All language subtitles for SHOA 33356985

The House of Ashur
would carve its own path

and fuck into oblivion
all who stands in its way.

You have not earned
position in this fuckin' house.

They will never welcome a woman

as one of their own.

She's not absent skill.

And when were you
last upon the sands, old man?

Gabinius? He hosts the
game of the Ludi Apollinares.

I see a man possessed
of serpent-tongued wife.

Perhaps the House of Opiter

shall present
surprising challenge.

You worry over him
beyond reason.

Yet who worries over you?

Apedemak.
God of war and conquest.

Then why work his image?

As a reminder what was lost.

She took the life of a brother,

yet you let her live.

She drew blood.

And any man who lays
undesired hand upon her

shall feel my own
at fucking throat.

You risked life
of valued acquisition

by pressing grievance
with fucking steel?!

And what of
the life of Creticus?

Was it not a thing
of equal worth?

No one would produce coin

to see shit walking upright
upon the sands of the arena.

We do not overflow
with men of skill

that the passing of one
should be met with indifference.

Does voice sound
fuckin' indifferent?

The man stood but
crudely formed brick!

Achillia stands as
fucking foundation.

Her entrance to the games
of the Ludi Apollinares

will secure the ascent
of this house

that you're always
moaning on about!

You have swayed
Gabinius to our cause?

Prize was within grasp
when we broke meal,

until unfortunate
turn of humors.

Your words have been
known to carry such effect.

He pressed for honesty,
you towering fuck,

and, when presented with such,

took offence and commanded me
to fall from fuckin' sight.

So... we remain beggars,

knees upon ground, mouth open

to pleasure any cock
that rises to favor.

You need concern
yourself with the duties

I paid you for in coin,

most pressing of which

seeing Achillia ready to
face the Brothers Ferox,

not taking actions
absent authority.

I gauged the woman
to be wild and untamed,

yet you did not heed warning.

I stand fucking Dominus.

And I fucking Doctore.

Upon the sands, my word is law.

You would place
yourself above me?

I place my experience
in such matters beyond any man.

Then why does Achillia
yet draw breath

if you find her such an affront
to delicate sensibilities?

Because she
proved herself worthy,

at least of further
consideration.

Ah...

You speak of worth
and the proving of it.

I will set you upon task
to mirror the same.

Hm. And what vaunted
purpose moves my hand?

Whatever fucking
purpose I require

towards satisfaction of loyalty.

We stand dishonored,

lacking Dominus with fucking
cock to reclaim lost glory

from the days of
Gannicus and Crixus.

True fuckin' champions.

Far eclipsing the shit Syrian!

Break words more wisely...

or see own questionable manhood
parted from body

in unfortunate manner
of Creticus.

His pet Nubian
claims life of a brother

absent consequence, a jest to
all who greeted him as friend.

A thing uncontested,

yet I bow to the will
of our Dominus,

as all of us must.

For now.

Hmm.

Erato's words hold truth.

They could hold
the world and still prove

of little use.

Does the honor of the house

not stand above all else?

It should.

Then our fucking
Dominus has tainted it

by positioning woman
towards the arena.

Attend!

I am set to task
beyond these walls.

In my absence, Celadus shall
stand Doctore until my return.

Gratitude.

It is a heavy honor.

The honor is mine to
have old friend assume my place.

See the men to purpose.

Resume training.

Tarchon, Erato, take position

- and fall-
- Brace!

Youthful fury pales against
the master of fucking sword.

Aargh!

Inform me when such a master
presents himself...

and I will serve same meal
that fills fucking mouth.

Tarchon!

Had you faced an opponent
of the slightest worth,

wild attack would have seen you
upon the ground of the arena

with addled brain
spilled from fucking head.

Retake position

and fall to proper form.

Doctore.

She fights as one
yet burdened by chains.

Perhaps she is shackled by thing
of more crushing weight.

Expand upon thought.

I noted a shadow within eye,

as of lingering specter.

When did you find
yourself so close to her

to observe this?

I had occasion to break words
when you ventured upon Appian...

You summoned her into the villa
absent my presence?

No, Dominus.
I went to the Nubian's cell,

accompanied by guards...

You are forbidden in the ludus.

It is unsafe for one so soft,
even with presence of escort.

I am no mouse,
nor shall cower as such.

