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250 pages, Paperback
First published November 24, 2012
"Anazâr would take this offering, take Felix, seize this moment even if he died on the cross for it later. He was tired of worrying about later. He’d live like he did in the arena, one passionate horrible glorious moment at a time."
“For once, I’m not acting the fool. I have information for you. I’ll tell you everything. And then, once you’ve heard, you can decide . . . you can decide whether I’m worth risking your life for.”
"One kiss turned into another, and another again, hungry starving relief and thankfulness, and best of all he knew Felix felt it too, that perfect clarity and harmony between them that reached beyond everything, everything, even the words of the poets. Beyond joy and sadness, or perhaps encompassing both, allowing Anazâr to consider the most brutal of facts in the light of compassion."
"A spell, yes. More powerful than anything you could buy at a temple, more powerful than anything you could conjure up even with baths of blood. It transformed them both.
And it was terrifying."
"Felix could see him as both slave and man, and with that sight, finally free him. Maybe not in the eyes of Roman law, but what did the law matter, really, compared to everything else that made him a slave?"
"I have to see your eyes again.
Felix staggered, and his clammy hands clasped Anazâr’s elbows in turn, linking them both together. Then he took a deep breath and raised his eyes, and oh gods, he looked nothing like his brother—everything he was, every tortuous contradiction, was right there on the surface of his face. No barriers, no masks."
"Tonight, at least, he’d follow where Felix led. That was the small mercy, that this night would be theirs. The greater mercy would come when Felix left.
And lived."
Now we are free - Lisa Gerrard - Gladiator OST
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Owg-Na...
The time for hate and outrage had passed. Even the bitterest seeds of resentment and despair, sown the day of his capture and watered ever since with an endless string of humiliations and degradations and pain, had dissolved into something else, something there wasn't a name for. Not in any victor's tongue, anyway, and that was all that mattered here.
"Ten lashes for laziness, ten for cowardice, and another ten for disobedience," shouted the lanista's right-hand man.
Anazâr pulled him roughly closer. I'll have the truth from you yet. But the truth had undergone a metamorphosis into something embodied, held warm in his arms. already here for him. Stripped of everything. Everything except…
To submission, to satisfaction. Mine to give, mine to take.
He asked me my real name. To know me as a man and not as a slave.
I'll die touching you. That's all I ever asked.
“Love’s a crazy whore,” he said. “That’s all there is, really.”
Anazâr pinched out the candle flame and joined in darkness, wherever he was, wherever he was going.
One kiss turned into another, and another again, hungry starving relief and thankfulness, and best of all he knew felt it too, that perfect clarity and harmony between them that reached beyond everything, everything, even the words of the poets. Beyond joy and sadness, or perhaps encompassing both, allowing Anazâr to consider the most brutal of facts in the light of compassion.
He fell back into his own skin, felt the warm sun beating down on his shoulders, heard the crowd’s chant resounding all throughout this holy space.
For all he'd witnessed of the world, all the suffering and tragedy and misery, there seemed a wealth of unimaginable happiness and beauty just beyond the edge of his experience. Awaiting him.
So let the snow fall.
He traced the perfect circle of an O, looked up to and smiled.
Death made love all the more urgent.This book absolutely blew me away.
He was tired of worrying about later. He'd live like he did in the arena, one passionate horrible glorious moment at a time.Taken form the battlefield and given the slave name Cyrenaicus, Anazâr has become a formidable Gladiator in Rome. After refusing to slaughter helpless opponents, he is traded to a wealthy Roman household with a new mission - training a ragtag troupe of female slaves to fight as Gladiatrices.
Marianus's Power: the ability to command without threat, to have his expectations fulfilled without voicing them.The wealthy Lucius Marianus and his wife Aelia have acquired Anazâr to train their female fighters. The former trainer for the gladiatrices was far more concerned with availing himself of their feminine charms (sometimes against their will) than he was with training the women to fight. Anazâr, however, has no such desire. It's why he was specifically chosen for this task.
That same touch guided Anazâr to his knees.
"We are all the same. Bags of bones and blood and brilliance."Felix is the black-sheep little brother of Lucius Marianus. Openly disdainful of both his brother and the elite of Rome with which he surrounds himself. Felix prefers to enjoy the pleasures of life: poetry, wine, and sex. This lust for life - and lust in general - does not go unnoticed by Anazâr.
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"I'm going to kiss you now," he warned in a whisper, transfixed by Felix's smothered, glassy expression. "Make a sound, and I'll stuff my cock down your throat to silence you, and then your pretty hole won't get fucked at all." He'd never used words this way with a lover, but Felix inspired him--Felix was his muse...
You’re perfect. A strong man, a good man . . . oh gods, I don’t want to lose you—”
Hot tears streaked his face and he didn’t care. He was tired of bearing his slave’s burden with noble, quiet dignity. All he’d worked and strived for, and what had it gotten him? He cast aside the last of his hope of freedom. Gave in to the weight of the chains. Let them anchor him to the dirt.
And wept
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