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"What do you think, love?"

Tycho had to repeat his question.

Elak had found himself lost in the cold grey spheres that were meant to be Sulla's eyes. There before the two, stood not a gleaming monument of remembrance, but a shrine. It was nestled into a damp corner of the pit, doomed to be seen by none. The small idol shared characteristics with those which watched over homes. The cheetah's blood boiled.

"It is an insult. Both to my honor and to those who have met death in this wretched place."

Tycho stared forward at the figure. His voice cracked. "Murmillo isn't even with him..."

The cat wanted to scream. He had been severely injured, had his lover's life threatened and was forced to kill a good man, all for the pleasure of a madman who only wanted to flaunt his great wealth.

"Curses be unto the consul." He mumbled. "A man who does not keep to his word deserves no serenity. Let his vile blood flow into the streets, and let his guts be picked clean by the carrion birds."

As he trembled, Tycho leaned into him and stroked his back.

"I would very much be pleased to know how you like it." A deep voice sounded from behind them.

A squeak escaped Tycho's maw as he jumped. The hairs on the back of Elak's neck stood on end. Without hesitation, the two turned to face their patron.

The consul was a man of little shame. Etchings on buildings throughout the city proved that most thought of him that way, yet no one dared speak ill of him aloud. He wore little underneath his white and purple robes, flaunting his great gut to anyone who had the pleasure of seeing him up close. His pink skin was oily, and he gave off a foul scent as he spoke.

"I hope you appreciate how I have kept to the old ways, you both made for quite the show a few days ago, and as such you have certainly earned this reward."

Elak's eyes darted around the faces of the heavily-armed centurions that suddenly surrounded them.

He wanted nothing more than to take it upon himself and murder the grotesque creature that spoke to him with his bare hands, but he knew his revenge would only put Tycho in danger.

"What brings Caesar to these dark halls?" He asked.

The pig grinned, extending his arms in Elak's direction. "It is you, my son, that brings me here!" He approached the carnivore and wrapped his ringed fingers around his shoulders, planting kisses on both of his cheeks. It took all of Elak's power not to pull away from him.

"You will be pleased to know that I have another fantastic opportunity for you!"

The cheetah's heart sank. He had yet to fully recover from his most recent ordeal. He would fight to his death for Tycho, but he was unsure if he could protect him in his current state. He turned his head to where Tycho was supposed to be standing, only to find that the otter had fallen to his knees in the presence of the consul. The pig shook his round head.

"There is no need to concern yourself over your beloved. He has already been granted the right to live at your side with your most recent victory. I am many things, but most of all, I am a man of my word."

The cheetah could practically feel the presence of the bull figure behind him. He bit his tongue.

"I have chosen you, of all the gladiators in this great city, to be my champion for a private match. You shall come to my hall and perform against an opponent, chosen by my guest."

The pig turned to his side, quickly becoming bewildered by the empty space next to him.

"And... Where is my dear Artaxerxes?"

"He is here, Caesar!" A shrill voice shouted from across the halls. "I believe he has chosen his champion for tonight!"

The pig clapped his hands together. "Wonderful! Come, come, let us meet your opponent!"

With a wave, the centurions around him marched forward, parting a sea of slaves as they moved.

The small group strode through the dark corridors of the barracks until they reached the gladiators' living quarters, where fearful and curious eyes watched them from the cells that lined the walls. There Elak held his breath, for before him stood a creature like none other. It had the body and tufted tail of a lion but a sharp beak and piercing eyes marked its head as unmistakingly avian, although it was crowned with a pair of ears that looked equine. The man wore a richly-coloured tunic and trousers of silk that were reminiscent of a peacock's feathers, and from his neck hung an exquisite gold chain set with deep blue stones.

"A griffin," Tycho whispered, "I thought they were no more real than drakes and chimeras."

"Here you are!" the consul exclaimed and spread his arms wide, "You almost gave me a fright..."

"Forgive me, my dear Crassus," the strange hybrid replied in flawless if slightly accented speech, "But with so much choice around me I felt like a child in front of a sweetmeat stall."

The pig grinned. "Oh, I know that feeling all too well. But I am told you have already picked your champion?"

A scream rang from farther down the hall, causing all present to turn their heads. "Yes," Artaxerxes said with a delighted chuckle, "And I think you will agree he is quite the specimen."

Tycho gripped Elak's arm tightly as they and the two masters headed for the direction where the cries had issued. Another high-pitched whine arose from a hidden throat and suddenly a pair of hands gripped the bars of one of the cells.

"Mercy, oh mercy... I can take no more..."

The dim light of the torch on the wall illuminated the pale figure of a dalmatian. The slave was utterly naked, and sweat dripped from his agonized face to run down his spotted chest. He had barely finished his plea that a heavy hand slapped him from behind, sending his head slamming against the iron bars that separated the cell from the corridor.

"I will stop when I am satisfied and not before..."

From behind the dalmatian emerged a huge, molossus-like white dog, with a heavyset square jaw and massive arms that were almost as thick as a man's thighs. He was buried deep into the smaller canine, and the tortured expression of his victim left little doubt as to the size and girth of his manhood. Without regard for the yelps that escaped the slave's lips he began to thrust again and again until a guttural growl marked his orgasm.

"Every night, you hear me? Every night. And make sure you put more heart into it next time," he huffed into the sobbing dog's ear.

With that he brutally withdrew from the other male, his still-swollen knot plopping out of the slave's tailhole with a wet squelching noise. The dalmatian let out a shrill cry and passed out, his body slipping down the bars and collapsing into a heap at the mastiff's feet.

"Pathetic wretch. I should throw you to the stallions so that you learn how to serve a man," the dog snarled and rested a clawed foot on the slave's unconscious face.

"Monster..." Tycho gasped and buried his head in Elak's chest. The cheetah bared his teeth but said nothing. Gladiators had the right to use their servants as they pleased, and before every fight the thought that he might die and that Tycho might fall into the hands of one of the beasts that dwelled in the fighting pits made him sick to his stomach.

The mastiff turned to face the newcomers, unfazed by the high rank of his visitors or by his own nudity. He was only slightly taller than Elak but far more heavy, with a stout black-tipped muzzle, cropped ears and a short coat of white hair that made his muscles stand out under his pinkish skin. His body was one forged by a life of constant struggle, and his chest and face were criss-crossed with scars inflicted by blade and claw. Between his legs a massive canine tool glistened red in the torchlight.

"Are you just here to look or do you also wish to lick me clean?" he said.

"You impudent..." a centurion shouted and unsheathed his sword.

"No need for that," the consul said and shooed the soldier with a gesture. "Yes, I can see he is quite the rascal. But his guts, and the rest of his anatomy, are admirable... What's his name?"

"His name is Draxos," the grizzled wolf that served as master of the gladiators said, "A barbarian from beyond the northern border. Strong as a wild boar, and twice as dangerous. He has already killed two of my best men during training."

"An exceptional fighter then. You must be very proud of him," Artaxerxes said, drawing closer to the caged hound.

"Careful, my lord," the wolf warned as a growl escaped Draxos's throat, "And no, he has already cost me too much trouble and money. To tell the truth I am planning to have him put to death during the next games."

"Oh, so surely you will not mind me taking him off your hands..."

The griffin stopped in front of the dog and slipped a hand between the iron bars to stroke his dangling penis. "What do you say, Draxos? Your life, your freedom and a bag of gold if you become my champion for one night."

