"As you demonstrated in the sump." Dumarest shrugged and half-turned toward Reiza, the whip dangling in his hand. "If you want revenge," he said, "pick yourself another champion. Only a man has the guts to fight for a woman he wants. Zucco hasn't got what it takes."

"You think not?"

"He's a murderer, a liar, a cheat and a thief. Things once said about me. Maybe the accusation holds an element of truth. But I'm not a coward."

"Neither is Jac." Reiza looked at Zucco. "Please, don't shame me. Kill him and take me in any way you want-but kill him. Kill him!"

"He can't," said Dumarest. "Not in the open. Not when I'm unchained and he hasn't got a gun and some bullies like Ruval to back him up. Scum like Zucco work in the dark with poison and hired assassins. Take him for what he is if you want him so badly. Let him own you, use you, beat you as he wants. But never make the mistake of thinking him a man."

Her laughter surprised him. "You think that? You believe him helpless? Afraid? Jac!"

"A challenge," he said, and smiled, standing relaxed, arrogant in his confidence. "Us facing each other on equal terms. Armed with knives and battling to the death. Is that what you have in mind?"

From where he stood Valaban said, urgently, "Don't listen to him, Earl. Don't let him goad you. Let him have the bitch and good riddance. She isn't worth fighting over."

"Shut up, you old fool!" Reiza snapped her anger. "Stay out of this."

Dumarest ignored them both. To Zucco he said, "I don't fight for nothing. If we meet what is the prize?"

"The girl. I win and she is mine. If you beat me-"

"I gain nothing," said Dumarest. "I don't want her."

"The pleasure of killing me then-if you can."

"I can do that now." Steel glimmered as Dumarest jerked free the blade from the stock of the whip he held. "In fact I'd be a fool not to. So-"

"No!" Shakira stepped forward from where he had stood watching from the shadows. He wore emerald traced with silver, ornamentation which caught and reflected the light to clothe him in the semblance of shimmering scales. Gleams Dumarest had spotted before Zucco had made his challenge. "There will be no murder. A fair fight is another matter."

Dumarest shrugged and lowered the blade. "Why give an enemy the chance of killing you?"

"You think he could?"

"All fights are gambles."

"And all gamblers need a wager. For what would you risk your life?"

"Unlimited access to Melome," said Dumarest. "The end of a certain inconvenience. Money and freedom to travel and medical aid should I need it. The aid to be given without charge."

"Agreed. And for you." Shakira turned to Zucco. "What you have always wanted. The control of the circus of Chen Wei."

"And me," said Reiza. "In any way you want." Then, to Dumarest, she said, "Think of that when he's killing you."

"You're sure he can do that?"

"I'm certain of it." Her voice was high, triumphant. "You're a fighter, Earl, but so is Jac. He was a champion before he joined the circus-and he bears no scars!"

Valaban filled his palm with a pungent oil and, as he rubbed it over Dumarest's naked torso, said, "This is crazy, Earl. I tried to warn you. Why the hell didn't you listen to me?"

"How good is Zucco?"

"You heard Reiza." Valaban rubbed harder. "The bitch," he said bitterly. "I tried to tell her he was lying but she wouldn't listen. She didn't want to listen. Just like a cat. You think you own one then it up and leaves for someone else. No loyalty. No gratitude."

"She was upset."

"Sure, but would a normal woman have acted that way? At least she'd have given you the chance to explain. She didn't even turn a hair when you mentioned Hayter. Did you notice that? It's my guess she's known all along. Maybe that's what attracted her to Zucco-a pair of animals together. Well, to hell with her. Just watch out for yourself." Valaban scowled at the noise coming from the seats beyond the tunnel. "Listen to them! They should be in a cage!"

They filled the rows closest to the ring, cramming tight for the sake of a better view. Entrepreneurs abandoning their concessions, grafters, dancers, spielers, shills all able and willing to relinquish a profit for the sake of witnessing a bloody entertainment. And others from the circus proper; roustabouts, artists, clowns, technicians. Their voices droned like a swarm of bees.

Dumarest watched them from the mouth of the tunnel as he wiped his body free of surplus oil. A trace remained on his hands and he stooped to rub them in the sand; oil which would prevent an opponent from getting a hold had no place on fingers needing to grip a hilt. Straightening he heard a shout and saw Zucco step from the mouth of a tunnel opposite.

"Right, Earl," said Valaban. "I guess this is it. Go out and gut the bastard!"

A sentiment echoed in a roar as Dumarest stepped into the ring.

One he had heard too often before.

The cry of a beast scenting blood, mindless, unthinking, eager only to witness battle and agony. To see the spurt of crimson, the writhing of lacerated flesh, the screams of the maimed and dying, the final convulsions. To know the euphoria of vicarious combat. To bet and gloat if they won and to curse the vanquished if they lost.

A sound as familiar to Zucco as to himself.

Dumarest knew it as the man came forward, naked aside from shorts, his body bearing the sheen of oil. He ignored the crowd as he trod the sand, smiling, eyes narrowed as he summed up the opposition. And Reiza had told the truths-Zucco bore no scars.

The sign of a novice or of a victor who had never known the ice-burn of a razor's edge. One too fast to be touched, too deft, too cunning. An unmarked champion. A thing so rare as to be almost unknown and Dumarest wondered how Zucco had managed it. Bribes, fixes, special blades which oozed red but did not cut could provide a show and safety for those involved. Things common in booths where men offered to fight all comers for cash or put on spectacles for gaping yokels. But the cognoscenti of the arena would never be so easily deluded-and no man could become a champion without their support.

"You fear." Zucco halted, facing Dumarest, the space of yards between them. "I can smell your sweat. Yet the crowd is with you." His smile turned into a sneer. "Let them shout- soon they will have cause to regret their mindless braying. As you will have cause to regret your temerity."

Dumarest made no comment, standing poised on the balls of his feet, ready to move in any direction. Zucco seemed more at ease, relaxed, the knife in his right hand hanging at his side. Ten inches of curved and pointed steel, burnished to a mirror brightness, honed and tempered to cut through bone. An inch longer than Dumarest's own blade but it was one he was accustomed to and this was no time to change.

"Yield," said Zucco. "I give you the chance. Throw down your knife and admit defeat. Better to serve than to die and, if you obey, I'll let you have the woman."

"Does she know that?"

"What she knows or wants is of no importance. Soon I shall be the master. Then-"

He broke off as Dumarest lunged, darting to one side, his blade rising to clash against the one Dumarest thrust toward him. An open attack and an easy feint but the speed at which Zucco acted was illuminating. As was the quick move he made to one side away from a second attack.

"You are impatient, my friend." His smile held no humor. "And clumsy, too-your attack had no grace. A tyro would have done as well. I wonder you managed to survive so long."

"Talk," sneered Dumarest. He stumbled as he moved to one side, as clumsy as Zucco had said. "Is that how you win? Bore your opponents to death?"

"No." Zucco crouched a little, knife held forward like a sword, point slanted upward. "I cut them, my friend. I slash their veins to make them bleed and their tendons so as to leave them crippled. I blind them and watch as they grope in the dark. I nick their jugulars and hamstring them and, at times, I ruin them as men." The point dropped, darted toward Dumarest's groin. "I offered you mercy-now I shall teach you the meaning of pain."