“Matches last two hundred breaths. The attending Proven counts the points and breaths. The match doesn’t end if you yell ‘no’ or ‘cek’ or anything else. You say, ‘Goddess’s mercy,’ and the hitting stops, neh?”
Tau and the others murmured their acceptance.
“Mind, there are no head strikes with weapons. You hit someone in the head, you lose. You step outside the ring, you lose. You lose on day one, you’re out. You lose on day two, you’re out. You make it to day three, you’re in, but it’s still a fight.
“The isikolo masters, that’s ‘umqondisi’ to you, will be watching on day three. They’re looking to claim talent for their scale. Trust me, you want to make it into a good scale.”
There was more nodding.
“Last thing… You happen to be Tsiory reborn and win ten matches, then you’re in, no matter what day you do it on.” The full-blood smiled at that, all teeth, some mirth, none of it shared. “So make ten wins today,” he said, walking away and calling over his shoulder. “Get your numbers, get to fighting.”
The Ihashe knew their business, and the long lines of test takers were handled with speed as the busy circle hummed with hushed voices and nervous energy. It was the sound of thousands of men preparing, focusing, and wrapping dull practice swords in thick, protective linen.
Tau saw that those with gambesons donned them and those without wore many layers of their heaviest clothing. It made him thankful for his father’s old gambeson. He knew the other men, the ones layering up, wouldn’t last a two hundred count in the sun. They’d have to beat their opponents quickly or risk sun sickness.
“Five thousand forty! Five thousand forty!” a Proven called out near the set of five individual fighting circles to which Tau had been assigned.
“Ready,” Tau shouted in response.
He was in the day’s first round of fights. Other Proven called out other numbers and other men stepped forward. Tau took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and emptied his mind like his father had taught. He sought the calm, the peace, that would allow his muscles to relax and his training to take over. It didn’t come.
“C’mon, then,” said the Proven judging his match. “I’ve got a long day, neh.”
Tau stepped forward, and the Proven, who was missing his right leg below the knee, handed him a battered helm and bronze shield. The shield’s edges were rounded off, unlike the razor-sharp edges it’d have for war. Chosen fought with sword and shield, but Tau had always struggled with shields. He hadn’t even taken one to the raid in Daba.
Tau hefted the round metal disk and slipped his left arm through the straps. It was heavier than the one his father let him use for practice. He raised and lowered his left arm to get a feel for it and plopped the ill-fitting helm on his head.
“Five thousand ninety-two!” the Proven said, calling for Tau’s opponent. “Where are you, char it?”
“Here, here. I’m here.”
Tau’s opponent was Tau’s height, and from the quality of cloth he wore and his proud strut, he had to be Governor caste. He was slim, he had squinty eyes, and the skin on his thin face was pockmarked badly enough to make him look like a hedena with curse scars.
The Proven gave the man his gear and pointed to the fighting circle. Tau’s opponent ran onto it, choosing his spot first. Tau moved opposite him and learned why the Governor caste fighter had moved so quickly. Tau was facing into the sun.
“It’s Tau,” Tau said, introducing himself to his opponent.
The pockmarked Governor ignored him, warming up by firing his sword back and forth in a series of thrusts.
“Fight!” growled the Proven, and the Governor ran forward.
It took him no time to cross the distance, and he swung for Tau’s head. Tau leapt back and brought his sword up to block the illegal blow. He was quick to realize his error, but it was still too late. His squinty-eyed opponent dropped the ruse, changed levels, and bashed Tau under the arm. Tau lurched backward, almost dropping his sword from the pain.
“Point!” yelled the Proven.
Tau was on the defensive and had to dance backward to avoid getting clobbered. The Governor was slender but fast. His follow-up attacks pushed Tau all the way to the edge of the ring, close to forcing him out. With no more than a step to spare, Tau skipped away from the edge and toward the fighting circle’s center, taking a hit to the thigh and body as he did.
“Point! Point!” said the Proven.
Tau was panting, sucking air in heavy gulps. The match was in its earliest stages, but he’d spent all of it running. Getting desperate, he launched an attack of his own.
He thrust at his opponent and the Governor turned, avoiding the strike. Tau darted forward, jerking his blade into a sideswiping swing that would crash into the man’s exposed back, but the Governor whirled, blocking the strike, and with his near arm he elbowed Tau in the temple.
Tau reeled, disengaged, and flashed a look at the Proven. The officiant shrugged. It seemed head strikes made without the use of weapons were allowed, though no points were awarded.
The Governor brought himself back to center, squinting worse than before. “Looks like your journey ends here, Drudge.”
Tau swung and the Governor stepped out of reach.
“You’re not bad,” he said. “You’re just not good.”
“Half-match,” the Proven shouted.
It had been a hundred count and Tau was three points down. He pushed forward, swinging at his opponent’s shoulder, leg, and arm. The Governor blocked each attack while moving in circles.
“Why fight?” he asked Tau. “Commons shouldn’t even be in the Ihashe.”
Tau was tired, hungry, and hot. His underarm throbbed where he’d been hit, and his sweat was seeping into the wound on his face, making it burn. He was losing and it wasn’t something he’d prepared for.
He’d trained his whole life for this, and though he had no love for fighting, he’d always believed himself strong enough to pass the testing. It seemed, however, he wasn’t even good enough to beat his first opponent.
The Governor threw a mock thrust his way and Tau stumbled back. The Governor laughed and Tau grew angry. He refused to let a stunted pock-faced scapegrace stop him.
Yelling in anger and frustration, he went after the Governor, calling on fighting form after fighting form, intending to overwhelm the skinny cek, but the Governor pranced about, dodging this, blocking that, and counterattacking whenever Tau overextended.
“Point! Point!” the Proven called out two more times, Tau’s barrage ending with him down five to nil.
“No matter, Tau,” the Governor said, stretching out his name like it was a dirty word. “Your mother will still love you. Just tell her the truth. You lost to a better breed of man.”
He was trying to make Tau angrier. He wanted him making mistakes, and it was working. Tau was furious, and even filled with fury, he couldn’t deny it—the Governor was the stronger swordsman.
RULES
Tau wasn’t going to beat him and tried telling himself justice did not depend on being military. He told himself he could go to Citadel City. He could find Kellan and put a knife in the man’s back. He could learn where Dejen Olujimi lived and slit the Ingonyama’s throat while he slept. He told himself Abasi Odili could die in a similar manner. He told himself it would serve, and he knew it wouldn’t.