Lucious Marius (http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a322/Kyodaiki/1272791244793-1.jpg?t=1286057022), or Cato, was a man of no great height but unmistakeable stature. Trained in combat, bathed in blood for nearly as long as he could remember, it simply felt unnatural not to be armed. It was rare for him not to wear his Spartha on his hip, while his whip rested oposite of it. There was no doubt he knew how to use both, but he did not use the whip often. When it was applied, it was well earned.<br/><br/>But most of the curs that would think to be called Gladiators did not even deserve it's lash. The sands would take the weak in the coming months, but it sickened him to watch over them while they floundered about, ignoring his experiance due to fear, ignorance, or arrogance. All the same he watched over them, not for their potential, but for their worth in coin. Money had exchanged hands for them, although he suspected that a good number of them would be little more then fodder for beasts, or to be beaten by the skilled.<br/><br/>Only a sparse few interested him, his gray eyes drifted over them almost tiredly. He noticed the Norse glancing to the balcony, knew why he did, but said nothing. No, if he could take the time to look from his opponent then he deserved a look, and he would get no more. Instead of unleashing the whip on him he glanced to the balcony as well, brow arched as he glanced up at his employer's daughter. Being older gave one certain advantages in experiance, he could see subtle changes in the girl, but it wasn't his place to speak of it. But he couldn't help but be curious what the slave whispered in her ear.<br/><br/><em>No matter,</em>he thought. His charge was bellow, wooden swords bruising flesh and muscle in preperation for death. And until the first few of them died they would not turn to him. Death, even to a slave, was a powerful motivation.