The Desert Spear

and demanding that they flow faster and faster still. The
dama
practiced in silence, their only instruction watching the lead
dama
and one another. Jardir thought the clerics pampered and weak.
    After an hour, the session ended. Immediately a buzz of conversation started as the
dama
broke into clusters and left the room. Jardir’s companion signaled him to remain, and they clustered with the other
nie’dama.
    “You have a new brother,” Dama Khevat told the boys, gesturing to Jardir. “With only twelve years under his bido, Jardir, son of Hoshkamin, has
alagai
blood on his hands. He will stay and learn the ways of the
dama
until the
dama’ting
deem him old enough to don his blacks.”
    The other boys nodded silently, bowing to Jardir.
    “Ashan,” the
dama
called. “Jardir will need help with his
sharusahk.
You will teach him.” Ashan nodded.
    Jardir snorted. A
nie’dama
? Teach him? Ashan was no older than he was, and Jardir waited ahead of boys years his senior in the
nie’Sharum
gruel line.
    “You feel you need no instruction?” Khevat asked.
    “No, of course not, honored
dama,
” Jardir said quickly, bowing to the cleric.
    “But you feel Ashan is not worthy to instruct you?” Khevat pressed. “After all, he is only
nie’dama,
a novice not yet old enough to speak, and you have stood with men in
alagai’sharak.
”
    Jardir shrugged helplessly, feeling that very thing, but fearing a trap.
    “Very well,” Khevat said. “You will spar with Ashan. When you defeat him, I will assign you a more worthy instructor.”
    The other novices backed away, forming a ring on the polished marble floor. Ashan stood in its center and bowed to Jardir.
    Jardir cast one last glance at Dama Khevat, then bowed in return. “Apologies, Ashan,” he said as they closed, “but I must defeat you.”
    Ashan said nothing, assuming a
sharusahk
battle stance. Jardir did likewise, and Khevat clapped his hands.
    “Begin!” the
dama
called.
    Jardir shot forward, his stiffened fingers going for Ashan’s throat. The move would put the boy out of the fight quickly, yet do no permanent harm.
    But Ashan surprised him, pivoting smoothly from Jardir’s path and delivering a kick to his side that sent him sprawling.
    Jardir rolled quickly to his feet, cursing himself for underestimating the boy. He came in again, his defenses set, and feinted a punch to Ashan’s jaw. When the boy moved to block, Jardir spun, feinting an elbow jab to his opposite kidney. Again Ashan shifted, positioning himself correctly, and Jardir spun back again, delivering the real blow—a leg sweep that he would complement with an elbow to the chest, putting the
nie’dama
flat on his back.
    But the leg Jardir meant to sweep was not where it was supposed to be, and his kick met only air. Ashan caught his leg, using Jardir’s own strength against him as he followed through with the exact move Jardir had planned. As Jardir fell, Ashan drove an elbow into his chest that blasted the breath from him. He hit the marble floor hard, banging his head, but was moving to rise before he felt the pain. He would not allow himself to be defeated!
    Before he had set his hands and feet, though, they were kicked out from under him. He hit the floor again and felt a foot pin the small of his back. His flailing left leg was caught, as was his right arm, and Ashan pulled hard, threatening to twist the limbs from their sockets.
    Jardir screamed, his eyes blurring in pain. He embraced the feeling, and when his vision cleared, he caught a glimpse of a
dama’ting,
watching him from the shadowed arch to the hall.
    She shook her veiled head and walked away.

    Deep in the bowels of Sharik Hora, Jardir could not tell night from day. He slept when the
dama
told him to sleep, ate when they gave him food, and followed their commands in between. There were a handful of
dal’Sharum
in the temple as well, training to be
kai’Sharum,
but no
nie’Sharum
save him. He was the least of the least, and when he thought of how those who had once leapt to his commands, Shanjat and Jurim and the others, might be losing their bidos even now, the shame threatened to overwhelm him.
    For the first year, he was Ashan’s shadow. Without uttering a sound, the
nie’dama
taught Jardir what he needed to survive among the clerics. When to pray, when to kneel, how to bow, and how to fight.
    Jardir had severely underestimated the fighting skills of the
dama.
They might be denied the spear, but the least of