Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7] by Douglas Jackson Page B

wasn’t interested in punching his way to victory. No, his favoured method was to get close, accepting what punishment was required to smother his opponent with his sheer bulk, crushing ribs and spine with arms that were capable of snapping a man in half. Nothing would please Cyclops more than the sound of snapping bone.
    Without warning, Cyclops rushed forward, his right hand reaching for Serpentius’s shoulder, but the leathery skin of his fingers slipped on the Spaniard’s flesh, made slimy by a combination of oil and sweat. Cyclops expected his opponent to dance clear; instead Serpentius darted forward and smashed a closed fist into his chest with enough force to make him grunt. The blow made the bigger man pause and Serpentius moved away. Cyclops rubbed at the skin where the blow had struck, a bare patch in the thick pelt of hair that covered his body. A look of puzzlement formed on the broad peasant face.
    Serpentius allowed himself a smile. Cyclops might be a miner now, but he was undoubtedly a former soldier. The punch had been aimed at a white pockmark the width of a man’s thumb just to the right of the giant’s left nipple. To a warrior who knew what he was looking for, the rubbery skin and the position hinted at a certain type of wound.
    Each time Serpentius danced away from the grasping fingers the howls of frustration from Cyclops’ supporters grew louder. But Cyclops could be patient too, and gradually he forced the Spaniard back against the crowd.
    This time when Serpentius darted for safety a foot stuck out from amongst the spectators and left him sprawling on the hard rock. He sprang upright into the path of a scything right hook and even a former gladiator’s lightning reactions couldn’t save Serpentius from a glancing blow to the side of the head. His vision went red and he felt the skin ripping as the iron-clad knuckles skidded across his scalp, drawing blood that poured down his face in a crimson rush. The force ofthe punch threw him into the crowd where eager hands immediately pushed him back towards the grinning giant. At last Cyclops managed to get his huge arms around Serpentius and no matter how he wriggled and twisted in the giant’s grip the Spaniard couldn’t break free. He’d never experienced such strength. Cyclops held him tight to his chest and slowly increased his power. Serpentius cried out as his ribs ground together and his back felt as if it were about to snap. The only thing that saved him was Cyclops’ decision to deny him a quick end. Cyclops grinned and nodded to the crowd. He relaxed his grip just enough to allow Serpentius to breathe. Serpentius’s head slumped against Cyclops’ shoulder and his cheek rasped against the other man’s coarse stubble. His brain still spun from the blow he’d taken, but he knew that unless he could free himself he would soon be dead.
    The massive arms resumed their pressure and Serpentius cried out to the ancient gods of the Astures for aid. He screamed and his mouth touched the other man’s cheek. In desperation he clamped his teeth on the bunched flesh, simultaneously shaking his head like a dog and working his jaw. The skin tore and blood flooded his mouth, but still he worked at the big man’s savaged flesh. Now it was Cyclops who shrieked as Serpentius growled and chewed until he came away with a mouthful of dripping meat that left a gaping gore-filled crater in the hammer man’s face. The Spaniard spat the obscene gobbet into the giant’s single eye. Yet still the great arms maintained their pressure. In desperation, Serpentius butted the exposed cheekbone making the bigger man mew like a suffering child. Cyclops turned his face away from the assault, but all he did was expose his right ear. Again the Spaniard closed his teeth over the rubbery flesh, drawing a howl from the other man. At last the hammer man released his grip and Serpentius fell free, still with the big Roman’s ear clamped between his teeth. Cyclops backed