From: daviderl31@yahoo.com   
      
           [gladiator violence]   
                                           Xena:  Roman Gladiator   
      
                                                   Chapter Eight   
      
                                                      The Games   
      
   The morning of the Games began cold, foggy and dreary, not a good sign to   
   many, so superstitious were they. But it made no difference to Xena, weather   
   never was much of a concern to her. It was what it was, and she had no   
   illusions that it was controlled by the gods, other than the lightning bolts   
   of Zeus, and even then, she knew his were not the same as in thunder storms.   
      
   Doctore had chosen a half dozen of his best for the preliminary contests. By   
   agreement between the House of Batiatus and the House of Cicerius, they were   
   not be to the death even though iron and bronze weapons would be used. Too   
   much money and time had been invested in purchasing and training the   
   combatants. Of course, accidents happened. Also, if one of them proved too   
   cowardly or too inept, his death was acceptable to both Batiatus and to   
   Cicerius.   
      
   This was not the case for Xena and her opponent. Many gold Aureus coins,   
   each worth twenty five silver denarius, were wagered on the outcome, such   
   was the rivalry, and the confidence of both men in his champion.   
      
   The Games began at midday, the morning being set aside for the late   
   breakfast feasting for Batiatus' household and his guests who had arrived   
   the previous night. By the time the first contest started they had consumed   
   many goblets of Batiatus' finest wine, saved for occasions such as this.   
   Consequently, the enthusiasm, and the wagering, was loud and boisterous.   
      
   No one was handed his weapon until let out of the holding cell when it was   
   his turn in the arena. And upon the conclusion, it was returned to a guard   
   as he passed through the locked gate leading back to the dining area where   
   his wounds were treated by the physician. The holding cell was situated so   
   they were able to watch the contests, to cheer on their compatriots, and to   
   make their own wagers of food, or sexual favors.   
      
   But Xena hung back to allow Doctore to decorate her. Her face had black   
   paint around her eyes and then encircled with red. Black and red streaks   
   were painted on her back running from her neck to her waist. Her breasts   
   were encircled with red, and red was applied to her nipples to make them   
   stand out from a distance.  A red streak ran from the base of her neck,   
   between her breasts, to end at her pubic area, with red stripes representing   
   ribs radiating out from it that continued around her torso to meet at her   
   spine.   
      
   But she wasn't completely naked. A loincloth was worn just high enough that   
   her buttocks held it from falling off, and the back of it was brought up   
   between her thighs and fastened in front with a copper clasp. And she would   
   fight barefooted.   
      
   Looking down at herself, Xena could only mentally shake her head at the   
   ridiculousness of it, but protesting would get her nothing but grief from   
   Doctore, and she needed to stay in his good graces. But she had a plan. She   
   knew the red represented blood, and if it was blood they wanted, blood they   
   would have.   
      
   She was only mildly interested in the outcomes of the contests. And so far   
   it was even, three of Cicerius' fighters had triumphed, as had three of   
   Batiatus'. And even though blood had been spilt, no one was seriously   
   injured enough that his ability to fight again was ended.   
      
   And then it was Xena's turn. She was let out of the holding cell, and was   
   surprised that Doctore was beside her. The guard handed her the swords and   
   she spun them slowly to feel the balance and weight of them. Doctore knew   
   what he was doing – they felt almost the same as her practice ones.   
      
   And she waited until her opponent was introduced. He was a big man, as tall   
   as Doctore, but heavily muscled. The sword he was carrying was much longer   
   and heavier than hers, and his shield … his shield was twice the size of the   
   practice ones she used. It's outer edge was covered with bronze, and there   
   was an iron cone in the center sticking out the length of a man's hand. He   
   wore an iron helmet with fabric made of small iron rings linked that covered   
   his head, neck, upper chest and back.  Xena knew she had her work cut out   
   for her.   
      
   She started forward a step, expecting her name to be called, but Doctore   
   stopped her. And then a second opponent walked to the center of the arena.   
      
   "There are three of us against the other?" she asked.   
      
   "No. It is two against you."   
      
   Xena's other foe was wearing the same links fabric and helmet as the first,   
   but instead of sword and shield, he was wielding a form of trident and a   
   net. The trident was made from a single piece of flat iron, split into five   
   prongs and spread out like fingers of a hand, each prong sharpened to a   
   razor's edge. She noticed there were no barbs on the end, allowing him to   
   stab repeatedly without having to struggle to pull it from her body. On   
   closer inspection, she realized the net had barbed hooks fastened all over   
   it. Once she was caught with them, the only way to escape was with them   
   ripping out of her flesh where they had hooked into her.   
      
   Xena looked up at Doctore as her name, "Amazonia, the Amazon Warrior!" was   
   called. He didn't meet her eyes, and she entered the arena.   
      
   Her instructions were to enter the arena running, with the swords spinning   
   and singing, but instead, she walked determinedly, dragged the swords behind   
   her, leaving ruts in the sand, until she was near the center, her back to   
   the balcony. Then with a loud war cry, she whirled around, swinging the   
   blades twice, spinning her hold on them so she was able to stab them into   
   the ground as one would a pair of daggers. She then went to one knee in   
   deference to Batiatus and Cicerius, but only for a moment.   
      
   With another war cry she pulled the swords from the sand and crossed them in   
   front of her, and with one quick swipe, sliced the outside of each arm –   
   deep enough to bring forth blood, but not enough to do any real harm. Then   
   with another double stab into the ground, she crossed her arms, filling her   
   hands with her own blood, then wiped her face from forehead to chin with her   
   fingers, leaving bloody trails. With the blood still pouring from her arms,   
   she filled her hands again, and rubbed them over her upper chest and   
   breasts. And one more time on her belly down to where the waist of the   
   loincloth was.   
      
   She wiped her hands quickly on the loincloth, leaving just enough sticky   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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