I was born a slave. The great Scipio Africanus conquered my father's lands, and my father fell honorably in battle. The Empire took pity on me; I spent the first two decades of my life working the fields for a kindly man, the sun in my face and a pleasant wind whispering through. 

The wind whipped around me now as the crowd roared, and flying sand stung my unprotected arms and legs. The sun beat down and threatened to blister my skin, but I hardly registered my discomfort; I couldn't afford to take my eyes off of my enemy.

I blocked a strike with the shield they had given me and I stabbed with my gladius, but the barbarian sidestepped the thrust a second too quickly. I felt the hatred rise inside of me like never before.

The slave had been given even less armor than I had, and his exposed pale skin simply looked ridiculous against the pale sand. A barbarian, he represented everything that the Empire hated. He represented the people who killed my master, the people who sentenced me to this hell. His people had taken my life away, they had ruined my best chance at freedom... But once again the Empire had given me a chance. It was now my duty to rid the world of condemned men... But this one was personal.

My attacks redoubled as I screamed my anger. The barbarian fought hard, but his inexperience in the arena betrayed him. He could not keep up. I could smell his terror.

"Crixus! Crixus!" 

The crowd cheered my name. It would be my eigth victory... But those things did not matter now. All that mattered was killing the wretch standing before me.

He swung his sword from over his head in a wide arc, and I had plenty of time to prepare. As I raised my shield above me I stabbed with my gladius, and the barbarian cried out in pain. His pale skin blossomed red, and his rusty sword thumped into the sand. I kicked his knee and drove him to the ground, and before he could react I pulled off his helmet.

I grabbed him by his blonde hair, I held my sword against his throat, and I looked up into the stands.

The crowd erupted louder than ever before, louder than I thought possible. My lord stood up and he nodded slowly. I grinned.

I looked down at the barbarian and drew my blade back... But the look in his eyes gave me pause. He held them wide, they shone blue in the light of the midday sun... And his face was twisted in such abject terror. I stared at him; his sword arm hung limp and blood streamed down from where I had cut him. He spoke quickly in his ignorant tongue... And it struck me how pathetic he looked. I made a decision.

I let go of his hair and kicked him back to the ground. The crowd murmured in confusion, and I threw down my sword.

My lord shook his head sadly.

"Crixus, I thought your hatred would make you strong!" He bellowed. "Bring in the lions."

The gate at the other end of the arena opened, and the two largest animals I had ever seen stepped onto the sand.

I said a prayer and picked up my sword, and I handed the barbarian his.

"Use your other hand," I said. He seemed to understand.

I held out my hand and he lifted his injured arm to grasp it. It was no longer the time for hate.