you gets, he an automatic win earns. Otherwise you will
both tournament points score, and the first to one hundred reach,
wins."

The Ranger nodded. "That sounds reasonable. I'm ready." He'd noticed
Hovan's failure to mention any automatic win for him, and grinned
briefly at the omission. He might not be likely to win, but he was
determined to give it a good try. He faced Valkan and dropped into a
knife-fighter's crouch as Hovan stepped back into the audience and the
match judge took his place, giving the signal to begin.

Human and Traiti circled cautiously, evaluating each other. Hovan
watched, hoping the judge's precautions would be adequate, though he
didn't suspect Valkan of any true hostility toward Steve--not after
seeing the K'horan fighter's reaction when Steve accepted challenge.
Valkan had been disconcerted, had seemed to want to call off a joke
that had backfired, but he couldn't do so without loss of honor. Hovan
did have some sympathy for him; he could imagine very clearly how he
would be feeling in Valkan's place. He'd want to win, but without
doing the human any real harm; it wouldn't be right to send anyone into
the Ordeal injured. And he'd be having qualms about fighting the man
at all. Steve was an adult fighter, a legal opponent--but Valkan would
have to feel as if he were facing an underdeveloped youngling.

Tarlac neither knew about nor shared the Traiti's misgivings. He
watched Valkan's moves closely, trying to spot a weakness. He could
see none, and decided that if Valkan did have an Achilles' heel, it was
psychological. The Traiti's bearing and moves were graceful--and
confident.

The Ranger suppressed an urge to smile slightly at that. Of course
Valkan was confident! He was taller, had a longer reach, and was
accustomed to such matches. But if Tarlac could feed his opponent's
confidence until it overwhelmed his caution . . . he'd only get one
opening, at that . . .

He got the chance to begin putting his plan into effect almost
immediately. The Traiti made the first move, lunging for Tarlac's
chest. The Ranger dodged, Valkan's blade cutting air less than a
centimeter from his skin. His counterattack was a split second too
slow to give a disabling slash to Valkan's other arm.

It went on like that for the better part of ten minutes: the human
escaping serious injury by what seemed pure luck, his attacks at most
nicking his opponent. He was being steadily outpointed,