SCARLETS DOMAIN

First, you should know who I am.

I am Antiope, named after the Amazon queen by my
mother, a great warrior before me. I am of the
Scythian race, and used to ride the steppes with my
brothers and sisters, inspiring fear in the hearts of
our enemies with our war cries.

That was until the Roman pigs captured me. They shot
my horse from under me, and I knew no more of it,
until I came round in a stinking cart, my fine scale
armour stripped from my body, and my weapons gone.

Captives become slaves, of course, and female captives
are always and will always be, the playthings of their
captors. Even if you were once a brave warrior, you
will eventually find yourself mewling under the
heaving body of some grunting man. Some even learn to
enjoy it.

Nevertheless, they knew it was too dangerous to sell
me to simple slavery, and so they gave me to Gladius
so that he could train me, and other women, to
entertain the perverted lusts of the decadent Roman
populace. One hesitates to call it fighting. There was
little honour there. We were forced to fight midgets,
animals and each other while the crowd roared with
laughter at our agony. They show respect only to the
male fighters.

Yet was such humiliation any more than I deserve? For
in the end I cannot say that I myself didn't take
pleasure from inflicting cruel death on my sisters.
As I rode after Karelia and Gudrun, the images sprung
clear into me mind, filling me not with loathing, as
perhaps they shuld have, but with pure lust.

I am waiting in the Arena pit with seven other young
women, also trained by Gladius. Some twisted senator
has paid him to stage a death tournament. Seven of us
will die, if not outright, then later of our wounds -
there are no surgeons for us. One, the victrix, will
be offered the prize of freedom, though I doubt that
will be honoured.

The tournament is about to begin and we have presented
ourselves to the snivelling dignitaries, senator
Maximus and his wife. I fought down the bile in my
throat, and the urge to spit it into his pudgy little
face, with difficulty. Even now, as I look out through
the bars across the empty arena, and listen to the
murmur of the expectant crowd, the sense of disgust
remains with me.

But I must concentrate on the battle ahead. With me,
are seven comrades who, despite the fact that we each
know that one day we may face the other in battle, I
have grown fond of, as humans do in adversity. Among
them is Karelia, a seasoned warrior from Brittania,
who sits with me preparing herself as I do. We do not
know each others tongue, but we both know the language
of war.

Each of us has been chosen because we have blood on
our hands. Some of us have been captured, as Karelia
and I were, fighting for our homeland in the outer
reaches of the empire, while others, such as Honoria,
were assumed to be bandits or brigands.

The first two to fight have been chosen, and are being
prepared for battle now. Dominia is an exception to
our band in that she is a freeborn Roman Citizen. She
was arrested for stabbing a brutal husband to death
and would have been executed, were it not for the
mitigating circumstances. Alas, committing her to the
arena is no mercy for her for she is no fighter. Best
to have had a quick execution. She does not belong
here. Nevertheless, the black part of me thrills at
the thought of making this high-born Roman squirm and
squeal at the point of my spear.

I can see the fear in her eyes, as her breastplate is
fitted. Her slight figure trembles uncontrollably. She
knows that she will not outlive the day, despite the
fact that she is the only one permitted to wear
armour.

Gladius prefers is to fight as nearly naked as
possible, since it appeals to the crowd, and indeed
Senator Maximus would wish us all to fight completely
naked, but even he fears the censure of the Vestals.

Gladius has allowed Dominia to wear a breastplate
partly because she is freeborn, and partly, I believe,
because he is soft on her. He has consistently kept
her from the more dangerous encounters, but now he is
to lose so many of his female stable, he has to make
sure that some of those he has left can put on a good
show. Dominia is not one of these and therefore must
be dispensable. He may hold a place in his heart for
her, but he is pragmatic.

Valeris the Hun, is not so fortunate in the favours
she attracts. It is she who faces Dominia in the first
battle, and although her size and power make her the
obvious favourite, I have watched her, and I know that
she is not a good fighter. Her eyes too, lack the
killer instinct, and I see her look pityingly at
Dominia as the secutors helm is placed over her blonde
head. Apart from a broad leather belt, from which a
strip of cloth protects her modesty, and her sandals,
she fights naked. I cannot help but admire her finely
muscled body, and the curve of her breasts. Nor can I
help regretting the fact that this blonde beauty will
have started to rot before the day is done.

