The second round was more than two-thirds done before any of the archers got an arrow anywhere close to the two men. Nugun was a fraction of a second slow in stepping off, and an arrow sliced down through his shoulder. It kept right on going into the ground, but left a bloody furrow in the hairy flesh. Nugun did not blink or wince at the pain. But he was a little quicker off the mark after that.

The second round was finished. A hundred arrows were now sticking in the sand in the center of the arena. The third round began. Soon the arrows sprouted still thicker.

The clusters of arrows were beginning to be a menace in themselves, as Blade realized when his foot caught in a bunch of three arrows when he leaped backward. He went sprawling. Only by a frantic twist and roll was he able to keep the next arrow from skewering his left leg. He rose, aware that he could no longer spring to his feet as fast. Sweat was pouring off him, stinging his eyes and beginning to interfere with his vision. He wiped his forehead as best he could with the back of his hand.

As he did so, he heard a roar of pain and rage from Nugun. Blade opened his eyes, to see the Senar reach down and jerk an arrow out of his right calf. He raised the bloody thing high, then snapped it between thumb and forefinger and threw the pieces to the sand.

«Are you badly hurt?» Blade called.

The Senar growled and shook his head. «Not bad hurt for Senar. Blenar or woman curl up and die. Not Nugun.»

«Good.» He waved encouragement to the Senar. The dance of death went on.

But it was not long before Blade realized that the arrow had done more damage than Nugun was willing to admit. A muscle torn, a major blood vessel open? More likely the former, since the bleeding didn't seem to be continuing. But Nugun was definitely favoring his right leg. Blade grimaced, realizing what this could mean, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

The third round came to an end and the fourth began without more damage to either Blade or Nugun. But there was no doubt that Nugun was beginning to slow. Apart from his wound, the Senar would have been treated even worse in the prison than Blade had been. And Blade knew what the treatment in prison had done to his strength and endurance. If he had not done his best to stay in shape, he knew he would have been shot down long ago.

As the fourth round continued, it seemed to Blade that the arrows were coming in faster, just as he and Nugun were beginning to slow down. Perhaps Idrana had decided to push the games toward a conclusion. And there would be no merciful shot aimed straight to the heart. Blade and Nugun would die bit by bit, pierced by arrow after arrow, and eventually killed only when they could no longer move and provide a good show for the staring thousands in the stands of the arena. That fitted Idrana's nature.

Halfway through the fourth round, Blade took his first wound. An arrow raked along his ribs, leaving a bleeding red gouge. An inch deeper and it would have gone through muscles and blood vessels, slowing him disastrously. As it was, he could clench his teeth against the raw pain and continue to leap about as fast as his muscles and breath would let him.

Nugun was slowing even more. That he had not been badly hit yet was perhaps just good luck. Or perhaps the women knew that he was no longer such a challenging target. Although he was now almost lumbering about instead of leaping, Nugun still bore only two wounds.

The fourth round, the fifth. They had now been out here in the center of the arena, providing targets for Idrana's archers, for more than two hours. To Blade it seemed more like two days.

And then the sixth round started, and its fourth arrow plunged down out of the sky into Nugun's thigh. The Senar did not scream or shout or growl. His breath only hissed out between his teeth. He turned to Blade, and raised a hand in salute. Blade jumped aside from his own next arrow without taking his eyes off the Senar. A cold feeling was working inside him as he watched Nugun.

Then without a sound or a word, Nugun spun around and plunged toward the edge of the arena. He covered a quarter of the distance to the archers before they realized what he was doing. He covered another quarter before they could readjust their aim to a target running straight and fast across the sand. Nugun was halfway before the first arrow struck him. And even then it only tore through one arm. Nugun bellowed in rage, but did not stop, did not slow, did not even break his stride. If anything, he increased his pace. Blood from his wounded thigh pumped out, brightly visible to Blade in the center of the arena, but that also did not slow Nugun down.

Two more arrows struck him, one in the shoulder, one low in the back. Then he was too close to one side of the arena for the archers on the other side to fire at him without hitting their comrades. And the ones facing his charge were too unnerved to aim very well. Blade saw arrows flying wide by the dozens and had to step lively to avoid being hit by some that sailed out into the arena.

Only one more arrow struck Nugun, and that did not slow him down any more than the others had. Then he was at the edge of the arena, and the women were scattering to either side of him. They might have drawn their swords, but even from a hundred yards off Blade could see that they were too frightened.

They did not scatter fast enough. Nugun's arm swung out and down like a club, and a woman rolled in the dust and lay motionless. Another he smashed back against the wall with one blow, caving in her face with a second. Then he was up with Idrana, and Blade held his breath as Idrana's sword flashed. It leaped forward, driving low into Nugun's stomach. The Senar howled in agony, reeled, seemed about to double up. Idrana stepped back and motioned one of the other women to give the finishing blow.

The moment the woman was within reach, Nugun straightened up. His hands clutched the woman, lifting her off her feet, high over his head, then twisting her savagely. Like a broken doll she dropped to the sand, and Nugun dropped beside her, still writhing feebly. Another sword-thrust from Idrana ended his writhing.

Blade knelt on the sand, not risking the smallest move that the women might interpret as an attack. Nugun was gone, taking enemies with him as he had promised, and now Blade was alone. Alone to plan his escape as best he could-if the frightened and nervous women all around him did not simply let fly and drop him to the sand bristling with arrows.

How long he knelt there on the sand Blade never knew. But no arrows drove into his flesh or even whistled down near him. There was a vast silence throughout the whole arena. And then the silence was broken by an explosion of cheering.

Blade looked up. The entire Green section was on its feet, cheering and waving. They were not only waving their arms and their banners; they were waving handkerchiefs, scarves, or anything else white they could find. After a few moments, the cheering began to spread, and soon the whole arena was a mass of dancing white.

Blade kept his emotions under tight control. He recalled that in the Roman arena waving white was a request for mercy for the gladiators. He hoped it was the same here. But even if it were, he knew that there was more involved. The cheering and waving of the Greens had been too pat, too well timed. They had a place somewhere in Idrana's plans.

He realized that the archers were breaking out of their positions around the arena and coming toward him. Idrana was moving faster than the others, almost running across the sand, and reached him before the others did.

«Follow me, Blade,» she hissed. «Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. That Senar is dead and you can no longer do anything for him. But you can still be the man beside me as I rise to power in the city. Is that not better than lying dead on the sand?»