Masada+1981+part+3+of+4+new !free! File

Title: The Logic of the Lost: Masada (1981), Part 3 Analysis

Introduction: A Kingdom of Dust In the narrative architecture of the 1981 miniseries Masada, the third installment (or "Part 3") serves as the story’s psychological pivot point. Having established the arrival of the Roman Tenth Legion and the initial defiance of the Zealots, the series now descends into the grinding reality of a siege. This is the hour where the glamour of resistance fades, replaced by the harsh logic of survival. For the viewer, Part 3 offers a masterclass in contrasting leadership styles, pitting the methodical, almost sympathetic Roman General Silva against the increasingly messianic Elazar ben Yair.

The Roman Machine: Peter O’Toole’s Quiet Storm While the Zealots are the protagonists, Part 3 belongs to Peter O’Toole as Flavius Silva. In this segment, Silva moves from aggressor to reluctant architect. We see the construction of the siege ramp—a terrifying feat of engineering that serves as the ticking clock of the series. O’Toole’s performance in these scenes is a study in restrained power. He does not hate the Jews on the mountain; he respects them, perhaps more than he respects the political machinations in Rome that forced this conflict.

Key scenes in this part highlight Silva’s isolation. He is a man of logic surrounded by fanatics on one side and political opportunists (like the Roman politician Falco) on the other. The introduction of the ramp is not just a plot device; it is the physical manifestation of the Roman Empire: slow, heavy, and inevitably crushing.

The Zealots: Fractures in the Rock On the plateau, the mood shifts from triumph to tribalism. The food and water are running out, and the internal politics of the Jewish rebels begin to fracture. Part 3 excels in showing that the enemy is not just at the bottom of the mountain, but within the camp. The conflict between the Sicarii (the dagger-men) and the more moderate factions creates a palpable tension.

Peter Strauss, as Elazar ben Yair, must navigate these shrinking horizons. His performance becomes more internalized; he is a man realizing that his faith has led his people into a corner from which there is no earthly escape. The dialogue crackles with the desperation of men who know they are writing their own epitaphs.

The Mechanics of Doom From a production standpoint, Part 3 showcases the scale of the 1981 production. The filming at the actual Masada site (and corresponding studio sets) lends an authenticity that modern CGI often fails to capture. The heat, the dust, and the sheer verticality of the fortress are palpable. The "New" aspect of revisiting this series often highlights how character-driven television of this era prioritized dialogue and slow-burn tension over action set pieces.

Conclusion: The Point of No Return By the end of Part 3, the die is cast. The ramp is halfway built; the water is nearly gone. The narrative has successfully stripped away the comfort of the viewer. We are no longer watching an adventure story; we are watching a tragedy unfold in slow motion. It sets the stage perfectly for the harrowing conclusion, leaving the audience with a lingering question: Is resistance a victory in itself, or a tragic waste of life? Part 3 does

The 1981 ABC miniseries Masada remains one of the most ambitious undertakings in television history. Chronicling the epic siege of the Judean fortress by the Roman Empire, the series—originally aired over four nights—blended historical grandeur with a deeply personal ideological clash. Part 3 of 4 serves as the narrative’s pressure cooker, where the initial tactical maneuvering gives way to the grueling, psychological toll of a stalemate. The Stalemate Deepens

In the third installment, the focus shifts from the logistics of arrival to the agonizing reality of the siege. We see Flavius Silva (played with weary gravitas by Peter O’Toole) struggling not just with the stubbornness of the Zealots atop the mountain, but with the brutal climate of the Judean desert and the political infighting within his own ranks.

Part 3 is where the "New" high-definition restorations of the series truly shine. The vastness of the desert and the scale of the Roman camp, filmed on location in Israel, are rendered with a clarity that emphasizes the isolation of both the hunters and the hunted. The Ideological War

While Part 1 and 2 established the conflict, Part 3 explores the relationship between Silva and the Zealot leader Eleazar ben Ya'ir (Peter Strauss). The script highlights a mutual, albeit begrudging, respect. Ben Ya'ir’s struggle in this chapter is internal; he must maintain the morale of nearly a thousand people—men, women, and children—while watching the Romans slowly but surely construct the massive assault ramp that will eventually lead to their breach. Key themes in this segment include:

The Ethics of Power: Silva’s reluctance to use excessive brutality versus his duty to Rome.

