Original subtitles

Spartacus, there's movement upon the path.

Asher!

A man must accept his fate.

Or be destroyed by it.

Your life was forfeit upon Vesuvius, taken by one to whom you have done grave

injustice.

Now here you kneel, joining your domina and her child among the dead in the

underworld.

At what measure of a man stood you when heart beat within chest?

A Syrian, despised by all?

A slave to my husband, Bertiatus?

A gladiator?

Ever so briefly upon the sands of the arena.

Elevated to trusted conspirators.

Valued for your gifts of cunning and deceit.

And when the house of Batiatus fell to the mad Thracian Spartacus and his

rebels.

Kill them all!

You turned against your brothers.

Aiding Roman masters.

in attempt to bring rebellious slaves to heel.

And yet you had already fallen well in advance of Spartacus, being struck from

the world of the living by Rome's fear.

Yet the fates weave many threads.

Your untimely passing was but single part of what might have been.

Your desire to bear witness to another, a new reality, uncoupled from history.

Where you did not perish upon Vesuvius.

Where instead you aligned with mighty Crassus, the richest man in all the

Republic. And his dog of war, Gaius Julius Caesar.

The path where you hurled the fatal spear that claimed the life of

And in the act saved Crassus, who rewards you with patronage.

And all that once belonged to my noble husband.

Embrace the path the gods have set you upon.

Do you desire to know where that fate would have led?

Awake then. The gods have brought you this far.

And embrace a life that might have been.

I believe they are not done with you yet.

Dominus?

Are you unwell?

A fleeting dream.

Born of unfortunate meal in advance of slumber. What did Morpheus reveal upon

his shores?

It... It...

The loose grasp of waking minds.

I think of no importance.

Bring food.

Add wine.

I will grieve morning sun.

And what fortunes it carries.

Second position.

Begin.

What's pushing you, fucking woman? What's done, you fucking cunt?

Return. You act as child of shit, running down your leg.

I act as my father would.

In his youth.

I should have never laid with your mother.

What is beneath your feet?

Sacred ground, watered with tears of blood.

No, you simple fuck.

What lies beneath your feet is opportunity for coin and the

respect such bounty presents.

And glory in the arena.

You stand but first, crude brick, laying foundation to the rise of the house of

Asher. To ascend, you must drain absent mirth or breaking of laughter.

You must commit flesh to being forged into semblance of the gods.

To honor the man who brought down the mighty Spartacus himself.

You find issue in such thought.

Apologies, Dominus. Break words.

Absent threat of reprisal.

Rumor bends ear.

Speak and see it straightened. That you held spear at the bringer of

rain while his back was yet towards you.

Perhaps you think you're Dominus un...

Worthy opponent.

Bring me Gladius.

Dicus.

No.

I'll see Wood give way to Steve.

Let me know straight from reason.

No.

He but corrects those beneath him.

Well.

Begin.

Advantage of size means little one counter with skill and mind. Fleet of

purpose.

He shifts sway to right leg, signaling intent.

He gathers breath before assault.

Again, signaling intent.

Give way to emotions.

And fall upon the sands of the arena, resenting ass for fucking.

That was Valerian.

And I was deemed lowest among the brotherhood.

My most vexing doctor is serving my own Dominus Batiatus.

Yet even the lowest of gladiators stands colossus in regards to common men.

Grasp worse the fucking breath.

Or see heart torn from it.

Bury where he lies, so I may water grave with pressing need of each morning's

piss.

Grain delivery has been delayed.

Solution's fell upon ship and transport.

I've instructed Messia to ration what we had told while other arrangements can

be secured. What of dispatches from Rome?

Have any been received?

No, Dominus.

See to the day's work, Hilara.

And inform delicate fucking artists to finish labors by nightfall! Or see

and chisel turn upon master.

Asha!

I would have fucking warts.

Have you lost fucking sense?

He was a man of great worth.

Well promised towards fucking arena.

Will not be addressed in such tone, you fucking goat.

Seize tongue and see passions cool to more pleasing breeze.

Apologies. Yet words carry sting of truth. The man's demise will be keenly

so shall lessen imparted upon remaining stock.