The dog's defiant growl turned to a low rumble and then stopped as the strange foreigner caressed his genitals. He smirked and Elak glimpsed a mixture of savage lust and cunning in his eyes.

"I accept, but I want an advance payment," he said, licking his lips.

The griffin retracted his clawed hand, chuckling.

"You foolish brute, coin is nothing without the freedom to spend it."

The mastiff crossed his toned arms, gesturing with his head towards a lithe fox attendant, standing cautiously behind the consul. He was a young man, perhaps just old enough to take a wife. He had brilliant golden fur, and was garbed in a white tunic, held together by a leather belt around his waist.

"I said nothing about coin." The dog flashed a toothy grin as life slowly returned to his ruby manhood.

The fox scoffed, clearly amused, if not slightly disgusted by the suggestion. He stepped forward to speak, no doubt to reprimand the slave for making any demands of his superiors, but he was stopped by Crassus' fat hand on his chest.

"C-caesar?" His shrill voice cracked.

Ignoring him, the pig nodded at Artaxerxes. "Are these terms acceptable to you?"

The griffin rested his hands on his hips, his eyes looking up and down Draxos' form.

"I should think so, Caesar, so long as you have no objections."

"I-I am his most loyal-" The young man silenced when Crassus's hand wrapped around his maw.

"Then it shall be done," he said. "Consider this one of the many gifts I shall give to you during your stay here. I should hope that, upon your return to the east, you will tell your people how graciously you were served."

Artaxerxes placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head. "Your generosity will not be forgotten, and when Caesar inevitably graces my lands with his presence, you can rest assured that he shall be treated with the same respect."

The pig smiled, and released the vixen's maw. "Well said! Draxos shall be your champion this evening!"

"N-no!" The fox yelled. "This can't be! Please!"

Crassus didn't bother to look back at him, or even acknowledge him in any way. His attendant seemingly ceased to exist, and taking his place was another faceless slave who meandered in the depths of the arena. With a wave of his hand, a couple of centurions hesitantly seized the young attendant by the arms.

"CAESAR! CAESAR! I HAVE BEEN NOTHING BUT LOYAL TO YOU! PLEASE DON'T SUBJECT ME TO THIS FATE!" The fox pleaded, kicking his feet as he was dragged into the mastiff's cell. The consul raised his voice to speak over the wailing.

"Shall I take you to the forum?"

The gate screeched open.

"I WILL ALWAYS BE LOYAL! I WILL ALWAYS BE GOOD!"

Artaxerxes nodded. "I have long been curious about the taste of this... garum, you call it?"

"THIS MUST BE IN JEST! PLEASE- AUGH!" The wind was knocked out of the small male as he was thrown forcibly to the floor of the cell, yet he recovered quickly and scrambled to his feet. He tried to bolt for the cell's exit, but it was in vain. As quickly as he stood, a meaty paw caught him by the neck.

"Horrible..." Tycho whimpered below Elak's chin.

The cheetah watched as the party of armed guards marched forward, shielding Crassus and the foreigner as they shared a laugh. It was then that he realized just how much in life the consul took for granted. Gladiators could only dream of making enough money to simply walk out of the arena. They dreamed of being able to carry themselves with some level of respect and live a life outside of the blood-stained walls. The pig could go anywhere he wished, and throw other lives away like they were the leftover bits and bones of a feast. The cat trembled as rage flared up in him again. The consul did not deserve that privilege.

He looked into his opponent's cell, watching as he lifted the young fox by the neck. He thrashed about in his grasp, gasping for air and kicking his feet.

"Shall we see what you call manhood, little one?" The white hound growled and reached up between the fox's tunic, feeling around between his thighs as tears welled in the ex-attendant's eyes.

"Draxos is your name?" Elak asked from the other side of the bars. "You are named after a God?"

The mastiff began to tear through the fabric of his prey's clothing. "I didn't choose the name, but I feel it suits me." Having freed the slender male's genitals, he bent down, shoving his muzzle into them and inhaling their scent. The fox whined and shivered.

"You don't have to do that." Elak pleaded.

The dog only grunted in response and dropped the fox to the ground. As the young one coughed violently, finally being permitted air. Draxos walked over to the bars of his cell, his pulsing member waving with each step he took. He was clearly a man of no shame.

"You are my opponent?" He asked.

"I am," Elak replied, his hold on Tycho growing stronger.

The mastiff licked his chops. "You should watch then. Prepare yourself for what I'm going to do to you and the little whore you've got in your arms there." He turned and walked back towards the fox, who cried for help and scrambled to a corner.

"He has done nothing to you, it is the consul you have quarrel with... Let me help you." Elak said.

"Please... D-dont... Mercy..." The fox mumbled.

The dog leaned down, lifting the vixen by the waist and turning him to face the wall. "Tell me how good it feels," he demanded, lifting the young man's bushy tail.

"You are taking your revenge on the wrong person," Elak said.

The mastiff gripped his erection by the knot and guided it to the fox's backside. The smaller male shouted in terror as he was slowly impaled by Draxos's tip. The dog reached around and grabbed the young one's jaw. "Shh shh shh... This is only the beginning," he whispered into his ear.

"Stop this! Please!" Tycho screamed.

Draxos again ignored them, pushing himself deeper into the fox. "With my victory this evening, I think I'll make a show of it, perhaps I can request a statue be made in your honor?"

Elak remembered Sulla's dying eyes, and he was overcome with both grief and rage. "Do you not have any respect?! Do you not wish to take revenge on those who have truly hurt you? I AM TRYING TO HELP!"

Draxos laughed, now slowly thrusting into his new toy. "You speak like you are just! You assume that this is vengeance, that I have some deep-seated hatred for the consul, and that I somehow need your help." He grunted as the fox below him cried. "This is not revenge, and I did not ask for your help. What I do, I do for myself. I am a warrior who was about to be put to death. I do not seek any man's approval." He gritted his teeth as he forced himself even deeper into the vulpine. "Do me a favor, and keep your body warm for me this evening."

...

Elak was led into the consul's estate through a side entrance reserved for servants, far from the eyes of the more honored visitors. Even then the moonlit splendor of the grand buildings and carefully manicured gardens left him speechless. The subtle fragrance of unknown flowers filled his nostrils and the crystalline song of carved fountains hummed in his ears as he and Tycho were escorted towards the hall where the fight was to take place. How many lives of thankless toil would a common man need to spend to acquire just one of the marble statues that adorned the villa's grounds?

He did not dwell on such thoughts for long, however, as he and his lover were now in sight of the banquet-hall itself. The place was wide and open on the side of the garden, so that the diners could enjoy the fresh evening air as they feasted. Lamps of perfumed oil illuminated gilded rows of opulent couches on which richly-dressed men and women lounged while slaves of both sexes, their bodies clothed with nothing but garlands of leaves and flowers, attended to their needs with brisk, graceful steps. The intricate to-and-fro of the waiters and cupbearers was rhythmed by the tunes coming from the flutes and lyres of musicians but as Elak and Tycho walked along the columns that flanked the hall a tan-furred impala tripped and spilled a plate of roast meat on one of the guests.

"Oh no... please forgive me..." the herbivore stuttered and fumbled for a piece of cloth to clean up the mess.

The man rose from his couch and tossed his goblet aside. He was a marten, with russet fur and wearing the white toga of a patrician. He looked about the same age as the servant, but flames of wine-fueled anger burned in his eyes.

"I am dreadfully sorry, noble lord," the head slave pleaded as he hurried to the scene and grabbed the wild-eyed antelope by the wrist, "I will severely punish this clumsy fool myself. But please, do not let this incident spoil your evening."

