Wake.
You stand but first crude brick, laying foundation
to the rise of the house of Ashur.
All those before me shall fall.
Enter the brothers Ferox!
Aargh!
That toad is pet to Marcus fucking Crassus.
Apologies, Gabinius. We did not think.
I shall redouble the effort to secure undiscovered spectacle
and see rematch upon a day.
Let us gaze upon glorious future.
Aargh! Pledge oath, call me Dominus and fight in the arena.
Earn your freedom upon the sands.
- Achillia. - Dominus.
Ay!
Tarchon! You lower shield before you strike.
See it raised- or your brains upon the sands.
Yes, Doctore.
You fight with vigor.
Well, this house now stands absent champion-
a position I would claim my own.
Well, to become champion,
you must first defeat vaunted father.
A venture yet beyond grasp.
For now, you withered corpse.
You mad fuck!
- You lower your guard. - Towards good fucking reason.
We have felt the sting
of loss.
Witnessed honored champion
fall upon the sands of the arena
to the ill-thriven jackals of Proculus.
Yet, as rising sun breaks dawn,
so too shall the House of Ashur
dispel darkest night of indignity.
We shall no longer be bound by the shackles of history
or fucking tradition!
We set foot upon uncharted course
to satisfy the crowd's desire
with more exotic...
offerings.
But how shall rising thirst be quenched?
There stands but one capable of satiating
such ravenous mob!
Behold,
Achillia.
The Goddess of Death.
Silence fucking tongue, and attend your Dominus!
Return to training, you simple fucks.
Doctore,
see Achillia to instruction.
Dacus, sword and shield, towards style of murmillo!
Yes, Doctore!
The woman bears resemblance to my mother-
a spiteful fucking whore.
That explains much, you witless shit.
- A fucking woman, father. - Turn thoughts.
And raise guard!
Erato!
Pair with Achillia.
I would see cock tangle with more worthy adversary.
Work the fucking log!
- Ay! - Tarchon!
Pair with Achillia.
Yes, Doctore.
Shall I treat her as opponent
or something of delicate persuasion?
A question I was of mind to pose towards you.
See idle words give way to clash of swords.
Begin!
She is of a form, is she not?
- Yes, Dominus. - Mm-hm.
Aargh!
You have fought before, yet not against such as I.
Fucking shield weights intent.
You will address me as Doctore.
Retrieve the shield.
It is not to my benefit, Doctore.
You will do as commanded!
Achillia,
stand ground.
And receive correction.
Dominus.
The moment has fucking passed.
Resume training.
Begin!
Aargh!
She does not grant respect title of Doctore demands.
Respect is not granted; it is taken.
Instruct Achillia in our ways
and see bared teeth give way to averted gaze.
A lesson not easily grasped by rabid dog.
Then respond with lash until tongue laps at heel.
And what if beast cannot be tamed?
Spartacus once stood as wild.
Yet by will and teachings of Oenomaus,
he was domesticated
and became champion of fucking Capua-
a result I would see mirrored.
She reflects but promise of disappointment.
- Do you stand fucking Dominus? - I do not.
Yet you bleat as if exalted title cloaks you in such regard.
I account what eyes behold through lens of experience.
She is but fucking clay for your hands to mold.
Forge her in the fires of this ludus,
hardening her to swift purpose.
Swift? Achillia has but only commenced training.
A thing of minor consequence.
I would see her ready for the games of the Ludi Apollinares.
- You have secured position? - I maneuver towards such.
So we but clutch at fanciful dream.
As certain as waking upon each fucking day,
I shall see it done and claim desired contest against
the Brothers Ferox once more.
You wager all that crowd will not turn upon us.
- For presenting novelty? - For breaking tradition,
when fucking woman takes to the sands.
Tradition is but a word revered by those
who pursue mediocrity.
The House of Ashur will carve its own path
and fuck into oblivion all who stands in its way.
Dominus, message has arrived from Rome.
Ah! At last.
Mighty Crassus deigns to respond.
Apologies. It is not from Crassus.
Who, then?
Julius fucking Caesar.
