Another day in the Path, another penny earned. Today Takeo was assigned to the sparring room; a gymnasium-sized area directly beneath the center of the arena. The use of the sparring room was rotated daily by the Path’s manager so that a different Ludus of gladiators could use it every day. Todays Ludus was the House of Isao, an old family that had been training arena combatants for generations, and the current champions of the arena.
As Takeo ran to and fro bringing weapons and water to the various gladiators, he pondered on the new system that gladiators followed. In the distant past, gladiators were slaves that were forced to fight one another to the death for the amusement of the free people of Lightning Country. Now the combatants were more like star athletes, each signing a contract to fight for a certain Ludus (or team), and were free to live as they saw fit. Battles in the arena still proved deadly, but the offer and acceptance of the misio, a two-fingered offer of surrender, was far more common; and those who fell unconscious, and therefore unable to offer the misio, were spared rather than summarily executed.
The crack of the whip brought Takeo out of his silent revere and drew his attention to the man who trained this particular group of gladiators; the Doctore. He was a man of middle years, of dark skin and clean-shaven head. His body bore the scars of untold battles on the sands in years past, and his hand carried the whip that drove the combatants ever onward. It was more a symbol of office than a weapon, but the Doctore was occasionally called upon to use it if a spar got out of hand, or serious misconduct occurred in the ranks. ”Switch!” The mans harsh bass voice commanded, and the combatants did as instructed, rotating to their next sparing partner and continuing the mock-battle.
”Boy!” The Doctore shouted at Takeo. ”Water!”
”Yes, Doctore!” Takeo rushed over to a barrel by one wall and filled a wooden cup from it before rushing over to the Doctore and placing the water in his waiting, outstretched hand.
”What do they call you?” Takeo was taken aback by the question; not just the fact that he was asked, but the softness in the voice of a man he had only heard shout guttural commands before now.
”My name is Raikou Takeo, Doctore.”
”Your name means “Valiant Lightning Warrior”?”
”Yes, Doctore. Bastards born in this country are given a certain surname based on what region they were born in. In my village we were simply called children of Lightning Country.” Takeo felt the need to explain to the man, as his accent showed he was not originally from this area.
”And, your first name?”
”I got it from a book I read as a child.”
”Your mother did not give you a name?” He asked, quizzically.
”She felt no need to call me anything other than “boy”, or harsher four-letter terms of endearment.”
”Ah,” Doctore nodded understandingly. ”Such humble beginnings are not uncommon in our line of work. So,” he raised an eyebrow then. ”You wish to be a gladiator?” Takeo was taken aback for a second time by one of Doctore’s questions. ”I have seen you at night; here, in the Path, sparring with the wooden man.” He motioned towards the wooden dummy in the corner Takeo had indeed been practicing on after everyone had left the Path for the day.
”I watch the gladiators train during the day and try to emulate their techniques at night.” Takeo admitted, his voice guarded. ”I have watched the games while performing my duties, and aspire to become strong like the warriors who take to the sands.”
”You hold much promise, if what I have seen has any indication.” Takeo’s spirits were lifted by the compliment. A Doctore for an actual Ludus said he had promise! ”But, it is difficult to gage ones worth when sparring against something that cannot fight back. Cho! Attend!” The Doctore called, and a man responded.
”Yes, Doctore?” The man who joined them was huge! At least twice Takeo’s years and weight, all of it rippling muscle.
”Spar against Takeo.” The Doctore motioned towards the boy. ”I would measure his worth.”
”The boy is just a pup! Barely even old enough to have grown teeth!” Cho scoffed, his words making Takeo clench his fists in anger.
”Then it shouldn’t be a problem for you to fight me. Or are you afraid to be beaten by a mere “pup”?” Takeo spat back. They had since drawn the attention of the other gladiators who had drawn around them in a circle, jeering at Cho for leaving himself open for such an insult.
”The boy has spirit!” Cho retorted to the onlookers. ”Lets see it broken, shall we?” Someone in the crowd handed Takeo the same gear his opponent was armed with, a wooden short sword and round wooden shield, before the crowd backed up and created a ring for them to fight in. The crowd cheered as the two squared off, Takeo taking up a stance he had observed being used in their training.
”Begin!” Doctore shouted over the din.
Cho charged in with two quick strikes at Takeo, who barely had enough time to raise his shield to block them; each blow driving him backwards as the shock from the strikes running up his arm. Takeo tried to counter with a strike aimed towards Cho’s head, but his opponents shield darted up to accept the blow, then snapped forward and struck Takeo in the face. Pain shot through Takeo’s visage as blood poured from the fresh pressure-cut above his right eyebrow. The boy used the opening from his opponents blow to swing at his exposed knee with his sword, but Cho simply danced back out of the range of Takeo’s shorter arms and countered by hitting him square in the left abdomen with his wooden blade. The air whooshed from Takeo’s lungs as he fell to his knees.
