The thick pads on my knuckles weighed my hands down comfortably as I soaked in the admiration of the crowd.  The two banners that announced who was due to fight in The Den flashed in the bright lights and I jogged in place as I lowered my gaze to watch for my opponent to enter the floor.  An equipment-boy run up to me and offered me a mouth guard.  I stared down at him.  "Go &#*! yourself," I offered.

The boy (actually a fifteen-year-old teen) nodded.  "You're a @#bitch&, Karina."

I grinned a gap-toothed smile at him with as much derisiveness as possible.  I didn't need a mouth guard.  It took the passion out of the sport.  As the teen retreated back behind the wall I had emerged from, a portcullis lowered slowly to the ground, its spikes digging into the packed sand.  The crowd's roar doubled in its decibels.

Across The Den my opponent entered the field.  He was one and a half my size, wore twice as much leather, and his gloves were smaller than mine.  My grin widened as his portcullis dropped.  This sandy-haired #*@@#^! was pulp.

"Brawlers!" The loud speakers crackled and popped high overhead and I licked my lips.  "Begin!"  I kicked up clouds of dust and filthy sand as I closed the distance between me and my target.

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