A man of no worth beyond name granted by slipping
from mother's cunt.
He stands a quaestor, does he not? A position of some note.
Fuck position.
Caesar flings his own shit and declares it manna from heaven.
He breaks words of some distress?
Some.
He sends us and our men upon Appian Way,
towards unsavory task.
Do you not stand a free man, as Caesar?
And as such, not bound by request?
I stand free in the eye of the republic, yet not in coin.
Crassus is honored patron and Caesar his fucking will.
We must part lips and swallow anointed cock.
Move cart further from fucking nose.
It is a heavy sight...
to witness so many hearts no longer beating beneath chest.
The rebel army that shook the mighty republic
reduced to rotten flesh beneath vengeful sun.
Shit cock!
We stand gladiators, not common fucking slaves.
You stand as I fucking command!
Creticus has mind equal to dazed child, yet breaks truth.
A gladiator's place is upon the sands of the arena-
it is the duty of a quaestor to tend to the Appian Way.
Caesar's tongue yet find purchase in Crassus' ass.
We must endure one to gain benefit of more-
Stop!
That mark-
this man stood Champion of the House of Batiatus.
Gannicus.
Gannicus! Gannicus! Gannicus!
I had occasion to cross paths with him once,
after he claimed freedom in the arena,
before he fell among Spartacus and his rebels.
A drunken, disagreeable fellow,
much to my liking.
He embraced his fate, as all men must.
His death a kindness
to one forever haunted by past transgressions.
- See him to fucking wagon. - Dominus.
This man stood a god of the arena,
his skill rivalled only by the Bringer of Rain himself.
Two legends, birthed from our ludus.
Yet we now stand absent even lowly position in the games.
How far this fucking house has fallen.
Come, come.
You desecrate these walls?
- I but enhance them. - Mm.
This beast,
he is of your homeland?
Apedemak,
god of war and conquest.
You pray to him?
- He would not listen. - Then why work his image?
- As a reminder. - Towards?
What was lost.
Pause labor and take water.
- Gratitude. - None required.
Your scars-
how did you come by them?
A tale not for one so soft in form.
In battle?
When captured by the Romans?
I did not fall to those fucking shits.
Marked by previous Dominus, then?
Towards instruction of manners?
I have never stood a slave.
Yet here in this house, that is all you stand.
Lay hands upon Dominus again...
and I shall see you parted from fucking life.
Little mouse squeaks, and I'm to shudder in fear?
Make attempt and see talon part head from body.
A certain end, if I were to move against you openly.
Yet there are many ways a clever mouse
may see vicious hawk to grass.
You taint fucking water?
I have not.
Yet at any moment, I could snatch breath,
absent suspicion.
I shall leave you to your god, who ignores your prayers.
Seize fucking mind!
- Doctore! - Salvius!
Well deserved, you fu-!
- Enough! - Fuck!
You fall to fucking quarrel!
Blood boiling in ear,
preventing voice of your Dominus to pierce thick fucking skull!
Look upon your brothers.
They too defy their master
and now rot upon fucking cross.
Continue to inflame...
and see yourself nailed among them.
You lose control.
The sun overheats passions,
already roiled by Achillia's presence.
Fuck Jupiter's face.
It lifts heart, to witness your men at last put to proper use.
I but serve the republic on this day,
at request of revered Caesar.
Yet upon another,
I would present latest acquisition in the arena
and have contest revisited towards diminutive abortions.
At least we knew our mother, you fucking cunt!
Descend from lofty perch and broach subject of lineage again.
Hold! We are for Pompeii, where we battle in the arena.
Let us leave the House of Ashur to its labors-
in the dirt.
Form!
Is it fear
that stays hand from rematch upon next games in Capua?
I welcome such entertainment.
- Mm. - Yet station to decide
who shall fight and who shall wallow in their own shit
falls not to me but to good Gabinius.
Gabinius?
He hosts the game of the Ludi Apollinares?
We are so honored.
Perhaps you may entreat him towards your cause.
Or his beloved wife.