”You raise your shield when you strike! Keep it in proper position and see mistake corrected!” Doctore shouted from the sidelines as Takeo regained his feet and rushed towards Cho. He swung his blade in a crisscross pattern, his blows futile as they truck the surface of Cho’s shield. Summarily, Cho’s downward chop was deflected by Takeo’s shield, and the thrust that followed by the boys sword. Hoping to repay the blow he had been dealt previously, Takeo punched out with the rim of his shield towards Cho’s face only to feel his knee strike home into his already bruised ribs. Takeo returned his shield to his side in a desperate attempt to protect ribs he was sure were now cracked only to be struck across the left cheek by Cho’s sword.
A loud “ooh!” came from the crowd as Takeo hit the ground, his head spinning and his vision blurry, to be replaced by cheers as Cho raised his arms for praise from the crowd. The cheers slowly petered out as Takeo struggled to his feet, his left cheek heavily bruised and his right eye swollen nearly shut and still bleeding. He took up a fighting stance and prepared to continue fighting.
”There’s still some fight left in this little pup!” Cho shouted to the crowd. ”Let’s see it knocked out of him!” The crowd cheered as Cho leapt back into the fray. Takeo blocked three swings from his opponent before rolling beneath a wildly-swung blow. As he turned to counter, he found Cho’s blade somehow made its way under his right knee, and slung him off his feet before it was brought down on his chest, slamming him into the ground.
Takeo lay motionless on the ground as Cho garnered more cheers from the crowd; but, once again, they fell silent as they saw the young boy struggle to regain his feet. Takeo coughed and sputtered as he tried to force air into his lungs, falling back to his knees after trying to stand on shaky legs. Everyone looked on, awestruck as he propped himself up on his sword and forced himself to stand, retaking a fighting position as he spat blood form his mouth.
The amusement had completely left Cho’s eyes at the boys insolence. ”I’ll see that you not rise again!” As he raised his sword for another blow, the crack of the whip sounded. Cho found the leather of Doctore’s whip wrapped around the wrist of his sword hand, restraining him.
”Enough!” The man barked, his eyes burning into Cho’s. For a couple long seconds their gazes stayed locked, only for Cho to drop his.
”Yes, Doctore.” He unraveled the whip from his wrist and assimilated back into the crowd.
Then Takeo heard something he hadn’t expected, his eyes too blurry with blood and sweat to see as the gladiators began clapping and banging swords on shields. Some of them patted him on the back, and the cheers were mingled with words like “good fight” and “honor” and “fought like a man”. The training weapons were taken from him, and the Doctore commanded they resume their training before guiding Takeo over to a bench where the medicus of their ludus washed some of the blood from his face.
”Why…” Takeo began, taking a moment to drink a pungent smelling potion the medicus handed to him. The drink was bitter, but he instantly felt the pain begin to numb even as the medicus began sewing the wound on his eyebrow. ”Why do they cheer for me when I lost?”
”A sign of respect for your courage.” Doctore said, a smile on his face. ”You have some promise. With some actual training you could, too, become a gladiator.”
”I’m a student at the Academy; I cannot be both, can I?”
”Of course, there are many shinobi who fight on the arena’s sands. Ninja are permitted to fight with gladiators only if they are sworn to use no ninjutsu or genjutsu during the battle. The problem lies with your age. Would your mother or father permit you to train and fight with us?”
”Both are dead,” Takeo shook his head to indicate a negative response. ”And, my bastard uncle would see any coin I won quickly removed from pocket.”
”Unfortunate,” Doctore sighed. ”I would see you rise to great riches and glory in the arena.” As the man stood to leave, Takeo spoke. It was something he had held secreted to his heart for fear that voicing his intentions would betray his ability to carry them out.
”There is a way,” Doctore stopped and turned to the boy. ”It will not be long until I attain the rank of Genin. Once the headband of Kumogakure graces my brow, I can emancipate myself from my uncles… care” He spat the last word as if a curse. ”Once accomplished, I will need no one’s permission. I will be a free man.” The Doctore considered the thought for a moment, after which Takeo spoke again. ”I should be a Genin by the spring solstice, long before the start of the summer games.”
Doctore smiled. ”Very well. I will let my lanista know of your intentions, and see that one of my gladiators stays after the days end to train you on days that you work here.” The man laughed a deep, booming sound as Takeo’s eyes flickered to Cho. ”No, not him. At least, not at first. The man might fight well, but he doesn’t have the mind to teach. For now, go home. I will tell the manager why you left and see that you’re paid for the day. Rest; for tomorrow your training begins.”
