in control.  He wanted to look into Jegojah's eyes and see what was there at least once before he ripped off the Doomwalker's head.
	It was here.
	Tarrin opened his eyes as the sound of clanking armor reached him, raised his head as he heard it jump from the stands down to the ground.  It looked exactly as he remembered, with the archaic armor and the wasted, leathery face, pulled tight over bone, with the glowing red eyes.  He noticed that it had two swords belted to its waist.  Tarrin's own eyes ignited from within with their green radiance as his expression dissolved away, leaving behind nothing but an emotionless, stony mask, a mask that hid everything from his adversary.  It stopped some distance away from him, then calmly went about taking its shield from its back and settling it on its left arm, then drawing one of those swords.  It never said a word.
	Seeing it invoked a powerful fury inside him, but he kept it tightly controlled for the moment.  There would be time enough to vent that fury on the Doomwalker shortly.
	Tarrin did not get up.  He merely watched it.  Tarrin had one trump card to play, and it wouldn't be effective unless the Doomwalker was close.  He had no doubt that Jegojah remembered the tall, willowy boy.  Now he was facing a much taller, much stronger, much faster opponent, thanks to Shiika's draining kiss, and he wasn't going to tip his hand until the last moment.
	"Waiting, I see," it cackled.  "The same idea, we had, yes.  But more patient, ye are, than Jegojah.  For that, Jegojah salutes ye."
	Tarrin said nothing, staring at it.
	"Fight we must, but to be uncivil, it is unnecessary, yes.  Against ye, nothing personal Jegojah has, no."
	Tarrin still said nothing, and would not stand.
	"Much differently, Jegojah could have come, yes," it said.  "Instead, a fair fight Jegojah wanted, a fight to see which of us is the better.  Twice before, luck and outsiders interfered, yes, and Jegojah wants to know.  Jegojah wants to see who is the better man."
	The Doomwalker began to walk forward.  Tarrin reached down and picked up his staff, then uncrossed his legs.  He slowly stood as the Doomwalker approached him, but Jegojah came to an instant halt about ten spans away when Tarrin rose up to his full height, rose up and stared down at the much smaller Doomwalker with flat, emotionless eyes glowing with their green fire, an expression of mercilessness upon his face.  Tarrin let him size up the new Tarrin, a tall, lean, menacing sight that towered over the smaller undead warrior.
	The consternation on Jegojah's face was ultimately satisfying.  No matter what happened to him after that moment, no matter how much joy or sorrow he may experience, one of his fondest memories would be the look on Jegojah's face when it stared up at him, stared at him with fear flowing through its glowing red eyes.
	That brief moment of peace was shattered when Tarrin roared mightily at the Doomwalker, ears going back and staff coming up, showing the Doomwalker formidable, long fangs and a great deal of furious attitude.  Tarrin's control wavered at that instant, the moment he had been anticipating for a month and more.  He gave into his fury, surrendered to his consuming hatred for and need to destroy the Doomwalker, destroy it once and for all.  With a lunge that took the Doomwalker completely by surprise, Tarrin seemed to flow forward in a way that looked impossible, as if his feet never touched the ground.  It looked as if he slid across the sand of the arena floor, floating above the ground as he closed that ten span gap in the blink of an eye, and struck the Doomwalker squarely in the hastily upraised shield.  The power of the blow knocked the Doomwalker off its feet, sending it sailing to the side, to land on the ground in a crumpled heap.
	The chiming clang of that first blow rang from the walls of the arena floor, like a bell tolling doom, and it still reverberated through the sandy arena as the Doomwalker rolled quickly to its feet and squared off against him.  The creature's shield had a formidable dent in its upper outside edge, testament to the raw power behind the Were-cat's blow.
	Jegojah cackled.  "Come on then," it said in a swaggering tone, inviting Tarrin in with the tip of its sword.
	The first blows were not the careful measured strikes of warriors feeling one another out.  Tarrin assaulted the Doomwalker in a fury of powerful blows, battering the smaller opponent around like a practice dummy.  It looked as if Jegojah was getting pounded, but the Doomwalker always caught the staff blows on its shield or against the heavier sections of its armor.  It did not try to fight back, it merely settled in and allowed the Were-cat to beat on it, letting Tarrin vent this initial explosion of angry offense.  Tarrin knew that his staff could do the Doomwalker no permanent injury, and that was a part of his initial plan.  His objective was not to do in the Doomwalker, his objective was to smash up its armor and render its shield useless.  A solid blow in a joint would cause the metal to interfere with Jegojah's ability to move, and that would translate to an advantage.  Tarrin looked like he was in the throes of utter rage, but he was actually very calm and calculating in his assault.  Heavy blow after heavy blow slammed into the Doomwalker, knocking it to and fro, but it did little more than absorb the punishment.
