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He has non-stop sex with two women.

The Empress raised her small flag, holding it aloft until she was certain that both the contestants and the audience had seen it. A hush fell over the stadium and birds rose from the back of the stands, frightened from their roosts by the unacustom silence.

The Empress dropped her flag, and the game commenced.

First, the women circled the gladiator, careful to keep out of reach of his whip and far enough away to be out of any possible throw of the net. He whirled the whip round his head, its long tail whistling in the air as it hurtled in a full circle around him. Contact with human skin would cut and bruise, a long, thin, red line that spread as the blood flowed through the open wound. The women knew, and kept their distance.

The odds were not in his favour. Armed though he was, outnumbered ten to one his chances of overcoming his opponents were not good, and he knew it. His only tactic was to take his chance, any chance they inadvertently gave him, to eliminate or disable them one by one until he could win over those remaining by his sheer superior strength. If there was one, just one, a little further from her companions than the others, then he would make his move. They continued to circle, none wanting to make the first move. The sun glared down on them as it did on him. The crowd grew restless. The Empress sat back in her seat, disappointed, and still they circled.

He saw a chance. One woman, slightly smaller than the others, was a little close to him than the rest, straying from the circle to almost within range of his whip. He lunged, taking three steps towards her and bringing the whip at the extent of its circle behind him in a straight line at her with a crack that was audible in the furthest seats at the back of the stadium.

She shrieked, not in fear but in pain as the lash cut into her skin right through her thin tunic. She stumbled, losing her footing for a moment, and at once his net was unfurled and flying through the air towards her. The mesh hit her flat and open, the edges continuing their flight and wrapping round her. He tugged the cords he still held in his left fist, drawing the net tightly around her and pulling so that she lost balance completely and fell towards him. A practised swerve to one side and several steps backwards, and she was bundled completely within the tightening net and being dragged across the ground towards him.

The others were too slow. It happened so quickly they did not react in time to take advantage of it. In those few second his concentration was entirely focused on netting his victim, the others could easily have rushed in and taken him. They missed the opportunity.

She was at his feet now, a pathetic bundle in his net, her tunic slashed and ripped and barely covering any of her. He should have despatched her quickly and cleanly, freed the net and looked for the next opportunity, but he too missed his chance. Those few seconds when the shock of losing one of their team made any attack on him unlikely was gone, as he looked down at the naked flesh of the beautiful young women in his net. Those few seconds cost him that advantage, and without the whirling whip the others had already started to close in on him. Frantically he knotted the net's cords instead, knowing in his heart that reducing the odds to nine-to-one was not enough, and now he had lost his most important weapon.

The whip on its own was not enough. From all sides they rushed in on him, ignoring the cry of one woman when the whip caught her, wrapped round her and sent her headlong and bleeding onto her face on the arena floor.

Their hands were on him, grasping him and throwing him onto his back.

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