Bookworm Gladiator

HUREK

Hurek wondered if the goats of Palmyra spoke Latin.

They must! That would be fitting. Everything had it's place and it only made sense the hopped up creature in front of him understood Latin. Hurek took a moment to translate the correct words from his language in his head, "How you do, little one?" he finally said to the goat eating from his hands. But the words spooked the animal and he went prancing off in the direction of his friends. Was he scared or excited? Hurek could never tell with goats, but he hoped it was the latter.

The herd of goats greeted each other with oddly human-like screams, sharing their energy and life. They circled and hopped around for a moment before running off to bother their shepherd - who'd fallen asleep under a palm tree across the field.

It was important to have a herd, to have a tribe to call your own. It made it easier to fulfill one of the three fold paths of Asha, Good Words. You always had someone to say, "I care for you." An extremely difficult thing to say, and Hurek wondered why no one held that as their standard for strength. But people admired his frame and called him strong. The truth was Hurek struggled with the paths of Ahura Mazda.

Like his father before him, Hurek was a Zoroastrian, dedicated to the three-fold path of Asha: Good Thoughts, Good Words, Good Deeds. The first he could practice every single day, the second he practiced with the help of his Nokchi brothers and sisters like Jiri and Ollia. And he hoped he could add more brothers to his circle. Men like Cicero needed someone to say good words to. The scholar was a funny man, and so very smart. Hurek admired that about him, and wished that maybe someday, he could say good words to him too.

But the third path, Good Deeds, was not so easy to accomplish for a slave. Especially a slave forced to fight as a gladiator for people's hunger for violence. It tore him apart every single time he stepped into the tainted arena.

His father had only allowed him to wrestle and box. It built rhythm and oneness of mind without taking human life. Like the clouds above him were only concerned with following the wind, the grass followed the breeze in its own way, and the animals struggled with a single-mindedness that came with the rhythm of nature. Hurek liked to sit out here in the northern fields, watching the riverbed cut through the oasis with it's own rhythm. And everything became a part of each other; moving, nurturing, every single moment of every single day. That was the rhythm of wrestling and boxing. Continuous, rigorous, single-minded and meditative.

It was evil thoughts that had created iron blades and used it to cut flesh and steal from each other. Steal property and steal life.

A herd of camels came into view cresting the hills, led by a drover who took them to the riverbed for a drink. Hurek, careful not to re-open the wounds on his shoulder, fought through the pain and climbed on top of a boulder to get an even better view of the animals. Not because he liked camels, but because he liked horses. And camels were the closest thing to horses out here in Palmyra. Some people said Hurek liked nuts the most. But if he was honest, he liked horses a lot more than nuts.

He imagined he was the drover, leading the camel-horses to the water, and then maybe laze around for awhile, with no worry in the world and somewhere to be or someone to fight... Then, if a camel-horse was gracious enough, he would request a ride. And then both Hurek and his camel-horse-friend would gallop across the sunbaked hills for the rest of the day until they got hungry. And then, only then, would Hurek pull out the paper cornet filled with almonds that he kept in his back-pocket for emergencies.

Hurek settled back down on his rock and decided it was dinner time soon and he should really be heading back to the barracks, lest the palace guard send the Vigil slave-hunters on his tail. Being a run-away slave was a death sentence in the realm, and there was a strict perimeter the Nokchi clan was allowed to wander from the barracks. Alas, those camels were beyond that boundary. A step of freedom too far.

Before he could muster the strength to leave his peaceful abode, he heard crying behind him. Uncontrolled sobbing of a woman that grew louder and familiar until he turned to find Ollia stumbling across the wetlands in his direction.

She broke through the row of crane-brakes, hair frazzled and tears running down her flushed cheeks. She was still in her morning robes, ripped and scratched by thorn-bushes she must have cut through.

"Hurek!" her trembling voice sent Hurek's heart plummeting and it felt as if his chest was caving in on itself, like getting struck by a war-hammer. She didn't have to say a word for Hurek to think the worst.

"Jiri?" he whispered.

***