	At least until a savage overhanded blow came in behind a badly presented shield and caved in the left shoulder of its armor, pressing the metal against its dessicated body.  Jegojah struck back instantaneously after that, seeming to comprehend exactly what the Were-cat was doing, his sword thrusting out and seeking the Were-cat's belly.  Tarrin twisted to the side and withdrew his staff, taking a step back and surveying his work.  The Doomwalker's shield was badly beaten up, and he'd put that heavy notch in the left shoulder of the breastplate.  Not much damage, but that dented shoulder would keep the Doomwalker from raising its shield to protect from high-angled attacks.  That was something to remember.
	Tarrin waded back in immediately, but was more careful now.  Jegojah's sword had started doing more than parrying, using those same light, shallow slashing movements that were so effective, seeking out Tarrin's paws on his staff as they traded blows.  It would defend against the staff and seek to take off a finger or two as Tarrin pulled away.  Tarrin irritated the Doomwalker by shifting to the end-grip, wielding the staff like a spear and imposing five spans of wood between the Doomwalker's sword and his paws.  But that attempt at irritation nearly cost him his left arm.  Jegojah snapped forward in a dizzyingly fast rush, sword working him at angles that were now awkward because of the Doomwalker's proximity and the length of his own weapon.  It was inside his weapon's arc, and it eliminated his ability to defend with his staff.  It slapped his staff out wide to his right with the face of its shield, using it as a weapon instead of a defensive barrier, and then slashed in heavily with its sword, going for the elbow of his left arm.  Were it not for the manacles on his wrists, he would have lost his left arm at the elbow, quickly letting go of his staff with that paw and using the metal cuff as a shield, blocking the Doomwalker's sword.  He cocked his arm back and punched Jegojah dead in the face with his left paw after sending the sword wide, a move so fast that the Doomwalker didn't register it until it was staggering back from the impact.
	Damned clever!  Tarrin's irritation bloomed into anger when he realized that Jegojah baited him into shifting into the end-grip, just to do exactly what it did.  Were it not for Tarrin's superior speed and reflexes, he would have lost his left arm.
	He recovered himself, collected back into a guard stance as the Doomwalker leered at him, slapping its sword against its shield in an insulting manner.  That served to unhinge Tarrin's control, which was probably what the Doomwalker was trying to do in the first place.  With an infuriated roar, the Cat rising up inside him and threatening to take control, Tarrin closed the distance with the Doomwalker and tried to smash it into the ground.  The Doomwalker sidestepped the blow easily, and flicked its sword at the recovering Were-cat's head.  Tarrin flinched away, but not before a blazing line of pain drew across his left cheek, and warm blood began flowing down the side of his face.
	The intense, angry burning of that purely cosmetic injury immediately caught his attention.  It was some kind of magical attack!  The pain of the minor cut was almost blinding, as if he had had the entire side of his head torn off.  Blood flowed profusely down the side of his face and neck, much too much blood for such a small cut.  The sense of that magic became apparent to him, a latent magical effect passed on by the sword, a magic designed to amplify pain the sword inflicted, and also attacked the body in such a way that prevented his body from stopping the bleeding.  The sword was evil, it was designed to either cause such flinching at the pain it inflicted that it gave the wielder an easy kill, or make the victim bleed to death after the battle, should he get away.  A single scratch from that sword would be fatal to a human being.
	Tarrin backed off a few steps, joining with the Weave to come to an understanding of the magic attacking him.  He picked out its function quickly, then wove together a proper counterspell to neutralize its effects.  The pain quickly faded, and the blood pouring out of his face reduced to a natural rate of flow.
	Jegojah cackled, waggling the tip of the sword in Tarrin's face.  It had let him back off, let him experience the magical bite of its sword, to make the Were-cat fear getting cut by the blade again.  The Doomwalker didn't seem to notice that the blood coming out of Tarrin's face was much less now, because the entire left side of his face and neck were covered in blood, and much of his torso had lines of blood all over it.
