Thrust on the Gladiator’s Sword
Copyright August 2012, Sofia Bane
Smash-clang! Smash-clang! Sweat poured down my face as I caught my opponent’s heavy metal broadsword at every blow, but I never gained enough of an advantage to strike a blow of my own. My bowels were liquid and I could scarcely feel my feet beneath me, but I literally fought for my life.
The gladiatorial games were an imaginative if sick form of capital punishment. I was a military deserter, having turned back before we faced the barbarian Gauls. Upon being caught, I was promised I’d see my share of blood in the arena if not on the battlefield. So this – I barely avoided a wild stab to the face – was my death sentence.