Sieben gently lifted the ambassador's fingers from his sleeve, brushing at the bruised silk, and forced his gaze away from the wonders of the architecture to focus briefly on the combat below. The Lentrian hit Druss with an uppercut, then a right cross. Druss backed away, blood seeping from a cut over his left eye. 'What odds did you get?' asked Sieben.
The slender ambassador ran his hand over his close-cropped silver hair. 'Six to one. I must have been mad.'
'Not at all,' said Sieben smoothly, 'it was patriotism that drove you. Look, I know ambassadors are not well paid, so I will take your bet. Give me the token.'
'I couldn't possibly. . I mean he's being thrashed out there.'
'Of course you must. After all Druss is my friend, and I should have wagered on him out of loyalty.' Sieben saw the glint of avarice in the ambassador's dark eyes.
'Well, if you are sure.' The man's slim fingers darted into the pearl-beaded leather pouch at his side, producing a small square of papyrus bearing a wax seal and the amount wagered. Sieben took it and Majon waited with hand outstretched.
'I didn't bring my purse with me,' said Sieben, 'but I will hand over the money tonight.'
'Yes, of course,' said Majon, his disappointment obvious.
'I think I'll take a walk around the colosseum,' said Sieben. 'There is so much to see. I understand there are art galleries and shops on the levels below.'
'You don't show much concern for your friend,' said Majon.
Sieben ignored the criticism. 'My dear ambassador, Druss fights because he loves to fight. Generally one saves one's concern for the poor unfortunates he faces. I will see you later at the celebrations.'
Easing himself from his seat Sieben climbed the marble steps, making his way to the official gambling booth. A gap-toothed cleric was sitting inside the recess. Behind him stood a soldier, guarding the sacks of money already wagered. 'You wish to place a wager?' asked the cleric.
'No, I am waiting to collect.'
'You have bet on the Lentrian?'
'No. I bet on the winner. It's an old habit,' he answered, with a smile. 'Be so good as to have sixty gold pieces available — plus my original ten.'
The cleric chuckled. 'You bet on the Drenai? It will be a cold day in Hell before you see a return on that investment.'
'My, I do think I sense a drop in the temperature,' Sieben told him with a smile.
In the heat of the arena the Lentrian champion was tiring. Blood was seeping from his broken nose and his right eye was swollen shut, but even so his strength was prodigious. Druss moved in, ducking beneath a right cross and thundering a blow to the man's mid-section; the muscles of the Lentrian's stomach were like woven steel. A punch smashed down on to Druss's neck and he felt his legs buckle. With a grunt of pain he sent an uppercut into the taller man's bearded chin and the Lentrian's head snapped back. Druss hammered an overhand right that missed its mark, cracking against the man's temple. The Lentrian wiped blood from his face — then hit Druss with a thundering straight left, followed by a right hook that all but spun Druss from his feet.
The crowd was baying now, sensing the end was close. Druss tried to move in and grapple — only to be stopped by a straight left that jarred him to his heels. Blocking a right he fired home another uppercut. The Lentrian swayed but did not fall. He countered with a chopping blow that took Druss behind the right ear. Druss shrugged it off. The Lentrian's strength was fading, the punch lacked speed and weight.
Now was the moment! Druss waded in, sending a combination of punches to the Lentrian's face: three straight lefts followed by a right hook that exploded against the man's chin. The Lentrian spun off balance, tried to right himself — then fell face first to the sand.
A sound like rolling thunder went up, booming around the packed arena. Druss took a deep breath and stepped back, acknowledging the cheers. The new Drenai flag, a white stallion on a field of blue, was hoisted high, fluttering in the afternoon breeze. Striding forward, Druss halted below the Royal balcony and bowed to the God-King he could not see.
Behind him two Lentrians ran out and knelt beside their fallen champion. Stretcher-bearers followed and the unconscious man was carried from the arena. Druss waved to the crowd, then walked slowly to the dark mouth of the tunnel which led through to the bathhouses and rest areas for the athletes. The spear-thrower Pellin stood grinning at the tunnel entrance. 'Thought he had you there, mountain man.'
'It was close,' said Druss, spitting blood from his mouth. His face was swollen and several teeth had been loosened. 'He was strong. I'll say that for him.'
The two men walked on down the tunnel, emerging into the first bathhouse. The sound from the arena was muted here, and around a dozen athletes were relaxing in die three heated pools of marble. Druss sat down beside the first. Rose petals floated on the steamy surface of the water, their fragrance filling the room. The runner, Pars, swam across to him. 'You look as if a herd of horses has run across your face,' he said.
Leaning forward Druss placed a hand on top of the man's balding head and propelled him down beneath the surface. Pars swam clear and surfaced several yards away; with a sweep of his hand he drenched Druss. Pellin, stripped now of his leggings and tunic, dived into the pool.
Druss peeled off his leggings and slid into the warm water. The relief to his aching muscles was instant and for some minutes he swam around the pool then he hauled himself clear. Pars joined him. 'Stretch yourself out and I'll knead the aches away,' he said. Druss moved to a massage table and lay face down, where Pars robbed oil into his palms and began to work expertly on the muscles of his upper back.
Pellin sat down close by, towelling his dark hair, then draping the white cloth over his shoulders. 'Did you watch the other contest?' he asked Druss.
'No.'
'The Gothir man, Klay, is awesome. Fast. Strong chin. That plus a right hand that comes down like a hammer. It was all over in less than twenty heartbeats. Never seen the like, Druss. The Vagrian didn't know what hit him.'
'So I heard,' Druss grunted as Pars's fingers dug deep into the swollen muscles of his neck.
'You'll take him, Druss. What does it matter that he's bigger, stronger, faster, and better-looking?'
'And fitter,' put in Pellin. 'They say he runs for five miles every day on the mountains outside the city.'
'Yes, I forgot fitter. Younger, too. How old are you, Druss?' asked Pars.
'Thirty,' grunted Druss.
'An old man,' said Pellin, with a wink at Pars. 'Still, I'm sure you'll win. Well. . fairly sure.'
Druss sat up. 'It is good of you youngsters to be so supportive.'
'Well, we are a team,' said Pellin. 'And since you deprived us of Grawal's delightful company we've sort of adopted you, Druss.' Pars began to work on Druss's swollen knuckles. 'More seriously, Druss, my friend,' said the runner, 'your hands are badly bruised. Back home we'd use ice to bring the swelling down. I should soak them in cold water tonight.'
'There's three days before the final. I'll be fine by then. How did you fare in your race?'
'I finished second — and so will contest the final at least. But I'll not be in the first three. The Gothir man is far better than I, as are the Vagrian and the Chiatze. I cannot match their finish.'
'You might surprise yourself,' said Druss.
'We're not all like you, mountain man,' observed Pellin. 'I still find it hard to believe that you could come to these Games unprepared and fight your way to the final. You really are a legend.' Suddenly he grinned. 'Ugly, old and slow — but still a legend,' he added.
Druss chuckled. 'You almost fooled me there, laddie. I thought you might be showing some respect for me.' He lay back and closed his eyes.