Gladiator: Vengeance Read Free

cold. He turned back to Atticus, confident that now it was one-on-one he no longer had to stay so close to Festus. Slipping his left hand back a short distance, Marcus lowered the end of the staff and grasped it like a spear as he stepped forward.
    Atticus slashed at the end of the staff, knocking it aside, but, each time, Marcus aimed the point at his face again and took another pace towards him, forcing him back towards the crowd. The Greek youth was weakening and at last he gathered his wits enough to realize he would have more control over a single staff. He drew back his right hand and hurled the staff at Marcus. The length of wood spun through the air and Marcus felt a sharp pain as one end caught him above the ear before he could duck. He felt a warm trickle down the side of his neck and his opponent let out a cry of triumph as he saw the blood, charging forward and slashing from side to side, his remaining staff held in both hands.
    Marcus retreated two steps and held his ground, deflecting the wild blows, sensing the trembling in the other boy’s limbs as it transmitted itself from staff to staff. Atticus was tiring, and desperate to put an end to the fight. There was another sharp exchange of blows, the clatter echoing off the tall walls of atemple standing close to the fountain. Then Marcus leapt forward, bunching his muscles as he made a vicious cut at the knuckles of the Greek. The wood smacked down on the bone and Atticus let out a cry of agony and snatched his injured hand back, releasing his grip. At once the balance of his weapon was lost and the end wavered. Marcus pressed his staff against it and then swirled the end round and flicked his arms up, snatching the staff from the other boy’s hand and sending it up into the air, end over end. The crowd let out a gasp of surprise and admiration, but the contest wasn’t over yet. Marcus had to put his opponent down.
    Atticus was as shocked as the spectators, too shocked to react as Marcus rushed up to him, planted his boot down behind the other boy’s leg and thrust his staff hard into his midriff. Just like his stockier comrade, Atticus went flying, landing heavily on his back. At once Marcus punched his staff into the air and cried out.
    ‘Victory!’
    ‘No!’ Atticus gasped painfully and began to struggle up.
    Marcus quickly lowered his staff and poked the end into the other boy’s chest, just below his throat, pressing him back. ‘A word of advice. When you are down, stay down. Or face the consequences.’ He gave the staff an extra nudge to emphasizehis point. With a fierce scowl, Atticus nodded and raised his hands in defeat.
    Marcus turned round to see how Festus was doing. He was squaring up to Andreas, and the Greek, in turn, was standing, legs braced as he held his staff in a firm two-handed grip, ready to counter any move that Festus made.
    ‘Need any help?’ asked Marcus.
    ‘No. This one’s all mine.’
    Andreas snorted and shook his head. ‘By the Gods, you must fancy yourself! Typical bloody Roman.’ His chest was heaving as he gasped for breath. He was a big man, Marcus observed. But he was out of condition, unlike Festus who exercised every day and whose body was as quick as his mind. Festus shaped to make a fresh attack and lunged with his staff, aiming for the other man’s stomach. But Andreas, heavy and unfit as he was, had the reflexes of a cat and knocked the staff aside before countering with a jab at the Roman, which caught him a glancing blow off the ribs. Festus drew back and winced as he felt his side. He bowed a quick salute to his opponent, then took a long, deep breath and grasped his staff firmly again.
    Marcus felt a stab of concern for his friend but knew better than to intervene. Festus was a proud man, and any attempt to help him would only incur his anger. So Marcus lowered hisstaff and stood aside. Since he was the first to complete his fight there was one other task that fell to him. He looked around for the