The Desert Spear

do.”
    Khevat chuckled. “The warriors I have known are not so modest. A kill wholly your own and five assists, at what? Thirteen?”
    “Twelve,” Jardir said.
    “Twelve,” Khevat repeated. “And you helped Moshkama die last night. Few
nie’Sharum
would have the heart for that.”
    “It was his time,” Jardir said.
    “Indeed,” Khevat said. “Moshkama had no sons. As his brother in death, it will fall to you to bleach his bones for Sharik Hora.”
    Jardir bowed. “I am honored.”
    “Your
dama’ting
came to me last night,” Khevat said.
    Jardir looked up eagerly. “I am to lose my bido?”
    Khevat shook his head. “You are too young, she says. Returning you to
alagai’sharak
without further training and time to grow will only cost the Kaji a warrior.”
    “I am not afraid to die,” Jardir said, “if that is
inevera.
”
    “Spoken like a true
Sharum,
” Khevat said, “but it is not that simple. You are denied the Maze by her decree until you are older.”
    Jardir scowled. “So I must return to the Kaji’sharaj in shame after standing among men?”
    The
dama
shook his head. “The law is clear on that. No boy who sees the
Sharum
pavilion is permitted to return to the
sharaj.
”
    “But if I cannot go there, and I cannot stand with the men…,” Jardir began, and suddenly the depth of his predicament became clear.
    “I…will become
khaffit
?” he asked, stark terror overcoming him for the first time in his life. His fear of the
dama’ting
was nothing compared to this. He felt the blood leave his face as he remembered the sight of Abban begging for his life.
    I will die first,
he thought.
I will attack the first
dal’Sharum
I see, and give him no choice but to kill me. Better dead than
khaffit.
    “No,” the
dama
said, and Jardir felt his heart begin to beat again. “Perhaps such things do not matter to the
dama’ting,
since even the lowliest
khaffit
is above a woman, but I will see no warrior fall so low when his every challenge has been met. Since the time of Shar’Dama Ka, no boy who has shed
alagai
blood in the Maze has been refused the black. The
dama’ting
dishonors us all with her decree, and handmaiden of Everam or not, she is only a woman, and cannot understand what that would do to the hearts of all
Sharum.
”
    “Then what will become of me?” Jardir asked.
    “You will be taken into Sharik Hora,” Khevat said. “I have already spoken to Damaji Amadeveram. With his blessing, not even the
dama’ting
can deny you that.”
    “I am to become a cleric?” Jardir asked. He tried to mask his displeasure, but his voice cracked, and he knew he had failed.
    Khevat chuckled. “No, boy, your destiny is still the Maze, but you will train here with us until you are ready. Study hard, and you may make
kai’Sharum
while others your age still wear bidos.”

    “This will be your cell,” Khevat said, leading Jardir to a chamber deep in the bowels of Sharik Hora. The room was a ten-by-ten square cut into the sandstone with a hard cot in one corner. There was a heavy wooden door, but it had no latch or bar. The only light came from a lamp in the corridor, filtering through the barred window in the door. Compared to the communal space and stone floor of the Kaji’sharaj, even this would have seemed luxury, if not for the shame that brought him here, and the pleasures of the Kaji pavilion that he was denied.
    “You will fast here and excise the demons from your mind,” Khevat said. “Your training begins on the morrow.” He left, his footsteps receding in the hall until all was silent.
    Jardir fell upon the cot, crossing his arms in front of him to support his head. But lying on his stomach made him think of Hasik, and rage and shame flared in him until it became unbearable. He leapt to his feet and grasped the cot, shouting as he smashed it against the wall. He threw it down, kicking the wood and tearing the cloth until he stood panting and hoarse amid a pile of splinters and thread.
    Suddenly realizing what he had done, Jardir straightened, but there was no response to his commotion. He swept the wreckage into a corner and began a
sharukin.
The practiced series of
sharusahk
movements centered him as no prayer ever could.
    The events of the last week swirled around him. Abban was
khaffit
now. Jardir felt shame at that, but he embraced the feeling, and saw the truth beneath. Abban had been
khaffit
all along, and
Hannu Pash
had shown it. Jardir had delayed Everam’s will, but