In His Arena 1: Slave Eternal by Nasia Maksima Read Free Book Online Page B

manner—cheering and clapping, screaming and shouting insults, spitting, the occasional desert flower thrown his way as the chariots entered the arena in the wake of the praetorian guard. He stepped onto the lead chariot and held his hand up, waving to the dirty, filthy, ignorant plebes as he passed.
    Just another Spectacle for the glory of Arena and its blind Empress. He did not have to kill today. But he would have to plow tomorrow.
    Fight or fuck, that was the decree of the Empress, and the way of life for her gladiators.

Chapter Two
    FIRST DAY
    It was tradition for veteran gladiators
    To train the novices
    And to bestow upon the worthy
    Their skill and their seed
    —Pia Lucia, House of Lucia, the Architects
    Lucan awoke with a start, not knowing where he was. The gladiator stables of House Vulpinius were darker, set deeper back into the compound than those at House Pineus had been. And although the stenches of refuse and shit were absent, the humid darkness had a festering smell all its own.
    Groggily, Lucan rose, the sounds of the other novices in his barracks spurring him into movement. His skin was clammy, the slight flickering of braziers and torches throwing ominous shadows as the novices awoke to their morning training. They would wash quickly and dress, and take their place with the novices of other houses at the Ludus Magnii.
    Lucan would not be going with them.
    His stomach churned in remembrance of the rich fare he’d partaken in yesterday, and he cursed himself for overindulging. He hoped the heaviness in his belly didn’t slow him down.
    He stumbled to the basin and splashed warm water on his face and under his arms. Jostling in with so many other novices, he could not help but compare himself to them. He was the same in size and stature, but they carried themselves with a confidence Lucan did not have.
    If he passed his trials, he would become a retiarii, valued more for his looks than his skill. The novices around him were likely to become secutors and myrmidon. A few—the best—might eventually become provocators, whose duty it was to incite the crowd with their showmanship.
    Like Hektor Actaeon. The thought of training with the primus palus shook Lucan to the core. Dread and excitement filled him until he thought he would be ill. And yet, he had no choice. Quaestor Stratos wanted Lucan to become a champion gladiator, and so a champion gladiator he would become.
    Else, he would die trying. Such was the way of masters and slaves in Arena.
    Hurriedly, he washed his feet and grabbed his caligae by the straps. Slinging the sandals over his shoulder, he was filled with worry.
    Hektor Actaeon, champion and primus palus. What use has he for a boy like me?
    * * * *
    Hektor strode across the courtyard of the Ludus Magnii, ignoring the stares of the novices as they passed on their way to training. He was the primus palus. He could not be seen hesitating, but as he headed down the stairs to the Claim, his heart weighed more than the heaviest tower shield. These shadowy halls were all too familiar. In his youth, he had looked forward to the Victor’s Claim, to taking what was rightfully his by Arenian law.
    That was before he fell in love. That was before Leander.
    The shadows closed over him, and the latticework of the iron grates above afforded him a modicum of anonymity, at least from the prying eyes in the courtyard above. He reminded himself to close the privacy grate once he entered his Claim’s cell.
    The mingled musk of sweat and blood and men was heady. It perfumed the air and scented his skin. He drew it deep into his nostrils. Despite his disdain for what he came here to do, he found his body responding with need. Uncomfortably, he palmed his cock, shifting it to a better position beneath his tunic.
    Once, he had enjoyed coming here as the victor. Once, three years ago, with Leander.
    The sound of heavy footfalls approaching made him temper his melancholy. He reminded himself where he was. How many