"The whip. Now," the marten hissed between clenched teeth.

The cheetah and the otter averted their eyes as the crack of the lash and the shrieking of the slave began to mar the delicate music of the flute and lyre-players. A cry, more blood-curdling than the rest, made Tycho turn his head and catch a glimpse of the punishment. The impala lay curled up on the floor, one hand shielding his face from the relentless blows and the other his genitals. The otter tightened his grip on the bigger male's arm but Elak pressed on. Tonight they would be lucky to save themselves.

The pig lay in the center of the hall, with Artaxerxes reclining in a place of honor next to him. Before them a naked tiger and tigress danced, jumped and bent their sleek bodies with erotic suppleness for the viewing pleasure of the two masters.

"I hope that the entertainment is to your liking," Crassus said and picked a honeyed cake from a plate, "I wasn't sure if your tastes leaned towards boys or girls."

"I do appreciate the attention. Variety is key to a pleasurable life, and I enjoy both depending on my mood," the eagle-headed man replied and eyed the pair of orange-and-black felines with the nod of a connoisseur.

The two dancers clasped each other's wrists and an instant later the lady tiger was balancing herself with her legs in the air, her hands resting on her partner's. The male raised his arms, lifting the tigress above his head. She remained still as a statue as she rose higher and higher above the hard marble floor, and for a handful of heartbeats the spectators were treated to the sight of two bodies, one lean and muscular, the other lithe and graceful, in perfect unison.

"Truly, these two are a delight to behold, and I might just borrow them for a private lesson," the griffin said as the tigress landed on her feet with a perfect somersault, "But such acrobatic tricks would be the simplest of entertainments at my court. One day I must tell you about the fire-breathing birds that dwell in the high crags of the eastern desert, or about the deadly lizard-men of the deep jungles whose serpentine undulations can hypnotize those who watch them for too long..."

"Oh, I can never tell which of your tales are truth and which ones are jest," the pig frowned his silky eyebrows and dipped his snout in his cup, "But we are about to see a spectacle which will surely be new to one such as you."

A murmur rose from the crowd and suddenly the cheetah beheld the white figure of a mastiff coming from the other end of the hall. Draxos was flanked by two centurions, their hands at the ready on the pommels of their swords. He wore a thick leather belt with a loincloth wrapped around his waist as well as a bronze armguard, and behind him shuffled the pathetic figure of the fox, his head held low and his golden fur tangled and matted with filth. The vulpine servant was half-bent under the weight of his master's weapons, and the bristles on Elak's neck rose as he recognized the deadly net and trident of a retiarius.

By comparison, Elak felt rather unprepared for the night's events. Neither Crassus nor his servants had ever come to him with armor or weapons. He had walked into the consul's gilded halls dressed like the slave he was. It struck him that he hadn't been informed much about the fight at all. The cheetah had grown accustomed to being briefed about his role in the day's games and their thematic beats, ensuring that he would put on a satisfactory performance. Pain shot up his leg when he remembered the last time he was thrown into the arena unawares.

As the two fighters approached one another, the hall fell into silence. Along with their words, the other senators, nobles and aristocrats held their drinks and food, anxiously waiting for Crassus to speak. Elak stared into his opponent's confident eyes, finding them devoid of any doubt or regret.

Crassus stood from his seat and cleared his throat. "My friends, need I tell you about the two men who stand before you tonight? I shouldn't be surprised if their names have reached the heavens at this point."

His comment received some laughter. Draxos snorted and grinned.

"No, I shall not bore you with details that you already know. There are likely many of you who would claim either Draxos or Elak as your most cherished of gladiators. We are here today to celebrate our comradery with king Artaxerxes, for we can avoid acknowledging the blessings and comforts of the east no longer. Here, I toast with a cup forged by oriental craftsmen. I have no doubt that many of you are bejeweled in the finest silvers and lapis from his land. Tonight, we feast in honor of our most cherished guest, who would now like to speak."

The pig raised his cup triumphantly in the air, and took a sip while reviving applause. He walked back to his couch as the griffin greeted his hosts, choosing to remain reclined as he spoke.

"Caesar, I am humbled by your generosity." His leonine tail flicked up and down from behind him. "And by the generosity of you all! I am proud to say that I have never been treated with such kindness in any other kingdom, even those under my jurisdiction." Cheers erupted from the audience, and Crassus smiled and waved his hand to quell them.

"I speak the truth when I say that I find many of your customs curious," the feathered man continued. "But none more fascinating than the gladiatorial games. I am grateful to be able to indulge in this aspect of western life tonight, while also sharing an aspect of the east with you all. Where I am from, we tell a story of how our land was once besieged by a mighty power from the sea.

His sharp eyes scanned the room, almost trying to catch someone ignoring him.

"'Savages' they called us. 'Barbarians'. They came in their mighty ships and slew us by the thousands. They claimed it was in the name of their empire."

The king chuckled and drank from his cup.

"They thought they had us beat. But what our land lacked in valuable ore, it made up for in the resilience of her people. Armed with only our talons and sticks, we drove off the invaders and won our independence on this very day. Of course, I don't put much stock in ancient tales, but I do believe that, hidden in every story, there lies some discernible truth."

He gestured to the center of the banquet hall, where the fighters and their companions stood.

"Tonight, two men stand before us: one, geared in the armor and weaponry of the sea from which the invaders came, and the other, having to fight with only his swiftness and impenetrable will. Gentleman, tonight we celebrate the holiday known as Tordaxa, and you will see for yourselves if willpower is truly a match for bronze."

Applause. Elak glanced worryingly at Tycho, who returned his gaze. Draxos licked his chops and gripped his trident. The cheetah knew that the odds were against him, even before taking his wounded leg into account.

"Well said my friend! Well said!" Crassus's voice once again echoed throughout his domain. "Your inquiry inspires me! Come, all, I shall stall no longer, let us seek the truth together!"

Tycho grabbed Elak's hand and whispered a short prayer before being escorted from the sight of the onlookers. He was soon followed by the fox, who seemed in a daze as he walked by with his head held down in shame.

The cheetah's heart raced when he found himself standing alone in front of his opponent. His mind went back to the fight with Sulla. As far as he was aware, the threat of death did not loom over him here like it did then, yet he could not shake the feeling that something was amiss.

The two warriors slowly circled each other in the wide space that had been prepared for them among the dining-couches. "I'll gut you and then I'll skin you. Your pretty pelt will make a good rug when I fuck that little otter-slut," Draxos snickered and flashed his powerful teeth. Elak ignored the taunt and studied his opponent. Despite his brutish countenance the dog was a careful fighter, and the cheetah could detect no openings in his defenses. Suddenly the canine sprang forward, aiming his trident at Elak's throat. The feline had seen the blow coming and easily dodged it, but when Draxos followed up on his attack with a broad slash he had no choice but to leap out of the way of the sharp blades. A red-hot needle of pain shot up his leg as his foot bore the full weight of his body. Years of training and discipline had drilled into him the need to master and hide his suffering, but even though the wince that came over his features lasted but an instant it was enough to make Draxos grin cruelly. His probing blows had unveiled his opponent's weakness.

"I could kill you right now, but I want to give the public a good show. These perfumed ladies love nothing more than the scent of slave blood. I bet I'll bed a couple of them after my victory."

Elak drew a deep breath and resumed his circling. Overconfidence had cost many a gladiator his life, yet Draxos had every right to feel confident. The cheetah took note of his few advantages: the dog's trident gave him a long reach but it was a clumsy weapon at close range, and his net could not be thrown freely in a small fighting-space surrounded by spectators.

