 |
 |
| Someday a young contender will stride into the arena, wearing his confidence in the stance of a warrior. He will stand erect, flanked by demons, blond hair waving, clutching a spear; gaze forward, immobile, mouth set expressionlessly. |
 |
| Such men tend to age with surprising grace into a quiet, alert maturity. Like cats they stalk the margins, in search of fresh talent against which they may test themselves. |
 |
 |
|
 |