Seasons passed, as Comac continued to serve Stratos on his plantation. Despite the burn on his face and the whip marks on his back, the dark red equine never called him master. And the long hours of slave labor did eventually pay off, as Comac grew in height and frame; becoming a prime specimen of a stallion. He had outlived many of the other young colts brought along to be slaves, most of whom had died from exhaustion. Stratos saw the earth equine’s massive size as a new way to make some extra bits.
“I no longer require your services in the field, Comac,” said Stratos. “I think an equine of your size and strength could make me some generous bits in the gladiator ring.”
“Not as if I have any choice in the matter,” Comac retorted.
“Very good, Comac,” sneered Stratos. “You know your place in this world.”
Stratos took Comac to Haykania, a city well known for its various sporting events; gladiatorial fights being the most popular. Stratos pulled Comac along the city, his yoke hooked to a chain that Stratos held in his hand. The slave master finally found the place he was looking for. He met with master of ceremonies; or rather the masters of ceremonies. They were both lanky unicorn equines, with yellow fur, bright red manes, both wearing jeweled robes and various rings on their fingers. One was clean shaven, while the other sported a long Fu Manchu mustache.
“Greetings, good sir,” exclaimed the clean shaven one. “ I’m Flimly.”
“And I’m Flamdaul,” exclaimed the Fu Manchu one. “And welcome to our world famous gladiatorial arena!”
“How may my brother and I be of assistance to you?” asked Flimly.
“I would like to enter my slave here into one of your competitions,” said Stratos, presenting Comac.
The two brothers walked around Comac, giving him a look over.
“Well, he certainly is a big one,” said Flimly.
“Indeed he is,” agreed Flamdaul. “But, does he have any fighting experience?”
“He’s actually a field worker,” said Stratos. “But he was first raised in the lad of Currmeria; land of warriors.”
The brother continued to look over Comac. Flimly arched an eyebrow in thought, while Flamdaul twirled his long mustache.
“Well, I suppose we could start him off with the less skilled fighters,” announced Flimly.
“That should work out just fine,” agreed Flamdaul. “Do you have any sort of outfit for him to wear?”
“An outfit?” asked Stratos.
“But of course,” exclaimed Flimly. “Did you expect him to fight in a drab loincloth and dirty old yoke?“
“It should go without saying!“ exclaimed Flamdaul.
“Although…“ began Flimly. “That could make for an interesting image. If the young stallion survives a few matches, he could be billed as a field hand making his way up the ranks!”
“The spirited young warrior from Currmeria!” exclaimed Flamdaul.
“Does he have a name?” asked Flimly.
“He’s called Comac,” said Stratos.
“AH!” both brothers said together.
“An exciting name!” exclaimed Flimly.
“A striking name!” exclaimed Flamdaul.
“COME SEE COMAC OF CURRMERIA!” both exclaimed in unison.
“The crowed will eat it up!” exclaimed Flamdaul.
“Indeed they will, dear brother of mine!” agreed Flimly. “Indeed they will! But first we need to spread some word around the city of this up and coming warrior!”
“Excuse me, good sir…” began Flamdaul, not knowing the owner’s name.
“I am called Stratos,” he told them.
“Very good,” said Flamdaul. “Now, Stratos, do you and your warrior here have a place to stay before his first fight?”
“That won’t be a problem,” explained Stratos. “I have bits to pay for a place to sleep.”
“Very good very good,” exclaimed Flimly. “The less we have to pay for your expenses, the better. More bits for you when the bets come in.”
“Any weapons?” asked Flamdaul.
“Well, I…” Stratos began to stay.
“I can make my own weapon,” interrupted Comac. "Currmerians learn at a very young age.”
“Oh my oh my! He is an interesting one!” exclaimed Flimly.
“Indeed he is!” agreed Flamdaul. “The crowed will love to hear that as well. Fighter who forges his own weapons!”
“We must go and spread the word now, good sir,” exclaimed Flimly. “You both better get yourselves prepared for the big event tomorrow!”
“Noon! On the dot!” exclaimed Flamdaul.
The two ran off in great excitement, leaving Stratos and Comac alone. Stratos then gave his slave a harsh look.
“What is wrong with you?” asked Stratos. “Telling them you can make your own weapons!? We don’t have the time to be forging swords or axes or whatever your crazy mind is thinking!”
“I don’t need a sword,” said Comac. “A blunt instrument fashioned from wood will suffice.”
“I suppose, we can manage that,” growled Stratos.
“But, I choose what wood to use,” said Comac.
“Don’t start giving me orders!” exclaimed Stratos.
“I am an earth equine,” said Comac. “I am more in tune with things that grow from the earth. I will know what wood will make for the best weapon. I was merely stating a fact…master.”
It was the first time Stratos had ever heard Comac refer to him as master.
“Why the sudden respect?” asked Stratos.
“The thought of fighting competitively intrigues me,” explained Comac. “I figured I might as well start calling you master to help with this image that those two ‘unusual’ brothers are cooking up. It’s more getting myself used to saying it, rather than respect.”
“I suppose I’ll take it,” said Stratos. “Will you need any armor or some form of protection?”
“Might as well win some bits before spending on superfluous things,” commented Comac.
“You certainly are sure of yourself,” chuckled Stratos.
“Would you have brought me here if you weren’t also sure?” asked Comac.
“I suppose you have a point there,” Stratos chuckled again. “Alright then, let’s go out and find you some wood to fashion a weapon. If you manage to survive, maybe I’ll get you the supplies to make something a bit more flashy.”