Spartacus

In the last century

before the birth...

of the new faith

called Christianity...

which was destined to overthrow

the pagan tyranny of Rome...

and bring about a new society...

the Roman republic stood at the very

centre of the civilized world.

"Of all things fairest. "

sang the poet...

"first among cities and

home of the gods is golden Rome. "

Yet even at the zenith

of her pride and power...

the Republic lay fatally stricken

with a disease called...

human slavery.

The age of the dictator

was at hand...

waiting in the shadows

for the event to bring it forth.

In that same century...

in the conquered

Greek province of Thrace...

an illiterate slave woman

added to her master's wealth...

by giving birth to a son

whom she named Spartacus.

A proud. rebellious son...

who was sold to living death

in the mines of Libya...

before his thirteenth birthday.

There. under whip

and chain and sun...

he lived out his youth

and his young manhood...

dreaming the death of slavery...

before it finally would die.

Back to work!

Get up, Spartacus,

you Thracian dog!

Come on, get up!

My ankle, my ankle!

My ankle!

Spartacus again?

This time he dies.

Back to work, all of you!

- Welcome, Lentulus Batiatus.

- Welcome, indeed, my dear captain.

Eleven miles

through the disastrous heat...

and the cost

of hiring an escort-- ruinous.

Even so, I warrant you have nothing

fiit to sell me, have you, Captain?

I've wasted my time and my money.

Tell me the truth.

I think we have a few

you might be interested in.

What, these? Carrion!

The buzzards are late.

This one here's not bad.

He's a Gaul.

I don't like Gauls. Hairy.

-Can he come down from there unassisted?

-Come down, you!

Come down!

Be good enough

to show me the teeth.

- Open your mouth!

- Thank you.

Yes. As the teeth go,

so go the bones.

This mouth is

really impermissible.

- The fellow's made of chalk.

- We have others. Many others!

The sun's over there.

I have to pay these people.

Who's that?

This one's a Thracian.

I'm making an example of him.

- How?

- Starve him to death.

It's the only thing impresses slaves.

What a pity.

He reacts. Good muscle tone.

Can I see his teeth?

Open your mouth, Spartacus!

You smell like a rhinoceros.

Captain, you asked him to open

his mouth. He doesn't obey you?

His teeth are

the best thing about him.

He hamstrung a guard with them

not more than an hour ago.

Hamstrung? How marvellous!

I wish I'd been here.

I'll take him.

Let's look at some of the others.

Come along!

In spite of sickness and death,

we will profiit 11,000 sesterces!

Including your commission,

of course.

No, sir.

Without my commission.

Marcellus, there they are.

They're a dirty-looking lot,

but it's the best I could fiind.

No one else could have made

so fiine a choice.

Slaves...

you have arrived at the gladiatorial

school of Lentulus Batiatus.

Here you will be trained by experts

to fiight in pairs to the death.

Obviously, you won't be required

to fiight to the death here.

That will only be

after you've been sold...

and then for ladies

and gentlemen of quality...

those who appreciate

a fiine kill.

A gladiator's like a stallion:

He must be pampered.

You'll be oiled, bathed...

shaved, massaged,

taught to use your heads.

A good body with a dull brain

is as cheap as life itself!

You'll be given

your ceremonial caudas.

Marcellus, please. There.

Be proud of them.

On certain special occasions,

those of you who please me...

will even be given

the companionship of a young lady.

Approximately half our graduates...

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