Chapter 30
The Small Arena

There were two, small, rounded platforms. On each of them, in long, flowing, classic white, there stood a girl. Neither was collared. Each, though, was necklaced and bejeweled. Each wore a coronet. Their raiment, though simple, was rich. They might have been Ubaras. I could tell, however, from the fall of the garment, that each was naked beneath it. There was an upright iron post, about a yard in height, on each platform, behind each girl. Their small wrists, by means of slave bracelets and a ring at the top of the post, were fastened behind them and to the post. At the feet of each was an opened slave collar, with a bit of silk twisted about it.

One of these girls was the former Lady Tina of Lydius, whom Ram had once enslaved. The other was Arlene.

One of the men of the Kurii stepped down from the tiers Into the sand, between and before the two platforms. He was armed with the Gorean short sword.

Opposite my cage there was another cage, in which Ram, whom I had not seen in days, since we were separated in the storm, was confined.

I was pleased muchly to see that he lived. Perhaps he had been spared for this sport.

Ram’s cage was opened and he stepped down and into the sand. A short sword was placed in his grasp.

He cut the air twice with the sword, and then stepped back. A fellow in brown and black, which seemed to be the livery of the men of the Kurii in this place, stepped to the center of the sand.

Ram glanced at me.

“I wish you fortune,” I said. He grinned.

I looked about the small amphitheater. There were some hundred men present in it Bets were being taken.

I knew Ram was skillful. How skillful I did not know.

Behind my cage, and in the wall, some twenty feet in height, there was a mirror. I saw no reason for a mirror in such a place.

Behind it, I supposed, Kuril watched. It was, I assumed, one-way glass.

The man at the center of the sand spoke to the two combatants, who stood near to him.

He did not speak long.

The rules for the sport are simple. They are those of war.

Having a female at stake, or a bit of gold, adds spice to the contest. The reason why men do such things, I think, however, is not because of the women, or the gold, but because they enjoy it.

The two combatants then separated.

“Place each of you your right heel on the wooden rim of the sand oval,” then said the man in the center of the sand.

Both Ram and the other fellow did this. They stood, then, oppposite to one another, facing one another across some twenty feet of sand.

The man in the center of the sand then withdrew. “Fight,” he said.

“Excellent,” I breathed to myself. I found myself admiring the skill of Ram. The other fellow was quite good, but there was little contest. In moments Ram was wiping his blade on the tunic of the man at his feet. I was faster than Ram but his quickness was unusual, even among warriors. I would have been pleased to have had him., serve with me. There was now no doubt in my mind but what, before his exile in Teletus, despite his asseverations to. the contrary, his tunic had been of scarlet.

“Well done, Warrior,” I called to him. He lifted his blade to me, in salute.

Tina was released from the post, and fled to him, but stopped short, the point of his blade at her belly. She looked at him, startled. He would not permit her to touch him in the garb of a free woman. With his sword he gestured to her gown, the jewels, the coronet. Swiftly she stripped herself naked before him and knelt. He threw her the bit of silk which had been wrapped about the opened slave collar which had been at her feet on the platform. She slipped it on, that luscious mockery of a garment. He then, as she knelt, roughly locked the collar on her throat. He then took her in his arms as what she was, his slave girl. How she melted to him, his, crying out, owned. But then he saw the lowered dart-projectile weapons circling him. Laughing he put her to the side, and flung his sword down, blade first, to the hilt in the sand. He was placed again in the cage, and locked within, Tina was dragged in her collar and slave silk to the post. She was forced to kneel there, for she was now collared, a slave wench. Her hands were lifted, and again placed in the slave bracelets, which were again closed. She was again fastened at the iron post, this time kneeling beside it, her hands lifted above her face. Her hair came half way down her back.

The gate of my cage, was opened, and a short sword was placed in my hands.

It had good balance. It was not a poor weapon. Drusus himself, I was pleased to see, stepped forth into the sand.

“I have been waiting a long time to meet you in this fashion,” said he.

I measured him, his movements, the cast of his eyes. I could gather little.

He seemed slow. But I knew he did not come to his somber garb by any tardiness of action or hesitancy in deed. The training of the assassin is thorough and cruel. He who wears the black of that caste has not won it easily. Candidates for the caste are chosen with great care, and only one in ten, it is said, completes the course of instruction to the satisfaction of the caste masters. It is assumed that failed candidates are slain, if not in the training, for secrets they may have learned. Withdrawal from the caste is not permitted. Training proceeds in pairs, each pair against others. Friendship is encouraged. Then, in the final training, each member of the pair must hunt the other. When one has killed one’s friend one is then likely to better understand the meaning of the black. When one has killed one’s friend one is then unlikely to find mercy in his heart for another. One is then alone, with gold and steel.

I looked at Drusus.

The assassins take in lads who are perhaps characterized by little but unusual swiftness, and cunning, and strength and skill, and perhaps a selfishness and greed, and, in time, transform this raw material into efficient, proud, merciless men, practitioners of a dark trade, men loyal to secret codes the content of which is something at which most men dare not guess.

Drusus was looking at me.