The Cost of Liberty: The Zealots’ willingness to endure starvation and heat rather than return to Roman servitude.

Technological Might: The terrifying sight of the Roman war machines being assembled at the base of the plateau. Production Value and "New" Perspectives

For modern viewers revisiting the "New" digital versions or specialized 1981 archival uploads, Part 3 stands out for its practical effects. Long before CGI, the production built a functional version of the Roman ramp. The sheer physical presence of thousands of extras and authentic period armor gives this part of the series a weight that contemporary productions often lack. Why Part 3 Matters

Narratively, this is the "calm before the storm." It sets the emotional stakes for the tragic finale in Part 4. Without the character development and the mounting tension shown in Part 3, the final stand on Masada would lose its profound impact. It serves as a study of human endurance and the high price of conviction.

Whether you are a history buff or a fan of classic "Golden Age" television miniseries, Part 3 of Masada is a masterclass in pacing, acting, and historical storytelling.

Masada - 1981 - Part 3 of 4 - New

It seems like you might be referring to a specific video or documentary about Masada, a famous fortress in Israel, from 1981. Masada is a significant historical site, known for its role in the First Jewish–Roman War.

Here's some context:

Masada is an ancient fortress built on a rock plateau in the Judean Desert, near the Dead Sea. It's a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of Israel's most popular tourist attractions.

The documentary or video you're referring to seems to be from 1981 and is divided into four parts. If you're interested in learning more about Masada, I can suggest some resources:

In the third installment of the 1981 ABC miniseries , the narrative shifts toward extreme psychological and political tension as the Roman siege of the mountain fortress nears its climax. Plot Summary: Part 3 The Arrival of Falco : The political climate changes drastically when Senator Pomponius Falco (played by David Warner

) arrives from Rome. Empowered by Emperor Vespasian, Falco temporarily relieves General Flavius Silva Peter O'Toole ) of his command. Reign of Terror

: Unlike Silva’s tactical approach, Falco employs brutal terror. He begins catapulting Jewish prisoners into the side of the mountain one by one to force Eleazar ben Yair Peter Strauss ) into surrender. Crisis of Faith

: Faced with the slaughter, the skeptical Eleazar experiences a spiritual breakthrough, praying in the synagogue for the killings to stop. Silva's Intervention

: Revolted by Falco’s barbarism, Silva forcibly reassumes command, arrests Falco, and halts the executions. This cessation is viewed by the Zealots as a divine response to Eleazar’s prayers, solidifying his leadership. Engineering Tragedy masada+1981+part+3+of+4+new

: As the massive Roman siege ramp nears completion, lead engineer Rubrius Gallus

is killed by a Jewish arrow. Before dying, he passes the final blueprints for the siege tower to his successor, ensuring the assault will proceed. Production Highlights Score transition Jerry Goldsmith composed the music for Parts 1 and 2, Morton Stevens took over the score for Parts 3 and 4. Award-Winning Performance

: David Warner’s portrayal of the villainous Falco in this episode contributed to his Primetime Emmy Award win for Outstanding Supporting Actor. : The series was famously filmed on location in the Judean Desert near the actual Cast and Crew : Boris Sagal : Joel Oliansky (based on Ernest K. Gann's novel The Antagonists Peter O'Toole as Gen. Cornelius Flavius Silva Peter Strauss as Eleazar ben Yair Barbara Carrera as Sheva David Warner as Pomponius Falco Anthony Quayle as Rubrius Gallus Masada (TV Mini Series 1981) - Full cast & crew - IMDb

Title: The Serpent’s Tooth (Masada, 1981) Part: 3 of 4

The wind on Masada did not just blow; it scoured. It stripped the skin of moisture and the mind of pretense. For the besieging Roman Tenth Legion, it was a relentless enemy, almost as fierce as the Sicarii zealots trapped atop the rock.

Centurion Gaius Valerius adjusted the leather straps of his lorica segmentata, the armor feeling heavier tonight. Below the great plateau, the Roman siege ramp—-a monstrous scar of stone and earth rising toward the western wall—-was nearing completion. It was an engineering feat that would echo through history, but in the dark of the Judean night, it felt like a grave being dug.

"Trouble sleeping, Roman?"

