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madam.”
    “ Give thought to the future, my lord,” she beseeched him. “ What good can Conan do if he is maimed?”
    “ I cannot stop the contest,” Alaric said.
    Conan and Garrett came together with a great smashing of armor, both knights falling to the ground. Conan threw down his lance and shield. The crowd became quiet and intent. Conan could not hold both his shield and his broadsword: he had but one good hand. Sir Garrett stood momentarily confused, not wishing to take unfair advantage of an oppo nent so beset. Garrett was a proud knight -- beating Conan when his hand was crippled would mean little.
    Conan did not wait for Garrett’s approval of the conditions of the contest. He crossed the tilt and came to stand on Garrett’s side, sword drawn and ready. Garrett hesitated, but Conan struck the first blow, removing any further doubt that he was ready to carry on the fight on foot.
    Conan fought mightily, Garrett’s sword glancing off his armor and Conan’s weapon meeting most often with the shield. A blow to the shoulder caused Conan to lose his footing and hit the turf, but he rolled with an agility that belied the weight of his armor and was upright again, ready for the fight. He braced himself for Garrett’s next blow, but the opposing knight seemed stunned. The crowd stood.
    Sir Garrett threw down his shield and faced Conan. It was a thing so rare that the spectators did not know how to react. Winning was so important that never did a knight give any advantage to an opponent.
    “ Alaric, what has he done?” Udele asked.
    “ It is plain, madam, that Sir Garrett will find little joy in besting an injured knight. He will meet Conan with the same advantage.”
    The two came together again, void of shields, their heavy swords bouncing off each other. The sheath covering Garrett’s broadsword so that he would not do severe injury to his opponent was lost, and neither knight seemed to notice. The crowd gasped and cried out, and the men-at-arms made ready to ride onto the field.
    “ God above!” Udele cried. “ Alaric, stop the contest!”
    But Alaric was as still as stone. The men-at-arms would put a halt to the fighting before any real damage could be done, and the two combatants would not be allowed to resume until Garrett’s broadsword was fixed with the protective covering. But before the men could reach them, Conan’s sword struck home and Garrett fell to the ground, stunned and immobile.
    Conan stood over him and waited for him to rise. The men-at-arms stopped where they were and waited. Conan dropped to one knee and removed his helm. He reached out a hand to shake Garrett and then threw down his sword. He helped the beaten knight to his feet and the two stood in the center of the field, Garrett slumping slightly.
    Sir Garrett’s squires came running to aid their master to his pavilion, and Conan raised his hand high above his head, looking in the direction of his parents.
    “ It is a miracle,” Udele breathed.
    “ It is years of training,” Alaric corrected.
    “ You take this so easily,” she accused.
    Alaric’s jaw tensed. “ You take this easily, madam, not I. Do you imagine he would be excused from war because his hand pained him?” Udele sat back in her chair, prepared to hear her husband’s lecture. “ It is the grandness of this tourney that befuddles your brain. It may surprise you to think of it as more than a pretty party for maids and their swains. It is a contest of arms! Whether Conan wins or loses, what he learns out there today may one day save his life.”
    Udele pursed her lips and refused to look at Alaric. She despised his patronizing perception of her as a giddy and foolish woman. She understood the tourney, but she had not thought it worth sacrificing her son before he had even begun to make his way in the world.
    Udele stood and brushed her skirts down to smooth them. “ You must excuse me, my lord. I find watching this contest too taxing.”
    “ You should not