"You will be free tomorrow," he screamed, "to die in the Stadium of Blades!"
I threw back my head and laughed. Die now I might, but the vengeance of the moment was sweet. I had known, of course, that Cernus would never free me, but it had given me great pleasure to see his charade of honor unmasked, to have seen him humiliated and publicly exposed as a traitor to his word.
Relius and Ho-Sorl were laughing as, chained, they were taken from the room.
Cernus looked down on Elizabeth, chained at the foot of the dais. He was in fury. "Deliver this wench to the compound of Samos of Port Kar!" he screamed.
Guards leaped to do his bidding.
I could not stop myself laughing, though I was much beaten, and laughing I still was when, chained, I was conducted stumbling from the hall of Cernus, the noble Ubar of Ar.
21 — THE STADIUM OF BLADES
Outside, as though from a distance, I could hear the roar of the crowd packed into the tiers of the Stadium of Blades.
"Murmillius is apparently victorious again," said Vancius of the House of Cernus, lifting a blind helmet and fitting it over my head.
Vancius, of the guards, turned the key in the helmet lock that fastened the helmet on my head.
Within the heavy metal casque I could see nothing.
"It will be amusing," said he, "to see you stumbling about on the sand, sword in hand, thrashing here and there, trying to find your foes. The crowd will love it. It provides comic relief between the serious bouts and the animal fights to follow. It is also a time for patrons to stretch, buy their pastries, relieve themselves and such."
I did not respond.
"Surely the famed Tarl Cabot, master swordsman of Gor," said Vancius, "prefers to die with blade in hand."
"Remove my manacles," said I, "and blade or no, let me give response as might a Warrior."
"Your manacles will be removed," Vancius assured me, "when you are in the arena."
"If I do not choose to fight?" I asked.
"Whips and hot irons will encourage you," he said.
"Perhaps not," I said.
"Then be encouraged by this news," he laughed. "Your opponents will be the finest swordsmen in the Taurentians."
"In blind helmets?" I queried.
He laughed. "It will appear so," said he, "for the sake of the crowd. Actually their helmets will be perforated. They will be able to see you but you will not be able to see them."
"It will indeed be amusing," I said.
"Indeed," laughed Vancius.
"Doubtless Cernus will be in the stands to enjoy the spectacle," I said.
"No," he said.
"Why is that?" I asked.
"He sits this day in the box of the Ubar at the races," said Vancius. "Races in Ar being more popular than the games, it is only appropriate that Cernus preside."
"Of course," I admitted. Within the closed steel locked on my head I smiled. "Cernus," said I, "though a prominent patron of the Greens, must be disturbed that the Yellows have this year stood above them."
"It is only thought," said Vancius, "that Cernus favors the Greens."
"I do not understand," I said.
"Actually," said Vancius, "Cernus favors the Yellows."
"How can this be?" I asked.
"Dense one," laughed Vancius. "The very fact that Cernus appears to be of the faction of the Greens influences thousands of our citizens; it itself, with the frequent victories of the Greens, is enough to make the Greens generally favored in the betting. But when over the long run you have examined victors, you will discover the Yellows have won not only more races, but generally those on which more was wagered."
Involuntarily my wrists fought the steel that shackled them.
Vancius laughed. "By betting secretly on the Yellows, whom he controls," said Vancius, "Cernus has accumulated, through agents, vast fortunes in the races." Vancius laughed again. "Menicius of Port Kar, of the Yellows, greatest rider in the races, rides for Cernus."
"Cernus is a clever man," said I. "But what if the fans of the races should learn of his true allegiance, that his true faction is that of the Yellows?"
"They will not learn," said Vancius.
"The Steels," I said, "threaten the Yellows."
"They will not win the great race," said Vancius, "the Ubar's Race."
The Ubar's Race is the final and climactic race of the Love Feast.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Menicius of Port Kar rides for the Yellows," said Vanicius.
"You have great respect for him," I said.
Vancius laughed. "As I have great respect for the banded ost," said he.
I smiled. The banded ost is a variety of ost, a small, customarily brilliantly orange Gorean reptile. It is exceedingly poisonous. The banded ost is yellowish orange and is marked with black rings.
"Menicius has been instructed to win the great race," said Vancius. "And he will do so, even it be necessary to kill."
I said nothing for a time. Then, curious, I asked, "What of Gladius of Cos?"
"He will be warned not to ride," said Vancius.
"And if he does?" I asked.
"He will die," said Vancius.
"Who is Gladius of Cos?" I asked.
"I do not know," said Vancius.
Within the helmet I smiled. That secret, at least, had been well kept.
"We have let it be known in the taverns of Ar," said Vancius, "that Gladius of Cos, should he dare to ride, will die. I do not think he will appear at the Stadium of Tarns."
This angered me. Should I not take my saddle this afternoon there would be few in Ar but would suppose that I had succumbed to fear.
"What is wrong?" asked Vancius.
"Nothing," I said.
There was a distant roar again from the crowd in the tiers far above.
"Murmillius again!" cried Vancius. "What a man! That is his fifth opponent downed this afternoon!"
"What of the girls sold at the Curulean?" I asked. "Those who brought top price?"
"By now," said Vancius, "they are doubtless well-thonged in tarn baskets and on their way to the pleasures of Port Kar."
I heard a distant trumpet, the warning trumpet.
"It will soon be time," said Vancius.
There was a bit of a scuffle some feet away, the sound of a girl, and then another.
"You can't enter here," called a guard.
"I must see Vancius!" cried the voice of a girl.
"Who is it?" queried Vancius, puzzled, irritated.
The voice struck me as familiar, as being one I had heard somewhere before.
"Beloved Vancius!" I heard.
"Who are you?" Vancius was asking.
Inside the blind helmet I could see nothing. I pulled at the manacles.
I heard light, bare feet run into the room. "Vancius!" I heard a girl cry. I could not place the voice.
Then, unmistakably, I heard her run to Vancius and, apparently to his surprise, consternation, but not displeasure, she flung herself into his arms. I heard their words not plainly, his question, her asseverations of passion, mixed in the meetings of their mouths. I gathered it was a slave girl, many of whom are extraordinarily passionate, who had seen him, followed him, and was now desperately importuning him for his touch.
"Vancius, I am yours!" I heard.
"Yes, yes!" I heard him say.
I then heard a heavy sound, as though someone had been struck heavily from behind.
"Now, Vancius," I heard, "you are mine!"
I tried to tear the steel helmet from my head with my manacled wrists. I fought the heavy chain that bound me to the stone table on which I sat. "Who is there?" I whispered.
I heard the girl's voice again. "Take dear Vancius," she was saying, "bind his wrists and ankles, and put him in a slave hood, one with a gag. I may use him for my pleasure later."
"Who is there!" I demanded.
"What of the other guard?" asked a girl's voice.
"Bind him as well," said the first girl.