The Arena

“My gear!”

The slaves heard her every word, even over the din of the Coliseum. Down below Julia’s opulent flat couch, they scrambled to get their mistresses’ gear. They wasted no time getting her things. One of them struggled to hold one of her daggers, still in its sheathe, which look like an unusually broad great sword in his hands. Three more of them carried out a single short sword. It was a huge, heavy thing for them, like a great plank of wood, nearly 10 feet long with sharp edges.

It took them about a minute to lift the sword and bring out from under the couch. By the end of it, their arms were marked with cuts, and bloodied, yet they made no complaint. Julia wasn’t fond of her slaves complaining; or speaking, for that matter, unless she spoke to them first. And Julia’s slaves learn quickly not to do things that Julia wasn’t fond of.  Instead, they set down the gigantic sword with the utmost care; their lives could be forfeit if the sword received the smallest scrape.

They heard movement above them, thousands of pounds shifting about on the bed. Then, a moment later, Julia leapt off the bed, landing with an uncanny lightness in spite of her immense weight. She was slender, standing just over 30 feet tall, wearing a brown leather cuirass with short red skirt. Her feet nearly missed two of her slaves, who were still struggling to hold up her short sword. 

One of the slaves reflexively looked back, to glance at the woman who had very nearly in his life. He glimpsed down at her feet, each of which was about the length of his upper body. And in doing so, he lost his grip momentarily. The sword slipped from his hands. The other slaves did their best to hold onto the huge sword, but it fell to the ground, clanging loudly against the red brick floor.

The slave knelt down and started to pick the sword up, but something pushed hard against his back, knocking him face first onto the ground. His neck grazed past the tip the sword, drawing blood; a little closer, and it might have slit his throat.

He heard his mistresses’ voice above him. “How dare you disrespect my things.”

The slave felt her long foot against his back, holding him against the ground. “That short sword was made by one of the best smiths in Rome. It’s worth more than your lives. Far more.” She pressed down harder on him, her toes pushing the slaves’ cheek against the hard stone floor. Then she pushed a little harder, and a little harder, on the side of her foot, and the front, until it looked like the slaves’ ribs were about to break, or his skull might cave in like a pumpkin. And she pushed a little harder on the heel, until it looked like his pelvis was about to crack. 

“It would feel good,” Julia said, “to feel your clumsy little body crushed under my foot.” She pushed down even harder. “But good slaves are regrettably hard come by these days, especially ones that speak Latin. You’re lucky you speak the mother tongue.”

Just when it seemed like the slave could take no more, she let up off him, and the slave breathed a long sigh of relief.

“Pick it up,” she said, “and be more careful next time. Put away the short sword, I won’t be needing it today.”

“Yes, Julia,” said the slave, looking up at his mistress. He turned away from her, but no sooner than he did, her foot pushed him down again, harder than before.

“ You worm! How dare you address me by name, as if we were equals! You are to address me as your grace, your highness, or your beauty. Master or mistress also suffice.” She put her right foot on his back, putting much of her weight onto him. “But under no circumstances are you allowed to refer to me by name. Under no circumstances will you ever be worthy enough to utter a single syllable of my name.” She pushed even harder, and he let out a scream. There was a popping sound, then a sickly cracking sound. “And under no circumstances… Under no circumstances, slave, are you to look upon my face.” Julia shifted her weight onto her right foot. She didn’t push down hard, or put any particular effort into it. Merely shifting her weight, however, was all it took. With a crunch, her foot crushed him like a bug; his entrails ran out under the sides of her foot, and blood ran along the cracks in the brick floor. Julia stepped off his body, and looked down pridefully at the mess she had made.

A slave still held Julia’s dagger. He stood there, staring at the ground, struggling to hold up the huge dagger with shaking hands. “Hand me the dagger,” Julia said. The slave did not respond at first. Julia walked up next to him, taking pleasure in the slave’s obvious fear. “Do you understand what I told you? Hand me my dagger.”

“Yes… Yes, your grace,” the slave said, still staring at the ground. Julia took the dagger from the overburdened slave, sheathe and all. 

***

Julia stepped out to the ledge. She looked down to the wide pit far below her, at the base of the Coliseum. There, in the sands of the arena, was the massive gladiatrix, lying on all fours like an animal. Were she standing up, the gladiatrix would have stood over 60 feet tall. Julia had studied the brute over the past few hours, watching its movements, learning its fighting style. She felt confident that she would win. The brute was far bigger than Julia, and certainly stronger, but Julia specialized in taking down larger opponents. And she liked a challenge.

