Jiron steps forward and says, “Right here.”
Looking Jiron up and down, he grimaces and says, “I thought you had someone who would be more of a challenge than the last couple.”
“He can fight,” the barkeep says nervously. “I saw him in action myself.”
The man considers it for a moment and then nods his head, “So be it.” Saying something in their language to the rest of his group, they make their way over to the pavilion where they prepare.
“Hope you can fight well,” the barkeep says nervously.
“Why?” asks Fifer. “What difference would that make to you?”
“If they have another poor fight, it could be bad,” he admits.
“Been bringing him a few losers?” Jiron asks.
“You could say that,” replies the barkeep. “After the first couple of fights, no one around here is willing to face their champion.”
“Just who is their champion?” Fifer asks.
“A very fierce warrior,” he answers. “Brought up from somewhere deep within the Empire. Rumor has it he’s forced to fight for that man there, but why has never been told.”
“Interesting,” muses Jiron.
“Looks like they’re ready,” the barkeep says.
Glancing to the pavilion, Jiron sees the leader of the group and the large hooded man coming toward them. He and the barkeep, with Fifer staying several feet behind proceed to meet them in the center of the cleared area. A hush falls over the crowd as the two fighters meet.
Jiron looks beneath the hood but even with the light of the many torches illuminating the courtyard, he’s still unable to make out anything underneath.
The leader says something to his fighter who removes the hooded cloak.
Jiron hears Fifer gasp as the features of the man he’s to fight is seen. Tattoos cover most of his exposed skin. Bearing two swords, one longer than the other, Jiron knows exactly who or rather what his opponent is. A Parvati!
Breaking out in a grin Jiron gives the Parvati a friendly nod. A murmur grows through the crowd at his reaction. Never has anyone shown a reaction other than startlement or fear when he removed his hood. Now here’s this man, shorter and only bearing knives, giving him a friendly nod.
The expression on the Parvati’s leader’s face shows his confusion as well. He has always revealed his warrior’s features at the last minute to instill fear and doubt in his opponents. But that didn’t happen here and he doesn’t know why.
If the Parvati has taken any notice of Jiron’s nod, he fails to reply. His expression remains placid.
The barkeep steps between them and says, “There’s only one rule here. He who lives, wins!”
At that the crowd around them begins to cheer and call out. Raising a red flag high over his head, he continues, “When I let this go, begin the fight.”
The barkeep watches as the crowd moves back a little bit further to give the combatants room to fight. When he sees enough room has been cleared he waves the flag in a circle around his head. Just before he drops it, Jiron says to the Parvati, “May your swords drink deep.”
Stunned that he would know to say the traditional Parvati greeting, the Parvati stands there motionless when the red flag is dropped. “May your knives drink deep,” he says a smile coming to him as he draws his swords.
Jiron draws his knives and the battle begins. The Parvati begins with a few testing maneuvers to see how strong his defenses are. After several passes, he begins the fight in earnest.
When Jiron realized that he faced a Parvati, his first inclination was to produce the necklace and declare himself a Shynti. But what the barkeep said kept running through his mind. Rumor has it he’s forced to fight for that man there.
Working more on defense than actually trying to do him harm, Jiron easily blocks every strike, deflects every thrust. “Why do you do this?” he asks the Parvati during a series of intermittent probes from the Parvati.
“Do what?” he asks as he launches into a vicious attack which Jiron has a hard time in countering.
“This. Fighting for that man over there,” he clarifies. “From the Parvatis I’ve known, they would never let themselves be used thus.” Blocking an attack, he steps back a minute as they both catch their breath.
The crowd has been cheering the interplay of weapons. Over beneath the pavilion, Jiron can see the leader of the Empire’s men smiling. He’s definitely getting his money’s worth.
“I am honor bound to fight for him so long as he doesn’t set me against my own people,” the Parvati states. Coming at Jiron again, his blades are a veritable blur as they seek to penetrate his defense. But as Jiron is only concentrating on defense, he’s unable to find an opening.
“What happens if he should set you against one of your own?” he asks.
“Then I am free and no longer honor bound to obey him,” he replies. Stepping backward a moment, he says, “But that is not a very likely possibility.”
As the Parvati moves in to continue the attack, Jiron steps back and shouts “Hold!”
Only the fact that what he said was so unexpected did the Parvati pause in his attack. The crowd surrounding them, which had so recently been cheering and screaming at the fighters, have grown quiet at the odd way in which the combatants are acting. Blood should be flowing now, instead they’re standing still, facing one another.
Jiron glances over to the men from the Empire as he draws forth the necklace which signifies him as being a Shynti. An honor given only to the most ferocious of fighters, an honor which makes him one of them.
When the necklace comes free of his shirt and the Parvati’s eyes rest upon it, he asks in a hushed whisper, “Where did you get that?”
“I was given this by an old Parvati after defeating one of their number during a blood duel in the city of Korazan,” he explains.
“You’re a Shynti?” he asks, hardly daring to believe what his eyes are telling him.
The leader of the men from the Empire begins to sense things are not going as expected. “What’s all this?” he asks as he comes forward. “Fight!” The crowd filling the courtyard begins murmuring as they watch the scene playing out before them.
Ignoring the man, Jiron nods his head and says, “Yes, I am. I have feasted with the Eller Tribe.”
“Did you meet a warrior whose name was Qyith?” he asks as a strange look comes over his face.
Nodding, Jiron replies, “He was the War Leader of the Eller Tribe. A nice man all things considered.”
“He’s my brother,” states the Parvati. He suddenly tilts his head back and lets out with a loud, primordial cry.
Reaching their side, the man from the Empire grabs the Parvati’s arm just as his cry comes to a close and demands, “Why have you stopped the fight?”
Knocking his hand from his arm, the Parvati rounds on him and says, “I will no longer fight for you.”
“What?” exclaims the man. “You are honor bound to fight as I tell you!”
“No more will I fight honorless fights for you,” he states with finality. Pointing to Jiron, he says, “He is a Shynti of the Parvati’s which makes him one of our people. You put me to fight one of my own so that which was binding is no longer. I am free!”
The crowd, having grown restless when the fight stopped, becomes silent as they watch the growing drama unfold before them. From the pavilion, the rest of the Empire’s people come forward to stand with their leader.
“He is no Parvati!” the man cries out in rage. The thought that he’s going to lose his champion is almost more than he can stand. “If you do not honor your agreement, then you are an honorless swine!”
Moving so fast as to almost be unseen, the Parvati’s sword strikes out, severing the man’s head from his shoulders. As the head flies off and bounces on the ground several feet away, the crowd becomes deathly silent as the man’s torso stumbles about for a moment before crashing to the ground.
For a moment, the courtyard is silent as a grave, the shock of this unexpected event stunning the onlookers. Then the rest of the men from the Empire draw their swords as they rush the Parvati to avenge the death of their leader.