Volrath pitched forward a few feet as a sharp pain hit him squarely in the back, a gasp emitting from his lips at the suddenness of it. He whirled around with a growl of fury, half expecting to see the Roman he was sparring with back on his feet and striking him from behind like a coward, only to see him still laying in a heap at his feet breathing heavily with a pool of blood issuing from his mouth. The famed berserker fury of the North Men that was threatening to overwhelm him was halted quickly by his moment of confusion and he looked about at the other gladiators, some still sparring, others all turning their attention to the new slave woman, whose arm was quickly wrapped in Lucious's whip before she was expertly subdued and then quickly shackled.<br/><br/><em>THAT WHORE!</em>his mind roared the instant realization dawned on him...soon followed by a mighty chuckle from his barrel chest. "Indeed! She does have some fight in her...I was wrong to think her a whore! Such fire in a woman would surely make her the wife of the Chieftan in my tribe! I like her already...if she lives that is," he said after his fit of laughter had subsided, mostly to himself, but partially to The Celt as well.<br/><br/>Intently, Volrath watched as Lucious followed his orders and slid his hand between the woman's legs, taking longer then one would need to decide, and turned about to proclaim his judgement to Marcus. Oh...she was woman alright...a<em>real woman.</em>Not some weak willed Roman slut. The kind of woman that you could drink a flagon of ale with, fight with, and bed all in one night. The kind of woman that made you earn her and her respect. Volrath's kind of woman.