There are less permanent ways of motivating them. Then why have you not

such mystical powers of persuasion?

My dottore opens mouth, yet ships fuse forth. I am no one of your fucking

slaves, and shall not be treated as such.

I am a free man, an honor earned by my victories in the arena.

No man is truly free, for he yet finds himself in need of coin. You are well

paid for your services.

But if you all believe a man of your advanced years may obtain a better

in another Ludus, let us part fucking ways.

I do not care for you.

Nor I you.

Yet we are bound by need.

Let us see our fortunes rise as one and forge a path towards less tempestuous

relations.

Your will, my hands. Our hands.

Gather yourself.

We attend the games.

We gain position to finally present our men.

No.

But words strike the heart of intent.

So they should be bearing in spirit of Oblamacus or Sword of Mamill. Attend the

crowd. They give no shit to our tradition.

with even greater spectacle for Primus to conclude the day. To honour Capua

and most deserving citizens, good operator

has seen fit to present most glorious offering.

But claims laws rightfully do.

Perhaps the House of Officer shall present surprising challenge. Would that

voice, Grace, with such beauty, entreat the heavens?

shows his opponent in lending false hope.

He wields not only strength, but sharpened strategy.

Shall I seek to arrange for you to swallow his cock upon contact? Then, the

stands unrivaled upon the sands. It would be an honor to drink such potent a

blessing.

If we can conjure an opponent of equal worth.

Jupiter himself would have to grease us with champion to give Ammonius the

lightest of all.

Come, let us set foot upon path, and see you prove sure to fuck in sight.

A most welcome diversion, easing encumbrance, and nature concerned.

Live heart to hear it, Sir Krasutia.

Let us... Ida!

Ha!

How's these moment and this each word?

You'll cost me in the street now, Syrian, as common cuppers.

Apologies. I was unable to secure audience for traditional means and took

initiative to a brighter prospect.

Man -fluent savage nature presents it as shrewd navigation.

Let us not stand in too harsh a reply.

Did Syrian not help quell rebellion?

Turning upon his own in the effort.

If such is said through parted lips and eager tongue, I but serve the Republic.

As does my husband, at times to distraction.

His absence most deeply felt.

Duties at Holden Monroe.

He counts as Pompey in attempt to soothe inflamed relations with Crassus.

Crassus yet stands your patron, does he not? Gifting you position and party

artists as looters. I stand so blessed for services rendered.

Surely you have his ear in the matter.

I have dispatched messages regarding a variety of pressing concerns, not least

among them.

Rebuilding once mighty arena brought to ruin by Spartans. Yes, and it's not the

ideal, to be sure.

Please give Crassus our wishes for continued prosperity.

If you shout them loud enough, perhaps they will reach all the way to Rome.

Edith, I would vote subject for position in future games.

Position? Where troubles upon wind of your men being less than.

I assure you they stand equal to any good Proculus could hope to offer.

Chorus speaks out of turn, yet breaks truth.

Let us grace the Syrian with reward equal to worth. If not swayed by my

then in name of honored husband.

Very well.

One man to be presented mid -month upon festival of Liba Pata.

I eagerly await the day.

As do I.

Did

I not tell

you? We at last gained position.

If you bow to any law, your mouth will be filled with dirt.

Now we'll gorge until Burson to gain advantage.

Who stands most well -honed among their men?

Rudeus, by wide fucking margin.

Rudeus? Which man is he?

The one you buried this morning.

I did

not

think to brought subject before I fell the fucking man.

I warned his absence would be keenly felt.

After deed had been done.

Apologies for not defining future where you fell from reason and took life with

jug of fucking wine.

We have opportunity, Chorus, and we must seize it.

Pit man against man at break of dawn. Whoever triumphs by fall of night shall

stand our champion in the arena.

Your will.

Go.

Dominic? What?

Apologies.

I thought you might take food.

And perhaps a warm bath.

To temper mood.

Is it so foul a creature?

For enrage, ball.

No.

Lead way.

I should attempt not to go where they're at home.

What trouble thought then burden?

None of worth.

Place them up on scale.

To be weighted by a less critical eye.

Many nights I would lay in my cell below us in the Ludus, dreaming of a day

I would hold title of Dominus.

