The barbarian, Ortog, growling with rage, more like a beast than a man, attempted to struggle to his feet, but was forced down again, on his knees. His eyes roved the tiers balefully. Women shrank back.
“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 festung village, that of Sim Giadini, far away. The fascination of the prisoner with the features of the gladiator was noted by the young officer, who, himself, turned and regarded the gladiator. He saw nothing unusual in his features, nothing to warrant the scrutiny, apparently a fascinated, almost an unbelieving regard, of the barbarian. Then the young officer, curious, turned, again, to the gladiator. “Do you know him?” he asked.
“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 naiveté 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.