Grapple, dodge, square and drag.
Clouds of dust kicked up under the Neapolitan sun swirl around the tramping feet shuffling in the sand. Imaginary crowds roar and echo, baying for blood — a drop of which the arena has not seen since Antiquity.
The souls of patrons and magisters Valgus and Porcius smile from beyond upon the combative spirit of youth, sparring sine ira.
Perhaps even exalted Mars himself nods in silent benediction.