In the green and pleasant, mallorn strewn corner, we have Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, heir to The Throne of Gondor. In the brown and sandy, blood spattered corner, Maximus Decimus Meridius, Commander of The Armies of The North, General of The Felix Legions, blah blah blah. At first glance, Aragorn has a clear advantage; Anduril, besides being about three times the length of any roman gladius, has the added bonus of being able to summon an army of green undead guys capable of slaughtering everything in their path. So let’s say for the sake of balance that Aragorn’s already freed the dead dudes from their oath. One thing Maximus has on his side is speed and agility. We’ve seen his nifty footwork in the arena, dodging flails, tigers and even chariots in his quest to hack chunks off everything that breathes. Anduril is a heavy blade and too long to manoeuvre speedily in a one on one battle, so Maximus should find it easy to dodge round and get in some good, early hits. It’s a good thing, then, that Aragorn’s armoured up a bit more since he put aside the ranger. Maximus’ quick blows would simply glance off his brand new shiny breast plate, giving him time to swing round with his mighty sword (does that sound a little bit gay?) for a powerful counter-strike. Maximus is well trained however and could easily duck under a swipe from Aragorn’s hefty weapon (honestly, I’m not gay!) and try for another attack himself, this time for the back of the legs, where Aragorn’s greaves do not protect his delicate hamstrings. With a swift slice Aragorn goes down. Maximus stands in front of him, ready to deliver the final thrust (not gay!) Victory seems assured… when out of nowhere, Legolas and Gimli appear to save Aragorn’s skin. It always pays to have an elf and a dwarf to hand. An arrow to the chest and an axe to the face and Maximus skipping through Elysium. The End. …What?? I couldn’t let Gladiator win could I? It’s Russell Crowe for God’s sake!