This is an excerpt from a full-length fan-fiction novel that I am currently writing. It takes the concept of time travel from Michael Crichton's "Timeline", and the setting from the movie "Gladiator"…and of course, the skill of Himura Kenshin. It takes place after the death of Tomoe, but before the events in Kyoto. A college professor, Lance Thatcher, travels back in time with his friends Nick and Mark, in hopes of rescuing his fiancée. How she ended up in ancient Rome is depicted in the novel, but it's too big to upload on fanfiction.net, so e-mail me if you want it. It's written from a Christian perspective…not religious, but Christian…yes, there's a difference. Anyway, after being imprisoned, Lance finds out that his fiancée is being held as the prize for an upcoming gladiator tournament. The only way for him to get her back is to fight for her, but he knows he wouldn't stand a chance. This is where Kenshin comes in…good reading.

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…As he finished that thought, he could feel a strange muscle spasm in his hip. The spasm stopped for moment, and then started again. Lance sighed and tried to rub the muscle. He suddenly realized it wasn't a muscle spasm. He brought his hand back up with the return device clutched between his fingers. Again it vibrated. They were sending a message.

Lance quickly turned the machine on. The blue light of the LCD screen lit up the cell wall behind him. The menu appeared, but was quickly replaced by another screen. There was a text message.

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 9, 2002

New Transport Frequency Found

156724165289817

Frequency Year: 1869 A.D.

Frequency Month: June

Frequency Day: Friday

Frequency Time: 12:00 a.m.

Frequency Location: Japan

Lance stared. Why would they send a new transport frequency? Then he remembered his conversation with Conway right before they entered the water dome. He had said that they would send any new frequency they found directly to the return device. But what good would this do him? He couldn't just jump to another time period by himself. True, it would get him out of his current predicament, but he couldn't just leave the others stranded here to suffer a horrible death.

He wouldn't. He somehow had to find a way to get back to his friends and get Lisa and Jackie back as well. Then, he also had to find Conway. But as Lance stared at the bars of his cell, he realized that escape was hopeless. He wouldn't be able to even budge those bars, nor could he run from the soldiers when they came for him at dawn. He remembered one of the soldiers laugh as he told them that they'd be given a quick training session in the arena hours before the crowds would arrive. Apparently, they wanted the gladiators and prisoners to know how to properly fight, therefore giving the crowd a proper show.

But Lance wasn't a warrior, and neither were Nick and Mark. The little training session wouldn't do a thing. When those gladiators would burst through those wooden doors, the three archeologists would be killed for sure. If only Lance knew how to use a sword. At least then he'd be able to defend himself. Or maybe the fourth guy, whom the guard captain had insisted to the dungeon master that they have, would know how to use a sword. It would be even better if Lance could see the other inmates and choose one to fight with them, one that would know how to use – he shot his glare back down to look at the return device. He stared.

Japan.

1869 A.D.

The Meiji Era.

No. He couldn't. The idea was not only ridiculous, but also suicidal. If he jumped to Japan at that time, then he might run into a group of samurai, who would surely kill him immediately. To make matters worse, he might end up nowhere near him. But still, Lance couldn't stop thinking about the idea. It was absurd and crazy…but if it worked, the odds would certainly be in their favor tomorrow. A moment passed. Lance could hear a small voice in his head, which he attributed to his subconscious, saying 'do it'. He was still for several minutes, thinking carefully about what he had to do. Then, with a sudden determination, he realized that this was a miracle sent by God. This was their only hope…he was their only hope.

Lance pressed a few buttons and returned to the menu screen. He selected the 'Frequency Entry' option. He saw the familiar screen and entered in the fifteen-digit code. He had to go back to the message three times to make sure he had the right numbers, but he finally punched in the last digit. With that done, Lance chose the 'Machine Activation' option. He then selected 'Use Entered Frequency'.

Nothing happened.

Lance looked at the screen in frustration. He'd entered the frequency code correctly; he was sure of it. But the machine didn't do anything. Instead, the LCD screen was just a blank blue.

A sudden and snaking sliver of light ran across the cell. There was another second of silence before two more bolts of light rushed over the device and through Lance's hand. He felt warmth. Suddenly, bolts of blue lightning rang inside the cell. The electricity ran over everything, including the walls and the black dirt. But the bolts soon focused on the man holding the device. Lance felt a little discomfort before a bright light flashed, blinding his eyes. Everything went black. Had the machine malfunctioned and sent him into empty space? A shimmering net of light suddenly raced up from underneath his feet, engulfing his entire body.

The technician squinted his eyes at the flat lines running across his monitor. As he sat there, doing nothing but watching for return spikes, he looked up at the glass window. The woman was still there, still looking out into the dark water. Dr. Johanson was also still in the room, at the center pillar. The doctor was taking some notes, occasionally looking through the small window on the hatch. The technician sighed and looked back at his monitor. His eyes widened.

"Uh" he mumbled in surprise. "D…Dr. Johanson?"

"Yes?" Johanson asked as if annoyed.

"I think you'd better take a look at this."

Boris Johanson sighed and handed a metal clipboard to the technician standing next to him and made his way over to the man's computer console. He took a look at the monitor, and then realized what the young man was so worked up about.

There were about twenty horizontal lines displayed on the screen, all of them white. But one of the lines was green and zigzagging its way across the monitor. Boris looked with confused delight. Elsie had noticed the man's strange face and had ventured over to take a look.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A jump," Boris said in reply.

"A jump?" Elsie repeated with heightened excitement. "You mean someone's coming back?"

"I don't think so," Boris said as he ran his fingers over his shiny scalp. "These aren't spikes, they're ridged echoes."

"Echoes?" Elsie asked.

"Yes, echoes," Boris explained. "That means that someone from your team is making a jump, but not back to our time. If they were, we'd be seeing high spikes, not small zigzags. This means that whoever is making the jump has entered in the new frequency and is headed for Japan."

"Japan?"

"Yes, that's where the new frequency takes you," Boris told her. "It'll be the year 1869 A.D."

Elsie thought for a moment.

"Will this drain the batteries here?" she asked.

Boris shook his head.

"No," the balding scientist said. "After the person's quantum flux is changed by the electric current used in the first jump, their body is still in a state of temporal influence for a period of two months, meaning they don't need any electrical current to transport them. Instead, the return device uses the frequency code to match the person with the time period. The device then uses its own fuel cells to provide a gap in the quantum flux, thereby allowing the traveler to enter the other universe."

"Oh," Elsie said. "So you do finally admit that they're in another universe."

Boris smiled in surprise.

"You know Quantum Physics, Miss Cramer?"

"Hey," she said in response. "I might be over fifty and a woman, but don't stereotype me. I hate that."

"Oh," Boris said. "Forgive me. The truth about the WTT time experiments is that it is based on laws and principles of quantum physics. Quantum physics implores that actual time travel is impossible, since time does not really exist. Time is simply a manmade term to describe his lifespan. What quantum physics does theorize, is that at every conceivable moment, our universe splits off into other universes. How the team managed to arrive in ancient Rome is made possible by opening a gateway, via the quantum flux, to another universe. The team simply passed through the gateway."

