THE GLADIATOR by Sean O'Kane

as you soon, eh?”
    As a reward for her part in Carlo’s display, he had ‘El Tigre’ as all the men called her delivered to Tara’s stall that night and he leaned on the half door, watching indulgently as the girl paid homage between Tara’s widely spread legs.
    With the squad up to thirty six girls, nicknames were abandoned and instead each girl wore a numbered disk at the front of her collar. Tara’s was number one, but despite that, hers and the gypsy girl’s names stuck.
    Training soon settled back into its gruelling routine which was only alleviated by the guards’ increasingly frequent references to the next show. And then finally there came a day when no slave was taken out and guards and grooms alike had scurried about on mysterious errands.
    It occurred to Tara to wonder during that day how the men would set about transporting a total of thirty nine slave girls. And when she found out, she once again marvelled at the excitingly cruel and yet elegantly simple solution.
    Of course the slaves were no more than cargo. Valuable cargo, but cargo nonetheless. So only the slightest of nods in the direction of their being human merchandise was made. The girls were simply crated up for the journey.
    To begin with, the day started normally. Food was swilled into the trough which ran down one side of the stall and Tara’s hands were clipped together behind her back which meant she had to kneel down and plough through the gruel face first until she had lapped up everything. One of the stable hands then returned and wiped her face before leading her out to squat over the channel cut in the floor which ran in front of all four stalls. There she voided herself, her motions were examined, notes taken and then she was cleaned. All this was perfectly normal and Tara had come to enjoy the care which was taken over her well-being; she had come to accept fully that she liked the idea of being a purely physical creature - a beautiful animal - kept by her owner to be tested and exhibited, to be admired and desired. And to be submissive to his will at all times. And from conversations she had overheard between her owner and her trainer, she knew that if she did well at this show, she would be promoted to the rank of solo fighter and wear the heavy tongue ring as the badge of her complete enslavement.
    So when she saw the crates, her immediate reaction was one of admiration rather than horror. They were simply wire lockers about three feet high by six long. Four of them were laid out in the courtyard, ready to be stacked onto the waiting truck, where a pile of already occupied crates was already loaded. The slaves had simply been hogtied and then slid in through the top-hinged flap at one end of each crate. It seemed that no one had been bothered about noise because no gags had been employed and the crates’ occupants were already whimpering and groaning as Tara was made to lie down while her groom folded her arms and legs up neatly behind her then tied her ankles and wrists together, before two of the guards lifted her easily and slid her into her crate then picked that up and tossed it casually onto the truck. She found herself above one of the new girls and alongside Carrot. In short order the other three crates were stacked and the truck jolted off, to the accompaniment of outraged squeals from its cargo as breasts were painfully squeezed against the harsh wire every time it lurched or dropped a wheel into a pothole.
    The truck took them back towards the little port at which they had first arrived but turned off once it had crested the hill and Tara could see they were heading towards a small airfield. Helicopters and small, ungainly aircraft stood about. And into one of these planes the consignment of slaves which contained Tara was loaded and firmly lashed down. As the engines began to roar and shake the plane, not for the first time Tara reflected on just how much money was invested in the stables and the shows. But her