– Spartacus to the ring! – was heard the voice of the «announcer».

On the trampled field, surrounded by the public, stretching his muscles stood a man about two meters tall. He looked about thirty or thirty-five years old. He looked very big and powerful, with a fashionably trimmed beard. Crunching his bones, the fighter stared intently into the eyes of his approaching opponent. Everything about the man was that of a ruthless predator, lacking only a tiger's growl.

Spartacus, on the other hand, seemed noticeably smaller in build, though he had a muscular and also quite sturdy body. He shook his hands, balled his fingers into fists, and stood in front of them. They ducked slightly and prepared to fight.

The night ring, far away from the city on a vacant lot, was lit by the headlights of the cars surrounding the spectacle site. And with them a crowd of people, mostly men, who were betting.

It was already beginning to dawn, and it was time for the final round. The previous defeated fighters also joined the fans.

– The cast-iron against Spartacus! Place your bets, gentlemen! – announced the announcer, also the referee in one person. After some quick comments about the competitors, he says there are no rules in this match!

– Spartacus is good! – Someone from the audience shouted out, – my money's on you, brother, don't let me down!

Then Spartacus' opponent, the one nicknamed Chugun, growled in displeasure, staring at him point-blank.

Spartacus, with his fists clenched at his head, began to move slowly in a circle preparing to defend himself. His opponent followed. And after a minute, he lunged forward, delivering a straight long blow to the head. Spartacus swayed sideways. He felt a sharp pain not only pierce his eye, but also swell up, blocking his view. No sooner had he regained consciousness than he was thrown to the ground. Chugun with a sharp kick to the inside of his knee. And Spartacus settled down. After that, the latter tried to grab his neck from behind, jamming it into his elbow. But Spartacus turned his head to the side and didn't let him squeeze his trachea. With his free hand from behind, he grabbed Chugun by the chin. And with all his might, he pushed his head back. Chugun involuntarily relaxed his grip, and at that moment Spartacus made an effort and jerked out. At the same time, he gave him a powerful punch to the liver. Chugun jerked back, finally letting his opponent out of his grasp. Without wasting a second, Spartacus turned around and kicked him in the jaw with his knee. Chugun went down. Knockout.

He was sitting on the edge of a dilapidated but large stump. Once upon a time, it been a handsome century-old pine tree. He sank a straw into his teeth and stared out into the distance. Ahead lay a ravine, and beyond it ran a small river. And behind him, across the field, stretched the village where Spartacus had been born and raised. His hair, a little sunburnt, was sticking to his forehead from the sweat. And stuck to his forehead, and his broad, tanned back, as if smeared with oil, shimmered in the faint rays of the morning dawn.

After a jog along the confusing and dusty roads and a short workout at the makeshift bar, the young man gave himself a little break. Although his stomach was already rumbling with hunger, but he was no hurry to go home. Solitude with nature was his favorite thing to do. Especially in the early morning, while life was still awakening around him. No one interfered with dreaming, making plans, solving questions, and healing his soul. He sat with his heated body exposed to the soft breeze of the departing summer. Thoughts and dreams carried him far beyond the horizon. Absorbed in his thoughts, he did not notice someone approaching him.

– How long are you going to sit there? – the squeaky voice of his stepfather's son. Hardly move his fat legs, he reached the outskirts of the village.

– What do you want? – Spartacus, without turning around, said in his bass voice in contrast to his voice.

– What's up… my father's calling, he's got something to do.

– His jalopy broke down again? – Spartacus interrogated, putting his feet down on the ground.

He grabbed his shirt from the nearby bush, where he had hung it before. And throwing it on his shoulder, with a leisurely step went in the direction of the river bank.

– What can I say? He said he was in a hurry, urgent business. – said guy followed him.

– Okay, I'll soon, Stepka, – he answered, – I'll have a swim in the river once and then go back. But you go. Or you'll drown again if you get into the water.

– Well, teach me to swim, Spar?! – The boy begged in a frustrated voice.

– Later, there is no time now.

Stepan saddened his head, turned away and went back muttering to himself, – always so, no time, no time…

Upon reaching the edge of the shore, Spartacus took off his old jeans and underwear and quickly entered the water. Reaching the depths, he jerked and after a few meters swam out with a soft moan of bliss. His flesh, warmed by training slowly began to cool in the chilly waves of the small river.

Robust torso, firm muscles, and hawkish gaze of gray eyes. Many girls in the area drove mad. Everyone was trying to get his attention. And women, some older ones, craved it with undisguised desire.

His mother kept trying to keep the huntresses away from her very handsomely son as best she could. But they still managed to make contact with him.

With it, he was also involved in underground fights there. His mother sometimes treated him for weeks after fight. And no amount of her tears or threats could dissuade him from the dangerous occupation.

– Why did Herman give you this name? – She sometimes wailed as she bandaged her son's wounds. – Do you want to die like him, too?!

– Mom, stop it, it's just a sport. We don't really fight, – he tried to reassure her.

And he don’t leave it, because its business was making good money. But not only that trouble, he had a string of groupies following him around. And he didn't mind.

Sometimes, a pretty young women Vera ask him to help her sort out the wiring at home, and Spartacus not say «no». And work somehow… drags on until morning. Or, for example, Claudia needs help, too. Fixing the furniture… the table is broken! And it's the same story. This is the life they continue to live. Spartacus just can't refuse anyone, because have so kind soul.

– Don't let your kindness bring you a baby in a hem! – scolded his mother.

– What I'm a fool?! – replied the guy to her. Often he ran away from such talk.

– What happened, Uncle Pasha? – Spartacus asked, sitting down at the table.

He had not seen his stepfather since this morning, and their conversation dragged on into the evening.

– After dinner, we'll go away, and we'll discuss it there. – The man answered him. From a large frying pan in the middle of the table he poured fried potatoes into his plate, then reached for a dish of fried chicken.

– May I help Spar? – Stepan asked with his full mouth.

– No, – Spartacus answered for his stepfather, picking up his fork.

– It's not mending, son, – said the man, ignoring his stepson's words.

– So what? – With a worried look at her husband, the guy's mother asked.

– It is a man's business, woman. Don't interfere, we will sort it out ourselves.

She sighed and looked at her son. Spartacus immediately looked up at her and slowly lowered his eyelids, giving her a sign not to worry.

After dinner they went outside. The stepfather sat down on the bench by the gate and Spartacus stood across from him, preparing to listen intently.