animal-battle.”
“Oh?”
“Aye, aye. If you’ll attend, I’ll have a lackey show you to the basement. Attendance will be limited to males, firstly because we deem so sanguinary a spectacle unfit for the weaker sex, and secondly because so many of ‘em have been converted by your Terran missionaries to the notion that such a spectacle is morally wrong. When our warriors become so effeminated that the sight of a little gore revolts ‘em, then shall we deserve to fall beneath the shafts and scimitars of the Jungava.”
“Surely, I’ll go,” said Fallon.
Kastambang’s “basement” was an underground chamber the size of a small auditorium. Part of it was given over to a bar, gaming tables, and other amenities. The end, where the animal-fight was scheduled to occur, was hollowed out into a funnel—shaped depression ringed by several rows of seats and looking over the edge of a circular steep-sided pit a dozen or fifteen meters in diameter and about half as deep. The chamber was crowded with fifty or sixty male Krishnans. The air was thick with scent and smoke, and loud with talk in which each speaker tried to shout down all the others. Bets flew and drinks foamed.
As Fallon arrived, a couple of guests who had been arguing passed beyond the point of debate to that of action. One snapped his fingers at the other’s nose, whereupon the second let the first have the contents of his stein in the face. The finger-snapper sputtered, screamed with rage, felt for his missing sword, and then flew upon his antagonist. In an instant they were rolling about the floor, kicking, clawing, and pulling each other’s bushy green hair.
A squad of lackeys separated them, one nursing a bitten thumb and the other a fine set of facial scratches, and hustled them out by separate exits.
Fallon got a mug of kvad at the bar, greeted a couple of acquaintances, and wandered over to the pit, wither the rest of the company were also drifting. He thought: I’ll stay just long enough to see a little of this show, then push off for home. Mustn’t let Kordaq and Gazi get back ahead of me.
By hurrying round to the farther side of the pit he managed to get one of the last front-row seats. As he leaned over the rail, he glanced to the sides and recognized his right-hand neighbor—a tall thin youngish ornately clad Krishnan, as Chindor er-Quinan, the leader of the secret opposition to mad King-Kir.
Catching Chindor’s eye he said: “Hello there, your Altitude.”
“Hail, Master Antane. How wags your world?”
“Well enough, I suppose, though I haven’t been back to it lately. What’s on the program?”
“ ’Twill be a yeki captured in the Forest of Jerab against a shan from the steaming jungles of Mutaabwk. Oh, know you my friend, Master Liyara the Brazer?”
“Delighted to meet you,” said Fallon, grasping the proffered thumb and offering his own.
“And I to meet you,” said Liyara. “It should be a spectacle rare, I ween. Would you make a small wager? I’ll take the shan if you’ll give odds.”
“Even, money on the yeki,” said Fallon, staring.
The eastern accent was just like that which he had heard from the masked party. Was he mistaken, or had Liyara given him a rather keen look too?
“Dupulan take you!” said Liyara. “Three to two…”
The argument was interrupted by a movement and murmur in the audience, which had by now nearly all taken their seats. A tailed Koloftu popped out of a small door in the side of” the pit, walked out to the middle of the arena, struck a small gong that he carried for silence, and announced:
“Gentle sirs, my master Kastambang proffers a beast-fight for your pleasure. From this portal…” (the hairy one gestured) “shall issue a full-grown male yeki from the forest of Jerab; while from yonder opening shall come a giant shan, captured at great risk in the equatorial jungles of Mutaabwk. Place your bets quickly, as the combat will begin as soon as we can drive the
“Oh?”
“Aye, aye. If you’ll attend, I’ll have a lackey show you to the basement. Attendance will be limited to males, firstly because we deem so sanguinary a spectacle unfit for the weaker sex, and secondly because so many of ‘em have been converted by your Terran missionaries to the notion that such a spectacle is morally wrong. When our warriors become so effeminated that the sight of a little gore revolts ‘em, then shall we deserve to fall beneath the shafts and scimitars of the Jungava.”
“Surely, I’ll go,” said Fallon.
Kastambang’s “basement” was an underground chamber the size of a small auditorium. Part of it was given over to a bar, gaming tables, and other amenities. The end, where the animal-fight was scheduled to occur, was hollowed out into a funnel—shaped depression ringed by several rows of seats and looking over the edge of a circular steep-sided pit a dozen or fifteen meters in diameter and about half as deep. The chamber was crowded with fifty or sixty male Krishnans. The air was thick with scent and smoke, and loud with talk in which each speaker tried to shout down all the others. Bets flew and drinks foamed.
As Fallon arrived, a couple of guests who had been arguing passed beyond the point of debate to that of action. One snapped his fingers at the other’s nose, whereupon the second let the first have the contents of his stein in the face. The finger-snapper sputtered, screamed with rage, felt for his missing sword, and then flew upon his antagonist. In an instant they were rolling about the floor, kicking, clawing, and pulling each other’s bushy green hair.
A squad of lackeys separated them, one nursing a bitten thumb and the other a fine set of facial scratches, and hustled them out by separate exits.
Fallon got a mug of kvad at the bar, greeted a couple of acquaintances, and wandered over to the pit, wither the rest of the company were also drifting. He thought: I’ll stay just long enough to see a little of this show, then push off for home. Mustn’t let Kordaq and Gazi get back ahead of me.
By hurrying round to the farther side of the pit he managed to get one of the last front-row seats. As he leaned over the rail, he glanced to the sides and recognized his right-hand neighbor—a tall thin youngish ornately clad Krishnan, as Chindor er-Quinan, the leader of the secret opposition to mad King-Kir.
Catching Chindor’s eye he said: “Hello there, your Altitude.”
“Hail, Master Antane. How wags your world?”
“Well enough, I suppose, though I haven’t been back to it lately. What’s on the program?”
“ ’Twill be a yeki captured in the Forest of Jerab against a shan from the steaming jungles of Mutaabwk. Oh, know you my friend, Master Liyara the Brazer?”
“Delighted to meet you,” said Fallon, grasping the proffered thumb and offering his own.
“And I to meet you,” said Liyara. “It should be a spectacle rare, I ween. Would you make a small wager? I’ll take the shan if you’ll give odds.”
“Even, money on the yeki,” said Fallon, staring.
The eastern accent was just like that which he had heard from the masked party. Was he mistaken, or had Liyara given him a rather keen look too?
“Dupulan take you!” said Liyara. “Three to two…”
The argument was interrupted by a movement and murmur in the audience, which had by now nearly all taken their seats. A tailed Koloftu popped out of a small door in the side of” the pit, walked out to the middle of the arena, struck a small gong that he carried for silence, and announced:
“Gentle sirs, my master Kastambang proffers a beast-fight for your pleasure. From this portal…” (the hairy one gestured) “shall issue a full-grown male yeki from the forest of Jerab; while from yonder opening shall come a giant shan, captured at great risk in the equatorial jungles of Mutaabwk. Place your bets quickly, as the combat will begin as soon as we can drive the
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