He chuckled, then picked up what looked like a strip of fried bacon to start chewing on. How apropos, Tina thought.

“You should get yourself some protein,” he advised her. “And make sure you are well hydrated. It can get pretty hot in the arena. ”

Tina shook her head and snorted at the pun. But then she did chow down on what he advised. She was an athlete in training after all.

An hour later they were back in the big arena.

Tina glanced down out over the burnt sands and walls below the stands.

“So, how exactly do I avoid getting roasted?” she wanted to know. “Whatever they put in those balls seems to be both flammable and inflammable, right.”

“Greek fire, yes,” Devon said.

“Well yeah, sure,” she replied. “Make one wonder how these guys were ever conquered when they could napalm anyone who got on their bad side.”

“Turks had cannons,” he replied. “Which you would know if you finished reading what I gave you.”

“Whatever. But there are no cannons here,” she said. “What’s the trick to not end up becoming one of those scorches?”

“Your agility? Footwork?” the dwarf offered. “And your wits.”

“If that’s all there is, I’m out of here,” she told him. “I don’t care how good anyone is there, no one is going to go down looking at getting themselves barbecued. There’s got be more to it than that.”

“Yes,” he admitted, “Although that sort of attitude might not lead you to victory.”

“Maybe not,” Tina replied. “But I want to be able to go back home not looking like Freddy Krueger.”

He looked at her for a moment, then sighed.

“It’s a not very courageous choice, but, yes, there are protections that can protect you if that will make you feel more comfortable.”

“That’s good,” she told him. “Now what are they. How am I going to survive down there when I’m hit. How does the Lioness survive? And don’t tell me it’s by her agility and her wits and her fancy footwork.”

“Alum,” he told her.

“Alum?” she asked.

“You soak armor and clothing in it,” he told her. “Makes it fireproof. You won’t get burned. Likely, not much. No armor offers one hundred percent coverage.”

“Not too bad?” Tina worried. “How much coverage can I get? Ninety percent? How much of my hair is going to get singed?”

That memory of the smell of burnt hair returned, though today it was absent, at least for the moment.

“That’s only a risk if you get hit,” he told her. “But that’s not going to happen right? You are as advertised. Tina the Ghost, that was your nickname, right?”

How did he know that?

“I don’t’ remember that being advertised,” she told him. “But you’d better show me. I don’t want to become a ghost for reals.”

He took her down to the player’s quarters. Tina watched while he rummaged through a few chests before finding what he was looking for and pulled it out. It was a short coat that looked made of some kind of stiffened fabric with a bit of a silvery tinge to its general beigey-brown.

“Put this on,” he said, handing it over to her. “It’s about your size, isn’t it?

It was big and hung loose and not really comfortable in how stiff it was. The buttons were weird hook-like things, but she figured them out fast enough.

“All right, Now hold out your arm,” he instructed.

Tina did as instructed

“Hold it there,” he told her.

Then he grabbed a torch from the wall and swung it up at her in a fast arc of billowing flame.