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No, he will not allow the Romans to contemplate the Minotaur! Do not deliver this damn Quirite such pleasure! Shouts are heard to him: “Open your face to him!” “Break the bull!” No – this will not happen! “See you, brother,” Elatius whispered, raising the cudgel above his head.
– Go to eternity Minotaur.
The circus went berserk, applauded.
Under the deafening roar of the crowd, he repeatedly lowered the club on a bull’s head, until he turned it and everything that was hidden under it into one bloody mess of meat, brains and bones.
The body, with its ridiculously outstretched hands, fell back against the sand.
Elati raised his club above his head.
Blood from her.
the blood of the Minotaur and all its victims, now mingling in the unity of brotherly death, dripped onto the sand.
Bloody and terrible crying arena.
The winner, reviewing the tiers of the spectator seats, issued a triumphant cry.
He was greeted, praised, a surge of human emotion reached a climax.
People with weak bladder wet themselves, especially impressionable matrons fell on the hands of maids, shaking from the orgasm.
Men who know a lot about battles scream and argue themselves hoarse, discussing every blow and attack of the gladiators.
To the thunder of applause, Elatius, for the first time, headed towards the Triumphal Gate.

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In doing so, he supported Arm Trevas.
The servants of the Circus began to take away in different directions the dead and the few wounded

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, half of which hardly remained to live more than a few hours.
Her eyes sparkled, her hair pulled out from under the grid that held them.
Young.
the matron was all flushed and inseparably, followed Elatia with a look, until the doors of the Triumphal Gate closed behind him.
It’s time to calm down.
It’s time to pull yourself together.
Gods are omnipotent, how good is Elatius! Sylvia only now felt how her thighs were slippery and wet, and how wet it was between her legs to convey no words! Mari Flakk, like all the other spectators, was excited and captured by the battle that took place.
But then, taking himself in hand, he got up from his seat, and looking at his wife said: – We are going today.
At first she was confused.
– What.
Where? “You wanted to meet the lanista Vetuvius Calpurnius?” I agreed.
In an hour he is waiting for us in his house.
The house is two-storey in Greek-Roman style, lined with white marble slabs, decorated with elegant Corinthian columns.
At the entrance of the honorable guests, who arrived on a luxuriously decorated quadriga (5), accompanied by a driver and a Phoenician slave, Punna, met a slave-gatekeeper.
In the lobby, their manager Levi Flore greeted them and escorted them to the atrium.
There they were waited by Vetuvius with their young wife Julia.
Seeing the legate and his wife, the lanista smiled, his every gesture was filled with ingratiation.
– I ask in my house, the venerable Mari Flakk.
Greetings to you, incomparable Sylvia Decimna.
For me, the humble Lanista and my wife are honored to receive such guests.
“We are pleased to visit you, Vetuvius, have heard about your hospitality,” replied Mari.
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