"Tomorrow it will be your carcass that the ravens feast on," Elak grinned back, "The refuse-heap will make a fine cairn for one such as you."

Draxos growled and readied his trident for another thrust, but before he could strike Elak stepped back, moving to the very edge of the fighting-circle. Behind him, less than an arm's length away, was one of the guests, a chestnut-furred hare holding a cup of spiced wine in his hand. The man had been watching the battle with undisguised interest, clearly congratulating himself on picking one of the best seats, but now his eyes went wide and his ears began to shake visibly as the fight drew too close for his comfort. The dog grunted and held back his blow. Had the man been a mere plebeian he would have happily skewered both hare and cheetah but even he knew that shedding the blood of a nobleman meant a drawn-out, agonizing death. He manoeuvered to the cheetah's left, seeking a better angle of attack, but the feline swiftly moved along the circle, always keeping a hapless spectator close to him. Perhaps it was fear of offending the consul, or perhaps it was reluctance to show cowardice in front of so many, but although all trembled in fear, none of them got up from their assigned couches to retreat to a safer spot.

"Very clever," Draxos said after a long, fruitless chase, an undercurrent of reluctant praise in his voice.

"Cleverness is the only weapon I have, but give me your trident and I'll show you how I stand my ground," the cat purred, his supple body ready to pounce or retreat again.

"I think I'll take your head and put it on a spike at the training-grounds, so you can share your wisdom with the young warriors," the dog said, gripping his weapon tighter.

Draxos dashed again and, using his net like a lash, sought to ensnare the elusive cheetah. But instead of dodging the blow, as the mastiff had expected, Elak plunged forward, coming body to body with Draxos. With a feline hiss he raked the dog's face with his claws. The blinded hound howled in pain in surprise and before Elak could have a go at his jugular he flailed his mighty arm. The blow wasn't aimed but it caught Elak on the side of the head and was enough to send him tumbling to the floor with his ears ringing.

"Damn you, DAMN YOU!" Draxos roared and lifted his trident high above his head. Blood poured down his white face and muzzle, mixing with the froth that issued from his slavering jaws. Tycho let out a shrill cry as the deadly blades missed Elak by a hair's breadth, though one of the sharp teeth bit into the skin of his arm as he rolled out of the way. The second rage-filled blow went wide, and one of the blades shattered like glass when it collided against the priceless mosaic floor.

Elak half-ran, half-scrambled to the other end of the small arena, hoping to steal a handful of seconds to catch his breath. His leg was now in constant pain from the exertion, and he wasn't sure how much more quick dodging he could perform. The hound also marked a pause to shake the blood from his eyes, sending a splatter of crimson arcing to the floor. Elak's heart sank as Draxos's hate-filled gaze fell on him. His claws had added a number of new scars to the gladiator's face and shredded one of his ears but his eyes were intact.

"You shouldn't have done that. You could have died quickly."

He covered the distance between him and the cheetah in two leap-like steps and swung his weapon like a sword, cutting the cat's tunic and drawing blood from his chest. Elak yelped in pain and staggered backwards but Draxos grabbed the collar of his tunic. The fabric gave way with a rip and the cat fell, landing on both hands. Before he could get up the dog caught him by the scruff of his neck, lifted him off his feet and tossed him like a doll. Elak landed on a low table laden with food and drink, and this time the nearby guests started from their couches, their eyes wide with fear.

"Ooh, my champion is losing but what a show!" the consul squealed with glee and clapped his pudgy hands.

"Yes, it looks like his nine lives have all run out," the griffin concurred and drained his cup.

"Enough! You'll kill him," Tycho screamed and ran towards the mess of broken wares and spilled wine, but before he had covered half the distance a centurion caught up with him and wrapped a mighty arm around his neck and the other around his stomach. The otter could only struggle uselessly as his dazed lover tried to get up to his feet.

Elak crawled on all fours, bare-chested and with blood streaming from his pectoral and arm. He felt around for something, anything, to use as a shield when an object landed next to him with a clank. It was a long, two-pronged serving fork. He glanced in the direction from which the improvised weapon had come and his eyes met the terrified amber ones of the young slave-fox, who had crawled unnoticed to the edge of the fighting-arena. The cheetah's fingers closed around the hilt of the fork just as Draxos extended a hand to grab him, and he turned around and buried the blade-like teeth in the mastiff's calf. The dog cried out and lost his balance, falling to one knee and instinctively clutching the thing that protruded from his wounded leg. Before he could gather his senses Elak grabbed a heavy silver pitcher and bashed it with all his strength on the barbarian's skull. The blow would have killed a horse, but Draxos merely staggered, clutching his head. With a roar of frustration Elak followed up with a second, then a third blow until finally the great hound fell to the floor without a cry, blood quickly pooling on the floor under his head.

"Elak!" Tycho cried and ran towards his friend, just in time to catch the fainting cheetah in his arms. The now-shapeless pitcher fell from the cat's limp fingers and Tycho snatched a silken cushion from a couch to rest his lover's head as he laid him on the floor. Nearby, a centurion cautiously prodded the inert dog to check for signs of life.

"Mph! An unusual twist of fate has robbed me of victory," Artaxerxes mused, his hand stroking the feathers of his neck. Opposite them, Tycho was reviving the cheetah with a cup of wine.

"Indeed. The little rapscallion betrayed his own master and ruined the fight," the pig snorted and pointed towards the trembling fox with the joint of meat he held in his hand, "Shall I have him nailed alive to a cross in the gardens so he can repay us the entertainment he spoiled?"

"Perhaps there is a good lesson to be learned here," the griffin countered, "Long ago a mighty king of our land gathered an army to crush a rebellious princeling. The king had summoned all his nobles to help him, and his victory seemed all but assured. But he had so mistreated them during his reign that at the crucial moment they deserted him and lent their help to his rival, sealing his doom."

He paused for effect and bit into a piece of fruit. "I do not blame this little slave for seeking revenge against his tormentor. Spare him, and may his actions remind us that power and strength are fickle things."

"And so it shall be," the consul shrugged and turned towards his majordomo, "Take the fox to the city tomorrow, he should fetch a good price in one of the pleasure-houses. As to this one, have his body cut up and fed to the eels," he added, nodding towards the prostrate form of the dog.

A groan issued from Draxos's throat just as two slaves grabbed his ankles to drag him out of sight. Gasps echoed in the room as the dog raised himself unsteadily on his elbow. Elak got up to his feet and grabbed the discarded trident but the hound was in no condition to resume the fight, and after considering the blades pointed at his throat he raised his hand in the traditional signal of surrender. Despite his anger the cheetah could not help but admire the steel-like qualities of the mastiff's skull.

"Another twist!" the pig said, "Enlighten us, my dear friend, what sort of mercy do your kings extend to defeated foes?"

The griffin pondered this question for a brief moment before the feathers around his neck stood up on end. His eyes grew wide with excitement, but he composed himself before rising from his place on the couch.

"Caesar, tonight has blessed us with a rather unique opportunity."

Crassus scratched an itch beneath his robes. "Go on then, speak your mind. I would not say that any of your ideas thus far have bored your hosts."

Elak then heard the sound of rattling of armor as a number of centurions began to approach them, but he didn't dare to take his eyes off of his opponent, whose own bloodied face radiated with malice. It wasn't until the armored men had secured Draxos' muscled arms and hoisted him up that Elak felt comfortable enough to lower the trident. Artaxerxes spoke from the other side of the hall.

