His shield and helmet followed his sword, he stood entirely defenceless before his adversary.
“Throw him to my lion,” cried Theocles.
“Or thy lioness,” suggested Hermon.
This allusion to Leaena provoked a burst of laughter. Suddenly the Goth aimed a mighty blow at the head of the unresisting man. A shorn curl fell to the ground, the consummate skill of the swordsman averted all further contact between his blade and the Christian, who remained erect and smiling, without having moved a muscle or an eyelash.
“Master,” said the Goth, addressing the lanista, “I had rather fight ten armed men than this unarmed one.”
“Good,” returned his lord, with a gesture of approval. “Retire both of you.”
A roar of disapprobation broke out from the spectators, which seemed not to produce the slightest effect on the lanista.
“Turn out the next pair,” they cried.
“I shall not,” said he.
“Wherefore?”