Qa’a suddenly threw his shield away. All the assassins standing around burst out laughing and began to clap. Clearly, Qa’a was taunting Sati, suggesting that he didn’t even need his shield to combat a stupid woman. Much to Qa’a’s surprise, Sati threw her shield away as well.

Qa’a bellowed loudly and charged, swinging his sword at a high angle. Sati smoothly leaned back and swerved to the left as she avoided the strike. Qa’a turned swiftly and swung his sword high again, catching Sati by surprise. The Egyptian’s sword cut through Sati’s left hand, slicing off four fingers. Much to his surprise, Sati didn’t flinch from the injury but swung her sword from a height at Qa’a. Qa’a swerved and defended Sati’s blow with an elevated strike.

Sati, meanwhile, had surmised that the swinging strike was Qa’a’s standard attack. She played to that as she kept swinging at Qa’a from a high angle and the Egyptian kept striking back. Both of them kept changing the direction repeatedly to surprise the other, but the strikes were almost typical and therefore, no serious injury was caused. Suddenly, Sati dropped to one knee and swung hard. The strike hit home. Her blade hacked brutally through Qa’a’s abdomen, cutting deep. He collapsed as his intestines spilled on to the ground.

Sati stood up, towering over a kneeling Qa’a, who had been paralysed by the intense pain. She held her sword high vertically, and thrust it through Qa’a’s neck, straight down, deep into his body right up to his heart, killing him instantly.

Swuth stared at Sati, dumbfounded. It wasn’t just her skill with the sword that had surprised him; it was also her character. She hadn’t beheaded Qa’a when she could easily have done so. She let him keep his head. She gave him an honourable death; a soldier’s death. She had followed the rules of the duel of Aten, even though the rules were not her own.

Sati pulled aside and ran her bloodied sword into the soft muddy ground. She bent over and ripped another piece of cloth from the now dead Qa’a’s cloak and tied it around her left palm, covering the area where her fingers had been amputated.

She stood tall, pulled up her sword from the ground and held it aloft, careful not to look at Nandi. Just a few more minutes.

‘Who’s next?’

Another assassin stepped forward, reached for his sword and then hesitated. He had seen Sati battle brilliantly with the long blade. He drew out a knife from his shoulder belt instead.

‘I don’t have a knife,’ said Sati, putting her sword back in its scabbard, wanting to fight fair.