"Finally," Elsie said. "An intelligent man."

He was sitting, just like he was in the cell moments earlier. The air wasn't musty or dank, but fresh and cool. The ground wasn't damp, but dry under his fingertips. Blades of long grass rose up through his fingers. He was sitting at the edge of a dirt road in the middle of the night. Chutes of bamboo were sprouting on the opposite side of the road, with large Eucalypts trees lining most of each side. The night sky above, though partially blocked by the canopy of tree branches, showed him hundreds of stars, each clustering around one another.

Lance could hear the insects in the forest around him chiming their nightly chorus, creating an eerie backdrop for the silence. He looked in both directions and saw nothing but a lingering dirt road that snaked its way through the dark forest. Lance, seeing that no one had spotted him, checked the return device. If his history was correct, then the machine had brought him to Japan only a few days before the deciding battle of Kyoto. But Lance didn't know exactly where in Japan it had brought him. Quickly, he jumped to his feet. The night air was even more refreshing as he breathed it in more rapidly. He headed off to find higher ground. Maybe from there he could get his bearings.

The dirt was hard on his sandals, giving him very little cushion. Still, he kept his pace. In a few minutes, he had arrived at a clearing. It was after he had reached the middle of the field that he realized he was on higher ground. The road must have led him across a small hill, for he could see nearly three miles in every direction. To the north, he saw only forest. The west held only rice fields, while the south had several patches of villages, their dim lanterns shining through the tiny cloth windows. The villages were almost a mile away. He had decided to head in that direction. Lance spoke a little Japanese. He might be able to ask someone where he was.

Yet as he made his decision, the rational side of his brain kicked in. He knew that there was no chance he could stumble into this guy. Still, he had to try, and he only had a little over five hours to do it. Lance turned and took off down a separate trail to head for the dim lights in the distance.

Lisa and Jackie were alone in a large room in the emperor's palace. It was a bedroom, one larger than any the girls had ever seen before. The walls were plain white marble, but were also covered in Roman art and decorations. Large busts of famous Caesars were on both sides of the two long walls. A bed larger than king size sat against the center of the back wall. Its bedposts ran to the ceiling, with silk curtains tied neatly on each side. The maroon bedspread was uniquely crafted, having quilted forms of chariots and soldiers.

The girls were standing at the doorway of the balcony. They were admiring the view when the sound of marching feet quickly brought their minds back to their strange imprisonment. They looked back to the large entrance to the enormous bedroom. Two guards with long spears were guarding the doorway, but were now moving apart to allow a man in golden armor into the room. Lisa watched the emperor's prideful stroll and saw his arrogant visage under the golden wreath sitting atop his black hair.

"And how are my two prizes fairing?" Emperor Herodius asked with a smile.

The girls didn't want to answer.

Seeing the girls' determination, the emperor frowned.

"It is not wise to ignore my questions," Herodius said.

As she heard the electronic voice translate the emperor's voice, Lisa already knew what he'd said. She thought for a moment on a good response and how to say it in Ancient Greek.

"We are fine," Lisa said back to him, "Considering that we are being held against our will for something we have not done."

Herodius smiled.

"Ah, but you have conspired against the emperor of Rome," Herodius told them. "The priest Quintus has vanished from us and has chosen to hide himself from my callings." The girls remained silent. "Very well," Herodius continued. "If you will not tell me where the good brother Quintus is hiding, then I shall find him myself. But as a consequence, I am afraid your dear friends will be facing slightly more opponents than were originally intended."

"But that's not fair," Jackie shouted.

Herodius was looking at her very confusingly. It was a few seconds later that Jackie had realized her shout was in English. Lisa was sighing heavily and shaking her head in disapproval.

"What strange tongue is this?" came the electronic translation in the girls' ears. "Surely you and the priest are devils."

There was a moment of silence, until the emperor smiled and laughed.

"But it is of no matter," Herodius scoffed. "You two will get your just rewards at the end of my games."

He smiled for a few moments longer, and then turned and exited the room. The girls watched him leave and looked at each other worriedly. Their men were going to face too many gladiators. They'd be killed for sure.

Lance was almost running down the dirt road. The cool night air was brisk and refreshing, but his feet were already starting to ache from the thin sandals. He'd lost sight of the village once he was a few minutes down the hill and now suspected that he was over half way there. The spacious tree limbs overhead let occasional rays of moonlight through their canopy to shade the road in a striped blue glaze. The chirping of Cicadas and the sound of his own footsteps were all he could hear.

He continued down the road, turning a slight bend and then jogging down a straight path to –

A sudden rustle of the bushes ahead of him stopped him in his tracks. A man suddenly slid into the center of the road in front of him. Lance was both energized and terrified. The man was wearing the traditional Japanese gi, long shirt tucked into high baggy pants, held up by a makeshift belt. The belt itself was either a simple rope or sash, tied tightly around the samurai's waste. But the most noticeable feature to Lance was the sword being held in the man's hands. It was about two and a half feet long, and razor sharp, as all Japanese blades were. An empty sheath hung from the man's belt.

Lance felt his muscles tense and his adrenaline start to pump. Footsteps from behind him made him turn slightly to see two more samurai, both with their swords drawn, arriving on the road only fifteen feet away. The man in front of him spoke, making Lance turn back to the first ambusher. As Lance tried to translate the man's words in his mind, the interpreter quickly gave him an electronic answer.

"You are an intruder in the Aizu clan's territory," the man had said. "The punishment is death."

Now Lance was really terrified. All three men were moving in, step by step. He could hear the deadly sound of footsteps grow louder behind him, and the man in front was skillfully positioning his body for a sword strike. The seconds passed all too quickly for Lance. But a voice stopped everything.

"You would kill an unarmed man?" came a voice from the forest.

The three samurai instantly turned in all directions, scanning the trees and bushes. They peered into every shadow with fearful anxiety, turning this way and that. Lance too found himself searching the forest for the unseen person, but could have sworn that the voice sounded an awful lot like Nick's. No, it seemed younger, like a teenager's. But that didn't seem to matter. Lance was just grateful that the man had said something to stop the ambushing samurai.

The men in the road continued to search the forest. The man in front was visibly shaking, and even sweating in the cool night air. He shouted something in Japanese.

"Show yourself," came the translation. "Face us in battle."

Silence. The men continued their search.

A rustle echoed behind Lance. He turned to see the other two samurai also turn around, trying to see what made the noise. All anyone could see was the eerie blue shades on the dirt road. The trees above were swaying in the light breeze, making the dirt seem alive. But no one could be seen in the forest or the road.

Something hit the ground behind them and splattered. Lance turned back around to see –

He gasped. The men behind him also saw the sight. The dirt was soaked in a black liquid. The samurai who had jumped into the road first was sliced in half. His legs and entrails were sprawled out in the middle of the road, while his torso was lying in the tall grass across the road. Intestines and more dark fluid were still oozing out of the cleanly cut wound. But his assassin was nowhere in sight. The forest just echoed the scene in eerie silence.

One of the other samurai quickly ran to the fallen warrior and stared at the wound. He anxiously scanned the surrounding area and then the forest. He wielded his sword in front of him, fearfully watching for any signs of movement.

