ALMATY – Two huge dogs – an Asian and Caucasian shepherd – stand muzzle to muzzle in the middle of a large pen, teeth bared, growling and sizing each other up.

The standoff does not last long. Within seconds, the animals are up on their hind legs, heads twisting and plunging as battle unfolds.

Blood is soon visible around their teeth, necks and ears. It spatters the fresh snow inside the fighting area. This is the third time these two have fought. So far, it is one win apiece.

Surrounding the 20-sq.-meter fighting area, some 200 mainly young, male spectators cheer on their favorites, shout advice to the dogs and owners, discuss the merits of the various breeds and lay a small bet or two.

This is the official grounds of Kazakstan's "Zholbars" Service, Fighting and Shepherd Dog Club, where burly men from Central Asia and the Caucasus gather each Sunday throughout the winter to watch the canine display.

Around the rusting metal walls of the compound are tied a frightening array of fierce-looking beasts, tugging and gasping at their leads to get at whatever dog is closest.

Stocky pitbull and Staffordshire bull terriers line up alongside mastiffs; long-haired and bulky Caucasus sheepdogs eye up the Asian breed – also large, but with shorter hair and a stump for a tail.

Most show the scars of battle. One brown pitbull's head is a patchwork of pink gashes inflicted by his enemies. He is clearly itching to return to the fray.

There is nothing furtive about this weekly event, the equivalent to a day at the races in Europe, as would be the case in countries where the unarguably brutal "sport" is prohibited.

Club president Timirbek Katpin said dog fighting is not banned by Kazak law, explaining that it is part of the Central Asian state's heritage, alongside hunting with falcons and playing ancient sports on horseback.

"The West considers this to be illegal, we know," he said outside the gate to the compound, ready to collect the 100 tenge ($0.70) entrance fee.

"But in Central Asia, this is our ancestry and has been for centuries, along with falcons, camels and horses. In Spain, you have bullfighting, in Kazakstan, you have dog fighting."

He recounts legends of how Asian sheepdogs, called "tobet" in Kazak, protected livestock from wolves and snow leopards for nomad owners long before the vast Central Asian region between Russia, China and Iran was settled by the Russians.

Not everyone agrees. One spectator said that though it may be natural for some breeds of dog to protect livestock from predators, there was nothing natural about setting them against each other in a ring.

"The only part dogs had in our heritage was Russian borzois hunting with mounted falconers," said Kurmangazy, driving back to the center of Kazakstan's drab commercial capital Almaty.

"This is being promoted as a Kazak tradition, but it is really just a way for young people to make money."

Joy Leney, director for Europe and Asia at the World Society for Protection of Animals, said by telephone from London that it is now widely accepted that animals share similar senses and feelings to humans, and therefore sports like dog fighting are barbaric.

"We work to try to get legislation in place, as without that framework, we stand no chance of convincing people. Activities like dog fighting are barbaric and outdated," she said.

The fight between Pantos, the fine, grey Asian shepherd, and Karagyos, his magnificent white Caucasus cousin, is close.

Three-year-old Pantos initially gains the advantage by locking the fatty back of Karagyos' neck in a vice-like grip and forcing him to roll over in apparent submission.

But Karagyos wrestles free from the powerful jaws time and time again and, in return, sinks his huge teeth into his enemy's ears, hind legs and neck in an increasingly bloody tussle.

After 20 minutes of frenzied violence, the two steaming dogs are exhausted. They stand askance and pant for breath, apparently happy to call it a day.

Their owners have other ideas. They push the bloodstained animals toward each other and urge them to put the bout beyond doubt, the crowd cheering them on.

But the judge declares a tie, and after three encounters there is still little to choose between them.

Mikhail, the 43-year-old owner of the aptly-named Tyson, a fierce and fearless Staffordshire who made short work of his larger opponent, said he was still testing the 18-month-old dog.

"There was no money on this fight," Mikhail said. "It is only his second time. In the first contest, the other dog's neck was broken, and he died almost immediately after the start, so it did not tell me much."

Stakes between owners can run from a few dollars to several thousand, although the only bet acknowledged on this particular day was $100.

That is well above the average monthly wage in the oil-rich but poverty-stricken former Soviet republic.

Several spectators spoke in hushed tones of the legendary fight between Dzhinn, a Caucasus sheepdog and multiple Kazak champion, and a pitbull from Russia.

Dzhinn won, but the visitors were not pleased – the stake was said to be $75,000.