Ave Cesar, morituri te salutat!

Verzo! Verzo! Verzo!

A deafening shout rose within walls of the magnificent arena. Iron-barred gates opened with a creaking noise. A lone, lightly armored, dimachaerus slowly walked out of a dark corridor onto burning summer sun. Sand beneath his feet was scorching hot and thin soles of his gladiator sandals offered insignificant amounts of protection, yet he walked to the centre of the arena without showing any signs of discomfort. He was the biggest star of Colosseum and he will surely act as one.

Taken as a child from Illyrian tribe of Delmatae he was sold to one of many gladiator schools in Rome where his masters quickly discovered he was ambidextrous. As such he was predetermined to become dimachaerus - a lightly armoured, dual wielding gladiator. This incredibly rare type of gladiator used two short swords, curved sicae or straight gladius, for both offense and defense. One of the main reasons behind their small numbers was the astonishing amount of skill one had to possess to utilize two swords in such manner. But with skill, came fame and, without a doubt, Verzo was enjoying his.

Today’s games were held as a part of Vulcanalia festivities and all of Rome’s gladiator schools, in order to attract some potential sponsors, have sent their best fighters to participate. Yet still, regardless of numerous good exhibits through the morning, crowd was impatiently waiting for the main event, a mid day fight. Not much was known about upcoming fight, except that Verzo was supposed to take on not one, but two fighters from rival gladiators school.

Another set of doors opened and the crowd grew silent, anxiously waiting for Verzo’s opponents to show up. Even though his posture appeared calm, his heart was racing inside his chest. He knew this fight was a result of a stupid, drunken bet his master made with the owner of another school. The pretentious bastard was boasting with Verzo’s skill, claiming he could take on any 2 fighters single-handedly. Stupidity of the bet lied within that ominous “any”. Owner of the opposing school could select any 2 classes of gladiators and place them against Verzo, well knowing the advantages and weaknesses of dual wielding class. It was too good to be true and the bet was quickly formalized with a written contract thus prohibiting Verzo’s owner to withdraw from the bet. Like any sane man would ever skip a chance to get rid of his fiercest competition. Once sober, bloody idiot tried all in his power to cancel the bet in desperate attempt to save his most precious fighter and current champion of Rome’s Colosseum but to no avail. Match date was set for the 23rd of Sextilis.

A silent “shit” was Verzo’s only reaction when he saw two fighters appearing from the arched corridor that led to the arena. Shit, shit and thousand bloody shits on the head of that damned idiot that made this stupid bet. Through the archway two fighters slowly approached center of the arena, paying little to no attention to the current champion. They stood next to him and three of them slowly in unison recited their greeting to the emperor.

Ave Cesar, morituri te salutat!

Verzo drew his swords in a smooth, well-rehearsed motion, carefully eyeing his opponents. The crowd was going wild, their shouts rising to Jupiter himself, but Verzo paid them no attention. His whole being now focused on the threat in front of him. Crupelliarius and Hoplomachus returned his gaze across the sands of the arena. Crupelliarius, being the most heavily armored type of gladiator would pose a problem even if he was alone as his two short and curved swords could to very little to fully plated opponent. And this one had backup in a terms of long spear and round shield carried by Hoplomachus.

If this was one on one fight he would be able to take them as both types had obvious disadvantages. Versus heavily armoured Crupelliarius he would just need to run around and tire him off and then, when his stamina would drop, go for stab between plates. Hoplomachus, even though usually terrifying opponent would be actually easier to defeat. With his speed, Verzo would only need to dodge the first attack and get close enough for his blades to do their magic. But with two of them together situation was a tad bit different.

He could guess what their tactic will be but it didn’t bring him much joy as he watched two of them slowly walk towards him. Heavily armored Crupelliarius 2 steps in front of Hoplomachus whose spear was pointing straight at him. He knew, once they get close enough, Crupelliarius will attack him with everything he has, paying no attention to defense as his armor was practically impenetrable. In the meantime Hoplomachus would search for openings in his defence, all the time staying well beyond his reach, behind Crupelliarius iron wall.

Verzo decided to place all in one desperate attack, one charge that will most likely kill him or put him on pedestal next to Colosseum’s greatest. He knew nothing of his people, as he was taken as a child, yet old Illyrian blood boiled in his veins urging him forward, urging him to fight for his life. With an ear-piercing roar, he charged Crupelliarius, feinting full frontal attack. At the last moment, he rolled under Crupelliarius blade and immediately, from a crouched position, like a fierce beast jumped for less protected Hoplomachus. Crowd roared in bewildered amazement as his jump carried him closer to spear wielding gladiator. Excruciating pain shook him as the tip of the spear grazed his ribs, but he did not flinch. It was a price he was willing to pay in order to get close to the spearman. His curved swords were ideal for bypassing small round shield Hoplomachus carried and he could feel his blade sinking into poor souls neck. It was not a pleasant feeling, and the stream of blood that came gushing through the wound didn’t make the picture any better, yet it had to be done and part of him was proud of his accomplishment. It was a move worthy of the undisputed champion.

The audience was going crazy now, enraged by the sight of blood and demanding more. He turned to face Crupelliarius and it was a good decision as the armored gladiator was rushing at him as fast as heavy plate allowed him. He saw blood on Verzo’s side and he decided to take the opportunity. He was shook up for losing backup so soon, but he was still a professional with dozens of fights behind him. Verzo couldn’t do much but to defend himself as his left arm was barely usable due to long gash and by each passing minute, his loss of blood would make this fight more difficult.

His sight was already going blurry. Frantically defending he decided to gamble once again as he noticed his opponent's attacks are getting slower. Middays heat was also taking its toll on a heavy armoured gladiator who has now cast away his long shield unable to carry it’s weight anymore. Verzo, seemingly with great difficulty, even though it wasn’t too far from the truth, blocked one overhead strike and then dropped to his knee additionally exaggerating heavy breathing. Crupelliarius sure in his victory, and in attempt to wrap up this unexpectedly difficult fight, put all his remaining strength in a single stroke. His blade met nothing but sand as Verzo once again rolled under his blade. Momentum caused by that heavy armour threw gladiator off balance and one well-aimed kick in the back of the armoured knee was enough to bring him to the ground. Verzo kicked his opponents sword out of his reach and sat on his back, not allowing him to move. Breathing heavily he was waiting for crowds judgment.

“Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill”

echoed through the arena and the embodiment of God, Cesar himself, stood up and threw his hand in police compresso gesture. Verzo’s blade didn’t waste a moment. The unarmored spot between helmet and backplate was perfect for execution. Loser's spine was cut with one carefully placed stab.

Verzo stood up drinking the sounds of an overly excited arena. He knew this was the battle Rome will not forget in years to come. But he also knew, that sooner or later, this same crowd will cheer, with the same passion, for a gladiator who will stand above his corpse with a blood-soaked sword in his hands. That was the life of a gladiator after all. He left the arena, barely able to carry his faithful swords and even from the cold basement of Colosseum he could still hear them chant…