“Fear not, gentle ladies,” said Pulendius, “for you are safe from such monsters.”
The barbarian looked down, and fought the chains.
A ripple of uneasiness coursed among women in the tiers.
“Do not fear such brutes, beautiful, gentle ladies,” said Pulendius. “The empire will protect you.”
The barbarian suddenly, unexpectedly, cried out with rage, and, half rising, tore at the chains.
Some women in the stands cried out in fear.
The guards forced the barbarian once more to his knees.
“Do not be alarmed, beautiful, gentle ladies,” said Pulendius. “The empire, invincible and eternal, stands between you and such beasts.”
But there remained fear in the eyes of more than one. And here and there small, delicate hands fluttered at trembling breasts.
“He is quite helpless,” said Pulendius. “He is well chained, as is appropriate for such brutes.”
Again the barbarian cried out with rage, and attempted once more to rise to his feet.
A woman, startled, screamed.
Then the barbarian, sullen, his wrists bleeding, forced once more to his knees, ceased to tear at the chains.
“You see he is quite helpless,” said Pulendius. “And he knows himself such.”
A sound of relief escaped several in the stands.
“Behold him, on his knees, as such should be, before the empire.”
There was laughter in the stands.
Suddenly again, in fury, the barbarian strove to rise to his feet.
At a sign from the captain the two guards, with blows, brought the barbarian again to his knees.
Blood streamed about his head.
“An admirably dangerous man,” said the young naval officer, musingly.
“Yes, milord,” said the captain.
Again the barbarian tried to rise. This time, with the nod of the captain observed, Pulendius gestured for two of the gladiators, one of the pairs with blunted spears, to rush forward. They did so, and struck the kneeling, chained figure several times, brutally, with the shafts of their implements. He was then bent over, on his knees, in the bloody sand.
When the barbarian straightened his body he, bloodied head up, sand clinging to his face and beard, regarded the captain and the young officer. In his eyes there was smoldering hatred. The young officer, he with the cords of the blood at his left shoulder, met the gaze calmly. The barbarian then looked about the tiers. Suddenly, his gaze stopped. He regarded the gladiator near the opening of the tiers, to his left, as he knelt, with a glance that was both keen, and, to some extent, of awe. This puzzled the gladiator, for he had never seen the barbarian before. After all, he was a fighter, and, before that, a mere peasant from a
“No, milord,” said the gladiator.
“You have not met before?”
“Not to my knowledge,” said the gladiator.
“Let the exhibition begin!” cried Pulendius, and called forth the first pair of gladiators, one of the two pairs with wooden swords. In the exhibition some rudiments of swordsmanship were demonstrated, and, in a few minutes, Pulendius himself adjudicated a mock match, one in which blows were drawn. The second pair demonstrated certain techniques of the spear, and then, as had the first, engaged in a mock match, which Pulendius again adjudicated, and expertly. The third match was again between a pair with wooden swords, only the swords were this time not the surrogates of the common wicked, short blade of the arena, but rather of the long sword, wielded with two hands, a weapon favored by certain barbarian peoples. The last exhibition was between the last pair of gladiators, also armed with spears, these formed however to resemble the long, double-headed spears of Kiros, a world in the Lidanian system. Both ends of the shaft were painted red, indicating a scoring surface. It was with these implements that the barbarian had been beaten. Pulendius, in his expert commentary, mentioned various facts about diverse weapons, their strengths and weaknesses, the diverse techniques of their employment, and such. There is, of course, a lore and history of weaponry, and weapons of diverse types, like musical instruments, tend to be the result of a long period of refinement and development. And the profession of arms, like other professions, has its complexity, and its masters. Those who do not understand, or appreciate, the expertise, the effort, the long hours of practice, the days and nights of thought involved, are naive, and in an area where naivete can be dangerous. The sport of arms is an intricate and demanding one. Too, it is a quite serious one. Its games are not such as may be lightly lost.
From time to time the glance of the young naval officer passed musingly, thoughtfully, from the barbarian to the gladiator who crouched, intent on the exercises, near the entrance to the tiers.
The ensign pondered, curiously, what he had earlier noted, the reaction of the barbarian upon seeing the gladiator. But the gladiator was only a paid minion of Pulendius, a common sort. Too, it was extremely unlikely their paths had crossed.
The barbarian did not note the interest of the young officer, nor did the gladiator. The barbarian, bloodied, chained, doubtless sick from his beating, continued to regard the gladiator, whom he viewed, the officer noted, with a sort of wonder, of hostility, even of apprehension. The gladiator, on the other hand, was intent on the matches, perhaps noting how one man feinted, how another moved, how another communicated his intentions by pressing the ball of his foot into the sand, firmly, just before a thrust.
“Score!” called Pulendius, slapping one of the last fighters on the back. That fighter stood over the prostrate form of the other, the blunt, red-painted end of the mock spear but an inch from his throat. Then the victor stepped back, and, sweating, grinning, lifted his spear, turning, before the crowd. The other fellow scrambled up from the sand, retrieved his broken weapon, and exited.
There was applause.
“And now,” called Pulendius, “for the climax of the evening’s entertainment!”
The small crowd on the tiers leaned forward.
Pulendius turned dramatically toward the barbarian. “Stand,” said Pulendius.
The barbarian, with some difficulty, rose to his feet. He then stood there, a little unsteadily, in the sand.
“Release him!” said Pulendius, pointing dramatically to the barbarian.
The barbarian himself did not seem surprised at this development.
“No!” cried a woman from the stands, frightened.
“Keep him chained!” cried another.
But, to the apprehension of many in the stands, and, we suspect, not merely of the women, one of the guards bent down, and undid the locks on the shackles which fettered the ankles of the barbarian.
“You see this pistol, and you know what it can do?” said one of the guards, brandishing it before the barbarian.
The barbarian did not deign to respond. But doubtless he was only too familiar with such devices, or devices of that sort.
“Undo the manacles,” said Pulendius.
“No!” cried a woman.
But the guard who had attended to the shackles, and doubtless understood what was expected of him, and the projected course of events, unlocked the manacles. The barbarian then stood there, free, but within the scope of the fire pistols, indeed, at point-blank range.
“We shall see what stuff these fellows are made of,” said Pulendius.
“He is not to reach Miton,” said the minor officer to the woman in the pantsuit.
The woman in the pantsuit looked at the minor officer reproachfully.
“He will, of course,” said the minor officer, “have his chance for life.”
“Who will you fight?” asked Pulendius.
The barbarian turned toward the young naval officer, and pointed to him. “He,” he said.
