Keroma

I

(Greece 526 b.c.)

Talos was a giant, nearly six and a half feet tall, towering over the other wrestler in the dank and muddy pit. His broad massive shoulders could have belonged to the legendary Atlas. The huge, muscular back spread in a wide V. His massive chest was twin slaps of chiseled granite laid end to end. His colossal arms bulged with heavily vein biceps; his hands were gigantic and as hard as stone. His abdomen was long and it rippled with powerful river rock shaped muscles. His gargantuan legs matched his immense upper body in size and proportion, the huge muscles of his thighs and buttocks bulging with terrible strength.

In his youth, Talos had been a celebrated solider, a veteran of more than fifty brutal and savage battles. War was perpetual between the numerous city-states of Greece, and Talos had fought his share. But those days were over. He was no long effective in sword to sword combat, the deep scars on his body bared witness. During a minor campaign to the north, Talos had nearly been killed. A spear had run him through, and he had fallen in a heap as the battle raged around him. If not for his constitution, he surely would have died in the dust. Now at the age of thirty, Talos was a celebrate warrior of a different sort, and the battles he fought happened here, in the Keroma.

Keromas were small gladiatorial arenas, ranging from no more than a shallow pit dug in the ground, to large well-constructed venues. Keromas could also be found in the homes and villas of the wealthy, built to entertain their guest. The name meant beeswax, because the floors were often sticky with blood and other fluids. .

He was well known in this part of the Greece. His reputation as a ruthless and barbaric fighter, filled the stands with spectators. Other, more capable fighters jockeyed for the chance to wrestle him, knowing a win would guarantee them wealth and standing throughout the land.

Talos had been wrestling in the keromas for over a year now, and had remained undefeated. How many matches had he won? Twenty, thirty? He could not recall. Talos had won his first match by squeezing his opponent to death in a bearhug, a hold he favored and used often with lethal consequences. This had promoted his handler; a man named Cevius, to start promoting him as The Crusher. Talos hated Cevius greatly, for Cevius had the nature of a sickly jackal and held no loyalty to Talos or any of his other fighters in his company. If Cevius lost a man in the keromas, he was of no additional use and therefore discarded with no further thought. Cevius however, kept food in Talos’s belly, and sometimes after a good night in the keromas, he’d arranged for their sexual needs by supplying the men in his troop with young slaves, girls as well as boys. Talos had considered striking out on his own. He could undoubtedly fight in the private keromas, but the perversion of the rich knew no bounds and what happened behind their walls was often...abominable.

Talos’s was the last and final match of the night. His opponent, a young and powerfully built wrestler introduced simply as Muscles, stood ready. Talos gauged his rival carefully. The young man was taller than he had expected and his naked body was superbly sculpted. Although not as heavily muscled as Talos, the youngster’s physique emanated with great strength as well as speed. Muscles’s physical beauty caused a sudden and unexpected pang of sexual desire in Talos, which he quickly surpressed. Distractions such as that could prove fatal in the keromas. Muscles did not look at all intimidated by Talos’s immense size. He hopped lightly on his feet with anticipation, the muscles of his powerful chest bouncing in unison with his exposed genitals. He was staring directly at him. This impressed Talos, and found himself admiring the young mans courage. He felt a sort of kinship of spirit with his opponent.

Cevius appeared beside him and shouted over the noise of the crowd, "Don’t be fooled by his pretty looks, he’s a Spartan scum. How he ended up here is a mystery to be sure." Then he added, "What ever you do, don’t let him get you on the ground! If he does, you’re as good as dead! He’ll try to go for the groin and eyes! Once you have him, make the son of bitch suffer! I don’t care what you do, just make him bleed for the crowd!"

Cevius then clutched Talos by the arm, "when its time, use your bearhug to finish him, or break him over your back! I don’t want to see you showing pity on this bastard like the last time! We can’t afford to disappoint the crowd! I want those mad idiots in here next week!" Talos jerked his arm from Cevius clasp. The weasel made his skin crawl.

"I’ll do as I please," he scowled.

Cevius was unimpressed. "Do what I say you ox, or you’ll find yourself out"! With that said, Cevius walked back to the edge of the pit.

Talos knew that Cevius meant the threat. Talos was undoubtedly a profitable wrestler for Cevius, but Talos understood that he could be replaced. A year of fighting in the keromas had also taken a heavy toll on his body. His movements had grown slower and more lumbering, and although undefeated, he would someday fall to a more capable fighter, it was only a matter of time.

