Halfway through the fourth round, Blade took his first wound. An arrow raked along his ribs, leaving a bleeding red gouge. An inch deeper and it would have gone through muscles and blood vessels, slowing him disastrously. As it was, he could clench his teeth against the raw pain and continue to leap about as fast as his muscles and breath would let him.
Nugun was slowing even more. That he had not been badly hit yet was perhaps just good luck. Or perhaps the women knew that he was no longer such a challenging target. Although he was now almost lumbering about instead of leaping, Nugun still bore only two wounds.
The fourth round, the fifth. They had now been out here in the center of the arena, providing targets for Idrana's archers, for more than two hours. To Blade it seemed more like two days.
And then the sixth round started, and its fourth arrow plunged down out of the sky into Nugun's thigh. The Senar did not scream or shout or growl. His breath only hissed out between his teeth. He turned to Blade, and raised a hand in salute. Blade jumped aside from his own next arrow without taking his eyes off the Senar. A cold feeling was working inside him as he watched Nugun.
Then without a sound or a word, Nugun spun around and plunged toward the edge of the arena. He covered a quarter of the distance to the archers before they realized what he was doing. He covered another quarter before they could readjust their aim to a target running straight and fast across the sand. Nugun was halfway before the first arrow struck him. And even then it only tore through one arm. Nugun bellowed in rage, but did not stop, did not slow, did not even break his stride. If anything, he increased his pace. Blood from his wounded thigh pumped out, brightly visible to Blade in the center of the arena, but that also did not slow Nugun down.
Two more arrows struck him, one in the shoulder, one low in the back. Then he was too close to one side of the arena for the archers on the other side to fire at him without hitting their comrades. And the ones facing his charge were too unnerved to aim very well. Blade saw arrows flying wide by the dozens and had to step lively to avoid being hit by some that sailed out into the arena.
Only one more arrow struck Nugun, and that did not slow him down any more than the others had. Then he was at the edge of the arena, and the women were scattering to either side of him. They might have drawn their swords, but even from a hundred yards off Blade could see that they were too frightened.
They did not scatter fast enough. Nugun's arm swung out and down like a club, and a woman rolled in the dust and lay motionless. Another he smashed back against the wall with one blow, caving in her face with a second. Then he was up with Idrana, and Blade held his breath as Idrana's sword flashed. It leaped forward, driving low into Nugun's stomach. The Senar howled in agony, reeled, seemed about to double up. Idrana stepped back and motioned one of the other women to give the finishing blow.
The moment the woman was within reach, Nugun straightened up. His hands clutched the woman, lifting her off her feet, high over his head, then twisting her savagely. Like a broken doll she dropped to the sand, and Nugun dropped beside her, still writhing feebly. Another sword-thrust from Idrana ended his writhing.
Blade knelt on the sand, not risking the smallest move that the women might interpret as an attack. Nugun was gone, taking enemies with him as he had promised, and now Blade was alone. Alone to plan his escape as best he could-if the frightened and nervous women all around him did not simply let fly and drop him to the sand bristling with arrows.
How long he knelt there on the sand Blade never knew. But no arrows drove into his flesh or even whistled down near him. There was a vast silence throughout the whole arena. And then the silence was broken by an explosion of cheering.
Blade looked up. The entire Green section was on its feet, cheering and waving. They were not only waving their arms and their banners; they were waving handkerchiefs, scarves, or anything else white they could find. After a few moments, the cheering began to spread, and soon the whole arena was a mass of dancing white.
Blade kept his emotions under tight control. He recalled that in the Roman arena waving white was a request for mercy for the gladiators. He hoped it was the same here. But even if it were, he knew that there was more involved. The cheering and waving of the Greens had been too pat, too well timed. They had a place somewhere in Idrana's plans.
He realized that the archers were breaking out of their positions around the arena and coming toward him. Idrana was moving faster than the others, almost running across the sand, and reached him before the others did.
«Follow me, Blade,» she hissed. «Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. That Senar is dead and you can no longer do anything for him. But you can still be the man beside me as I rise to power in the city. Is that not better than lying dead on the sand?»
«It is.»
«Good,» she said, and then the other women were coming up. They swept Blade along as they ran toward the section of the arena stands where the two factions were. By the time the forty-odd survivors of Idrana's archers were gathered there, all the cheering had died.
Idrana stepped forward, lifting her bow in salute. In the front row of the Blue section, someone rose to her feet and bowed in return. In one swift, flowing motion, Idrana snatched an arrow from her quiver, nocked it, drew, and sent the arrow hurtling into the bowing woman. She doubled up and fell out of the stands onto the sand with a scream and a thud. Before she had struck the ground, all the rest of Idrana's archers had followed their leader's cue.
A hail of arrows whistled down into the Blue section.
Chapter 17
Immediate and total pandemonium.
The shrieks and screams that rose from the Blue section were echoed seconds later from all around the arena. The women in the Green section rose in a body. Some of them scurried for the exits, while others drew their swords and started scrambling toward the Blues. Elsewhere in the stands women sat as if turned to stone; still others were dropping down onto the sand. Were they coming in to attack Idrana's archers or join them?
Blade didn't know, and badly wanted to. He wanted even more badly to find some place well out of the battle that would certainly be raging within a few minutes. If it was a place that offered an escape route, even better. He began looking around the arena.
Meanwhile, Idrana's archers kept up their fire, pumping flight after flight of arrows into the Blue section. That section was becoming a mass of writhing bodies and blood now, although a few of the Blue warriors had unlimbered their own bows and were shooting back.
As Blade ducked an arrow screaming toward him, he saw six women in the dirty gray clothes of manual workers leap down from the stands. The one in the lead waved her arms frantically at Blade. Blade stiffened as he recognized Truja.
He didn't wait. Shoving two of the archers aside, he dashed toward the approaching women. Truja leaped into the air in delight, then waved her arm at one of the open doors under the stands.
Blade and the women sprinted toward the door. As they ran, Blade heard a shriek of rage behind him-Idrana had seen her chosen male getting away. Blade tried to keep his head as low as possible.
But Idrana could not afford to waste arrows needed for the Blues on a fleeing male. Only a single flight came whistling over. All were aimed at Blade; none of them hit him, but by ill chance two struck one of Truja's women in the back. She screamed and staggered, then went down. Blade bent to help her up, but Truja stepped in front of him.