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“What happens if he should set you against one of your own?” he asks.

“Then I am free and no longer honor bound to obey him,” he replies. Stepping backward a moment, he says, “But that is not a very likely possibility.”

As the Parvati moves in to continue the attack, Jiron steps back and shouts “Hold!”

Only the fact that what he said was so unexpected did the Parvati pause in his attack. The crowd surrounding them, which had so recently been cheering and screaming at the fighters, have grown quiet at the odd way in which the combatants are acting. Blood should be flowing now, instead they’re standing still, facing one another.

Jiron glances over to the men from the Empire as he draws forth the necklace which signifies him as being a Shynti. An honor given only to the most ferocious of fighters, an honor which makes him one of them.

When the necklace comes free of his shirt and the Parvati’s eyes rest upon it, he asks in a hushed whisper, “Where did you get that?”

“I was given this by an old Parvati after defeating one of their number during a blood duel in the city of Korazan,” he explains.

“You’re a Shynti?” he asks, hardly daring to believe what his eyes are telling him.

The leader of the men from the Empire begins to sense things are not going as expected. “What’s all this?” he asks as he comes forward. “Fight!” The crowd filling the courtyard begins murmuring as they watch the scene playing out before them.

Ignoring the man, Jiron nods his head and says, “Yes, I am. I have feasted with the Eller Tribe.”

“Did you meet a warrior whose name was Qyith?” he asks as a strange look comes over his face.

Nodding, Jiron replies, “He was the War Leader of the Eller Tribe. A nice man all things considered.”

“He’s my brother,” states the Parvati. He suddenly tilts his head back and lets out with a loud, primordial cry.

Reaching their side, the man from the Empire grabs the Parvati’s arm just as his cry comes to a close and demands, “Why have you stopped the fight?”

Knocking his hand from his arm, the Parvati rounds on him and says, “I will no longer fight for you.”

“What?” exclaims the man. “You are honor bound to fight as I tell you!”

“No more will I fight honorless fights for you,” he states with finality. Pointing to Jiron, he says, “He is a Shynti of the Parvati’s which makes him one of our people. You put me to fight one of my own so that which was binding is no longer. I am free!”

The crowd, having grown restless when the fight stopped, becomes silent as they watch the growing drama unfold before them. From the pavilion, the rest of the Empire’s people come forward to stand with their leader.

“He is no Parvati!” the man cries out in rage. The thought that he’s going to lose his champion is almost more than he can stand. “If you do not honor your agreement, then you are an honorless swine!”

Moving so fast as to almost be unseen, the Parvati’s sword strikes out, severing the man’s head from his shoulders. As the head flies off and bounces on the ground several feet away, the crowd becomes deathly silent as the man’s torso stumbles about for a moment before crashing to the ground.

For a moment, the courtyard is silent as a grave, the shock of this unexpected event stunning the onlookers. Then the rest of the men from the Empire draw their swords as they rush the Parvati to avenge the death of their leader.

Laughing, the Parvati faces them with both swords as he blocks the attack of two men. The crowd suddenly turns into a panicked mob as they race for the exits of the courtyard. None wish to be around with an actual battle going on, not just because they may get hurt, but because they don’t want to be around when the city guard arrives.

Deflecting the attack of the two men, the Parvati has left himself open to the thrust of the third. The blade almost strikes his side when its course is deflected by a knife. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jiron coming to his aid. Laughing all the more, he cries out, “Come brother, let’s