‘Is he winning?’ asked Majon, the Drenai ambassador, tugging at Sieben’s sleeve. ‘He’s taking a fearful battering. The Lentrian has never been beaten, you know. They say he killed two fighters last spring, in a competition in Mashrapur. Damn, I bet ten gold raq on Druss.’
Sieben gently lifted the ambassador’s fingers from his sleeve, brushing at the bruised silk, and forced his gaze away from the wonders of the architecture to focus briefly on the combat below. The Lentrian hit Druss with an uppercut, then a right cross. Druss backed away, blood seeping from a cut over his left eye. ‘What odds did you get?’ asked Sieben.
The slender ambassador ran his hand over his close-cropped silver hair. ‘Six to one. I must have been mad.’
‘Not at all,’ said Sieben smoothly, ‘it was patriotism that drove you. Look, I know ambassadors are not well paid, so I will take your bet. Give me the token.’
‘I couldn’t possibly . . . I mean he’s being thrashed out there.’
‘Of course you must. After all Druss is my friend, and I should have wagered on him out of loyalty.’ Sieben saw the glint of avarice in the ambassador’s dark eyes.
‘Well, if you are sure.’ The man’s slim fingers darted into the pearl-beaded leather pouch at his side, producing a small square of papyrus bearing a wax seal and the amount wagered. Sieben took it and Majon waited with hand outstretched.
‘I didn’t bring my purse with me,’ said Sieben, ‘but I will hand over the money tonight.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Majon, his disappointment obvious.
‘I think I’ll take a walk around the colosseum,’ said Sieben. ‘There is so much to see. I understand there are art galleries and shops on the levels below.’
‘You don’t show much concern for your friend,’ said Majon.
Sieben ignored the criticism. ‘My dear ambassador, Druss fights because he loves to fight. Generally one saves one’s concern for the poor unfortunates he faces. I will see you later at the celebrations.’
Easing himself from his seat Sieben climbed the marble steps, making his way to the official gambling booth. A gap-toothed cleric was sitting inside the recess. Behind him stood a soldier, guarding the sacks of money already wagered. ‘You wish to place a wager?’ asked the cleric.
‘No, I am waiting to collect.’
‘You have bet on the Lentrian?’
‘No. I bet on the winner. It’s an old habit,’ he answered, with a smile. ‘Be so good as to have sixty gold pieces available – plus my original ten.’
The cleric chuckled. ‘You bet on the Drenai? It will be a cold day in Hell before you see a return on that investment.’
‘My, I do think I sense a drop in the temperature,’ Sieben told him with a smile.
In the heat of the arena the Lentrian champion was tiring. Blood was seeping from his broken nose and his right eye was swollen shut, but even so his strength was prodigious. Druss moved in, ducking beneath a right cross and thundering a blow to the man’s mid-section; the muscles of the Lentrian’s stomach were like woven steel. A punch smashed down on to Druss’s neck and he felt his legs buckle. With a grunt of pain he sent an uppercut into the taller man’s bearded chin and the Lentrian’s head snapped back. Druss hammered an overhand right that missed its mark, cracking against the man’s temple. The Lentrian wiped blood from his face – then hit Druss with a thundering straight left, followed by a right hook that all but spun Druss from his feet.
The crowd was baying now, sensing the end was close. Druss tried to move in and grapple – only to be stopped by a straight left that jarred him to his heels. Blocking a right he fired home another uppercut. The Lentrian swayed but did not fall. He countered with a chopping blow that took Druss behind the right ear. Druss shrugged it off. The Lentrian’s strength was fading, the punch lacked speed and weight.
Now was the moment! Druss waded in, sending a combination of punches to the Lentrian’s face: three straight lefts followed by a right hook that exploded against the man’s chin. The Lentrian spun off balance, tried to right himself – then fell face first to the sand.