Lines of black sand had been meticulously laid down to divide the Arena into the line of four squares. Caesar had ordained that each fight should be to the death as if they were duelling chess pieces. Once a man set foot in his opponent's death-square, the two men had to fight to the death for possession of the square. One man had to die.

Gar, the Champion of Rome, would fight each of the four gladiators one by one, working his way down the line of four squares until he reached the Portal of Life. Each contest would be fought with different weapons. If Gar was defeated in any of the contests, his conqueror would take his place and would go on to challenge for the remaining squares.

Gar was strong and handsome. Naked, he stood, a magnificent specimen. He had short brown hair curling into Roman ringlets, tanned skin, a fine Roman nose and piercing blue eyes. His chest was well formed, his stomach slim and firm, his genitals well developed. Gar had muscular thighs, strong carves and strong, long feet. The crowd roared with admiration as this impressive hunk of manhood flashed a seductive smile and raised his bulging biceps above his head with bravado. He was not only Rome's gladiatorial champion but also Rome's gladiatorial sex symbol - a great favourite with the ladies, and with quite a few men as well.

"Hail Gar, Champion of Rome! Rome's only undefeated champion!" shouted the Master of Ceremonies.

THE FIRST FIGHT TO THE DEATH

The first fight, explained the Master of Ceremonies, would be unarmed. Gar would wrestle to the death against Crescens.

Crescens was a young hunk of German extraction. His face and jaw were squarer than Gar's, his muscles more pronounced, his hair, worn very short, was blond. His cock, like Gar's was erect with the thrill of the fight to come.

Gar strode up to the boundary of Crescens' square. The two men, pacing up and down the boundary like caged tigers waiting for the order to kill, menaced each other, each trying to demoralise the other man before the death-duel began.

"Now Gar you must die. The law of nature! The older man must die at the feet of the younger man!"

"You are wrong, Crescens", sneered Gar, "You will never be a champion. You will die at MY feet instead!"

The crowd were betting on which man would survive. . Most of the guests had bet on Gar, for he was famed for the wily and skillful fighting that had made his reign as Champion a long one. Some, however, bet on Crescens, for he was the more youthful and muscular protagonist.

Gar lept into Crescens' death-square. His bare feet landed softly on the hot sand. The massive crowd cheered. Now one of the men had to die.

The fighting was pitiless. The two naked gladiators were hot with perspiration. Only one man could live. Only the stronger man could survive. The struggle went on for minutes but it seemed like hours.

Then Gar managed to tighten his grip round his rival's neck. He started to strangle Crescens. At first Crescens smiled smugly. He knew he could easily break away, by throwing the full force of his body onto the sand below.

But swiftly the quick-thinking Gar planted both his feet on Crescens's feet, to stop his younger opponent from escaping death. Crescens tried to free his feet, but he could not. Gar's feet were strong and somehow the champion's killer instinct made Gar's grip on Crescens' feet stronger still. The two men's erect cocks met like lances, each trying to out-man the other.

Gasping, Crescens desperately tried to free his neck from Gar's merciless grip, but it was no use. He was already weakened from lack of air. Crescens' face was getting redder and redder as Gar deprived him of the life-giving oxygen. There was no escape from the killer male. He tried to weaken Gar's grasp, but it was too strong. He began to lose consciousness.

Gar grinned brutally as he felt Crescens's life fading away. He could feel Crescens' defeated cock start to go flaccid whilst his remained hard and virile.

"You fool, Crescens. I have outsmarted you. Now you will pay for your stupidity with your life, you witless lump of dying man-meat!"

The strangulation took several minutes. Gar was in no mood to release Crescens prematurely, before his life was fully extinguished. Finally releasing his grip, the victor allowed Crescens to crumple to the ground. The crowd cheered.

Gar felt the pulse in Crescens's neck. He was overjoyed to find that there was no pulse. Death had occurred; he had ended Crescens's life. Gar raised his arms in victory. Ring attendants grabbed both Crescens's feet and dragged the lifeless carcass of the defeated male out of the square and out of the Arena, to massive applause.

THE SECOND FIGHT TO THE DEATH

The next death-square was occupied by Drusus, the champion of Britannia. He had sent many men to their deaths in the British arena in order to reach this contest. At the boundary of Drusus's square lay Gar's weapon for the fight, a sword. For in this contest Gar would fight as a secutor, Drusus as a retiarius.