I kept in mind he had survived the training of the assassin.

We stood in the center of the sand, with the other man, listening.

Suddenly the blade of Drusus leapt toward me. I deflected it. I had been waiting for the blow.

The third man on the sand seemed startled. Ram, in his cage, cried out in fury. The girls gasped. Most sat, stunned. One or two of the men in the tiers cried out approval.

“You are skilled,” I told Drusus.

“You, too, are skilled,” he said.

The man in the center of the sand backed uneasily away from us.

“Place each of you your right heel on the wooden rim of the sand oval,” he said. His voice faltered.

We did so.

“How will you manage,” I asked Drusus, “without a dark doorway from which to emerge?”

He did not speak to me.

“Perhaps a confederate in the andience will strike me when my back is turned?” I suggested.

The face of Drusus showed no emotion.

“There is perhaps poison on your blade?” I said.

“My caste does not make use of poison,” he said.

I then decided that it would not he easy to agitate him, perhaps impairing his timing, or niaking him behave in a hasty manner, too zealous for a quick kill.

“Fight,” said the man at the side of the ring.

We met in the center of the ring. Our blades touched and parried.

“I received my early training in the city of Ko-ro-ba,” I said.

Our blades touched one another.

“What is your Home Stone?” I asked.

“Do you think I am fool enough to talk with you?” he snarled.

“Assassins, as I recall,” I said, “have no Home Stones. I suppose that is a drawback to caste membership, but if you did have Home Stones, it might be difficult to take fees on one whose Home Stone you shared.”

I moved his blade aside.

“You are faster than I thought,” I said.

Our blades swiftly met, a moment of testing. Then we stepped back, retaining our guard position.

“Some think the caste of assassins performs a service,” I said, “but I find this difficult to take seriously. I suppose they could be hired in the service of justice, but it seems they could be as easily hired in the service of anything.” I looked at him. “Do you fellows have any principles?” I asked.

He moved in, swiftly, too swiftly. I did not take advantage of it.

“Apparently staying alive is not one of them,” I said.

He stepped back, startled.

“You were open there for a moment,” I said. He knew it and I knew it, but I was not sure those in the tiers knew it. It is sometimes difficult to see these things from certain angles.

There were jeers from the tiered benches. They did not believe what I said.

I now stalked Drusus. He kept a close guard, covering himself well. It is hard to strike a man who elects defense. He limits himself, of course, in adopting this strategem.

Now jeers against Drusus came from the benches. He began to sweat.

“Is it true,” I asked, “that you, in attaining the black of your caste, once slew your friend?”

I pressed the attack, but in a courteous fashion. He defended himself well.

“What was his name?” I asked.

“Kurnock!” he suddenly cried out, angrily, and rushed toward me.

I sprawled him into the sand at my feet, and my blade was at the back of his neck.

I stepped back.

“Get up,” I said. “Now let us fight seriously.”

He leaped to his feet. I then administered to him, and to those in the tiers, a lesson in the use of the Gorean blade.

They sat in silence.

Then, bloodied, Drums, unsteadily, his sword arm down, wavered before me. He had been cut several times, as I had pleased.

He could no longer lift the blade. Blood ran down his arm, staining the sand.

I looked up to the mirror in the wall, that which I was confident was in actuality a one-way glass. I lifted my sword to that invisible window, in the salute of a Gorean warrior. I then turned again to face Drusus.

“Kill me,” he said. “It is twice I have failed my caste.” I lifted the blade to strike him. “I will be swift,” I told him.

I poised the steel.

“Let it be thus that an old debt owed to one named Kurnock is repaid,” I said.

“That is the first time I failed my caste,” said Drusus.

I regarded him.

“Strike,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“I did not kill Kurnock,” he said. “He was no match for me. I could not bring myself to kill him.”

I handed the sword to the third man on the sand.

“Kill me!” cried Drusus.

“Do you think a warrior can show less mercy than an Assassin?” I asked.

“Kill me,” wept Drusus, and then, from the loss of blood, fell into the sand.

“He is too weak to be an assassin,” I said. “Remove him.”

Drusus was drawn from the sand. The man who had been in charge of the combat then released Arlene from the iron post.

Proudly she stepped down from the platform and stood before me.

She said nothing, but removed her jewels and necklaces, and the coronet she wore, dropping them into the sand. She then slipped the gown from her body. She then stood befor me, proud and beautiful, and absolutely naked. She then turned and went to the foot of the small, round platform, picked up the opened slave collar, with the bit of silk wrapped about it, and returned to the place on the sand before me. She then knelt before me and lifted the collar and silk. “Collar your slave, Master,” she said.

I locked the slave collar on her, throat, not gently. I then took the bit of pleasure silk and, rather than throw it on her, tied it on her collar, at the side.

She would, by my will, wear only her collar on the sand. She turned, still kneeling, to the tiers. “He is my master!” she cried, proudly.

I was then ringed with the dart-firing weapons.

“Return to the cage,” said the man who had controlled the combats.

“Wait!” said a man on the tiers. “Look!”

We looked up, and saw a light, red, flash once below the mirror.

“Excellent,” said the judge, or controller of the combats.

