“Tsst, tsst,” clucked the other, sympathetically. “That is bad.”
“A big fine fellow, six feet tall, an athlete,” said Mr. Hampton, thinking of Bob’s fine appearance. “Well, I imagine he mussed up a number before they took him.”
“An athlete?” queried the other, alertly. “And they did not shoot but took him prisoner. Monsieur, that is very bad, very bad, indeed.”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“I have been here ten days,” said the other thoughtfully, seeming to disregard Mr. Hampton’s question. “Yes, the Sacrificial Games, them, are five weeks, no, six weeks, distant.”
Again Mr. Hampton demanded, this time a sharper note of anxiety in his voice, what the Athensian sought to convey.
“Just this, monsieur,” said the other; “that your son is destined to take part in the annual Sacrificial Games of my people. Every year twelve of the strongest men from the outside world who can be found, either taken prisoner by us in battle or raid, or bought in the slave mart of Gao, are pitted in single combat against an equal number of Athensian youth. The victor in each contest is then pitted against another victor. Thus the competition is narrowed until only two remain. These combats are to the death. The winner is worshipped one whole year as the embodiment of the God of Strength. At the time of the annual Sacrificial Games of the succeeding year he is killed as a sacrifice.”
“Good heaven,” said Mr. Hampton. “And is that the reason for this purchase by your people of the strongest slaves in Gao, of which I have heard?”
“Monsieur has heard?” queried the other, surprisedly. “Yes, that is the reason.”
“I can’t stay any longer to talk to you,” said Mr. Hampton, emphatically, springing to his feet. “I must set out at once to rescue Bob.”