Apologies, Dominus.

And did you divine
the cause of this shadow

you fucking noted?

- No.
- No.

Yet...

mood grew ever more somber

when eye fell upon scars
marking the back of her hand.

Whatever weights soul
may be tethered

to how she came by them.

Hold.

Return to your labors...

as we fall to our own.

I am to train with you?

I am to gauge first hand
your progress.

Yes, Dominus.

Is this the style favored when
you drew blood from Doctore?

That of murmillo?

No, Dominus.

Sword and torch,
absent weight of fucking shield.

Akin to that of dimachaerus.

A style favored by
Spartacus himself.

Sword.

Let us divine if you
stand his equal in promise.

Am I to be punished
if I draw blood?

Such a feat
will be met with reward.

Begin.

Offerings to offend eye,
and all...

related senses.

Fault lies with
Cilician cutthroats

preying upon ships bearing goods
of more earnest quality.

- Words well spoken.
- An enduring bane

which must be handled
with greatest urgency

by those imbued with
the power to act.

I can assure you,
my husband is maneuvering

toward such an end.

I shall pray to the
gods the attempt is not mired

in pompous rhetoric, as often
turns within the Senate.

An encumbrance thankfully not
suffered by your husband,

who remains well-satisfied
in the unrivalled monotony

of tax collection.

Horatia!

Clouds form upon horizon.

What unexpected joy
to fall upon you.

Mwah. Mwah.

Had I known-

mwah, mwah-
you were venturing about,

I would have gladly set aside
more urgent concerns...

...and joined you.

A decision
conjured upon the moment.

A thing too slight to mention.

Horatia, I must implore you
to break words with Uvidus

to open new grain routes.

We were not so burdened
by scarcity under watchful eye

of previous aedile,

a man much deserving
of honored position.

My husband sits in esteemed
counsel this very moment,

attempting to bring relief
to the good citizens of Capua.

My husband was not informed
of stated gathering.

Such meetings
are confined to men of note.

Gratitude for clarifying
such matters of import.

And I would be remiss
if I did not inquire

after the welfare of
beloved daughter.

Has she yet left villa since
her husband's untimely demise

at the hands of Spartacus
and his rebel horde?

Viridia shows no inclination
to end mourning.

I stand deeply concerned
for her well-being.

Of course.

I but hope to see grief balmed
by that of new-sprung love.

As would we all.

My youngest son, Manilius,

has come of age and seeks wife
of proper breeding. Perhaps...

A name worthy of consideration.

Yet I crave more equitable
pairing for deserving child.

The wife of noble Gabinius

knows best in all regards.

Please convey thoughts of better
days to your poor daughter.

It is a wonder,
is it not, to behold a sow

bedecked in silk and jewels?

Shit! Fuck!

The gods curse me!
Lend hand if you are able!

You stand the Syrian's man,
do you not?

A thing well-known.

Yes, well-known indeed.

- Horatia, the aedile's wife.
- Modesta, wife of...

who does it fucking matter?

I trust you were not
too grievously wounded

by the loss of your man
to the Brothers Ferox.

Scarcely thought upon.

Yes, I suppose
you must have grown

accustomed with failure,

given the quality
of your offerings.

Apologies, but I'm pressed upon
urgent business.

For your Dominus?

You mistake me.
I am a free man.

Oh, apologies for the error.

It is a truth presenting
challenge to recall.

May your day be blessed
as richly deserved.

Years have advanced,
yet he is still of a form.

I have heard tales of his sword

impaling the most brutish
of opponents

in advance of winning freedom.

Mm.
Would that his own weapon

be put to more intimate use.

You lower yourselves,

and towards one who favors cock
to moister offerings.

Let us to midday meal, and the
hope of more elevated discourse.

Do eyes fucking deceive?

The gods grant favor to cross
our paths, brother.

Fides. You wander far astray
from your man Proculus.

The fucking cunt parts with coin

as readily as he would
arm or cock.

I lay wager in the pits
to repay debt owed

to shriveled noble absent
reason or mercy.

The old fuck would see me
to the mines

if the ledger is not balanced.

I shall leave you to it, then.

Place from fucking mind,
brother.

What moves you to fall
from such lofty perch?

You never cared for
this fucking place,

nor those that haunt its walls.

