As he'd told his parents, Javad took a job with the Temple of Inferno as a groundskeeper. Once his terms of employment were settled, he set out for the nearest town with an arena. This town wasn't far from the temple itself. Shora could keep living at her camp by the brook. Javad was spending fewer hours at the temple now, so he could afford more time traveling to visit her.

The town wasn't too much to look at. A combination of rough wood buildings and a sandstone main hall. Most towns this size had a local temple, but the Temple of Inferno's nearby complex covered that. It wasn't just a school but a centre of worship as well.

The arena was built from wood as well and was a mile out of town. Only a couple of people were around when he knocked on the front door of the arena. A bearded man with multiple scars across his face swung open the door. A tall, overweight brute with no hair followed him out.

"Why are you bothering me, kid?" the bearded man barked. "Arena's closed. Come back in a week."

"I'm here to join. Not to watch." Javad said, hoping he sounded confident enough.

Both men laughed immediately. Which did nothing for Javad's confidence. "I'm serious."

The bearded man restrained his laughter for a moment. "Thank you. Every so often some young punk comes here wanting to join. We tell them to go away. They can throw away their life somewhere else. But I've never seen someone as young and small as you try this."

"I'm an adult. My name is Javad."

The bearded man, who Javad guessed was the arena master, laughed again. "Khajji, encourage Javad to leave, not too roughly now. He gave me a good laugh."

Khajji was so big that he filled Javad's vision as he approached. He raised his hand over his head. "Get out of here kid. You're about to get a walloping you won't forget."

Javad wouldn't budge, so Khajji stepped towards him as quickly as he could move. He swung his large hand, aiming for a heavy smack somewhere between Javad's backside and his back. Unfortunately, Khajji's bulk interfered with his own vision as well. Javad ducked down and slipped beside the man's belly. Khajji's hefty slap struck nothing but air.

Since it had turned to violence, Javad gave it back in return. A big man was still vulnerable to a blow to the rear of his body. Most of the extra padding sat in the front. Javad's fist slammed into Khajji's thick layer of flesh, stopping only when it impacted his kidney.

To the big man's credit, he didn't collapse immediately. He crouched in pain, simultaneously turning around to get Javad out of his blind spot. Three more punches landed home against both kidneys, and Khajji finally collapsed to the ground. "AHHH! You little monster! I'll kill you when I get up! Pelin! Help me."

"Javad. Stop," Pelin said calmly. "Khajji. You won't beat this kid. He figured you out in seconds. I'm impressed."

"You're just going to let him beat me?" Khajji howled. "Kick his ass."

"You let him beat you. Why wouldn't I?" the arena master said. "I don't know if I could beat him, Khajji. Not at my age. Javad. Come here. Let me look at you."

Javad forced himself to relax his guard and stepped in front of the arena master. Of the pair, this was the more dangerous one. The man seemed relaxed, but he had a certain economy of movement. This man had been skilled in the past. Pelin looked him over, his eyes lingered on the small scars crisscrossing his arms.

"You're older than I thought at first. But you certainly aren't an adult."

Javad nodded. "A bit more than a year to go."

Pelin shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time. What do I do when your parents see you in the arena and send the magistrate after me?"

"They live hours from here, in Lemce. They won't even know until much later, when I have more fame."

Pelin considered it for a long moment. "I had a fighter cancel because of a training injury. It was going to be in two days. I'm going to give you a trial fight."

"Are you nuts, Pelin?" Khajji said, finally lumbering to his feet.

"Shut up Khajji, or I'll make you the main event. Javad, the man you'll face is no pushover. He's been a fighter for many years. But he is not a cruel man. You'll be bloodied if you lose, but he won't be aiming to kill you. This is your only shot. Lose and you're out, at least for a couple of years."

Javad nodded. "I appreciate the chance."

Two days wasn't a lot of time, but he spent every bit of silver he had left on a simple sabre. His job at the temple didn't begin for a week. He returned to Shora to prepare for the fight.

She grinned happily as he marched into camp, her eyes locked on the sword in his hand. "They took you in? You're a fighter now?"

He nodded solemnly. "I just have to win my first fight. It's not going to be another rookie though."

"I don't think another rookie would stand a chance. If it's an experienced veteran, we'd better get you ready. Let's see how good you can get with that new sabre."

"This is not a training blade. I had it sharpened to a fine edge." Javad pointed out.

"Then I won't let you hit me with it," she said. "Now step into the circle."

The two of them had cleared a rough oval of all obstructions. There was no border, but it was surrounded by rocks, trees, and bushes. He trained all day with her, but it wasn't going smoothly. He was twitchy, and reacted easily to her obvious feints many times. Reading the difference between a real attack and a feint was usually easy for him. Defending against a feint always meant getting struck from the opposite direction.

Shora finally tired of his clumsiness. She shook her head at him. "What is the problem with you today?"

He lowered his blade. "I'm nervous. This is a real fight. I could— "

Shora walloped him hard across the abdomen with the flat of her blade. "Raise your weapon. Why are you afraid?"

"I could be killed. Even though I could ask for quarter. It could end in one—."

Her next blow slapped hard against his thigh. He winced in pain, falling to one knee. "Damn it Shora."

"A blow is just a blow," she said. "Doesn't really matter who does the strike. Could be me, or could be this opponent. Fear them equally."

He got up, teeth clenched in pain. "It hurts all right. But you're not trying to spill my blood."

The stinging pain across his leg dulled his nervousness. His focus returned. He raised his blade for their next exchange. He met Shora's eyes and saw danger. Even in a fight she had a relaxed demenour, almost jovial. But now her eyes were narrowed and her usually casual movements were rigid and serious. The dull blade in her hand whipped past his defense before he could even react. His leather forearm protector was split in two as well as the skin underneath. He felt blood flow freely and stared at her in shock.

"You cut me!"

She stepped back out of reach, holding her sword in a ready position. "Don't you know how much I have to hold back? I wield a dull sword, but I could cut you with every strike. All it would take would be a mistake. You fight in the arena tomorrow. It will not be the first time you've risked your life. You've been doing it for years. And you're going to win, Javad."

"Cutting me is a hell of a way to help!"

"It's not deep. Check."

She was right. It was a shallow wound, though the dull blade left a wide cut.

"Do you think I'd let you die in that arena tomorrow? It wasn't easy to do this to you. But you've been thinking of our sparring as safe. There is a danger to what I teach you. If I have to harm your flesh to keep you alive, I'll do it."

He heard her words. And the pain radiating through his forearm reinforced her meaning. He wrapped his injured forearm, and the bleeding stopped quickly. They began training again, and finally, he forgot his fear of the upcoming match.

After that, every time he seemed hesitant, she struck him with the flat of her blade. He became frustrated with this treatment, but understood on some level what she was doing. She’d strike him with her dull sword, then tell him he was going to win. It took a half dozen of these blows until he believed it. He left her camp covered in bruises, with confidence in his heart.