The Desert Spear

gathered crowd gasped in amazement. Aleverak advanced quickly, driving a bony heel down at Jardir’s throat, but Jardir caught the foot in both hands, twisting in opposite directions as he got his feet under him.
    Aleverak accepted the twist, leaping into it and again using Jardir’s own strength against him as he kicked Jardir in the mouth with his free foot. Again Jardir found himself hitting the marble floor, with Aleverak still on his feet.
    Everyone watched the battle with great interest now. A moment ago the fight had been about giving an old man an honorable death—a footnote in the tale of Jardir’s ascension. But suddenly everything Jardir had built was in jeopardy. His sons were still too young to properly defend themselves if his enemies bared knives at them without Jardir’s protection. The Andrah leaned forward on this throne, watching intently.
    Aleverak charged again, but Jardir managed to get his feet back under him in time and met him head-on. This time, he kept his feet firmly planted, giving the old man no energy to turn back on him. Aleverak’s blows were amazingly quick, but Jardir still blocked the first two. The third he let go through, accepting the punch in exchange for the opportunity to lock on to the
Damaji’s
arm.
    Aleverak offered Jardir no energy for a throw of his own, but whereas the ancient Damaji was little more than tough skin over sharp bone, Jardir was thick with muscle, a warrior in his prime. He did not need to steal energy to throw a man who weighed little more than his age.
    Jardir flexed and pivoted sharply, hurling Aleverak away from him. The
Damaji
twisted with the move, never losing his balance even as he was thrown, and Jardir knew he would land on his feet and come right back in.
    Jardir kept hold of Aleverak’s arm, ducking under it to aid his twist and putting a foot into the old man’s back as he hit the floor. He pulled hard, and the snap of Aleverak’s shoulder echoed up to the great domed ceiling above. Bone tore through the
Damaji’s
white robes, which quickly ran red.
    Jardir moved to finish him quickly before pain could unman him, but Aleverak never screamed, never offered submission. Jardir met the ancient
Damaji’s
eyes and saw a focus that denied all pain as Aleverak struggled back to his feet. His honor was boundless as he took a new stance, his left arm leading as his right hung twisted, limp, and bloody.
    “You cannot prevent my ascending to the Skull Throne, Damaji,” Jardir said as they slowly circled. “And most of your tribe has already sworn to me. See reason, I beg. Is a grave for you and your sons so preferable to being advisor to the Shar’Dama Ka?”
    “My sons will no more turn our tribe over to you without a fight than I will,” Aleverak said. Jardir knew it was true, but he was loath to kill Aleverak all the same. Too many honorable men had died already, and with Sharak Ka coming, Ala had none to spare. His thoughts flashed back to the Par’chin, lying facedown in the sand, and shame brought mercy to his lips.
    “I will let your sons offer one challenge to mine, on your death,” Jardir offered at last. “Let them decide among themselves who it will be.”
    There was a buzz of angry chatter among the surrendered
Damaji
at that, but Jardir glared at them. “Silence!” he roared, and they all fell still. He turned back to Aleverak.
    “Will you be at my side, Damaji, as Krasia rises back to glory?” he asked. The
Damaji
was growing paler by the second from blood loss. If he did not acquiesce, Jardir would kill him quickly, that he might die on his feet.
    But Aleverak bowed, glancing to his bleeding shoulder. “I accept your offer, though that challenge may come sooner than you think.”
    It was true. Jardir’s Majah son, Maji, was only eleven, and would prove no match to one of Aleverak’s sons should the
Damaji
die from his wound. “Hasik, escort Damaji Aleverak to the
dama’ting
for healing,” Jardir ordered.
    Hasik moved to the old man’s side, but Aleverak held up a hand. “I will see this through, and Everam decide if I live or die this day.” The steel in his voice held Hasik at bay, and Jardir nodded, turning to Amadeveram, the last
Damaji
between him and the cowering Andrah.
    Amadeveram was younger than Aleverak, but still a man in his seventies. Jardir knew better than to underestimate him, though, especially after the fine showing of the older cleric.
    “Me, you will have to kill,” Amadeveram said.