Ram’s cage was opened and a sword was again placed In his hand. My sword, too, was returned to me.

Ram threw down his sword. “He is my friend,” he said. “I will not fight him!”

“Pick up your sword,” I told Ram. I looked about the tiers.

“I will not fight you,” he said. “They must kill me first.”

“I am sure they would be willing to do that,” I said. “Pick up your sword.”

Ram, too, looked about the tiers. “I see they wish to see more bloodshed,” he said.

“Let us not, then, disappoint them,” I said.

Ram looked at me, and then, to the pleasure of the crowd, picked up his blade.

“You must not fight him, Master!” cried Arlene. “Do not fight!” cried Tina.

Arlene was dragged to the iron post and knelt beside it. Her wrists, rudely, were lifted and snapped into the slave bracelets dangling at the ring. Then she knelt as did Tina, as what she was, as a slave girl, at the post, with her hands lifted and fastened above her head to the ring.

“Please, Masters!” they cried.

“Be silent, Girl,” said Ram to Tina.

“Be silent, Girl,” I said to Arlene.

“Yes, Master,” said Tina.

“Yes, Master,” said Arlene.

Ram and I met, as we had with our previous antagonists, in the center of the oval.

Then, after a moment or two, the man with us in the center of the sand withdrew.

“Place each of you your right heel on the wooden rim of the sand oval,” he said, grinning.

I looked about the tier,s. There were some six of the tubular weapons in evidence. Most of the men, however, were armed, as were Ram and myself, with the short sword.

I looked across the sand to Ram. We lifted our blades to one another, in salute.

“Fight!” cried the judge, or controller of the combat.

I leaped into the tiers, slashing and striking. I sped toward those who held the tubular weapons. Ram, on his side of the room, cut his way upward, buffeting and kicking. There was much screaming, and blood. I shook loose from two men. I stabbed another. Two of the tubular weapons clattered down. I cut the neck of a man who reached for one. I kicked a fellow in the face who reached for the other. Two men leaped on me, causing me to fall down the tiers. I heard blades leaving the sheaths. The girls screamed. More men fell, struggling to rise and draw their weapons. I heard a fearsome hiss and something smoked past my head, sinking into the sand. A moment later there was a burst from under the sand and sand and wood splinters blasted upward. I freed myself from the men with whom I was entangled, and slipped the blade through one. I shielded myself from one fellow with a tubular weapon while striking at another. I met two men with blades on the sand, felling one and slashing another, who reeled away. I leaped to the side to hack down at four men who were struggling with Ram. He leaped up, freed of them. He had lost his sword. Another hiss smoked past me and I saw, across the room, almost at the same instant, a six-inch dart sink part way into a steel wall and part of the wall, screeching, burst back, a four-inch hole, blackened, in it. I kicked a sword to Ram, and he seized it, meeting and defending himself against an attack. I passed my sword through the body of the man who had been in charge of the combats. I heard two more hisses, and part of the benches in one tier burst apart and I saw another dart disappear into the body of a man and I saw his eyes wild and the scarcest instant later he seemed to blow apart. I was then conscious of a whitish gas falling from the ceiling. I cut a man down by the door and tried to force it open. It was steel, and locked. I coughed and choked in the gas. It was hard to see. I reeled back from the door, and met the blade of another man, and cut him down. I saw Tina and Arlene, braceleted at the iron posts. They were agonized, trying to. breathe. A steel dart, fired from one of the riflelike weapons, caromed about the steel walls, leaving an explosive scar of blackened metal, a foot long, where first it struck. A man backed away from me, shaking his head. He could not well see me. I called out to Rain, who spun about, felling a man who would have struck him from behind. I defended myself against two other men, but, in the foglike mist, in a moment they were elsewhere. I heard a man pounding on the steel door. “Let us out!” he cried. I saw Tina and Arlene, in their collars, slumped unconscious at the posts, their small wrists strn obdurately captive in the inflexible slave bracelets which secured them so perfectly at the ring. I saw a man topple unconscious from one of the tiers. Another man I saw groping for one of the dart-firing weapons, it fallen on the tiers. I looked upward, at the impassive mirrorlike window in the wall. I could see the milky smokelike gas reflected in it. I defended myself against another attacker. He stumbled backward, bloody. Some four men now sank to their knees and sprawled among the tiers. The man had the tubular weapon now, and was trying to steady it. I did not have time to reach him. I threw myself to the sand and, dropping the sword, rolling, seized up one of the weapons. Another man seized it, too, and I kicked him from it. I whirled, choking, straining to see through the gas. The man on the tiers had lifted the weapon to his shoulder but he did not fire it. My finger hesitated on the circular press-switch. He wavered and the muzzle of the weapon declined and he fell unconscious. I looked about, as I could. Ram lay sprawled in the sand near me. I was then the only man on my feet. I stumbled, and then straightened myself. I shook my head, trying to clear it. The gas was thick about me. Oddly, though the room was filled with a whitish gas, it seemed to be turning dark. I struggled to lift the muzzle of the weapon toward the mirrorlike window. Then I fell unconscious in the sand.