The claws to his face alerted Larry for the blow to the heart; he stepped back just enough to avoid being really hurt. But the Dornellian’s talons had raked his forehead, cutting in deeply. Blood was pouring down over his eyes.
He took a quick look around the bar. The customers were gathered in a ring and were watching the contest wide-eyed, as if they were in fifty-credit ringside seats.
The Dornellian still looked relatively unscratched, while Larry knew he looked as though he’d rolled over a barbed-wire fence. But in spite of the blood, Larry had finally gotten the measure of his opponent. The eight-foot giant weighed close to five hundred pounds; his mass was too great for him to be able to handle his body rapidly, no matter how fast his reflexes were.
Larry moved in again. He planted a hard right directly in the giant’s throat—there had to be nerves there. The Dornellian gagged and dropped his head. Larry smiled and slammed his fist into the giant’s rib cage, doubling him up even more. He could almost hear the crowd cheering now as he moved in for the kill.
He sucked in his breath and lifted one from the floor. His right fist came up from his knees, gaining speed as it rose. Like a hammer, it crashed into the hairy jaw of the Dornellian, and Larry could feel bone splintering against his knuckles.
Like an oak with rotten roots, the great Dornellian toppled to the floor. He landed with a crash that seemed to shake the building.
Larry stood over the fallen giant for a moment, catching his breath, wondering when the referee was going to start the count. Then he realized there wasn’t going to be any count. There wasn’t any referee.
His arms were quivering, and his face was dripping with blood. He turned away, mopping his face clean, and started to pick up his unfinished beer when the wailing of sirens echoed through the bar.
Police! Someone had called the Dornellian police!
The Arcturian spider-man sidled up to him. “Well done, Earthman,” he said in his whispering voice. “Come with me; I have a car outside.” Without another word, the Arcturian scuttled toward the door.
Larry paused for a fraction of a second before making up his mind. As well trust the Arcturian as anyone; if the police caught him, his life wouldn’t be worth a counterfeit credit.
No one tried to atop him as he ran out the door.
The Arcturian’s car was waiting just outside. Larry climbed in, and the spider-man slammed one of his many feet down on the accelerator. The car shot off into the night, its turboelectric engine humming smoothly.
“Well, Earthman,” said the grating, whispering voice, “You made hash out of the Dornellian. Frankly, I was surprised.”
“So was I,” Larry said. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to run away. All they’ll have to do is pick me up at my hotel.”
The Arcturian chuckled dryly. “No. I don’t think anyone recognized you. Don’t forget that all Earthmen look alike to other beings. The only reason I knew who you were is that I’m a fan of yours. I was glad to see you beat that Dornellian, believe me.”
“Thanks,” Larry said. “But it’s not going to do me any good when I get into the ring against Fornax Kedrin. If an ordinary Dornellian citizen puts up a fight like that, what am I going to do against a professional boxer?”
The Arcturian laughed again, “just get in there and fight, Filmore. You can handle him. I’m sure you can.”
The car pulled up before the hotel where Larry and his manager were staying, and Larry got out. The Arcturian waved to him and drove off.
Wearily, Larry dragged himself inside and into the elevator.
“Seventeen, please.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Filmore,” said the Dornellian elevator boy.
He pushed open the door to his room and dropped on the bed, dead tired. He didn’t dare look in the mirror; he was afraid to see what a mess the Dornellian had made out of his face, which hadn’t been any too neat before.
“Blackmer?” he called.
There was no answer. The manager was not around. Larry got up, looked bleary-eyed into the other room, and, seeing no one, dropped off into a deep sleep. His, last thought before he blacked out was that he’d get into the ring and do his best. He’d already beaten one Dornellian; how tough could Fornax Kedrin be? And what did it matter anyway? He was bound to get killed sooner or later anyway. That was the unspoken assumption every fighter operated under.
When he awoke the following morning, he didn’t feel quite so certain about things. The brawl the night before had taken a terrific toll on his nervous system, and he knew that he’d be butchered if he stepped into the ring with the Dornellian champ. He was in no condition to fight.
“Blackmer? You here?”
The manager’s bed had been slept in, but there was no sign of him. Larry groped for the house phone, grabbed it, spoke into it. “Do you know where Mr. Blackmer is?”
“He’s in the bar, sir,” said the switchboard boy. “Do you want me to call him for you?”
“Yes, please.”
A moment later, Larry heard the manager’s harsh voice. “Blackmer here. Who’s calling?”
“This is Larry. I’m ready for that fight, Blackmer,” he said, hoping he’d have the strength to go through with it. “And after I get through with the Dornellian, I’m going to knock your teeth in. This is my last fight for you.”
“Now Larry,” Blackmer said. “Don’t be hasty. I—”
“Shut up! We’re quits! I may get killed in that ring, but I’ll fight just this once and—”
“What? Haven’t you heard? The fight’s off!”
Larry blinked in astonishment. “How would I have heard?”
“I thought the news was all over. That’s why I didn’t bother to wake you. Fornax Kedrin is in the hospital. He got his jaw broken in a bar brawl last night. Nobody knows who did it. But I got another bout lined up on Domerang VI with—”
“Skip it,” Larry said. “I’ll discuss it with you some other time.”
Larry slowly dropped the receiver back on the hook. He grinned. And then he began to laugh.