A shadow blasted past the man and entered the forest on the opposite side of the road. Lance barely had time to register the strange sighting before he saw the samurai before him drop his sword. Blood began dripping from his waist and his eyes rolled back in his head. The man's upper body toppled over and landed head first in the dirt. The legs fell backwards. Organs and blood spilled from the separated flesh.

Lance saw the sickening sight and felt bile rise in his throat. Then he heard a raspy gasp behind him. He turned around an immediately stared.

The remaining samurai was still standing in the road, but his sword was falling to the ground. A long blade was protruding out of his back. Lance saw another samurai, a lone warrior, holding a long sword. The blade was running through the dead man's chest. Blood dripped from the razor edge that had exited the body. The warrior quickly pulled out the blade, letting the corpse fall limply to the ground. He then swung his sword forcefully toward the ground, but stopped abruptly. Lance could see the blood fling off the blade. The warrior then replaced the blade back into the sheath at his waist.

Lance could now see the warrior who had saved him, and was astonished at what he saw. The master samurai was a mere teenager! He was still facing the forest, allowing Lance only to see the boy's right side. The warrior had long hair that ran in thin spikes in front of his forehead and then was pulled back in a long ponytail that ran down his back. His kimono was a dark blue, with another white shirt underneath. His long pants were beige, and his feet were kept in soft sandals. The warrior's left hand was still on the neck of the sheath, bringing the tip up almost horizontally behind him. The handle of his sword was wrapped tightly in a black strap. Lance guessed him to be only seventeen.

The boy didn't turn his head to see Lance, but just glanced at him through the corner of his eye. For a moment, neither man moved. Then, with complacency, the warrior turned away and began walking down the road. Lance stared…and then woke up. He struggled to find the right Japanese translation.

"Wait!" Lance finally shouted in Japanese.

The warrior kept on walking. Lance swallowed hard and began to follow the boy. The samurai stopped and stood in the center of the road, bringing the jogging professor to a halt. The boy then turned his head toward his left shoulder.

"There are no more Aizu samurai in the villages," the boy said. "You should be safe there."

Lance was staring hard at the boy's face. It was very sharp and defined, but also had a scar on his left cheek. It was in the shape of an X. It was him.

The samurai began walking again. Lance had to say something.

"Battousai!" Lance shouted.

The boy stopped. He again turned his head toward his left shoulder. Now Lance had the deadly warrior's attention, and knew that he had to keep it.

"I know you're a man with your own reasons for fighting this war," Lance said carefully. "But I have a reason to need your skills elsewhere."

The boy stood silent, and then shook his head.

"I'm sorry," the warrior said. "I fight my own battles."

"Please," Lance pleaded. "I am not asking that you forsake your cause here. I only need your help for one day. Please, it is matter of life and death."

"Your death?" the warrior asked.

"Yes," Lance answered. "But more importantly that of my friends, and of my wife."

"Your wife?"

"Yes. Well, we're to be married in eight months." Lance almost began to cry at the thought of Lisa's possible demise. "Please, I need your help."

The samurai stood still.

"And why," the boy asked, "are you not able to protect her yourself?"

"I come from a world where we are not skilled in swordsmanship," Lance said. "But now I must save her by facing many warriors with a sword, and I myself do not know how to use one. The only chance she has to live is for you to come with me and fight with us." The warrior was still standing quietly. "I give you my word on my family's honor that this is the truth."

The boy was silent. He thought on the strange man's words. His thoughts then traveled to his past. He could see her face. He could almost feel her touch and smell her perfume. His eyes closed in remembrance of what he had just gone through during the preceding months. It caused him pain. But then, should he let that pain be felt by this other man now?

"I would only be gone a day?" the boy asked Lance.

"Yes. Just one day."

"And I could help you save your love?"

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence. Then the boy turned fully around to face him. Lance could see the determination in the young man's eyes. The long brown hair and the scar on his cheek told of his legendary skill, the skill that had brought his name over a hundred years into the future. The warrior's hand was still on the neck of his sheath. The young man's eyes were studying the professor with intensity. The seconds passed like hours.

"Very well," the samurai said. "I will help you save your wife." Lance felt his heart doing back flips. "Do we travel far?"

Lance had to smile.

"You could say that," he told the samurai. "But the trip will only take a few moments." The samurai was obviously confused. Lance could see the boy stare at him blankly. Taking a deep breath, Lance stepped up to the legendary warrior. "You see I come from the future."

"The future?" the boy repeated.

"Yes," Lance responded. "But we are actually going to the past."

"You speak of impossible things," the boy said.

"That's what I thought too."























Chapter 9



Nick and Mark were both standing in their small cell. Nick was leaning up against the wall beside the barred door, while Mark took the wall opposite him. They were silent most of the night, though neither of them managed to get any sleep. Nick was still thinking of a way out of this mess. He kept trying to visualize himself knocking down the guards when they entered the garrison and then making a run for it. But he quickly realized that was nonsense. There would be far too many Roman soldiers standing around for anyone to find a way out.

Mark kept himself busy by reviewing the historical findings of this life-threatening trip. Though he'd surely be killed today, he found it a relief to think about all the architectural structures he had seen. The new Roman buildings were so much more impressive than the decrepit ruins he had been studying before. He even wished he'd been able to smuggle a camera along to take some pictures. But now, he was imprisoned in a cell and most likely going to be killed in only a matter of hours.

The dim and flickering light from the torch was shadowed for a brief moment, making the faint orange stripes on the back wall go black for a moment.

"Psssssst…" came a whisper from outside the cell door.

The two prisoners, after jumping from being startled, quickly approached the door. There was a hooded man outside, kneeling on the ground. He was actively looking to the juncture room to the left of the door. But as he turned back to the cell, he removed his hood.

"Conway!" Nick shouted in a loud whisper.

"Shhhhhh," said Greg Conway. "You want me to get caught?"

"How'd you get away?" Mark asked.

Conway shrugged.

"Once a marine, always a marine," the man said. "I just talked to Lance. He's doing alright and we have a plan."

"Well, good," Nick commented. "Now get us out of here!"

"I can't," Conway said. "Only the dungeon master has keys and he's no where around."

"But they're going to kill us today!" Mark insisted.

"Not if I can help it," Conway said. "I'll go get Jackie and Lisa. They'll be kept in a prize room when the games start. I looked on the roster in the garrison and, though I'm not for sure, I think the four of you are up third. Lance's partner should be able to get you guys through the first battle and help you escape when you're being taken back to the gladiator's room. That's when I'll get the girls."

"And just how are you going to do that?" Mark asked.

"I don't really know," Conway replied. "But I'll think of something."

"Wait a minute," Nick wondered. "Who exactly is Lance's partner?"

"He's the one who's going to save your buts," Conway told him.

Lance Thatcher was back in the small cell, leaning against the rock wall. He had just spoken to Conway and had already briefed the Battousai on the circumstances leading up to their imprisonment. The young warrior had surprisingly taken the impossible news with understanding. Now, both men were sitting against opposite ends of the cell. As Lance watched the boy just sit there motionless, he thought of a good icebreaker. He then thought it up in Japanese.