Gaius didn't turn. He knew the voice. It was thick, guttural, and laced with a hatred that had festered for years. Standing in the shadows of the siege tower was a Jewish collaborator, a man who had sold his people for a pouch of silver and the promise of safety.

"The Emperor wants this rock," Gaius said, his voice weary. "He doesn't care if I sleep."

"The Emperor is in Rome," the spy sneered. "He doesn't know what waits up there. Elazar ben Yair is not a man who surrenders. He is a man of fire."

Gaius finally turned, his eyes scanning the flickering torchlight atop the distant fortress walls. "They have no water. We have broken their cisterns. They have no food. We have sealed the passes. Fire requires fuel, and they have none."

"You misunderstand the fuel," the spy whispered, stepping closer. "It is not wood or oil. It is the soul. They believe they are already dead. They believe the only choice left is how they enter the next world."

Gaius spat into the dust. "Tomorrow, we test that belief. The battering ram is in position. By sundown, the wall falls."

"Then God help you when it does," the spy muttered, melting back into the night.

High atop the plateau, the silence was deceptive. To the Roman engineers below, it seemed the fortress was dormant. But inside the synagogue, converted into a barracks, the air was thick with tension.

Elazar ben Yair stood before his men. He was not a large man, but his presence commanded the room. He looked at the faces of the Sicarii—dagger-men, assassins, zealots. They were gaunt, their skin leathered by the sun, their eyes hollowed by the siege.

"The Romans think they have won," Elazar said, his voice low but steady. "They look at their ramp and see victory. They look at us and see corpses waiting to rot in the sun."

A murmur went through the crowd. Outside, the wind howled, threatening to extinguish the oil lamps.

"They are right," Elazar continued, silencing the room. "We are dead men. We died the moment we refused to bow to the idol. The only question remaining is this: Do we die as slaves, dragged in chains to Rome to be butchered in the arena for the mob's amusement? Or do we die as free men, masters of our own fate?"

He drew his sica, the curved dagger that gave his sect its name. The blade gleamed in the dim light.

"They are coming tomorrow," Elazar declared. "They will break the wall. They will expect a battle. We will give them... a silence."

He outlined the plan. It was a horror that chilled the blood of even the hardest warriors. They would draw lots. Ten men would kill the others. Then, among those ten, one would kill the nine. The last would fall on his sword. Only one sin—the suicide—so that the rest might die free men, unblemished by the prohibition against self-murder.

"We will leave them a victory of ashes and bone," Elazar cried. "We will deny them the spectacle!"

Among the listeners was a young boy, no older than fifteen, clutching a spear. Tears streamed down his face, but his grip was iron. He had not eaten in two days, but the fire in Elazar’s words filled him more than bread ever could.

Part 3 Ends.

The stage is set. The Roman war machine is primed for the final assault. The Zealots have chosen a fate that defies Roman comprehension. The climax approaches.

A Quick Recap: Setting the Stage for Part 3

Before diving into the specifics of Part 3, let’s establish the context. Part 1 introduces the Jewish commander Eleazar ben Yair (Peter O’Toole) and the Roman governor Flavius Silva (Peter Strauss). Part 2 follows Silva’s arduous journey to the fortress of Masada, built by King Herod on a towering mesa overlooking the Dead Sea. Title: The Logic of the Lost: Masada (1981),

By the end of Part 2, the Romans are frustrated. The fortress is virtually impregnable—surrounded by sheer cliffs and stocked with years of food and water. The Romans’ initial assaults have failed. This is where "Masada 1981 part 3 of 4 new" picks up: not with a battle, but with a desperate architectural gamble.

Unearthing the Siege: A Deep Dive into "Masada 1981 Part 3 of 4 New" – The Turning Point of the Mini-Series

For fans of classic historical drama, few mini-series have left as indelible a mark as the 1981 ABC production of Masada. Based on the historical novel The Antagonists by Ernest K. Gann, the series brought to life the legendary siege of the Judean Desert fortress by the Roman Empire in 73 CE. Decades later, a dedicated fanbase continues to search for specific segments, with one of the most sought-after queries being "Masada 1981 Part 3 of 4 new."

If you are searching for a "new" perspective, a remastered version, or simply a fresh analysis of the third act of this epic, you have come to the right place. This article dissects Part 3 of the 1981 mini-series, exploring its narrative weight, character arcs, historical accuracy, and why this specific middle chapter remains the emotional and tactical core of the entire production.

