Was it his imagination that Awineth was smiling because she was pleased that he had won, or did she always smile at the winner?
Hadon slept heavily that night while torches flared along the walls of the great hall and guards prowled softly among them. In the past, contestants had sometimes done things to their fellow competitors—poisoned them, released venomous snakes on their beds, or poured itching powder on the bedclothes so the contestant would lose his vital sleep. The guards were here to ensure that nothing like that happened. And outside, more guards watched, because relatives and friends of the Gamesters had been known to attempt similar deeds. The guards themselves were watched by others, because guards had also been bribed.
Thus Hadon slept deeply, knowing that nobody—such as Hewako, for instance—was going to try to cripple or kill him.
The next day was a day of rest, during which he worked out very lightly. The day after, the Games were resumed with the broad and high jumps. In these, the contestants knew fairly well beforehand what the results would be. They had watched each other during the workouts. But the information had been kept from the crowds, or at least was supposed to be kept. Actually, the big gamblers had been spying and had bribed the officials for advance information, and they were now making bets with the suckers. The big money was on Gobhu in the broad jump, with, significantly, none on Hadon or Kwobis as second-place winners. These two had jumped equal distances so many times during practice that the professional gamblers did not care to chance their money on the second place winners.
In the high jump, those in the know were backing Hadon of Opar, with Wiqa of Qaarquth in second place.
However, man proposes and Kho disposes.
The wind was tricky that day, with intervals of calm and sudden gusts. Each contestant was given only one broad jump, and so was at the mercy of chance. It was Gobhu’s bad luck that the wind was against him but with Hadon and Kwobis. He came in third, with Kwobis first and Hadon an inch behind him.
In the high jump, each man could stay in as long as he did not knock the bar off. The bar was set at five feet ten inches, however, and the contest quickly became one among Hadon, Wiqa, Taro, and an exceptionally long-legged man from Qethruth, Kwona. At six feet four inches, Hadon was the only one to clear the bar. His feat was remarkable, considering that the jumpers were barefoot. The record was six feet five, and the betting became furious in the stands while the bar was set at that height. Hadon waited for the wind to die down and then made the greatest effort in his life. He lightly touched the bar as he rolled over, but it remained on its pegs. Amid cheering from the winners of bets and groaning from the losers, he made ready for an attempt to beat the record. The wind suddenly blew again, but this time it was behind him. He ran at the bar, gauging his steps so he could leap ahead of the usual mark; otherwise the wind might carry him too swiftly and against the bar. He knew as he left the ground that he was going to make it—Kho was with him—and though he again touched the bar, and it seemed that it would quiver off, it did not fall. And so he got a double golden crown that afternoon, one tier for being the winner, one tier for breaking the record.
The following day was one of rest for the youths. The next day they marched out behind a band to the lake, while good-looking girls strewed their path with petals. They found the stands packed with people, most of whom had made heavy bets, whether they could afford it or not. The first event was one of endurance, a swim across and back the quarter-mile-broad lake. All eighty-eight Gamesters lined up, and when the starter’s trumpet blared, they dived into the water. Hadon trailed along behind half of the swimmers. He knew his own pace, and he did not want to burn himself out. At the other end he had passed many and had only about ten ahead of him. After touching the baton of a referee on the dock, he turned and began to increase speed. Halfway back, he was a little behind Taro, a youth from Dythbeth, Wiqa, Gobhu, and Khukly. The latter was from the pile city of Rebha and had spent more time in the water than anybody else. He had heavy shoulders and exceptionally large hands and feet and was the one Hadon had worried most about. Now Khukly, deciding to turn on the power, drew even with the others and then passed them. Hadon felt as if his lungs were burning, and his arms and legs were becoming as stiff as driftwood. This was the time when the spirit had to be strong enough to overcome the body’s pain, and he urged himself on, though it would have been so pleasant to quit. He passed all but Khukly and drew even with him and lashed himself on, on, on. The crowd’s roar mingled with the roar of his blood in his head. And, suddenly, it was over and he was panting like a cornered boar and so weak that he almost accepted an offer to pull him out. Pride prevented him, and he hauled himself up onto the dock and sat down until he could recover his wind. Well, he had almost made it. If the distance had been about twenty yards more, he could have passed Khukly. His endurance was greater. But the lake was not longer, and so he had been beat out by half an arm’s length.