Absent concern to own us, such title carried.

Did former Dominus share in reflection?

But the others, the man stood constantly pressed, leaving the gods themselves

spread cheeks.

For a free wonder, am I?

And how did he survive?

Through cunning and deception.

Benefit of my aid at every turn.

Then you shall rise to conviction of your own counsel.

As you'll cook Harold's way.

Shall we summon Messias to join us?

I have desire for sweetening.

Why's these bitter taste?

Bless the gods.

We are for the arena.

You are for fucking shitterato.

You fare no better.

Place lips upon holes so I may impart more cloying breath than breaks the

fucking mouth.

Oh, Parker.

Your boy stands absent sense or concern.

You did not.

Falling to quarrel during day's training.

Passions overwhelmed upon the moment. I should not have lashed out at my

brothers.

When true enemy stands Roman.

Lewis. Ah, let him speak.

Towards what end?

Of us fucking all, if whimpering growl reaches ear of our dominus.

The Syrian.

He stands a traitor to the brotherhood.

Something well known to Spartacus. You would see us all nailed upon cross along

Appian Way. I would see us slip from beneath heel.

What Spartacus began lives in the spirit of those who followed him. And rumors

the man himself may yet live.

He heard your breath. The bringer of rain would make presence known.

No, no, no. More likely the mad fuck.

Forever slumbers in unknown beds beneath fetid ground.

Tarkon, fall to my side and let us remove ourselves from such foolishness.

You clear fucking room.

We're better served in their absence.

The lesson of Spartacus is well learned.

For those who dare embrace it. What fucking lesson?

To die at the end of the spear?

That freedom is worth any cost. As is claiming the life of those who would

oppress us.

Whoever stands upon the sands of the arena will have the opportunity in

to shed the blood of our Dominus and every Roman cock he kneels to suck.

You have been granted the greatest of honor, to at last grace the sands of the

arena, to prove yourselves against the shit Proclus and his men.

Some would claim you've been blessed by the gods.

Fuck the gods!

They give no shit towards the affairs of men, a thing I have witnessed countless

times as a gladiator, as a soldier.

As a free man, we forge our own fate with our hands,

with our will, and with our blood.

Prove yourselves worthy, not to Jupiter and his fucking cock, but to yourselves.

And to your dominoes.

Hattori! Chaldeus!

Aethelos!

Begay!

Ilegalus, pharmas.

Logus, helios.

Gerato, officius.

Kalidus! Tarkat!

Kalidus! Lugas!

Take position for final contact.

You stand above all others in the House of Asher. Logus has proven himself

worthy of the arena.

Were you not the one who spoke of sacred grounds, watered with tears or blood?

Yes, Dominus.

Place thought aside.

Proculus will not risk embarrassment. He shall seek an opponent with deadly

consequence.

Perhaps even the champion Ammonius himself.

All those before me shall fall, regardless of name or title.

Hmm.

See you, Tom.

And be rewarded for fucking effort.

Save as your wares, Proculus.

Gratitude. Yet I fear good opera may forfeit all coin in attempts to restock

ludus. Well, fortunes may yet shift in my favor. That I would see it so.

Sun threatens zenith.

And with it promise of most anticipated contest.

May the gods grant spectacle to shake the very heavens.

ready. And first victory of the House of fucking Azure.

It is time to embrace your destiny.

A thing that I have long dreamt of. And I've imparted all I can in the days

allowed us.

Bring honor to the name Logus.

And if the gods will it, embrace the afterlife with a dignity befitting our

brotherhood.

It is not I who shall fall this day.

How stands our man?

Filled to overflowing with lust for blood.

The gods may you bless us this day. I hold no stock in them, yet I will gladly

strove Jupiter's cock to completion if it held promise towards our favor.

The gods hear your plea.

Gabinius returns from Rome to bear witness to our efforts.

Gabinius, embrace us with unexpected presence.

I had not thought to see such a vision for your handful of chains. I could not

bear another fleeting moment absent from your embrace.

Apologies.

What news from Rome?

None to lift heart. I entreated Pompey to offer disbanding his army garrisoned

beyond city gates.

