Section Seven: Points of Contention

"Verbera!" (Strike!) Treize commanded. WuFei and Quatre reacted immediately to the tone in the nobleman's voice and loosed the chains. The two gladiators hurtled toward one another. Trowa spun his net of weighted metal mesh, trying to entrap one of Heero's short swords. But the other fighter didn't fall for it. His twin blades flashed and Trowa was forced instead to wrap the net around his unprotected forearm for nothing less would turn the maddened gladiator's attack. The deadly swords he used were the Gladius…after which the gladiators were named and in Heero's hands they became extensions of his body and mind; keen edged and just as swift.

Trowa blocked with the haft of his trident and lunged for his opponents lightly protected shoulder. The strike was fast and his aim true but he had not counted on the other boy's speed. Heero back pedaled and pivoted on his back foot then lunged forward under the incoming spear. Bringing his blades in parallel to one another aiming for Trowa's exposed midriff.

But Heero did not take into consideration that he was not facing an average Retarius. Trowa had learned things in the Circus Maximus that had not been part of any training routine other boy had been drilled to face. The lean boy bent nearly in half backwards. The twin blades tore through the air inches above his navel. Heero overextended when his target suddenly disappeared. And Trowa's bare feet suddenly swung upwards clipping him under the jaw. His head snapped back sharply. The acrobat shifted his weight briefly to his hands and proceeded to flip himself upright again just outside the other fighter's reach.

The wild-eyed gladiator roared in shock and anger at the unprecedented move. He clanged his blades together in challenge, being well beyond the capacity for coherent speech. He began rotating the twin blades in opposite directions weaving the near impenetrable whirlwind of attack and defense that gave the Scissores their name.

With a flick of his wrist Trowa loosed the net from his right forearm. He held the outside edge and began twirling it in a slow loop to work out any links in the fine metal mesh. If he could ensnare his prey that match would be his. If the other boy dodged he would surely fall to those flashing blades.

The observers watched with baited breath as the two fighters slowly circled one another like the orbits of the planets around the earth. Their practiced footfalls traced patterns in the sand. Dark-green eyes locked with Prussian-blue clearly neither intended to turn away if other raised a finger to acknowledge defeat…if the battle continued in this fashion, it would not end till one of the two was bleeding out on the sand. That was when Zechs chose to strike.

His whip lashed out licking the back of Heero's unprotected calf; suddenly sending him to his knees. One of his blades slid from his grasp as he attempted to break his fall. A heartbeat later Zech's rod tangled with Trowa's net easily yanking it from his grasp.

Quatre's gasp was audible from the sidelines and both young fighters seemed equally stunned by the unexpected attack. But neither was ready to lay aside the battle they had begun. Heero rocked to his feet and charged Trowa once again. The Retarii met the rush with the triple point of his Fascina; twisting the shaft as he tried to wrench the blade from Heero's grip.

This time the lash stung Trowa between his bear shoulder-blades and the rod connected hard with the shield on Heero's chest, knocking him back a pace. Zechs positioned his body between the two young men, making himself the only target. Both enraged gladiators hurled themselves at the tall man and he fought them to a stand still. His staff spun so quickly it dazzled the eyes. But his strikes were carefully gauged so they did not break the skin. The placement was to discourage further attack rather than deal damage. After a stinging blow, that left elbow and arm numb, Trowa came to his senses recognizing that he had no business fighting his trainer.

The young beast-lord had used these same tactics when he had been trying to train two aggressive male tigers to perform together. In like fashion he and Heero would have gladly ripped each other apart if the lanista was not quick to settle the ingrained rivalry. The man knew his business Trowa admitted, stepping back from the fray. He plunged the tines of his trident into the sand and knelt beside it with his arms across his chest.

Heero on the other hand was driven to fight not only by the riot of emotions normally loosed when he was sent into the arena but because that inclination was magnified sevenfold by the chemicals still in his system. What Heero lacked in height and muscle strength he gained in speed and stamina. With a quick tumble he recovered his second blade. His wild-eyes cast about for his target and his hazy mind registered kneeling posture as a non-combatant, but the tall one in the mask was still a threat. The young Scissori viscously renewed his attack. Zechs used his rod to great effect holding Heero at a distance while the lash bit again at his unprotected flesh…his stomach this time.

Treize watched the combat yes, but he also observed the reaction of his other slaves. Each crack of the whip made both Quatre and WuFei wince. Both were riveted to the scene unfolding before them. The noble judged the expressions on their faces clearly they knew amount of leather that actually contacts the flesh determined the amount of damage the whip inflicts. Duo sat beside the noble on the dias he seemed intent on watching the combat. But Treize could not truly observe the braided boy without taking his attention from the sands. But surely, he would have been able to feel the boy stiffened if he had been mistreated as the other slaves had been.

