There was a roar from the multitude as the opposite gates were flung open with a clang.
The man in the middle of the arena seemed to wilt, as he hugged himself and stared around for a way of escape.
There was no hope for him.
From the gateway a great, nondescript creature, like a beetle enlarged hundreds of times, and enveloped in a glistening armor of red and black, worked its way out. It moved over to its intended victim with a sideways motion, varied by little darts straight forward.
The man tried to run away, but he was petrified with fear and could only move a few steps.
A howl of excitement arose from one side of the massed spectators, spreading rapidly around the whole of the great amphitheater.
There was no pity in the sound—only interest and that cruel rapture which is heard at a bullfight when the matador is no match for his furious enemy charging upon him.
The first time the Scarab came near the man, he managed to jump to one side and avoid it. But the respite was only for the slightest fraction of a second. With a hurried scuffle, the thing swung around, and its two great horns, looking like the claws of a gigantic lobster, closed on him!
The man dropped into the sand, without even a groan.
Almost before the people in the seats realized what had happened, or had obtained a clear view, the monster had scuttled back to its den, and attendants were dragging the dead body of the man out another way by long chains.