Gionoci was silent as he walked through the ornate corridors, his toes wriggling against the strange sensation of being confined to sandals. The sun had not yet risen, and the eerie shadows that danced about his feet set him on edge, peering about the dark hall. The past few days had been genuinely unpleasant for him. The food was better, the heat was less scalding, and the training, beyond simple steps in his room, had been essentially nonexistent. The company, however, was poor in comparison. He was treated like a fool by the superiors, like a joke by the guards, and like a beast by the slaves. Gionoci hated the tongue of the Romans. He knew little of it, and what he did know he spoke with a thick Gaul accent. The only friend he had in this oversized villa was Ounda, but thank the gods he had at least that. Light began to trickle into the building, and Gionoci wondered where he was being led. His language skills made asking the right questions difficult, but he managed. It was understanding the answers that he struggled with.

"Sumus huc," his guide told him, and the gladiator stepped through a magnificent gateway into what he thought must have once been a courtyard of some sort. A circle of ground had been cleared and filled with sand, and around it a small block of marble seats were constructed. With the first beginnings of sunlight touching his face and his eyes on the invisible audience, Gionoci suddenly felt in his element again. He wondered to himself if he would finally meet his 'owner', and attempted to form the words while he followed the man towards a corner of the open miniature stadium.

"Qu…quid est dominus? Est in atrium?" Apparently, his attempt was poor. The roman servant laughed at him, and replied with thoughtfully slow pronunciation.

"Non. Dominus est in Roma. Non est huc. Huc est aream," he said, pointing to the area around them, "non est atrium." Gionoci nodded his head slowly as comprehension dawned. He wouldn't be meeting the man who'd purchased him. They plodded slowly across the sand, and as it got between the fair-haired man's toes he felt excitement picking up inside of him. Someone had set up a stand at a far end, and something on it gleamed brightly as they approached. Adrenaline shot through his veins and a gasp touched Gionoci's lips when he saw what it was.

Luminous from much polishing, the armour sat waiting for him, pulsating with a secret energy. The helmet was a soft bronze colour, gilded in places with gold and crested with a plume of black horsehair with the tips bleached white. He reached out to run his fingers across the relief on the crown of the skull, depicting a violent battle between some great hero and a horde of vicious beasts with claws and fangs, pulling chariots with warriors wielding slings. It was unlike any gladiator battle he'd even seen, but it thrilled him. His eyes passed quickly over the big, rectangular shield and touched down on the tempered steel blade that caught his attention like it caught the sunlight, frolicking carelessly down its lethal edge.

"Haec est meus?" He asked reverently, almost afraid to reach for the beautiful sword.

"Ita, gladius est tuus," The man confirmed. Gionici's hesitant hand went to the hilt, gilded with amber and onyx, and gripped the smooth handle. He held it level, and the other took a step back, inviting him to try it out on the air. A firm grin plastered itself upon his face, and he struck, slashing and swinging in time to the drills that had been implanted into his brain through endless practice. The metal sang to him, turning elegantly and slicing through the air with a gentle thrum.

"Te instrue, crines coceus. Exerce!"

He didn't need to be told twice. With the fervour of a young child with a new toy, he tugged on the helmet, hefted the heavy shield, and walked towards the centre of the small arena. There was a pause for an intake of breath, and then a pounding sound of something hitting the sand rung in his ears. He turned quickly and laid eyes on the massive dog that ran across the sand towards him, fangs bared and eyes wild. Gionoci thought momentarily how cruel it was to use the handsome beast for this human sport, but then he swung his sword and did not think, only fought. It was like sorcery, the grace with which he moved under the weight of his armor, the ease with which the sword melted into his palm and ceased to become a sword and became an extension of his body and his spirit.

"Noli cani neca!" The man shouted as Gionoci very nearly cut off one of the ferocious canine's ears. Another voice, however, quickly surpassed the first with its cold, commanding tenor, hardly raised above the average conversational volume.

"Id neca. Canem mortem inferra." The gladiator obeyed, and as the creature made its final glorious charge at him, he impaled it through the chest like a hairy pig on a spit. Gionoci curled his lip in disgust, and anchored a foot on its shoulder to draw his sword free. Curious, he turned to look for whom the second voice had originated from.

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Sumus huc – We are here

Qu…quid est dominus? Est in atrium? – What is the master? Is he in the reception hall?

(Obviously Giono meant to say Quis est dominus¸ which means 'who is the master'.)

Non. Dominus est in Roma. Non est huc. – No. The master is in Rome. He isn't here.

Huc est aream, non est atrium – Here is the courtyard, not the reception hall.

Haec est meus? –This is mine?

Ita, gladius est tuus – Yes, the sword is yours.

Te instrue, crines coceus. Exerce! – Gather yourself, yellow hair. Exercise!

Noli cani neca! – Don't kill the dog!

Id neca. Canem mortem inferra. – Kill it. Bring death to the dog.

Muaha! And that's all you're getting. :3