but then the Emperor himself bought me, Kittycat’s father. I trained the new
slaves and Jubal was one of them. A paragon-he was born for the death-duel. I
taught him every trick I knew; he was a son to me. I watched fortunes change
everytime he fought. We soon both belonged to the Emperor. We drank together,
whored together-the life of a successful gladiator isn’t bad if you don’t mind
the brand and collar. I trusted him. I told him the truth about me.
“Two days later I was on the sand fighting against him. I hadn’t fought for five
years; but even at my best I was no match for him. We fought with mace and
chain-his choice. He took my legs with his second swing. I had expected that,
but I expected a quick, merciful death as well. I thought we were both slaves:
equals and friends. He said: ‘It’s been arranged,’ pointed to the Imperial
balcony and struck my legs again.
“That was summer. It was winter when I opened my eyes again. A Lizerene healer
was at my side congratulating himself on my recovery-but I had become this!”
The metal-master jerked his tunic upward, revealing the remains of his legs. The
moonlight softened the horror, but Walegrin could see the twisted remnants of
muscle, the exposed lengths of bone, the scaly knobs that had once been knees.
He looked away before Balustrus lowered the cloth.
“The Lizerene said he’d been paid in gold. I returned slowly to the capital, as
you can imagine, and painfully, as you cannot. Jubal had been freed the day
after our battle. I searched for years and found him Downwind, already well