"He is Kur,” breathed Peisistratus.
"Or human,” said Cabot.
Grendel then turned to regard the five remaining challengers.
There was a roar of anger from the stands.
"The crowd is displeased,” said Cabot.
"Not with Grendel!” cried Peisistratus. “Observe!"
Four of the five remaining challengers were advancing together.
"It is, I gather, not Kur,” said Cabot.
"No,” said Peisistratus. “It is not Kur."
The crowd was howling with rage, but the four continued to advance, and began to spread themselves about, to encircle Grendel, and he could not, of course, defend the pet on more than one side.
She was screaming, and, with her small hands, jerking wildly at the chain. This was futile, of course, as it had been decided that she would remain in place. In Gorean arenas, beautiful female slaves are commonly awarded as prizes to the victors. They are usually chained in place, to await their disposition, pending the outcome of the contest. In the current instance, of course, it was the very blood of the female that was sought.
"The rubies are now mine,” said Peisistratus, angrily.
"Consider the rains in Anango,” said Cabot.
"Do not be foolish,” chided Peisistratus.
Grendel suddenly left the vicinity of the pet on its chain moving with great speed toward the nearest of the attackers, it unwisely now, too eager, some yards in advance of the others. There were movements of the weapons but they did not make contact. The foremost attacker's bar struck down into the sand, and Grendel was then behind it and he thrust his weapon into the abdomen of his foe, and literally lifted the Kur from the sand, impaled, and flung his body from the weapon.
"He is strong even for a Kur!” cried Peisistratus.
"He is more than Kur!” cried Cabot.
At the same moment another of the Kurii rushed toward the pet, who screamed, his bar lifted, to strike down, but Grendel spun about and flung his weapon almost as might a lesser creature have hurled a javelin, and it struck he who threatened the blonde in the back, emerging through his chest, and his bar fell ringing on the cement to the left of the terrified pet. At the same time, a side stroke from a bar struck Grendel on the left arm, and the arm jerked, useless, for the moment paralyzed. Grendel scrambled toward the cement platform, to retrieve a weapon, his or the fallen bar of he who would have smote the pet. But there lunged between him and his goal another of the attackers, his weapon raised.
Grendel crouched on the sand.
The blonde pulled back to the length of her chain.
"He does not see the attacker behind him!” said Peisistratus.
"He sees the shadow,” said Cabot. “He knows! He sees the shadow!"
"Why does he not move?” demanded Peisistratus.
"It is not yet time,” said Cabot.
"The shadow is gone!” said Peisistratus.
"The mirrors have been changed,” said Cabot. “Not every foe, it seems, is on the sand."
"Grendel dares not turn his back,” said Peisistratus.
Had he done so the foe between him and the pet might have struck.
"He need not do so,” said Cabot. “Again they underestimate him."
"How so?” said Peisistratus, grasping the bars, looking down to the sand.
"His hearing,” said Cabot. “It is that of the Kur."
Whatever the clue might have been, a pressing of a paw into the sand to gain leverage for a blow, an intake of breath prior to striking, a tiny sound of harness, perhaps even the slick, shifting of a grip, to take advantage of a less-moist, drier surface, Grendel threw himself to the side and the mighty bar plunged a foot into the sand beside him. He then leapt up, turned, and seized the startled Kur who had struck at him and swung him about before him, to interpose him between himself and the attacker in the vicinity of the platform, who had quickly sped forward, but now stopped, angrily, the bar lifted.
"Why does he not strike?” asked Peisistratus.
"He needs a clean blow,” said Cabot. “If the weapon is stopped, by sand, by the body of the other, it might be seized by Grendel."
"He could decapitate both with one blow,” said Peisistratus.
"Grendel might,” said Cabot. “But I do not think it could be done by a common Kur."
Grendel's left arm, slowly, surely, doubtless with considerable pain to himself, encircled the throat of the Kur he held, and he drew back a mighty fist, and this fist, with a blow that might have felled a tharlarion, he drove into the back of the Kur's neck, better than two inches, breaking the skull away from the vertebrae. He then cast aside the limp body of his former antagonist and turned to face the sixth challenger, the last of the four who had advanced together.
The seventh challenger had not interfered, but had remained crouched, with his weapon, near the far wall, near the gate through which he and the others had originally entered.
The sixth challenger now moved about Grendel, circling, who, weaponless, unwilling to reach for a weapon, and thus expose himself for a blow, turned, crouching, to keep his foe before him.
The challenger was then again between Grendel and the pet.
It was clearly unwilling to turn and attack the pet, for that would expose it to Grendel's attack.
They then crouched in the sand and faced one another, some four or five yards apart.
After a few moments the challenger began again, warily, to move, again circling, his clawed feet scarcely disturbing the sand, perhaps not wanting the cement shelf behind him, against which he might stumble, perhaps wanting to have both the pet and Grendel in view.
"I fear he has a clean blow,” said Peisistratus. “It is only a question of the moment in which he will strike."
"It seems,” said Cabot, “the rubies are yours."
"I do not think I want them,” said Peisistratus.
It is, of course, next to impossible, without an object to interpose, to escape the vicious, lateral sweep of such a weapon.
"Look,” said Peisistratus. “Grendel has backed near the platform. He chooses to die in the vicinity of the ungrateful, worthless thing for which he has fought, and for which he will now die."
The stands were now quiet.
And so Grendel stood, not moving, before the platform.
"He accepts his fate, and awaits it uncomplainingly,” said Peisistratus.
"I fear so,” said Cabot.
"He is Kur,” said Peisistratus.
"And human,” said Cabot.
The sixth challenger, with a grimace of pleasure, lifted his weapon and saluted Grendel.
There were in the stands noises of approval, and the smiting of thighs.
"He accepts him as a worthy foe,” said Peisistratus.
"Grendel, it seems,” said Cabot, “is at last redeemed."
The sixth challenger drew back his great bar and then suddenly it hurtled about in a smooth, sweeping arc within the compass of which stood Grendel.
"Ai!” cried Cabot.
The blow might have shattered walls, felled small trees.
The two beasts struggled for control of the weapon.
Grendel had grasped it in its flight. His two massive forepaws were clasped about the bar, as were those of its startled wielder.
A cry of astonishment roared through the stands.
Then Grendel drew the weapon closer and closer to himself, inch by inch.
"The Kur should loose his grip!” said Cabot. “He is being drawn too close to Grendel!"
But the Kur was unwise, and was reluctant to surrender the weapon. Did it truly think the struggle was for the weapon? Did it not understand that the struggle was for who should live and who should die?
Suddenly Grendel released the weapon and thrust out his massive clawed paw and the fingers of his right paw thrust through the left eye of the Kur and the rest of the grip, the thumb, was on its jaws, back, behind the fangs, and then Grendel turned his paw, thus lifting and exposing the Kur's throat, and then brought it forward, to his own jaws, and tore it away, and then stood crouched over the shuddering, dying body, blood smeared on his chest and about his jaws.