"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--*******?"
He laughed.
"Freedom, forsooth. The only ******* 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."
