Thieves World 4 – Storm Season by Asprin, Robert

years as a gladiator in the Rankan capital had included many sleepless nights

before arena days, or Blood Days as those in the trade called them; he knew the

darkness intimately. Each phase of the night had its own shade, its own texture

and he knew them all … even with his eyes blurred with sweat and tears of pain

as they were now.

Too long. Trouble.

The twin thoughts danced in his mind as he tried to focus his concentration, to

formulate a contingency plan. If he was right; if he was now alone and wounded

what could he do? He couldn’t travel far pulling himself painfully along the

ground with his hands. If he encountered one of those who hunted him, or even a

random townsperson with an old grudge, he couldn’t defend himself. To fight, a

man needed legs, working legs. He knew that from the arena,

too. The oft-repeated words of his arena instructor sprang into his mind,

crowding out all other thoughts.

“Move! Move, damn you! Retreat. Attack. Retreat. Circle. Move! If you don’t

move, you’re dead. If I don’t kill you myself, your next opponent will! Move! A

still fighter’s a dead fighter. Now move! move?”

A half-heard sound wrenched Jubal’s fevered thoughts back to the present. His

hand dropped to his dagger hilt as he strained to penetrate the darkness with

his erratic vision.

Saliman?

Perhaps. But in his current state he couldn’t take any chances. As his ally knew

his exact location, the information could have been forced out of him by Jubal’s

enemies. Sitting propped against a tree with his legs stretched out before him,