Masada — Part 3 of 4

The sun rose hot and hard over the Judean plateau, painting the stone walls of Masada a fierce, blinding white. From the western edge of the fortress the desert fell away like a sea; below, the Dead Sea shimmered, an expanse of molten glass. Inside the ramparts, life moved with a brittle, urgent rhythm—preparations, whispers, and the steady, human business of surviving a siege.

Eliav walked the narrow terraces, sandals kicking up dust. He had been eighteen when the Romans first appeared on the horizon; now he was twenty-four and felt the weight of every year like a stone in his chest. His hair had thinned at the temples; his hands bore the calluses of labor and of arms. He paused where the cliff dropped sheer to the plain and watched a column of legionaries snake along the base—tiny, ant-like on that vast canvas. The sight had become a song and a threat, familiar enough to his fear to make him steady his breath.

Inside the compound, the Council assembled at the long table carved from a single cedar plank. Yochanan, their leader, sat at the head—broad-shouldered, heavy-lidded, his beard threaded with silver. Opposite him was Tamar, a healer whose soft voice could cut sharper than a dagger when she needed it. Around them clustered men and women whose names Eliav had known since childhood: Miriam the potter, Shimon the mason, Ruth the midwife. Tonight’s meeting would decide what came next.

"We cannot hold out forever," Yochanan said without preface. His tone was not despairing—only factual, like a weather report. "Supplies dwindle. The storehouses will last us maybe two months if we conserve fiercely."

A murmur rose. Tamar straightened. "Two months is time enough to think. And to decide."

There were other opinions—some argued to fight, to sally out under the cover of darkness and attempt to break the siege. Others, older men with grandchildren at their knees, urged mercy, diplomacy, any avenue that might spare the young.

Eliav listened as if from a distance. He had been a soldier in the militia since he was sixteen, but the boy who joined to prove himself was gone. The man who remained measured loss in faces. "If we burn our grain now," he said quietly, surprising himself, "we live the next winter hungry and naked. If we keep it, we keep the flame of this place." He looked at Tamar. "And if we fight, we lose what we are fighting for."

Yochanan nodded. "We will ration. We will teach every child to stitch, to mend, to grind. We will make this place feed its soul as well as its belly."

Night fell like a curtain. Torches sputtered in the courtyards and the sound of voices on the terraces grew thin and small. In the narrow streets, people moved from one household to another—the sharing of oil, of bread, of stories. Eliav went to the armory, a cave carved into the bedrock, where weapons leaned like skeletal trees. He ran his hand along the haft of a spear, remembering the man who once held it and laughed too loud at a joke. Memories had become a different geography here—paths that led nowhere but to grief.

At the edge of the compound, the small synagogue hummed with a low, steady chant. The Cantor’s voice rose, brittle and precise, filling the stones with a liturgy that was both consolation and challenge. Eliav entered, drawn like a moth to the flame of ritual. He knelt, not for prayer alone but for the company of others who carried the same burden. Around him, faces glowed in torchlight—some bowed in sorrow, some straight with a stubborn, hard dignity.

Outside, the Romans worked. Through grainy nights Eliav had watched them build a siege ramp, a monstrous spine of earth and timber across the desert. Engineers—practiced, cruel—pushed their machines up inch by inch. On some nights, Eliav dreamt the ramp ate the horizon. The knowledge that the enemy would reach the wall by weight and measure was a quiet drumbeat under his ribs.

Then came the day of the first breach attempt. It was not a dramatic assault with battle-cries and flaring swords; it was the slow, mechanical advance of a battering tower turned toward the cliff, ropes groaning like old men. They worked beneath the protection of shields, inching their engine farther, raising it taller. From Masada, the people watched as if viewing a bad omen sewn from oak and iron.

Eliav and the others had holes to fill and heights to guard. Archers climbed to ring the parapets; slingers took their stations, and younger boys passed up arrows and stones. The clash—when it came—was ugly and close. Hot phosphorus-flecked bolts hissed through the night air; when the tower struck, it sent a shock through the stones. Panels splintered. Men shouted names, and someone fell with a scream that cut the air.

