Short Fiction by Mack Reynolds (ready to read books .TXT) 📕

human dwarfs. Jupiter and Saturn have only one representative each because of their gigantic size. Mars has four, Terra three. The others have varying numbers.

The other two gladiators from Terra tried to cover me, but went down in the rush. The first fell victim to the heavy, ponderous and nearly weapon proof gladiator from Saturn, victor of the last Interplanetary Meet. The Terran tried to run in close, beneath the other’s guard, but was smashed with a sweeping blow that broke half the bones in his body. The crowd cheered for the nice try, and the Saturnian brandished his half ton club again and peered about near-sightedly for another enemy.

My second companion in arms had an arm severed near the shoulder by a fast moving Plutonian Gadaboot. He fell to the ground bleeding profusely. At least, he’d probably survive and get back to Terra.

I had seconds to live. As I said, we Terrans don’t show up so well in the games. The gladiators from any planet can take us. Oh, I don’t mean that a Terran couldn’t defeat one Mercurian Bouncer, or one Calypso Dwoorf, but face our three Terrans with the whole Calypso, or the whole Mercurian delegation and we don’t last very long.

I had seconds to live. They were all centering toward me, taking side swipes at one another if the opportunity allowed, but heading for me.

Ordinarily, before a contest, my manager fills me full of last minute advice and instructions; but I’d hardly seen him in the past few months. I’d been too busy reading Suzi’s books about the ancients. I was on my own.

I didn’t have time to figure it out. It just happened automatically. I remembered something and before I had time to place the memory, I had taken the emerald from my belt, held it up momentarily so they could all see it, and yelled, “For the greatest fighter of all,” and threw it into the midst of them.

Later, I recalled a guy in one of Suzi’s books having done something similar, except I believe he yelled, “For the fairest,” and threw a golden apple. At any rate, the result seemed to be about the same. That guy started the Trojan War.

It gave me a breathing spell. They piled on one another until I thought that the meet would end then and there. A Venusian spiderman bent to pick up the emerald and had five of his limbs and his head cut off before he could straighten again. A Gadaboot grabbed it and tried to dart out of the crush but ran into the darting rapier of a Uranian. Rising dust swirled up and enveloped the rest.

In moments, the fight had settled down into a series of individual combats all over the field.

I could see the slow moving Slaber from Jupiter stalking about weaponless, seizing and crushing all with whom he came in contact. I could see the Mercurian Bouncers dying like flies, but killing their share and more of opponents with the razor sharp spurs attached to their feet. They would fling themselves high into the air and come down from above, heels slashing death.

I had no more time to observe. Five remaining Calypso Dwoorfs disengaged themselves from a fight centering about two Venusians, spied me, and dashed in my direction.

Ordinarily, the Calypso gladiators would be even weaker than we Terrans, but they have the advantage of a universal mind. That is, they think together. Each knows what every other Dwoorf is thinking; it goes beyond mere mental telepathy. They act as though they were a single individual. Talk about team work! You get three or four of them about you, all working in complete and perfect harmony, and you’re sunk.

I groaned for my manager’s advice again and resigned myself. When they got within fifteen feet of me they opened their mouths and cried in unison. “Prepare to die, Terran makron.”

For a second that did it. I raised my short sword and started toward them. They spread out like a fan to encircle me. Once again I didn’t consciously figure it out. The idea came spontaneously with my acting upon it. I just suddenly turned on my heel and started to run. They followed me like a pack.

I’d gotten halfway across the arena and could hear the thousands in the arena seats booing me like thunder, before it came back to me what I’d read. It was a trick some gladiator from Rome or Greece had pulled once. I looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, they were still coming, but now they were strung out in a line. The fastest runner of them all was only a short distance behind me, the slowest, quite a ways back. The other three were in between at varying distances.

This next is going to sound like it took some time but actually it was all over in split seconds.

I stopped, whirled, and said tightly to the one pressing me, “Who’s calling who a makron now?” At the same time my sword parried his and ripped into his unprotected belly. He died, his eyes wide with surprise and pain.

I hardly had time to disengage my sword before the second Dwoorf was upon me. I dropped to one knee and slashed upward cutting completely through his right arm. The arm fell to the ground, his hand still clutching the three pronged javelin with which he’d expected to spit me. He screamed in agony and stumbled away hopelessly trying to staunch the flow of blood with his left hand.

The third came running up, both hands high over his head, ready to bring down his battle ax. I kicked him savagely with a spiked shoe, cracking a knee and bringing him to the ground. I could have finished him then and there but didn’t have the time. The fourth, yelling like a maniac, slashed into me, his blade ripping my right arm from elbow to shoulder. He brought up his sword for another stroke.

I was short winded from the long run