Nikandros was ecstatic, if not a bit fearful. Tonight was the night, the night he had been dreaming of for eleven long years. There was only one task left for him to complete. He would then be a true Spartan warrior, a position held by few and coveted by everyone. All he had to do now was complete the final challenge, one that required the willpower the masters had pounded in to him at the Barracks.

Nikandros, like most other upper-class Spartan males, was sent to the Barracks at age seven to begin the journey of becoming a Warrior. There he was taught how to kill, and how not to be killed. It was there that brutality was encouraged, and hesitation was punished severely. If a student was killed during the course of training, his death would be cast aside as he was just another man “not worthy of being a true Spartan”.

And yet although Nikandros impressed the masters with his energy and determination, there was always that hesitancy that would earn him ridicule and scorn from his bloodthirsty classmates. When dueling with another student, he would often refuse to deliver a blow to the head or other areas that would prove fatal if struck. This would earn him a whipping by the instructor, and the title “benoumenos”, or “f*** up male”.

Nikandros couldn’t waver now, however. The job had to be done quickly. The slave would only be outside for a few minutes to tend to the garden. This was the only window Nikandros had to make his move. If he failed this task, he didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to focus on what he had to do.

He slunk catlike through the downtown area of Sparta, searching for the correct building. He was told that he must kill the slave at the home of a high ranking military officer, though he didn’t know who it might be. It was past curfew for most citizens, so he saw no one on the streets. Guards were patrolling on a couple street corners, but Nikandros slipped past them without incident.

He finally found his landmark, a grey structure about three stories tall and featuring a courtyard containing lush, Mediterranean foliage. Tending to the plants was a lone man wrapped in a linen sheet. He looked perhaps in his mid-twenties. Nikandros darted to a low, decorative stone wall near the slave and crouched down behind it. The slave paused for a moment, glanced around the vicinity, and resumed his work, his back to the wall.