Robert Silverberg: Sslaughter on Dornel IV

Larry Filmore stared at his beer and mentally roasted his fight manager for the fiftieth time. Human beings were supposed to be the toughest race that the Galaxy had ever spawned, but as a fighter, Larry didn’t put too much faith in the theory. He had fought a good many races throughout the Galaxy, and, although he had always come out the winner, he had plenty of scars to show for it.

He looked around the bar. It was full of various beings, none of them human except himself.

What am I doing here? he asked himself. I’m sitting in a cheap little bar on Dornel IV, waiting for a Dornellian fighter to kill me tomorrow .

But there was no way out of it, Filmore thought bitterly. Blackmer, his manager, had the whole thing sewed up. Larry had found out, three months before, that Blackmer was cheating him—but that had been too late. According to the contract, Larry had to finish the season or go to prison. If he quit, he would, according to the law, be cheating his manager.

On the other hand, if he got killed during the battle, his entire check would go to Blackmer.

So Blackmer had done the smart thing—for him. He had lined up Larry with Fornax Kedrin, the champion of Dornel.

The Dornelians were big—eight feet high, with fingers that ended in razor-sharp claws. Of course, Larry would be provided with steel extensions on his fingers, but they wouldn’t help much; Larry had never learned to use them. Fornax Kedrin would kill him in the first round.

Larry took another sip of his beer and stared forlornly at the bar. With his fingers, he traced meaningless designs in the moisture left by the cold glass.

Maybe he was taking the coward’s way out—but it was the only way he could see. Better a live coward, he thought, than a dead hero.

“Another beer, bartender,” he called, finishing the one he held.

“Coming up, Earthman.”

The beer arrived and he took a sip. Training? The hell with it, he thought happily. He was going to get himself completely stewed tonight. Live high, die young, and have a good-looking corpse.

Or maybe it would be better simply to get aboard a spaceship and try to get away. Maybe the Interstellar Police would never find him.

He shook his head dismally. That wouldn’t work, either. Nothing would work.

If only he’d had some practice fighting a Dornellian!

He reached out for his beer, not noticing that someone had taken the vacant seat next to him. His elbow collided with a glass. The glass tipped, pouring a green, bubbling liquor all over the Dornellian sitting next to him.

“Stupid Earthman!” snapped the Dornellian contemptuously. “A clumsy beast like you shouldn’t be allowed to enter a public place!”

With one hairy paw, the Dornellian shoved against Larry’s shoulder, intending to push him off the bar stool.

Larry moved back, more in astonishment than anything else. He hadn’t known that Dornellians had any particular prejudice against Earthmen, but there was unmistakable racial hatred in the alien’s voice. He put out his hand to the bar and stopped himself from falling off the stool.

“What’s the idea of that?” Larry growled. “That was an accident, and—”

“Are you trying to argue with me? Here is the rest of the drink!” The Dornellian laughed and heaved the remaining contents of the glass in Larry’s face.

A blinding tide of red fury washed over Larry. Without thinking, reacting purely by instinct, he lashed out at the Dornellian.

His fist didn’t contact; it was blocked by the heavy forearm of his opponent. A hand raked out at Larry, a hand with six fingers, each of which was tipped with long, cutting talons. Larry moved his head aside barely in time. The talons raked across his cheek, drawing blood. If he hadn’t ducked, the cut would have ripped his throat open.

The Dornellian’s other hand slashed out. Larry blocked it with his own arm and sent a hard left to the midsection of the eight-foot monster.

The Dornellian backed away, snarling. The fight was on for real, now. “Little Earthman, I’m going to kill you!”

He leaped in suddenly, and his fist smashed against Larry’s face. Larry rolled with the blow, but it brought the taste of blood to his mouth.

His feet moving fast, the Earthman bobbed back away from the giant. He felt a glow of pleasure within himself. Here was his chance to practice a little with a Dornellian! What better training was there for a championship bout than a barroom brawl? He had to watch out for those claws though—those deadly razors that sprouted from the Dornellian’s fingertips.

Two other Dornellians started to move in, but an Aldebaranian—a huge reptilian beast, slow-moving but powerful—stepped in front of them.

“Keep back,” he hissed, in his snakelike voice. “This is a personal quarrel.”

Larry heard an Arcturian spider-man click his mandibles together and whisper: “Yes, let the Earthman fight it out by himself.”

Larry wasn’t too worried. He had fought to the death on half a hundred planets, and hadn’t been killed yet. An ordinary Dornellian didn’t bother him much. He moved in confidently for the knockout.

His fist lashed out, but his opponent was even faster. Larry connected with nothing but empty air, and the Dornellian’s claws raked down his side as the other hand slammed against the side of his head.

Dazed, Larry danced back. His arm was dripping blood, and his head felt groggy and heavy.

The Dornellian threw a left jab, and Larry blocked it with his own left arm. But the giant had done something unexpected. Instead of striking with his closed fist, he had suddenly extended his fingers. The sharp claws stabbed deep into the muscle of the Earthman’s forearm, sending a wave of pain to his shoulder.

Again Larry backed away, his arm aching from the wounds. Quickly, he reversed his direction and stepped back in. This time, he used a kick but the Dornellian sidestepped. The toe of Larry’s boot caught his hip. Cursing, the Dornellian closed in.

He punched a hand forward, claws extended. Larry stepped to one side and grabbed the hairy wrist. Using the giant’s strength and weight to his own advantage, he propelled the monster across the room, slamming him up against the bar. Then he leaped forward to smash in the Dornellian’s ribcage with his heavy boots.

He was not quick enough. The giant rolled aside and sprang to his feet. Snarling viciously, he advanced toward the Earthman.

One hand came down in a hard, chopping blow. Larry managed to fend it off, but the Dornellian’s other hand slugged into the pit of his stomach.

Weak with pain, Larry staggered back. He aimed a kick at the alien’s shin, and it connected hard. Taking advantage of his opportunity, Larry stepped in. His heel came down on the Dornellian’s toes at the same time that his fist slammed into the bristly jaw.

The giant reeled backwards, his taloned hand slashing through the air. He regained his balance and came forward again, but this time Larry was ready for him.

The Dornellian stepped square into a blow to the stomach.

Oddly enough, it didn’t seem to bother him much. Then Larry remembered that the Dornellian nervous system wasn’t much like an Earthman’s; the nerves just weren’t in the same places.

But where were they? Again he cursed Blackmer. The manager hadn’t told him anything about Dornellians, had let him sign for the fight with Fornax Kedrin even though it would be sheer murder.

Well, Larry thought somberly, I’ll learn tonight . If I ever get out of this bar alive .