"What is the object of this assembly?" I asked him. "Are we to
fight for the edification of the First Born, or is it something
worse than that?"
"It is a part of the monthly rites of Issus," he replied, "in
which black men wash the sins from their souls in the blood of men
from the outer world. If, perchance, the black is killed, it is
evidence of his disloyalty to Issus--the unpardonable sin. If he
lives through the contest he is held acquitted of the charge that
forced the sentence of the rites, as it is called, upon him.
"The forms of combat vary. A number of us may be pitted together
against an equal number, or twice the number of blacks; or singly
we may be sent forth to face wild beasts, or some famous black
warrior."
"And if we are victorious," I asked, "what then--freedom?"
He laughed.
"Freedom, forsooth. The only freedom for us death. None who
enters the domains of the First Born ever leave. If we prove able
fighters we are permitted to fight often. If we are not mighty
fighters--" He shrugged his shoulders. "Sooner or later we die
in the arena."
"And you have fought often?" I asked.
"Very often," he replied. "It is my only pleasure. Some hundred
black devils have I accounted for during nearly a year of the rites
of Issus. My mother would be very proud could she only know how
well I have maintained the traditions of my father's prowess.
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