Vrash Earns His Freedom

Vrash punched the other man in the chest. He didn’t know his opponent’s name. He never did. They were both unarmored, but Vrash was also unarmed. Both were well muscled, and both wore nothing but a piece of cloth wrapped about their waists. The other three men in the arena were similarly outfitted, though two of those men were dead or dying now, helpless bodies lying in the sand. The third man was closing in tight behind Vrash. He would need to take care of his current antagonist soon.
Vrash lifted a leg and kicked the other man, pushing him back. His opponent would be expecting a respite in the attack — the maneuver was generally used to give oneself some breathing room -- but Vrash had no time for rest with the other fighter in the arena. Vrash meant the tactic to give a false sense of ease. Vrash leapt forward as his opponent stumbled, focusing entirely on regaining his balance. Vrash spun as he re-closed the distance drove his elbow into the fighter’s face. Vrash couldn’t suppress a grin as he felt the satisfying crack and a tiny spatter of blood on his arm. He continued his spin and grabbed the other man’s hair, pulling back his head. He finished the fight with a vicious punch to the fighter’s neck. He let go as the dying body collapsed, struggling soundlessly for breath that would never come.
Vrash turned to face his last opponent, whose run slowed as he saw Vrash was no longer occupied. Vrash could tell the man was cocky, and knew he had reason to be. Vrash was breathing heavy, he’d fought and killed three men already, and the sweat was running down into his eyes. The other man held a sword and a punching dagger. Vrash hadn’t even had time to pick up someone’s weapon. He’d been given strict orders not to touch them anyway.
His owner — Vrash didn’t know his name and was only allowed to refer to him as Master — had never put him in a Vrash he couldn’t win. Vrash trusted his master completely. He was well taken care of and treated to honors no other gladiatorial slave ever got. He didn’t care about freedom. He’d never known it, and didn’t see what appeal it would have. He was good at fighting, and he didn’t know how to do anything else. It was a good life.
But it was hard too. He’d fought four men at once before, but he’d been armed. He’d fought three men while unarmed. He’d fought beasts. But these men were very good fighters, and Vrash wondered if maybe Master had given him a fight that would end him.
The other man had a tattoo on his upper arm, three red circles inside a triangle. He lunged at Vrash with his sword, but his legs had no power behind the move — it was clearly a feint. Vrash didn’t react. He didn’t know if Triangle intended to draw him out or test his defenses, but Vrash wasn’t going to give anything away. Triangle had a confused look in his eyes and paused. He clearly hadn’t expected no reaction at all.
It was all the chance Vrash needed. He grabbed Triangle’s wrist and pulled. He couldn’t hold his opponent in place without taking the punching-dagger in his side, but pulling the man and letting go was enough. It forced Triangle completely off balance. As triangle stumbled, Vrash stepped behind him and pounded him in the kidney with a rock-solid fist. Triangle only grunted. Vrash grinned. This one, at least, was a man. Vrash reached to grab Triangle's arms, but there was too much momentum, too much distance. Triangle whirled and they returned to circling.
There would be no false moves, no fakes any more. Each move would try to kill.
The man with the triangle tattoo inched closer, looking to strike without a rush. Vrash flexed his fists and waited for Triangle to get in range. He would have to be fast. It was a gamble — Triangle’s sword gave him a longer, more deadly reach. Vrash watched Triangle’s center, his chest, waiting for the muscle flex that would show reveal the impending move.
The twitch appeared, and instantly Vrash threw himself forward in a roll as the sword cut through the air where he’d just been. The gamble had a cost; the punching-dagger split open the flesh on Vrash's arm. But it also paid off. Vrash rolled into Triangle’s legs, and Triangle fell forward into the sand. Vrash was on his feet before his opponent even hit the ground. He jumped and landed, knees first, onto Triangle’s back. Vrash heard a crunch, but his opponent continued struggling to push himself up. Vrash pushed Triangle’s face into the sand a pummeled him brutally on the neck and head till the struggling stopped.
Satisfied, Vrash gave the head one more shove as he pushed himself to his feet. He rubbed sweat and strands of black hair from his face and looked about. The fight had been a private one. There were only a dozen or so men, clustered together, in the arena stands. There was only one man clapping, and him halfheartedly. That didn’t matter to Vrash. He had won. That was all that mattered.
A gate in the wall slowly rose and two handlers appeared. Vrash stepped forward toward the gate as the men, eunuchs, approached him. One began bandaging the wound on his arm as the other put a wine skin in Vrash’s hand. Vrash took several gulps. He’d been worried briefly that he might not win. And that would mean the end of his life — even if he surrendered, Master would have him killed for a loss. But Life was good to him today. He would meet his end another time. Probably be in this same arena.
Still, something felt unusual. Master wasn’t clapping. Vrash knew he was Master’s pride, but Master didn’t seem pleased with the conclusion of the fight. He shrugged it off. He was a slave, and a slave could not know such things. He submitted to the oil rubdown the eunuchs provided and returned to his cell to await Master’s servants to collect him.
He didn’t wait long. Master approached a few moments later, his quick footsteps echoing in the empty hall. He wore a frown and his brow was furrowed. Master had once-dark hair that was graying, but not very much of it. The top of his head was bald and the back was clean shaven in the current style. He wore only a robe draped on one shoulder, and his fat could be seen jiggling where it was uncovered. He wore simple leather sandals.
Vrash stood and waited, as Master came to a stop and glared at him. Vrash was a tall man. Master was short, and it was obvious that Vrash could kill Master easily. Yet there was still something in Master’s eyes that made Vrash feel small.
Master stared at Vrash for several long moments before speaking. “I made a bet today,” he said as he began pacing before the gladiator. This was no surprise to Vrash. That was how owners made money off gladiator matches. “I’m not sure whether I’m pleased or not.” He paced some more before saying anything else. “Well, I suppose that’s it then. You’re a free man now.”
Vrash blinked. For the first time in his life, he was truly surprised. “Free?”
Master frowned and grunted. “You win too much. The other owners were forcing me out. They set up what they thought would be an impossible match. Their four best, armed, against you, unarmed. If you lost, they were to pay me what they thought was several times your worth. If you won they would force me out of the arena. No one would ever agree to a match with any of my fighters unless you no longer competed.”
He resumed pacing. “I considered simply retiring you. You’ve been a great asset. But I can’t use you among my guards, and you can’t tutor my children. They expected I would kill you. But I’d sooner put down a prize horse. You have provided me with a great deal of wealth. I can give you some coins, but you’re not allowed at the arena, on pain of death.” He stopped pacing, his back to Vrash. “Good luck in your new life, wherever it may be.”
Vrash continued standing in position to be inspected as he watched his former master walk away for the last time.