The Ring, Page 2

leather breastplate, and flipped his sword in the air, leaping to catch it just in time to bring the flat of the blade down on his opponent’s head, knocking him out. Glen saw the look in Jason’s eyes, mischievous, ready to play, ready to win, so he waved another fighter into the ring. And another. And another. Until Jason defeated six young gladiators and could barely hold his shield up. Both men looked over at the suits in their secluded box above the ring, smiling at the sheer enthusiasm in their faces, not to mention the fear. Fear was good. Fear was very good. Jason saluted his coach as he made his way to the barracks to clean up, tapping the hilt of his sword to his forehead. Glen nodded, his face glowing with pride and pleasure. They were both about to become very rich men.

  ********************************************************

  “Are you going to tease me all night?” Jason smirked as he stepped back from Lehna’s ear, “Or are you going to, finally, tell me your name?” The Spartan quirked the right corner of her mouth, amused at the continuing persistence of this gladiator, “Well that depends,” she whispered, looping her arms around his neck. He kept his body stiff, glancing over her shoulder at her escort, who seemed very busy with the waitress at the bar, but Jason knew Friction had keen enough senses that one waitress wouldn’t distract him, “On what?” He asked returning his gaze to hers, eyes shining with childlike excitement. She leaned in pressing herself to his body tipping her head up until her lips brushed his ear, “On who you are.” Jason took a long breath, but she didn’t move back. Her presence was intoxicating, “I am Jason Price…” he barely spoke but she was close enough to hear him, “That’s not what I meant,”

  “Then what-“

  “You’re a gladiator?” Jason swallowed, nodded almost imperceptibly, “What is your gladiator name?”

  “I don’t have one…,” Lehna sighed disappointedly and stepped back, “Earn your name, and you’ll have earned mine” shaking her head, she joined Friction at the bar. Jason tried, and failed, to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, “Time for a cold shower…” he mumbled to himself as he snuck from the dining hall to find the valet with his keys. Glen would hate him for it, but he had to leave that suffocating dinner party. Gladiators can hardly be expected to abide such company as bureaucrats, Bosses, advertisers, and politicians for hour-long sponsorship meetings, much less a four-hour party. Besides, Jason had a fight the next night that he had to get ready for. He loosened his tie as he stepped into the foggy night, trying to remind himself why he’d become a gladiator in the first place. What was Bloodsport’s original appeal? Then he saw Blayne standing in front of his car, and he remembered. His brother was shaking. Jason knew what he wanted and started to pull out his wallet angrily shoving a wad of bills into Blayne’s trembling hand, and pulling him close.

  “What did I tell you about being in public?” Jason growled. Blayne’s eyes widened, his whole body proceeding to shiver even more, “I cannot be seen with you! Don’t you understand how it looks for me?” Blayne nodded and ran without a word, almost tripping over his own feet as he left the parking lot.

  “How’s Blayne?” Friction’s voice from behind made Jason tense and whip around, fists clenched threateningly. His body relaxed almost instantly when he saw who it was. Chris stomped out his cigarette, his eyes not leaving his rival, expecting some sort of answer. But Jason was not about to oblige for fear that whatever he said, or didn’t say, about Blayne would somehow be used against him in the ring. So, without making so much as a sound, without betraying his anger and frustration and fear at what Chris may have seen or heard, he got into his car and drove away.

  The next day, Jason got a call from Glen. Chris had asked for a challenge bout. Jason swore loudly into his cell phone, turning heads in the coffee shop he’d managed to loose himself in. Jason didn’t believe for a single minute that he was going to win this fight, but that hardly meant he was going to loose easily.

