The massive city walls loomed just ahead. They were made from solid stone and were so tall they seemed they would touch the sky. The walls had proved formidable for invading barbarians for centuries. The gates were open and the sounds of thousands of people could be heard for miles around. They were all celebrating and dressed for a momentous occasion.

Two oxen were pulling a makeshift gallow that had been fashioned into a cart carrying a long haired warrior who looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks. It was being escorted by soldiers dressed in ceremonial garb, carrying long wooden spears. That morning they had dressed the warrior in his battle attire though, he did not begin to resemble the proud, fierce warrior he once was. Hands bound together, noose around his neck, he could hardly muster the strength to support his armor clad body. Malnutrition and the most savage methods of torture imaginable had left them in his state.

Marching in front of the cart were men dressed in the same ceremonial garb as the soldiers but instead of spears they were carrying long golden trumpets. As the procession edged closer to the entrance the warrior's heart became gripped by fear. His stomach felt as if it had been filled with ice and his knees became weaker; he willed himself not to wretch in front of the soldiers around him.

The procession stopped just in front of the gate; the noise was now deafening. Just inside he could see guards lined up on either side of the street looking straight ahead, bodies with a statue like rigidity. The warrior looked as best he could behind him, out into the country side, and longed for home.

As if by an order, the crowd became immediately silent. The trumpeters began playing a song, a song of victory, and the procession started up again. The soldier driving the cart gave the oxen a command and they again pulled the cart forward.

Upon first entering the city the warrior stood awestruck for a moment at the enormity of the metropolis. All around, as far as the eye could see, stood large structures supported by stone pillars. Off in the distance stood a collossal arena that he did not even know men were capable of building. "No doubt built by slave labor," he thought to himself. The warrior thought of his people and his heart wept.

The crowd (he now realized was two immense seas of people on either side of him) was still silent, though he could feel them gazing at him with disgust. The warrior felt something something hit his side and saw a tomato now sitting by his feet. At once the once jovial gathering had now turned into a vicious mob, pelting him with rotten vegetables and rocks. A soldier broke rank and went after a citizen after a wilted piece of lettuce missed it's target and hit him instead.

The warrior forced himself to face straight ahead and saw their destination. Before him stood a massive stage with a large marble throne situated at the top of more steps than he cared to count. Seated at the bottom and around it were what the warrior thought had to be the nobility of the city. They were all dressed in the finest robes and looked as if they had never seen a hard days labor in their entire lives. Each had a look of smugness on their faces.

The trumpeters broke of into two lines on either side of the nobles. The driver brought the oxen to a halt a hundred feet away. The warrior's palms began to sweat profously and any strength he had in his legs began to fade quickly. He knew the moment was soon coming, he just wished it would come quicker.

The crowd suddenly lost it's viciousness and began to roar with applause. Looking up to see what could've cause this abrupt change, the warrior saw standing in front of the throne a man that he knew and abhorred. A man filled with venomous greed and desire. A man loyal only to himself. A tyrant.

The tyrant's face was crimson, as if it had been painted in blood. He wore robes to match trimmed in gold. He stood in front of his throne and raised his hands to silence the crowd, then turned and sat. Looking up at him, the warrior saw the tyrant had met his gaze and had a malevolent grin on his face.

The warrior dropped his head and closed his eyes, he knew the moment would soon be upon him. He began to pray to his gods. After his prayer, his eyes still closed, he found he was home. He was standing in front of his hut made of straw and sticks; his two sons chasing a rabbit around it. His wife was standing in the door way wearing a white gown her jet black hair hanging down to her lower back. Her mouth looked as if it were moving but her voice sounded like it was coming from a far off distance. "You will soon be home. Have no fear my husband," and then she smiled.

"Yes my love," was all he could say in return.

The warrior opened his eyes, looked up at the tyrant still smiling malevolently at him, and found the strength to speak. "I pity you. Long after this day has passed you will die. But when you die you will be alone. No one will mourn your loss, your name will live on in infamy. You live a life full of fear, greed, and selfishness and you will never know what it means to be loved. You will have no one waiting for you after this life is over. I pity you!"

The crowd stood in astonishment. The warrior thought he heard the sounds of a woman crying somewhere behind him. The tyrant looked down at him with a fuce full of fury, his body quivering with rage. He looked to a soldier standing next to the warrior and gave a nod.

A slight breeze swept through the warriors hair and he smiled. The ground gave way beneath his feet and he heard a snap from somewhere inside. Everything went dark. Finally, peace came; blessed peace.