♪ Blood rains down from an angry sky! ♪
♪ My cock rages on! My cock rages on! ♪
♪ Till death is found, my sword swinging hot! ♪
The gods you do not believe in shit upon us once more.
They but present new obstacle.
Cossutia orchestrated humiliation
and the fall of our champion, Logas.
She will poison husband towards granting position.
- Uvidus may yet hold sway. - The aedile?
The man fears Crassus and may provide necessary leverage.
Would not equal trepidation fall towards Pompey,
whose favor Gabinius holds?
Set purpose towards Achillia's training.
And leave machinations towards greater fucking minds.
Good.
You yet reek of rotting flesh from Appian Way.
I but smell as a man.
A man of piss and shit.
Doctore!
Perhaps the goddess of death should fall to proper contest.
She would welcome such a diversion.
A sentiment to be regretted. Take position.
Dacus! Spear!
I shall fuck salted words from mouth.
Do you borrow cock to do so?
Tarchon...
fall beside Creticus.
I'm to face two opponents?
Should the gods favor you towards the arena,
you shall face three-
the Brothers Ferox.
Vicious half-men, pulled from the ass of a rival lanista.
Half-men?
I could piss and they'd thank the gods for rain.
She does not need sword and shield, Doctore;
she'll cut them down with fucking tongue.
Our honor stands no fucking jest!
Nor do the Brothers Ferox.
Nature twisted them into knotted lump.
And in their anger and pain,
they torment death with aggrieved hands.
Misjudge them, and see your life forfeit.
Take position.
Begin!
Focus on the one opponent and invite fucking from the other.
Fucking shield again prevents movement.
You face men, shield stands all between you and the afterlife.
Again.
Tarchon!
Good!
Rid yourself of one adversary
so you may advance upon other absent distraction.
You have not earned position in this fucking house.
Aargh!
Disappointing.
Eat! We resume training after heat of midday sun.
She is not absent skill.
She is absent honor, striking Creticus upon manhood.
An unfortunate blow, yet the fault is yours.
Mine?
Desire towards singular victory left valued friend exposed.
Had this been the arena, both of you would have fallen.
That's fucking shit.
Regain seat.
I did not spring from your cock, nor am I bound by fucking voice.
The man presents sharpened point.
Your sword will not find purchase once more.
Why, do you never intend to fight again?
Dogs eat from fucking ground.
Creticus!
You do not fight unless it is upon my fucking command.
Apologies, Doctore.
I but remind the woman of her place.
Return to training.
All of you!
Her presence incites disobedience and distraction.
They cannot even break food without falling to quarrel.
You pace like caged beast,
rending tranquil mood.
Apologies for disturbing fucking bath.
Perhaps inflamed passion would be cooled by soothing waters.
I prefer to bathe in solitude.
Yet you do not fucking stand so.
Wet cock and douse inferno
with wine.
Fill cup to overflowing.
Does sun break through fucking cloud?
It makes attempt.
Achillia affords rarest opportunity.
A sight never before witnessed in the arena.
For good reason.
She does not belong upon such sacred ground.
Accusation hurled at retiarius when first introduced.
Net and trident, how they laughed.
Yet now, not a game passes absent their presence.
Tradition is but a novel rite, aged to maturity.
A thing I would see Achillia become.
She cannot triumph against the Brothers Ferox.
No, she cannot...
yet.
You hold too much faith in my instruction.
- I hold what is necessary. - And what of the men?
They must embrace the future or fall to memory.
They will never welcome a woman as one of their own.
They need not to welcome her, but they must fucking accept.
Right.
It is a bitter herb you entreat them swallow.
Then let us see it honeyed with wine and whores,
to balm injured fucking pride.
Such a gesture would aid in calming gathering tempest.
With promise of more, towards falling to reason.
Apologies, Dominus. Senator Gabinius has sent messenger.
What word did he carry?
He insists message be delivered only to your hands.
- Materialize the fucking man. - Yes, Dominus.
The aedile champions our cause to Gabinius?
I have yet opportunity to broach subject.
- You stand Gabinius' man? - Such is my charge.
Hand over, then.
Um, inform honored senator what he requests is agreeable.
Gabinius invites me to break meal at his villa!
