Their swords were not regulation army swords, such a _secutors_ normally
carried, but long-bladed Gallic swords, the longest-bladed swords ever
used by any gladiators.
They made a wonderful picture as the _lanistae_ placed them and stepped
back: Murmex, burly, stocky, heavy of build, thick-set, massive, with vast
girth of chest and bull-neck, his neatly-fitting plated gauntlet, huge on
his big right hand, his big plated boots planted solidly on the sand, his
polished helmet, the great expanse of his silvered shield, his silvered
kilt-strap-scales and silvered greave-boots brilliant in the cool late
light; opposite him Palus, tall, lithe, graceful, slim, agile, all in
gleaming gold, helmet, corselet, shield, kilt, greave-boots and all. They
shone like a composite jewel set in the arena as a cameo in the bezel of a
ring. And the picture they made was framed in the hoop of spectators
crowding the slopes of the amphitheater, all silent after the gusts of
cheers which had acclaimed the two as they took their places.
If possible, their feints and assaults were more thrilling than ever,
unexpected, sudden, swift, all but successful. As always neither capered
or pranced, Murmex not built for such antics, Palus by nature steady on
his feet.
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