Years have not dimmed aversion,
yet I am set to task

upon vital errand
in service of my employer.

For the fucking Syrian?

Whatever he asks of his better,

Fides will aid in effort.

Gratitude.
Yet it is a private matter

ventured upon discretion.

Your lips were ever sealed,

and even now more so
you stand as Doctore

in a house blessed
by Crassus himself,

while poor Fides toils for
scraps from fucking Proculus.

Bridle overreaching desire

and see prospects brighten.

May the gods
grant such discipline.

Come, let us share a drink
and relive days past

when we stood yet at shoulders.

A dire warning to every shit who
dared break unflattering word.

I would welcome such
fond memories, and uh,

petition kindness
to help ease present burden.

You stand so defiled by misdeeds

you beg absent honor?

Ram cock up the arse of honor.

I need coin, mm,

and you stand well-positioned
to provide such.

Misfortune can forge iron
in those who bear its heat.

I would not obstruct such vital
lesson for one with keen need

to set foot towards
more auspicious path.

Perhaps the Syrian
or withered noble

might prove more generous

in return for tales
of your past misdeeds.

Be well...

and place me far
from fucking thought.

Our business is not...

Avert fuckin' eyes
next they light upon me.

Fire burns bright,

as it did in the eyes
of the mad Thracian.

He too made attempt
upon life of his Dominus.

Yet his venture
proved more successful.

Why do you fail?

Your skill with sword
exceeds my own.

By considerable fuckin' margin,

yet insignificant
towards question. Why...

do you fail?

Perhaps wooden man
will offer greater opportunity

for reflection.

Work the palus,
and turn thoughts inwards

towards more enlightened
response.

Shit struggles against piss.

Make offer towards winner.

No more than three denarii.

Day unexpectedly brightens.

You stand absent wine.

Allow unworthy hands
to see offense corrected.

I am for business,

and the swift fucking
concluding of it.

We stand the same
in that regard.

Recent losses have
depleted stable,

forcing me to restock
offerings towards arena.

These men would see your ludus

a greater disadvantage.

Was not the mighty Oenomaus

birthed from such darkness?

Was not the Bringer of Rain
condemned to hardened purpose

within these very bowels?

Singular fucking men,
their reflection unlikely

to be glimpsed among
the chattel displayed.

What business compels
visit to Stygian depths

if they so offend?

I would break words with Anubis,

former overseer of the pits.

Anubis?
Towards what purpose?

Rumor holds that
he has a bounty of grain

much in need by the house
of my employer.

I fear you have been
led astray by errant tongue.

I had dealings with Anubis
only this morning

and can assure that grain
not among his current holdings.

Well, then I am sent
upon a fool's errand.

Only foolish,

if you return to the Syrian
empty-handed.

A true friend would see them
filled to overflowing.

You hold grain?

- To excess.
- At what cost?

Only honored presence,

honeyed by wine
and engaging discourse,

far from the noxious scent
of unwashed patrons.

Then I am your man.

As I stand yours
upon the moment.

Ah...

Thoughts wander afield,

and loving daughter
steals advantage.

Hand moves as it was
taught upon loving knee.

I give invitation

for you to join me in the city

to find you playing games
with your father.

She prefers training of mind
to clucking of hens.

More years are yet required
to best you.

I concede contest.

You but humor an old man
to believe himself

master of strategy.

A thing received
with much gratitude.

I but bow to elevated skill.

It is far too early in the day

to yet be dressed
for its end, Viridia.

Fall to baths and proper attire

befitting daughter
of noble senator.

He's forever held
in highest regard.

Aw. As he eternally holds
beloved daughter.

You coddle her
in obstruction of needed return

to the world of men.

She recovers herself
from loss of cherished husband

at measured gait.

Sharp words to spur action
will but harden resistance.

Then aid me in seeing it soften.

Reality of unmarried daughter
elicits whispers.

I would not have name sullied
by wagging tongues.

Such as
the ones you wasted hours with

this very day?

I did not deem you concerned by
the clucking of fucking hens.

Let ill temper
fall to faded memory

and common ground regained.

Much desired,
as is the breaking of words

towards the impending games
you so generously host.

What of them?

They present
much needed opportunity

to reintroduce Viridia after
long absence in public eye.

You well know her feelings
towards the games

and the gladiators
who play them.

Feelings can be molded,

especially if reformed...

by loving hands.