Two hours later, the first of the youths climbed up a seventy-foot ladder to a narrow platform hanging over the middle of the lake. He wore a bonnet of fish-eagle feathers and his face was painted to resemble a fish-eagle’s. Around his ankles were fish-eagle feathers. He poised on top of the platform while the crowd fell silent. When the trumpet blared, he soared outward. The crowd roared as he cut the water cleanly, though the bonnet and the ankle feathers were torn off.
The high dive was a feature of the Games founded on an ancient Fish-Eagle Totem ceremony, when the courage of youths during the rites of passage was tested. The betting was the heaviest so far, though it was not on the winner, since there was no gold crown for this. The money was down on whether the diver would survive without injury, and since no practice dives had been made, no one knew what the ability of the individual divers was.
The third youth hit the water with his body turned and leaning outward. The crack of flesh against the surface was heard by everybody, and the youth did not come up at once. A boat put out from an anchored raft nearby, and divers went down after him. They pulled up a corpse.
As the sixth youth fell, he was struck by the wind, still tricky, and he hit the water sideways. He wasn’t killed, but broken ribs and injured muscles had eliminated him.
When Hadon’s turn came, he waited for a few seconds after the trumpet call. Many in the crowd booed him because they thought he had lost his nerve. But he was waiting for the wind to pass, and when it did, he jumped. He was just in time to avoid the second trumpet call, which, if sounded, would have disqualified him for the rest of the Games. And he would have been open to accusations of cowardice.
He entered the water cleanly, but nevertheless came up slightly stunned. Years of practice had paid off.
At the end of the contest, the crowd went away pleased, except for the lovers, relatives, and friends of the dead and the injured, of course. Five were among the latter and four among the former.
The next day, the dead were buried in their earth tombs, and pointed marble monoliths were erected over the mounds. The contestants strewed white petals over the tombs, and the priestesses sacrificed bulls so the ghosts could drink blood and go happy to the garden that Kho reserved for heroes.
The next three days were devoted to boxing. The youths’ fists were fitted with thin gloves that had a heavy layer of resin-impregnated cloth over the knuckles. In the preliminaries, they were matched according to height, so Hadon found himself facing Wiqa. Hadon had great confidence in his pugilistic ability, though he dreaded the wrestling, which would come after the boxing. Wiqa, he quickly found, was also confident, and with good reason. Hadon caught a right to the jaw and went down. He waited until the referee had counted to eleven and then rose. Less cocky, he boxed more cautiously. Presently, after an exchange of hard blows, he shot his long left arm up through Wiqa’s guard. Wiqa tried bravely to get up but just could not make it.
The odds went up on Hadon when the crowd saw his whiplash left.
Hadon fought twice more that day and won, but that night he nursed a
black right eye, sore ribs, and a sore jaw.
The next afternoon, his first opponent was Hoseko, a short, powerful man from Bawaku. Hoseko was outreached by Hadon, but his thick body and heavy-boned head absorbed punishment as a bull elephant absorbed darts. Hadon ripped his face with a series of slashing blows, but Hoseko, blinking through the blood, kept on boring in. And, suddenly, a sledgehammer left caught Hadon on the jaw, and his legs crumpled as if they were made of papyrus. He got to his hands and knees after hearing the referee, unaccountably far away, count to seven. By eleven, he was on his feet again.
Hoseko advanced slowly, chin down, shoulders hunched, his left fist out, his right eye blinded with blood. Hadon, his legs still crumply but slowly regaining their power, circled Hoseko. Hoseko kept turning and advancing. The crowd booed Hadon, and the referee cracked his whip against the ground. Fight! Or feel the whip against your back the next time!