In the aftermath, the courtyard stank of smoke and sweat. Tamar moved through the wounded, her hands sure. She bandaged a child whose arm was broken, held his small face as he whimpered, and whispered a psalm into his ear. Eliav found himself pressed against a wall, breath shallow. He had lost comrades; he had lost an innocence he hadn't known he'd possessed. Yet under that loss, stubbornness flowered like a weed through a crack.

It was then that Eliav met Harel, a man with eyes like flint and a voice that never betrayed softness. Harel lived on the edge of the fortress and spoke of plans—plans not of escape but of meaning. "They will build their ramp," Harel said one night, leaning in the dim of the armory. "They will think they can take stones and people the same. But we have something they cannot weigh."

"What’s that?" Eliav asked.

"Memory. The stories, the names. The children who will remember who we were. You can break a body; you cannot silence a people’s own telling."

Harel's words lodged like a thorn. Memory became a strategy—a way to outlast the occupier in ways that matters-of-fact walls could not. They organized lessons: reading of ancient texts by firelight, songs to teach the next generation, ledgers of births and names kept carefully in hidden scrolls. Miriam taught pottery to younger hands, inscribing tiny clay seals with names and dates. Ruth recorded births and small histories. The fortress turned inward, becoming a hive of culture as much as resistance.

As weeks slid into months, the Roman engines grew higher. The ramp's summit neared the plateau; it reared like an inevitable tide. Inside, tensions lurched. Some younger men, driven raw with fear and no patience for slow preservation, wanted to strike at dawn and try to undo the enemy's work. Others counseled restraint. "They have numbers. They have tools and hunger for conquest," Tamar said. "We have stones and grit and children. We must choose what we save."

The Council convened in secret. Yochanan, after long nights of silence, finally made a decision that would carve itself into the memory of every soul on Masada. "We will keep our names," he said simply. "We will not be taken like cattle. We will decide our fate."

The words did not land like thunder—they settled with a kind of terrible clarity. Discussions that followed were sober and exact. Provisions were assessed, medicines apportioned, plans drawn for families to be gathered. There was no heroism in the mechanics—only a grim, administrative tenderness. Children's dresses were mended; recipes for concentrated broths were refined. Names were taught and retaught until every voice could recite the list by heart.

Eliav felt his heart fracture and then harden. He walked the terraces at night with Harel, counting the stars and counting the people. "If we meet them in the wall," Harel said once, "we will die. If we die on our terms, we keep the story."

"Whose story?" Eliav asked.

"All of ours," Harel replied. "Not the emperors. Not the banners with their eagles. Ours." Watch Part 3 of the documentary: You can

When the final breach came, it was quieter than the block of months had promised. The legionaries had made a ladder of timber and iron to the highest stones; they set up their camp and had the audacity to think in shifts and rations. In the hush before dawn, the people of Masada moved like a single organism—gentle, efficient. There were no cries of bravado; there were only the hushed prayers and the work of choosing.

Eliav stood by the outer wall as the first light bled across the plain. He felt the weight of a life lived small and large at once. He touched the spear’s haft; he thought of the infant faces whose names had been carved in clay. He thought of Yochanan's hands and Tamar's song. He felt no triumph, only a strange, fierce peace.

The end was not a battle. It was a closing of doors and an opening of memory. Families gathered. The Council passed from one to another tasks that would remain after them: lists of names, tales to be spoken, songs to teach. Eliav spoke the names aloud—each one a struck bell—and etched them on a shard of pottery with a small, careful knife. When the Romans finally crested the ramp and poured into the compound, they found an empty fortress in the sense they had expected: bodies, yes, but no submission.

Outside the stone walls, the occupiers planted their standards and marked their victory. Inside, what remained was an archive of human choice: names on clay, songs on the lips of a few who had been spared to carry them, the memory of a people who had chosen their own ending rather than live under another’s hand.

Eliav walked the terraces one last time. The sun threw gold on the stones. He closed his eyes and listened—the shallow breaths of a world that was ending and the faint echo of a story that would outlast it. He felt sorrow like a physical thing, and beneath it, a stubborn, unquenchable ember of belonging.

When the Romans took the walls, they could measure the stones and tally the bodies, but they could not weigh the names. Those would travel in mouths and hands across deserts and generations. Masada would be a small, fierce lamp in the long dark, and the memory of that choice—a people choosing how to live and how to die—would become a story told and retold wherever anyone remembered that dignity can be an act of resistance.