Drusus was very good-looking. Younger than Gar, he had black, shoulder-length hair tied in a pony-tail. Swarthy and ill-shaven, his broad chest was very hairy and so were his legs. His handsome features and macho animal magnetism had won him many admirers. Ravenous for victory, he swung his trident with a deadly nimble grace. Would he be the man who would knock that great cock Gar off his perch?

Gar looked at Drusus and lusted for his death. He had killed so many retiarii and was always attracted by their vulnerability, the inadequacy of their tridents and nets. He expected Drusus to be easy meat like the others.

Once again Gar lept into his foe's square and the crowd cheered. The two men swaggered up to each other so that their erect cocks touched like swords.

"Prepare to die, Drusus", growled Gar.

"No, Gar, the only corpse today will be yours" retorted the Briton.

Once again Gar lept into the death square, the crowd once again cheering as his feet landed on the sand. The death match had begun.

At first Gar's swordsmanship served him well. He advanced as Drusus retreated, fighting defensively with his trident. Gar's sword nicked Drusus's shoulder.

"First blood to me, Drusus. Death is near!" mocked the champion.

Then Drusus managed to get Gar's sword stuck between two of the prongs of his trident. He twisted the trident and prized the sword out of Gar's hand! It sprung across the arena to fall softly in the sand.

But Gar was not beaten yet. He used his shield to fend off the blows from Drusus's trident. He knew he could deflect Drusus's blows until he regained his sword. He might even use his shield as a weapon of attack; for he had once finished off a retiarius with a rabbit-blow from his shield. Slowly but surely he advanced towards the spot where his sword was lying.

Drusus was desperate not to throw away his advantage. He stabbed away with his trident but his blows to Gar's stomach and chest were always met by Gar's speedy shield. However much Drusus tried, swift shieldwork saved Gar's bacon.

Then Drusus thought he heard someone from the crowd say "go for his feet". Whilst pretending to maintain his attacks on Gar's torso, the Briton aimed a blow at his foe's right foot. Gar had not expected that. The trident skewered his foot completely! Gar's face creased in agony. The spectators gasped.

Drusus was not one to leave his work half done. Removing the bloodied trident deftly from Gar's right foot, he plunged it into Gar's remaining foot! Again the scream of pain. Again the gasp of the spectators.

Drusus removed the bloodied trident from Gar's foot. The Champion, his face lined with the lines of pain, tottered pathetically on his wounded feet, the blood pouring out of them. Feebly he dropped his sword. All Drusus had to do was to deliver a superficial thrust to Gar's chest to send the vaunted champion to the ground. Gar lay there, wriggling about in the sand, his feet skewered and bloodied, his chest bearing the three wounds that meant defeat.

"Now I will wound you some more, `Champion'" sneered the victorious Drusus.

He aimed his trident at his foeman's belly-button. With a howl, Gar saw the trident pierce his belly-button, and the other two spears enter his stomach. Yet again Gar's handsome face was contorted in agony.

"Now, Gar, your cock will be mine!" cried the vicious Briton.

The pitiless Drusus aimed at the erect cock of the erstwhile Champion, and skewered his penis along with one of his testicles. Gar's mighty thighs got the brunt of the trident's remaining two spears.

"Beg for death, Gar, if you do not want more wounds. Beg for death!"

True enough, in this arena today there could be no begging for mercy, only begging for death. Normally a champion of Gar's standing would have survived such a defeat. He would have been sent missus out of the Arena - humbled, conquered - but living to fight another day. But today Gar would have to forfeit his life - and supplicate for the privilege!

In any case, Rome was fickle in her love of her champions. Already the spectators were shouting "Hail Drusus!", "Death to Gar!", "Finish him!", and making it clear from their thumbs that the time had come for Gar to die.

Gar knew how to die like a gladiator. Raising himself up on his arms, he turned to his handsome vanquisher, who was beaming and raising his arms in the victory pose. He kissed both of Drusus's bare feet - the unbloodied feet of his conqueror. Then, raising himself further up, hanging on to his conqueror's muscled hairy thighs, he kissed Drusus's erect cock.

"Drusus, I beg you for death. You have ended my reign; now I beg you to relieve me of my impotent life."

"Granted, Gar! You were a great champion, but today Rome has witnessed your defeat at the hands of a greater champion!"