Hadon continued circling, jabbing at Hoseko but not connecting. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the referee lift the whip handle again. The hippopotamus hide traveled back, back, over the referee and behind him, the arm jerked forward, the tip sped toward Hadon; timing himself exactly right, he ducked. The tip whistled above him, going inward past him, and it cracked against Hoseko’s face. Hoseko cried out with pain and surprise; the referee shouted with surprise; the crowd roared protest. But Hadon had taken advantage of Hoseko’s confusion and the dropping of his guard. Hadon’s left came from far out and ended against Hoseko’s sturdy chin.
Hoseko’s eyes crossed; he staggered backward, his hands falling down to his sides; Hadon buried his left in Hoseko’s solar plexus; Hoseko fell down doubled up onto the ground and was there long after the count of twelve.
There was a delay. The referee summoned the two judges, and they talked for a few minutes, gesticulating and looking frequently at Hadon. The crowd, becoming restless, booed the three men. Hadon, panting and sweating, stood unmoving. He knew that the three were discussing the admissibility of his trick. Was it valid for a boxer deliberately to cause the referee to use his whip, dodge it, and cause it to strike his opponent?
The referee and the judges were in a difficult situation. This had never happened before. If they ruled that Hadon’s trick was admissible, then they could expect other contestants to try it. Not that it would be easy to pull it off again. Every referee would be on his guard from now on. If anybody was foolish enough to try it again, he’d get his back laid open to the shoulderbones.
Possibly it was this that decided the judges. The referee, scowling, lifted Hadon’s right arm. The crowd cheered and then laughed as rubbery-legged Hoseko was carried off between two officials.
Hadon’s second fight late that afternoon ended when Hadon sank a whiplash left to his opponent’s solar plexus. He had taken so much punishment, however, that he walked off in a daze. Taro grabbed him, sat him down, washed and bandaged his facial cuts, and dabbed cold water on his face.
Hadon opened his eyes and became aware that an old man, one of the trainers, was standing by him.
“Why are you staring at me?” Hadon said.
“You got a lot to learn yet,” the old man said. “But I haven’t seen a left like that since the great Sekoko. He was before your time, kid, but you must have heard of him. He was boxing champion of the empire for fifteen years. He was tall and slim like you, and he had long arms like you and a left that murdered them. I’ll tell you what, kid. If you get eliminated on points, don’t feel bad. I can make you champ in a few years. You’ll be rich and famous.”
“No, thanks,” Hadon said.
The old man looked disappointed. “Why not?”
“I’ve seen too many punch-drunk boxers. Besides, I intend to be king.”
“Well, if you don’t make it, and you’re still alive and healthy, see me. My name’s Wakewa.”
On the third day, Taro was carried off senseless in his second match. But he had enough points to stay in the Games. Hewako had knocked out his opponent’s front teeth and smashed his nose in two minutes, and now he rested. As Hadon walked by him toward the circle, Hewako called out, “I hope you win this one, floorsweeper’s son! Then I’ll have the pleasure of mangling that pretty face before I break your jaw and eliminate you from the Games and send you in disgrace back to Opar!”
“The jackal yaps; the lion kills,” Hadon said coolly. But he felt that there was an excellent chance that Hewako might be able to make good his boasts. It was plain that he expected Hadon to be better than he in the final contest, the sword fight. Hadon had better qualifications—height, arm length, and most important, many more hours of practice with the tenu. Hewako had also worked out from childhood with the wooden sword; there wasn’t a healthy child in the empire, male or female, who didn’t. But Hewako had known that his talents were in boxing and wrestling, and so he had devoted more hours to them than to the tenu. He wasn’t a professional boxer by any means, but he was closer to being one than Hadon.
It was obvious that he hoped to so cripple Hadon that he would not be able to continue competing. Whether or not he did cripple or perhaps even kill him, he had to win the match on the following day. Either Hadon or Kagaga would win today’s match, but whoever won, Hewako had to win tomorrow. He did not have enough points to stay in unless he did so. But if he won the boxing and then went on to win the wrestling, he would have enough points to stay right in to the finish. Provided, that is, he wasn’t crippled or killed before then.
Hewako was hoping that Hadon would win today so he, Hewako, could eliminate him the hard way tomorrow. Hadon could afford to lose today, since he had accumulated so many points. And this was why the man who hated him so much was rooting for him.
