Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two by Nick Morris Page A

hand!”
    With one hand folded behind his back, he struck the kneeling man a rising blow under the chin. There was a cracking noise as Pilus’s head snapped back. His jaw took on a loose aspect. He toppled forwards onto his face, unconscious.
    “Back!” Strabo ordered.
    A ludus guard approached him from one side his spear levelled at Drilgisa’s chest. He took a few steps backwards.
    Strabo was kneeling by the fallen Gaul. “His jaw is shattered and his ear’s fucked! Gordeo will have my guts for bow strings,” he said after a quick inspection.
    Belua joined him, and a few of the veteran gladiators begun to gather round.
    Strabo turned and glared. He felt the trainer’s hate wash over him.
    “Take him to the infirmary,” Strabo instructed two of the watching gladiators. He stood up and ordered a guard to attach caestus to his hands. “It’s time I taught this fucking dog a lesson in obedience.”
    “The lash will do that equally well, Strabo,” said Belua, stood close by, his recommendation voiced loud enough for all the gathered men to hear.
    “Don’t interfere, Belua. Gordeo has made it clear that the Dacian is under my instruction.”
    “It will be a mistake,” said Belua, calmly.
    “It was a mistake for this fucking hunchback to disobey me!”
    Drilgisa flinched at the insult, but was determined to not let his anger affect his ability to meet the imminent challenge. The trainer was an experienced fighter and had very quick hands as well as strength. But, he has very few scars .
    Those watching stepped back to give the combatants room. The guard with the spear followed suit.
    “Defend yourself!” Strabo leaped forwards as he spat out the words to commence fighting. He launched a downward punch that jolted Drilgisa’s head backwards. He felt his eye-brow split.
    He countered with a hooked punch of his own but found only empty air. Momentarily off balance he felt another land on the side of his head. A bright whiteness flashed behind his eyes, and he raised both fists high, to guard his head. He felt hot blood seep from his eye down the side of his face. Two blows landed against his right side, forcing the air from his lungs. He could hear the men cheer the trainer on.
    Dropping into a low crouch, he risked a quick look between his raised caestus .
    Strabo was sucking in his breath, ready to launch another attack. His face wore an arrogant smile.
    Strabo hooked another punch into his ribs. This time Drilgisa turned with the blow, and taking a big step forward speared his right hand into Strabo’s surprised face.
    The blow made solid contact and he felt the trainer’s teeth snap.
    He followed up with a looping left hook to Strabo’s jaw that rocked him back on his heels. Strabo’s right hand moved protectively to the front of his face, and Drilgisa took the opportunity to thump two weighty blows into his unguarded right side. They were struck with venom, to be accompanied by the audible sound of rib bones cracking.
    Drilgisa felt his spirit soar. I have never felt more alive than at times like this. He was aware that his manhood grew harder with each blow he struck.
    Strabo’s hands had dropped loosely to his sides and his breathing came in whistling gasps. He could barely stand.
    Drilgisa cupped Strabo’s bloodied chin in his massive left hand. He drew back his right fist for the finishing blow.
    “Dacian!” the shout caught his attention and he turned instinctively in its direction. The club struck him, and then night entered his world.
     
    The entire troupe was gathered to witness the punishment. Each man knew that Belua would not accept any excuse for non-attendance…only death, maybe.
    Belua hawked and spat, satisfied that all were present – every tiro and veteran. There were no women. Women gladiators were a novelty in the arena and were usually pitted against dwarves or beasts. He’d once seen a female venatore fight in the Great Circus, but could not remember her name. He did remember