Then it was the time for the death blow. The ring attendant offered Drusus Gar's sword. Dropping his bloodied trident he took the savage sword. Then taking a step away from his victim he sliced Gar's throat. Gar raised his feeble hand uselessly to his throat as the blood gushed out. Then Gar collapsed, falling forward on his face at Drusus's feet. A pool of blood soon collected under his throat as he suffered the last death-throe twitches of his defeated manhood.

Drusus raised his arms in victory and then turned to his opponent in the next death-square. The King was dead, but how long would the new King reign?

THE THIRD FIGHT TO THE DEATH

In the next death-square stood Tor, a big blond Goth wielding a mace and a shield. Tor had been captured during the war against the German tribes only after caving in the skulls of numerous legionaries with this, his favourite weapon. In the Arena too the mace had become his specialism, the cracked skull his trademark. The sharp points of Tor's mace had been responsible for many a brain-damage induced death on the part of lesser gladiators.

Tor was taller and more muscular than Drusus. His centre-parted blond hair was plaited into two pleated pigtails. His ruggedly handsome face and nose were broad, his eyes blue. His expansive chest was smooth. His pubic hair was also blond and his manhood impressive. He gave the Briton a sadistic smile.

"Thank you for disposing of Gar. I would far rather face you in the Arena. You will be easy to defeat compared to him!"

Drusus looked contemptuously at the German while he picked up his own weapons, a savagely-sharp axe and a shield, from the sand at the boundary of Tor's death-square.

"Wrong, Tor!" mocked the Briton "YOU will feel the force of my axe on your naked flesh! Pray that your death will be swift!"

Drusus leapt into the death-square. As his feet touched the sand, the vicious German approached, a sadistic smile on his face.

Lusting to cave in Drusus's skull with the mace, Tor swung it time and again at his foeman's head. But Drusus skillfully warded off Tor's blows with his shield.

Then Tor swung his mace behind Drusus, and managed to hit Drusus in the buttocks! The Briton gasped with pain, his face contorted in agony, as blood ran down his strong thighs.

"First blood to me, Drusus! Prepare for death!"

But Drusus was in no mood to accept defeat. The Briton tried to strike Tor's masculine frame with the axe. But Tor was quick witted, fast on his feet, and smart with his shield. Time and again he managed to resist the axe's blows. It was not easy to penetrate the defence of Tor's shield, especially as Drusus needed to avoid Tor's savage mace.

Drusus -garnering all his strength - launched one last mighty assault on the German. Again the shield went up. But Drusus' blow with the axe was so powerful that it had the German staggering on his feet! As Tor tottered, he momentarily left his manly chest unguarded. Drusus sharply took advantage of this split-second opportunity. He projected his axe straight ahead at Tor's manly chest. A devastating blow! Tor looked down at his chest in abject horror as blood spurted from the magnificent torso, running down his penis, down his legs... The crowd cheered wildly. With a low groan the big man fell to his knees.

Realising he had been defeated, Tor planted his hands on Drusus's bare feet, and kissed his conqueror's erect cock, to acknowledge the victor's superior manhood. Then he presented his throat for the death blow. Drusus swung his axe and carved into Tor's throat.

Tor collapsed in the sand at Drusus's feet. Maybe the blow to the throat had not been deep enough. Somehow he was still alive, lungs gasping, throat bleeding, dying but not dead.

The pitiless crowd chanted "Death, Death, Death!" Drusus came over to his prostrate victim and raised the axe over Tor's neck.

"Now Tor, since you are so disinclined to die, prepare to lose your head!"

Drusus struck, once, twice, three times. To the crowd's delight he had decapitated Tor! Grasping the dead man's two pigtails in each hand, he held up the head up to the cheers of the crowd. The eyes were closed; blood streamed from the neck and trickled from the mouth, which even in death bore an expression of aghast surprise. The head swung wildly as Drusus held it up by the pigtails.

"Here is Tor, who though he could crack open my skull, and now he has lost his own skull to me, Drusus, the more virile gladiator!". Then he showily catapulted the head to the side of the arena, where it knocked against the wall and fell into the sand.

The crowd's applause for their young hero was rapturous. Ring attendants came with a stretcher to take the head along with the rest of Tor's naked carcass out to the Arena through the Portal of Death.

THE FOURTH FIGHT TO THE DEATH

The final fight was between Drusus and Gaius. The day's entertainment would end as it had begun: with an unarmed fight to the death.

