Centurion's Rise (19 page)

Tomal
shrugged the Captain off and continued his rant.  “This is about you and your ego.  Gallono knew it and that’s why he left.  Now I see it.  Valnor, how can you still follow this rutting pig?”

Valnor visibly struggled to contain his rage as he
sat quietly in his chair contemplating Tomal’s words.  The anger grew too much for the chair so the young man rose to his feet.  Slowly he turned to face Hastelloy as he used the sleeve of his toga to wipe Tomal’s spit from his face.

“I trusted you,” Valnor growled.  “I obeyed your orders and went against every moral fiber of my being because you had my utmost respect - no longer.  Violating my union vows?  You’re nothing but a pimp.”

“I make sacrifices for the greater good,” Hastelloy responded.

“You say potato, I say pimp,” Valnor challenged.  “I am not your whore to command, not anymore.  I’m my own man from now on.”

Hastelloy reached
out to restrain Valnor, but the young man violently shoved him aside and stormed out of the luxury box.

“If a leader has no follo
wers, is he really a leader?” Tomal pondered with a sly grin touching the corners of his mouth.  “Oh I’m sorry, did I say that out loud?”

“Quite,” Hastelloy sighed as he took his seat again.

“Look behind you Captain, no one is following you anymore.” 

“Leadership can be tricky
,” Hastelloy said without taking his vacant stare away from the action in the arena.  “It’s not always measured in the number of people who knowingly obey, but whether the leader’s intended result actually comes through.”

“Well good luck with that,” Tomal
laughed as he also took his seat.  “You’ll get no help from me, and if I get even a whiff of a plot on your part to kill Caesar I’ll make it my mission in life to visit the intended mischief on you rather than him.”

“Fair enough,” Hastelloy replied.  He then gestured to draw Tomal’s attention back to the arena floor.  Of particular interest was the gladiator who was in the process of removing one of his two swords from the torso of his opponent.  He did a quick body count and came to a total of twenty dead
men on the ground.

“Is that still the same gladiator who entered at the start of the match,” Tomal asked in disbelief.  “That’s extraordinary.”

“It just goes to show that people can surprise you,” Hastelloy said.  “Let’s set aside our argument for the moment and see how this plays out.”

On the arena
floor, a haggard warrior retrieved the blade he recently lodged in the chest of his twentieth opponent.  He took a moment to wipe both sides of the sword against the fallen man’s tunic.  The result was a marginally cleaner blade, but in truth the metal was saturated in blood and would never come clean.

Behind him the dull thud of another door unlocking announced the entry of yet another cha
llenger.  He’d lost all track of time during the fighting; he could have been fighting for ten minutes or ten hours.  All he knew was every muscle in his body ached for rest.  His five pound swords were not much to carry at first, but they now felt like fifty pound training weights.  He took a deep breath, and then turned to face the new challenger.

This opponent
was armed with a pitchfork in one hand and dense net with weighted ends in the other.  On any other day, this adversary would pose no difficulty, but defeating him required enough agility to dodge entrapment by the net and to get inside the superior reach the pitchfork weapon provided.  He wasn’t sure if his fatigue would be too much now for him to accomplish either of the requirements.

The two warriors circled each other, both trying to take measure of the other’s ability.  Suddenly the opponent swung his net across the dirt floor. 
The exhausted gladiator managed to jumped over the net, but the attacker used his momentum to whip around with the net and unleash a second attack at head level.  The net snagged the other’s nose guard of his helmet and ripped it off his head, and sent the combatant crashing to the ground.

Halfway through
his flight to the ground, the gladiator turned his body to land on his shoulder.  He then used a tuck and roll to spring back to his feet.    The crowd roared with excitement as the identity of the fighter was now revealed.  He stole a glance to the Consul’s luxury box and saw immediate recognition in the eyes of the two occupants.

Gallono focused his attention back
on the battle with a renewed sense of purpose.  If he died now his crew would know whether it was a natural death or suicide.  It was not enough to have someone else simply take his life.  He couldn’t let himself be killed since that was just a thinly veiled extension of suicide.  He needed to be beaten to satisfy his honor.

Gallono had
hoped the strain of continuous battle would degrade his abilities to the point one of his opponents would finally land a lethal blow.  Perhaps this net fighter would be the one, but he would have to earn it.

Gallono held the blade in his left hand in a vertical defensive po
sition while the one in his right hand was drawn back at head level with the business end pointed at his opponent providing a quick strike threat. 

