the group of courtiers.

They scattered. They were almost unarmed. There were three of them who
stumbled, interfering with each other. The nearest to the leopard drew
a dagger with a jeweled hilt, a mere toy with a light blade hardly
longer than his hand. He threw his toga over his left forearm and
stood firm to make a fight for it, his white face rigid and his eyes
ablaze. The leopard leaped--and fell dead, hardly writhing. Commodus'
long javelin had caught him in the middle of his spring, exactly at the
point behind the shoulder-bone that leaves a clear course to the heart.


"I would not have done that for a coward, Tullius! If you had run I
would have let him kill you!"

Commodus strode up and pulled out the javelin, setting one foot on the
leopard and exerting all his strength.

"Look here, Varronius. Do you see how deep my blade went? Pin-pricks
are no use against man or animal. Kill when you strike, like great Jove
with his thunderbolts! Life isn't a game between Maltese kittens; it's
a spectacle in which the strong devour the weak and all the gods look
on! Loose another leopard there! I'll show you!"

He took the spear from Varronius, balanced it a moment, discarded it and
chose another, feeling its point with his thumb. There was a squeak of
pulleys as they loosed a leopard near the end of the arena. He charged
the animal, leaping from foot to foot. He made prodigious leaps; there
was no guessing which way he would jump next. He was not like a human
being. The leopard, snarling, slunk away, attempting to avoid him, but