To what purpose?
Unknown, yet I shall turn it to fucking advantage.
Dominus has parted from sense.
As Achillia parted you from yours.
It was but luck.
And trust fucking Nubian held thread of honor.
You place blame where it does not sleep.
You place fault in my efforts?
No.
Upon mine. I was absent thought towards all but victory,
leaving you exposed.
I do not need you to come to aid, you fucking shit.
Your cock says otherwise.
When paired in the arena, you must fight as one.
Or fall divided.
And when were you last upon the sands, old man?
A lifetime ago, yet I...
lived.
Which is a victory I fear you may tumble well short of.
A thing of no pressing concern.
We are the House of Piss and Shit,
denied opportunity of glorious death.
Yours not so much,
assuming opponent stood greater than small child.
Fill air with fucking laughter,
as Capua does upon thought of this fucking house.
It is what we make it.
See weighted spirits lifted.
Your Dominus presents gift of wine and whores.
Well, perhaps the gods yet favor this fucking House!
Now remove yourselves
so Achillia may bathe absent lingering gaze.
Whores!
Wine and whores!
He preens as if I've never witnessed cock bared and wet.
Attend yourself and retire to cell for the night.
Am I not to enjoy the pleasures of wine and whores?
Such rewards are reserved for those who bear the mark
of the brotherhood.
An honor you have yet to earn.
- Perhaps this one. - You possess discerning eye.
As I wish yours to such this night.
I am to Gabinius' villa, not the arena.
Does Cossutia yet stand his wife?
As Cerberus guarding gate of the underworld,
frothing and snapping.
The target of my concern.
She holds no sway, absent command of husband.
And if she has moved him to her cause against you?
Cheeks spread for deeper ramming.
- Then why accept invitation? - I hold no fucking choice!
Calm troubled thoughts and realize,
all men of power and position underestimate Ashur at own...
fucking peril.
Prepare yourself for my return.
You as well.
You worry over him beyond reason.
He is our Dominus.
Our fates tethered to his.
Yet who worries over you?
Hmm?
Turn mind to task and see linens freshened,
in anticipation of his triumphant return.
Senator Gabinius shall join presently.
Ah! Here is our man.
Gratitude for accepting invitation
upon briefest of notice.
I am swelled by august request.
You are familiar with cherished wife?
We are so acquainted.
In passing, in the streets, if I recall.
Apologies for our delay.
This business with the Cilician pirates
vexes all affected by their savage attacks.
Locusts plaguing our beloved republic.
I pray harsh retribution awaits.
We are of singular mind.
I draft motion in the Senate...
to see menace quelled by able hand of trusted Pompey.
Pompey?
He takes leave from Rome with his army?
A small portion, adequate to task.
The remainder counterbalanced
towards fighting men loyal to Crassus.
May the gods usher Pompey to victory,
as Scipio Africanus against Hannibal at the gates.
You are schooled in our histories?
I am but babe, crawling through dewy morn.
Then let us see you rise upon legs of knowledge,
and stride upright as all men in midday of life.
Hmm. Some yet stumble upon attempt,
skull bashed upon unforgiving ground.
I shall strive to remain surefooted.
As most reliable goat.
Let us not veer towards pointed meaning.
I would have all slights, genuine or fanciful,
fall to past remembrance.
- Memory has faded to obscurity. - Never to return.
Apologies.
Voices stirred interest.
Viridia. It swells heart to see you stir from chambers.
Effort rarely taken these days.
Perhaps you might return after our esteemed guest has departed.
Is this him?
The Syrian?
You are not properly dressed to receive-
Are these the hands?
The ones that saw Spartacus to deserved end?
They, uh...
T-they but aided
in the effort.
Gratitude.
Rome is forever in your debt.
- As am I. - Hour grows late.
Retire to bath with loving mother so I may break words
with honored guest absent distraction.
Come. Let us leave the men to their folly.
Forgive my daughter. She holds not herself.
What affliction troubles her?
The most grievous, a wounded heart.
Her husband, much beloved,
fell to Spartacus and his rebels at Sinuessa en Valle,
where he broached business with Laurus, the trader.
