The leopard made a feint, perhaps to test the swiftness of the spear-point.  Leaping like a flash of light, he seemed to change direction in mid-air, the point missing him by half a hand’s breadth.  One terrific claw, outreaching as he turned, ripped open Varronius’ tunic and brought a little stream of crimson trickling down his left arm.

“Good!” Commodus remarked.  “First blood to the braver!  Who would like to bet with me?”

“I!” Varronius retorted from between set teeth, his eyes fixed on the leopard that had recommenced his swift strategic to-and-fro stalking movement.

“I have betted you the consulship already.  Who else wants to bet?” asked Commodus.

Before any one could answer the leopard sprang in again at Varronius, who stepped aside and drove his spear with very well timed accuracy.  Only force enough was lacking.  The point slit the leopard’s skin and made a stinging wound along the beast’s ribs, turning him the way a spur-prick turns a horse.  His snarl made Varronius step back another pace or two, neglecting his chance to attack and drive the spear-point home.  The infuriated leopard watched him for a moment, ears back, tail spasmodically twitching, then shot to one side and charged straight at 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 he crowded it against the wall.  He forced it to turn at bay.  No eye was quick enough to see exactly how he killed it, save that he struck when the leopard sprang.  The next thing that anybody actually saw, he had the writhing creature on the spear, in air, like a legion’s standard.