He glowered at me. "Anybody who killed the champ, by accident or otherwise, in an exhibition match, would have a nice reputation for himself. You might go into the arena with the idea of not killing your opponent, but would he?"
I shrugged uncomfortably. "I can take care of myself—"
"Look," he shrilled, "let's go back over a little recent arena history. Less than a year ago you were a second-rater fighting at the state fairs. You went to Mars to watch the Interplanetary Meet which is held once every decade to decide interplanetary affairs. The ship carrying Terra's gladiators was lost in space and you were tossed in as an emergency replacement."
"Sure," I said. "The first time a Terran ever won an Interplanetary Meet."
He whistled disgustedly, "The first time a Terran ever lasted more than five minutes."
"Well?" I said proudly.
He pointed a few fingers at me. "BY A FLUKE! By using a lot of ideas you got from that quotation spouting girl friend of yours, you won by a fluke! Among other things, you played possum, as you called it, under a heap of corpses until all the others were either killed or wounded and then got up and finished them off. The fans throughout the system are still screaming about that."
"Well, I'm still champ," I said truculently. "I licked them once, and...."
"Aw, shut up," he shrilled. He whirled about and started for the door. "I'll see what I can do."