'What do you think of our training facilities?' Keller asked, his tone tinged with the smug satisfaction of one who knows what the answer to his question must be.
Tordun looked back on his career as a professional pugilist, and his own training. Endless hours of punching sacks of grain, long, hard runs and repetitive lifting of anvils could not begin to compare with this glittering array of metal equipment. He saw sinews stretched to the limit through taut, pink, sweaty skin; gritted teeth and bulging eyes, accompanied by the metronomic rise and fall of weights suspended from wire ropes. A group of men arranged in a circle passed a large, heavy-looking ball from one to the other at great speed, while others punched bulging, suspended canvas bags. The albino saw pieces of equipment whose function he could not even begin to fathom, but every item of apparatus was in use.
Tordun heard not the least sound of complaint or dissension as the fighters put themselves through a gruelling series of exercises, and he could not help but be impressed.
'Magnificent,' he breathed. 'I have never seen such a dedicated group of men.'
'You will find none,' Keller declared. 'We make sure that our men are the best-trained fighters around.'
Tordun noted a fair proportion of the full range of fit masculine body types in the gymnasium. Swift, lithe, featherweights trained alongside slower, heavily-muscled bruisers, and he saw every type of build in between. To his approval, he saw that there seemed to be the full gamut of races and skin colours, too: black, white, yellow, green, elf, human, dwarf…
Here was a microcosm of the whole spectrum of sentient beings, side by side in what appeared to be a spirit of harmony and co-operation. Each fighter, regardless of his race or size, appeared to share at least two attributes with his fellows: his utter dedication to his craft, and his superb physical condition. Each man was a paragon of bodily perfection: a sculpture made flesh.
As he looked closer, the albino noted that many of the men wore golden, jewel-encrusted circlets around their necks, and he asked Keller of the significance of these gaudy adornments.
'The torcs are a badge of rank,' the Pit-master said. 'All our fighters are dedicated to the pursuit of physical excellence, but the circlet denotes a man who stands above his fellows in dedication, determination and success in the Pit. Your old friend, Shugar, is such a man, of course. If you'll wait a few moments, I think he's coming to the end of his exercises.'
Tordun followed Keller's pointing finger, and recognised his erstwhile opponent amongst the mass of straining, struggling bodies. Shugar pushed himself through a gruelling series of sit-ups, his feet locked under a metal bar and his hands clasped behind his head. It seemed as if the muscular titan would never stop, but, at last, Shugar ceased his struggling with a deep sigh.
Keller led the albino through the mass of writhing bodies to stand alongside the fighter. Leaping to his feet, his face red and sweaty, the fighter grabbed a towel from beside him and wiped the perspiration from his brow. Only after attending to this task did he seem to become aware of the presence of Keller and Tordun.
'Shugar, I've brought an old friend of yours,' the Pit-master shouted over the tumultuous noises of exertion filling the gymnasium. 'He's come to pay his respects.'
Shugar stood for a few moments, his eyes scanning the albino, before he responded. 'Tordun, isn't it? What in the Names are you doing here? Don't tell me they've…'
The fighter appeared to suffer a small fit, twitching and grunting, as Tordun looked on in perplexity.
'It can only be over-training!' The Pit-master sighed. 'I do try to tell the fighters, but they're so keen to excel.
'Shugar, why don't we all go to the recuperation lounge? I think you need to relax for a while. Sometimes I think you're too hard on yourself. Come on.'
As Keller led the giant man from the gymnasium, Tordun could have sworn that the fighter was trying to tell him something, but he heard only inarticulate, tremulous sounds from Shugar's distorted mouth.
'Is Shugar all right, Keller?' Tordun felt deep concern for the man's well-being. He knew that he should offer to lend a hand, but a primordial fear of madness and seizures stayed him.
Keller grunted as he supported the twitching warrior's bulk in one arm and flung open a door with the other. 'He'll be as right as rain in a moment,' he said, through clenched teeth, almost throwing Shugar into a well- upholstered leather chair in a small room.
'Make yourself comfortable,' he said, as if such a spectacle was a common occurrence. 'We do see this on occasion, but there's really no need to worry.'
Tordun eased himself into a chair, but he could not relax at the sight of the thrashing, tormented vision before him. At last, with a gasp, Shugar slumped back in his chair.
'There, that's better, isn't it?' Keller said, with what Tordun considered a bizarrely inappropriate smile.
'Sorry about that, Keller,' the fighter said in a dull voice. 'I guess I've just been training too hard. I'll survive.' His face, once purple and anguished, began to relax and return to a more normal colour.
Keller's face brightened. 'That's the spirit, Shugar! Now, what do you have to say to your old friend, Tordun?'
'Hello, Tordun,' the sweaty pugilist grunted. 'You're looking well.'
'You, too,' Tordun said, although he thought that Shugar looked more like a re-animated corpse than a healthy man.
From the corner of his eye, the albino saw Keller rubbing his nose and nodding, his face placid and almost amused. Tordun took a deep breath, feeling as if his worries were floating away on the breeze.
Everything will be all right, he felt sure. It's a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one. Everything will be all right. Just being in the presence of my former opponent seems to stir his blood and heighten his awareness.
'Good to see you again, Shugar,' Tordun continued in a boisterous, cheerful tone. 'I'm glad to see you've recovered from that last beating I handed out.'
The fighter sat upright. 'You were lucky, Tordun. I was just getting the better of you when I slipped in the ring.'
'I had you beaten from the start.' The albino tried to keep his voice neutral and friendly; however, for some reason, he felt his heartbeat accelerating and the blood pounding in his arteries. 'Face it, man, you were just outclassed.'
'Outclassed!' Shugar leapt to his feet. 'I could take you any time, you pasty, half-baked excuse for a warrior! Try me again, and you'll know just what humiliation is! Fight me tonight, if you've got the guts, and I'll give you a lesson you'll never forget!'
Tordun found himself on his feet, although he could not remember standing. Bile boiled up within him at Shugar's insults, and prepared himself to launch a bristling tirade at the man. Something at the back of his mind recognised the dull, mechanical tone of the man's voice, but the imperative of the hormones surging within him would not be denied.
So I'm a pasty, half-baked excuse for a warrior, am I? Tordun felt intoxicated by the torrent of blood that sang in his ears. I could beat you with one arm tied behind my back! You're dead meat!
'Tonight, you say?' he snarled, feeling his face contorting and twisting in anger. 'You're…'
The word 'on' perched on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be released, and the albino realised that he had been about to make the worst mistake a fighter could make: responding to his emotions alone, unrestrained by his thought processes.
You have a job to do, Tordun. You must maintain control of yourself. Remember: a fighter uses his emotions; they do not use him!
Any successful fighter knew when to bring emotions into play, and when to veto their insistent demands. Tordun was one of the best, and he pushed hate, anger and outrage into a mental prison deep inside his brain. Since he had been able to do this since his callow youth, he felt surprise at the considerable effort it cost him.
Tordun's heart pounded. 'No, I won't fight you, Shugar. Not now, not ever. You had your chance at my title, and you lost. Get used to it.
'I think I'll leave now,' he said, turning to face Keller. 'That was a nice try, but I told you: I've retired from the ring. Goodbye, Shugar, and good luck in your future fights. I'll be there to cheer you on tonight, but no more than that. Thank you, Keller. I think I will go back to my companions now.'
Tordun imagined that he saw the ghost of a satisfied smile on Shugar's face, but he could not be sure. He took another deep breath, and began to relax again. There could be nothing sinister here. It was a common
