While he was still down, apparently unconcerned about my marksmanship, I hurled my next three, taking more time between each of the throws. The first went far to his right, and the other two were short. No velocity behind my tosses. And the two that landed in front of Porcius rolled, on their sides, close enough for him to reach them, giving him additional weaponry. He kicked both aside disdainfully and held up two spears for all to see. I took one from the pile, leaving three still on the pavement.

Porcius walked behind his post and held up the javelins again, but this time they were both in his right hand. He turned his back, spun completely around once, and let both spears fly. I could see them coming, their points glinting in the early sun and separating from each other as they came nearer. Turning, I slipped on the wet stone and fell backward. Lucky! Both spears swished directly over me, their carved wooden shafts sounding like a horde of bumblebees. Porcius had almost scored a double hit! I jumped up and flung my javelin, determined not to be short again. I wasn’t. It arched directly over his head just as a stabbing pain along my right side made me think my arm had gone with it. Something had snapped in my shoulder! I had no feeling in my arm, my hand, or my fingers. If Porcius even suspected anything was wrong he’d cut me to pieces, a little at a time. I reached for two spears only seconds before there was a loud crunch of splitting wood. The heavy tip of his next spear had embedded itself into the post, only a foot from my head!

My mouth was so dry that my tongue felt as large as a cucumber. Sweat streaming down my face made it difficult to see. I was terrified and I was mad and mostly I was frustrated. It was hopeless and I knew it. There was no way out. I would be dead in the next few minutes.

With my two spears I tried to bracket him. I aimed to his left with the first and to his right with the second. A thousand long needles jabbed into my shoulder with each throw. My opponent didn’t even have to move to avoid either toss. Now, he began taunting me. He leaned against the post with one elbow as if he were just passing the time of day. Without even a spear in his hand! The soldiers loved it.

Pilate, also, was obviously enjoying the match. I could hear his laughter above all the others. “Matthias,” he screamed, “now we know you are not a Roman. No Roman has ever disgraced himself with the javelin as you are doing. You are a dishonor even to the miserable Christians you love, and now you will die for your Jesus!”