Kagaga meant Raven, and Kagaga certainly looked like one. He was a tall, dark, stoop-shouldered, long-nosed youth from some small town above the Klemqaba coasts. He had a croaking voice and a pessimistic temperament. But he was a very good boxer. And he charged Hadon as if he meant to batter him to a pulp within a few minutes. Hadon retreated, but he danced in now and then and flicked at Kagaga’s face or hammered his arms enough to keep the referee from using his whip on him. Kagaga called to him to stand still and fight like a hero, not a wild dog. Hadon merely grinned and back-pedaled or sometimes suddenly advanced to jab Kagaga lightly on the face before retreating again. The crowd booed, and Hewako bellowed accusations of cowardice. Hadon paid attention only to the referee and to Kagaga. He kept dancing in and out, using his longer reach to thump Kagaga, not too hard, on his forehead or nose. And, suddenly, Kagaga’s right eyebrow was cut and blood was streaming down into his eye.
“Now, I suppose, you’re going to run around him while he bleeds to death,” the referee said. “Get in there and fight, or I’ll flay you.”
Hadon had hoped to drag the fight out until both he and Kagaga were too tired to lift their arms. Then Kagaga would win on points because of his aggressiveness, or Hadon would lose because of his lack of aggressiveness. Neither would be badly hurt, and Hadon could rest tomorrow while Hewako wore himself out on Kagaga. But this was not to be. Hewako might get his chance to cripple him tomorrow after all.
Reluctantly, Hadon attacked. There was a fierce exchange of body blows, thudding of fists, gruntings, and then one of Kagaga’s fists slipped through, rocked Hadon’s head back, and Hadon fell to his knees. He tried to get back up—no one was going to say that he had deliberately taken a dive—but he could not make it. He heard the referee count to twelve, and a few seconds later he rose shakily to his feet. Kagaga was looking dazed at his sudden good luck, and Hewako’s face was as red as a baboon’s bottom.
A minute later, Hadon, walking unaided to the showers, grinned at Hewako. Hewako’s face became as red as if the baboon had been sitting on a hot rock.
The single event the next day was the match for the boxer’s golden crown. Kagaga adopted his opponent’s tactics of the day before, since he knew he could not last long in a toe-to-toe slugging fest. Unlike Hadon, he failed to gauge the limit
s to the referee’s patience. The whip caught him by surprise across the back; he jumped forward into Hewako’s fist; he fell senseless with half his front teeth knocked out.
After the ceremony, Hewako approached Hadon and said, “Day after tomorrow the wrestling starts. I didn’t get a chance at you in the boxing, but you’re not going to get away from me in the wrestling. And when I get my hands on you, I’m going to break your back.”
“If you do, the referee will knock you silly with his club, and you might be eliminated,” Hadon said. “Of course, I don’t blame you for your eagerness to get rid of me now. You know that if we ever face each other with swords, you’re a dead man. Though I may just chop off your nose to teach you a lesson.”
Hewako spat at Hadon, though he was careful not to hit him, and he strutted away wearing his gold crown.
“Why does that man hate you so?” Taro said.
“I don’t know,” Hadon said. “I never did anything to offend him, not in the beginning, anyway. It’s just one of those things, where you dislike a person for reasons you don’t know.”
Hewako never got his hands on Hadon. Hadon was eliminated after two victories by a bull buffalo of a youth from Mineqo. Hewako looked disappointed; Hadon merely grinned at him, knowing that that would infuriate him. And Hewako almost lost the golden crown. During his last contest, he grabbed his opponent’s fingers and tried to twist them back. This was illegal, and so the referee slammed his billy against the back of Hewako’s head. He lost his senses long enough for his opponent to pin him, and Hewako came close to losing the third fall. Hadon, standing on the side, grinned again at Hewako when he winced as the gold crown was placed on his head.
He sobered up when he thought about the next seven events. Except for the last, no golden crown would be awarded. A man either survived or he didn’t. From now on, there would be no referees to ensure that the rules were abided by.
And there was Taro. What if the final contestants were Taro and he? One would have to kill the other, and he certainly did not intend to be the corpse. The thought of slaying Taro depressed him. As he had done several times, he wondered why he had ever entered.