"I should hope that tonight has given you all at least the briefest of glimpses into my world. But I would like to show you one final custom that I'm sure you will find delightfully exotic. First, I would ask that a few centurions hold my warrior's legs apart."

Chuckles and whispers came from all around, but the centurions did as they were told, and two knelt down, wrapping their arms around the dog's knees and pulling them away from one another. Draxos could only grunt.

"Now, if the victor would be so kind as to remove the defeated warrior's cloth? I assure you it is paramount to the custom."

Elak hesitated, then moved to unhook Draxos' leather belt. The male's genitals were met with gasps as they were unveiled. His weighty pink testes sagged low from the heat of battle, and his snow-white sheath bulged with the ruby treasure it held within. The exposure was nothing new to the mastiff, and he remained stoic throughout the proceedings, even as the onlookers gawked at him and pointed, some whispering amongst themselves about his past lovers or trying to put a price on his seed.

"The man before you is a powerful one, perhaps not in status but in physicality, would anyone disagree?" Artaxerxes asked the audience.

Many shook their heads, and the brown hare from earlier spoke. "N-never would we suggest the opposite!"

The griffin nodded. "And yet I have shown you how power is fickle. In one moment you may possess it in abundance, and in another you may have it all stripped from you. Many in the east today are aware of this; our legislation is built upon this very reality, but stories of times long past demonstrate that we have always known power to be fickle."

Crassus raised a brow in curiosity. "Go on, then, what story shall we see in action now?"

"Centurions, do any of you possess a small blade?" Artaxerxes asked.

"Yes, sir" said a young lion, who stood behind the party keeping Draxos in place. "I have on me a dagger that I won from a smith during our campaigns in the southern islands." He unsheathed the blade from his hip, which shined in the torchlight. It was forged of bronze, and laden with a white crystal at the end of its hilt.

"The griffin then nodded and pointed in Elak's direction." Bestow the blade onto the victor.

The lion looked down at his dagger, then back up to his consul, who gestured him to do as Artaxerxes commanded. He then approached Elak and with great hesitation handed his treasure to the slave.

"Tonight!" Artaxerxes spoke with his arms spread wide. "You shall bear witness to the ancient custom of the victorious warrior, who, after he has bested another man in combat, presents the testicles of the defeated to his king."

Draxos' eyes went wide. "What?"

"Elak the swift." Artaxerxes continued. "Prove to me that you have bested your foe. Show him once again how finite power really is."

"You can't do this!" Draxos howled. "My seed is worth its weight in gold!" The mastiff struggled against his captors, but exhaustion quickly overcame him.

Crassus laughed uncomfortably. "You easterners have the strangest of customs! Though I will admit that I am intrigued by your proposition, my feathered brother."

"You cannot possibly be entertaining this idea!" Draxos yelled again. "I would be worth so much less as a eunuch! I-I couldn't fight! I couldn't even breed!"

Crassus waved one of his hands. "Please Draxos, spare yourself. I've had stallions more virile than you castrated."

The dog struggled again, whimpering now. "Stop! STOP THIS!"

Elak watched as Draxos' fruit swayed beneath his pelvis. He looked down at the blade in his hands, then back up to Artaxerxes, who only held out his arm, awaiting the proof of his champion's defeat.

Elak closed his eyes, took a deep breath and moved forward.

"Elak! Elak! PLEASE!"

Now was not the time to disobey orders. He reached down and cupped the stud's genitals, noticing that his legs were tremoring in fear.

"Don't do this! Don't do this! By the gods DON'T DO THIS! HAVE MERCY!"

Elak thought back to the dog's past victims, and how they had pleaded in the same way before Draxos forced himself upon them. He looked back over his shoulder one more time, trying to find Tycho but instead catching the glimpse of the former attendant. Light shimmered against the fox's eyes as he watched intently.

"I'M NOT A WASTE OF A STUD! I PROMISE YOU! LET ME BREED! I'LL SHOW YOU!"

The cat looked down somberly at the orbs in his hand. He could practically feel the life-giving fluids churning inside them.

"Perhaps... You will become more wise..." He said quietly.

Elak stepped back as the four mighty centurions lifted Draxos off the ground and tipped him spread-eagled on his back, leaving his crotch exposed and level with the cheetah's hands. The dog struggled and barked out a flurry of desperate pleas and rageful threats, promising to tear off the cheetah's manhood with his own teeth. "I don't like this, but you brought it on yourself," the cat responded.

"Wait," a voice behind him called out.

All eyes turned towards the slim figure of the fox. The man stepped forward hesitantly, like one still dazed from a nightmare, until he was next to Elak.

"Again?" the consul slammed his cup on the table next to him, "I've had enough of his interference!"

"Most curious!" Artaxerxes said, tapping the tip of his beak with his finger, "Perhaps he intends to move our hearts with a plea for forgiveness... or perform the deed himself."

The cheetah made way for the fox so that he took the cat's place between Draxos' outstretched legs. Draxos glared at his former attendant with fear and hatred in equal measures as the small one got closer and closer to his vulnerable manhood. "I'll kill you if you touch me," he growled between clenched jaws, cold sweat dripping from his bloodied brow. "I'll make you eat your own cock and then I'll tear you apart one limb at a time, you hear me?"

The fox did not even return his gaze. He extended a paw and cupped the mastiff's large testes. They barely fit in his hand, and he rolled them in his palm for a time, letting out a small shiver as if he could still feel their essence inside of him.

"You weakling, you coward. You'll wish I had strangled you for real the other night."

The fox moved his left hand to hold the male's sack while the other hand transitioned to pinch the base of his meaty sheath. Draxos' growl turned into a piteous whimper but the expected pain did not come. Instead of mangling his genitals the slave began to fondle them, one hand massaging his penis through the skin of his sheath and the other rolling his orbs between its fingers. The dog stared at the smaller canine uncomprehendingly, his chest heaving.

"Mmh, perhaps that little brat liked it up the ass in the end. If so there'll be plenty of work for him to do in the gladiators' barracks," Crassus shrugged.

Draxos breathed rapidly, his eyes darting from the slave who was now openly masturbating him and then to Elak. His body was already responding to the fox's nimble but vigorous caresses, and the dark opening at the tip of his swelling sheath parted to reveal a nub of pink flesh.

"I-I knew it," the mastiff sighed, his erection lengthening, "They always crave more after I show them what a true man is..."

His penis was fully out of its sheath now, drawing hushed comments of shock, disgust or envy from the entire room. The red and veiny tool was even more impressive now that Elak could see it up close and in the light, and the cheetah held his breath as he imagined the brute forcing himself into Tycho as he had promised to do after his victory.

"Tell them to let me go, and I'll satisfy you right now. I'll make you scream with pleasure in front of everyone, you'll see," the dog continued, a glint of arrogance and pride returning to his eyes.

"You misunderstand me. I have no wish to spare you," was the whisper-like response that escaped the fox's lips.

"Huh?" the mastiff blurted out, ears perking up in surprise.

"I want you to remember exactly what being a proud male feels like, to imprint every sensation in your heart and brain, because soon you won't be a man anymore. I want you to live out the rest of your days without ceasing to think about what you've lost."

A clear fluid seeped abundantly from Draxos' cocktip, lubricating his erect manhood with warm goo. The fox was running his hand up and down the shaft that had violated him, his fingers barely circling it at its thickest point.

"Wha-? No, please, anything but this..."