	The Doomwalker was trying to bait him into flying into a rage!  He realized that now, understood that the Cat's disregard for what would be minor cuts and nicks would kill it, as the magical sword would literally bleed him to death while he sought to tear the Doomwalker to pieces.  It was a weapon well suited to taking advantage of Tarrin's weakness, and that weakness was his temper.
	Damned clever.  Tarrin had to respect that, respect Jegojah's creative resourcefulness.  It had found the one weapon that could have easily killed Tarrin, a weapon that, when coupled with Tarrin's rage, would have literally nicked him to death, and the Cat would not have realized its mistake until it was too late.  But Tarrin wasn't the same as he had been.  He still suffered from rages, but he was more controlled now, more able to deflect that blind fury, and it was absolutely vital that he keep control now.  He couldn't allow the Cat to rush in and get them both killed.
	One thing was very certain now.  He absolutely had to get that sword out of Jegojah's hand.
	Defiantly putting his staff in the end-grip, he hissed menacingly at the Doomwalker.  Jegojah accepted the invitation and advanced confidently forward, seeming to be assured by Tarrin's comprehension of the great danger the sword posed, or perhaps confident that the bleeding was already starting to weaken the larger foe.  He began with a familar in-out combination of shallow slashes that he used often, something that Tarrin remembered from prior battles and easily countered.  The Doomwalker attacked quickly and precisely, using the forms that Tarrin remembered, that same quick, efficient style that marked the Doomwalker's formidable fighting skills.  Tarrin nearly fell into the trap of expecting certain moves to come next, when what should have been a wide slash became a tight upward thrust directed at his belly.  Tarrin smacked the sword aside with his staff and moved with the momentum, bringing up a foot and plastering it right into the helmet of the left side of Jegojah's face.  The Doomwalker spun in a complete circle from the blow, and its helmet was askew when it returned to facing him.  It backed off quickly, shield-bearing hand adjusting the helmet the right way even as Tarrin pressed the sudden advantage, but the wicked sword in its hand stopped his advance when it tried to cut into his leg.  But Tarrin's weapon was longer, so he stopped short to stay out of its range, then hit it squarely in the head with his staff, snapping the head unnaturally to the side.  The skeletal being didn't show any hint of pain, but it did back off one more step and get its helmet on right, just in time to raise its shield to parry another swat from the staff directed at its head.
	With a growling cry, Jegojah bulled forward, sword leading.  Tarrin parried the weapon and pinned it to the side, and the pair of them were suddenly pushing against one another.  Tarrin's claws dug into the loose sandy soil as he felt the strength of the Doomwalker, that unnatural strength that at one time had been a match for his own.  But that was before.  Tarrin turned the Doomwalker's sword further and further out, pushing it away from his body methodically, and the surprise at being outpowered showed clearly on the gray, taut, bony face of the Doomwalker.  Tarrin grounded one end of his staff and used that grounding as a fulchrum, levering the sword out even more, then took a paw off the staff and drove his fingers right into the glowing eye sockets of the Doomwalker's face.  Claws got a grip on those sockets, and Tarrin pinioned to the side and dragged the Doomwalker along with him.  Jegojah's body left the ground as Tarrin whipped him around the side of his body, and sent him flying quite a distance to crash to the sandy ground.
	The bone that had separated the Doomwalker's eye sockets was gone when he got up, as well as most of the gray, dead skin and flesh that had covered its skull.  It hung down in tatters, like a drooping flag, and the missing bone exposed putrified bone fragments and the empty cavity behind those glowing eyes, a black pit where a brain had once rested, a black sea in which the glowing points of red light now floated.  Tarrin threw the piece of bone aside contemptuously, then growled at Jegojah as it put a tentative hand to its face.
	"Improved, ye have, yes," it grunted.  "And stronger ye are now.  A worthy opponent ye are now, not the lucky boy from before."
	Tarrin's tail lashed back and forth behind him angrily, then thumped into the ground hard enough to raise a small cloud of dust.  The Doomwalker reached up and clamped down the visor on its helm, something it had never used before, and then charged forward with a strong cry.
