85 lines
5.9 KiB
Markdown
85 lines
5.9 KiB
Markdown
Gideon woke up in the barracks well before dawn. She had hardly slept but felt
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incredibly alert. Today was a perfectly fine day to die. It was the first day
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of her first munera. She did not feel nervous. She felt nothing like the
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anxiety she had when she first met Domitia, the Editor of this troop. Then she
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had come to negotiate and audition for her life. She wished Domitia to "buy"
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her mother's debt from the asinine death cult that had effectively owned Gideon
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since the day she was born. If she remained in their service she would not pay
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off her debt until and unless she lived to be 79 years of age. And if by some
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freakish disaster she bore a child while in the cult's service the child would
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incur more debt and inherit all of Gideon's. However if Domitia decided she was
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a worthwhile investment, Gideon could earn her freedom in 15 years. Sooner if
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she did well in the arena and obtained prize money. But best of all, even if
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she was not successful and died in the ring, her debt, (and that of her
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mother's), would die with her. Although Gideon's mother had long since passed
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into the void a final time, the debt supposedly weighed upon her spirit in the
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afterlife and that thought, whether true or not, weighed upon Gideon as well.
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Gideon was good with the sword, having been trained by the embittered captain
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of the temple guard. But she was utterly willful, hateful and insubordinate and
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not fit for guard duties. Nor was she fit for any other service in the moronic
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death cult. The ossified nuns and the decrepit necrolords despised her and
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wanted her gone, but hated her too much to release her, no matter how
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counter-productive keeping Gideon in servitude turned out to be. But if Domitia
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came to them, with cash in hand and convinced them that she intended to hurry
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Gideon towards a gorey demise then they might jump at the opportunity to be rid
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of her without staining their own honour by killing an indentured free-person
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with their own hands. With so much at stake, that audition and negotiation had
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been nerve wracking. But it had been a success and now here she was, a neophyte
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gladiatrix of the Third Southern Corp.
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Technically she had "lost" her freedom as a result of the transaction whereby
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the Editor purchased her debt. Since no free-person can be a gladiator she was
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deemed to have defaulted on her debt and became subject to imprisonment or
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slavery. However by venerable custom, as long as she retained her Editor's
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approval she need fear neither. And her Editor would approve of her so long as
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she was willing to fight. Gideon was always willing to fight. So now she needed
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only to concern herself with the very real likelihood of dying in battle.
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Possibly as early as this morning. But today was a perfectly fine day to die.
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The newest and youngest gladiators would fight in the earliest bouts of the
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day, well before the official opening of the Munera. She and other recruits
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would grimly hack at each other for the entertainment of the lower classes of
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spectators who could not afford the main event. If she was not killed or
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grievously injured, she might be allowed to participate in the opening parade
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that evening. These prospects brought neither fear nor excitement to Gideon.
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Instead she felt a smooth icy calmness settle over her entire body. Every
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breath of air felt thick, soothing and cool. The sensations of her morning
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routine, washing, dressing, even each bite of oat gruel felt exquisitely
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detailed. The world around her seemed to have slowed. She suspected this was
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simply adrenaline augmented by the knowledge that each of these actions could
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be the last she ever experiences this side of the void. But it also pleased her
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to think that this was what if felt like to be doing exactly what one was
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destined to do. It came to her during her meal that her new debt, which she now
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owed to Domitia meant nothing to her. Now that it was irrevocably severed from
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her mother's name it bore weight on her at all. She couldn't care less if it
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was ever expunged. Instead she realized that this day was what she had lived
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for. Her love of the battle would fulfill all other existential needs. As long
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as she could swing her great sword, she would be content. And the fact that the
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day she failed to swing her sword would likely be the day she died was
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perfectly acceptable to her.
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After eating, she still had plenty of time before she needed to be at the arena
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but she walked directly there. As the faintest predawn light started to
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illuminate the city she passed calmly and quickly (not running, Gideon never
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ran unless she had to) through the dusty city streets. Along the ways she
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passed only a few other souls; a couple of ambitious plebeians and handful of
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slaves and peasants preparing for a long day of toil and servitude but not a
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single patrician or member of the ruling elite. Most of those would have been
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up late into the night enjoying themselves at pre-munera festivities and few
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would likely stir until the opening parade. No nobles, not likely even her own
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Editor would bother to come to the arena to watch her fight. However there
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would be plenty of plebeians there enjoying the cheap entertainment while they
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could. One or two lanistae might be there however to supervise their trainees
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or at least inspect the fruits of their recent labours. Her own lanista, Balaat
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might actually be there to watch her fight. Her relationship with Balaat was...
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well it was not quite describable at this point. She was terrified of the
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woman, furious with her, and desperate for her approval. In fact, the thought
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of Balaat was the first disruption to the perfectly still and calm state of
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mind that had settled upon her this morning. The thought of Balaat was like a
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chilling gust of wind that shivers the glassy surface of a still pool,
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scattering light in a frantic spastic dance. Yes, Balaat would definitely be
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there for Gideon's first fight. She would be watching with amused contempt. She
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would be watching with a clearly expected outcome. But what was she expecting?
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Gideon's victory, humiliation, or violent death? Gideon had no idea.
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