In return, in kind from Crassus and his forces equally positioned.

Well, a reasonable solution to ease mounting tension.

Reason has taken wing.

Love lost between the two consuls in recent months proves too great a divide

close with simple words.

Slightest spark of temperament may ignite civil war.

Replace concern of uncertain future with more joyful present.

Wide council for all attending.

And well received.

Viridia did not accompany.

The games serve only to reopen old wounds.

I beg this from Rome to aid in their healing.

Let us not drag the day into morose reflection. I am for wine and a clash of

swords. As I would see desire satisfied.

Has also seen fit.

to deliver most extraordinary spectacle for those of faithful worship.

For the first time in all of history, the house of Asher

presents upon the sand.

And who shall the Syrian put forth?

Enter...

Enter Logan, Mamillo.

The momentous reception.

The mob does not know what moves until motion has ceased.

They sound pretty fucking moved to me.

And who shall face such fearsome opponent?

Good Proculus has chosen carefully.

Enter the brothers Barok, Thrake, Murmillo, and Hoplamagus.

Three? Logus is to face three fucking men?

That's fucking shit!

Jess veers from proper contest.

Just for slight amusement.

The other spirit of the crowd is so lifted by it.

What is that he wears upon his belt?

The trophies taken from the lives he's claimed within the arena and beyond.

May your sacrifice find favor among the gods.

Again!

First blood to Satiris.

bells from fucking cunts of the underworld.

I pray the Syrian's man did not fall too

quickly. I would see moment prolonged.

They're absent fucking brothers, little man.

laugh at us. Their said mother of fucking death.

Regain your seat.

But you have us sit and bathe in fucking mockery. Their desire is gone.

A satisfaction I would see denied.

Apologies. Question concerns. Rest me from position.

Day has been half full.

And I stand for Lee Papata, I would remain.

And I would not.

What turns such mood?

Surely not amusement at expense of a Syrian toad?

That toad is pet to Marcus fucking Crassus.

I make overtures to temper smouldering resentment between a man and Pompey,

to find wife stoking flames.

Apologies, Covinius, we did not think... No, you did not.

Crosses yet bore concern towards the Syrian. Intentions would have been made

known. He is forsaken and soon shall fade from Capua as unpleasant memory

passing of time.

I pray words hold truth.

Come.

Gratitude. What a most enjoyable day.

Behold the mighty Syrian dominance of the house of asses

They know he satirist drinks his man fully formed overfilling flyspeck

Voice so small to be barely of note.

Yet louder than your man in the arena with throat slit by tiny hand.

I shall compensate for your loss in hope that jest is received in manner

intended. It has been taken as intended.

Sentiment well met.

I would not have Crassus believe otherwise.

I find no reason to concern him with such matters.

We are one in this regard. Perhaps more common ground may yet be claimed?

Is the man incapable of speaking plainly?

Apologies. I should reduce words so base intellect may grasp intent.

I have borne your just absent complaint.

Yet the housemaster has not yet been afforded proper contest.

You seek additional position in the arena. The crowd turns wary of repeated

meal. They quench hunger by devouring new and unusual meat.

Perhaps if you applied something novel to us. To redouble the effort to secure

undiscovered spectacle.

And see rematch upon a day.

A thing greatly anticipated.

Ah, good Herenius has arrived. Let us greet him, lest Ovid devours the man to

early grave.

Herenius!

There stood a time such insult would have been paid in blood.

Would the sun reverse this course and return us to fucking moment?

Um, we must secure a stock matching purpose to regain footing.

I wait to train men the size of children.

I would force sword into hand of newborn baby if the crowd desire such.

The slave of Usulius here in Capua holds none of exotic nature. I'll see further

abroad. The Neapolis will cue me and pray the gods are forever moaning about

that. Blaspers and fucking cells.

You shall behold no finer specimens within the public.

Each man stands fresh from journey across Tuini and the sea.

Weed in intoxicating scent of future triumphs upon the sands.

I have conjured more worthy shits from troubled vows.

What of the Gaul? He cuts a form towards promise.

He possesses a dozen yet carved in the man's image.

We must present unknown delights to ignite the crowd and gain attention of

fucking Aediles.

