As the sun sank in the sky, Jamukha spent his time practicing his swordsmanship against a wooden dummy. High, low, middle, low, high, he switched his attacks up faster and faster until his arm burnt with effort. When that became too dull to keep his attention, he found a quiet area and began to stretch his limps. This was a common practice among his tribe. For a people who spent most of their time on horseback, it was important to keep the muscles loose and flexible.
Jamuu found it strange, how much comfort he took in these familiar actions. For a moment, just a heartbeat, he could forget about where he was and what he had become. He was home again, lying in a grassy field as the sun touched the edge of horizon, stretching his legs after a long ride. He could feel the grass tickling the back of his neck, and smell cool night air, and he could see the faces of his tribesmen. He could see the faces of his brothers.
And then the executioner cracked his whip and barked his orders. Jamuu opened his eyes and he was back in the training yard of Varlen Marrick. Resigned, he stood up and followed the others into the slave?s entrance.
The armory was impressive. Jamukha had never seen so many weapons in one place before. Swords, axes, spears, there was enough to supply a small army. Though, Jamuu considered, that was essentially the point. What were they now, if not soldiers?
It wasn?t until they entered the medicus that the full measure of Jamukha?s situation fully sank in. Seeing the brand glowing orange and red, being pressed into the flesh of the slaves in front of him, Jamukha couldn?t help but feel a surge of fear rush upwards from his gut. He was a slave now, a piece of property to be sold and branded like an animal. Fear turned to panic, and panic to anger. He couldn?t, he wouldn?t let himself be marked in such a way. He was more than that, more than a slave.
When it was his turn he struggled, he shouted and cursed. He swung madly and broke a man?s nose; he knew not who it was exactly. But in the end he was subdued, and the fiery brand was pressed against his flesh, forever marking him as a slave. He wanted to curse, to scream and rip this flesh from his arm. But the pain smothered his screams in his throat.
He kept his head down for the rest of the tour, unable and unwilling to meet anyone?s eyes. He barely noticed the female gladiators, shouting and heckling the new slaves as they passed by. Jamuu was silent as well, until he heard the exchange between Rowan and the Pingla.
"I don't know, compared to my fight with Gaius today, you seem to be the most female fighter around here!"
?Careful Rowan,? Jamukha responded dryly, ?You don?t want him to pull your hair or bite your arm.?
When they arrived in the open cell intended for new slaves, Jamukha found himself a corner and prepared himself for a long and sleepless night.
