citizens waiting for the afternoon's entertainment. Circus Palantes could seat almost thirty thousand people, but hundreds more were standing in the aisles.
'Big crowd,' said the first guard.
'Don't get too swell-headed,' said the second, 'they've mostly come to see the Veiled Lady burn. They're wondering if she'll work a miracle and fly away into the sky.' He gave a harsh laugh. 'Some hope.'
'I thought all the Cultists had been freed,' said Bane.
'Not her. She'll be burning alongside Nalademus. Good joke, eh? Wonder what they'll have to say to one another as they're raised up above the pyres?'
The guards moved on, climbing to the third level and the guarded entrance to the Royal Enclosure. As Bane was ushered inside he saw Jasaray sitting alone. The emperor was wearing a white robe and a long purple cloak. Upon his head was a wide-brimmed hat of woven straw, shielding his face from the sun. 'Come in and sit, my boy,' said Jasaray.
'I thank you, Majesty,' said Bane, 'but I must prepare for my fight.'
'All in good time,' he said.
At the edge of the arena a trumpeter sent out a long, single note. The crowd settled down. From the western end of the arena a swordsman stepped from the gate, advancing across the sand.
The crowd booed and jeered. Bane looked down, and could scarcely believe what he was seeing.
The swordsman was Voltan.
'I must go, Majesty!' he said.
'Wait!' commanded Jasaray.
'But I am to fight him. You promised!'
'Indeed I did, young man. And I keep my promises. However, I did not promise that you could fight him first.'
The gate at the eastern end of the stadium opened, and another swordsman made his way across the sand. Stripped to the waist and wearing a leather kilt he drew a red silk scarf from his belt and tied it over his bald head.
It was Rage.
At first Bane could not believe what he was seeing. 'Why?' he whispered.
'I wondered that myself when Rage first asked me,' said Jasaray. 'It was the night of the tiger. I had told you both you could ask of me anything. Rage stayed behind and said that he wanted to be the first to fight Voltan. Then, the following day, you came to me. That is when I had my answer. I think you know it too.'
Bane felt sick. Leaning forward he gripped the rail above the enclosure balcony. Yes, he knew. Rage was doing this for him. And the older man's words flowed back into his mind in letters of fire.
'You never had a father, and I never had a son. I think, in some small way, we have filled a gap in each other's lives. Like any father I do not want to see my son die needlessly.'
Shame swept over the younger man. His selfish desire for personal vengeance had put at risk the only man who had truly befriended him. His mind swam with the enormity of the moment, and all the bitterness and self-pity of his youth began to melt away, the rejections and the loneliness, the hurts and the disappointments. All became as nothing compared to the sacrifice this man was making for him. Rage knew Bane could not beat Voltan, and knew also that, old as he was, he could wear the man down, tiring him, perhaps wounding him, before his duel with Bane, giving the younger man a greater chance of survival.
'I didn't want this,' said Bane.
'I expect not,' agreed Jasaray, 'but it is a magnificent gesture.'
There was pride in his voice, pride and a note of astonishment, as if, though sensing the greatness, he could not quite understand the motive.
The emperor rose, removed his straw hat, and waved it in the air. A trumpet sounded and the two fighters touched swords in salute. Then they circled. Voltan attacked first with terrifying speed, but Rage blocked and parried, sending a riposte that forced Voltan to leap back. The crowd fell silent as the two men fought on. Few among the thirty thousand could appreciate fully the level of skill they were observing, but all knew they were watching two extraordinary fighters. They sensed that this epic duel would go down in history, and that in years to come they would tell their children and grandchildren of the day they saw Voltan and Rage duel to the death in the arena of Circus Palantes.
Bane watched the fight, caught between amazement and horror. Rage had been right. He could not have beaten this man. For all his size Voltan moved with awesome speed. His footwork was perfect, keeping him always in balance, whether leaping to attack or defending desperately. The pace of the fight was almost inhuman, the two men locked in a combat that was almost a dance. Bane watched unblinking, his breathing shallow and fast. His mouth was dry, his knuckles white as he clenched the rail. Whatever happened today, he knew he would be changed for ever by Rage's sacrifice. Never again would he complain about life and its unfairness. On this one hot afternoon he had been given a gift worth more than all the hurts he had ever suffered.
Voltan's sword sliced across Rage's chest, sending a spray of blood into the air. Bane groaned, the sound swamped by a great cry from the crowd. Voltan leapt in for the kill. The old gladiator swayed to the right. His blade lashed out. Voltan threw himself back, but not before Rage's sword had ripped open a wound above his right hip. The two men circled more warily now. Rage had been cut across the top of his chest, underneath the right collar bone, the blood streaming down over his belly. Voltan's wound was also bleeding heavily, staining his kilt and flowing to his thigh. The two men came together again, blades clanging and clashing. As they closed Voltan suddenly threw a punch that caught Rage on the temple, knocking him back a step. Rage rolled with the blow, and managed to parry a disembowelling thrust. They circled again.
The fight was less furious now, more measured as each man sought out a weakness in the other. It was no less tense, and the crowd was unnaturally silent. For Bane it was as if time had slowed. He stared at Voltan, trying to see a weakness, a tell, anything that would indicate an opening for Rage. But there was nothing. Voltan was the most complete fighter he had ever seen.
And Rage was tiring. Despite his fitness, and the endless hours of exercise that created it, age was beginning to tell now. Voltan could see it too, and slowly the fight became more cat and mouse. Voltan blocked a sudden lunge, and his riposte cut Rage's shoulder. Another attack saw Rage almost stumble. Voltan's sword snaked out, the blade glancing from Rage's temple as he threw himself aside. Blood was on the older man's face now.
Voltan tried a feint, followed by a lunge to the heart. Rage parried it, and sent a return cut that struck Voltan's left bicep, slicing open the skin. Suddenly the pace picked up again, both men hacking and slashing, blocking and moving. Bane knew Voltan was seeking to exhaust his tiring opponent. And he was succeeding. Rage's sword arm did not have the same speed as before, and Voltan's blade found a way through, stabbing the older man in the left shoulder. Rage backed away. Bane could see his great chest heaving as he sucked in air. Voltan, though bleeding profusely, did not seem to be suffering.
A commotion began in the stands to the right of the Royal Enclosure. Bane glanced round, to see Telors pushing people out of the way and clambering over a low wall and grabbing a large padded drumstick from a surprised drummer. Hoisting the huge drum to the wall Telors began a slow, steady beat that boomed like distant thunder around the arena.
Out on the sand the two fighters paused momentarily as the drum sounded.
Voltan was more tired than he appeared. His years as a Stone Knight had been wonderfully fulfilling, but an arena duel needed the kind of specialist training he had not undertaken for years. His sword arm felt heavy. His opponent was even more weary, however, and Voltan would at least take pleasure in killing him. He had always wondered how good Rage really was. Now he knew, and, deep down, he was glad they had not fought earlier. The old man's reflexes were surprisingly sharp, as was the speed of his counters.
The sun was high and hot, and a heat haze was rising from the sand. Voltan circled the older man. 'What made you want to fight me?' he asked. Rage did not reply. 'Too weary to talk, old man?' sneered Voltan. Rage merely smiled. Irritated, Voltan leapt to the attack. Rage parried. Voltan struck out with his left fist. Rage swayed away from the blow and thundered a left hook into Voltan's jaw. Voltan rolled with the blow and spun away as Rage's gladius hissed through the air. As Rage rushed in for the kill Voltan parried a thrust and lunged. The blade struck Rage's belt buckle and glanced away.
