Fight, Die

Dael had heard of them only in passing, but then he looked around at the other men crowded into the cell with him, at their scarred limbs, dirty weapons and armor, and he knew. He heard the roar of the crowds outside again, the way it rose sharply and then fell, and he saw the others look away from each other, bow their heads, mouths tight and eyes bleak. A man had just died out there. A man for the entertainment of the crowd. That’s why the scarred man had looked so delighted at Dael’s willingness to fight. To die.