If Cleitar was killed this day, then his ord-kaidur Rapa opponent would be one step nearer to being full kaidur.
I had little fear for Cleitar. He was of the manner of man to whom the arena had come as the real purpose of his life.
Between Tilly and Oby I was accoutered in a clean white linen shirt, a padded vest, a corselet of gilden iron, shoulder wings — scarcely pauldrons — golden greaves, and I buckled up two crossed lesten-hide belts over the scarlet breechclout. Often Nath the Arm would glare at that scarlet breechclout, and say: “But, Drak the Sword! By Kaidun, but the color is overly scarlet for the ruby drang!”
And I would say: “It has brought the ruby drang fair pickings, oh Nath the Arm! Would you offend, perhaps, the ruby heart of Beng Thrax?”
“By the glass eye and brass s
