the other hand, the Samnite half-armor of the Gaul was resplendent with
the decorations affected by his race. Fermius' helmet sported three
brilliantly-colored plumes, his shield and cuirass, enameled in half the
colors of the spectrum, looked as though they were being worn for the
first time.

Five yards apart, the gladiators stopped and wheeled to face the podium
upon which Nero lolled. The buzz of conversation--the mace had excited
no little comment and speculation--ceased. Patroclus heaved his
ponderous weapon into the air; the Gaul whirled up his long, sharp
sword. They chanted in unison:

"Ave, Caesar Imperator!
Morituri te salutant!"

The starting-flag flashed downward; and at its first sight, long before
it struck the ground, both men moved. Fermius whirled and leaped; but,
fast as he was, he was not quite fast enough. That mace, which had
seemed so heavy in the Thracian's hands a moment before, had become
miraculously maneuverable--it was hurtling through the air directly
toward the middle of his body! It did not strike its goal--Patroclus
hoped that he was the only one there who suspected that he had not
expected it to touch his opponent--but in order to dodge the missile
Fermius had to break his stride; lost momentarily the fine co-ordination
of his attack. And in that moment Patroclus struck. Struck, and struck
again.

But, as has been said, Fermius was both strong and fast. The first
blow, aimed backhand at his bare right leg, struck his shield instead.
The left-handed stab, shield-encumbered as the left arm was, ditto. So
did the next trial, a vicious forehand cut. The third of the mad flurry
of swordcuts, only partially deflected by the sword which Fermius could
only then get into play, sheared down and a red, a green, and a white
plume floated toward the ground. The two fighters sprang apart and
studied each other briefly.

From the gladiators' standpoint, this had been the veriest preliminary
skirmishing. That the Gaul had lost his plumes and that his armor showed
great streaks of missing enamel meant no more to either than that the
Thracian's supposedly surprise attack had failed. Each knew that he
faced the deadliest fighter of his world; but if that knowledge affected
either man, the other could not perceive it.

But the crowd went wild. Nothing like that first terrific
passage-at-arms had ever before been seen. Death, sudden and violent,
had been in the air. The arena was saturated