"I hope you don't bleed out. Without your orbs you won't be worth anything as a fighter so they'll send you to the mines instead. The slaves there are beasts like you, with balls always so full they ache. That's why they love eunuchs, they say they smell and feel more like girls. You'll be the one screaming as they make you their pleasure-thing..."

Draxos tried again to free himself but the muscular veterans had him in an iron-like grip. One of them grinned, perhaps amused by the animal panic on the gladiator's face. Elak almost opened his mouth to plead for a quick death for the dog, but perhaps the fox had suffered too much. Despite the cruelty of his words his eyes were as lifeless as his tone.

"The semen you are about to spill will be your last," the fox continued, his hand kneading the dog's swollen knot, "You could have mated with the best slave-girls, or earned your freedom and sired a dynasty among your people. But after the feast a slave will wipe your cold seed off the floor with a rag."

"NO, NO!" the mastiff yelled, feet kicking and muscles bulging. He wriggled and thrust his hips chaotically, seeking to evade the fox's deadly caresses and delay the climax that would spell the end of his manhood. The fox was hit a couple of times by the much larger man's knees but he kept stroking him, and when the lions had the dog under control again he lowered his left hand and slipped two fingers inside his tailhole.

"Nnhg... No... A-aahh..."

The huge canine member twitched and from its tip gushed forth a thick jet of male essence. The first rope went skywards, reaching as high as a man's height before falling back messily on the dog's stomach and chest, but the fox angled his pulsating member so that the subsequent ejaculations traced mighty arcs through the air before splashing in long strands on the marble tiles, reaching almost to the feet of the couch where the consul stood.

"Ahh... Ahh..." the dog panted, his short fur damp with sweat, just as the last of his seed dripped from his penis. He looked at the fox and found no forgiveness in his cold stare.

"He's all yours," the small slave said to Elak as he wiped his hands on the doomed man's thigh and walked away. Tycho gently took him by the shoulder and helped him to a plush couch, perhaps feeling only too well what the small, vulnerable male had gone through.

"Mmh, strong and intoxicating like the darkest wine, but the best pleasures are always the most fleeting," the pig said after running his finger through the gladiator's semen and sucking it, "Let us not delay further."

"NO, PLEASE, KILL ME INST..." the mastiff wailed before a centurion shoved a stick of wood between his teeth and wrapped a cloth tightly around his muzzle to prevent him from screaming. The dog could only utter muffled sounds of terror as his frantic eyes beheld a pair of long, cruel-looking tongs being passed to Elak. The cheetah placed the fat scrotum between the metallic jaws, just above the testicles, and clamped them shut, crushing the delicate skin and blood vessels in an instant.

Even the cloth and stick could not fully silence the primal howl of agony that poured out of Draxos's throat. There was no anger or rage left in the proud dog's chest, only sheer horror at the irremediable loss of his manhood, and more than one guest fainted or had to stagger out of the hall before the end. Elak himself felt light-headed, and his own orbs ached in sympathy when he heard the wooden gag splinter between Draxos's molars. But the cat steeled himself and, gripping the knife in one hand and the rapidly-dying testicles in the other, immediately began to slice through skin and cord until the sack was fully detached from the body of the now-gelded mastiff. Holding his bloodied trophy in his hand, he turned towards the eastern prince.

Silence had conquered the gilded halls. There were no words as Elak passed the heavy lump of flesh that defined his opponent's manhood to the foreigner. Artaxerxes took his prize with eagerness, squishing the severed testes and rolling them in his clawed hand.

Elak stood at attention, awaiting his verdict with a pit in his stomach. The griffin then held the fruit high above his head, declaring it proof of a warrior's defeat. The audience that remained in attendance applauded weakly, though Artaxerxes didn't seem to mind. He excitedly reached into the still-warm pouch and removed one of the organs it housed within. To Elak's disgust, he brought the pale orb to his face and swallowed it without reservation. The cheetah looked back to Draxos, only to find that the centurions had left his unconscious body on the floor to bathe in his own seed.

Crassus cleared his throat uncomfortably as he returned to his couch. "Well... I can say with confidence that I have never seen such a gesture."

The griffin laughed. "You jest, Caesar. You cannot deny that you wanted to see something exciting tonight."

The pig nodded, adjusting his tunic as he reclined back into a nest of silk pillows. "It's true, though you must forgive me for my shock in learning that you consider the testes a... delicacy." The word seemed difficult for him to say.

Artaxerxes looked at him with amusement in his eyes, offering the severed sack to his host, who shook his head.

"No... I can't."

"Please." Artaxerxes pleaded. "We say in my kingdom that males carry two so the rights of commensality can be upheld. Indulge in Draxos with me, your sworn brother in arms."

Caesar stared at the white lump before him, swallowing a knot in his throat as he accepted the offer. With restraint, he removed the final testicle from its home and brought it to his snout.

"You took no issue in ingesting the man's seed earlier." Said the griffin, watching the consul intently. "Wouldn't you like to taste the source of his virility?"

Elak clenched his eyes shut, but he still could hear the chewing; the raucous gnashing of teeth that grinded a man's prize to a pulp. He was glad Draxos was spared from the sound.

When Crassus was done, he breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Artaxerxes, smiling as he wiped his face.

"An exotic taste indeed... Though fire could certainly lend to it."

Artaxerxes laughed. "You Romans... so averse to raw meat."

"Caesar, my lord." Suddenly, Elak found himself standing next to a centurion. "The slaves are prepared to clean the floor for your next event tonight, what shall you have my men do with the eunuch?"

The pig burped and waved his hand nonchalantly. "Have his throat slit and toss the corpse into the sea. He is useless as a gladiator now, and I have no other plans for him."

"Thy will be done, Caesar." The centurion saluted as Artaxerxes spoke again.

"Caesar, may I suggest we keep the miserable welp alive?"

The pig rose a brow. "What ever for?"

The griffin pointed a talon in the direction of the fox.

"That brave little whore who brought Draxos to his final climax, I like his fire. I'd like to see his citizen status restored, and for the eunuch who once violated him to serve as his slave for the rest of his life."

Crassus snorted. "If it would please you, my guest, then it shall be done. My, you have some fascinating desires."

The easterner chuckled, and beckoned for the fox to come to him. The small male looked nervously to his left and right before crossing the threshold of the makeshift arena and passing by the crumpled form of Draxos, which he acknowledged with only the briefest of glances. When he reached the king, he stood in front of him for only a moment before emotion overcame him and he fell to his knees.

"Do... Do you speak your true desires, King Artaxerxes?"

The griffin stroked behind the canine's ears with one hand, pressing Draxos' empty scrotum to his chest with his other.

"Rise, my vulpine friend. Steel yourself and tell me your name."

The fox did as he was told. "M-my name is Marcellus."

"Marcellus." The king repeated. "You will return to the city with the great warrior Draxos in tow. You shall be the envy of your peers, with a tamed gladiator as your slave. I grant you this most valuable part of his body. Use it as you please. Whether it becomes a coinpurse or a simple trophy that you display with your lares, may it always remind you that one's place in life is never set in stone. Power is fluid, and it can slip away from anyone when circumstances allow."

Tears welled in Marcellus' eyes, but he composed himself quickly and wiped them away. Taking the scrotum in his small hands, he thanked Artaxerxes profusely and was escorted from Crassus's golden house with Draxos being carried behind him.

