenty three was stoic and had her game face on. All gladiators were expected to conduct themselves with a quiet and serious demeanor. Talking, while not forbidden, was restricted and we spoke in whispers or with glances.

The thick, soupy and foul air was nauseating me. I was a veteran warrior of many battles but this was appalling to the senses.

As we waited for a lifting device to take us to the floor of the arena I looked at my opponent, a sullen but capable Thracian woman. When we emerged in the bright light of the Coliseum, the grandeur and size of the structure staggered me.

I had little time to appreciate my surroundings as we saluted the Imperial box and faced off with our opponent. The Thracian fought with skill and patience while my ferocious style, honed from my years of fighting the Romans erupted with a fury.

However, I never gained an advantage and we fought to a draw. Twenty three's opponent was on her knees begging the crowd for mercy. The mob was in a forgiving mood and her life was spared.

Afterward in the cleansing waters of the bath, I smiled at twenty three as she washed her lithe form. She exuded a sexuality and power that lit my senses like a roaring fire. But, her companionship was just as if not more important to me.

Over the next six months, I fought twice in the Coliseum and once in Capernum. The exhibition in Capernum was the first time I had to kill my opponent.

A woman from the Roman upper class, she was poorly trained and gave a bad performance. Defiant in defeat, she refused to ask the crowd for mercy and none was granted.

As I stood over her, she bowed her head and held my thigh in the proper pose for a death blow. Because of my hatred for the Romans when I was a warrior, I had no qualms about killing. But, this was different. I hesitated far too long and the crowd jeered and booed very loudly.

"End it!" I heard her bark in perfect Latin.

When I thrust the sword into her neck ending her life, I understood why twenty three despised the killing.

As punishment for faltering in the arena and with every female gladiator in the school present, I received five lashes and confinement to my cell for two weeks. I refused to cry out from the whip and received my penalty in silence.

My back was on fire with pain as I lay face down on my bed. I heard a key turn in the lock of the door and assumed it was the physician.

Someone knelt beside me and when I turned my head, I saw it was twenty three. She was smiling with sympathy and holding a jar with something white inside. Tears of happiness filled my eyes.

"You were very brave my fiery Gaul," she said passionately but quietly.

I nodded my head in gratitude but I didn't feel brave.

"This will hurt but it heals," she warned me in a soft voice and gave me a piece of leather to bite down on.

When twenty three applied the ointment to my back, I bit the leather to keep from yelling in pain. When it was over, she sat next to me and gently stroked my hair. In a very quiet but melodic voice, she warbled a soothing song that put me peacefully to sleep.

Every evening twenty three came to change the dressing and softly sang me to sleep.

"The healing is good," twenty three remarked as she inspected my back.

I sat up and turned to put my arms around twenty three in gratitude. With my head on her shoulder, she gently rocked me. The wonderful feeling of security that I felt in her embrace was indescribable. I never wanted it to end.

With four appearances in the arena, I was given more privileges at the school. My stage name in the arena was taken from a Greek mythic god but the crowd gave me the nickname "Barbarian" because of my ferocious fighting style and it stuck.

In spite of the three square meals a day, good health care and very clean living conditions, I was keenly aware that I was a slave with no rights except those granted by my owner, the gladiatorial school.

While some gladiators were awarded freedom, a vast majority never left the confines of the school and died fighting in the arena.

A cold winter wind was blowing the day a female gladiator who had been granted her freedom, returned to the school to fight again.

Later, in the privacy of my cell, I asked twenty three about her but she seemed lost in thought.

"Is it hard for gladiators outside the gates to the school?" I asked with curiosity.

"Yes, some miss the cheering crowds and the money," she said in a melancholy voice.

"You are unhappy?" I asked with heart felt concern.

Twenty three gave me weak smile but I knew that she was deeply troubled about something. However, she refused to speak about it.

On a late winter afternoon at the Coliseum, twenty three was fighting an equally experienced gladiator but quickly gained an advantage.

With her opponent on her knees, begging for her life, the spectators were evenly divided on sparing her. Luckily, the signal from the Imperial box was for her life to be spared.

When twenty three told me what happened, I sighed with relief for her as she gazed at me with weary eyes.

"I don't want to kill anymore," she said with terrible sadness and openly wept.

As I held the beautiful dark skinned woman in my arms, I tried to soothe her by stroking her back and nuzzling her neck.

"You have love for me my fiery Gaul?" she asked tenderly while wiping her wet eyes.

"Much love," I answered passionately.

Twenty three had learned the Roman technique of kissing from a rich female patron of the school. Wrapped in my gentle embrace, she demonstrated her new skill.

Twenty three's kissed over my body pausing at my chest to mouth my hard bumps. Her passion at times exceeded my own and I discovered that she desired to please me as much as I desired to please her.

Twenty three taught me the proper technique for licking her center and I derived much pleasure from it. She was panting in rapid breaths and gently held my head between her lovely brown thighs.

