"Of course," continued Ebert, raising his voice so that it carried to the giant, "brute strength alone can never win. Intelligence and discipline will triumph every time. It's nature's law, my friends!"
Axel saw the giant's eyes flare, his muscles tense. He had heard and understood.
He leaned close to Ebert. "I'll wager a hundred yuan that the big man wins."
"Okay. I'll give you five to one."
"You're sure?"
Ebert laughed arrogantly. "Make it two fifty, and I'll give you ten to one!"
Axel met his eyes a moment, conscious of the challenge in them, then gave the barest nod.
Just then, however, the fight marshal stepped out into the combat circle and the crowd hushed expectantly.
Axel felt his stomach tighten, his heart begin to thud against his rib cage. This was it, then. To the death.
The two men rose and approached the center of the circle. There they knelt and bowed to each other—a full k'o t'ou, heads almost touching. Then they sat back on their haunches, waiting, while the marshal gave their names and read the rules.
The rules were short and simple. One. No weapons were permitted but their own bodies. Two. So long as the fight continued they were to keep within the combat circle. Three. Once begun the fight could not be called off. It ended only when one of them was dead.
Axel could feel the tension in his bones. All about him rose a buzz of excitement; an awful, illicit excitement that grew and grew as the moments passed and the two men faced each other at the circle's center, waiting for the signal.
Then, suddenly, it began.
The small man flipped backward like a tumbler, then stopped, perfectly, almost unnaturally still, half crouched on his toes, his arms raised to shoulder level, forearms bent inward, his fingers splayed.
Karr had not moved. He was watching Hwa carefully, his eyes half lidded. Then, very slowly, he eased back off his knees, drawing himself up to his full height, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet.
Hwa feinted to the left, then sprang at Karr—bounding forward, then flipping his body up and sideways, one foot kicking out at the big man's groin.
There was a roar from the crowd. For a moment Karr was down. Then he was up again, his feet thudding against the canvas flooring, a hiss of pain escaping through his teeth. Hwa had missed his target. His foot had struck Karr on the upper thigh. The skin there was a vivid red, darkening by the moment, and as Karr circled he rubbed at the spot tenderly, almost absentmindedly.
"He's too slow!" Ebert hissed in his ear.
"Wait!" Axel answered. He had been watching Hwa's face; had seen the surprise there when the big man had bounced up again. Hwa had thought he had him. He really had.
Hwa crouched again, in the classic ch'i ma shih, the riding-horse stance, moving side to side from the hips, like a snake. Then he moved his feet in a little dance. From the tiers on all sides came a loud, low shuddering as the crowd banged their feet in applause. A moment later Hwa attacked again.
This time he ran at Karr; a strange, weaving run that ended in a leap. At the same time he let out a bloodcurdling scream.
But Karr had moved.
At the instant Hwa leapt, Karr ducked, rolled, and turned. It was a movement that was so quick and so unexpected from such a big man that a huge gasp of surprise went up from the crowd. As Hwa turned to face him again, Karr was smiling.
Surprise turned to rage. Hwa attacked a third time; whirling his body about, thrusting and kicking, his arms and legs moving in a blur. But each blow was met and countered. For once Hwa's speed was matched. And when he withdrew he was breathing heavily, his face red from exertion.
The crowd roared its appreciation.
"It's luck!" yelled Ebert next to him. "You see if it isn't! The Han will have him soon enough!"
Axel made to answer, but at that moment Hwa launched himself again, flipping over once, twice, like an acrobat, then feinting to left, right, then left again. He was only an arm's length from Karr when the big man acted. But this time Karr moved a fraction too slowly. When Hwa kicked Karr was off balance, striking at a place where Hwa had been but was no longer.
The crack of bone could be heard to the back of the tiers.
Karr groaned audibly and went down.
Hwa struck again at once, his foot kicking out once, twice, forcing the broken arm back at an impossible angle.
Axel gasped, feeling sick. Beside him Ebert gave a yell of triumph.
Hwa moved back, getting his breath, a look of satisfaction replacing the frown of concentration he had worn until that moment.
The Pit was tense, silent, waiting for him to end it. "Shau," he said softly, looking at Karr. Burn.
Karr was down on one knee, his face a mask of pain. Slowly, very slowly, he got up, supporting his shattered arm with his left hand. For a moment he seemed to look inside himself. His breathing slowed and his face cleared. With a grimace of pure agony he wrenched his arm back, the click of bone against bone the only sound in the whole arena. For a moment he swayed, then seemed to gain control of himself again and tucked the useless hand into the cloth belt at his waist, securing it.
"Come," he said, lifting his chin in challenge to the smaller man. "Jt isn't over yet."
The words were like a goad. Hwa exploded, twirling and somersaulting, kicking and punching in a furious rain of blows that went on for minutes. But Karr was up to the challenge. With his good arm and both legs he parried everything Hwa threw at him, weaving and ducking and turning with a speed and agility that surprised everyone. It seemed impossible for a man so big to move his weight so quickly, so subtly.
But Axel, watching, saw how much it cost him—saw, beneath the mask of outward calm, the agony as Karr flipped and jumped and rolled, avoiding the constant flood of blows. Saw it in his eyes, in the faintest movement at the corners of his mouth. Watched until it seemed impossible that Karr could take any more.
And then, just as Hwa was drawing off, Kan: counterattacked for the first time.
Hwa moved back, his full weight resting momentarily— perhaps, for the only time during the contest—on his back foot, in hou shih, the monkey stance. And as he moved back, so Karr rolled forward, pushing up off the floor with his good left arm, his wrist straining and flexing, the whole weight of his huge frame thrust forward into Hwa.
He caught Hwa totally off balance, his legs wrapping about the small man's neck, his huge weight driving him down into the canvas.
For an instant there was silence. Then, as the big man rolled over, there was a groan of pain. Karr sat up, clutching his arm, his face rent with pain. But Hwa was dead. He lay there next to Karr, pale, unmoving, his back, his neck, broken, the back of his skull crushed by the impact of his fall.
Axel let out a shivering breath. Beside him Ebert was suddenly very quiet. On all sides the Pit was in uproar.
"Magnificent!" Fest yelled into Axel's ear. "They were giving odds of thirty-five to one! It's the biggest upset in five years, so my friend here says!" But Axel was barely listening. He was watching Karr, filled with admiration and respect for the big man.
"He was magnificent," Axel said softly, turning to look at Ebert.
"He-was lucky!" For a second or two Ebert glowered back at him. Then he laughed dismissively and dug something out of his tunic pocket and handed it across to Haavikko.
"It's only money, eh?"
Axel looked down at the thick square of plastic in his hand. It was a secure-image holo-chip. A bearer credit for 2,500 yuan. Axel looked up, surprised, then remembered the wager. Two fifty at ten to one. It was more than six months' salary, but Ebert had treated it as nothing. But then, why not? To him it was pocket money.