The horns are sounding outside. The tournament must
begin. Valeris is given her trident and net, and
Dominia, her shield and short-sword. The traditional
gladiator garb, worn by women, will be a source of
delight to the crowd.

The crowd cheer as Dominia and Valeris face the
Senators box and salute. I wonder if the salute
sickens them as much as it does me. They may not be
good warriors, but they are worth ten of him and his
bitch-wife.

Then there is hush as they turn to face each other.

The atmosphere is broken as the fight begins, and as
Valeris swings her net half-heartedly at Dominia, some
watchers laugh disdainfully. Dominia steps back and
waves her sword at the air. There is fear in her eyes.
A warrior who shows such fear is a dead warrior.
unless, of course, her opponent is equally afraid.

I begin to feel tense. I know that this cannot be
allowed to continue for any length of time, and that
before long, impatient officials will release the
dogs, or let the house archers have their target
practice. Better a swift arrow, I feel.

Gladius knows this too. He shifts uncomfortably as he
watches with us, knowing that if the Senator gets
bored, he will be fed to the dogs along with his
gladiatrices.

So to, do Valeris and Dominia. The crowd begins to
chant and I can see Dominia on the verge of tears. She
sidesteps a telegraphed lunge from Valeris' trident,
and stands weeping.

Suddenly a howl of laughter arises from the mob. Its
cause is a dark stain in the sand between Dominias
legs. Her thighs glisten with the sign of her fear.

Perhaps it is this completion of her humiliation that
galvanises her into action. With a hysterical scream
she lunges at Valeris, her sword slashing wildly.
Valeris is taken by surprise, and only avoids
disembowellment, by knocking the sword aside with her
net. She screams as the blade bites into her forearm,
and staggers, dropping the net. She swings her trident
wildly, but Dominia is inside its reach, and the haft
clangs against her breastplate, knocking her to the
ground.

Unbalanced, Valeris falls on top of her, and for a
moment her near naked form pins the smaller girl.
Dominias sword lies on the sand, and Valeris lunges
for it, her trident useless to her now.

I can see Dominia bucking desperately to free herself
of her strong opponent. She emits cries of
desperation, but it is no good. Her body jerks
suddenly, and she screams as Valeris thrusts the point
of her sword into her exposed side underneath the
breastplate.

It is difficult to kill outright with a single thrust
of a bladed weapon, unless you are a competent fighter
and you know what you are doing, which Valeris does
not. Dominia's wound, although deep and grave, is not
immediately lethal, to Valeris' whimpering distress.
The wounded girl continues to writhe underneath her
opponent, blood gushing from the wound in her side,
crying pitiably.

In desperation, Valeris pushes down on the hilt of the
sword, and with Dominias hip bone as lever, the blade
slices upward inside her body, slicing vital organs in
her path.

It is then that Dominia, mercifully, utters her death
cry, and her body arches convulsively for the last
time, before subsiding while the final vestiges of
life twitch away.

For a few moments they lie together on the sand like
spent lovers. I remember my first kill, and the
turmoil of emotion it brought. I know what is going
through Valeris mind. I feel her confusion, as her
body reacts with with obscene perversity at the taking
of life. Her thighs move, and the muscles of her
buttocks quiver ever so slightly. the stain of her
lust spreads through the loincloth pulled tight
between her thighs.

I am only vaguely aware that my hand is pressed
against my own crotch, and from the heavy silence of
the girls around me, I know that they are feeling the
same.

Finally, Valeris staggers to her feet, looking down at
the lifeless Dominia, barely aware of the cynical
adulation of the crowd. As she walks towards us, a
slave emerges to remove the corpse.

He picks up one ankle and starts to heave it towards
the exit. Dominias tunic drags along the sand with her
blood, exposing her matted sex, which is open for all
to see, seemingly protesting against its sudden
irrelevance to the woman.

Valeris has first blood. I wonder who will have
second. As I turn away from the arena I see that
Gladius is looking at me. So I am to fight next. I
pray my opponent will not be Karelia, though I fear
that one of us will have to kill the other sooner or
later.

As Valeris returns, her body sheened in sweat, the
other gladiatrices turn their attention to her,
anxious to avoid Gladius eye. Fighting me, Antiope, is
not a prospect that many of them relish.

