The chief priest curled his lips in disgust and threw the rod at her feet.

"You've chosen the way of discipline. You will learn to fight and submit as becomes a warrior of

Holin."

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Tashi held out her empty hands. "My religion is one of peace. I will not fight."

He ignored her. "Your trainer will remain with you. Everyone fights eventually."

With a swirl of red robes, he was gone, leaving a single priest behind.

Glancing up at him fearfully, Tashi saw that it was the man who had so efficiently wielded the

mace to kill his opponent. He now wore a robe fastened with a linked belt and a breastplate

made of gold, spoils of his victory and a sign that he had graduated to the highest level of

warrior-craft.

About fifty years old, he had the scarred face and hands of a professional soldier. He regarded

his pupil for a long silent moment then pointed to the rod.

"Pick it up," he ordered, drawing from the fold of his robes a similar instrument.

Having no idea what to expect, Tashi scooped the rod up from the floor. She had decided to

obey any order that did not conflict with her principles.

"Penitent, all Holin's followers must learn to fight for him and to submit to him as a good soldier does to his commander. You will quickly feel the penalty of 132

refusing an order from me, your master, if you refuse to give battle when told to do so.

Therefore, I say, 'Fight!'"

The warrior-priest launched himself at her, swinging the rod down in an arc like a sword slash.

Instinctively, Tashi raised her arms across her face. The blow whipped across the back of her

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hands. She yelped.

The priest gave a cold smile. "I think you understand now. I will keep on attacking until you fight back." He raised his rod again, expecting her to launch her counter-strike.

"I will not fight for your god," Tashi retorted, turning quickly so that the next blow fell on her back. The sting made her gasp.

"That is blasphemy." The man bent the rod in his hands, his eyes glittering with battle-fire. "The Warmonger wants strength and blood from his followers, not weakness and cowardice."

"Then I won't follow him."

The third blow hit her ribs with a crack.

"You must fight back or I will beat you until I have no more strength to raise my arm."

Tashi believed him, but either she let him break her body or crush her will.

She took a step forward, held her rod between her two hands and snapped it over her knee. She

threw the pieces to the ground.

"I am fighting back, sir, in the only way my faith allows."

He raised his arm to strike again but Tashi did not flinch this time.

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"I did as you asked: I fought, but still you would hit me?" she asked, steeling herself for the blow.

The priest slowly lowered his rod, his expression one of reluctant admiration.

"You have strength, witch, but it is in the service of the wrong god. I will return tomorrow to

continue our lessons," he said, tucking the rod away in his belt.

Ramil had decided that he stood the best chance of escape if he ingratiated himself with Fergox.

If he could earn the man's trust, it was likely the guard on him would be relaxed sufficiently for

him to slip away and make his preparations. To do so, he would have to start acting as if he

accepted that he was a guest rather than a prisoner. On hearing from the two soldiers who were

his permanent escort that Fergox usually spent the morning sparring with his warrior priests,

Ramil went in search of his host. Their information had been correct: Fergox was duelling in the

practice courts adjoining the temple, an arena surrounded by a wooden barrier. As Ramil

approached, he could see warriors testing their skills on the sawdust-covered floor. Fergox was

in the very middle, stripped to the waist, sweat running down his back, a few cuts to his torso,

but he was getting the best of the fight. With a skilful swipe of the sword, Fergox had his

opponent on his knees, blade pointing to his windpipe.

"Submit to me, and thus to the Great Holin," Fergox panted. There was a hungry look in his eye, as if he hoped to have the excuse to finish the thrust.

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"I submit," said the priest, letting his blade fall to the ground with a clatter.

With a tight laugh, Fergox dropped his sword and stepped back.

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"Honor to the Mighty Holin," he chanted.

"Honor to his name," replied the man, completing the ritual. He looked immensely relieved to be walking away with his life.

Fergox reached for a towel held out by one of his servants, wiped his face with it, and slung it

around his neck. He then saw Ramil leaning against the barrier.

"Good morning, Prince Ramil. I trust you slept well?"

Ramil bowed. "Indeed, sir."

"Would you care to fight?" Fergox gestured to the rack of weapons inside the court--swords,

spears, mace, and staff. "I like to practice with at least three partners each day to keep up my

skills."

Ramil vaulted over the barrier. "I do not pretend to match you in experience or strength, my

lord." It did not suit his plans to risk getting injured just to show off his swordsmanship. "Would target practice be an acceptable competition between us?" He chose a short spear, the sort he

carried when hunting back in Gerfal. "Perhaps you would care to show me the skill that earned

you your title?"

Fergox nodded. "I have no problem with that, Princeling." He picked a spear and gestured to a row of straw men-targets against the wall at the far end of the arena. "A killing strike wins--head or heart."

They walked together to take up their positions

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opposite the dummies. Fergox felt the sharpened end of his spear

thoughtfully.

"I hear from the priests you visited my little penitent."

Quelling any sign that would betray his nervousness on this subject, Ramil nodded. "Yes, I went

to reason with her but found her unmoved."

Fergox lifted the spear to his shoulder and took a few swings to loosen his arm and neck

muscles.

"She's putting on a good show for the people. Prettily stubborn. A sudden conversion would not

be half so impressive."

He launched the spear and it struck the central dummy in the head.

"A fatal blow," he said with a satisfied smile.

Ramil warmed up, then cast his missile, imagining the dummy to be Fergox.

It flew hard and fast, piercing the straw man in the heart.

"Excellent!" Fergox clapped him on the back. "Your family should be proud of you. Best of 139

three?"

Ramil was about to agree when a red-robed priest appeared at Fergox's elbow. He muttered a

swift report out of Ramil's hearing, bowed and retired.

Fergox turned back to his young challenger with one of his chilling smiles.

"I do apologize, Prince Ramil, but we will have to postpone our contest. I am called away to our

not-so-penitent penitent. She has excelled herself this morning and I must congratulate her."

He walked out of the practice courts, leaving Ramil to wonder what he meant.

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The door to the cell opened for the third time that day. Tashi took up her post against the far

wall, her fingers clutching the stones apprehensively.

"Ah, Tashi, Tashi, you are remarkable!"

Fergox Spearthrower stood before her, arms outstretched in a benevolent gesture. He was bare-