The three gladiators entered the Pit of Death to the cheers of the crowd.

The first to enter, the reigning Champion, was Dai, a muscular, massively broad-chested, hairy Welshman. He was moderately handsome, with small features, a square jaw, dark hair and a five o’clock shadow. He grinned broadly and raised his weapons - a broadsword and shield - in manly bravado. He wore nothing but a skimpy green g-string. Since he had become champion by defeating a long-reigning Englishman, he had seen off all challengers. Dai’s name was appropriate because that’s what his opponents did - DIE! Four Englishmen and one Scotsman had so far made the attempt, and all had ended up quivering at his feet before being relieved of their impotent lives with a slash to the throat from their vanquisher’s mighty broadsword.

Dai looked at the two rival hunks of meat who were now entering the Arena, bent on depriving him of his crown…and his life.

The second to enter the Arena was Richard, a handsome young Londoner. Also broad chested though slightly leaner than Dai, he was the youthful hopeful. He was determined to be the man who would finally topple the Champion and send him to his grave. A beautiful young man, with flaxen golden locks falling over this face, a superb muscular figure in a red g-string, he smiled confidently at the crowd above him, waving his weapons of death - an axe and a shield - in the air.

And finally, Jim, the wiry Scotsman. A thin freckled face with fine red hair tied into a pony-tail. Long legs, long feet, wearing nothing but a blue g-string, he was a master of the net and trident and had made several brutal conquests on the Scottish gladiatorial circuit. A long shield was strapped to one arm.

Three gladiators - three bulging g-strings - three sinewy legs and manly pairs of bare feet ready for action - three virile killer-instincts competing with each other - but by the end of the fight only ONE male would remain alive.

A horn sounded and the fight had begun. The three men started trading blows. Dai thought he would easily win. Already his broadsword had scored first blood, nicking Jim’s arm. Then he scored a thin line of blood over Richard’s chest, only superficial, but enough to unnerve the brawny English youth. Seeing their blood intermingle on the sharp point of his broadsword, Dai lusted to deprive these two strapping males of their lives. Yes, Dai smiled, how he would love to see them both die on his sword. Already he was looking forward to the slashing of two more soft, vulnerable throats.

Then Richard and Jim made eye-contact, and, without a word said, they both turned their attentions, directed their blows, against the Welshman. They had decided that Dai was to perish.

Dai desperately tried to fend off both axe and trident. He fought valiantly - desperately - slashing at Richard and Jim with alternate blows. He staved off blow after blow. How magnificent, he thought, if I could defeat two men fighting me at he same time!

But he was doomed. Within a minute Richard’s axe had penetrated deep into his stomach and Jim’s trident had also inflicted a deep belly wound for good measure. Dai collapsed on his butt. Gone were his dreams of slicing the tender necks of Richard and Jim with his murderous broadsword. Gone were his dreams of retaining his Championship - and his life. Richard and Jim had totally defeated him, and left him with nothing but death to look forward to. Until then he had a long agony, waiting for the other two to slug it out before anyone bothered inflicting the death blow on him.

Dai watched passively as the two remaining combatants interlocked in struggle, Richard’s axe clashing against Jim’s trident.

Richard grinned as he looked at Jim’s thin body. The Scot would easily fall victim to his axe just as Dai had done. Then Richard would reign as the true undisputed Champion.

"You’re gonna CROAK, Scotsman! Prepare to die!" he snarled.

"No way, English bastard," hissed the Scot, "I’m gonna SNUFF you easy!"

Richard started raining brutal blow after brutal blow against Jim’s thin body Jim had only his shield strapped to his arm to protect him. But Jim was nimble. His swiftness on his feet saved his life. Time and again he managed to avoid Richard’s blows with his swift movements. But Richard’s feet were advancing as Jim’s feet were retreating. The crowd were already predicting the Scotsman’s defeat. It seemed only a matter of time before the English Adonis delivered the killer blow.

"You’re DOG MEAT, Scottie! Prepare to lose your life!" he grinned.

But Jim was not going to give up easily. As Richard was about to deliver yet another series of blows, the lean Scot ingeniously dropped to one knee and caught Richard’s axe in the narrow gap between the three prongs of his trident. He then glided his trident up to the hilt of Richard’s axe and twisted the entire trident. He prised the axe out of Richard’s grasp. Richard looked aghast as the axe fell out of his hands.

Jim wasted no time. Before the muscular young Londoner could reach for his fallen axe on the hot sand of the Arena, Jim stabbed him in the stomach with his trident with a vicious sideways thrust. Three deep, gaping, bleeding wounds: Richard’s stomach now wore the badge of defeat. He had been conquered. The manly youth staggered, stumbled, this way and that, desperately trying to stay on his feet. But the wound inflicted by Jim had devastated him. He dropped to his knees at Jim’s feet - vanquished, humbled - and then collapsed on the sand in agony.

"ENJOY YOUR DEATH!" smiled the Scotsman in triumph.

Now all that remained was for Jim to consign Dai and Richard to their coffins. How he relished the ritual of delivering the death-strokes to these two magnificent conquests.

Ring attendants dragged the wounded and groaning Dai and Richard so that they were lying next to each other. Their g-strings were cut off them with little swords by the ring attendants, who then withdrew. Then the victorious Scot - raising his arms in the victory pose - placed one foot on Dai’s groin and the other on Richard’s. He had out-manned the both of them and he was entitled to stand on their cocks! He could feel their cocks squirming warm and erect under his long bare manly feet. A ring attendant temporarily took his trident and he turned his victorious fists into two outstretched thumbs to determine the fate of his two foes. Thumbs up or thumbs down? The crowd chanted "DEATH, DEATH, DEATH!" and Jim - his lean face puckering into a delighted grin - placed both his thumbs down.

The ring attendant handed him back a trident. But it was not the same trident with which he had fought. It was the Death Trident, specially designed for delivering the death blows in the event of a victory by the retarius. Much heavier, its vicious prongs far longer, it would pierce the heart of any loser, guaranteeing a swift death to the vanquished male.

First it was the turn of the defeated ex-Champion to die. Jim raised the Death Trident high over Dai’s expansive hairy chest and then thrust it down into his heart. The Death Trident entered Dai’s heart with a sickening dull thud. Blood spurted from his manly chest. The Death Trident had done its work. With a moan Dai surrendered his life to Jim. The Champion was dead, long live the Champion!

Then it was Richard’s turn to die. The young upstart would pay the ultimate price for his defeat. Again the Death Trident was raised over Richard’s perfectly-shaped chest; again it was thrust into the chest. Richard’s whole body rose in abject death agony. Aaaaghhhgh! Then Jim's foe expired with a pathetic low moan. So much for the young English hopeful! He had turned out to be just a pretender to the Champion’s throne.

As the defeated duo were dragged out of the Arena feet first through the Portal of Death, Jim circled the Pit of Death, strutting and swaggering in victory. Who would have thought that this lean, mean killing machine would have sent the two muscular hunks to their deaths! In one hand Jim raised his Death Trident red with the blood of his two dead foes. In the other hand he brandished the trophies of the green and red g-strings of the two conquered males. He was the victor. He was the virile one. He was the new Champion - undisputed, undefeated. Total devastation HAD settled the fight.