As we were resting, I was suddenly curious.

"Do the women of your village...do...with other women..." I had a hard time thinking of the correct Latin words.

Twenty three looked puzzled for a moment but understood what I was asking.

"Yes, there are women who like women. A girl from my village taught me her secrets. It is acceptable among my people," she stated factually.

Twenty three was moving down my body until she reached the groove between my legs. For a long time, she showed me how superbly educated she was.

On a warm spring morning, twelve female gladiators were informed that they would participate in games sponsored by a very wealthy Senator. The games were to be held in the arena at Tarentum, a small city south of Rome.

It was nothing unusual to fight in gladiatorial contests in different arenas. Sometimes, our opponents were from the local populace but mostly we fought each other.

Twenty three and I were on the roster. With the permission of my instructor, she was allowed to assist in my training.

For three weeks prior to our departure, twenty three drilled me over and over on the basic to advanced skills for the fighting discipline we trained in.

After a very intense practice the hot water of the bath was very satisfying and soothing. I whispered to twenty three that I wanted to give her a rub down.

That evening, I sat/kneeled in the area of her lower back to upper gluteus. Using the same oil as the slave attendants, I tenderly rubbed her back shoulders and neck.

"My fiery Gaul, you have talented hands," she sighed deeply.

I was enthralled with the texture and color of twenty three's skin and kneaded her exquisite flesh in a most loving manner. When I was finished, she turned on to her back and gazed at me with loving eyes.

Our passion knew no bounds that night as we used fingers and mouths until our bodies were sore. I loved twenty three. She meant more to me than life itself. As I slept in her comforting embrace, I had no inkling of the awful tragedy to come.

Tarentum:

The journey to Tarentum was uneventful and we arrived the following morning. The hot muggy air in the equipment room of the arena was almost unbearable.

Everyone was sweating and in a surly mood. As far as we knew, it was a routine exhibition in the arena at Tarentum. When number eight informed us that the Senator had paid huge sums to see us fight to the death, a pall of overwhelming melancholy enveloped the entire room.

Twenty three was stoic, wearing her game face as she always did before a match. Our pairing was no accident, the Senator paid extra to see the exotic dark skinned gladiator fight the barbarian from Gaul.

One of us would not leave the arena alive. My mind refused to accept the reality of the situation and I decided not to fight. Twenty three had to kill me. I wanted her to live. But, she was wise beyond her years and had a plan of her own. My body was numb, devoid of feeling as we waited in the dimly light passage for our entrance into the arena. As I stood in front of twenty three holding my helmet, she whispered in my ear,

"Goodbye my fiery Gaul."

A hand caressed my unprotected shoulder and gave a light squeeze of affection.

Before I had a chance to respond, we were separated and twenty three was sent to the opposite wall of the passage. I could barely see her in the gloom.

In the oppressive heat of the late afternoon sun, six pairs of gladiator's saluted the figures in the Senator's box and commenced fighting.

We were the least active of all the pairs as I kept circling away from her powerful left arm. I was determined not to fight the woman I loved but twenty three wisely knew that inactivity was deemed as cowardice and could result in both our deaths.

"Fight, stupid barbarian!" she taunted constantly.

Twenty three was clearly the aggressor. As she jabbed and feinted with exquisite skill, I easily blocked them with my shield. I had learned my lessons well.

"People from Gaul are born in dung heaps," she spat insultingly, desperately trying to raise my anger.

The crowd was restless and rightfully so; not one blow of consequence had been exchanged. Cries and whistles of derision filled the air.

"Listen to them, do you want us both to die, you pathetic excuse for a gladiator," she said in a voice full of contempt

Twenty three made several half hearted lunges at me that I avoided. Another series of tepid sword thrusts glanced off my shield. In the choking heat of the arena, she was expending precious energy in a bold effort to arouse my fighting instincts.

The crowd noise was deafening and filled with curses and howls.

"I am a princess among my people. You are a stupid uncouth girl, a barbarian," she shouted scornfully in between sword thrusts.

The insults and angry mob were having an effect on me. Slowly, the rage inside of me built to an unstoppable crescendo and the gladiator in front of me was no longer the woman I loved but an opponent.

"Fight!" she shrieked at me.

With tremendous ferocity, I rained blows on twenty three that staggered her and opened cuts on the unprotected parts of her arms and torso.

Defensively, I circled away from twenty three's left hand as the crowd cheered wildly. The anger in my veins was not appeased and I waded in with a series of savage thrusts and parries that hit their mark.

Twenty three was shaken and bloody but quickly went on a counter offensive that rattled me. Her attack was precise but lackluster and instinctively, I knew she was tiring. She fought with desperation and I intuitively understood that she was clinging to the futile hope that we would be granted a draw.

As I doubled my assault, hammering blow after blow against her shield, she countered with sword strikes that opened wounds on my arms. She fought with every ounce of strength in her being but was visibly weakening with cuts oozing blood.