Oh. Countenance
did noticeably brighten

when bestowing gratitude
upon the Syrian

in aiding the downfall
of the rebel Spartacus.

Fucking Syrian.

He stands serpent,
grinning with human teeth.

He is a creature
not to be trusted.

Trust is as water transforming
to vapor or ice

upon varying conditions.

You speak in knotted riddles.

Then let us untangle mystery.

Why do you think I invited him
to break meal?

Your machinations elude.

To gauge the man
towards usefulness

in rising conflict
between Pompey

and the Syrian's patron,
Crassus.

And how is such worth measured?

By revealing desire
towards presenting motion

in the Senate,

to see Pompey unmoored
from the gates of Rome,

in pursuit of the Cilician shits

plaguing the waters
of the Republic.

You take the fucking Syrian
into confidence?

A false one,
unbeknownst to the man himself.

You test him.

If knowledge imparted
finds way to Crassus,

then we shall know the Syrian's
loyalty holds firm.

And if the cur holds tongue?

Then he may be of use to more...
agreeable master,

and perhaps maneuvered
to aid in brokering peace

between Pompey and Crassus,
averting civil war.

Truly believe
that the Syrian holds sway

over the will of
Marcus fucking Crassus?

Even a crude lever

can displace the largest of
stones when put to proper use.

The only use for such a man

is to see worms
to ravenous meal.

Does he not stand
Dominus of his own ludus

once claimed by Batiatus?

Favor granted
by Crassus himself.

His fucking house is buttressed

upon back of his Doctore Korris.

Absent him, the Syrian
would fall to deserved ruin.

True. As many before,

the Syrian stands upon
shoulders of his betters.

And seeks to gain further
purchase beyond reason.

As all of base position dream.

Why do you think they come
to those of us higher born,

seeking the borrowing of coin?

The loaning of it
a loathsome thing,

and your brother never
should have moved you

toward such base venture.

Let us not gather
Servius into argument,

nor turn from fact that
interest paid on 'base venture'

offsets costs of fineries

you so enjoy.

We stray from point.

I hold suspicion you shall
navigate us back round to it.

Do you not glean desire
simmering in the eyes

of the Syrian when lighted upon
our daughter?

Is it a wonder?
She is of a form,

as her mother so stands.

You flatter when you
should be rising towards anger.

And you anger when you should
descend towards quietude.

Now, attend to Viridia,

and place thoughts of
the Syrian from mind.

Words difficult to embrace. He...

I will hear no more of it!

If he proves of no value,

he shall surely manufacture
his own demise.

Draw comfort from such,
and let that be an end of it.

- Leave it!
- Yes, Dominus.

Assessment holds true.
Achillia yet proves unable

to shatter chains
tethering ascension,

and with it, the rise of
this fucking house!

The Nubian sours mood,

a thing keenly felt
since her arrival.

Untamed oxen
break countless yokes

until they learn to walk
where strong hand leads.

Am I to be a farmer then,
plowing fields of shit?

Apologies, Dominus.

I-I did not mean to speak
out of turn.

Achillia presents annoyance

absent benefit of
beast of burden.

Perhaps you should reconsider

staking future in
imagined abilities.

What words broken
led belief I sought your counsel

towards fucking resolution?

I only seek to protect...

You do not stand fucking wife,

nor I husband

in need of fucking concern!

Apologies.

I overstep.

What fresh shit
pours into open mouth?

Fall to fucking position.

Fuck position!

I will not work palus
beside fucking woman!

A blessing to be
so removed from distraction

of lesser presence.

Put tongue to proper use...

and lick fucking cock!

Fall to command, you mad fuck!

Dominus watches.

Hold ground, Erato!

Calm your mind.

Tarchon, Erato!
Fall to fucking position!

Do you know the fucking man
who stands before you?

I am Celadus!

I bested Anthus in
the fucking arena.

Camulus fell to my

fucking sword!

As did Magnetius, once champion
of this fucking house.

Now, you shall heed word
and show respect

for this fucking ludus,

or see your blood
on the fucking ground!

Embrace warning.

Witness feats accomplished
when mind is set to purpose.

Aspire to such...

and one day, you may also
recount grand tales...

of faded glory.

Apologies.

Message has been
delivered for Dominus.

Give it here.

