A thunder in their throats seemed to fill the air and shake the flames in the lampadaria.

With sword and lance Antipater entered the arena, a space barred high, about thirty feet square, upon which all the cages opened.
"The tiger!" he commanded.
Keepers lifted a metal gate, and the huge cat leaped away from their lances, backed snarling to the end of his cage, and with a slow, creeping movement put his head and fore-paws into the arena; then a swift step or two, a lowering of the great head, and side-long he stood, with eyes aglow and fangs uncovered, a low mutter in his mouth, like the roar of a mighty harp-string.

Some fifteen feet away stood the son of Herod, his lance poised.
"Never strike while your beast has a foot to the ground," said he, keeping his gaze on the face of the tiger.

"He will be quick to move and parry.

Wait until he is in the air, and then thrust your lance." He made a feint with his weapon; the tiger darted half his length aside, with a great, bursting roar, and, crouching low, stealthily felt the ground beneath him.
"Watch him now," said the tall Antipater.