Hovan in English, "I don't think
I'd care to try it again. It's a stunt that worked once. I'm sure
it'd never work a second time, and I'm not crazy enough to try it when
they know what to expect."

That, when Hovan translated, drew a roar of approval. These were
fighters, stark realists all, who could understand and appreciate an
honest evaluation of chances. Tarlac's statement, after he'd just
finished a knife match unscathed and victorious, was taken as just such
an evaluation.

Those who'd bet on him had very good reason to be appreciative; they'd
gotten excellent odds, and some would gain clan status for their daring
in backing such an underdog. The losers were even more impressed by
the human's victory. Even those spectators who still thought most
humans incapable of honor were making an exception for Steve Tarlac.
In a sense, after all, he couldn't really be called human any more.
He'd been adopted by Clan Ch'kara and had proven himself in the
matches, which was evidence enough that he was Traiti in spirit, if not
in body.

Once he understood it, Tarlac appreciated the sentiment, but he didn't
share it. That evening, when he and Hovan were temporarily alone in
the sleep-room, he admitted as much. "Hovan, I'm doing the best I can,
but I'm not a Traiti. I'm human, and after that fight, I don't know if
my best is going to be good enough."

Hovan studied his human ruhar for several minutes without saying
anything. He had mingled blood with this man, and though the exchange
had been more symbolic that substantial, he felt oddly close to him,
closer than to any but the n'ka'ruhar he had shared young with.
Steve's sudden self-doubt disturbed him, given what he'd learned about
the man. And an attitude of expected defeat was nothing to take into a
trial as strenuous and demanding as the Ordeal. But what could he say
to help? There was no denying the danger Steve faced, and trying to
minimize it would be doing the man a disservice.

There was little he could say, and less he could do, to raise the man's
spirits. He would be lending Steve the same kind of emotional support
he had received from his own Ordeal sponsor, whenever and wherever
tradition allowed it. For now, that was terribly limited, yet he would
do what he could. He moved to sit close to the human, not touching him
in this out-clan place, and spoke softly. "Ruhar"--the intonation
meant "brother/friend"--"there no dishonor in fear, or in fa