The crowd was hooting and howling.

Ho-Tu shoved me with the whip, cracking it occasionally. I permitted myself to be apparently driven to a place before the box of the Ubar. The Ubar, of course, was not in the box, but an agent of his was, Philemon, of the Caste of Scribes. I noted other men, apparently miserable wretches in blind helmets, being driven to a place before the box. I did not look at them closely. I knew them to be Taurentians. I know they wore helmets through which they could see.

One or two of them, acting their roles, were whining piteously. Another had fallen to his knees and was begging mercy from the crowd, which jeered him.

At last we were lined up, facing one another, before the box.

"Raise your swords!" called a man.

Obediently we unsheathed our blades.

There was great laughter from the crowd.

"Salute!" ordered the man.

There was another roar of laughter from the crowd. It was done much as though we were actually trained arena fighters, instead of, supposedly, poor fools and criminals brought in for the sport of patrons of Ar's cruelest games.

The salute was an ancient one, and I have little doubt it was brought to Gor centuries earlier, perhaps by men who had been familiar with arena sports and had initiated them in luxurious Ar, men doubtless from other places and times. I recalled the antiquity of the Voyages of Acquisition, once conducted by Priest-Kings.

Hail Cernus, Ubar of Ar!

We who are about to die salute you!

I did not join in this salute.

Four trumpets blared and we squared off against one another.

I observed my opponent swinging about as though he could not see me, stumbling here and there, being poked in my direction by an attendant with a whip. Another with a hot iron stood nearby, shouting at the other pairs. I knew they would not injure one another though they would appear to fight. Men in these games, in actual blind helmets, often, not really knowing, exchanged opponents; sometimes several would join in a slashing melee.

"He is straight ahead of you," cried out an attendant to the man moving toward me. He seemed to thrash about wildly with his sword. For sport I, too, took a few wild swings, to the delight of the crowd.

I noted however, that, my opponent was moving subtly but obviously intently toward me. He was crying out as though in rage and fear. I rather admired his performance. I did not think it would last longer than I cared.

I have little to commend me. There are others more learned than I, others doubtless shrewder and more subtle, others before whom, for their many talents, I stand in awe. I, Tarl Cabot, am a simple man, poor in many qualities, one who is doubtless much excelled. There is little, I suspect, that I could do better than many others. I am a man who is surely next to nothing, one unworthy of note. Yet I think there is one talent I have, though it is unimportant and unworthy, a gift toward which I have mixed feelings, a gift which is both boon and curse, one which has caused me feelings of horror and guilt, and yet to which I have owed my life and that of those I have loved. It is a gift I have sought not to exercise, a gift I have feared, and sometimes would put aside, but cannot do so. He who is a Singer must sing; he who weaves the beautiful rugs of Ar or Tor must weave; the Physician must heal; the Builder build; the Merchant buy and sell; and the Warrior must fight.

The steel struck my own and I parried the blow, moving the blade aside easily.

I saw the Taurentian step back, could sense his surprise.

I felt the sword in my hand, brought to me by Ho-Tu, the sword I had carried in the siege of Ar, years before, which I had taken to Tharna, which I had carried to the very nest of Priest-Kings, which had been with me on the vast, northern prairies of Gor, and which I had brought once more to the gates of Glorious Ar months before.

Then the Taurentian struck again and again and I moved his steel to one side.

He then stood back, stunned, and withdrew a step, and put himself at the ready.

The crowd cried out, confused, not understanding, then angry.

I laughed, the keen ring of the fine steel still burning in my ear.

My entire body suffused with pleasure. Elation, like Ka-la-na, suddenly flooded every muscle and vessel in my being. I laughed again. Gone was the guilt. I had heard the ring of steel. The Physician must heal; the Builder build; the Merchant buy and sell.

"I am Tarl Cabot," I laughed. "Know that. Know too that I understand that you can see. Know as well that I can see you. Leave the arena now or I will kill you."

With a cry of rage he threw himself at me and the cry died in his throat, he sprawling in his astonishment, his death and his blood, crosswise in the sand.

I went to the next man and spun him about.

"I do not play games," I told him. "You are a Taurentian. I am Tarl Cabot. I am your enemy. Leave the sand or die upon it."

The man turned and attacked and I laughed suddenly with the thrill of the steel, the flashing ring of work upon the Warrior's anvil.

He cried out and fell before me, twisting in the sand, clawing at it.

"He can see!" cried one of the Taurentians.

The crowd, struck, was silent. Then, sensing the intended execution, some of them began to scream angrily.

The other men in the helmets, and the attendants as well, one for each original pair, turned to face me. One or two of the attendants ran from the arena. I gathered they had no wish to stand between Warriors.

"Leave the arena," I told the Taurentians. "Men die in this place."

"Together!" cried their leader. "Attack!"

He died first, being the first to reach me.

In a moment I fought surrounded by Taurentians, said to be among the finest in the guard.

The crowd how began to scream angrily as the many rushed upon and swirled about the one. The fans of the games of Ar had been fooled. They did not relish being witness to the private joke of some high person, doubtless the Ubar himself. As fans they shouted their anger at the deceit which had been practiced; as men they roared their fury at the unfair odds now designate upon the sand.

My world now was small, bright, alive, consisting of little other than swift, flashing, ringing patterns before me, then to the side, and once more before me. I moved swiftly drawing one Warrior or another after me, and he who was swiftest died first; I turned and spun, accepting or not accepting an attack, always to isolate a man; vaguely, as though far off, I heard the screaming of Philemon in the Ubar's box, the shouting of Taurentians; in a moment's resite I saw a Taurentian slay a citizen who would have leaped into the arena to aid me; other Taurentians, with their spears, were forcing back the crowd, which seemed enraged.

"Kill him! Kill him!" I heard Philemon screaming.

Another Taurentian fell from my sword.

One of the attendants with a whip struck me as I fought and I spun on him. He threw the whip to the sand and ran howling from the arena. Another approached me warily with his hot iron.

"Be gone," I told him.

He looked about himself and dropped the iron and fled. The other attendants followed him.

I now stood and faced some six Taurentians, who stood in the defensive picket formation, three men forward in this case, and, in the interstices, three men back. This permits the men in reserve to move into the forward line to form a solid line, or, if the first line withdraws, to have space to take its place. It allows a great deal of mobility and, on the level of squad tactics, has its affinity to the Torian Squares; the space allows the swordsmen, of course, room in which to handle their weapons, room in which to properly attack or defend themselves; in this case I expected the center man to engage me, defending himself on the whole, while the flanking men would strike; should one of these three fall, of course, his place would be taken by one of the men in the reserve line.