  “What did you do?” Glen shouted, grabbing both of the gladiator’s arms and shaking him. Jason tore himself from Glen’s grip, readjusting his breastplate, “Nothing!” Glen stepped back and glared. He knew Jason was lying. Chris had something, some kind of leverage over him. Glen continued to glare at his fighter, locking his gaze until Jason dropped his eyes, “Chris saw Blayne last night…” The coach’s eyes widened in fear, anger, frustration. Both men glared at each other for several minutes before Glen jerked his head toward the ring, and Jason slid his new helmet over his shaved head.

  “Jason!” gladiator faced coach once again, “you may as well leave your armor off. The Challenge is First Blood, sword and shield only.” Jason nodded, forehead creased, and stripped all of his protective padding before entering the ring to face a Newbie under Glen’s tutelage. The boy was young, 18 maybe 19 years old, and he was scared. This was his first day in the ring, and it promised to be fairly memorable.

  Jason struck without warning, sending the boy’s arm upward in an automatic defense. The steel of Jason’s sword cracked the novice’s shield and drove him into the ground. A brief struggle was quickly followed by Glen’s contracted EMT carrying the novice from the ring, unconscious and covered in blood.

  “Was that really necessary?” Jason swallowed his water slowly before turning to face his rival. Chris hid concern behind a cocky smirk, but Jason only saw his hubris. Each gladiator scanned the other with critical eyes, assessing weakness, points of attack, and power. A side affect of spending years training to fight as a gladiator is the ability to gauge an opponent without any physical contact.

  “How else is he supposed to learn?” Glen asked coming up behind Friction and finding a place by Jason’s side. Chris crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed, “do you mean the novice or Jason, cause they both have quite a bit to learn.” Jason took an offensive step forward, but was stopped by Glen’s strong hand coming across his chest, which made Friction grin even wider, mocking.

  “What are you doing here Chris?”

  “Came to bring you this,” Friction pulled an envelope from his back pocket and handed it to Jason, then turned abruptly and left. The envelope contained only a single photo of Chris, Jason, and Blayne from high school. It was taken at a wrestling tournament, where they all competed for their school, before the Price’s lost their father, before the worlds of three small-town boys were thrown upside down and collided with each other. Jason sniffed, trying to stem angry tears that he knew would inevitably flow as he watched Chris leave.

  We were friends once. Jason thought as he dodged consecutive low blows from Friction’s shield. Chris gritted his teeth, almost grinning as Jason sliced at an upward angle with his sword, barely missing his rival’s jugular, nicking his chin just below his jaw line. Friction smiled wider, his gaze drifting from Jason to his patron box on the edge of the ring. Jason followed his gaze until his eyes met Blayne’s. Then you fucked up my only brother.

  Jason took the moment he’d been given, swinging close and tight with his blade, bringing his shield in right behind it to finish the job. It worked. Chris fell backward landing in the sand with a grunt. Jason moved over his opponent, his sword to Friction’s chest, “you destroyed him!” Jason hissed leaning in as though to slit Chris’s throat. Despite the fact that Chris knew he was done, that Jason had beaten him, he argued his former friend’s logic, “It’s not my fault!” Jason ignored him, swinging his sword high to bring it down, giving Friction enough time to roll out of the way.

  “He never would’ve met Connie if not for you! You did this!” Chris dodged five consecutive blows, thankful the crowd couldn’t hear them.

  “Would you let me apologize?”

  “Don’t waste your breath!”

  “Please Jason I didn’t know about Connie then! I swear I didn’t know!” Jason drove his sword-heavy fist into Chris’s forehead. Chris fell to his knees, dazed, shield held high.

  “Do not address me that way. We are not f
riends,” another hard blow sent Chris reeling, “We are not brothers,” Jason felt Friction’s nose split beneath his knuckles. The crowd began to cheer: “Juggernaut! Juggernaut!”

  “You are not worthy.” A final blow sent Chris to the dirt, and the crowd cheered even louder, “To you I am only Juggernaut,” Jason spread his arms wide, sword and shield open, accepting his new title, then he threw down his sword and walked out of the ring. It was not a fight to the death, but it sure did feel like one.