Honour

Steel rang against steel. As the battle became fiercer with each blow, the crowd went wilder and wilder.

The two opponents warily circled each other. Sweat dripped down their faces, and blood flowed freely from various minor wounds.

The crowed cheered and roared and screamed.

Breathing heavily, Zanith stared at his opponent. Zanith was a veteran of two wars, a man in his prime, a master swordsman, but he knew the fight would not be easy.

The pair of eyes that met his was hard and stern. Yet Zanith sensed behind them fear and anguish. But the eyes did not belong with the youthful, craggy face they stared out of. A face too young for the horrors Zanith sensed the eyes had seen.

His opponent lunged.

Zanith took the blow on his shield, then ducked and thrust up, trying to get through the man's defenses. But his thrust met nothing but air, as his opponent twisted away and spun, bashing Zanith's head with his shield.

The spectators roared like berserkers as they anticipated the end of the clash between the two fighters.

Zanith reeled back, ears ringing. Shaking his head to clear it, he barely got his shield up in time to meet his opponent's riposte.

As his opponent pressed the attack, Zanith fell back unable to withstand the furious combination of blows. Disoriented and hard-pressed, Zanith tried to disengage, but his opponent sensed victory and moved in for the kill.

Suddenly, Zanith stopped, then threw his whole weight at his opponent with his shield.

Taken off guard, his opponent took the full force of the blow as Zanith crashed into him, then stumbled and fell.

With a cry of victory, Zanith leaped forward and slashed down at his opponent's neck, but missed, opening a small shoulder wound instead as the man rolled away and leapt to his feet.

"That was a good move, brother," the man said, wincing as he tested his shoulder.

Zanith nodded in acknowledgement, then leapt at his opponent, his sword a blur of motion. But his opponent was ready and met him blow for blow.

Thrusts were countered, slashes parried, feints discovered (the easy way or the hard), body slams dodged and chops and hacks blocked, but still neither could gain the upper hand. After five minutes of furious fighting, they disengaged by unspoken agreement, trying to catch their breaths.

"You're not like the rest of them," his opponent offered. Zanith understood.

"Neither are you," he replied.

The youth smiled grimly.

Zanith felt weariness seeping into his bones. Two hours of continuous fighting had taken its toll. But Zanith could see that his opponent was exhausted too. He knew that one mistake now, from either of them, and it would all be over.

The fight was coming to an end.

Moving beyond weariness, Zanith threw himself into the fight. But blow by blow, Zanith could feel that they were both growing weaker.

Wary now, they circled each other once more, each intent on the other, searching, waiting for that final mistake.

Then Zanith saw it.

A slight misstep in footwork, a slight over-balance in exhaustion, the lowering of a shield a bit too much, and Zanith pounced.

With a final burst of energy, Zanith leapt forward, sword raised and angled to take his opponent over his shield, body pressed forward, knowing that his opponent was too overbalanced to retreat or dodge...

Then a head slammed into his own as he simultaneously felt his thrust miss and his nose break with a crunch.

The 'mistake' had been a trick. Instead of trying to dodge or retreat, his opponent had moved INTO him and headbutted him. Hard.

Zanith knew he had overextended. He could not pull back, as he would die before he recovered.

So he dropped his sword and surged forward.

Letting his momentum carry him forward, he twisted as he felt his opponent's sword cut a furrow through his side, then slammed into his opponent, knocking them both to the ground. With his shield, Zanith pinned his opponent's sword to the ground, while his right arm scrabbled for the man's throat...

Then froze as he felt something cold and sharp against his own throat.

Curses, tricked again!

The man had let go of his own sword the moment he felt Zanith pin it down and had drawn his dagger.

"Never forget your extra blade, brother," the man said harshly.

Slowly, Zanith got off his opponent and they both got to their feet, the dagger still pressed ominously against Zanith's throat.

Zanith grimaced.

"Do it quickly, brother. No regrets. Go free."

Zanith saw something flash through the other man's eyes.

Then suddenly, the pressure at his throat was gone.

The dagger fell to the ground with a thud.

Surprised, Zanith looked at his opponent.

The man looked back at him straight in the eye.

"You're not like the others," he repeated softly. "And I'll not kill and unarmed man in cold blood. Even among gladiators, there should be honour."

Zanith nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

The crowd jeered and booed.

As the guards closed in and hauled them away, Zanith and his fellow gladiator exchanged glances.

Something flashed between them.

And a legend was born.