"So what's your real name?" Lance asked the young man.

"My name is…" the boy said in Japanese.

"My name is Himura Kenshin," the boy finally said – in English!

Lance sat up straighter.

"You speak English?"

"Yes," Kenshin said. "The same man who taught me how to use a sword also taught me to read and write. He was not only a master of the blade, but a scholar. He knew the language of the British sailors who were stopping at Japan. When he began to care for me, he taught it to me as well."

"You're ahead of your time, Kenshin," Lance said. "In the future, almost everyone in the world speaks English."

"What of Japan?" Kenshin asked. "What does Japan speak? What is it like in the future?"

"Japan?" Lance repeated. "Oh, they still speak Japanese. They teach English too, of course, but they still keep their heritage. They've also become the world's leading technological manufacturing country?"

"What's teknologikal?"

Lance laughed.

"Its very good machines."

Kenshin seemed to accept that. But his curiosity got the best of him, as well as his heart.

"What of the government?" Kenshin asked. "Has the power been given back to the people?"

"Yes," Lance told him. "But that's all I will tell you. I don't want to risk telling you something that might change history."

"I understand," Kenshin said.

Lance nodded. The two continued in silence for a few moments longer until Lance felt his curiosity get the best of him.

"So how did you become so skilled with the sword?" the professor asked.

"When I was just an infant," Kenshin told him, "My parents were killed and I was sold to a slave trader. When I was six years old, our trade caravan was ambushed in the plains of Shinji. They had killed everyone, even the women who had acted as mothers for me. They were about to kill me too, except my master appeared and intervened.

"He slew the thieves with only having to move his arm. He didn't even have to dodge their attacks. I thought of him as my hero. For the next ten years, I even thought of him almost as a father. He taught me philosophy and economics…" Kenshin paused, looking down at the sheathed sword lying in his lap. "…And how to use a sword."

Lance took this opportunity to get a good look at the blade the young warrior carried. It was about three feet long, having an extra eight inches for the handle. The handle's grip was wrapped tightly in a nylon- like band. The weapon, though still in the sheath, was still boasting its deadly abilities.

"My sensei," Kenshin continued, "was the only known master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, the most deadly sword fighting technique performed by human hands. It was even believed by many elders that the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu was only a legend to bring fear to the enemies of certain clans who would boast such a skill. But my master knew the technique and taught it to me. I became very strong and, when I had heard of the pain that the warring clans were causing to the people, I wanted to fight against them. But my master had forbidden me from ever fighting in the wars. He said that by taking a life, I may have given the people peace, but cursed myself to everlasting guilt and shame…but I left anyway." Kenshin hesitated as he visibly pushed back pain and tears. "Now I have finally realized the vanity of killing…only now. The battle in Kyoto will be my last. I will no longer take a life after the war is over."

"I see," Lance said.

"But I will do whatever it takes to help you save the one you love," Kenshin assured him.

"I will forever be in your debt, Kenshin," Lance replied. "Thank You."

The two prisoners must have lost track of time, for they suddenly heard the sound of shuffling footprints. From somewhere down the dungeon corridor, a guard laughed and shouted something to another one. Soon, the talking became louder. The soldiers were headed their way.

"Are you sure you don't want me to just take care of them now?" Kenshin asked Lance quietly.

"Not now," Lance replied. "They might get wind of it and kill the girls before we can find our way to the capital. We have to wait until the girls are here in the stadium." Lance pointed to the black sheath in Kenshin's hand. "You'd better hide that."

Kenshin nodded and stood to his feet. The sheath was hung on the outside of his pants by a tight rope that ran around his waist. But Kenshin pulled his sword high and then tucked the entire weapon into his pants. Luckily, the clothes were very baggy, allowing him to hide the weapon. As he finished tucking the tip of the handle below his belt, Kenshin could hear the guards talking loudly only a few feet from the door.

To Kenshin, they talked in an unknown language. He knew that the Romans spoke Greek, or at least that's what his master had always taught him, but he had never heard the speech before. It was very strange to him.

Lance, on the other hand, could hear the translation in his ear.

"Let us take this one down to the room," one of the guards said as he stepped in front of the cell door.

"But we are supposed to take two people down there," the other guard replied.

"I guess," said the other guard. "Maybe we could – hey!"

Both soldiers became strangely curious when they saw a second person in the cell. The heavier guard on the right scratched his head, while the tall one on the left looked at the young man with the strange clothing.

"Who is that?" asked the tall guard.

"Who cares?" replied the fat guard. "We can use him for the fourth fighter."

"Good idea," said the tall soldier.

With that said, he took a large key ring from his leather belt. It was filled with thick, iron keys that would fit the many different doors, cells, and rooms of the collosium. The soldier selected a key and opened the cell door. The fat guard motioned forcefully for the two inmates to exit the cell and head down the hallway. Both Lance and Kenshin did so, and were led to the juncture room twenty yards away. Once out of the corridor, the two men could see over a dozen more guards, each looking at them with crooked smiles.

Then, Lance heard more footsteps, coming from somewhere down the dark corridor on the opposite side of the room. The soldiers standing in front of the entrance moved aside to allow two prisoners into the room. Lance could see Nick and Mark smile when they saw him. But they were also curious about the one with the long hair. The two men studied Kenshin as the soldiers signed the dungeon master's reports.

"He's the fourth?" Nick asked Lance.

"Yes," Lance replied. "He's Kenshin Himura, from Japan."

"Japan?" Mark repeated. "What time period?"

"I am from," Kenshin said in English, surprising the other two prisoners, "The year 1869. I have come to help you in your battle."

Nick looked at the younger man with doubt. True, the warrior looked cool with the long hair, and even with the blue kimono. But he was probably younger than he was, and didn't have anything going for him that the three of them didn't have. Why on earth did Lance pick this guy?

A guard moved in front of the group and addressed the other soldiers. Immediately, the group of Roman guards began pushing the four men up the stairs. They were led down a familiar path: through the dungeons and into the garrison. From there, they were forced down the tunnel. A few minutes later, they had turned a corner and walked down another long, slanted tunnel to the gladiator room.

The room was much like it had been the day before. In the large room, Lance saw almost a hundred gladiators, big ones at that, preparing for battle. Each one of the muscular men were strapping on leather and laughing together in their little groups. Several of them turned and snickered when they caught sight of the newcomers. As the group of prisoners was led forward through the room, they saw the enormous weapons being prepared on the long wooden racks. Some were axe-like, while others were the familiar Roman swords. The rack on the right side of the room held mostly spiked clubs and mallets.

The soldiers led Lance forward between the racks and towards the back of the room. There, he could see the familiar wooden elevator. Its platform was being lowered as they were forced towards it. It stopped at their feet in a soft thud. The soldiers then motioned for them to board the elevator. One by one, the prisoners stepped onto the sandy platform.

The morning sunlight high above was shining a dusty shaft of light into the room, providing the main source of light apart from the many torches. Yet at such a high height, over forty feet above them, the silhouettes of Roman soldiers standing at the pit's edge. With a sudden jolt, the platform began to rise. Huge slaves were turning the cranks on the sides of the wooden elevator shaft, lifting the platform higher and higher. Soon the opening above was within twenty feet of them, and then fifteen.