Gaius was an old hand who had secured his freedom in the Arena several years ago following numerous victories. Since then his lust for the fight had drawn him back into the Arena where he had won several more victories, but at his last fight he had been defeated by a young secutor, Gar, and only the support of the crowd had saved him from death; he had been granted mercy and allowed to leave the arena missus. Gaius had been lucky to escape with his life. It was Gar's defeat of Gaius which had firmly established Gar as Champion of Rome. After a year's retirement, however, Gaius had once again started lusting for the thrill of combat.

Gaius's hair was closely-cropped, grey, and thin on top; only his pubic hair, surrounding his large and erect cock, remained dark brown. His brow was creased with the lines of age. Yet his body was firm and agile, his chest expansive and well defined, his thighs muscular.

The two gladiators swaggered up to the boundary of Gaius's square. This final fight to the death was to be a contest between youth and experience. The young gladiator bounced cockily from foot to foot to emphasise his youthful vigour, his ponytail bouncing behind his handsome head.

"Prepare to die, old timer!" sneered Drusus, "the crowd may have taken pity on you last time, and saved your ageing throat from Gar's blade, but today expect no mercy!"

Drusus looked into Gaius' eyes. Gaius was more rugged than handsome, his eyes slitty, his nose Roman, his mouth thin. His square chin was cleft. His thin lips erupted into a contemptuous smile. He could hear the quiet panting of a body not quite recovered from the tasks of defeating Gar and Tor. He had the wounds of those fights which were still fresh. He could smell the sweat of Drusus' previous battles, and he was smiling because to him it was the smell of defeat for Drusus. For what use was youth if the young man was exhausted?

"No, Drusus, you will be the one who is begging fruitlessly for mercy today!"

Young Drusus lept into Gaius' square. Once again his feet hit the hot sand with a gentle thud. Immediately the young Champion tried to secure a grip on the older man's neck. Gaius resisted, and the fight turned into a contest of strength of each man's arms, as Drusus wrestled for a strangle-hold on Gaius' neck. But his older adversary's muscular biceps overpowered the young buck. He subdued Drusus' grip, and having done so, secured his arms around Drusus' frame in a body-crushing bear-hug.

The bear-hug was Gaius' trademark move. The veteran gladiator had crushed many a man's ribs with his deadly embrace! Once caught in it, Drusus would need to do his utmost to escape, for if he failed his defeat was guaranteed. Ensnared, Drusus desperately attacked Gaius' face with his hands, stomped on Gaius' feet - but none of these efforts could induce the rock-hard Gaius to let him out of his lethal embrace. As Gaius' muscular arms squeezed the breath out of him, the young stud realised too late that he was no match for the veteran death machine. Already the crowd was predicting the young hero's defeat, and baying for his death.

Then one final killer hug; Gaius lifted Drusus off his feet by several inchees, the crowd could see Drusus' feet wriggling impotently in the air. And the crowd could hear the snap of several of Drusus' ribs. Gaius leapt off, and Drusus teetered on his toes, gasping in unbelieving pain before finally collapsing at Gaius' feet, ribs smashed, writhing in agony. As Gaius raised his arms in victory the crowd went wild at witnessing the defeat of young Drusus at the hands of a great champion - Gaius!

Defeat, however, was not enough. The crowd wanted death. They were roaring "finish him!" The game demanded death! Drusus was now on his back, panting, frightened. The victor smiled as he first crouched beside his conquest.

"Now, Drusus, prepare to die! I will break your neck between my thighs!"

"No, no!" whimpered the incredulous youth.

"Silence, loser!" scowled his conqueror, kicking him in the head to render him groggy.

Gaius then positioned his thighs either side of Drusus's neck. The crowd went quiet as Gaius applied pressure. They could see Drusus' face distort into agony. And then "SNAP!". Drusus' face relaxed in death, whilst Gaius' face erupted into a broad grin.

Gaius swaggered out of the Arena, raising his arms in the victory pose. Ring attendants entered the arena to secure Drusus' feet with ropes and haul his youthful wasted carcass out of the Arena. From hero to zero! Drusus had reigned as Champion of Rome for less than an hour, before this veteran cock had brutally knocked the young pretender off his perch. The young Champion had sold his life cheaply, to become just another notch on the mighty Gaius' Death Belt.

The End