Robert Silverberg

“ He backed against a rough-barked tree and felt sweat cascade down his body as a tawny shape sprang from behind a twisted shrub, pounced on one of the giraffes, smashed the fragile neck with a fierce swipe of a paw.
The lioness. Sudden death springing from nowhere, a bright streak that brought violence. Hendriks looked around uneasily. The giraffes had fled; the lioness was dragging her kill into the underbrush. The warm smell of death was in the air—that, and the buzzing of green-eyed flies an inch long. ”

“ Hendriks had just a moment to recognize it. A leopard, black, sleek, moving with the easy grace of a machine designed for killing. He toppled backward under the impetus of the beast's furious attack, smelled the soft musky smell of the killer. ”

“ Hendriks said, looking at the others. "This is quite an event. Quite an event."
The theater was totally filled by 8 P. M. sharp; the corps of near-nude usherettes performed their job swiftly and efficiently.
And suddenly a voice said, "Welcome to ULTRARAMA."
It was a cultured, soft female voice—and it came from so close to him that he glanced in surprise at his wife. But she was looking at him. She had heard the voice too.
It continued: "You are about to witness the most spectacular form of entertainment ever conceived by the mind of man. ”

“ A sluggish black stream wound through the jungle; curious, Hendriks walked toward it. Dark logs lay strewn almost at random in the shallow muddy water at the sides of the stream. But as he watched, one of the logs yawned, showing a double row of deadly teeth, and slid sleepily off into deeper waters.
Crocodiles. Death threatened everywhere in the jungle.
Monkeys chittered overhead; bright-plumaged birds flapped from tree to tree. Hendriks felt the heat, his nostrils drew in the smell. ”

“ They cleared a channel through the mob and the Hendriks, along with several hundred other early arrivees, followed along to the door of the vast theater.
"What are all these people doing here?" Mrs. Hendriks asked.
Her husband shrugged. "Maybe they plan on crashing the gate—or possibly they think there may be some tickets left. I tell you, we're awfully lucky to be where we are right now."
He extended the invitations to a tall, haughty-looking doorman in a resplendent uniform. The doorman merely nodded and gestured them inside. ”

“ Paul Hendriks had been in line since early the morning before, and so he was only a block or so from the still-unopened ticket-booth. His wife had come by from time to time, bringing sandwiches and coffee. Hendriks was determined to get a pair of tickets.
He turned to the man next to him. "Got the time?"
"Five to nine."
"That's what I thought. That means the ticket-office opens in five minutes." Hendriks rose on tiptoe and squinted ahead. "There must be five hundred people ahead of us."
"They say the theater holds five thousand." ”

“ Swordsman against netman. It was deadly, deadly.
Hendriks knew enough history to be aware of what was expected of him. He had to ensnare the swordsman in the net and kill him with the trident before that fierce sword could pierce his heart. It was anything but an equal contest, but with proper agility—
The sword flashed on high. Desperately Hendriks parried it with the hilt of his trident and whirled the net through the air. The swordsman laughed and leaped back. ”