Kally, of course, is no coward, but Gladius will not
choose her. He wants to save that pairing until last.
There are only two others who do not a void his eye,
Mercedes and Lollia.

Mercedes is a noblewoman from Iberia. she has always
been wild at heart, with more care to follow her
instincts than protocol. An incident which resulted in
the death of a visiting generals favourite slavegirl
resulted in her being sold into slavery.

The unfortunate woman had summoned Mercedes to the
generals presence, and had wrongly assumed that
Mercedes would comply immediately. When she did not,
the woman threatened her with a beating.

I have seen Mercedes angry, and to most ordinary
people it is a terrifying sight. She is a tall woman
with long black hair, and a demeanour that tells you
that she is used to being obeyed. When aroused her
eyes flash fire, and her lips curl menacingly. I have
seen champion male gladiators cower before her.

With the generals companion, Mercedes found herself in
the unfortunate position of letting her fists do the
talking. She knocked the woman over a low table on
which stood a pair of wine glasses. Both glasses
shatters, and the stem of one of them drove up into
her back and into her heart, killing her instantly.

Mercedes was sold into slavery, where she caused her
new master so much trouble that he sold her, in turn,
to Gladius.

I see Gladius, now, looking at her appraisingly. She
glances at me, her eyes expressionless, and then looks
disdainfuly at Gladius. I wonder if she knows that to
face me means almost certain death. Although ferocious
in battle, and the scourge of the younger
inexperienced Gladiatrices, who are easly intimidated,
she is no match for a seasoned warrior like me or
Karelia. She has never challenged me on anything, so I
suspect that she does know. If so, I have to admire
her courage.

But Gladius moves away from Mercedes to Lollia. In
contrast to Mercedes, who wears a long blue silk robe,
Lollia is all but naked. Only a studded leather thong
preserves her modesty. Indeed, in her near-nakedness,
she exudes a raw femininity, but there is nothing soft
about her. One glance at her face will tell you this,
for she has the dead eyes of an experienced killer.

This is not the face of a soldier who kills in battle
with honour, for she was a member of a gang of common
cut-throats, arrested by the city guard. She managed
to convince the courts that she was merely a follower,
but the courts are fools.

I have seen her fight, and kill, and I know that she
is one who takes pleasure in the killing.

Gladius nods. I am to fight her.

She looks at me, and I see that cruel flame in her
eyes. Of course I should win, but the arena can be a
lottery, and nothing is certain. I quell an
involuntary shudder.

Gladius hands me my weapon. It is a spear with a
barbed tip, and a cross-spike half way down the shaft.
I don't like it. For one thing it is a cruel weapon
and one that no soldier would use by choice. If the
point were to penetrate a human body, it would be very
difficult to extricate, and the barbs would ensure
that the victims internal organs come with it. I am
happier with my curved Scyt sword, but all of my kin
were trained first as archers. I have sent a shaft
through the heart of many a Roman pig at 50 paces from
the back of my horse at full gallop while controlling
the beast with my knees.

Lollia smiles at me as her fists are bound with
studded leather. I have to be careful. If she gets
past my spear and shield, then a single blow could
finish me. I have no armour and a light leather jerkin
and kilt is all that protects my breasts and loins -
Lollias favourite targets.

As we enter the brightness of the arena, the crowd's
roar rises in anticipation. Whatever I might think of
them, their applause carries me away. Nevertheless,
this does nothing to dispel the apprehension I feel at
having to fight Lollia. I will be happier when this
bout is over.

"Shall I kill you quickly or slowly, bitch?" she
mutters as we walk. "Which do you think they would
prefer?"

I remain silent, ignoring her taunt.

We advance to the centre to salute the Senator and his
wife. As they acknowledge our salute, instinct tells
me that something is wrong.

I swing my shield around almost by instinct. Lollia,
true to form, has not waited for the signal to start,
and she almost had me.

I feel the impact of her studded fist on my shield and
hear her cry of anger and frustration, but she keeps
coming. I cannot use my spear, she is too close, and I
have to back away as her fists seek out my weaknesses.
I chop down my shield onto her fist as it drives
towards my lower belly, but as I do so, I leave my
head exposed.

For a moment there is blackness.

