Commodus picked up one javelin and poised it.  Half-a-dozen gladiators watched him, paying no attention to the doors, through any one of which the animal might come.  They knew their Paulus, and were trained, besides, to look at death or danger with a curious, contemptuous calm.  But the courtiers were nervous, grouping themselves where the sunlight threw a V-shaped shadow on the sand, as if they thought that semi-twilight would protect them.

A wooden door rose squeaking in its grooves but Commodus kept his back toward it.

“Women!” he exclaimed.

His sudden scowl transformed his handsome face into a thing of horror.  He began to mutter savagely obscene abuse.  A leopard crept into the sunlight, tried to turn again but was prevented by the closing trap, and crouched against the arena wall.

“Beware!  The beast comes!” said a gladiator.

“Hold your presumptuous tongue, you slave-born rascal!” Commodus retorted.  “Take that yapping dog away and have him whipped!”

A man stepped from the entrance gate to beckon the offending gladiator, who walked out with a look of hatred on his face.  He paused once, hesitating whether to ask mercy, and thought better of it, shrugging his fine bronzed shoulders.  The leopard left the wall and crept toward the center of the sand, his black and yellow beauty rippling in the sunlight and his shadow looking like death’s trailing cloak.  The courtiers seemed doubtful which of the two beasts to watch, leopard or emperor.

“A spear!” said Commodus.  A gladiator put it in his hand.

“Varronius!  It irks me to have cowards in the senate!  Let me see you try to kill that leopard!”

Decadent and grown effeminate though Rome was, there was no patrician who had not received some training in the use of arms.  Varronius took the spear at once, his white hands closing on the shaft with military firmness.  But his white face gave the lie to the alacrity with which he strode out of the shadow.

“Kill him, and you shall have the consulate next year!” said Commodus.  “Be killed, and there will be one useless bastard less to clutter up the curia!”

A flush of anger swept over the senator’s pale face.  For a moment he looked almost capable of lunging with the spear at Commodus—­but Commodus was toying with the javelin.  Varronius strode out to face the leopard, and the lithe beast did not wait to feel the spear-point.  It began to stalk its adversary in irregular swift curves.  Its body almost pressed the sand.  Its eyes were spots of sunlit topaz.  Commodus’ frown vanished.  He began to gloat over the leopard’s subtlety and strength.

“He is a lovelier thing than you, Varronius!  He is a better fighter!  He is manlier!  He is worth more!  He has kept his body stronger and his wits more nimble!  He will get you!  By the Dioscuri, he will get you!  I will bet a talent that he gets you—­and I hope he does!  You hold your spear the way a woman holds a distaff—­but observe the way he gathers all his strength in readiness to leap instantly in any direction!  Ah!”