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Dochak staggered back, limping on his wounded leg, but his vital organs were deeper than Kitarak had managed to penetrate. He hardly bled from the new wound. In fact, he acted as if he barely felt it. He loaded his dejada and flung the projectile in one smooth motion, and this time he connected, striking Kitarak in the upper right shoulder joint. Chips of chitinous exoskeleton sprayed out from the impact, and the pelota careened into the lower stands, striking a slave on the head and dropping him like a limp rag.
"That's another reason why these are the good seats," cackled the old man. "We don't have a row of slaves to stand between us and harm's way like the nobles do, so we need time to duck."
Jedra shushed him, his attention riveted on the battle. Kitarak was hurt! His arm had fallen to his side, useless, but he dropped his shield on that side and took the kyorkcha in his lower hand, then flung it at Dochak at the same close range. The spinning blade nicked the half-giant's neck, and this time blood flowed freely, cascading down over his shoulder and chest.
Kitarak backed off and retrieved the kyorkcha as it completed its circular path. He had to dodge another pelota, but the half-giant's aim and speed weren't what they had been at the start, and the projectile hit the sand behind him and bounced to a stop before it even reached the end of the stadium. The tohr-kreen kept his distance, waiting for the half-giant to bleed to death, but a few people began to shout, "Kill him!" and pretty soon the entire crowd took up the chant. A few pieces of rotten fruit flew over the edge of the balcony toward the tohr-kreen, and the old man even snatched up the melon Jedra had bought and heaved it forward, where it struck the same unfortunate fan that Jedra had overheated.
Jedra didn't care. He was suddenly even more afraid for Kitarak than he had been when the tohr-kreen was injured. A gladiator couldn't ignore such a demand from the crowd, at least not a slave. If he did, his owner would punish him for spoiling the game, probably by handicapping him so severely next time that his death would be certain. Kitarak must have known that too, but still he hesitated, clearly not wanting to strike the final blow. His opponent was dying anyway, though, and at last Kitarak bowed to the crowd's desire: he threw his remaining shield at the half-giant, spinning it edge-on toward his head, and when Dochak swept it aside with his own shield, Kitarak threw both the kyorkcha and the shortened gythka at him. Both weapons thudded home and stuck, the curved kyorkcha sticking out of the half-giant's forehead like a single upraised horn, and the gythka quivering from his breastbone, which it had penetrated clear to the hilt of the blade.
Kitarak bowed to the king as was required of the winner, then retrieved his weapons from the corp
se and left the stadium. Jedra stood up and said, "Time to go stretch my legs." To Kayan he said, Come on, let's get out of here.
She grinned mischievously and said, Aw, I was just starting to enjoy it, but she stood and went along with him.
They left the old man cheering at the next gladiators-a pair of identical twin women fighting a heat-deranged erdlu-and worked their way down out of the stands and through the vendors' court into the city itself.
* * *
The streets were quiet. Everyone who would normally have been out was at the gladiatorial games, so Jedra and Kayan had the chance to check out Tyr without the normal hustle and bustle. It gave the city a rural feel, more like a large town than a major hub of commerce. The only thing that marred the afternoon's tranquility was the mountainous hulk of the ziggurat in the center of town. It dominated the skyline, a vast, malign presence that seemed to watch them no matter where they went.
They skirted it to the north, walking through the nearly silent tradesmen's district and along the edge of the equally deserted warrens before reaching the merchants' district and the great Caravan Way that led past the nobles' mansions to the city's main gate. The open market was still doing business, and Jedra was glad to see that not everyone had abandoned their normal lives to go watch people kill each other for sport. He and Kayan wandered among the stalls, Jedra for the first time in his life with enough money to buy whatever he wanted, but with no place to keep any of it. So they just admired the jewelry and the fine clothing and sniffed at the spices and perfumes from far-off lands.
Toward evening they found an inn called the Dragon's Tail that served good food, and they ordered a sumptuous meal-the first time Jedra had ever been waited on. They ate broiled cloud ray and drank expensive wine by candlelight, laughing as Jedra levitated his steak a few inches off his plate and made a crashing noise when he let it drop again, spraying vegetables all over the wooden table. He sliced off a bite of the light-colored meat and held it up on his fork. "This is my revenge for that morning in the elf camp," he said, and bit into it. "Mmmm." It was juicy and flaky and tasted almost buttery, a little like the sea bug he had eaten in Yoncalla's world.
"I wonder if the elves got tired of eating the cloud ray we killed before they moved on," Kayan said.
"I imagine they did," answered Jedra. "Hah. That seems like a whole lifetime ago, doesn't it?"
"It sure does." Kayan raised her wine glass in toast. "To the Jura-Dai, may they never run afoul of our likes again."
Jedra wasn't sure he wanted to toast the tribe that had kicked them out into the desert to die, but he supposed, now that he had survived the ordeal, he could let bygones be bygones. So he raised his glass and said, "May we never run across their likes again, either." He drained his glass, amazed at how the sweet white wine flowed so smoothly down his throat. He refilled both his and Kayan's glasses from the bottle and took another swallow.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" he asked.
"No," Kayan said. "Why don't you?"
Jedra laughed. "All right. You're beautiful. I like the way the candlelight sparkles in your eyes. And I like the way your mouth turns up at the corners when you're waiting for me to embarrass myself. And I like the way it puckers out when you're about to kiss me." He leaned forward and puckered his own lips in exaggerated fashion. She giggled, but she kissed him.
"I like the way your hair falls forward around the sides of your face," he went on. "It makes you look dark and mysterious."
"Does it?"
"Uh-huh."
"What else?"
Jedra laughed. "Let's see..." He examined her face the way they had examined the vendors' wares earlier that afternoon, squinting one eye and tilting his head. "Oh, yes, your nose. I like it. It doesn't look a thing like a beak."
"Oh, thanks!" Kayan leaned back and drank more wine, trying to hold a scowl.
"And your mind," Jedra said. "Haven't I mentioned your mind? I like that, too."
"Beast!" she said. "You haven't once mentioned my curvaceous body or my slender legs." "I was working my way down. Don't be so impatient." They looked at one another for a moment, then both burst into laughter.
Jedra shook the bottle, amazed to find the wine nearly gone. "I'd love it," he said, "but unfortunately I think we'd better keep our wits about us tonight. We have a big night ahead."
"Ah, I see," the innkeeper said. "Well, then, enjoy your meal." He turned away, his smile even wider.