His opponent drove the pitchfork
toward Gallono’s thigh, but the blow was deflected to the side.  Out of the corner of his eye, Gallono saw another head level swing of the net on its way.  He used the opportunity to close the gap.  Gallono forced his aching body to bend at the waist and spun in on the other gladiator along the pitchfork’s shaft. As the net sailed harmlessly over his head, Gallono rose to his full height and delivered a deep slice along the entire length of his opponent’s back with the left handed sword.

In any other match he would have backed away to
let the crowd soak up his minor victory and make the match last longer, but time was precious now.  Gallono continued the rotation of his body.  As the slicing sword fell away from the opponent’s body he took the sword held ready at head level in his right hand and drove it straight into the opponent’s back causing the blade to puncture the man’s heart and burst out the front of his chest.

The crowd erupted with delight
. Gallono closed his eyes and stretched his arms out wide to soak in the moment.  He reached out with his entire being to draw strength from the cheering mob in order to summon the will to continue the fight.  He withdrew his blade from the fallen body and was rewarded with another hollow thud from the north side of the arena; another opponent was unleashed.  Then something unexpected happened.  Seven more hollow thumps reverberated throughout the arena and the collective breath of the crowd was sucked away in a single gasp.

Gallono looked up and turned
in a circle to size up his situation.  Eight gladiators armed with an eclectic assortment of weapons and shields had him surrounded and were closing in.  They all obviously had instructions to finish off the champion in the middle before taking the fight to each other.

Most men would have stained the soil beneath
them yellow at that moment, but Gallono drew strength from it.  A rush of excitement and adrenalin flooded his veins.  His body that felt covered in lead weights a moment before now weighed nothing at all.  His legs once anchored to the ground by fatigue now bounced along the dirt like a loaded spring.

The rush would pass in a few minutes
though, leaving his mind, body, and soul completely empty.  Until then, Gallono knew he was unstoppable and took action to use his momentary advantage.  Gallono broke into an all out sprint toward the gladiator approaching from the north.  The opponent took a wide stance and raised his sword and shield to the ready.

Two steps from the other man, still at a full sprint, Gallono collapsed his left leg causing his body to slide on his thigh along the ground.  Gallono sailed between the surprised opponent’s legs.  As he did Gallono delivered a cut that sliced the man open from stomach
to groin.

Gallono got to his feet again just in time to deflect a blow from
his left side.  He stepped into the opponent’s shield and delivered a crushing elbow blow to the jaw that knocked the man flat on his back.  A quick thrust of the sword in Gallono’s right hand improved the odds to six against one.

The crowd was on the verge of combusting as six lethal gladiators encircled and bore down on their prey.  Blow after blow from every which way was parried by Gallono with blinding speed.  A relative lull in the flurry of violence gave him the opening he needed. 

Gallono instinctively felt a waist level cut coming from his right side.  He crouched down and then launched his body into a back flip toward the attack.  The sword strike passed beneath Gallono and his jump brought him down outside the attacking circle and facing the unarmed backside of a gladiator.  Even before landing his feet on the ground Gallono drove the blade in his right hand home for the kill.

When his feet touched down Gallon
o twirled to the right raising his left handed sword to block a strike and hold the opponent’s arm in the air.  Gallono’s momentum pulled the blade in his right hand out of the dead man’s back and raked across a new opponent’s unprotected torso. Gallono sensed a blow coming from behind and dropped to his knees.  Above him a sword buried itself into the chest of the gladiator standing in front of him.

Gallono exploded upward with his shoulders which managed to catch the attacker’s outstretched arm at the
elbow.  The helpless arm snapped like a twig and remained bent in a cruel and unnatural angle.  Again, Gallono rotated in mid air and adjusted the grip on his right handed sword so the blade pointed straight down when he hit the peak of his jump.  On his way down the sword tore into the top of the opponent’s shoulder and disappeared deep into the man’s chest.

Instantly realizing his right handed sword would not be returning to him, Gallono reached behind and grabbed the hilt of the sword sticking out of the stabbed gladiator behind him.  As he drew the blade out
, the impaled individual collapsed to the ground.  Sensing yet another attack on its way, Gallono raised the blade in his right hand.  The attack hit with so much force it knocked Gallono’s blade out of the way.  Gallono managed to sidestep the blow just in time so the only injury he sustained was a minor gash along his pectoral muscle.

The opponent er
red badly with his attack as the force behind the blow threw him off balance and sent the gladiator stumbling towards Gallono’s waiting sword tip.  The point made light contact with his stomach, but the shock it induced in the man gave Gallono enough time to bring his other sword around to cut off his head in a seemingly effortless blow.

