"Treatment?" the slaver glared, the edge momentarily gone from his temper. "Butyou said I wouldn't be able to use my legs-"

"You speak of your legs," the healer sighed. "I'm trying to save your lifethough I've heard there are those who would pay well to see it ended."

Jubal heard the words and accepted them without the rush of fear other men mightfeel. Death was an old acquaintance of all gladiators. "Well, what is thistreatment you speak of?" he asked levelly.

"Fire," Stulwig stated without hesitation. "We must burn the infection outbefore it spreads further."

"No."

"But the wounds must be treated!" the healer insisted.

"You call that a treatment?" Jubal challenged. "I've seen burned legs before.The muscle's replaced by scar tissue; they aren't legs-they're things to behidden."

"Your legs are finished," Stulwig shouted. "Stop speaking of them as if theywere worth something. The only question worth asking is: do you wish to live ordie?"

Jubal let his head sink back until his was staring at the hovel's ceiling. "Yes,healer," he murmured softly, "that is the question. I'll need time to considerthe answer."

"But-"

"If I were to answer right now," the slaver continued harshly, "I'd say I'dprefer death to the life your treatment condemns me to. But that's the answer ahealthy Jubal would give-now, when death is real, the true answer requires morethought. I'll contact you with my decision."

"Very well," Alten snarled, rising to his feet. "But don't take too long makingup your mind. Your black skin makes it difficult to judge the infection-but I'dguess you don't have much time left to make your choice."

"How much?" Saliman asked.

"A day or two. After that we'd have to take the legs off completely to save hislife-but by then it might only be a choice of deaths."

"Very well," Jubal agreed.