Read Online Morpheus Road 03 - The Blood by D.J. MacHale - Free Book Online
Authors: D.J. MacHale
Ads: Link
countries, who sat in small groups, possibly having died together. The majority of the spectators were men, but there was also a peppering of women. Ladies with parasols sat next to primitive tribesmen in colorful wraps. They wore every kind of headgear imaginable, from turbans to feath ered crowns, baseball caps to helmets, burkas to sun visors.
"Peanuts!" Coop shouted, though he didn't expect to have a vendor toss him a bag. That was one of the few obvi ous differences between an event in ancient Rome and a baseball game at home. No vending.
Though the spectators were as varied as could be, they all seemed to have one thing in common: They were all caught up in the excitement of the contest that was playing out on the floor of the arena. Coop walked down to the brick wall that surrounded the competition area and peered over the top to see that a fight was under way.
Man, right out of the movies, he thought.
Two gladiators in full armor were hammering away at each other with oversize swords. There wasn't much ele gance to the fight. It was a brutal battle of strength and stamina. Whoever ran out of gas first would lose. If it had been an actual battle in ancient Rome, a loss would have meant death. In the Black the worst that would happen is that the loser would experience the pain of being skewered and then have to endure the shame of defeat. Knowing that neither of the contenders was actually in danger of dying took some of the thrill of the fight away for Cooper.
But not for the other spectators, who were leaning over from every level as if trying to get closer to the fight, while screaming commands and encouragement.
No wonder they're all still stuck in the Black, Coop thought. They're vicious.
Above him, on the second level, Cooper saw what looked to be an open-air royal luxury box with several men and women sitting in elaborate carved chairs. Unlike the rest of the stadium, which was in a fever pitch, these people looked totally bored, as if the sight of two huge men beating each other's brains out was an everyday occurrence . . . which it probably was.
In the center of the box, seated in an elaborate golden throne, was a rotund man in a toga who casually ate from a tray of fruit.
Coop grabbed a U.S. sailor who was walking by and asked, "Who's that guy?"
The sailor looked up and said, "Emperor Titus. This is his show."
"It's his vision?" Coop asked.
"Yeah. He's been putting on these battles forever."
Coop said, "Staging battles to the death isn't exactly a smart way to get out of the Black."
The sailor shrugged. "Like I should care about him? Gotta go, pal. I got money riding on this fight."
The sailor kept walking. Cooper thought the guy wouldn't be getting out of the Black anytime soon either.
It wasn't that Coop felt as though everybody should be running around the Black picking flowers and spread ing sunshine, but the people in that stadium were out for blood . . . not exactly proof that they were working hard toward becoming evolved spirits.
Coop looked up to the emperor's box to see Titus watch ing the fight with a satisfied smile. Was this the guy Damon came here for? It seemed as though he enjoyed human suf fering as much as Damon, which meant the two would have a lot in common. Coop decided that he would have to speak with Emperor Titus.
A cheer erupted from half of the crowd. The other half groaned with disappointment. Cooper glanced into the arena to see that one of the gladiators was on his back with a sword sticking out of his chest. The victorious gladiator stood over his fallen victim, raising his fists in celebration. The people in the stadium were out of control, either cheer ing or booing.
The winning gladiator grabbed the handle of his sword and yanked it out of his victim. There was no blood. Spirits didn't bleed. The losing gladiator sat up and struggled to his feet while clutching his wound. As soon as he stood, the entire crowd jeered. Losers got no respect.
It was an ugly
"Peanuts!" Coop shouted, though he didn't expect to have a vendor toss him a bag. That was one of the few obvi ous differences between an event in ancient Rome and a baseball game at home. No vending.
Though the spectators were as varied as could be, they all seemed to have one thing in common: They were all caught up in the excitement of the contest that was playing out on the floor of the arena. Coop walked down to the brick wall that surrounded the competition area and peered over the top to see that a fight was under way.
Man, right out of the movies, he thought.
Two gladiators in full armor were hammering away at each other with oversize swords. There wasn't much ele gance to the fight. It was a brutal battle of strength and stamina. Whoever ran out of gas first would lose. If it had been an actual battle in ancient Rome, a loss would have meant death. In the Black the worst that would happen is that the loser would experience the pain of being skewered and then have to endure the shame of defeat. Knowing that neither of the contenders was actually in danger of dying took some of the thrill of the fight away for Cooper.
But not for the other spectators, who were leaning over from every level as if trying to get closer to the fight, while screaming commands and encouragement.
No wonder they're all still stuck in the Black, Coop thought. They're vicious.
Above him, on the second level, Cooper saw what looked to be an open-air royal luxury box with several men and women sitting in elaborate carved chairs. Unlike the rest of the stadium, which was in a fever pitch, these people looked totally bored, as if the sight of two huge men beating each other's brains out was an everyday occurrence . . . which it probably was.
In the center of the box, seated in an elaborate golden throne, was a rotund man in a toga who casually ate from a tray of fruit.
Coop grabbed a U.S. sailor who was walking by and asked, "Who's that guy?"
The sailor looked up and said, "Emperor Titus. This is his show."
"It's his vision?" Coop asked.
"Yeah. He's been putting on these battles forever."
Coop said, "Staging battles to the death isn't exactly a smart way to get out of the Black."
The sailor shrugged. "Like I should care about him? Gotta go, pal. I got money riding on this fight."
The sailor kept walking. Cooper thought the guy wouldn't be getting out of the Black anytime soon either.
It wasn't that Coop felt as though everybody should be running around the Black picking flowers and spread ing sunshine, but the people in that stadium were out for blood . . . not exactly proof that they were working hard toward becoming evolved spirits.
Coop looked up to the emperor's box to see Titus watch ing the fight with a satisfied smile. Was this the guy Damon came here for? It seemed as though he enjoyed human suf fering as much as Damon, which meant the two would have a lot in common. Coop decided that he would have to speak with Emperor Titus.
A cheer erupted from half of the crowd. The other half groaned with disappointment. Cooper glanced into the arena to see that one of the gladiators was on his back with a sword sticking out of his chest. The victorious gladiator stood over his fallen victim, raising his fists in celebration. The people in the stadium were out of control, either cheer ing or booing.
The winning gladiator grabbed the handle of his sword and yanked it out of his victim. There was no blood. Spirits didn't bleed. The losing gladiator sat up and struggled to his feet while clutching his wound. As soon as he stood, the entire crowd jeered. Losers got no respect.
It was an ugly
Similar Books
