"Cleave my skull! but I bet he hates that," commented one of the guard.
"He'd give a right eye to be a lion man," said Phobeg.
"It's too late now," observed the warrior; "he should have picked his parents more carefully."
"He claims that he did pick a noble father," explained Phobeg, "but his mother denies it."
Another warrior laughed. "Son of a noble!" he scoffed. "I know old Tibdos, the husband of Erot's mother; I know him well. He cleans the lions' cages at the breeding farm. Erot looks just like him. Son of a noble!"
"Son of a she-jackal!" growled Phobeg. "I wish I were to fight him today instead of this poor fellow."
"You feel sorry for him?" inquired a warrior.
"Yes, in a way," replied Phobeg. "He is not a half bad fellow, and I have nothing against him except that he is stupid. He cannot seem to understand the simplest things. He does not seem to realize that I am the strongest man in Cathne and that I am going to kill him this afternoon, unless they get through with the other events early and I kill him this morning."
"How do you know that he does not realize these things?" demanded the warrior.
"Because he has never given any sign that he is very much afraid."