The Roman was as one inspired; his eyes shone bright and clear; his lips were parted in a grim, fierce smile; he belched forth rude soldier oaths that had been current in the army of fifty years before.

Thrusting and parrying, he yielded no step, he sustained no wound.

And once, twice, thrice his terrible short-sword found its sheath in the breast of a victim.

In impotent rage the gladiators recoiled a second time.
"Storm the other door!" commanded Dumnorix.
The two defenders there had undertaken to pile up furniture against it; but a few blows beat down the entire barrier.

Falto and Pausanias stood to their posts stoutly enough; but there was no master-swordsman to guard this entrance.