to seize him in their naked hands, but
something made them swing their ponderous long swords and then, two
flashes from the short blade in the hand of the veteran, and both the
giants were weltering across the threshold, their breasts pierced and
torn by the Roman's murderous thrusts.

"_Habet!_" cried Mamercus. "A fair hit! Come on, you scum of the
earth; come on, you German and Gallic dogs; do you think I haven't
faced the like of you before? Do you think your great bulks and fierce
mustaches will make a soldier of Marius quiver? Do you want to taste
Roman steel again?"

And then there was a strange sight. A phantasm seemed to have come
before every member of that mad, murderous band; for they saw, as it
were, in the single champion before them, a long, swaying line of men
of slight stature like him; of men who dashed through their phalanxes
and spear hedges; who beat down their chieftains; whom no arrow fire,
no sword-play, no stress of numbers, might stop; but who charged home
with pilum and short-sword, and defeated the most valorous enemy.

"Ha! Dogs!" taunted Mamercus, "you have seen Romans fight before, else
you were not all here, to make sport for our holiday!"

"He is Tyr,[116] the 'one-armed,' who put his left hand in the jaws of
Fenris-wolf!" cried a German, shrinking back in dread. "A god is
fighting us!"

[116] A Germanic war-god.

"Fools!" shouted Gabinius from a distance. "At him, and cut him down!"

"Cut him down!" roared Dumnorix, who had wits enough to realize that
every instant's delay gave Drusus time to escape, or collect help.

There was another rush down the passage; but at the narrow doorway the
press stopped. Mamercus fought as ten. His shield and sword were
everywhere. The Roman was as one inspired; his eyes shone bright and
clear; his lips were parted in a grim, fierce smile; he belched forth
rude soldier oaths that had been current in the army of fifty years
before. Thrusting and parrying, he yielded no step, he sustained no
wound. And once, twice, thrice his terrible short-sword found its
sheath in the breast of a victim. In impotent rage the gladiators
recoiled a second time.

"Storm the other door!" commanded Dumnorix.

The two defenders there had undertaken to pile up furniture against
it; but a few blows beat down the entire barrier. Falto and Pausanias
stood to their posts stoutly enough; but there was no master-swordsman
to guard this entrance. The first gladiator indee