	In moments, the ground around them was chewed up from padded foot and armored boot, as the two combatants assaulted each other with renewed ferocity.  Heavy blows, blows that would have killed a human being, were traded between them liberally, causing the arena to echo with the strange sound of steel striking Ironwood, which was a nearly metallic sound.  Tarrin kept that sword from cutting him again as he strove to smash the shield off the arm of his adversary, taking the arm with it if necessary.  Jegojah was completely different now, Tarrin felt it, it had dropped all restraints and attacked Tarrin with the same intensity that Tarrin had always shown to it.  He had to concentrate intensely to keep track of that sword, parrying it or dodging it, even blocking it with his manacles, as he continued to concentrate on relieving the Doomwalker of the advantage that its shield afforded it.  Tarrin fell back into the forms of the Dance and the Ways, styles of fighting taught to him by the best, merging the two into a singular style that was all Tarrin's own, a style that took advantage of his height and strength.  The Doomwalker began to get flustered in their furious exchange, unable to keep up with the faster opponent, and being physically outpowered when sword met staff, literally finding itself being thrashed about like a rag doll.  Instead of backing out, however, the Doomwalker merely grinned that hideous grin and redoubled its efforts, fighting on despite its disadvantage, almost seeming to enjoy it.
	Somewhere in that exchange, something happened to cause the two of them to separate, if only for a moment.  Jegojah had battered dents all over its armor, and Tarrin just became aware of a furious pain in his belly.  He glanced down to see a very long line from that sword, a superficial, skin-deep cut, pouring out blood at a frightening rate.  Tarrin wove the appropriate counterspell quickly, but not before allowing the blood to cover his lower body, to hide the fact that the bleeding was subsiding.  The Doomwalker was still pushing hard, still trying to tire him out, thinking that he was losing blood the entire time.  If it thought to wear him down using the unnatural advantage of that blood-sucking sword, it was going to be in for quite a shock.
	Tarrin rushed back into the fray immediatley, not giving the Doomwalker the chance to notice that Tarrin wasn't weakening, pressing it quickly and forcing it to devote its entire attention to the fight.  He kept attacking Jegojah's shield, kept putting pressure on the Doomwalker's left side, and it was a tactic that seemed to continue to confound and fluster his undead opponent.  The Doomwalker worked well at minimizing the damage to the shield, but had to use too much of its sword to help protect against Tarrin's relentless attack.  Every time it tried to turn the tide of battle, it found itself again trying to defend its left, defending it with a shield that was beginning to show signs of heavy abuse.  The thick staff, heavy and strong, pummelled the Doomwalker's flank with punishing blows.  Jegojah dropped back a step and thrust at Tarrin when he moved to close the distance, but the Were-cat easily evaded the move.  Only at the last second did he realize that it was a feint, that the Doomwalker was turning and slashing the sword's edge at him as he twisted aside, and he was forced to duck under that blow.  Tarrin turned in that croch and whipped out his tail, slashing it across the backs of the ankles of Jegojah, and it was strong enough to sweep the feet out from under his lighter foe.  Jegojah was spilled to the ground, which effectively ended that short attempt at offense from the Doomwalker.
	The Doomwalker rolled frantically to the side as Tarrin was instantly on his feet, and trying to drive the butt of his staff through the visor of his foe.  He grabbed the staff in one paw and whipped it down like a club, smashing the Doomwalker across the thighs, bending armor with a squealing clang.  He reared the staff up for another blow, but the Doomwalker managed to roll to its feet, and was quickly all over Tarrin as he tried to readjust his grip on the staff.  Tarrin dropped the weapon instead, falling back on the unarmed techniques to parry a vicious series of heavy thrusts at Tarrin's stomach.  One in particular came in too deeply, and Tarrin lashed back as Jegojah tried to recover, grabbing the wrist in a crushing grip.  He hauled the Doomwalker off the ground by that hold on its arm, then turned and whipped it over his head and slammed it into the ground.  He picked it up, turned, and did it again, then agian, then yet again, pounding the Doomwalker mercilessly into the ground over and over again, trying to make it let go of that deadly sword.  It finally managed to squirm free when one particularly heavy slam into the ground jarred its wrist loose from Tarrin's grip, and to its credit, it kept hold of its sword the entire time.  It tried to take a piece out of him with the edge of that wicked blade as it recoiled away from him, but Tarrin managed to slither out of the way in time.
	Separated from his staff, Tarrin backed up as that lethal sword came after him.  He evaded, twisted, dodged it, doing Allia proud with a dazzling display of nimble footwork.  He was like a blade of grass in the wind, bending, twisting, always just outside the reach of his opponent's deadly magical weapon, trying to get enough of a cushion of distance to either Summon his staff or draw his sword.  But the Doomwalker knew how to press and advantage, keeping right in Tarrin's face as its sword sought to put a few killing cuts in Tarrin's hide.