Already, the group of prisoners had to shade their eyes. The morning sunlight, though dim, was very bright compared to the pitch of the dungeon. Kenshin was impressed by the way these people, though living in such a primitive time, had used their resources. He knew that the Romans were an intellectual people, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to see.

The platform jerked a little as it locked into place. Kenshin's eyes adjusted and he looked up from the white sand. His eyes widened in wonder. He was standing in the center of a giant, circular arena. Several pillars were placed in a circle just in front of the wall, which itself was fifteen feet high. But above the circular wall, Kenshin could see and enormous bowl of bleachers, all acting as the walls to a giant funnel. The seats were all empty, with Roman workers making their cleaning sweeps around the stadium. High above him, long straw mats were being pulled by ropes and pulleys to stretch out over the seats on the eastern side of the stadium.

Kenshin also noticed the intricate carvings and engravings made in the white marble. The craftsmanship and architecture were like nothing he had ever seen before. Once again, he found himself amazed at what such a primitive people could do. But he also realized that this was just their culture. Japanese had their own way of living, with their own architectural style and customs. These Romans a strong people, and he had to admire that.

But he also understood the danger of it. Kenshin was standing with Lance and his two friends, but around them were a dozen soldiers. Each guard was wearing the same leather and steel armor. Some carried spears, while other carried what appeared to him to be daggers. The soldiers were standing about thirty feet away from them, surrounding them in a wide circle.

From somewhere behind the guards, a strong voice filled the air.

"So these are the players today?" came the translation to those who had interpreters.

Lance had thought that the voice sounded familiar, and found his assumption to be correct. Two soldiers moved to the side to let a strong, muscular centurion into the circle. His armor was polished silver, shining brightly in the rising sun. He had blonde hair, but it was barely visible under his shiny helmet, which had a long, Mohawk-shaped plume down the center of the helmet. Lance recognized the man as the one who had barged into the room at the temple. He was the one who had ordered them to be taken prisoner.

"They are a common bunch are they not?" the centurion said. The men around them laughed at the comment. Kenshin kept a firm expression while the soldier continued his little speech. "Let us give them each a sword and see what kind of filth they really are."

Instantly, several guards had brought out four Roman swords and threw them at the prisoners' feet. The centurion simply pointed to the weapons and smiled. Lance sighed and bent down. He gripped one of the swords by the handle and stood to his feet. Nick and Mark did the same. Kenshin, however, just stared. He stood still for an awkward moment and then picked up the sword.

It was rather heavy, but extremely short. The blade was only a foot and a half long! He turned the blade over and over, but kept looking at the strange weapon with disgust. Kenshin then turned and looked at Lance.

"Is this what the Romans call a sword?" he asked incredulously.

Lance just shrugged and nodded his head. Again Kenshin looked down at the short blade. He couldn't believe that anyone would ever trust their life to a foolish weapon like this. But then, these people didn't believe in the honor of the warrior, or of that of a true duel or battle. Their ways were different from his, and he had to accept that.

"No wonder their empire falls," Kenshin said to the three men standing with him.

The centurion was not amused by the prisoners' little discussion. He snapped his fingers and shouted something to several soldiers standing by the tunnel entrance on the far wall of the arena. The soldiers nodded quickly and entered the blackness of the tunnel. Several seconds later, the group of prisoners could see the soldiers emerge, each pushing a wooden practice dummy. The dummy was life size, though primitively carved. It had arms and legs chiseled from solid Lebanon. In another minute, the soldiers had set the dummies up in a row with seven feet between each piece of wood. They were braced with more wooden beams, which were fitted onto a small cart with wheels.

"The sword," the centurion shouted to the prisoners, "is the deadliest of all weapons ever created by man." Kenshin agreed, but had doubts since rifles were now becoming popular in Japan. "Use it to slice off a limb or stab through a person's chest. Do not swing it wildly at a person's side, for the strike will only damage the arm. You must make a killing blow." The Roman pointed to the dummies. "Strike to kill."

All four men remained still. Lance could see the centurion's face begin to turn red with anger, and chose to appease him for the moment. He walked toward the nearest dummy, which was the last one on the right. Nick, Mark, and Kenshin watched as Lance approached the wooden person. Nick almost laughed when Lance addressed it like he was about to hit a baseball. Lance grunted and swung the small blade as hard as he could, managing to cut of the arm and bang the blade off the dummy's side.

The centurion shook his head and cursed at Lance.

"No!" the Roman shouted. "Do not swing at the side. Either thrust it into the dummy or aim for the head." He looked at Mark. "You go next."

Mark hesitated, and then approached the dummy next to Lance's. He looked at the woodenhead and gauged what force he would need. He brought the heavy sword around his body and, with a growl, swung it toward the head. The blade never struck anything, making the momentum of the swinging sword twirl Mark around. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. The centurion nearly lost his temper again, and angrily gestured for Nick to try.

Nick took a deep breath and walked up to the third dummy. The wooden face seemed to smile back at him, mocking him. But he had to pull it together and put on a good show. If anything, this might make him fell a little more at ease when fighting a real person. Lance failed at the side, while Mark didn't even hit the head. Nick decided to go for the chest, like the centurion had said. He stepped back a few steps, and prepared himself. With a loud cry, he lunged forward, stabbing the heavy sword towards the center of the dummy.

Thud.

Nick had his eyes closed. He opened them to see his blade sticking only two inches into the wood. With ease, he pulled out the tip of the sword. Now he could hear more swearing in Greek from behind him.

"Does any of these weaklings know how to even use their own fists?" the centurion screamed. "How are we to make for a good show if we have no one who can fight?"

Kenshin was still staring at the small sword. It was too short to be of any use in a battle, but at least it wasn't dull. Though not even close to his own blade, the sword was sharp enough to do what he wanted. He slowly began walking towards the last dummy. The three prisoners turned and watched the young warrior approach the wooden person. The centurion was sighing and putting his hands on his waist as he watched the boy stand in front of the dummy.

Kenshin stood three feet away from the wood. He simply stared at the ridiculous image and shook his head. Then with a complacent slowness, brought his hand up and around his left arm. His body was still in the same position, but Kenshin had used his right arm to bring the sword up to chest level. Then, almost invisibly, he swung his arm at blinding speed to point to his right, straight away from his shoulder. The dummy didn't move. The centurion behind him growled.

Kenshin turned around and began walking back to where the platform had brought them. He threw the tip of the blade into the covered wood and stood silently. The centurion was looking at him in anger, with a face as red as a turnip. He was about to shout at the strangely dressed boy when he heard a thud. Soldiers were murmuring and pointing to the dummies. The centurion turned around to see only half a dummy standing. The top half was lying on the ground in front of it, while the arms were at different angles on the ground beside it. The wood was sliced cleanly and evenly.

Nick now knew why Lance had picked this guy. Mark was smiling, for he could see that they actually had a real warrior fighting with them. Lance had seen Kenshin in action before, but he was still amazed. The centurion, on the other hand, was finally speechless. Never before had he seen any slave or gladiator do anything like that. He stood straight and smiled.