The guests seemed to breathe more easily now that the barbarous ceremony was over, and they resumed their chatting and drinking. Servants swept the floor clean of broken tableware and spilled blood just as the next spectacle was announced. Two wrestlers, a massive bull and a muscular stallion, entered the hall and saluted the consul before standing still as slaves began to anoint their bodies with oil. Elak waited, his arm wrapped around Tycho and his eyes fixated on his master, but the man seemed to have erased the cheetah's presence from his mind. The two warriors bumped their meaty fists and took positions at opposite ends of the small arena, their eyes dark and their muscles glossy, and then charged each other at the pig's signal.

The thud of the collision and the furious struggle that ensued allowed the cheetah and his lover to slip closer to the consul, although the centurion that stood next to the pig stopped them with a commanding gesture before they could get within speaking distance. Elak waited until the end of the first round, when the bull locked his bulging arms around the stallion's waist and with a sonorous moo lifted the heavy horse off his feet before slamming him to the ground and throwing himself on top of him. When the hurrahs and jeers had died down and slaves brought jugs of water to the bruised contestants, Elak finally spoke.

"Caesar, I have entertained you and brought you victory tonight. Will I too be freed?"

The honey cake in Crassus's hand stopped halfway to his mouth. The pig frowned and turned his head towards the gladiator. "Freedom? I remember no such promise."

"But... he said the winner..." Elak stumbled and pointed towards the griffin.

"Oh, that was his promise to Draxos, not mine to you," the consul replied with a condescending smile, "You should feel honored. I value you way too much to let you go."

Elak's fists closed and his claws bit into the flesh of his palms. The bodyguard saw murder in the gladiator's eyes and instinctively reached for the sword at his belt but before he could unsheath it Tycho threw himself at the feet of the consul's couch.

"Noble Caesar, this man has fought bravely and shed his blood for you many times, but now he is wounded and lame. Would it not be glorious, would it not be magnanimous to let him retire now while he is undefeated? Please let him live and go free so that he may sing your praises to the people for the rest of his days."

The pig started at the outburst and then rubbed his chin pensively. "Hmm, why yes, he is quite battered, and it wouldn't do for my champion to die a dog's death in public. So be it, he will walk free tomorrow."

The two lovers embraced each other upon hearing the news. "Truly Caesar, you are living proof that nobility of heart knows no nations," Artaxerxes said, the glint of an unvoiced chuckle in his eye. Tycho reluctantly left Elak's arms and kneeled to kiss the consul's pudgy hand.

"Of course this means that your attendant is now without a job," Crassus smiled, addressing Elak, "But I think I can find him something to do."

His hand grabbed the otter by the scruff of his neck and pressed him to his chest.

"What? Stop!" Elak cried out as Tycho screamed and wriggled in the bigger man's grasp. He moved to wrest his friend from the consul's grip but the bodyguard locked his arms around his chest.

"I do not usually fancy boys," the pig said and buried his snout in Tycho's neck to kiss him, "But this one must be a delicious treat if you were so eager to keep him for yourself." He removed the slave's loincloth and began to fondle him. The otter struggled harder to free himself but the consul's strength belied his soft appearance. "Quiet now!" the pig scolded, "Don't forget that until tomorrow your friend still belongs to me."

Elak let out a scream of rage and sank his teeth into the centurion's arm. The lion roared in pain without relaxing his grip and he dragged his captive away from the scene. The cheetah kicked, bit and clawed with a fury borne out of hatred and despair until something hit him on the back of the head and the world went dark.

...

When his consciousness returned to him, the warrior was frustrated by the fact that light had not. He rose from the cool wet earth he could feel below and stumbled about, shouting Tycho's name in grief, but when his bad leg buckled and his body crumpled to the ground, he had begun to scream the consul's. He had no sense of time or his surroundings, but he was prepared to yell that cursed name at the top of his lungs for eternity.

By the time he finally saw light in the distance, his voice had gone hoarse and all of his furious tears had dried out. He watched as the brightness came closer and closer, bringing revelation in its wake: a system of tunnels and barred cells carved hastily out of bedrock, of which Elak was a part.

The centurion that had restrained him earlier appeared from around the corner, welding a torch. Bandages were wrapped around his arm in the spot where the cheetah had injured him. He peered into Elak's cell and nodded to his side, after which Artaxerxes appeared.

The warrior clenched his hands into fists but did not rise from his place on the ground. "Have you not ruined enough men's lives tonight?" He asked.

Artaxerxes simply shook his head, as if in casual conversation. "Unfortunately, there is one more that needs to be dealt with."

Elak coughed. "I haven't the slightest idea what else you want from me, but in taking it, I assure you that your sick and twisted mind will derive no pleasure. I am now a husk of my former self, so be it my life, my dignity or whatever else you are after, you can take it. I don't care."

The griffin laughed. "It's good that we are not here for you, then."

The cheetah raised his ears as the centurion began to fumble with the lock on his cell door.

"By the amount of times you screamed out his name in blind rage, I can only assume that you seek vengeance on a certain man?" The griffin inquired.

"More than anything else." The cheetah replied. "But what does King Artaxerxes care?"

As Elak's cell was opened the easterner stepped inside and kneeled to his level.

"He cares a great deal, I assure you. Especially if it means the death of his greatest enemy." He paused and fumbled around for something in his robes.

"But... You and Caesar are close allies." Elak said without much confidence.

"I am allies with no one, little cat." The griffin found what he was looking for, and pulled out an object wrapped in stained cloth. "And I can assure you that King Artaxerxes does not consider Caesar a friend." He set the mysterious item on the ground in front of the gladiator.

Elak's eyes widened. "You are an assassin."

The foreigner shook his head. "Tonight, I am Artaxerxes, great king of the east and friend of the empire." He stood and walked back to the cell door. "And you, are a deranged madman with a burning desire to enact your vengeance and reclaim the prize that was taken from you so dishonorably."

Elak picked himself up, took the griffin's gift in his hands and carefully unwrapped it. His heart raced when he revealed the same ornate dagger he had used to castrate Draxos earlier that evening.

The griffin pointed down the tunnel from which he had come. "You will encounter a stairwell if you follow that path straight forward. The darkness of night currently shrouds Caesar's great halls. His guests have all left and the slaves are asleep."

Elak trembled. He knew he was being used. After the deed was done, it was he who would carry the burden of being Caesar's assassin. The griffin would escape without suspicion, and Elak would likely be put to death, and yet, the cheetah began to laugh. At the end of the day, he was given the honor of driving a dagger into that swine's heart.

He gripped the weapon by the hilt and made his way through the cell door, ignoring the false Artaxerxes and his companion as he passed them by. Fueled by determination and rage, he did not hesitate to follow the path set before him.

It was as the griffin had promised. Dark, eerily empty corridors that grew increasingly lavish as the cat crept closer and closer to Caesar's apartments, his naked feet hardly making a sound upon the marble tiles. Elak sensed that hours had passed since he was knocked unconscious, and the pig's promise to make Tycho his concubine drove him to hasten his steps. If he was too late to save his friend from violation, he would avenge him, and then do what was necessary to spare him further pain and degradation.

He climbed a last flight of steps, rounded a corner and finally came into view of a door whose splendid gilded carvings confirmed he had arrived at the right place.The moon glowed faintly through a window, and Elak beheld two forms crumpled against the wall on each side of the door. He stepped forward cautiously, blade at the ready, but the bodies remained still, even when the cheetah grabbed the nearest one by the shoulder and shook it. He peered closer and recognized the youthful features of the bodyguard who had owned the ancient dagger he now held in his hand. The lion's fur and clothes had been smeared with wine, but his open, glassy eyes and raspy breath told Elak that it wasn't an excess of drink that had plunged him and his companion into stupor. A bitter smile crossed his grim expression. None was more knowledgeable than easterners about poisons and drugs, and tomorrow the two hapless guards would certainly join him on the torturer's rack for their failure to protect their master, thus ensuring that punishment was duly served for Caesar's death. It didn't matter. After tonight nothing would matter. He pushed the unconscious man aside, stood up and turned the handle. The door slid open without a sound and the cheetah stepped in, ready to do the deed.