Gallono heard a barbaric war cry from behind him.  He turned to see
one of the last two gladiators charging with reckless abandon.  Gallono casually hurled the sword in his left hand at the attackers chest.  With a wet thump the blade hit and sent the man flailing to the ground.  Momentum kept the body sliding across the ground, and it came to a stop at Gallono’s feet.  Gallono ignored the sword sticking out of the dead man’s chest.  Rather than retrieving his weapon, he picked up the fallen man’s shield to bring his sword and shield armament to be in parody with his final adversary.

The last opponent was in no hurry to press his attack.  He moved from side to side testing Gallono’s speed and agility. 
The gladiator shifted the angle of his blade around with a practiced hand testing Gallono’s use of the shield as cover.  The final adversary of the match appeared content to let time elapse as he probably knew all too well the adrenaline rush Gallono was feeling at the moment.  He was content to let it pass and allow the fatigue of endless battle to set in again.

Gallono had no intention of waiting.  He stepped in to deliver a cutting blow
, moving from top right to lower left.  As expected the blow was deflected, but Gallono’s muscles were already reversing the direction of the cut to bring a second attack.  This too was blocked by a well managed shield hand.  A flurry of counter attacks sent Gallono scampering back several steps.

The attacker felt the retreat and delivered a snap kick with his right leg to Gallono’s shield, sending him to the
ground.  Gallono performed a somersault that brought his shield up just in time to stop a lethal blow that immediately followed from his opponent.  He countered with a cut at the man’s knees, but the gladiator hopped out of the way with plenty of time to spare.  Gallono could feel the lead weights returning. 

He was out of breath and his movements seemed to go in slow
motion, while his adversary moved about with blinding pace.  Gallono hoped against hope this would be the moment he wanted.  He prayed it would provide the release from his current circumstance and send him back to the Nexus to begin a new path, one unencumbered by Hastelloy’s mind numbingly methodical planning.  Yet another part of Gallono didn’t want the moment to end.  He hadn’t felt a true rush of excitement like this for thousands of years.  His life was exciting again, the crowd loved him, and his life now was one worth fighting to preserve.

Gallono made a show of
struggling back to his feet.  When he rose from his knees he stumbled backwards several steps and lazily caught his balance in time to prevent himself from returning to the ground.  When he finally stood tall, Gallono made sure to keep his guard held low, implying the weight of the sword and shield were too much for his tired arms to carry. 

Gallono needed
his opponent to sense his fatigue.  He needed the man to press his attack with overconfidence and the assumption that his victim was now a broken man incapable of putting up an adequate defense.  Several minutes consumed with furious barrages of sword strikes, shield checks, head butts and leg kicks were just barely parried by Gallono.  After each barrage he made sure to let his defenses hang even closer to the ground.

When Gallono’s sword actually dragged on the dirt beside him, his opponent finally fell for the ploy.  The gladiator leapt into the air t
o deliver a vertical cut, enhanced by the pull of gravity.  With unexpected speed, Gallono dashed to the sword handed side of his opponent.  He deflected the opponent’s vertical sword cut and swung his shield at the man’s head with everything he had.  The gladiator managed to dodge the shield, but threw himself off balance in the process.

Gallono saw the opening immediately and took advantage.  He swept his left foot
in behind his opponents back heel and took the man’s feet right out from under him.  The gladiator landed flat on his back and tried to keep his head from hitting the ground, but the force of impact was just too much.  The gladiator’s neck muscles gave way and his head crashed into the solid ground, leaving him stunned for several seconds.

A good s
port would have let the opponent rise again, but the fact that Gallono was now facing his twenty ninth opponent in the same day trumped any reservations he had with finishing the man while he lay helpless on the ground.  Gallono drove his sword point into the man’s chest and let go of the blade to leave it sticking straight up, as if he just planted a flag of victory into the ground.

Had the arena been bui
lt with a roof, it would have blown clean off the structure by the roar of the crowd.  The accomplishment was not lost on anyone in the stadium.  An active gladiator might see combat four or five times a year, killing one or two.  The champion who stood in the middle of the arena that day vanquished nearly thirty men in a single bout.

Gallono tossed his shield to the side, raised his arms over his head and let loose a victory roar worthy of a mighty lion.  He turned about in the middle of the arena floor and took
it all in: the arena, the pride, the carnage.  Most importantly, he absorbed the love of the crowd.  Without even a close second, this was the greatest moment of his extremely long existence.