"Ah," the centurion commented. "It appears that we may have a good show after all."

Lisa and Jackie were walking in the center of their armed escorts. Over a dozen Roman soldiers were taking them from their room in the palace to the backside of the enormous capital building. The morning had come all too quickly for the two women, and now the gruesome thought of what the day might hold was weighing heavily on their minds. Even as they stepped out of the huge back entrance and into the warm morning sunlight, they felt chills just thinking about it.

In front of them, and running almost a hundred yards, was a long, marble staircase that led to the emperor's private entrance. Lisa could recall from her studies on ancient Rome that the Caesars would often keep this heavily guarded route in case of emergencies or if any threat would arise. The stairs were actually only fifteen feet wide, miniature compared to the steps of the building's front entrance. But the stairs were very heavily guarded, having almost a hundred armed soldiers standing on top of the stonewalls. Popper trees and ferns were grown along the descending stairs until the base of the staircase.

When the girls had been forced down the last step, the marble walls gave way to a small square, where a chariot was waiting. The horse was ornately decorated with maroon cloth and golden lacing. The chariot was made of silver and ivory, with a golden trim. Standing in the four-foot bed was a driver and an armed soldier. When Lisa felt the guard behind her push her forward, the obvious thing to do was to approach the chariot.

"Did you enjoy your accommodations?" came a familiar voice from behind them.

The girls turned to see the soldiers around them bow their heads and salute the man coming down the steps. The shimmering, golden armor and wreath sitting atop the man's had gave away his identity.

"I do hope it suited you well," Herodius said as he reached the base of the stairs. "For I doubt the winner of the tournament will be living in such a house…" The emperor smiled deviously. "…And nor will he be apt to treat his women with such courtesy."

Lisa was silent, though she thought about saying a thing or two in their defense. But she couldn't help but feel an unavoidable sense of dread. What if they had to watch their friends, and her husband-to-be, get slaughtered? What if they were given to a bloodthirsty, filthy gladiator to be ravaged? No. She couldn't think about such things. God would bring her out of this. She just had to trust him.

Seeing that the two women didn't have anything to say to him, the emperor motioned for the soldiers to put the girls on the chariot. Two big men began to lead Lisa to the chariot, when another, more-articulately dressed chariot arrived from a street on the left side of the square. Everyone watched as the shining chariot pulled around the first cart and took the lead position.

Herodius immediately took his spot in the first chariot, while the girls were forced onto the second. Almost as soon as Jackie got her footing on the chariot's hard flooring, the driver started moving the horse. They were off, off to see the games, and the death.

In the gladiator room, every huge warrior was preparing for battle. They were being fitted with leather strapping, as well as testing the weapons for their best choice. For the most part, the gladiators that had been on the winning squad, the ones who were actually workers employed by the emperor due to their skills and strength, kept to the left side of the room. The fighters who had been chosen to face those burly warriors in battle were on the right side of the room.

Most of these fighters were also trying on leather armor and metal helmets. They were of all physical conditions, from fat to anorexic. The strong gladiators on the other side of the room laughed and pointed as they surveyed their future prey. They made jests and mocked the smaller fighters, and stared down the stronger ones. Probably the biggest difference in the two types of fighters was the fact that the strong gladiators were the ones who had been trained to fight, and to kill. They were the ones who the emperor had chosen to be the victors, and their odds were always stacked. In fact, the biggest complaint amongst the strong gladiators was the fact that some of them could never even get a chance to swing a sword at someone before the other gladiators would kill them all.

But while the strong men were prideful of their strength and the smaller squad cowered in fear, there was a small group of fighters leaning quietly against the right wall. The dim lighting from the torches cast an orange shade against their faces. One of the men was a young warrior with long hair. Some of the other fighters would occasionally glance at the scar on the young man's cheek.

"So we will be brought up to the arena before the gladiators?" Kenshin asked quietly.

"That's what the custom always was," Lance said to him. "And it's what they did yesterday."

The young warrior was silent in thought for a moment.

"All right," Kenshin finally replied. "If we do arrive first, then you three will head for the far wall of the arena. I will take care of the gladiators myself. You are not prepared to fight in such a place, but you shouldn't need to. I should be able to deal with all the gladiators before they reach you."

"Are you insane," Nick said in a loud whisper. "That's suicide. You can't handle thirty gladiators at one time."

"If the gladiators are in the arena first," Kenshin continued as if he hadn't heard the other man, "Then immediately follow me out and then turn sharply and run along the arena walls. If you can manage to evade the gladiators long enough for me to take out each one, then we would still stand a chance."

Now Nick was looking at Mark for support. But he found none, for Mark was in no hurry to argue with the brave young man standing on the other side of their small group. Nick turned back and looked at Lance, but again found no sympathy. Everyone else believed in this kid. He stared at the youth. Something was definitely different about the samurai, but how could one small person do so much? Yet, as he looked at the silent warrior, Nick saw a determination that he hadn't seen in anyone before, past or present. Perhaps there really was something to this young warrior.

Elsie Cramer was standing in the control room of WTT with Boris Johanson. She had stayed in the facility overnight and was now wearing the spare set of clothes she had brought along. The night didn't hold much sleep for her, but at least she managed a few hours. Now, she was sipping coffee and looking through the thick, glass window that lined the front of the room.

The water chamber was dark, lit only by dim floodlights on every other wall. The steel dome, which had seemed so impressive earlier, was even dimmer than she had remembered. Still, the situation was just as incredible as it was to her yesterday. But today held a strange tension. It was something she couldn't put her finger on, but somehow she knew that it would not be a good day for those trapped back in time.

Elsie took another sip of her coffee.

Though she did not consider herself a religious person, she couldn't help but remember all that Lance and Lisa had told her over the last few years. She knew that they were Christians, but she just couldn't agree with the possibility of the existence of God. To her, if something couldn't be scientifically proven, then it wasn't fact. But she still couldn't stop dwelling on the words of her friends. For a moment, she even had the urge to pray for them.

"Miss Cramer," Boris said, interrupting her thoughts. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you."

"Oh," Elsie sighed. "No. I'm just wishing that my friends were back safe and sound; that maybe this nightmare could end."

"It will end, Miss Cramer," Boris told her. "One way or another, we will find out tomorrow how this horrible story will conclude." Boris leaned closer and whispered, "Whitely wants to make his jump at Eleven O'clock. I'm going to stall him and hold him back as much as I can. If I can at least hold him off until One O'clock, then we may be rid of him for good."

Elsie raised an eyebrow.

"How's that?" she asked him.

"I have some friends in the military," Boris said. "And I also have friends in the Pentagon. I've sent a coded message to them through the facility's satellite array. With any luck, I should get a response later this evening."

"Will they shut Whitely down for good?" Elsie asked him.

"Most likely," Boris answered. "The time experiments take more funds than Whitely has available. He's been swindling money out of both the US government and the French government for years. I've included that information in my message. If they receive the message, and if they believe me, then we should be expecting a SEAL team tomorrow afternoon. Don't worry. I told them not to hurt any scientists or technicians. They should be able to only have to deal with Whitely's security patrols."

