At last the trumpets sound for what is always the crowning feature of the exhibition--the chief thing which the multitudes have really waited all day to see--ten _retiarii_ are to fight ten “Thracians.” The retiarii (“netters”) wear not the least armor. They carry nothing but three-pronged lances and thick nets, which last they endeavor to fling over their adversaries, entangle them, and then stab with their tridents ere they can cut loose. The “Thracians” have heavy suits of armor and formidable swords.[218] If a netter misses his cast, there is nothing for him to do but to fly for dear life. The sight of a powerful, armed Thracian toiling after the leaping, dodging retiarius is a source of universal joy to the amphitheaters. The people rise on the benches and join in a kind of intoxication and blood orgy. “_Verbera! Verbera! Occide! Occide!_” “Lay on! Kill!”--rises as a thunder to heaven. =344. End of the Combats: Rewarding the Victors.=--It profits not to dwell on the half hour which follows. Plenty of skill, valor, and swiftness are shown alike by netters and by heavy-armed warriors. One by one part of the twenty drop, and for a while the passions of the people permit no mercy. The Charon appears several times; but there is a young Spanish netter whose nimbleness and reckless courage win great favor, and many are muttering, “We want to see him again.” There is also a very experienced Thracian whose owner will demand from Cluentius a round indemnity, if the fight is pushed to a finish and his precious chattel is slain. As a result when four wounded men together drop their weapons and signal for mercy, white handkerchiefs begin waving all over the amphitheater and Cluentius is glad to shake out his also. The combats are over. The victorious gladiators, if they are unhurt enough to stand, are led before the podium and to each are handed palms of victory. There is furthermore a crowning ceremony. One Certus, a very famous netter, has by previous understanding taken only a formal part in the combats. Now, while the whole multitude leaps up to acclaim him, Cluentius himself rises and gives him the wooden sword--the sign that he need fight and risk his life no more. Henceforth Certus will become himself no doubt a _lanista_, and train hundreds of other brawny youths to yield up their lives for the amusement of Rome. The amphitheater empties from all its numerous _vomitoria_. The crowd goes home well contented, praising Cluentius and hoping he will be assigned a fine province to govern. True it has not been as if the Emperor were present--then there might have been two hundred or more gladiators, an enormous slaughter of beasts; fountains could have played in the arena to refresh the air, and perfumes could have been scattered from the awnings; or the arena might easily have been flooded for a sea fight between two squadrons of small galleys.