Some whips contain pieces of metal or bone to better rend flesh…Zechs's did not. His was a bullwhip and he was a master in its use. Treize would never have agreed to permit this 'contest' if he were not absolutely certain the other man would permit only the smallest fraction of the trailing ends of the lash to score the boy's flesh…Each lash left only a small red welt instead of angry stripe.

Heero was panting heavily from exertion still he attacked with murderous intent. He caught the rod between the crossed blades of his swords, chipping away at the painted wood as he ducked under it. The move tore both blades from his grasp but did not deter him from going for his dagger.

In close quarters both Zech's weapons were nearly useless but that did not stop him from grabbing the boy's wrist with both hands and twisting it painfully behind his back. The knife fell from his nerveless grasp. Still, his free arm flailed across the tall man's chest, knocking the featureless mask from his face. Zech wrapped his other arm around the struggling boy, lifting his feet off the ground and holding him immobile some moments. "Otium cum Dignitate," (Rest with dignity) Zechs soothed and slowly the fight left he boy. The soldier removed the boy's helm and smoothed his unruly hair. "Shhhhh."

The flood of white hot emotion drained away, taking with it the taint the darts had left in Heero's system. When the blond soldier finally released him, Heero slipped bonelessly to the sand kneeling where he had fallen. He looked so lost, childlike—tears threatened to escape his Prussian-blue eyes and he was at a loss as to why this was so.

After all, he had not been defeated by the net fighter...It had been a good fight. He had taken no serious damage and felt no pain…it was a tie. He was surprisingly content with that situation. Perhaps it was only fatigue making him feel so week. Finally the boy was able to pull himself together to make the standard reply to his lanista. "Pulvis et umbra sumus." (We are dust and shadow)

Hearing the phrase, Trowa got to his feet leaving his weapons where they were. He bowed once to Master Treize and again to Zechs accepting both as his rightful keepers he willingly stood alongside Heero and together they renewed the pledge of the gladiator. "Uri, vinciri, verberari, ferroque necari." (I will endure to be burned, to be bound, to be beaten, and to be killed by the sword.)

Zechs swelled with pride that he had managed to win the respect of the two young fighters so quickly. He had spent years living under that harsh pledge and found himself repeating the words quietly even as the lads did.

Treize did not share his captain's understanding of the sentiment and bristled at the formal declaration. The tall blond had tried to explain the necessity many times to his noble friend. It was clear the words of the sacramentum had been painstakingly engraved on the hearts and minds of every arena combatant but, it wasn't something that those outside the familia gladitoria could easily comprehend.

The closest Zechs had come to adequately explaining what the oath meant to those that lived under it, was to say that; "To be a slave is to have no control over your destiny. The gladiator's oath gives us a measure of volition and even honor. By willingly choosing this life, along with all it entails, it can not be forced upon us. We are slaves but can not be enslaved. You can not take this from them…it is a gladiator's one hope, that which gives us the strength to endure."

At the time the only reply Treize could think of was to remind his friend that he wasn't a slave anymore and try to encourage him to put such disturbing notions behind him. But now the noble wanted to do more for the boys that had just willingly pledged their lives to him. Their "one hope" wasn't nearly enough.

As Master it was his right to say something too. The ginger-haired gentleman took a breath and announced a sentiment that was near to his heart…one he hoped to share with those, both bound and free, who comprised his household. "Vita non est vivere sed valere vita est—Dico." (Life is more than merely staying alive—So say I)

Section Seven Notes:

In the ancient world the earth was the undisputed center of the universe and the planets and sun revolved around it. Copernicus did not propose the idea of the sun centered 'solar system' until 1514.

The one drawback to gladiatorial fighting was that it was formulaic in nature. It seemed mechanical and didn't allow for the combatants to do something unexpected. In desperate circumstances there have been times when gladiators have trained imperial soldiers for combat…but once the soldiers engage in actual warfare their knowledge grows from theory to practice. The gladiators in essence are still performers; like professional wrestlers, some only competed 3 times a year. The rest of the time they are in training. Our G-boys are clearly extraordinary, but Zechs having experience in the arena, in the roman legionary style and the 'barbarian' tactics of the north. Not to mention he is both bigger and stronger which of course gives him an edge.

The gladiator's oath. "Uri, vinciri, verberari, ferroque necari," is true and just as I described it. In trying to commit suicide (self detonate) rather than slaughter unarmed political prisoners (pacifists) in the arena Heero rejected his oath and that failure cost him. In willingly pursuing the fight with Trowa and Zechs then taking up the oath again the breach was sealed and his honor was restored, (mission accepted)