Next, Vulcar jerked a thumb toward a young, very handsome warrior whose tunic was amazingly clean and spotless in contrast to those of the others. His thick blond hair was neatly pushed back from a high, rounded forehead.
"He is Gorlat," said Vulcar. "He does not like to fight, but will do so to keep from being killed. Few men are his equal with a knife."
The blond young man smiled but said nothing.
"Brosan, here, you already know."
Tharn nodded. He remembered that pock-marked face, as well as the unconcerned grin exposing yellowed, broken teeth.
The cave-man came directly to the point.
"We are supposed to die in the arena for the amusement of Pryak and the people of Sephar. To me, that seems wrong. It would be better if Pryak and his priests were the ones to die.
"I think that can be arranged. Listen, and when I am done, let me know what you think of my plan."
They listened closely and without interrupting. And while he awaited their reaction, they looked at one another in silence, while broad smiles began to steal across their faces. Even Rotark's lips twitched in approval.