drink and get into poor condition; and if you keep them in, they kill
themselves unless they're watched. These men are reserved for Paulus,
and they know they haven't a chance against him."

"Paulus' luck won't last forever," Sextus remarked grimly.

"No, nor his skill, I suppose. But he doesn't debauch himself, so he's
always in perfect condition."

"Haven't you a man in here who might be made nervy enough to kill him?"
Sextus asked. "They would kill the man himself, of course, directly
afterward, but we might undertake to enrich his relatives."

Narcissus shook his head.

"One might have a chance with the sword or with the net and trident,
though I doubt it. But Paulus uses a javelin and his aim is like
lightning. Only yesterday at practise they loosed eleven lions at him
from eleven directions at the same moment. He slew them with eleven
javelins, and each one stone dead. Some of these men saw him do it,
which hasn't encouraged them, I can tell you. In the second place, they
know Paulus is Commodus. He might just as well go into the arena
frankly as the emperor, for all the secret it is. That substitute who
occupies the royal pavilion when Commodus himself is in the arena no
longer looks very much like him; he is getting too loose under the
chin, although a year ago you could hardly tell the two apart. Even the
mob knows Paulus is Commodus, although nobody dares to acclaim him
openly. Send a gladiator in against another gladiator and even though
he may know that the other man can split a stick at twenty yards, he
will do his best. But let him know he goes against the emperor and he