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of his opponent. Something like that battle-axe Jjanjiu was sporting.
    Jjanjiu was back on his feet, angry now, letting his emotions take over his fight. It was yet another flaw of many. He so arrogantly thought he was undefeatable. Dethan would prove otherwise and he would do so with a cool head. Emotion had no place in a shivov contest. He had watched many in his day, and it was always the fighterwho became frustrated, insulted, or angry who lost the battle. Emotions made you do things wrong. It served you ill no matter how skilled you were. It was why he never let emotion color his battles. Or anything else, for that matter.
    By the time Jjanjiu hit the mud again, he had been completely divested of his battle-axe and the weapon was seated firmly in his opponent’s hands. Adding to the embarrassment, Dethan threw the sword down in front of the other man, as if to make it very clear that he was simply toying with the brute. Enough to be unconcerned about giving the man a weapon to replace the one he had just lost.
    “Would you like to try again?” Dethan asked archly.
    The fury in Jjanjiu’s face was all too obvious. It was reflected in his roar as he grabbed up the sword and charged Dethan. Dethan sidestepped him and swung the battle-axe down hard on the back of his opponent’s neck. Had he been paying attention, he would have heard the crowd audibly wince. But all his focus was on Jjanjiu. The man might be clumsy and enraged, but underestimating him would be foolish. And still, Dethan had to get him closer to the edge of the ring. They had been traveling that way since the beginning of the fight, moving from the center toward the edge closest to the grandina’s viewing box. Dethan looked up, easily finding her because of that brightly colored cap, so blue in a sea of muddy browns and blacks. Their eyes locked, and while it didn’t distract him from his goal, he felt something, something charged and intense, pass between them. There was something in her eyes …
    Gratitude. It was gratitude. Because she knew he was going to win and somehow, in her eyes, he was the better choice of the two of them. She would not mind giving him his reward, however muddy and burn-scarred he might be.
    Jjanjiu charged a second time, and once again, Dethan sidestepped him, this time grabbing the man by the back of his pants, and with a tremendous hauling movement Dethan used his own momentum to send Jjanjiu over the ring barrier.
    The crowd roared in delight, the shouting beating at him from all around. He kicked the wooden sword away and held up the axe, eliciting yet another roar of approval. Then he walked the final steps to the viewing box and said, “You have your true champion now, most beautiful lady.” He bowed to her, putting his fist to his heart. But, again, he did not take his eyes away from her. As she moved down the stands, he thought of how brave she must be. Knowing that her immediate fate rested in the hands of a mud-slung vagrant of obviously no breeding and maybe only a little skill to speak for him in her eyes said more about her bravery than Jjanjiu’s self-boastings had and with far more honesty.
    When she stood before him, he became aware of the dead silence at his back and that hundreds of eyes were straining to see what was about to pass between the mud slug and the grandina. But more than that, he became aware of the softest cloud of scent drifting toward him, something sweet and clean yet lush and rich at the same time.
    It was her perfume. And like her, it was beautiful and bold. In her hands she held a velveteen purse, the weight impressive for such a simple contest. It made him realize just how wealthy this city was, that sums like this could be awarded for child’s play.
    “Your purse, champion,” she said, keeping her voice raised, even though he could tell by the trembling in her fine-boned hands that it was taking a great deal of effort for her to keep up her appearance of calm and graciousness.