A living wave of blood-hungry men swarmed into the stands and fell upon the already wavering ranks of defenders. The entire bowl was now a maelstrom of swirling bodies, legs and arms. Panic-stricken spectators, few of them armed, rose from their benches and rushed headlong for the exits, trammeling, pushing, fighting to gain the streets, to escape the raving horde of crazed demons.
And, seemingly everywhere at the same time, Tharn, Katon and Vulcar fought shoulder to shoulder, their knives rising and falling, their spears licking out to take lives and spread further the reign of terror they had fostered.
Twice, Tharn caught sight of Gorlat, blond hair finally disarranged, weaving among the tiers like a cat, his only weapon a long, thin knife. And as priest after priest sought futilely to keep that long blade from his throat, Tharn knew, now, why Vulcar had said few could equal that young man with such a weapon. How many died that day with throats slit by that knife, only Gorlat knew—and he was never to tell.
It had happened shortly after Tharn had caught his second glimpse of the steadily smiling youth. Gorlat had just made a kill, and as he stood erect, a thrown spear came from nowhere to catch him full in the chest. Gorlat had staggered back to sink into a sitting position on an empty bench. Dazedly he had raised a hand to wipe away the red stains of his own blood from that once spotless tunic—then slumped back and moved no more.
There were other men of Tharn's force who fell, never to rise again; but for each who died, five enemies went to join him. Bodies of slain priests were everywhere—draped across seats, hanging over the arena wall, lying in the aisles. Warriors loyal to Pryak had died in droves and lay glaring at the sky with sightless eyes.
At last there was none within the amphitheater other than the dead, the wounded, and the blood-splashed figures of the rebels who stood panting from their efforts, their eyes on Tharn and his two lieutenants.
Of those three, Vulcar alone had been wounded. An arrow had creased his shoulder close to his neck, and blood from the cut had stained one side of his chest a fast-darkening crimson. But his eyes were bright with satisfaction and his lips were curled in grim content.
"Urim would have enjoyed this!" he said, and his smile widened. "Now, on to the palace and the temple to clean out the rest of Pryak's men. That done, the city is ours!"
Katon bent and took up a stray spear. "Come, then," he remarked; "if we wait, they will have gotten over their panic and will be that much harder to rout a second time."
Tharn nodded agreement. "First, the palace; then we can invade the temple and take Pryak and his men."