Anteris' voice boomed out across the docks, the Arena fighters pausing as they took in his words. They had all seen Anteris take on the Emperor, and many of them had watched as Anteris and Boson had tended to Graffius' wounds.
"I will yield!" A tall fighter, with dark skin and long braided hair, wearing a loose white robe which covered his chain mail, sheathed his sword and walked toward the Ursten forces, arms wide open, palms up. Showing clearly that he had no weapons and no spells prepared.
"I also!"
"And me!"
Similar yells sounded out from many of the fighters, the vast majority of them clearly foreigners, more than likely enslaved as young people, the combat of the Arena all they had ever known.
In his desperation and in his pride, the Emperor had forgotten how many of those that fought in the Arena were slaves. Those who fought in the Arena by choice, they only knew the camaraderie and respect, and the thirst for glory.