Elsie felt a little hope rise.

"Not bad for an old doctor," Elsie said with a smile.

Boris smiled back and said, "Don't stereotype me. I hate that."

Greg Conway waited until the guard had his back turned. He had been hiding in the collosium ever since his conversation with Lance and the others. For most of the morning, he'd been keeping silent in one of the storerooms on the lower terminal that ran around the outside of the arena wall. The stands were right above him and he could already hear the people beginning to swarm into the giant stadium. The room itself wasn't very noisy, considering all that it held was wooden crates and spare chariot wheels.

But a few minutes earlier, a guard had come in to take a quiet drinking brake. When the Roman soldier had taken out the goatskin pouch and opened the cork, Conway could smell the fermented grape juice as the putrid fragrance filled the entire room. The soldier took one of the wooden crates, not noticing the man still hiding behind the rest of them, and sat down to rest. That was just the opportunity that Conway was looking for.

Greg snuck up behind the drinking man without a sound. He could feel his adrenaline start pumping and his marine training kicking in. He saw his time to strike. As quickly as possible, Conway wrapped both powerful arms around the soldier's head and jerked it sideways. Before the guard could even retaliate, his head fell sideways, followed by his body. The quiet room was briefly filled with a cracking sound when the neck broke, and then registered a thud on the ground.

Conway was about to head for the door when he had an idea. He looked back at the dead soldier lying on the ground.

The emperor walked out of the marble tunnel and onto the empirical porch. The flowing drapes from the overhang above swayed back and forth, blending with the waving motion of the energized crowd that had now filled the stadium. Herodius walked as dignified as possible to the front railing. He then waved to the crowd, which waved back to him and cheered.

From behind him, Lisa and Jackie were brought forward to stand beside him. The crowd cheered again. Jackie found herself feeling embarrassed as well as terrified. She knew that her garments were just robes, and very easy to tear off. Her mind filled with the horrible image of what might happen when a gladiator would win she and Lisa. The older girl beside her was also thinking the same thing. But Lisa had something that kept her going. She had her faith. Even now, she was praying that God would miraculously provide them with a way of escape.

Yet even her hopes were dropping with the jeering and mocking laughter of the crowd. The stands were filled with almost fifty thousand Romans, all waiting impatiently for violence and bloodshed. That brought her gaze to the white sand of the circular arena. She saw the many pillars which stood around the arena, all of them at equal distances from the outer wall. The very center of the battlefield had a dark square. It looked to her as though someone had cut a cube out of the rock. But as she looked closer, Lisa could see that it was the platform that most scholars now believed the collosium to have had. They had discovered a large area of hollow ground underneath the arena in modern times, and had surmised that the collapsed space was actually a fitting room for gladiators. As she looked at the hole now, she knew their guess to be true.

The large gladiators smiled their crooked grins and laughed once more at the four fighters being led to the platform. Lance was being forced first, with Nick and Mark being pushed behind them. Kenshin too was being brought to the platform. He glanced over his shoulder to see the gladiators heading up the tunnel to the side entrance of the arena. He tried to get a good estimate as to how many there were, but the soldier behind him kept pushing him forward.

Now the gladiators were halfway up the first leg of the tunnel, their laughter and shouts echoing down into the room. Kenshin continued forward and onto the wooden platform. The sand on the wood shifted and slipped through the cracks under his weight. Turning to face the guards who had pushed him, Kenshin stared forward with an unwavering glare. He knew that he was about to do something that he had promised himself to stop doing. But he had to do what was right, both now and when he arrived back in his time.

The group of archeologists and the lone warrior steadied themselves as the platform creaked off the dirt floor. The familiar wooden cranks were turning on both sides of them, producing a deep clicking. The dark and dismal scene of the gladiator room began to darken as the group was lifted into the bean of the rising sun above them. The square opening in the stone ceiling was growing large with each heave of the slaves below. They were going to battle, and the tension was getting to all but one of the four fighters. Kenshin was still staring dead ahead with the same determined glare.

From somewhere above the arena floor, a loud voice filled the stadium, quieting the roar of the spectators. The interpreters instantly gave Lance a translation.

"People of Rome," shouted a publican from the emperor's stage. "Prepare yourselves!"

The crowd cheered, knowing that the action was only minutes away. Lisa was sitting with Jackie in a cushioned chair beside the emperor's. From their excellent view, they could see the entire stadium battlefield. The publican was right in front of them, standing at the platform's edge and addressing the people. The fat man was obviously wearing a wig, trying in vain to cover his baldness. He wore purple and golden robes, making him look wealthy and important. His hands were ornamented with gold rings and bracelets.

"Today," the publican shouted. "We are privileged and honored by our emperor, Caesar Herodius!" Again, the crowd roared and cheered. "You shall see mighty acts of valor and strength. The emperor has prepared a mighty battle for you. Look there in the arena!"

The crowd cheered when they saw four figures slowly rise up through the square whole in the arena sand. Lisa and Jackie leaned forward to get a better look at the four men. As the platform continued rising to meet the arena floor, Lisa could see a strangely dressed man with long hair standing with – with her fiancée and Nick and Mark. Her heart skipped a few beats as she saw her loved ones. Both Lisa and Jackie were now worried. They had thought that the team wouldn't have to fight until later, but now it appeared as though Caesar wanted to crush the girl's spirits right away.

The platform stopped at a flush level with the arena floor. The four fighters remained still, not moving a muscle.

Lance felt his forehead brake out in sweat. His palms were shaking. All around them, thousands of Romans were cheering, cheering for their demise. They were cheering for his death, and they wanted to see it come in the most gruesome way they could. The white sand was bright in his still-adjusting eyes. He squinted as he scanned the stadium.

Nick and Mark both kept their eyes panning from left to right, registering the jeering crowd and the enormous circle of sand that they were standing in. The high walls of the collosium reached almost three hundred feet into the air, the bowl filled with thousands of Roman spectators.

Kenshin saw the people, and the he heard the jeering screams and laughter. He knew that these people wanted to see death and blood. But as he stood there, he didn't think about what the people wanted, or what he himself wanted. Instead, Kenshin kept thinking back on the events of the last few months. He saw her face again, a faint smile shining back at him. Kenshin clenched his fists. He wouldn't allow such a loss to happen to anyone else. He would fight to save the other man's wife, and he would protect them at all costs.

"Behold," the publican bellowed. "Spies and thieves sent to kill the emperor."

The crowd jeered and booed. They hollered and waved until the publican waved his hands to quiet them down.

"Great Caesar has decided," the fat man declared, "That these traitors be punished in front of the whole of Rome, by the gladiators of the emperor!"

The crowd cheered again.

Now the emperor himself had risen from his throne and had walked to the platform's edge. He smiled and waved at the spectators. The crowd roared in response, crying praises to their emperor. Herodius smiled again and addressed the people.

"People of Rome," the emperor cried. "Shall I give these spies the just punishment which they deserve?"

The mob screamed and shouted, waving their hands in agreement. Herodius smiled.

"Then let it be so," Caesar shouted.

He looked down to the four fighters and cracked an evil grin. He then turned and nodded to the soldiers atop the tunnel entrance on the left side of the arena.

