The Gladiator
#2 of Tails from the Foxx
The Gladiator
By: Heuvadoches Naumova
_This was originally posted for publication in the Playfoxx magazine in Second Life. Unfortunately, the story was rejected, and due to personal obligations, I've held it for a minimum of 12 months before publishing elsewhere. The conditions were a story, 1000 words or less with a gladiator theme. If you've read any of my other stories, this was actually a challenge for me, so I did the best I could within the limits I was given. I hope you do enjoy.
The premise is a world where canines rule over felines in a roman style government where the felines are little more than slaves._
Above the dusty floor packed hard by feet, sweat and the blood of countless gladiators, the crowd howled and screamed. Its hundreds of throats, burned hoarse and guttural by taunts and cheers, shouted its derisions and its encouragements to the struggling combatants. Its many thousands of eyes drank in the eternal spectacle of warriors battling for honor, riches, glory, and above all, freedom.
Metal on metal, flesh on flesh, the grunts of the fighters, the sounds of combat and the crowd washed down to the lower pens. A sudden loud roar from the throng drowned out the battle, then silence. Collectively, a number of fighters in the pen bent to one knee and bowed heads in prayer. A tumultuous cheer thundered down, shaking the very walls, signaling the end of the fight, and one of the fighters.
"Jaxon! Prepare yourself," a guard called.
Slowly, a muscled, tiger-striped lynx stood. The wrist links rattled as he walked the short distance to the pen's exit. "I am ready," he said, holding out his arms.
The guard only nodded and then opened the door. "Good luck today," he said in a low voice, once out of earshot of the pens, while unlocking the gladiator's bonds.
"Nexion," the lynx began, but stopped his train of thought and changed his mind. "Thanks," he finished, rubbing his wrists.
The pair walked slowly around to the armory. "You know, they will kill you today." Nexion said.
Jaxon only nodded. "I know."
Nexion stopped. "What in the name of hell did you do?" he asked.
The cat could only shrug. "I breathe."
Nexion stared up into his eyes for a second, searching. Then, with a shake of his head in wonderment he started back towards the armory. "Someone wants you dead, and all you continue to do is play their loser's game."
"Mind your tongue, Nexion, or you will find yourself in my place one day," Jaxon cautioned as they walked the last few feet. "I am Jaxon, reporting for my match and requesting my weapon," he said to the quartermaster.
The wolf looked up with a sneer. "No weapon, you use your fists today."
"Thank you, sir," Jaxon said respectfully. "I request my armor," he asked, continuing the ritual, already knowing what it would be.
"Strip. Your skin is your armor."
Jaxon nodded and removed the thin length of cloth from his waist, handing it over to the quartermaster.
"May the gods shit upon you," the quartermaster said disdainfully.
Jaxon nodded and turned toward the fighter's entrance, stopping at the edge of the shadow. Out in the center, a pair of combatants circled each other warily. One, a pit bull in scout's armor, wielded a sword in his left hand, the other, a lion in a loincloth, brandished a thin, wooden shield. Both displayed small cuts along the arms, but the lion limped and favoured his left leg. A large gash along the calf oozed dark blood.
The scout feinted to his left and then moved right, swiping at his injured foe with a low backhand slash. Splinters flew from the shield as the blade bit into it. The lion roared in pain as he put weight on his bad leg, but still managed to drag his claws across his opponents muzzle. The crowd's voice swelled, covering the dog's howl, then ebbed as the pair circled again.
"They are sending the ferals after you," Nexion said, staring out at the battle.
Jaxon nodded. In the arena the lion staggered under another assault, losing his footing and falling to his back. The pit bull wasted no time. A mighty blow shattered the shield and broke the cat's arm. A loud cheer from the crowd covered his shout of agony as he collapsed backwards. Suddenly, the voice went mute. The thud of metal piercing flesh and splintering ribs as the soldier's sword drove through the lion's chest echoed across the hushed stadium. Then, as one, thousands of mouths howled, baying and barking approval of the soldier's final stroke.
Nexion looked up at Jaxon and realized that he loved the lynx. "Why?" he asked, trying hard not to cry.
Jaxon put his paw on Nexion's shoulder and smiled. "An elusive dream. Chased by all since the dawn of time. It's been sacrificed in vain, squandered in honor, stolen away by lesser men and left for dead along the side of the road like some battered chattel whore past her prime. Why? This is my freedom. This is why I fight," he said. Then, he did something unexpected. The cat leaned down and kissed Nexion on the forehead. Still holding his knowing smile, he brushed a tear from the guard's cheek and calmly strode out into the arena.