WC: 1958
As Takeo ran to and fro bringing weapons and water to the various gladiators, he pondered on the new system that gladiators followed. In the distant past, gladiators were slaves that were forced to fight one another to the death for the amusement of the free people of Lightning Country. Now the combatants were more like star athletes, each signing a contract to fight for a certain Ludus (or team), and were free to live as they saw fit. Battles in the arena still proved deadly, but the offer and acceptance of the misio, a two-fingered offer of surrender, was far more common; and those who fell unconscious, and therefore unable to offer the misio, were spared rather than summarily executed.
The crack of the whip brought Takeo out of his silent revere and drew his attention to the man who trained this particular group of gladiators; the Doctore. He was a man of middle years, of dark skin and clean-shaven head. His body bore the scars of untold battles on the sands in years past, and his hand carried the whip that drove the combatants ever onward. It was more a symbol of office than a weapon, but the Doctore was occasionally called upon to use it if a spar got out of hand, or serious misconduct occurred in the ranks. ”Switch!” The mans harsh bass voice commanded, and the combatants did as instructed, rotating to their next sparing partner and continuing the mock-battle.
”Boy!” The Doctore shouted at Takeo. ”Water!”
”Yes, Doctore!” Takeo rushed over to a barrel by one wall and filled a wooden cup from it before rushing over to the Doctore and placing the water in his waiting, outstretched hand.
”What do they call you?” Takeo was taken aback by the question; not just the fact that he was asked, but the softness in the voice of a man he had only heard shout guttural commands before now.
”My name is Raikou Takeo, Doctore.”
”Your name means “Valiant Lightning Warrior”?”
”Yes, Doctore. Bastards born in this country are given a certain surname based on what region they were born in. In my village we were simply called children of Lightning Country.” Takeo felt the need to explain to the man, as his accent showed he was not originally from this area.
”And, your first name?”
”I got it from a book I read as a child.”
”Your mother did not give you a name?” He asked, quizzically.
”She felt no need to call me anything other than “boy”, or harsher four-letter terms of endearment.”
”Ah,” Doctore nodded understandingly. ”Such humble beginnings are not uncommon in our line of work. So,” he raised an eyebrow then. ”You wish to be a gladiator?” Takeo was taken aback for a second time by one of Doctore’s questions. ”I have seen you at night; here, in the Path, sparring with the wooden man.” He motioned towards the wooden dummy in the corner Takeo had indeed been practicing on after everyone had left the Path for the day.
”I watch the gladiators train during the day and try to emulate their techniques at night.” Takeo admitted, his voice guarded. ”I have watched the games while performing my duties, and aspire to become strong like the warriors who take to the sands.”
”You hold much promise, if what I have seen has any indication.” Takeo’s spirits were lifted by the compliment. A Doctore for an actual Ludus said he had promise! ”But, it is difficult to gage ones worth when sparring against something that cannot fight back. Cho! Attend!” The Doctore called, and a man responded.
”Yes, Doctore?” The man who joined them was huge! At least twice Takeo’s years and weight, all of it rippling muscle.
”Spar against Takeo.” The Doctore motioned towards the boy. ”I would measure his worth.”
”The boy is just a pup! Barely even old enough to have grown teeth!” Cho scoffed, his words making Takeo clench his fists in anger.
”Then it shouldn’t be a problem for you to fight me. Or are you afraid to be beaten by a mere “pup”?” Takeo spat back. They had since drawn the attention of the other gladiators who had drawn around them in a circle, jeering at Cho for leaving himself open for such an insult.
”The boy has spirit!” Cho retorted to the onlookers. ”Lets see it broken, shall we?” Someone in the crowd handed Takeo the same gear his opponent was armed with, a wooden short sword and round wooden shield, before the crowd backed up and created a ring for them to fight in. The crowd cheered as the two squared off, Takeo taking up a stance he had observed being used in their training.
”Begin!” Doctore shouted over the din.
Cho charged in with two quick strikes at Takeo, who barely had enough time to raise his shield to block them; each blow driving him backwards as the shock from the strikes running up his arm. Takeo tried to counter with a strike aimed towards Cho’s head, but his opponents shield darted up to accept the blow, then snapped forward and struck Takeo in the face. Pain shot through Takeo’s visage as blood poured from the fresh pressure-cut above his right eyebrow. The boy used the opening from his opponents blow to swing at his exposed knee with his sword, but Cho simply danced back out of the range of Takeo’s shorter arms and countered by hitting him square in the left abdomen with his wooden blade. The air whooshed from Takeo’s lungs as he fell to his knees.
