Walks the passage
towards the Gate of Light. Short tunic
covers not his long, lithe length.
Agile and quick.
His life blood dependant on his speed,
in this battle to the death.
Swaggering walk,
a headband to tame unruly hair,
his eyes kholled, his lips carmined.
No helmet for
retiarius. Only loin cloth
and padding to protect legs
In his right hand
a three pronged spear of death. The trident.
His left clutches the rete.
With spear and net
and speed, he prays that the gods will grant
him glorious victory.
The roaring crowd
grows silent. A tension fills the air.
Oiled body honed and ready.
A cup of wine,
A trumpet blast, thunderous applause
‘Usque ad mortem’ - To the death.
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