But the German was the son of a chief, and had followed arms from his
earliest youth. Here it was defense for dear life, however glorious it
might be to die under the eyes of the man whom he had learned to honor as
the conqueror and tyrant of many nations, among them his own. So the
strong and practiced athlete did his best.

He, like his opponent, felt that the eyes of ten thousand were on him,
and he also longed to purge himself of the dishonor which, by actual
murder, he had brought on himself and on the race of which he was still
a son. Every muscle of his powerful frame gained more rigid tension at
the thought, and when he was presently hit by the sword of his hitherto
unconquered foe, and felt the warm blood flow over his breast and left
arm, he collected all his strength. With the battle-cry of his tribe, he
flung his huge body on the gladiator. Heedless of the furious sword-
thrust with which Tarautas returned the assault, he threw himself off the
top of the packed wagon on to the stones of the camp inclosure, and the
combatants rolled, locked together like one man, from the wall into the
sand of the arena.

Caracalla started as though he himself had been the injured victim, and
watched, but in vain, to see the supple Tarautas, who had escaped such
perils before now, free himself from the weight of the German's body.

But the struggle continued to rage round the pair, and neither stirred a
finger. At this Caesar, greatly disturbed, started to his feet, and
desired Theocritus to make inquiry as to whether Tarautas were wounded or
dead; and while the favorite was gone he could not sit still. Agitated
by distressing fears, he rose to speak first to one and then to another
of his suite, only to drop on his seat again and glance once more at the
butchery below. He was fully persuaded that his own end must be near,