Bontarc, King of Nadia, asked his royal guest, "You like the Games so far?"
They sat, with Princess Volna, in the box of honor at the Amphitheater of Nadia. "Aye, I like them," Retoc said slowly. "But sire, I would like them much better if they were not to commemorate the passing of your noble brother, the Prince Jlomec."
Bontarc nodded his head in gratitude. "That was well-spoken, Retoc," he said.
Retoc went on: "Have you any idea who killed him so treacherously? Jlomec was not a fighting man."
"None," Bontarc admitted. He missed entirely the smile which passed between Retoc and Princess Volna.
"Well," Bontarc said after a while, "if you will excuse me, I must go down below to prepare for the dueling. Under the circumstances I'm hardly inclined to participate in the Games, but my people expect it of me."
"Yes, brother," Volna said softly. "They do. Oh, they do."
And Bontarc went. Retoc looked at Volna. "I'd best get ready myself," he said. Volna nodded her lovely head.
A blood-lusting animal cry welled up from a hundred thousand throats as the gladiators of Nadia marched out across the sands of the amphitheater to do battle with the fierce snow-sloths of the Plains of Ice.