When the guards finished with Porcius, two more marched across from my right, each carrying an armful of javelins which they dropped at the base of both posts. Porcius picked one up and hefted it. So did I, after counting the weapons in my pile. Ten. Each was more than seven feet in length, with five feet of wooden shaft attached to a sharply pointed iron head two feet long. Heavy! Fifteen pounds, at least. I wasn’t sure I could even throw one of them a distance of thirty paces.

Stooping down, I tightened the laces on my sandals as much as I could with trembling hands. I tried to remember what Cornelius had told me and lifted two spears in my left hand while holding a third in my throwing hand. I wiggled my left foot to make sure that the chain was free. Tripping could be disastrous. Pilate was now standing against the rail of his balcony, both hands raised in the air.

“You will commence as soon as I clap my hands together … and may the bravest be victorious! Long live Tiberius!”

There was a unified roar from all sides, followed by silence. The wooden shaft now felt moist in the palm of my hand. I stepped back from the post as far as my chain would allow and tried to brace my right foot against a raised pavement stone. Porcius, unlike me, had taken up only one spear. Also, unlike me, he seemed perfectly relaxed, with a patronizing smile on his hairy face. A small whirlpool of dust momentarily came between us and I turned my head to keep from being blinded. As I did, I heard Pilate’s hands coming together. I dived on my stomach—to the left. Just in time! The first spear from Porcius went by before I even saw it and continued in its low trajectory for many yards before it landed on the stones and danced noisily along their surface. Rising to one knee, I watched as Porcius casually turned his back and ambled slowly toward his pile of javelins. I jumped to my feet quickly and threw my first spear, then the second, and finally the third, each as fast as I could release them. They all landed short, accompanied by more laughter from the sidelines. I grabbed two more spears in my left hand and another in my right, watching Porcius as I did. Once more he selected a single spear from his pile.

“Finish him, soldier!” someone shouted, just before the big man let fly with a loud grunt. Again I dived to my left. Again, I guessed correctly. My first wrong guess would be the last Porcius did not seem at all disturbed by his near misses. He grinned toward the balcony and knelt beside his remaining spears.