Spartacus: Blood And Sand -

Batiatus would sigh, theatrical. “My father, a pragmatic man, did not kill him. He made him ostiarius . A living lesson. Glory is a snake that bites its own tail. One moment of fear, and the Unbroken becomes the Unmended.”

Batiatus lunged. Pelorus, with the slow, economical grace of a man who had dodged death forty-seven times, sidestepped. He used his stump to hook Batiatus’s wrist and his good hand to drive the little whittling knife—the one he’d been sharpening for ten years—up under the lanista’s chin. spartacus: blood and sand

Pelorus smiled. It was a terrible thing, like a crack in a tomb. “No, Dominus. I told her the truth. That is the only poison you cannot buy an antidote for.” Batiatus would sigh, theatrical

The story of Pelorus was a story Batiatus liked to tell guests during lavish dinners, a cautionary tale seasoned with profit. “He was my father’s greatest investment,” Batiatus would say, swirling wine. “A net and trident fighter from Crete. Won forty-seven bouts. Forty-seven! The mob adored him. He was Insutribilis —the Unbroken.” A living lesson