Shall I fetch him?

No.

'Tis a matter beneath
his attention.

I will deal with it directly
in his name.

Domina.

He views you as a common slave.

I stand a free man,

receiving coin
for service rendered.

And what amount
graced palm for removing

decaying vestiges of
cherished brothers upon cross?

Did you wrest such knowledge
of our labors

from that shit Proculus?

Men of brute strength
may wrest such truths

from unwilling mouths,

yet, lacking such
stirring form as yours...

I must rely upon other skills.

I would be privy to
which skill one so slight

could muster in aid
of such endeavor.

Oh, there are many
who have been persuaded

by the lilting tone
of my voice, yet...

I favor listening.

Arrogant tongues often reveal
secrets that fall to advantage.

There are many paths to victory
absent force of arms,

to those with
a mind to pursue them.

You exhibit rare insight,

even for storied Doctore.

It stands wounding shame
that the Syrian fails

to place respect where it is
so lavishly deserved.

Hm. A thing I would never allow
beneath my roof.

You broach offer?

I merely make observation

in advance of...
future possibilities.

I fear they are bleak
towards house blemished

by constant defeat in the games.

It's true.

Losses mount.

Yet, unlike the Syrian,

my house holds position

in the arena.

Imagine heights achieved if
drunken excuse training my men

were to be eclipsed by a more...

radiant sun.

You place blame
for failure outward

towards your Doctore?

I place it where it is
firmly deserved.

Present Doctore has
the mind of clotted earth.

Men grounded by dull wit
seldom grasp the heavens.

And only a fool
leaps from a cliff

expecting wings to sprout
as if by miracle.

And how might a hawk
ever know he possesses such

when confined to
restrictive cage?

How high could such a bird soar?

Far above the walls of a ludus,

borne aloft by the
turbulent winds of opportunity.

You are not
what expectation conjured.

Well, I stand honored
in the exceeding of it.

Achillia!

Fall to position.

Let us divine
if sober reflection

birthed desired result.

Dominus.

Begin.

Dominus' words
were ill-spoken against you.

Yet he broached no lies.

Even hard truth
may be honeyed with gentle tone.

Such was deserved.

I do not stand wife...

nor should assume such position.

Nor should I see you
so aggrieved by love withheld.

Presence warms heart
beyond words.

I would warm more than heart...
if so allowed.

Sentiment is well received.

I have long desired
to hear those words

fall from ripened lips.

Messia,
I hold you dearest friend.

Friend?

There is no more truer word

for those who care
for each other.

Then let us stand as such

and condemn errant musings
to forgotten memory.

Perhaps the gods
will bless us this day

and they will kill each other.

Good.

Use nimble body of a woman
to advantage

against more lumbering opponent.

Yet do not fall
to overconfidence.

A mistake you may
never rise from in the arena.

I ask again,

why do you fail?

Fail.

Fail!

Why...

do you...

fail?

Because I stand unworthy!

My duty forsaken!

And the memory

shackles fucking mind!

The weight you carry,

memories from the land
you hail from,

of love, family,
triumph and tragedy.

It is of no interest for
the eyes upon you in the arena.

The past,

stands not who we are.

The present is what
holds meaning.

The promise of tomorrow.

Resume training.

And seize fate,

as champion of this
fucking house.

How gauge you my form
against Achillia?

You stood as colossus, Dominus.

Question was not posed to you.

Yet words are plucked
from my thoughts.

You stood as described,

unequalled by man,
nor undeserving woman.

I will not have reply
from slave to Dominus...

but from Hilara

to Ashur.

I hold deep regret...

that eyes never witnessed you
upon sands of the arena.

Had they been upon me...

I would have risen to champion.

You forever stand as such

to those who hold you to heart.

I would fall to bath
to erase day's labor.

I would have you as you are,

a god among men.

Fetch wine.

Wait to be summoned.

You find offered distraction
lacking?

Passion fails to rise
towards early contest.

Blood stirs with unveiling
of the primus.

Hm.

Then let us not delay
anticipated arrival.

You present such diversion

to all who call upon you?

Such titillation pleases the
elite of both Capua and Rome,

knowledge embraced by
the previous Dominus

of the Syrian's own house.

I am yet astounded

that women of position
lower themselves

to such base entertainment.

Their appetites far exceed those

of languid husbands.