I am on the ground, and the side of my head is
throbbing. I know I have moments to live unless I act
fast. Quickly I raise my spear, and Lollia yells.

She has been forced to stop her death lunge and now
stares down at the point of my spear which is only
inches away from her breast.

She glares at me balefully, as I keep the point
trained on her from the ground. She tries to step
sideways, but my point follows her. She cannot get
near me for the moment, but it only requires a lapse
of concentration on my part.

Slowly, I get to my feet, my head throbbing, keeping
my eye fixed on her as I do so. I could try to force
her back, and maybe eventually, I would trap her
against the wall of the arena, where I could impale
her at my leisure, but I know she is too clever for
that.

I hate her. I hate her for her lack of honour, and for
the scum she is. I so want to thrust the spear into
her body, and twist it inside her, hearing her scream
in the way she has made others scream. But there is
more.

Her near nakedness seems to force itself on my
consciousness with its feminine curves. Her breasts,
so much more shapely than mine, quiver provocatively
as she moves. The soft feminine curve of her hips and
belly contrast with the battle hardened muscle of my
own body. Curls of dark hair escapes from her studded
thong, as if her very womanhood was taunting me.
Maybe, if she hadn't been who she was, we could have
been lovers, but as it is, the love I might have felt
for her sublimates into lustful hate.

I would simply lunge at her, in the hopes that I could
catch her by surprise and skewer her, but the risk is
too great. If I miss, then once again, she is inside
the range of my spear and I am dead.

Quickly, I formulate a plan.

I jab at her twice, and twice, she sidesteps, a smile
playing on her lips. I jab the third time,
telegraphing my move, and this time she grabs the
spear just behind the point and pulls.

She expects me to come within her range, off-balance,
but instead, I adjust the grip on my spear, so that I
hold its end, and nimbly skip behind her. She is
caught briefly by surprise, and I take the opportunity
to sieze the other end of the spear so that her body
is now between me and the spear, and I can now pull it
towards me and pierce her with the cross spike.

She realises what I am doing quickly, and grabs the
spear with her other hand, pushing out and locking her
arms, as she bellows with rage.

I lean back to make sure she doesn't have the leverage
to bend forward and make space for herself, and the,
grunting with exertion, I try to pull the spear
inwards.

It is useless. Her arms are locked straight and I
cannot break the lock. My head is pounding, and I know
that I must finish this quickly. I force the shaft of
the spear downwards. Against me, it is simply a trial
of strength.

She tries to push upwards, but inexorably the shaft
moves downwards, the cross-spike pointing towards her.
She tries to twist the spear so that the spike is away
from her, but the studded gloves are not designed to
grip.

She breathes hard with exertion, and my face is just
inches from hers so I hear the quiet whimper of
desperation she emits, when she realises for the first
time that she will die.

It is music to me.

She stares down in horror, as the shaft of the spear
with its wicked cross spike, moves inexorably towards
her lower body. With the spike just inches from her
belly, she screws her eyes, tight shut and bites her
lip, her whole body shaking with desperate exertion.
Beads of sweat form on her brow. I can feel her dark
hair against my cheek.

The sense power courses through my body, and I can
feel the passion begin to rise in my loins in reaction
to her mounting desperate distress.

The spike dimples her belly, just above her pubic
bone, and breaks the skin. then with a final exertion,
I pull the spear towards me as hard as I can.

She screams as the spike drives through her womb.

The first thought that strikes me is that the power of
her body to attract men to service her is redundant
now, since she will never be able to have children.

I release my grip, retrieving the spear with its now
bloody spike, and watch her sink to her knees,
clutching her wound and whimpering, as the crowd roars
its approval.

I walk around her, watching her carefully. I have seen
more gravely wounded warriors snatch a victory at this
point in a battle. As I move behind her I drop to one
knee suddenly, releasing my spear and shield, and
placing my left forearm on the back of her neck, I
grab her chin with my other hand. In a single movement
I snap her head back, hearing her vertebrae crack
satisfyingly.

Her body spasms, and then she collapses limply to the
sand.

I shuddered as my orgasm took me. Shaking myself, and
gently clearing my throat, I opened my eyes to see
Karelia and Gudrun riding together as before, unaware
of the twisted passion I had been enjoying alone. The
sun was setting, and it was time to rest. We still
had a long way to go.

Will continue in chapter 5...