Julia attached the dagger to her belt, and started to walk down the long stairway that led down to the next tier of the Coliseum. But, as she started, someone called for her: “your grace.” It was a royal guard, one who stood not quite as tall as Julia. The guard wore the standard Royal guard uniform, a Brown leather cuirass with She kneeled in front of the Princess. The guard looked down the ground, careful not to meet the royal girl’s gaze.

“Your grace, I come here on behalf of your mother, the Empress. In light of the gladiatrix’s recent growth, the Empress has decided it’s no longer safe for you to fight in the arena.”

Julia looked shocked. “What? But… I was to fight…”

“I’m sorry, your grace, but my orders come directly from the Empress. She asked that I escort you back to her throne. Please… Come with me.”

Her look turned to anger. “How dare she order me around like this!” Julia stood there for moment, staring off into the distance. Then, an instant, her demeanor suddenly changed. No longer upset, she looked utterly pleased with herself. “So she doesn’t want me fighting, does she? Well, she’ll have to stop me.”

With that, Julia sprinted off. The guard gave chase, but couldn’t keep up, and was quickly left behind. Julia was nothing if not quick. She made her way down one tier of the Coliseum, then another, leaping down empty stairways and over barriers. Soon, she was near the lower levels, where helots and slaves were densely packed together. Julia stopped. She turned around, and realized that the guard stopped chasing her long ago. They were no reinforcements coming after her. No one coming to drag her back to her mother; to drag her away from the fight. 

***

In the distance, loud drums started to play. Someone had recognized her, and realized she was coming down to fight. It was common knowledge in the arena that drums signaled a new challenger. Eyes started to turn away from the gladiatrix, sweeping over the Coliseum. Julia stood confidently, raising her sword above her head. Soon, every eye in the Coliseum was on her. A loud cheer rang out through the crowd. The cheers grew in strength until it seemed that they must have echoed to the farthest reaches of the Empire. 

In the center of the arena lied the gladiatrix, whose bestial fury had for once subsided. Tired from the slaughter, the gladiatrix now lay there on her side. Few of the male gladiators were still alive, and none of them dared attack her.

Julia climbed down the stairs the lowest tier, of the Coliseum. Between her and the gladiatrix was a sea of people: tens of thousands of low born men, helots and other masterless slaves, crowded together densely. They were looking up at her, with a mix of admiration, awe, and desire. The bottom tier was huge, stretching on for nearly a mile in each direction. There must have been hundreds of thousands of them, all crowded together so tightly that they could scarcely move.

Julia wasn’t one to a minor matter like a crowd deter her. Instead, she merely started walking towards the center of the arena, where the gladiatrix was waiting. The crowd of men did their best to clear out of her way, but their best wasn’t good enough. People pushed, and shoved, knocking each other down onto the ground. She took her first step, and felt her left foot crushing a man’s legs into the ground. Another, and her right foot knocked a man down, before crunching his upper body flat. Every step brought with it that same familiar crunching sound, the one Julia was so fond of. It took certain amount of effort for her to walk on them without losing her balance. She wasn’t yet like her mother, who was so colossal and size that she could walk upon crowds of men like they scarcely existed at all. For Julia, it was like walking on a thin layer of snow, where the ground depressed slightly with each step.

Julia continued across the crowd, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. Julia watched the men scramble away on the ground. Their fear amused her, not that it was unwarranted. With each step, another man’s body was crushed like a bug under her feet. Sometimes she would go out of her way to step on a particularly juicy-looking man, just so she could hear them crush under her foot like a dried leaf.

Soon, she had passed through the crowd. A ring of armed and armored male soldiers circled the arena. She made a point of stepping over them, careful to avoid their spears, which could stab like needles into her feet. 

***

In front of Julia lied the arena; white sands spotted with red blood, and littered with broken bodies. In the center was the gladiatrix, who was sprawled out across the sand, facing away. Julia started towards her slowly. The gladiatrix didn’t respond to Julia’s movement; she remained still. But as Julia came closer, she began to realize the sheer size of her opponent. The gladiatrix was twice as tall as her, yes, but it was more than that. Twice the height meant she had eight times the mass, and eight times the strength. It meant that the gladiatrix was big enough to throw her around like a toy, or crush her underfoot.

Julia readied her dagger. But just as she started to pull it out of its hilt, the gladiatrix started to move. The colossal giantess stood up slowly, the sand streaming off her back as she turned towards Julia. The gladiatrix stood in front of Julia now, completely naked, her clothes and restraints having broken off. Indeed, she stood more than twice as high as Julia, and looked vastly larger. The top of Julia’s head didn’t quite reach up to the bottom of the gladiatrix’s crotch. Julia, slim and slender, realized that her entire body was smaller than one of the gladiatrix’s legs. 

The crowd cheered wildly. Julia tried her best to look confident. The gladiatrix glared at her, before letting out a long, bestial roar.