Unknowing, her riposte stuck Jubal in his most vulnerable spot: his vanity.

"I was born a slave," he hissed, leaning forward angrily in his chair, "and in that station crude living and no morals are a way of life. I learned to lie and steal and eventually to kill as a means of survival, not as a sport. I didn't like it, but it was necessary. Once I won my freedom, I did everything I could to rise above my beginnings... not far by noble standards, but as high as I have been able. I'm told I have a contempt for those below me who have not matched my efforts, let alone my success. That may be so, but I have more regard for them than for one who is highborn and wallows in the gutter by choice!"

Jubal caught himself before he said more and inwardly cursed his lack of control. The purpose of this interview was not to show Chenaya how to get him to lose his temper. Such information could be dangerous in the wrong hands.

Fortunately, the girl seemed more taken aback than alerted by his outburst.

"Please," she said in an uncomfortably contrite tone, "I don't wish to insult you or to fight with you. I... I made it known that I wanted to meet with you because I hoped we might work together."

This was more to Jubal's liking. He had anticipated this request when he first heard that she was trying to get in touch with him.

"Unlikely," he replied grimly. "I've had you watched since you arrived in town, as I do anyone who has the potential of influencing or disrupting the balance of power in this town. So far, your actions have been those of a spoiled brat: alternating malicious pranks with tantrums. I have heard of nothing that would give you value as an ally."

"Then why did you have me brought here?"

Jubal shrugged. "When I heard of your predicament, I thought perhaps the sudden demonstration of your vulnerability might shock you into thinking. Now that you're here, however, I see that you're still too full of yourself to listen to anyone else, or even talk to them instead of at them. Your value remains zero, however great the potential."

"But I have much to offer...."

"I have no need of a slut or a horse thief. The streets are full of them, and most are better at it and smarter about plying their trade than you seem to be."

Jubal expected an angry retort to this, or at least an argument as to her value as an ally. Instead, the girl lapsed into silence, her thoughts obviously turning inward before she answered.

"If you are uninterested in me as an ally," she said, choosing her words carefully, "then perhaps I can impose on you as an advisor. You've been monitoring my actions, and know what I have and what I can do. But where I see strength, you will only acknowledge potential. Could I ask you to share your thoughts with me that I might leam from your experience?"

The crimelord studied her as he drank from his bottle. Perhaps Chenaya was wiser than he had given her credit for.

"That's the first intelligent thing you've said in this meeting. Very well, if for no other reason than to encourage your newfound humility, I'll answer your questions."

The girl took another sip from her own bottle as she organized her thoughts, unconsciously grimacing as if the sour bite of the wine was no longer pleasant to her tongue.

"1 have nearly a dozen gladiators under my command and am currently recruiting more. I've always believed that gladiators, such as you yourself used to be, were the finest fighters in the Empire. Am I wrong?"

"Yes."

Jubal came out of his chair in a fluid motion and began pacing. "Every fighting force or school sincerely believes that its style is the best. They have to in order to muster the necessary confidence for combat. Your father trains gladiators, so you've been raised believing that a gladiator can defeat any three fighters without similar training."

He paused to regard her steadily.

"The truth is that there are certain individuals more suited to combat than others. Poor fighters die early, whether they're gladiators or soldiers. The survivors, particularly those who survive numerous battles, are the best by virtue of the process of elimination, but it's more a tribute to the individual than to the training."

"But my agents have been specifically instructed to recruit experienced gladiators," Chenaya interrupted. "Professionals who have survived numerous bouts. Doesn't that insure that I'll be getting the best fighters?"

Jubal fixed her with an icy stare.

"If you'll allow me to finish, perhaps you will hear the answer to that question. I thought you wanted to hear my opinions, not your own."

Chenaya wilted under his gaze, and nodded mutely for him to continue.

The crimelord waited a few more moments, then resumed his pacing. "As I was saying, it is the individual's abilities that dictate how good a fighter he can eventually become. Training prepares him for a specific type of combat. Gladiator training is fine for arena-style individual combat, but it doesn't teach a fighter to watch the rooftops for archers the way he'd need to in street fighting, or to deal with maneuvering groups of fighters the way the military does. Then again, even military maneuvers are useless in some situations, like when the mobs were forming during the plague riots. Any training will be of limited value when taken out of its element.

"As for your so-called professional gladiators, I don't like them, and would never endanger my name and reputation by hiring them to represent me. Regardless of what you might think, being a gladiator is not a desirable profession. A soldier or a thief can have a long and successful career and see little, if any, actual combat. By the nature of his livelihood, a gladiator must risk his life in open combat on a regular basis. If you are a slave, as I was, it's a dubious way to earn your keep, but to choose it freely as your 'professional gladiators' do is unthinkable. They are either fools or sadists, and neither are known to be particularly controllable."

"So you think I'm foolish to hire gladiators?"

"If that's your only criterion. At the very least I would advise that you look beyond training and arena records and study the individuals. Some of the men currently in your employ have questionable backgrounds. You might start looking into that before you place too much trust in them. Further, I would suggest that you find a trainer who can drill your troops in tactics more suited to the street than the arena. They'll stand a better chance of winning."

"I... I'll have to think on it," Chenaya said slowly. "What you say makes sense, but it's all so contrary to what I've been raised to believe."

'Take your time." Jubal smiled. "The time to think is be fore, not after you've committed yourself. Sending men into combat isn't a game."

She looked at him sharply. "I think I hear a hidden warning in that last comment. I take it you've heard of my special talent: the fact that I never lose. It's not potential, and I should think it would count heavily in my favor as a leader... or an ally."

The crimelord averted his eyes as he sank into his chair.

"I've heard of it," he confirmed. "In my opinion, it makes you both arrogant and vulnerable. Neither of which are traits I would want in someone leading me, or guarding my back."

"But..."

"Let's assume for the moment that you're right.. . that you'll never lose. I'll contest that later, but for now we'll take it as a given. You'll win every contest. So what? Start thinking like an adult instead of a child. Life isn't a game. An arrow out of the dark that takes you in the middle of the back isn't a contest. You can retain your perfect win record and still be just as dead as any loser."