Tarshi's expression was unreadable. "There is no incident," he said after a moment. "I lied."
My eyes widened. "You... why?"
He shrugged, an oddly human gesture from such an imposing figure. "You looked... uncomfortable."
I let out a bitter laugh. "That's one way to put it." I studied him curiously. "Why do you care?"
Tarshi was silent for a long moment. "I have seen enough suffering," he said finally.
“He’ll have you flogged for lying,” I said, studying the beast in front of me.
Tarshi's expression remained impassive. "I have endured worse."
I studied him, intrigued by this strange, alien creature who had come to my aid.
“You shouldn't risk yourself for me. I'm nobody."
"You are somebody," Tarshi said quietly. "We all are."
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.
Tarshi nodded, then glanced over his shoulder. "You should go. Drusus will return soon, and it would be best if you weren't here."
I hesitated, suddenly reluctant to leave. "Will you be alright?"
A ghost of a smile crossed Tarshi's face. "I have survived worse, little warrior. Go."
I turned to leave, but paused. "Tarshi... why do they keep you caged?"
His expression darkened. "They fear what they do not understand. And they are right to fear me. As should you."
I looked up at him, then reached out and laid my hand on his bare arm. Whatever the rumour about skin like stone or like snakes, it felt human enough for me.
“I don’t fear you. I fear for you.”
He looked down at my hand on his arm, and I withdrew it, worried I’d offended him.
“I’ll see you in the ring, Tarshi. Good night.”
He merely grunted as I walked away.
12
Dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold as I stood in the center of the training grounds, my heart pounding with anticipation. I had been training for over a week now, and it was a lot harder than I’d ever imagined. Marcus approached, his stride purposeful and his expression stern. He had summoned me early, having found some practice armour he wanted me to try. I think he'd wanted to give me a chance to practice with the weight of the armour before I joined in the real training, and I was glad of it. The leather skirt I wore was much shorter than my normal slave tunic, giving me much morefreedom of movement, but the leather vest was quite heavy and more restrictive. It was padded as well, which would help during sparring, but it was going to need some getting used to.
Marcus's eyes ran over my body, and I thought for a moment they lingered on the expanse of bare thigh.
"Ready?" he asked.
"More than ever," I replied, swallowing hard.
"Good. I just wanted to run through a few things before the others came out. Now. We start with your stance. A strong foundation is key to effective combat." He ordered me to plant my feet shoulder-width apart and bend my knees slightly. As I complied, Marcus circled me like a predator, scrutinizing every detail.
"Better," he said gruffly. "Now, we work on your strikes."
For the next hour, Marcus drilled me on various techniques—sweeps, jabs, and hooks—leaving my limbs sore and my knuckles raw. Sweat beaded on my brow, but I refused to falter, determined to prove myself worthy of his instruction.
"Again!" he barked, holding up a padded shield as a target. I gritted my teeth and lunged forward, driving my fist into the shield with all my strength. Marcus grunted, nodding in approval.