Such loss sees the strongest of us absent mind when in its grip.
Well formed.
Yet,
let us turn from shadowed past
in favor of more promising days.
Yes.
You stand well satisfied, old friend?
Oh, I stand a fucking god.
Do not fucking stop.
Throw dice, Salvius!
Bow to the champion of fucking dice!
Yet not a champion of fucking!
Then I shall make you see the prince.
You deprive release of hardened cock!
Shall deprive you of fucking teeth as well.
- Tarchon. - The girl is mine.
See humble offering inserted elsewhere.
I favor more heft to ass anyway.
Oh, Hedylus completes chore. Well, I shall swim upstream.
You would pull me from services purchased by your Dominus?
I would wrest you from Mars himself.
You warm heart, Elata. As sun above the earth below.
You flatter, as all men stiff of cock.
I know that you're forced to lie with men outside these walls.
Yet within them, I would have no other hands upon you but mine.
Then lay them upon me.
You were commanded to remain in your cell.
Slumber eludes with all the fucking noise
and noise of fucking.
What do you see?
I do not grasp meaning.
When you strike, what do you see?
A wooden fucking man.
You unleash fury beyond simple form.
What do you see, in mind's eye?
Those who hold me unworthy.
Within this ludus
or upon the path that led you to such fate?
You do not partake in the pleasure of whores denied me?
My taste is of a more discerning nature.
One not sated by men who accept coin,
in exchange for loving embrace.
Hmm. Would that I were so blessed of choice.
Hmm.
Drink
and dull pain of coming days.
You lower yourself, speaking to the Syrian as you did.
I but expressed gratitude, keenly felt.
You made him feel as equal, deserving of such praise.
Does he not, for aiding in the fall of Spartacus?
He but aided himself and desire to climb above his station.
Should not all men seek to be so elevated?
Yes, if they are of proper breeding.
You froth as if personally aggrieved.
The man himself is of slightest note.
It is what he represents-
those who would pollute pure waters of the republic,
fancying themselves upon level with storied name and position.
He must be made example, to be taken as warning
to all those who would mistake themselves so.
Father appears in disagreement.
Husband will often stray from reason, if not closely attended.
Would that I yet had one to give such counsel.
Accept mine...
in his place.
Do not forfeit precious youth to grieving.
- Wound is yet fresh. - And...
will never heal...
unless proper balm is applied.
Life does not end when a husband falls from this world.
Nor heart remained sundered,
when cradled in hands of loving mother.
Tell me, Syrian,
were you and your family brought to Rome as slaves?
I alone. Mother and sister fell to disease,
long before I fled Tigranes' army and found myself, uh...
guest of the republic.
And your father?
I hold no memory of him.
Absence of such robs a boy of proper direction.
You must truly hold favor of your gods,
to find yourself elevated from slave to current position
of Dominus of own fucking house.
I am indeed blessed,
yet by labor of own hands
and accomplishments beholden only to them.
You hold no belief in the divinity guiding mortal man?
My Dominus was known for oft-repeated refrain,
one which I yet admire-
"Fuck the gods."
And to what end did such sentiment lead?
Most unfortunate one.
Well, one man's misfortune often falls to another's opportunity.
How unseemly a role did your hands play
in manufacturing such?
I have done...
questionable things...
to arrive where I now sit.
Who of worth can claim otherwise?
And now?
Upon this day?
- I walk a different path. - Oh.
So the tiger has altered stripes?
I am not the man I once was.
Nor the man you yet desire to be.
You are but faint specter,
caught between two worlds you do not belong in.
It is a heavy thing, is it not, to be burdened with dreams
made sudden reality?
I am but a humble servant of the republic.
Why would you swear allegiance to a republic
that despises you?
Why lavish tongue upon those who yet hold you in naked contempt?
You shall never stand equal in their eyes,
forever condemned to be but rough-hewn tool to be used
till blade is dulled by unkind years, then...
cast aside.
What worth is a knife...
if it lies absent use?
So, mighty Crassus continues to sharpen intent, then?
