This next match seemed one that none of the spectators were looking 
forward to.  It didn't feature mul, centuar or half-giant gladiators.  Nor 
did it have elven and drow spell-slingers and sword-dancers.  No
strange thri-kreen, cambions or half-dragons with their exotic features.  
Neither the powers of good nor of evil really felt strongly about either of 
the two combatants coming up.  An old human in his autumn years matched 
versus a kobold rogue.  More likely a pilferer than a true highwayman or 
bandit, knowing the tendencies of kobolds.  To meet a man who looked as 
though he'd be leaning on a cane in the near future.

    Appearances could be deceiving.  If the audience didn't know this, at 
least the wiser among the Arena's own warriors understood this well, and 
treated every opponent with a measure of respect.  Until they took
their opponent's measure, and found it lacking.  Then they closed in for the 
kill.

    The old man, Romb, the mentalist, knew this well.  As wise in years as 
his age belied, what elves and dwarves said notwithstanding,  Romb never 
underestimated his opponent.  Today he would fight a kobold, a master of 
deception and trickery.  Romb hoped his path of clear thought would lead him 
onto victory, and the next rung in this vicious competition.  
Coincindentally, vicious was a good adjective to describe the thoughts 
Kreeshnik was entertaining right now of Romb's death.  The circle is a 
common pattern in the multiverse.

    With the help of the bugler, the announcer's voice won out over the din 
of the audience.  Most of the people in the colosseum had turned their view 
to the Arena floor, to the two far ends.  "From the north gate I introduce 
to you Kreeshnik, a kobold rogue."  Romb looked across at the kobold.  He 
was physically unimpressive, standing up straight he probably wouldn't clear 
Romb's own chest.  His limbs were gangly, but festooned with a curious 
assortment of rings, bracelets and necklaces.  He wore a fine cloak, but 
sized for a kobold?  As well as superbly crafted, gleaming metal bracers on 
his forearms.

    Romb wasn't sure what magic the kobold carried in his possession. But 
one thing was sure; he would eventually quash the kobold's magics, and turn 
this into a physical battle which he should win.  Even though the kobold had 
twin daggers showing; Romb had already erected a defense
against those and more.  For a mentalist, it was just a matter of 
concentration.  Something Romb had been practicing for more than eighty 
years now; he should have it right by now.

    "And out of the south gate, Romb the mentalist!"  A polite clapping went 
up at this last announcement.  So they like the human better than me, 
thought Kreeshnik disgustedly.  What was he, just a white-haired old
human in a simple white toga with a shiny necklace (shame I can't steal it, 
amended Kree resignedly) and a simple ring.  But wait, he had a shiny golden 
ring on the other hand.  Wonder what it does, thought the
covetous kobold.  The old man had a quarterstaff slung over one shoulder on 
a thong.  Never heard of a 'poison staff', thought the kobold gleefully as 
he considered his own envenomed daggers.

    "Let the Games begin" cried the announcer.  As the bugler signalled the 
Games' commencement, Romb mentally translocates himself the other end of the 
Arena, just where Kreeshnik came out.  Appearing there a split second later, 
he doesn't see the kobold who has become invisible.  Let him find me now, 
thought Kreeshnik as he flew to midfield, as hard to see as an honest man in 
prison.

    Sooner or later the little varmint will show up, and then we'll see bout 
this 'invisibility', thought Romb sourly.  Then from the middle of the Arena 
a tiny ball of fire suddenly erupted and headed in a straight line path for 
Romb.  Unconcerned, knowing his antimagic field would protect him from 
anything the kobold could throw, Romb concentrated a moment and disappeared, 
to reappear an instant later very near where the fireball started.  In a 
moment more, the kobold faded back into its own ugly colors for everyone to 
see.

    "Rats" cursed the kobold, suddenly leaping skywards to fly away from his 
would be tormenter.  As soon as he was a bit more than fifty feet away, he 
vanished once more.  Whatever powers the mentalist used could only reach 
that far, noted the audience.

    So flying is part of your bag of tricks, along with invisibility thought 
the wizened mentalist.  'Well, nature doesn't allow it' he thought sternly.  
Only birds, dragons, and other things born with wings can fly.  The plain 
ring upon Romb's finger flared with brilliance for a moment.  But Kreeshnik 
wasn't concerned.  Nothing happened after the ring glowed; no lightning, no 
death beams.  Kreeshnik creeps up carefully as only he could, and removed a 
magical horn from beneath his oversized vest.  Creeping up near the human, 
but not so close that he could see his own self, he stopped and leveled the 
horn at the human.

    Then he blew.  The din of the horn should have been deafening, the 
kobold thought with dismay.  But the sound seemed to die out just a dozen 
feet from him, as though someone had but a cotton muffle over his ears. And 
then the Human rushed forwards toward him.  He jumped up, only to fall back 
down on his palms and knees.  He noticed belatedly that he could see his own 
hands.  Then his opponent Romb was on him, landing punches to his guts and 
head.  But each of his punches was met by a flash of light.  An old trick, 
and one that didn't last long enough to make it worth the trouble to will 
away.  Better to just batter it away, thought Romb.  One last punch to the 
head of the kobold met with limited success; the magic defense was 
eliminated.  But the hit wasn't a clean one.

    Let's see if I can't put an end to this nuisance, thought Romb finally.  
He'd dealt with the kobold's magic so far; now let's see if he could deal 
with it's wielder.  He jumped into the air and flew in a neat half-circle, 
swinging his heel to drive into the kobolds forehead.  But the deftly agile 
kobold saw the kick coming and ducked at the last moment, his human opponent 
falling towards the ground.

    Good, thought Kreeshnik.  Now I can do some damage with my daggers,
while the old man gets back to his feet.  Maybe even disrupt his thinking so 
I can become invisible or fly again. But as Kreeshnik drove his daggers into 
the mentalist's back, there was a sudden glow of light
that stopped both daggers from even biting into the old man's skin.  Kree 
thought a stream of kobold obscenities.

    Take that, thought Romb.  The kobold must have struck him, he could feel 
the energy flow into his aura. Sensing the kobold behind him he delivered a 
rear mule kick to the kobolds groin before spinning and landing antoher kick 
to the kobolds head.  Leaving the little rodent reeling with his blows, Romb 
jumped into the air to land an axe kick to the kobolds shoulder.  Now Kree 
backed up hastily, raising his right arm and pointing a finger at the 
mentalist.

    But it availed him naught.  Romb quickly caught up to the runt of a
kobold, delivering a series of straight and reverse body punches that 
knocked the wind out of the kobold. Finally, as the kobold staggered like a 
drunken sailor, Romb leapt into the air to deliver the same kick the kobold 
had ducked before.  And this time he connected with the powerful reverse 
thrust kick, leaving the kobold lying on the battlefield addle-brained.

    A moment later the judges declare the match in favor of Romb.  Save your 
magic for someone else, thought the mentalist as he looked as
the dazed kobold with disdain.  Then, with a thought he teleported from the 
Arena floor.