You would marvel at those
who have crossed threshold

in such pursuits.

Surely none of esteem
within city walls.

No less than the wife
of the aedile himself.

Horatia?

And what of her friends?

Modesta? No.

I fear she lacks courage
to propel desire.

But the honored wife of
good Gabinius, however,

stands opposite in all regards.

Cossutia?

The woman's disposition
cuts sharper

than well-honed blade.

How did you fall to
such prickly acquaintance?

As with...
many women of a certain age,

she craves days forever lost

and attention faded
by passing years.

Praise and gentle words
dull even the sharpest edge.

The Syrian possesses
no such insight

that would sway nobles
to his cause.

He does lack
a certain art of tongue,

causing those of position
to shun his presence.

A thing of no concern

if you labored beneath
a more appreciative lanista.

I have lingered beyond reason.

You spoke of grain.

I shall see you well satisfied

to be delivered upon break
of day when storm has passed.

Gratitude.

I should fall from presence...

while-while I still
remain upright.

What wonders could be presented
in the hopes of basking

in such glorious light
on a more permanent basis?

- Evidence.
- Towards?

I would see my men
in deserved position

in the impending games
of the Ludi Apollinares.

You wish me to secure purchase

for the house where
you stand dishonored

while elevating the Syrian
at my own expense?

I trained those men,
not the fucking Syrian.

They stand but reflection
of my worth.

Victory in the arena swells
esteem and conveys advantage

towards next who would
embrace me as Doctore.

And if gentle breeze
lights upon receptive ear

in service of desire?

Then perhaps we shall
share wine and words once more.

Apologies.

Coin or blood?

Blood, then.

Fuck ya, bastard!

How's your fucking honor now?

Fides, you fucking cunt!

Spare life! I beg you!

I'm not in a forgiving mood.

Wrath falls upon mistaken form!

It is not my hand
that moves against you!

Who set you to fuckin' task, eh?

Fides!

The past stands not who I am.

The past stands not who I am.

The past stands not who I am.

Achillia.

You are summoned.

There are those
among you, I am told,

who take issue with
latest acquisition

and hold she does not stand
among the brotherhood.

Let us put such concerns
to fucking grass.

Dominus.

Apologies, but she has not yet
been tested upon bridge,

as each of us has.

Have you ever drawn blood
from your Doctore?

Hmm?

Have any of you fucking cunts?

Speak now

and dispel ignorance.

Achillia need prove herself
worthy of the mark to but one

in this house, and I...

stand well fucking satisfied.

Kneel.

Set mind towards
glorious fuckin' purpose

in honor of
the House of Ashur...

and receive
sacramentum gladiatorum.

Echo my words.

I commit my flesh, my mind, my
will to the glory of this ludus

and the commands of my Dominus.

I commit my flesh,
my mind, my will...

to the glory of this ludus...

and the commands of my Dominus.

I swear to be burned,
chained, beaten

or die by the sword in the
pursuit of honor in the arena.

I swear to be burned, chained,

beaten,

or die by the sword...

in the pursuit of honor
in the arena.

Oath has been spoken.

She now stands
among the brotherhood.

Let this hold end of
fucking disagreement.

Doctore!

That shit Proculus
moves against us?

The villain Fides
is known to be his man

upon necessity and occasion.

And you ripped
confession out of him?

No, he slipped from grasp-

Attend with
more considerate touch

or see wound afflicted
upon own flesh!

I yet live,

and all that follows I hold
to be a fucking blessing.

Lifts heart to hear it so.

What of your task?

Were you able to secure
what I've asked of you?

I broke words and wine
with Opiter

and gained his confidence
as instructed.

And he suspected nothing
of your chance encounter

at the pits he often frequents?

He believes
I was sent upon errand

to secure grain from Anubis.

And how did you leave the man?

Swelled with hope
of me becoming his Doctore,

if he moves Cossutia
towards our inclusion

in her husband's games.

You prove yourself
beyond measure.

Rest and see health restored.

And what of Proculus?

We shall repay blood
with fucking blood

upon time and place
of our choosing.

I am in need of a fucking
medicus.

It is done?

Korris yet lives,

though grievously
fucking injured.

See debt owed to your husband
stricken from ledger

as agreed upon in reply to
today's message,

and I shall redouble-

Consider ledger balanced.