All the way from where he sits, with his army,
outside the gates of Rome?
We are as one, via messenger upon regular basis.
Only a fool relies upon the benevolence of the rich.
Their whims counsel but their own reflection.
Coin afforded by Crassus admittedly thins
with passing of days, yet debt mounts-
water, grain, equipment. My stock drains fortune.
And with it, hope of grander aspiration
towards the games in the arena. A subject I would broach-
You refer to your gladiators as stock?
Do they not carry title of men?
They are but slaves.
As you once stood.
A distant memory.
Yet forgotten by none.
Let eyes fall upon it.
Your brand,
marking you as property of the House of Batiatus-
I would lay eyes.
Oh.
Rumor proves truth.
Crassus growls command, and loyal cur gnaws its own flesh.
Words fell from less noble heights.
Gaius Claudius Glaber gave command,
before he was dispatched from this world by Spartacus himself,
in the shadow
of Vesuvius.
I had occasion to break meal with Glaber upon a time.
A most unsettling cast of eye, absent blink-
as a lizard, encumbered with human form.
A most uncanny assessment of the man.
And how gauge you the measure of the one you see
seated before you?
No, come, hold me as friend.
Well, as semblance of such, as the moment requires.
I see a most noble Roman, well regarded by deed and tongue-
Flattery is of little worth
to one laden with coin and privilege!
I would have from you what others withhold-
the fucking truth!
I see a man of fading years...
clinging to what time remains,
in hopes of preserving tradition of beloved republic.
Yet many within it increasingly
find him more annoyance than benefit,
save for those of low position who seek the borrowing of coin.
I see a man possessed of serpent-tongued wife...
who maneuvers beyond his interests.
Words well broken.
Now fall from fucking sight and remain so removed.
Form improves.
Moves from watery shit to firm.
Wooden man poses slight contest.
Perhaps you would care to engage more fearsome opponent.
I prefer larger challenge.
Fuck what you prefer, woman.
Stay down, you fucking cunt!
Aargh!
The woman at last finds her place-
on her back,
with legs spread.
Hold her! You fucking cunt!
Aargh!
Fucking bitch!
Aargh!
Medicus!
- Medicus! - The man, at last,
finds his place- legs spread, absent cock.
Medicus! Aargh!
Medicus!
Ephesius? Why is he so stained with blood?
Give way! Give...
fucking... way!
Life has fled.
A blessing for one so rudely handled.
What has fucking happened?
The woman!
She went mad!
He breaks false words.
I was but working palus, when they-
I give no shit what they did.
Only the Dominus of the house can claim life of one who stands
among the brotherhood.
Any man who lays hands upon me shall fall the same fate,
regardless of fucking brand.
- She does not belong here! - Do not speak!
You believe you hold place among us?
I did not ask to be in this fucking house,
Yet I stand equal as any man within it.
Then give proof.
Dacus! Steel.
We must stop this. I will alert villa guards.
Hold.
She makes bold claim.
Let us see it defended.
Doctore, should this matter not be attended by Dominus?
Fall from fucking side.
- Korris. - Hold ground.
Or Dominus will hear you took wine and fell from fucking post.
Retrieve the shield and take position.
You stand for a man absent honor?
I stand for the brotherhood.
Then thank the gods I am not a part of it.
Make her suffer the point!
Fight her now!
Retreat as a coward would. Coward!
For the brotherhood!
You have learned nothing!
Except how to die absent honor.
Doctore, kill her!
Fire will not aid you!
Aargh!
Die!
Yes!
Send her to the fuckin afterlife.
Increase advantage, Doctore!
Finish her.
For our brother!
Fucking kill her!
You fought well, yet fall short of the brotherhood.
I stand mistaken.
She took the life of a brother, yet you let her live?
I am the champion of Akragas.
Freedom won upon the sand, by my own fucking will.
And yet this woman, absent experience,
has achieved what none among you could dare dream of-
she drew blood
against opponent far outmatching her in skill and experience.
She has earned my respect...
if but for fleeting moment.
And any man who lays undesired hand upon her...
shall feel my own...
at fucking throat.