Mamercus, sword drawn, stood across the entrance.
"By the god Tarann!"[115] shouted Dumnorix, who from the rear of his followers was directing the attack.

"Here is a stout old game-cock! Out of the way, greybeard! We'll spare you for your spirit.

Take him, some of you, alive!" [115] The Gallic thunder-god.
Two gigantic, blond Germans thrust their prodigious bodies through the doorway.

Mamercus was no small man, but slight he seemed before these mighty Northerners.
The Germans had intended to seize him in their naked hands, but something made them swing their ponderous long swords and then, two flashes from the short blade in the hand of the veteran, and both the giants were weltering across the threshold, their breasts pierced and torn by the Roman's murderous thrusts.
"_Habet!_" cried Mamercus.

"A fair hit! Come on, you scum of the earth; come on, you German and Gallic dogs; do you think I haven't faced the like of you before?
Do you think your great bulks and fierce mustaches will make a soldier of Marius quiver?
Do you want to taste Roman steel again ?" And then there was a strange sight.