— End of Part 3 —

The 1981 ABC miniseries is a four-part historical drama detailing the legendary Roman siege of the mountaintop fortress held by Jewish Zealots in AD 73. Part 3, which originally aired on April 7, 1981, serves as the critical transition from political maneuvering to direct, brutal conflict. Part 3: "The Battle of Wits" Summary

In this penultimate episode, the focus shifts to the physical and psychological toll of the siege as General Flavius Silva’s (Peter O'Toole) authority is challenged both from within his camp and by the engineering challenges of the terrain. Usurpation of Power

: The "tables turn" for the Romans as the brutal Senator Pomponius Falco (David Warner) begins to usurp influence from Silva, pushing for a more violent and immediate resolution. The Siege Ramp

: Under the guidance of engineering expert Rubrius Gallus (Anthony Quayle), the Romans begin the monumental task of building a massive earthen ramp to reach the fortress walls. Rebel Resistance

: Inside Masada, leader Eleazar ben Yair (Peter Strauss) tests the limits of his followers' endurance and ingenuity, realizing that the Roman ramp's progress is making their defeat inevitable. Internal Discord

: Two Roman centurions, Fronto (Ken Hutchison) and Plinius (Warren Clarke), begin plotting a revolt against Silva, reflecting the growing mutiny and desperation in the Roman camp. Key Production & Technical Details

This paper examines of the 1981 ABC miniseries , a pivotal chapter that transitions from the strategic standoff of the Roman siege to the intensifying moral and physical conflict within the fortress. Paper: Analysis of "Masada" (1981) - Part III of IV I. Introduction: The Strategic and Narrative Pivot The third installment of the 1981 Masada miniseries

serves as the narrative bridge between the Roman Tenth Legion's arrival and the final tragic conclusion. While the previous parts established the political rivalry between the Judean leader Eleazar ben Ya'ir and the Roman legate Flavius Silva

, Part III focuses on the technical and psychological "war of attrition" that defines the siege. II. Key Narrative Developments The Construction of the Siege Ramp

: A central focus is the engineering feat of the Roman siege ramp. The character of Rubrius Gallus, the lead Roman surveyor (Gromaticus), is highlighted for his role in designing the ramp designed to breach the "impregnable" Herodian fortress. Psychological Warfare

: Part III explores the internal dissent and the "terribly sensitive" dilemma of the rebels—choosing between certain death or Roman enslavement. The episode portrays these tensions as a struggle for freedom, though contemporary critics noted parallels to religious martyrdom and fanaticism. The Night Mission

: A notable sequence involves Eleazar leading a party down the mountain on a stealth mission to disrupt Roman supplies, a scene often discussed by fans for a minor production "goof" where extras appear to be wearing 20th-century sneakers. III. Historical vs. Cinematic Representation Miniseries Portrayal (Part III) Historical/Archaeological Reality Siege System Depicted as a direct, aggressive engineering project.

A complex 3D conflict landscape featuring a circumvallation wall and multiple towers designed for total isolation. Rebel Life Shows the Sicarii as a unified band of freedom fighters.

Archaeologically, the rebels lived in the casemate walls and repurposed Herodian palaces; pottery evidence suggests a diverse social organization. Water Supply Portrayed as a critical vulnerability for the Romans.

Historical records confirm no fresh water existed within a 12-mile radius, forcing Romans to haul supplies through a harsh desert. IV. Cultural Impact and Modern "Mythmaking" The 1981 production solidified the Masada Myth

for a global audience, framing the event through the lens of individual liberty vs. imperial tyranny. Critics from the New York Times

noted at the time that Part III successfully elevates the stakes from a regional conflict to an "epic struggle of man's determination". V. Conclusion

Part III of the miniseries is essential for understanding the transition from historical event to cinematic legend. By dramatizing the technical difficulty of the siege and the burgeoning resolve of the Sicarii, it prepares the audience for the philosophical debate and mass suicide that concludes the four-part epic. versus the archaeological findings from that specific episode? MASADA - the History of a Roman siege

Part 3 of the 1981 Masada miniseries focuses on the arrival of the ruthless official Falco, who undermines General Silva's authority and accelerates the construction of the siege ramp. This episode highlights intense psychological warfare and the engineering efforts to breach the mountain fortress. For a detailed cast list and viewer reviews, visit IMDb. Masada Part 3 - Amazon.com

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