	In the face of such a furious assault, Tarrin did the only thing he could think of.  He suddenly turned on his heel and rushed headlong into Jegojah's face with a loud cry of fury.  The Doomwalker raised its sword to impale the suddenly aggressive Were-cat on the end of that deadly weapon--
	--and then the Were-cat wasn't there anymore.  Just as it had helped him against the Demon, it helped him now.  A black cat suddenly darted between the Doomwalker's spread legs, legs spread out to give stability to receive Tarrin's charge, but now served to give the Were-cat an escape route.  He ran just far enough to shapeshift back and reach his staff, kicking it up into his grip as the Doomwalker turned around and charged headlong, chagrin showing on the lower section of its face that he could see.  Instead of engaging the Doomwalker, Tarrin retreated instead.  It was getting too comfortable on the open, level ground, and that deadly weapon it held made it very difficult to fight his kind of battle without worrying about every little scratch and nick he may receive.  Tarrin moved into the area beside the hill of blocks, a place littered with large building stones that served to mine the footing.  Jegojah was right on his heels, and he no sooner turned around than he had to raise his staff and defend himself from that wicked weapon.
	They engaged again, but now Jegojah did not move around nearly as much.  The many stones made footing treacherous, so it kept its feet more or less planted and moved with caution and care, and never very far.  Tarrin, however, knew the floor of the arena like the back of his paw, and he moved with utter confidence over the bumpy ground, darting in to harass the Doomwalker, then backing out of its reach when it began to get the upper hand in those brief, furious exchanges.  The tactic looked to be getting on the Doomwalker's nerves, and its frustration became more and more apparent each time Tarrin danced back out of its reach.  Obviously annoyed enough to change the rules of the game.
	The Doomwalker raised the tip of its sword towards him, and Tarrin instantaneously reacted to that display.  Drawing out the flows as quickly as the energy flowed through the Weave to the Doomwalker, Tarrin wove together a spell of Air, Earth, and Divine flows, forming an reflective barrier to the magical assault he knew was coming.  Jegojah pushed its sword forth, and a sizzling bolt of lightning blasted into the air between them, charging at him at a speed that was almost impossible to follow.
	At least for a human. Tarrin reared a paw back and swiped it across his body in a backhanded motion, and when the leading edge of that bolt of lightning struck the blurring paw, it was deflected away from Tarrin's body.  The bolt blasted to the side of him, striking and rebounding off the wall of the arena, then struck the sand of the arena floor to melt the sand and form a puddle of bubbling glass.
	If Tarrin thought that Jegojah was surprised before, the look on its face now--or what was left that he could see, with that visor down--was one of utter disbelief.
	"Ye can do magic!" it gasped.  "But if ye could destroy Jegojah, already it would have been done, yes," it reasoned immediately thereafter.  "Ye full power, it is not yet back, no."
	Tarrin said nothing.  He wove together a short, simple weave of Fire and then unleashed it at the Doomwalker.  If it wanted to play magic, Tarrin would be more than willing to oblige.  A huge gout of flame erupted from the Were-cat's paw, lashing out in the Doomwalker's direction, forcing it to dive to the ground to avoid getting cooked.  Its form then sank into the ground, disappearing from sight.  Tarrin had never seen it do that before, and the newness of it caused him to delay a heartbeat too long.  The blade of its sword suddenly plunged out from the ground, right up between Tarrin's legs, and only fast reflexes saved him from getting that blade up the inside of his left calf.  It still managed to cut a shallow line through his fur, a line that spewed blood immediately.  Tarrin wove the counterspell again to stem the bleeding, then realized that it couldn't fight the Doomwalker when it was hiding under the ground.  Weaving together a platorm of Air some ten spans off the ground, Tarrin jumped up onto that invisible landing, standing seemingly on midair, crouching down and watching the ground below him intently.
	It didn't emerge for several moments.  It seemed to realize that Tarrin was no longer on the ground, and it refused to come out where it would get attacked immediately upon resurfacing.  And with it inside the ground, Tarrin's sense of it from the Weave was muffled.  He couldn't tell exactly where it was, only that it was somewhere underneath him.