Talos did not want to kill the young Muscles; his beauty seemed almost unnatural to him, like the seed of Apollo.

"He’s a Spartan and therefore blessed by the Gods," he thought. He considered this. All Spartans were born fighters, their victories over insurmountable odds was legend.

"We’ll see if that is true," he thought. But his heart betrayed the idea. He could not shake the feeling that killing him would be a transgression. But to what? The Gods? To himself? The mob of blood thirty spectators demanded gore and death. He knew that. They had come to expect nothing less from him, from The Crusher. Yet, he was capable of leniency and had spared opponents in the pass.

A gong sounded and the sudden surge from the frenzied crowd proclaimed the start of the match. The two men came at each other. Muscles side step to the left as Talos made for a reach, and drove his right knee into Talos’s midsection. Talos doubled over with the blunt force of the attack, he was stunned but uninjured, his muscle laded abdomen absorbing the energy of the blow. Muscles circled around Talos to attack again. Talos, stilled bent at the waist and sucking for breath, sensed Muscles’s attack and managed to turn his head slightly before the knee smashed Talos squarely on the temple. His head exploded in intense pain. Sharp flashes of light ignited behind his vision. Talos was suddenly down, his knees in the cold mud. There was deep gash on the side of his head and blood spilled out. Muscles came up from behind and wrap an arm around Talos’s thick neck and locked the chokehold in tight The Spartan bore down on the caroded artery, stemming the blood supply to his brain. Talos face began to go numb. His mind swimming. Talos reached up and gripped the young warrior’s wrist and with brute force broke the hold. Muscles leveraged his wrist free.

Talos had under estimated the speed of the Spartan. Muscles was quick and lethal. His strong muscular physique was a highly trained weapon of war. The young warrior had nearly ended him twice in a matter of a few seconds. He was still reeling, and he felt like vomiting. Talos knew that he was in real danger of losing his life tonight, for the first time someone had provided him with a real challenge and it had taken him by surprise.

Muscles stood over the kneeling Talos from the front. With his left hand he grabbed Talos’s curly black hair and snapped his head back. Talos’s face was covered with blood. Muscles brought his fist down and slammed it into the bleeding wound. Muscles repeated the blows several times, each one finding its mark. He then paused briefly to take in the sudden cheers from the crowds. He had won many fans over by his performance. He stood for a second longer, then turned his attention back to Talos. With his right arm raised for attack and his left hand clutching Talos by the hair, he stood poised to deliver the final blow that would bring Talos down.

Rage, deep and murderous suddenly took over Talos’s whole being. It washed over the pain and melted it with its heat. He would end this, the gods be damned, his heart be damned!

Without warning, Talos’s left arm shot up, and with a powerful, crushing hand grasped the young warrior by his large pectoral muscle, just below the right armpit. An agonizing scream suddenly split the roar of the crowd as Talos’s colossal fingers clawed into soft, meaty flesh. Muscles intended assault on Talos was abruptly forgotten. His raised fist fell away harmlessly. His other hand released the hair. Muscles tried to break the hold by trying to pry Talos huge fingers loose, at the same time he pulled with his muscular legs, his feet digging into the mud. Any hope that he might escape ended when Talos reached up with his right hand and clamped down on Muscles’s left pectoral muscle with the same terrible strength. The young man screamed again as Talos ’s giants fingers dug deep into his flesh. Muscles’s knees suddenly buckled. Talos supported the added weight easily, holding him aloft, effortlessly. Then Talos rose to his feet without releasing the young warrior. Muscles amble chest provided Talos with plenty of flesh to grasp. Talos quickly adjusted his grip to include more of the pectoral muscles. When he felt that his grip was locked in, Talos lifted the young Spartan, slowly into air. He continued to elevate Muscles until his powerful arms stretch fully over his head. Muscles’s legs drew up and straddled Talos’s waist between his thighs, his ankles position themselves naturally behind Talos’s hips, his arm spread out wide on either side. Talos held him up into the night air like a sacrifice to the gods.

He clamped down even harder on the young warrior’s chest, his forearms bulging. Suddenly Muscles became animated; he thrashed and convulsed mindlessly in Talos terrible grasp. The young powerful warrior struggled mightily, every muscle in his body straining to brake the hold. His powerfully built physique soon began to tremble and convulse violently. The muscles of the buttocks and thighs quivered uncontrollably. Talos’s incredibly brutal hold, as unorthodox as it was, proved to be utterly devastating.

