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simple altar. As Suomi came up Schoenberg nodded a greeting to him. Athena gave Suomi a
preoccupied look. She was upset about something, he thought, but she gave no indication of wanting to
be elsewhere. His attention was soon pulled away from her.
"Omir Kelsumba-Mesthles of the Windy Vale."
On springy legs massive as tree trunks Kelsumba moved forward, black skin gleaming, axe cradled
almost like an infant in his awesome arms. Mesthles, spare and graying, thoughtful-looking, somewhat
battered by time like the ancient scythe with which he meant to fight, kept at a respectful distance from
Kelsumba for a little while, retreating with economical movements, studying the movements of his foe.
Now the axe came after him, startling Suomi with its speed, and with such power and weight behind it
that it seemed nothing human should be able to turn the blow aside. Mesthles made no mistakes, had his
scythe-blade in the right place to turn the axe, but the jarring impact when the blades met came near to
knocking Mesthles down. Another axe-blow fell on the scythe, and then another. Mesthles could not get
into position to strike back. After the fourth or fifth parry, the scythe-blade broke. A groaning murmur,
like the foretaste of blood, came up from the ring of watchers, and Suomi heard part of it coming from
Athena. He saw the moist-lipped rapture on her face as she watched the fight, oblivious to him and all
else.
Broken weapon still tightly in his grip, its jagged blade still dangerous, Mesthles maintained his calm, and
showed more agility than his appearance suggested. For some time he avoided being pinned against the
side of the fighting ring. Neither he nor any of the other fighters ever seemed to consider stepping across
that simple line and outside the ring, any more than they would consider jumping through a wall.
The axe now came after Mesthles in what looked like a continuous blur, seeming to pull its giant owner
after it. It struck Mesthles at last, full in the back, as he twisted his body in trying to dodge it yet again.
His fallen body continued jerking, twitching, moving. A slave limped forward with a maul and dealt the
finishing blow.
Suomi's gut worked suddenly, labored wretchedly, rejected in a spasm what remained of the little he had
taken for his breakfast. I should have tranquilized myself, he thought. It was too late now. He faced away
from the ring but could do nothing more before the vomit came. If he was desecrating holy ground, well,
they would have to kill him for it. But when he straightened up it seemed that no one was paying him any
attention at all. Whether it was delicacy or lack of interest he could not tell.
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"Polydorus the Foul-Rahim Sosias."
Suomi found that he could watch. Polydorus, looking no more foul than his competitors, brandished a
battered sword with obvious strength and energy. Sosias was paunchy and short, yet he somehow
managed to draw first blood with his scimitar, making an ugly slice among Polydorus's left shoulder.
Polydorus was galvanized rather than weakened by the injury, and pressed an attack so hard that for a
few moments it seemed he might prevail. But then he aimed a long thrust poorly, and stood looking down
at his own right hand and forearm where he had just stepped on it. He grimaced and spat toward Sosias
before the scimitar came back to take his life.
The white-clad priest was in the ring again, and it appeared there was going to be another recess. Not
that it mattered to Suomi. He turned away, deliberately this time. He had found out that he could watch
whatever further maiming might occur; but still he much preferred not to watch.
He stepped closer to Schoenberg and Athena, managed to catch the eye of the former but not the latter,
and said: "I'm going back to the ship." He glanced at Celeste, but she only gave him a bored look and
moved a little closer to Schoenberg.
Suomi turned away from them all and trudged back among the trees. It was good to be briefly alone
again, but here in this alien forest was no place to stop and think.
When he got back to the foot of the mesa, he found that the climbing rope had been pulled up. Not in
the mood to try the ascent without it, Suomi called out. A few seconds later De La Torre's head and bare
shoulders appeared at the top of the slope. "What's up?" he called down.
"I've seen enough. Throw down the rope."
"All right." In a moment the rope came snaking down.
When Suomi got to the top he saw that
Barbara lay naked on a foam mattress so close to the climbing path that De La Torre could sit on the
mattress beside her and do acceptable sentry duty. Suomi noticed also that a pair of binoculars had been
set up on a tripod beside the mattress in such a way that a man lying there, perhaps with a woman
beneath him, could observe uninterruptedly what was going on in the fighting ring.
De La Torre apparently was finished for the time being with binoculars, mattress, and girl; he had pulled
on a pair of shorts already and was continuing to dress. His voice was mild and lazy. "I'll turn the rifle
back to you, then, Carlos, and go down again myself."
Before Suomi had gotten the rifle's still-unfamiliar strap adjusted to fit his shoulder, De La Torre was
gone again. Suomi watched him out of sight, then said to Barbara, who still lay curled up tiredly on her
mattress: "And how are things with you?"
She moved a little, and said in a small voice: "Life appears possible." Never had he seen Barbara so
obviously depressed before. He had lain with her a couple of times on the long trip out, and with Celeste
a couple of times. Not with Athena, though, on the trip out he could no longer be casual with her. Now
perhaps he could.
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Barbara was the only one of them who had refused to watch the tournament at all. So of course the
sadist De La Torre had had to pick her for his object, his receptacle& Suomi wanted to say something
good to her but could think of nothing. Tomorrow her nakedness might arouse his own lust again but right
now it only made her seem defenseless and pitiable, lying there face down. So, she had wanted to come
along on a luxurious space voyage with a billionaire, and her wish had been granted. She was earning her
passage.
No need to walk a sentry's route around the ship; there was only the one route by which one could
ascend. Standing at the head of the path, looking out over the treetops without binoculars, Suomi could
see De La Torre arriving at the side of the fighting ring. The next duel had still not gotten underway,
evidently; there were still four men waiting to fight, if Suomi was reading the arrangement of the distant
figures correctly. The binoculars were handy but he did not care enough to pick them up. Perhaps he did
not want to acknowledge their present positioning by moving them.
It promised to be a long few days ahead, until the Tournament slaughtered itself into extinction, and then
a very long trip home. But there were compensations. It had been made clear that whatever had seemed
to be growing between him and Athena had no real existence. It was not over-it had never been.
Barbara was sitting up and doing things with her fingers to her hair, not yet in a mood to talk. Suomi,
turning to look to the north from this high place, saw or thought he saw the mountainous glaciers of
hunting country looming just over the horizon there, like unsupported clouds.
What was that sound, just now? The path was clear. Some small animal or flying creature, then. Never
mind.
Well, things were no doubt going to be socially uncomfortable on the trip home, but it was well worth it
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