	Tarrin considered it.  It obviously wouldn't come up where Tarrin could get at it, so its logical next move would be to come up somwhere else, like within the walls of the arena, then come out of them in that manner.  If it could pass through solid rock, anyway.  If not, its best bet was to surface on the far side of the jagged mound of building stones that pierced the arena wall, where Tarrin couldn't see it.  Either way, looking down wasn't the place he should be looking.  He started scanning the entire arena floor and even the stands, watching for the Doomwalker from any possible approach.
	It emerged again not a distance away, but directly underneath him.  That surprised Tarrin considerably, but no less so than when the Doomwalker raised its sword to blast him with lightning again.  Instead of jumping or defending, Tarrin instead rose up and blasted the entire area with a huge gust of wind, thanks to a quick weave of Air, which served to kick up the dust of the arena and immediately hide him from the Doomwalker's sight in a cloudy fog of dust and sand.
	Two could play the hiding game.
	Tarrin expanded his platform to allow him to move from his aerial position in utter silence, without having to get on the ground, then lightly set his feet on the top of the mound of rubble on the west side of the arena's floor.  He stopped maintaining the Air platform, but instead wove an Illusion of himself, exact down the most minute detail, and projected it down onto the arena floor below.  The Illusion made quite a show of moving slowly and quietly, each foot painstakingly coming down so there would be no noise. Tarrin was even thoughtful enough to add footprints behind the Illusion's progress, depressions in the disturbed sand that anyone could easily track.
	The Doomwalker took the bait.  It rushed out of the haze with very little sound, sword leading.  Tarrin made a point of having the Illusion quickly raise up and into a defensive stance, seeking to parry the point of that deadly sword.  Jegojah's sword slid under the upraised staff, and effortly plunged into the midsection of its oppenent.  It felt no resistance, and continued to feel no resistance as its body stumbled right through the disrupting Illusion.
	It cursed and raised its shield as a weave of focused Air, a scything blade of pure Air, lashed down from the top of the mound of rubble at terrific speed, released with a slashing motion of Tarrin's arm.  The Doomwalker managed to get its shield up in time, and to Tarrin's surprise, the shield resisted the power of the blow.  The ground on either side of the Doomwalker shuddered, and a dark line appeared across the sand for a moment before the shifting sand and dust settled into the incision left in the neatly sliced ground.  The Doomwalker staggered back from the impact of the Weave on its unusual shield, now showing a deep, clean, neat slice across its featureless face.  It screamed another curse at him and raised its sword, unleashing another blast of lightning in the direction from which Tarrin's weave originated, but its aim was off.  It couldn't see Tarrin very well in the dusty haze, and its magical attack flew harmlessly over Tarrin's head.
	One thing became apparent.  In a battle of magic, even without High Sorcery, Tarrin would win.  Jegojah was not a magic-user in the pure sense of the word.  He had only limited abilities, and Tarrin had seen most of them.  He could not improvise, make up new spells, use magic in a creative manner as Tarrin could.  He could only apply those things that he could do to the situation, and make the best of them.  But the thought of picking Jegojah apart from afar with magic offended his sense of vengeance.  He wanted to be in the Doomwalker's face, wanted to look it in the eyes.  Revenge was not something exacted from a distance.  Tarrin could easily raise an Elemental to do battle with the Doomwalker, or split the earth and cast him down into the crevice, or pick it up with Air and send it flying to the moons, but he didn't want to do those things.  He wanted to beat Jegojah down like a dog with his own two paws.  He had been very content to fight without magic until the Doomwalker resorted to it first.
	But the Doomwalker had other ideas.  The lightning not finding the mark, Jegojah resorted to its most powerful attack.  Tarrin felt it in the ground even as it unleashed it, that sesmic shockwave that shook the earth.  The ground trembled and rumbled as the rubble pile began to vibrate like the string of a lute, then blocks and masonry went flying as the shockwave struck the pile.  Tarrin was quickly inundated in flying rocks, and the shifting stones beneath his feet parted and caused him to sink down into the debris as if it were quicksand.  Rocks jabbed and pounded at him, their shifting pinched and cut into him, and it was a thoroughly unpleasant experience as he found himself getting buried beneath the rubble he had thought would be his advantage.  The pile continued to shift, and he clearly felt his tail snap under the strain of being pinched between two large rocks.  The pain made him suck in air sharply and start thrashing against the shifting rubble.
	Now things were not good.  Tarrin wriggled out of the rubble as he heard the Doomwalker cackling evilly.  He had not forgott