He continued to squeeze the chest muscles without mercy, he fingers ripping into the flesh like ten steel daggers. Soon blood began to trickle from Muscles’s chest. It ran down Talos’s hands and forearms in thin dark rivulets. His fingers were crushing the strong fibrous tissues into a wet pulp. Muscles’s violent movements continued. His legs unlocked themselves from behind Talos and were scissoring beside his hips in a purely instinctual and automated response. He was trying to run away, to escape.

As Talos watched, Muscles’s penis, which was only inches away, began to swell as it engorged with blood. The large mushroom head slowly pushed it way through its sheathe of foreskin. Talos knew that this too was a natural response. He could see and feel Muscles’s heart pounding inside his chest. The tremendous blood pressure in his body was undoubtedly responsible. The shaft continued to enlarge and lengthen. Talos’s nostrils caught the thick musky odor of sweat and smegma. Soon Muscles was fully erect, his manhood pointing upward revealing the scrotum, its wrinkled surface bulged with two large testicles. He continued the brutal assault on the pectorals until the young warrior relinquished his struggles and submitted himself to Talos’s will. Finally, he lowered Muscles so that he was directly in front of him, but still suspended above the arena floor. Talos had not fatigued, he could easily have held Muscles in the night sky until dawn, he simply wanted to position him better for his next move...the bearhug.

He released his death grip on the pectorals suddenly. Muscles sagged towards the floor, but was immediately seized as Talos applied the bearhug in midair. In a single, quick movement, Talos lock the arms around the narrow waist. Bringing his forearms up, he lifted Muscles up high and crushed him against his chest. Muscles threw himself backward in an arch as Talos bore down on his spine. His head snapped back. He tried to scream, but the air in his lungs had been squeezed out. Talos could feel Muscles’s thick swollen penis against his stomach; it nestled in the deep central crevice of his muscular abdomen near the sternum. Talos had not yet applied enough pressure to kill Muscles. He could snap the spine now if he had wanted. Instead he would wait for Muscles’s to become motionless, and then he would let the body slide down until his arms encircled the upper chest. Talos would then use his monstrous strength to crush the chest. The ribs would crack like dried twigs and the organs would burst under the immense pressure. That would be the end of the Spartan. Talos’s wondered if Muscles would vomit blood like some of the others. One wrestler was squeezed with such ferocity that his eyes had bulged out of their socket,

A strange gurgling sound was coming from Muscles, and he knew the time was near. The clamor of the mob was deafening; all eyes riveted on the two men. Muscles finally went completely limp in Talos’s grasp. Hot urine suddenly started flowing out of him in a strong stream and it splashed Talos in his chest and stomach.

The rage that had descended on him earlier evaporated like ether; it was replaced unexpectedly with pity and remorse for the young Spartan. The strange sensation of standing at a crossroad also came upon him. He had a to make a decision. Kill Muscles and receive the adoration of the crowd? Or spare his life and risk banishment from the Cevius’s troupe?

Talos chose a path. He released his grip on Muscles slightly and his body slid down slowly against Talos’s slick chest. It stopped when the arms became blocked against Talos’s encircling embrace. Muscles head lobed forward and Talos tasted the wet salty hair with his lips. Talos could feel his heart beat against his, they beat out of step from each other, like poorly trained recruits. As he continued to hold Muscles, the hearts started to synchronize in rhythm. Then without further hesitation, he released Muscles and he dropped to the mudding floor.

Cevius ran over to them screaming, "What are you doing? Finish him now!"

"I will not," Talos said. He bent down and scooped Muscles up in his arms. He stood back up cradling the young Spartan.

Cevius went into a rage. "You damned stupid ox, I’m finished with you! You will be starving in the streets within a month! You’ll come to regret this, I swear to the gods!"

"The gods do not hear the vows of insects," Talos replied. He stared down at Cevius who was blocking his path. "They crush them underfoot."

Cevius suddenly went white and stepped aside. The crowd jeered loudly with disapproval. Spit flew at him from all sides. Someone flung a stone and hit Talos in the back. He ignored it, and made his way through the melee of the angry crowd. He found the exit and walked away from the noise and chaos of the keroma.

He carried Muscles gingerly through the empty and dark street, heading towards his quarters near the wharf. The young warrior would live, and Talos knew that their path lay together. "The gods spoke this to my heart," Talos whispered to Muscles. "You have only your body to offer me for now," he thought. "And that will do."

The End