The Hunter on Arena by Rose Estes Page B

smooth-skinned hunchback between the eyes, pinning him to the ground and falling on his chest with his knees
     until the flailing limbs lay limp and unmoving in the red dust. The furred beast clung to his weapon and glared defiantly,
     baring his fangs in a growl at those who stared at him in shocked disbelief.
    All around him there were mutters and the ring of steel being drawn from scabbards and sheathes. On the perimeter of the arena,
     the guards moved closer, closing the circle, weapons at the ready for the first sign of rebellion.
    “This ain’t right,” complained a voice. “They can’t make us kill each other, can they? I mean, it ain’t like we’re all cold
     blooded…” There was a sudden shriek and the voice ended abruptly.
    Randi moved to Braldt’s side, pressing her litheform against him, drawing the object that she had named a laser gun and thumbing it back to the stun setting. Allo and Septua
     drew in as well until the four of them stood back to back in a tight formation bristling with weaponry in all directions.
     Marin was the odd man out.
    Still, Braldt had no wish to fight the black man, or see him die for that matter. If they must fight in competition, the black
     man would be a valuable fighter—he was strong and skillful and crafty in the art of deception. To sacrifice any of his companions
     was unthinkable.
    “Marin, we do not have to do as they say,” said Braldt, lowering his sword and speaking earnestly to the black man who had
     gone into a crouch, his trident extended before him, nearly touching Braldt’s chest. “Let us put our differences aside and
     fight together; they cannot make us fight each other if we refuse.”
    The sounds of battle were all around him, steel ringing against steel, the thunder of small explosions, the screams of men
     dying. Marin’s eyes were shuttered against the rising suns. His blue-black lips were drawn back in a mirthless grin that exposed
     his filed, pointed teeth. He was crouching low, his trident jabbing forward like the tongue of a striking snake. In his other
     hand the net swirled slowly, the weights sighing through the air with a low moan. If he heard Braldt’s words, he gave no sign,
     but advanced steadily, his small, dark eyes never leaving Braldt’s face.
    “He means to fight,” Randi said tensely. “I’ll throw a jolt into him, knock him out until we can talk some reason into him.”
     She pointed the stubby weapon atMarin who did not even spare her a glance, but Allo pressed his huge, shaggy hand down upon her wrist gently.
    “No,” he said softly. “If it does not happen now, it will merely postpone the inevitable. Marin is determined to fight Braldt.
     He has been seeking such a confrontation. We cannot stop it.”
    “But what if he wins,” Randi said in dismay, turning to look at the large, shaggy creature. “Would you follow him? Look at
     his eyes—he’s crazy!”
    “When we entered this place we gave up the right to reason. Such standards do not exist here,” Allo said sadly. “At least
     not for us.”
    Septua joined the argument, his shrill, high-pitched voice adding to the confusion, but Braldt had ceased to listen to their
     words, realizing that the time for words had long since passed, if it had ever existed. He had met such men as Marin before.
     Confrontation, action, death—these were what mattered. Logic, reason, and words stood for nothing. The mistake was in thinking
     that such men were stupid. It was a mistake that could be fatal. While the heads of such men were empty of higher thoughts,
     they
were
filled with strategy and technique and their bodies were often trained to perfection. They made the best of allies and the
     very worst of enemies.
    Braldt drew his sword and fell into the same shuffling sidestep employed by Marin. Matching each other stride for stride,
     they began to circle. Randi and Septua fell silent and pressed up against Allo’s shaggy hide, watching the duel with fearful