Hazing.

Nemis walked to the right of the Doctore, his Dual practice gladius pointing towards the ground in his hands. The followed a winding path that took them into the gladiator yard, 12 menacing looking and strong men clashing their swords against wood posts, practice dummies, or each other. The wooden clack of wood against wood drowned nearly every Other sound from the yard.

Doctore stopped as they entered, pushing Nemis before him with great strength, causing him to fall to the ground and roll in front of him.

“GLADIATORS!” The shout drowned out even the wooden clacking. The gladiators stopped their practice and lowered their wooden practice weapons. There was no formal salute or lining up of fighters, they simply stopped where they were and looked towards the Doctore. These weren’t soldiers, they were gladiators.

Once silence reined, the Doctore spoke again.

“We have a new recruit for the arena, a new brother for you, and another body to beat on!”

The gladiators laughed.

“This one is from my home country, trained by a master no less! Let’s show him a warm Roman welcome!”

“Who wants to test his ability?”

A menacing light-skinned gladiator stepped forward. He had a bald head, close shaven face, a large muscled body and a wooden trident and net. He was heavily scarred, burn marks on his right shoulder, scars on his face covering his lips, cheeks, and forehead. His naked abdomen had a puncture wound scar that puckered bear the ride side on his rip cage.

“I’ll fight the fresh meat.”

Nemis stared at him, his eyes wide as he saw the menace in the man’s blue eyes.

“Get ready, boy.”

Closing his mouth, Nemis raised his practice gladius’ and assumed a ready stance.

With no salute or question for readiness, the man trailed his trident and came forward.