Telors laughed. 'He would have to lose half his talent to be merely good. Have you considered walking up behind him and plunging a knife into his back?'

'No. I want to face him.'

'I have seen hundreds of fighters,' said Telors. 'Good, bad, mediocre. Some were even great. But I have only ever seen two men whose talents were god-like. One is Vanni, the other Voltan. Men like them are rare, young man. They are the stuff of legend. Some years ago Voltan was due to be fighting a young pretender. Someone managed to poison his wine. Voltan almost died. Two days later, having lost ten pounds in weight, his body weakened by fever, he stepped out into the arena and killed his man.'

'I don't care how good he is,' said Bane. 'I will kill him when we meet.'

Telors spread his hands, and glanced at Rage. 'What do you think?'

'I'll accept the offer – if you make the promise,' Rage told Bane.

'How soon will you know if I can beat him?'

'A year. Perhaps two.'

Bane sat silently for a moment. 'Very well. I promise to wait a maximum of two years. After that I will make my own decision. Is that sufficient?'

'It will do,' said Rage.

'I have missed Stone,' said Telors. 'There is a whorehouse off the Avenue Gabilan that is second to none. Paradise could not be more satisfying than a night spent there.'

'Then it is agreed,' said Rage. 'We will go to Stone with you.'

Banouin left the Great Library and wandered along the tree-lined white gravel path leading to the artificial lake. Once there he settled himself on his favourite bench of curved stone, set beneath a tall weeping willow. The branches trailed all around him like a green veil, the tendrils caressing the grass. It was a place of quiet beauty, and Banouin experienced a dream-like state here, a freedom from the cares and worries of this alien world. For years, as a child among the Rigante, he had pictured himself in this place of calm and tranquillity. In the depths of his despair he had thought of this park. When Forvar and the others tormented him, he had dreamt of escaping them all and coming here. And still – almost two years after his departure from the lands of the Rigante – the Park of Phesus remained a special place of harmony. He never tired of the park, even in winter, when the lake was frozen, and snow covered the ground. He would wrap up warmly and come to this bench, and sit and dream.