The men knew of Gilgamesh’s reputation in the pit, so they were wary to engage.

Instead, they tried to force Gilgamesh to retreat, tiring him by giving chase on horseback. Gilgamesh had no choice but to be evasive, blocking the occasional errant arrow as he ran around the arena. 

Their tactic was working. He was getting tired, the shield getting heavier with each arrow and each step. If he had no stamina for the fight, one of the archers would inevitably find their mark.

Gilgamesh saw during that skirmish, a glint of hope in the archer’s eye. By this time, Gilgamesh had narrowly escaped their charge thrice. He had accomplished this by standing in place as they charged, then ducking out of the way at the last moment. The soldiers could see with each pass, Gilgamesh was breathing heavier, slumping further. They had also started to try and predict which way Gilgamesh would roll. It was only a matter of time until one of them guessed correctly…

The coliseum was so silent, even with hundreds of observers, that Gilgamesh heard the singing of iron as the soldiers drew their swords. The horses snorted, one of them reared, the other kicking their hind legs. Then, they broke into a sprint in perfect formation, equal distance apart, converging on either side of Gilgamesh, who stood in nothing but sandals, a worn, roughly-sewn, woolen kilt, and a shield with a dozen arrows buried in it. 

Gilgamesh turned and ran from the charging horses. He could hear pockets of the crowd erupt into laughter. The soldiers dug their heels into the horse’s sides, urging them forward. This was their moment, they were finally going to slay the reigning champion. Glory, fame, and leisure would be their reward.

The two were racing now, determined to be the one to strike the killing blow against the mighty Gilgamesh. None of this escaped the notice of Gilgamesh, even as he ran from them. One of the horses began to edge out a lead.

Two horse lengths ahead now, one of the soldiers were nearly in striking distance, only a few feet from immortal glory. Sometimes… that is all it takes. 

Gilgamesh swiveled on his heels to face the charging steed. Then, he fell flat on his back, shield at his chest. When he heard the horse’s hind hooves make contact with the shield, he lifted it with all his strength. 

Just as he had hoped, the horse tripped on its own feet, toppling over right in front of the other, who was moving too fast to stop. The second horse tripped on his fallen brethren and came down with a violent crash. Snapping of bones, wood, and weapon echoed through the coliseum air, promptly followed by the roar of the crowd.

Gilgamesh would never forget how the crowd chanted his name as he casually strolled toward the twisted wreckage. The soldiers and horses alike were a tangled mass of twitching and broken appendages. 

         One of the horses had a splintered spear stuck into their side. The other horse’s neck had broken, and their body was pinning the rider to the ground. The rider may have been able to squirm free, if not for two broken legs. Gilgamesh picked up one of the soldier’s swords, admiring it for a moment while the man under him whimpered, his back broken.

“Please… mercy,” was all the man could manage before spitting up a bit of blood.

“A fine blade. If only you had spent more time lifting it than your coin purse,” was all Gilgamesh said before dispatching them all, horses and men alike. That was his mercy.