Rage moved across the arena, his sword sheathed, his helm tucked under his arm, his red scarf bright as blood in the sunlight. From the other side of the arena came Vorkas. Bane stood, hands gripping the front rail, and watched as the two men came together before Persis and his guests. They saluted and drew back.

Rage donned his helm and took up his position. Vorkas faced him. The trumpets sounded.

A heartbeat later Vorkas lay dead upon the sand.

Rage sheathed his sword and walked back to the Sword Room.

The crowd was silent. They stared at the fallen Vorkas, saw the blood pumping from his throat. Bane stood in shock. Even he had not seen the death blow. He replayed the move in his mind. Vorkas had lunged high, Rage had parried. Then the shock of realization struck Bane. Rage had killed Vorkas before the parry. As Vorkas's sword lanced forward Rage had stepped in and slashed through his opponent's throat, the blade continuing its sweep to block the lunge. It was a desperately dangerous manoeuvre.

Some of the Stone citizens in the crowd began to shout their displeasure at the lack of spectacle. Others merely sat, trying to make sense of what they had seen. Bane vaulted down to the arena and ran across the sand. Inside the Sword Room, Rage was removing his wrist guards.

'You were magnificent,' said Bane.

Rage said nothing. Unbuckling his sword belt he dropped it alongside his wrist guards and greaves. Then he loosened his leather kilt and threw it to a nearby seat. 'Are you all right?' asked Bane.

Rage turned to him, his face tight with suppressed emotion. 'Five of my friends are dead, boy.'

'But you are not,' said Bane softly.

'No, I am not.'

'You had that move planned from the beginning, didn't you? You said to yourself that Vorkas would want to extend the fight. He would not open with a lethal attack. So you risked everything on that one strategy.'

'Risk is what we are paid for, Bane. Did you use the switch from right to left?'

'Aye, I did. He saw it too late.'

'Get that cut on your shoulder seen to. Don't let Landis clean it. The blood flow will have done that.'

Telors came into the room, his wounds stitched. The black-bearded warrior gave a weary smile. 'Good to see you alive, my friend,' he told Rage, and the two men gripped hands once more.

'Did you wager on yourself?' asked Rage.