Colosseum

There was a deafening sound, a sound like a thousand waves crashing into the same sea-cliff. His breathing came hard as the crowd cheered, and he dropped the hilt of his blade. His body was slick with blood - his own as well as that of the creature - and his skin was grimey and pale from the coating of dust. The sun beat down furiously on him; it had been a good show. Perhaps next time he would be allowed to win. Not this time, though. He had been meant to lose this fight. His blade had broken on the first swing, and he should have been little match for the beast unarmed. The Overseers would still make their profit, all the same, but he would be punished. Punished for surviving.

It all makes sense now...

Thanks (or Blame) to Final Warrior.