Where's the next shipment due?

By months in, perhaps. You fill Cuth with warm piss and expect requests for

more. Let us, if you mean, know some more fragrant opportunity.

You grasp gold from a sow's arse. You punch the fucking shoulders in the

of it. Cooney will provide even less for consideration. We should return to

Capua.

Unfortunate complications to your day. How to remove her from concern lest

further embarrassment arise.

She struck a Roman. I'll see her removed from his fucking life.

Let us not fall to bloody disagreement.

Get away, you fucking shit. This fucking shit holds favor of Marcus Licinius

Crassus, co -consul of Rome, and I, his man in Capua. Lay hand upon me or those

in my employ, and word shall reach him of offense.

You are his Syrian.

who aided the Republic against the rebel Spartacus.

I stand the same.

I believe this should more than bomb wounded pride.

We stand for Crassus against the butcher Pompey. Relay allegiance if opportunity

arises.

Balls of fucking form, move!

You waste coin on another fucking house, Dave. Oh.

The gods I do not believe in manifest unexpected gifts.

One I would see towards advantage.

Move.

You have truly fallen for fucking sense.

I would rise above lesser minds. You would have me train a woman to stand in

arena. A woman? Upon the sand?

The very notion of fucking perversion.

Perversion not yet tasted by a ravenous crowd. One that shall gain notice

impossible to ignore.

Gilada would present equal challenge pitted against fucking gladiator. I have

witnessed many a breath and cunt far more deadly than their opposite. Among

of Spartacus and his rebel, they stood as fierce as any possessed of cock and

balls.

You are set upon course.

Have obeyed and brought to office chambers.

Let us gaze upon glorious future.

Has she taken food?

As jackal upon wounded prey.

Who could lay blame?

Journeying to the belly of a slave ship offers few comforts, as any who have

survived such may attest.

See this dispatch to Rome at first light, to be delivered into no other

possessed of Crassus himself.

Yes, Dominus.

Are you able to break common tongue?

Close gap. I would have closer inspection.

Come. I bear no teeth.

I would be greeted in kind.

What name do you

carry?

Niferet.

Niferet?

Most pleasing upon tongue.

Yet not upon Roman ear. They desire more familiar personage. Yes, once they're a

reflection of acing legends and impossible exploits of law.

Achillea.

The name you will bear from this day forward.

Achillea.

Imagine the crowd chanting such a sound, assaulting the very heavens in your

honor.

You know, with a skill and way of combat, evidently presented upon shores

Neapolis, yet you stand as newly force -played.

Sound of steel, yet dull of edge.

I will have you honed to deadly advantage and unleashed upon the sands

arena to the roar of the crowd.

And you may reap benefits, such adulation provides.

Do such benefits promise more wine?

Ha!

Enough to drown the gods, if you so desire.

You but need to fall to command.

Move! He hits fucking my falchion. Hold ground.

Hold fucking ground! Release him! You cannot slip these walls.

Then we fall from this world in twine. I will not die a fucking slave to men

such as you. We are all of us but slaves to those of means of position who moves

upon board, pieces, and game. That provides a fun whim or a need.

Speak clearly while you yet have thought to forward.

Even if you slip these walls, you will never be truly free.

They will hunt you down for such offense and see life ended.

A feat more desirable than one bound in shame. There is another way.

Pledge oath. Call me Dominus.

fight in the arena. Earn your freedom upon the sands.

The freedom the Romans can never seize from you.

Such a thing is possible.

I stand proof it is so.

Let us uncouple from history and embrace unknown tomorrow.

Leave her.

We struck a bargain.

Have we not?

Dominic.

Sight of wonder and awe. The newest offering from the House of Asher.

Never before witness upon the sands of the arena.

You play a dangerous game.

But I'm the peace upon a board.

Let the heavens tremble in anticipation of blood and glory.

Prepare yourselves.

Why do you name?

Because I said unworthy.

You saw Spartacus to deserve it and at great risk.

Rome is forever in your debt.

We shall no longer be bound by the shackles of tradition.

Then let us stand as one.

Stand at all. The fearsome offering of the house of fucking Asher.

How absolutely delightful.