Whereas Shams was quick, Jirikoy was flat-footed, stumbling along to keep the younger man's pace. He neither had the speed, nor the stamina to keep this up. And everyone could see it.

Nevertheless, they all watched with bated breath as Shams bounced on the balls of his feet, running circles around Hurek's friend, and nicking him with the tips of his blades with astonishing ease. I felt I was missing something and couldn't put my finger on it.

I leaned over to Atia, "This was supposed to be first blood, we can stop this charade now, can't we?"

"Oh, hush. Go pout over there, you're breathing all over me," she replied.

Flamma had left her and was shouting commands to Shams from the sidelines - codes and directions I couldn't decipher at all.

Jirikoy, frustrated, barreled forward with his club but Shams was somehow expecting it? He pounced away at the exact moment and nicked the older man in the hip as he swerved. How was it possible that Shams was timing the Nokchi at every turn!

Jirikoy huffed, taking too long to turn and follow his opponent. He bled from a dozen cuts on his left side, that dripped down his leg, through his sandals, and left crimson footprints all over the courtyard. His large club, which he'd carried with ease just moments before, now rolled lazily in his fists where old scars had opened up and no doubt pained him even more. How many years had it been since he'd fought?

"Surely, we can switch to wooden sicas," I implored the Priestess. "You've had your fu-"

"Oh!" Chief Abed yelled with glee and I turned to find Jirikoy taking a knee in surrender. Despite the emptiness I still felt over the news of my son's shocking execution, I couldn't help but feel a relief wash over me.

I made to rush over to Jirikoy but a spearman stepped in front of me at Atia's signal. The Priestess yelled over to the Nokchi man, "is that all you have, Jiri? Do not embarrass me in my own home!"

Shams stood over the tired man, looking rather disappointed. "Think of all the soap you can buy with a hundred denarii. Get up, boy."

Jirikoy looked around at all of us. He was surrounded by enemies and now he finally he realized it. When his puffy eyes landed on me, he gulped, offered a tired smile as if to say farewell. Or rather, he wanted me to give his regards to his wife, Ollia.

The bout resumed with Jirikoy falling for the same traps, this time with even more ease on Shams' part. The young warrior bounced in and out of Jirikoy's range with pin-point timing and accurately predicting the large man's swings. "What kind of trickery is this?" I hissed.

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Something was happening right in front of my eyes and I couldn't figure it out. Shams wasn't that much faster. I'd seen Ghassan move quicker, even Haza. But somehow, Shams was exactly in the perfect spot to intercept Jirikoy's retreats, counter his lunges, and exit his range. Every. Single. Time.

"I don't understand," I whispered again and again, watching Hurek's friend get cut up like butcher's meat, and while he stumbled, too tired to chase Shams out of range, the young prince turned to a cheering Abed and his attendants, a smug smile permanently on his wretched face.

How had I been so arrogant? To think that I could decipher and analyze something I'd never done myself? How could I lead Hurek to the top of the ranked ladder when I barely understood this bloody sport? By the Gods of the Inferno... what trickery was Shams doing? Or was Jirikoy just that much more outmatched?

"No, it has to make sense," I said and looked around the yard for anyone that might help. Flamma and Atia's spearmen would be of no help, that's for sure. So that only left... "Ibn Ghassan."

I excused myself from Atia's presence, who barely noticed, and snuck around the spearmen wall, inching my way through the bushes and closer to Abed's retinue. Ghassan had taken a place over the merchant's shoulder and was the first to notice me approaching. He shortly dismissed me as no threat and returned his gaze to the tragic display.

"Ibn Ghassan," I muttered, "do you understand what is happening? What is Shams doing out there?"

The veiled warrior stared ahead, not giving a single sign that he'd understood or even heard my question. Did he speak Latin? "Please, Ali," I said, using his first name, "I have to know what is happening to Jirikoy. Please."

I felt no embarrassment pleading in this way. Jirikoy's life was at stake, and if Ghassan had a drop of mercy in his heart, I would find it. The swordsman stood silent, though, his eyes following Shams as he skipped around the bleeding Nokchi, now openly giggling at his prey.

"Please, Ali. Jiri doesn't deserve this, he's given his life to the arena and-"

"Feinting," Ibn Ghassan said suddenly in accented Latin. "He leads with feints to break guard and set up counters."

"Leading with feints? To break guard?" What did that even mean or entail? Either I was too panicked or I'd finally come to face my shallow understanding of the martial arts. I didn't grasp a word of that sentence.

"T-thank you," I muttered nonetheless, and Ali nodded slightly behind his silver veil.

Jirikoy was on his knees again, his clothes a bright crimson and Shams had somehow hit an artery as the man spurted blood from his thigh with every beat of his tired heart. Nausea hit me like a rock and I fought the urge to look away. No, I had to watch. I was an observer wasn't I?

This was my doing, and my sin.

Shams sighed, staring down at the dying man as if he was a toy that no longer worked. "Fucking prole," Shams said, and he kicked Jirikoy viciously in the gut and toppled him over. He smacked the stone floor with limp arms and his club rolled away, streaking its own trail of red.

He was trying to say something and it sounded disturbingly like mitte; arena-speak for mercy. But this was no arena, and Shams was no honorable opponent. The young man kicked Jirikoy again and again, cursing with every breath and with an anger that seemed to be coming from nothing but pure cruelty.

I forced myself to watch the slow execution. And despite my disgust and shame... intrusive thoughts played in my mind. Thoughts of hope... of anticipation. For all the pain that this death might bring, I secretly hoped it would finally turn Hurek into what I now needed.

A killer.

***