The four fighters turned and prepared themselves. The huge wooden doors that led down to the gladiator room were directly in front of them, with two guards stationed above them on the concrete overhang. One of the guards looked down through a gap in the stone and shouted something to the gate soldier. Lance knew that the doors would swing open any minute now, letting out the hoard of bloodthirsty gladiators.

Kenshin saw what was happening.

"This is it," he said in a forceful tone. "Go. Head for the wall behind us."

Lance looked down at the sand by the wooden platform that they were standing on. He saw four Roman swords lying on the ground.

"Are you sure?" Lance asked him. "We could still help –"

"I'm sure," Kenshin told him. "I'll be fine. Just go to the wall and try not to let yourselves get cornered."

Reluctantly, Lance nodded and headed away to the opposite wall. Nick and Mark quickly followed behind him.

"What are they doing?" the emperor asked himself. "This is strange behavior for those about to fight."

"They are thieves, my lord," came a strong voice from behind him. "Their ways are indeed strange."

Herodius turned to see the captain of his guard, the general who had captured the male spies. His blonde hair was showing when he removed his helmet and bowed to show respect to the emperor. But he soon stood back at attention and held his helmet by his side.

"General Marcus," the emperor smiled. "Do you believe these spies to be good sport for my gladiators?"

"The three by the wall will fall easily, sire," the general said as he joined the emperor at the platform rail. "But that one in the center may prove to be quite a show."

"Is that so?" Herodius mused. "I shall enjoy this."

Lance reached the wall and turned around. Nick and Mark had just joined him and were also turning to see the arena. The two wooden doors were still closed, but they knew that they would open any second now. Lance felt his adrenaline rush and his palms become sweaty. This was it.

Kenshin kept his stern glare on the wooden doors. With a calm motion, he pulled his belt away from his waist by a few inches. He took his other hand and pulled out his sword, which had been hidden the entire time. He could hear the crowd murmur when they saw him pull out the three- foot sheath. Kenshin pulled the sword, which was still attached to him by a strap that ran tightly around his waist, around to his left side. He adjusted the strap to allow it to fit snuggly around him and still keep the sheath in place.

Now with his weapon ready, Kenshin stepped back with his left foot. His left leg was bent and his right leg at slighter bend. His body was pointing slightly left of the door, but his head and glare kept pointing directly at the juncture of the massive wooden frames. With his left hand, Kenshin gripped the neck of the sheath and pushed down to force the handle to point away from him, making the sheath level with the ground. He then brought over his right arm to rest his hand four inches above the sword's handle. He was ready.

"What kind of weapon is this?" the emperor asked his guard captain.

"I do not know, my lord," General Marcus replied. "I don't understand how such a thing could be hidden from us. Surely they must have searched him when they captured him?"

"You mean you did not arrest him with the others?" Herodius asked curiously.

"No, sire," Marcus said in reply. "The guards chose him at random from the dungeon prisoners to be the fourth fighter in the group."

The emperor shrugged.

The huge wooden doors burst open in a loud swoosh. The dust parted to make way for a shouting mob of gladiators, each one raising their weapons high in the air. Kenshin counted quickly, but saw over forty charging warriors, all of them wearing metal helmets or masks. Two big gladiators in the front of the pack were boasting full body armor and leather strapping. Both of them had large axes in their hands, their curved blades shining in the bright sun.

With his left hand still on his sheath, Kenshin used his left thumb to push on the wrist guard of his sword. An inch of the blade slid out from the neck of the sheath. Kenshin remained still. The hoard of charging gladiators continued running at full speed towards the lone figure in the center of the arena.

Kenshin narrowed his eyes.

Lance was watching with anxiety, breathing heavily as he saw the great number of gladiators storming out of the giant doors. Just the sight of them sent fear up and down the professor's spine. What if Kenshin couldn't beat them? What if he died? It would be his fault, and his death would be on his hands. As Lance watched the gladiators run hard toward Kenshin, he kept wishing he was back in modern Rome, when none of this would be happening. Suddenly, Lance paused his thoughts. Kenshin had disappeared.

He had pulled out his sword with blinding speed. Still swinging it from his sheath, Kenshin pushed the blade through one of the large, armored gladiators in the front of the pack. Before the blood could even fly from the separated upper-body, Kenshin sliced off the head of the other armored gladiator. He could hear the falling legs of the first fallen warrior hit the ground as he swung his sword in a wide arch around his body. Three more gladiators fell, their weapons still high above their heads.

There was flash of dark clothing and a shimmer of steel next to two charging gladiators at the right edge of the hoard. The same brief image appeared now in the center and then to the right. Kenshin paused to readjust his footing before launching forward through a pack of large grunts with mallets. He appeared here, then there, and then above them. In an instant, he had landed on the ground, his sword shimmering in the bright sunlight, and disappeared into the remainder of the gladiators.

The once-jeering crowd was silent when Kenshin stopped himself behind the last of the gladiators. He was standing perfectly still with his sword held tightly by both hands. The blade wasn't shimmering any more, but was dripping with blood.

Behind him, the gladiators fell, one by one. Not all of them fell in one piece. Arms dropped like hail and weapons clanked as they hit the sand. Blood rained down in thick fountains as separated flesh fell apart. Every gladiator was hacked to pieces.

In the thick silence, Caesar Herodius watched in astonishment. His jaw was slightly open, and his stare was fixed on the young warrior standing still in the center of the arena. He saw the young man stand straight and raise his sword. The warrior swung the blade quickly and stopped the swipe with a sudden halt. The excess blood flung from the weapon and splattered on the white sand.

Lance was at ease. The gladiators were dead, their mutilated corpses littering the arena. He made himself look away from the pool of blood and gore, only to see Kenshin standing alone in the center of the arena. The young samurai's sword was in the process of being sheathed. Kenshin slid the blade into the black sheath, stopping at the grip guard. Lance kept his stare on Kenshin's face, which was partly hidden behind his long hair. Though unable to see the young warrior's expression, Lance knew what the boy must have been feeling.

But no one knew what Kenshin was feeling. He himself was a mess of confusion and guilt. He had made his vow that the battle in Kyoto would be the last time he would ever take a life. But he didn't make the vow to himself, but to her. He felt like he was dishonoring her. He cringed and gritted his teeth. The emotions were swelling inside him. He wondered how he would be prepared to face the Shinsen Gumi if he could barely stand to face primitive grunts. Would he be ready?

Lisa and Jackie stared at the mess in the arena. On one hand, they were relieved to see their loved ones alive and well, but were horrified at the massacre. They had turned their heads more than once when the small warrior sliced his way through the barbaric hoard, trying hard to avoid the sight of spraying blood and flesh. But now they were staring at red sand, with body parts lying apart from their previous owners. Jackie felt bile rise in her throat. She looked away to avoid vomiting.

Lisa, instead of turning her view from the arena, looked up to see Lance staring back at her. He was safe for now, and she felt a glimmer of hope when she saw her fiancée smile. She couldn't help but manage an unconscious smile in return. Her gaze caught sight of Kenshin as he began moving toward her friends.

Nick and Mark were both awestruck and silent.