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Most souls in this metropolis of contradictions, where opulence and poverty lived side by side, wanted in on making bank.
By the first night of the K?thi battle season, the arena was sold out and packed with roaring crowds.
In the betting pens, schills changed hands fast as patrons wagered with crazed zeal.
Mini brawls broke out between punters and lenders.
The latter were mostly Kírkos, the merchant bourgeoisie whose silver and gold quills quivered in anticipation of a windfall.
The air was redolent with the distinct reek of sweat, beer and the hunger for a win.
Within the imposing building’s match locker room walls, in the shadows of a virtually unlit room, Sana’a spotted her first K?thi opponent.
He was unusual. ‘‘He wears the hooded robes of a monk?’ she asked.
In hushed tones, Kaniz, who stood alongside the Shotelai woman, gave Sana’a his jacket. ‘His name is Kysin. He was once a Sab?r Hawk famous for his skill with a koya and trusted by Kíríga himself. But he lost his command after he’d been found to have stolen schills from his squad. He also used his power to harass women and had an innocent young hawk warrior-in-training die in his care. He forfeited everything and converted into a friar. He now lives an ascetic life of curse-mongering while earning money via koya fighting.’
‘Sounds like a lovely fellow.’
‘Despite his monk’s robes, he’s the most sublime of demonic dickcissels,’ Kaniz grinned before sobering. ‘He fights dirty for a holy man and has no hesitation in cutting you down with his blade. He likes to get a good strike into somebody’s head and down you under a flurry of blows. The second you’re off balance, Kysin is going to follow up. He’s going to be on top of you – and he’s going to keep hitting. One of his weaknesses is that he is rigidly anti-lefty. Use that to your advantage. And remember, no-kill; you’re just after his koya. The more you collect, the quicker you’ll rise in the k?thi ranks.’
Sana’a nodded her understanding.
Kysin glanced at them across the vast waiting area.
He jogged into the arena to a clamouring reception, his monk’s cloak flowing around him.
He shed it to reveal his muscled body, unfurling his pale, dramatic plumage. The upper sides of his wing quills were bleached, with little or no colour visible interspersed among the very dark feathers.
The venue erupted into wild cheering when he swung around to show them off. He was a popular figure.
Sana’a strode into the packed coliseum moments later to a more hushed welcome.
Her appearance elicited baffled glances, curious whispers and a few boos.
News of her defeat of Keb had filtered beyond the íkhara.
Sana’a sensed several spectators were present to gauge the accuracy of the rumours of her prowess.
She ignored them all, keeping her eyes on Kysin, who paced the edge of the ring—flexing his muscles and tossing his two sab?r koya blades into the air in a blistering set of twirls that had the crowd gasping.
She had no such showmanship ideas in mind and stood still, waiting until K?stian announced the fight.
The crowd’s roars were like thunder that sounded in waves over the crammed tiers that rose steeply, disappearing into the gloom above.
Hovering at a vantage point and elevated over the amphitheatre was a mezzanine platform.
This was where the most distinguished observers observed the bouts for free from the comfort of the shade of awnings.
Sana’a made out the nobles’ carved seats and spacious booths alongside the sunshade of the royal box.
Each booth had figures clustered around tables trembling under platters of food and drink.
A myriad of servers attended the stands.
All at the whim of the noble K?'neres, who were a showy class.
They cloaked themselves in the wizardry of haute couture.