”You raise your shield when you strike! Keep it in proper position and see mistake corrected!” Doctore shouted from the sidelines as Takeo regained his feet and rushed towards Cho. He swung his blade in a crisscross pattern, his blows futile as they truck the surface of Cho’s shield. Summarily, Cho’s downward chop was deflected by Takeo’s shield, and the thrust that followed by the boys sword. Hoping to repay the blow he had been dealt previously, Takeo punched out with the rim of his shield towards Cho’s face only to feel his knee strike home into his already bruised ribs. Takeo returned his shield to his side in a desperate attempt to protect ribs he was sure were now cracked only to be struck across the left cheek by Cho’s sword.
A loud “ooh!” came from the crowd as Takeo hit the ground, his head spinning and his vision blurry, to be replaced by cheers as Cho raised his arms for praise from the crowd. The cheers slowly petered out as Takeo struggled to his feet, his left cheek heavily bruised and his right eye swollen nearly shut and still bleeding. He took up a fighting stance and prepared to continue fighting.
”There’s still some fight left in this little pup!” Cho shouted to the crowd. ”Let’s see it knocked out of him!” The crowd cheered as Cho leapt back into the fray. Takeo blocked three swings from his opponent before rolling beneath a wildly-swung blow. As he turned to counter, he found Cho’s blade somehow made its way under his right knee, and slung him off his feet before it was brought down on his chest, slamming him into the ground.
Takeo lay motionless on the ground as Cho garnered more cheers from the crowd; but, once again, they fell silent as they saw the young boy struggle to regain his feet. Takeo coughed and sputtered as he tried to force air into his lungs, falling back to his knees after trying to stand on shaky legs. Everyone looked on, awestruck as he propped himself up on his sword and forced himself to stand, retaking a fighting position as he spat blood form his mouth.
The amusement had completely left Cho’s eyes at the boys insolence. ”I’ll see that you not rise again!” As he raised his sword for another blow, the crack of the whip sounded. Cho found the leather of Doctore’s whip wrapped around the wrist of his sword hand, restraining him.
”Enough!” The man barked, his eyes burning into Cho’s. For a couple long seconds their gazes stayed locked, only for Cho to drop his.
”Yes, Doctore.” He unraveled the whip from his wrist and assimilated back into the crowd.
Then Takeo heard something he hadn’t expected, his eyes too blurry with blood and sweat to see as the gladiators began clapping and banging swords on shields. Some of them patted him on the back, and the cheers were mingled with words like “good fight” and “honor” and “fought like a man”. The training weapons were taken from him, and the Doctore commanded they resume their training before guiding Takeo over to a bench where the medicus of their ludus washed some of the blood from his face.
”Why…” Takeo began, taking a moment to drink a pungent smelling potion the medicus handed to him. The drink was bitter, but he instantly felt the pain begin to numb even as the medicus began sewing the wound on his eyebrow. ”Why do they cheer for me when I lost?”
”A sign of respect for your courage.” Doctore said, a smile on his face. ”You have some promise. With some actual training you could, too, become a gladiator.”
”I’m a student at the Academy; I cannot be both, can I?”
”Of course, there are many shinobi who fight on the arena’s sands. Ninja are permitted to fight with gladiators only if they are sworn to use no ninjutsu or genjutsu during the battle. The problem lies with your age. Would your mother or father permit you to train and fight with us?”
”Both are dead,” Takeo shook his head to indicate a negative response. ”And, my bastard uncle would see any coin I won quickly removed from pocket.”
”Unfortunate,” Doctore sighed. ”I would see you rise to great riches and glory in the arena.” As the man stood to leave, Takeo spoke. It was something he had held secreted to his heart for fear that voicing his intentions would betray his ability to carry them out.
”There is a way,” Doctore stopped and turned to the boy. ”It will not be long until I attain the rank of Genin. Once the headband of Kumogakure graces my brow, I can emancipate myself from my uncles… care” He spat the last word as if a curse. ”Once accomplished, I will need no one’s permission. I will be a free man.” The Doctore considered the thought for a moment, after which Takeo spoke again. ”I should be a Genin by the spring solstice, long before the start of the summer games.”
Doctore smiled. ”Very well. I will let my lanista know of your intentions, and see that one of my gladiators stays after the days end to train you on days that you work here.” The man laughed a deep, booming sound as Takeo’s eyes flickered to Cho. ”No, not him. At least, not at first. The man might fight well, but he doesn’t have the mind to teach. For now, go home. I will tell the manager why you left and see that you’re paid for the day. Rest; for tomorrow your training begins.”
WC: 1958