The door opened on a decorated vestibule, with a purple curtain at the end leading to the bedroom itself. Light from a lamp shone through the gauze-like fabric, and the cheetah's ears picked up a wheeze coming from within. He placed his thumb on the blade and crossed the small room, determined not to render Caesar the mercy of a peaceful death in his sleep. What greeted him behind the curtain, however, was not the sight of the pig wallowing contently in his bed. Crassus was spread out on the thick rug that carpeted the floor, his fear-shot eyes staring into the darkness of the high ceiling. He was naked, and his bloated, hairy gut rose and fell with each laboured breath he took. He caught the sight of Elak as the cheetah emerged into the room and his mouth opened and closed several times in silence, like that of a beached fish, before he managed to utter an articulated sound.

"Help me... Can't... breathe..."

"Where's Tycho?" Elak hissed, scanning the room with rapid eyes. The bed was all crumpled, and a cup of wine had spilled across the floor, but there was no trace of the otter. "What did you do to him?" he said, kneeling and pointing the blade at the man's throat.

The pig gasped and darted his eyes in panic. Before Elak could sink the blade into his flesh a familiar voice called him from behind.

"I am here, my love."

Tycho looked up from the corner he was huddling in. His damp eyes were filled with fear, shame and relief. Elak dropped the dagger and crouched down next to the otter before taking him in his arms and covering him with kisses. He felt something tangy on his lips and he saw a trickle of dried blood coming from Tycho's muzzle.

"What did he do to you?"

Tycho buried his face in Elak's shoulder and took a shaky breath. "He... he drank a lot and he took me to his bed. I begged him to let us go, and he said he would let you live if I let him have his way with me. I... I wanted to save you so..." He burst into tears, and Elak patted his back and waited for him to calm down.

"He did... things to me, and he made me do things to him, oh..." he hiccuped, tears wetting the other male's fur, "But then after that he laughed. He said he had already given orders to kill you, that he would show me your head in the morning so I could say goodbye... I cried and got so angry I hit him. He was furious, he beat me and then I kicked him in the chest and he fell and..."

"Shhh..." Elak said, caressing the back of his head.

"I'm so sorry, now they'll kill us for sure because of me," the otter sniffed and cast a fearful eye over Elak's shoulder towards the suffocating man.

"No," Elak said and wiped the other male's tears with his thumb, "They will not kill us."

He gently but firmly motioned Tycho to stay where he was and rose. The consul made an attempt as if to shake his fist. "Get help... hurry slave... or else..." he wheezed angrily.

"I am not your slave anymore," Elak replied and grabbed a silken pillow. The pig saw the look in the cheetah's eyes and the anger on his distorted features turned to terror.

"No... I'll give you gold... plea..."

The pillow muffled his voice and his limbs jerked as the thin flow of air to his lungs was cut completely. His arms flailed in a feeble attempt to fend off death but they did no more than brush against the cheetah. The pig's spent penis also rose indecently as the man suffocated, and after a minute or two Elak felt the huge body tense and then relax as Crassus's fat member sprayed several messy ropes of watery seed on the priceless rug, draining the man of the last of his vital strength. The consul struggled weakly for some more time, his heart stubbornly clinging to life even after his brain had slipped into unconsciousness, but eventually his legs stopped twitching and his bejeweled hand fell limp at his side. Elak waited for a few more heartbeats and then lifted the pillow. What he saw confirmed that the consul had not gone quickly or painlessly. "Good," he muttered with a smirk.

"T-they will be sure to kill us now." Tycho whispered from behind the cheetah, staring wide eyed at the cold form of the man who had once caused him so much strife.

Elak grabbed his hands and kissed them. "No, my love, we are free."

Confusion flooded the younger male's mind, and expressed itself through his eyes. "You... you killed..."

"I killed the consul, yes, but not how I was supposed to." Elak released Tycho and walked over to Crassus, bending over and picking up the knife he had entered the room with. "Artaxerxes was an assassin, sent from the east to carry out dark deeds on our consul for some political reason." He set the pillow he had used to smother the pig back on the couch neatly. "In my anger towards Crassus, the assassin saw opportunity. While I was being held captive, he provided me with this dagger and directions to his chamber."

"You were meant to stab him..." Tycho completed the train of thought.

Elak nodded and looked down at the dagger in his hand. "The murder would be easily pinned on either you or me, but now the centurions will come across a corpse that has seemingly died of an excess of drink and lust, and Artaxerxes will seem especially suspicious if he claims to have knowledge pertaining to Crassus's death. He should leave the country now if he knows what's best for him."

Tycho started to sob again. "So... we are free?"

Elak began to shake. "We are as free as the empire will allow, for we have no coin to our name nor a decent job, but we are bound to that damned coliseum no longer."

The otter rushed to his lover and embraced him, and the two held one another for a long time, relishing in their freedom, before vanishing into the misty night.

...

Months had passed and a new consul had taken Crassus's position. It was a surprisingly seamless transition, but not one that was devoid of blood. Many of the pig's sympathizers were crucified in the forum, and his own fat, naked body was fed to ravenous beasts in the coliseum for entertainment. Elak and Tycho had taken to begging on the streets, and had managed to survive day by day. They became dirty, disheveled and weak, but being in each other's presence motivated them to push forward until fate rewarded them for their efforts.

It was a crisp autumn morning and the two were offering prayers to a roadside shrine when a cloaked figure approached them.

"I must beg the gods' forgiveness for interrupting a prayer." He said. "But aren't you the warrior called Elak?"

The fur on the back of the cheetah's neck stood on end. "I have heard that I bear a striking resemblance to a warrior of that name, but sadly I do not have the honor of being him."

The stranger placed a hand on Elak's shoulder. "Do you think I'd be so daft as to forget the man who changed my life?"

Tycho turned around and gasped. "Love..." he said weakly. "This man is..."

Elak followed Tycho's example and turned to meet the gaze of the fox, Marcellus.

"No man deserves a life on the streets." He said gingerly. "Not in the least you two."

Behind him, a vixen sat in a rickety carriage amidst a variety of possessions. She held her babe close and watched the scene unfold. Elak could also see the towering form of Draxos, sitting at the front of the vehicle and holding the reigns of another slave, a stallion, before him. The cheetah's heart skipped a beat, but then settled as he noticed the mastiff's complacency. He simply watched as his master spoke, with no inclination of rage in his eyes. He was a pacified version of his former self.

"It would seem that mistress fate has plans for you, dear Elak. For she has brought us together again." Marcellus said.

"And what, pray tell, has she in store for us?" He replied.

Marcellus smiled. "A home in the countryside requires much upkeep, and while I do not doubt my slaves' abilities, I do believe more assistance is required to maintain it." He offered his hands to both of the kneeling men before him.

"Would you come with us? I don't think I can bear to live while knowing that the two of you are starving on these cold streets."

Elak and Tycho blinked at one another, but there was no more deliberation after that, and the two lovers each took one of Marcellus' hands.

"It would be my honor." Elak said, as tears of joy ran down his cheek.