Oh well, anyone who thinks hand-to-hand combat can be neat and tidy doesn't live long enough to learn otherwise.

Blade mounted and rode out into the field at a walk, to spare his mount. His opponent followed at a trot, with Curim and several of his comrades cheering him on.

Blade reined in when they reached the circle of trampled grass, but the guardsman simply pulled his rolgha around in a circle without stopping. Then he dropped his lance into striking position and spurred his rolgha up to a canter. Blade rode to meet him, and they came together so hard that both lances were smashed into splinters.

Both shields were still intact, however, and neither man was the worse for the shock. So one of Jollya's guardswomen rode out with fresh lances for both men, and they came at each other again. This time Blade's thrust was better placed. His lance tip caught in a split in the leather covering of his opponent's shield, jerked the shield out of position, and nearly pulled the man out of his saddle. For a moment the guardsman was completely unprotected. If Blade could have drawn his sword he could have ended the fight then and there, but the man went by too fast.

On the third pass with lance and shield, the guardsman's rolgha was only trotting, and the rider hardly tried to thrust at Blade. He crouched behind his shield, holding it so firmly that Blade's lance broke again and for a moment his right arm went numb all the way to the shoulder. He felt as if he'd thrust at a stone wall.

As the guardsman drew his sword, Blade trotted his rolgha around in circles, desperately flexing his arm to get it back into fighting shape. He was annoyed to realize that he hadn't got back all the strength he'd lost in the jungle and the prison, and the fighting had taken more out of him than he'd expected. It was too bad that he not only had to win this fight but also had to make a good show for the judges, and also guard against Curim's treachery.

Blade decided to make his move at the first decent chance he got. The guardsman was probably stronger than he was right now, but Blade knew he'd still have two advantages. One would be surprise; the other, the fact that the Jaghdi had no system of unarmed combat.

Blade drew his sword, but carefully loosened the straps on his shield so he could discard it with a single jerk of his arm. Then he shouted, «Come and be butchered, son of a sow!» and spurred his rolgha at the man.

Blade's opponent did the same but didn't notice that Blade was pulling on the reins at the same time as he dug in the spurs. Blade's rolgha whinnied and started to buck in confusion, but Blade kept it under control. The guardsman rode in at a canter, shield raised to meet a thrust, sword raised to come down on Blade's head or shoulder. He made the fatal mistake of concentrating completely on what he was going to do to his opponent, ignoring what his opponent might be planning to do himself. So he rode up to Blade without noticing that Blade's rolgha was almost standing still, a steady platform for launching any sort of attack.

As his opponent's sword came down, Blade exploded into action so fast and furiously that even those who saw him could only figure out afterward what he'd done. His sword dropped to the ground, his shield arm straightened suddenly, and his shield flew like a thrown discus at the guardsman. It flew high, crashing into his sword so that its slash went completely wild. Blade had nothing to fear from the sword as he hurled himself forward, gripping his opponent's shield with both hands.

Blade's rolgha squealed and bucked wildly. If the guardsman had thought of letting go of his shield, Blade would have dropped to the ground and would have probably lost his life as well, trampled to death by one of the rolghas. Instead the man froze in surprise, giving Blade all the time he needed. Blade swung himself up onto the back of the other rolgha, let go of the shield, got the man in a hammerlock with one arm, and chopped at the side of his neck with the other. As he felt the man go limp, he hurled himself to one side, to get clear of both the rolgha's hooves and his falling opponent.

All the spectators were shouting and screaming as the two men hit the grass. Somehow the guardsman sat up, and as he reached for his dagger Blade lunged for him again. He had to admire the guardsman's toughness, but that made it all the more important to put him down and keep him down. This fight wasn't going to be over until the other man was unconscious.

Then above the shouting Blade heard Curim's voice bellowing, «No, you-!» Blade didn't hear the whistle of the arrow, because he shouted, «Get down, you fool!» to his opponent, then threw himself as far as he could. He landed rolling, and as he rolled he heard the guardsman let out a throat-tearing scream.

When Blade raised his head he saw the guardsman sitting as if he'd been turned to stone, an arrow driven into his left eye and blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

Then he slumped sideways, kicked twice, and lay still. Curim hadn't been able to stop his archer in time.

Blade was never really sure why he stayed out in the open field, a perfect target for more arrows, instead of catching one of the rolghas or running toward the judges.

He thought it was because he knew the scuffle among the spectators meant there would be no more arrows, but he also suspected it was because he wanted to honor the guardsman's courage, and arrows be damned! Blade bent over his fallen opponent, straightened his legs, and crossed his arms on his chest. He retrieved the man's shield and put it over his face. Then he picked up the man's dagger and thrust it into his own belt. Finally he rose and walked slowly toward the spectators.

As he approached, both men and women stepped out of his path. Curim looked away, the archer held by four guards buried his face in his hands, and even Tressana turned slightly pale under her tan as she looked at Blade. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke to her guard captain.

«Curim. This was your work, wasn't it?»

It was the captain's turn to go pale. Tressana raised her hand, and five of the guardswomen turned their rolghas and lowered their lances. Blade stood quietly, his hands at his sides. In spite of his rage, he knew that a single wrong word or movement could set off a bloody fight. He might die in it, and even if he didn't Tressana could be killed. Then there would be chaos in Jaghd.

«Well?» Tressana's voice cut like a whip. Curim swallowed, then nodded. The queen laughed. Blade had seldom heard such unpleasant laughter. Then she smiled, without warmth. «Curim, I do not know what you thought to accomplish by this. I will not ask, either. I will simply give you a choice. Slay the archer now with your own hands or lay down your post as captain of the Men's Guard.»

Curim never had a chance to obey or refuse. The archer let out an animal roar and with desperate strength tore himself free of the men holding him. He hurled himself at Curim. Blade was in the man's path and acted almost by reflex. He reached into his own belt, drew the dead guardsman's dagger, then thrust upward at the archer. The man's leather armor deflected the point upward, but only from his heart into his throat. Blade jerked the dagger free and the archer staggered a few more steps, then fell and lay still. Blade wiped the dagger on the dead man's breeches, then raised it hilt-first in salute to Tressana.

«Your Grace, this was a more fitting end for the archer. I killed him with his comrade's dagger. Now his comrade can rest easy, although he himself was not blameless in this affair.»

Blade's words set all the guards murmuring and whispering, except for Curim. He stood, trying not to look at either Blade or the queen, until Tressana spoke again.

«So be it. I will say that justice has been done, and will say no more of this. Curim, you still have your place, but it would be best if you kept out of my sight until I say otherwise.»