The morning was met with blaring trumpets and the heat of the merciless sun. 

Peddlers walked up and down the seats, plying their wares of baubles and gems they claimed had come from far Cathay or the sea beyond the Dragon Isles. So crowded was it, Arak sellers were making good business even before the noonday. Courtiers filtered into their seats below the Sultan's mightly overlook, cordoned off from the teeming masses that had come to watch the final day of the games. Dancers in pantaloons and flowing silks spun and gyrated as men gave undulating cries to appease allah for their sinful thoughts and good fortune on their bets this day. Upon one of the statues of the old gods, a street boy had climbed to watch the spectacle, eyes wide as the beating heart of the great city readied itself for the fight. 

Bahadir and Calliope had slept in the same cell, but they were awoken with shouts and rough hands, and soon separated into different corners of the vast underground hall, given their favored weapons and a small time to prepare as the crowed outside swelled with life like a pregnant concubine. They were given water and a small breakfast of cakes and meat they ate standing, mamluks with halberds between them, as was traditional for a duel. It would not do for one to kill the other before they were set to fight in the arena, or to have second thoughts, in their case.  

A rattling of chains and the clamor of wood rubbing against wood announced the time was nigh, and as the great gate opened and the mamluks filtered out, Bahadir and Calliope could hear the ending of the Sultan's great speech, his voice carried over the crowd by Azim's mystical talents. How Bahadir wanted to behead the both of them! But he needed to stick to the plan, trusting the dark woman that her idea would work. 

"Move, scum!" The Mamluk closest to Bahadir snarled, moving to shove the slave. Bahadir deftly pivoted and struck the Mamluk in the face with his elbow in one, smooth motion. The honorguard fell to the floor, stunned for a moment as blood began to pour from his nose and split lip. 

"Seems you stumbled, I hear that can happen with unendowed men. Messes with the balance." Bahadir remarked with a casual concern. It seemed the man had regained cognizance right when he made the quip. Calliope was a quick study, it seemed, for he said it in arabyan and she understood enough to laugh wickedly. The Mamluk retrieved his fallen weapon and growled, surging to his feet in wrath. 

"You bastard son of a whore!" 

The embarrassed Mamluk was stopped by two others, keeping his arms from ramming Bahadir through with his moon-bladed halberd. "No, he is the Sultan's to decide. He will die soon enough," they said. Bahadir smirked, giving Calliope a subtle wink, before stepping forward as he was bade. He knew he needed to be saved for the fight, but he was not about to press his luck any further. The guards kept their blades pointed at him from then on, however, and the two fighters were escorted into the blazing sun. 

As the glare caught them, drums rumbled and trumpets rose once again, accompanying the crowd's roar of exultation at seeing the two legendary combatants in this dramatic finish of the Sultan's Games.