Blood of a Barbarian Read Free

when they are sacrificing animals in great burning fires, or watching large numbers of men butcher one another.
    It still shames and amazes me that after all the successful raids I had made on the border walls, that I should have been so easily captured. On that day, I had run quietly up to the border wall, and had thrown a hook up over top and climbed up easily. Archers had already taken care of the guards, so it was just a matter of sneaking into the stockade, and grabbing whatever food and weapons I could lay my hands on before returning to my comrades in the forest just beyond the wall.
    I can clearly remember opening a door and going through, and then feeling a terrific blow to the back of my head. Someone must have hidden himself, then sneaked up behind and hit me as hard as he could. Judging from the very large bump on the back of my head that I had several hours later, when I woke up, the blow had probably been delivered by a strong soldier using the butt of his sword. The reason he hadn't killed me outright was that he had probably been able to collect a hefty fee for having me sold into slavery.
    After a terrible journey over hundreds of miles, I finally came face to face with the horror of my destiny. It was now my terrible fate to be forced to work in the mines as a labourer. I knew well that the average lifespan of someone working in the mines was only three weeks, or less, and so determined right away to try to find a way out of there. A full month of misery passed before my chance came. I had been flogged and beaten, and given nothing but starvation rations for this entire time, and yet somehow still clung to life, determined as I was, not to die in those stinking tunnels. I even managed to obtain, through various means, a few extra rations, mostly by taking them out of the hands of the dead or dying, and was able to keep my strength up a bit.
    One day, while we labourers worked, a Mangone, or slave-trader, came to look at us, and I asked a fellow miner next to me what kind of slave the trader was looking for. I had no intention of merely going from one mine to another, and so was prepared to feign sickness and weakness if that was his intent. However, the miner, a tiny Gaul, informed me that this Mangone was looking for gladiators for a school in Rome. He himself, he knew, being of slight build, had no chance. But I, he said, being still in good physical shape, and young, and despite my recent hardships, might well stand a chance. At first, I did not take him seriously. What chance had I? And besides, I had no desire to die in an arena as lion bait, or even by the sword, all for the amusment of my enemies. Still... I thought, It could very well be my only chance I would have to get out of this hole of the underworld.
    Immediatly I puffed out my chest as far as I could, and stood up straight. When the Mangone, a short fat little man who held a perfumed piece of cloth in front of his nose -apparently because of the smell of our unwashed bodies- saw me, he stopped and looked me over with an appraising eye. The fat little man turned to one of the guards, an especially cruel one who loved to whip me, and asked him, "How about this one? How long has he been here, then?"
    "A month, your Lordship," replied the guard. "But you wouldn't be interested in him, your grace," he said with a weasily grin, "He has no discipline, being a German." He said this last word as though it were a curse word of some kind. No doubt the guard had some new tortures in mind for me, and did not want me to escape his sadistic grasp.
    "On the contrary,' said the Mangone. "He interests me very much. Anyone who can survive for a month in the mines and still stand up straight, must either be very stong or very cunning and resourceful, all of which are qualities well-suited to the tasks of a gladiator. Have him put with the others," he ordered curtly.
    "As you please, my Lord," the guard said, obviously annoyed, but without any say in the