The Gladiators – Part XII (Public)

The Teuton reels, dazed by the pain of his abused groin and by the repeated blows to his abdomen. As he doubles forward his Gaulish adversary seizes an unwary arm and swiftly bends it behind his back, forcing him to turn. At once the other arm is likewise grasped and brutally drawn backwards and upwards until both shoulders are pinioned in a tight and debilitating hold.  The Gaul grins, knowing this grip to be well-nigh unbreakable, pleased with his own cunning in creating the momentary advantage which has allowed him to turn the contest around so convincingly.  The Teuton, finally stirring from his daze, now finds himself pinioned, unable to make use of his arms which are held close at the shoulder and which he cannot free. Taking a wide stance to brace his feet and drawing in a deep breath, he concentrates all his effort into breaking the Gaul’s hold. Sweat stands out on both their shining bodies as they strain and heave, but the Gaul is confident of victory since he has now linked his hands behind his opponent’s broad neck and is able to exert a forward pressure which saps the other’s strength and causes him to cry out in pain and frustration. Nor can he manage to prise apart the grip of his adversary who holds such a critical advantage over him.  Again he tries, his chest and belly heaving with the struggle, sweat streaming down his skin and his face showing the strain. But the hold the Gaul has on him is not so easily broken – and a prisoner he remains.

“See,” says the Consul, studying the shining bodies with some satisfaction, “it is as I told you it would be: the triumph of skill and cunning over sheer brute strength. For all his muscle, your chosen contender is no match for my Gaul.”

The girl says nothing; her eyes – and fervid imagination – are very much on the sight of that stretched, sweat-sheened muscle…….