He steadied himself and rose, stepping out into the full sight of the royal box. The Martians ranged on either side watched him with interest, turning their attention momentarily from the orgy of the beasts of Shanga.
Winters said, "I'm here, Kor Hal."
The man of Barrakesh looked at him and laughed. "Why fight it, Winters? You can't keep away from Shanga."
Winters asked, "Where is your high priestess? Has she wearied of the sport?"
Kor Hal shrugged. "Who knows the mind of the Lady Fand? She comes and goes as she will." He leaned forward. "Go on, Winters! The fire of Shanga is waiting. Look how he sweats there, trying to be a man! Go on, apeling—join your brothers!"
The shrill jeering laughter of the Martians fell upon Winters with the sharpness of spears.
He stood there, naked in the sunlight, his head held stubbornly erect, and he did not move. He could not control the trembling of his limbs nor the harshness of his breathing. The sweat ran in his eyes and blinded him, and the fire of Shanga danced on the writhing bodies, and he thought he would go mad with torment, but he stood there and would not move. He thought he was going to die, but he would not move.
And the Martians watched.
Kor Hal said, "Tomorrow, then. Perhaps the next day—but you'll go, Earthman."
Winters knew that he would. He could not go through this again. If he were still alive in the garden of Shanga the next time the gong sounded, he would go with his brothers.