Javad spoke with arena master Pelin, telling him of his plan to change up the weapons he used. The exact weapon was still up in the air, but Pelin encouraged it. Fighting more interesting fights was the last thing holding him back. The arena master expressed regret that he wasn't able to get him more fights. Spectators had been difficult to come by. They complained of paying for a full fight and seeing it end in two blows.

It wasn't easy for Javad to track down the weapon he'd planned on, but he finally found it from an obscure weapons dealer. One of the few merchants from the northern kingdom of Greihold. It was still difficult for them to receive permission to trade in Qismat. The war had been several years ago, but old grudges took a while to die down.

Javad returned to Shora's hideout, enduring another trumpeting challenge from the elephant across the creek. Under his arm was a handle, a chain, and a metal ball. He raised the handle over his head and spun the metal ball, striking the trees around. The bull elephant wasn't sure what to make of this item and turned his back on Javad in annoyance at the noise.

Shora spotted this exchange, laughing. "What's the point of this game? Are you supposed to flick the metal ball towards me? I'm supposed to catch it, right?"

At her teasing, he bristled with annoyance. Javad stepped back, dropped the ball and chain, and swung it around his head as fast as possible. He'd practiced with this flail for some time before coming here. He demonstrated a strike, letting the iron ball pass close to her for effect. 

To Javad's horror, Shora took a step forward into the weapon's arc. She raised her hand, seizing the iron ball in an equally forceful grip. The impact of the iron ball and the bones of her unyielding orcish palm echoed across the plains. 

Wincing, she dropped it, her hand quivering from the impact. "You couldn't slow it down the first time? This is a painful game."

Javad was dumbstruck. "This is a weapon. You aren't supposed to catch it! You shouldn't be able to."

"Well, I did."

"I shouldn't have called you a girl," he said. "You're like something out of a myth, pulling a stunt like that."

"I'm sorry. I won't catch it again. Keep thinking of me as a girl."

He laughed. "I'll try. I'll never know how we won a war against your people."

"I asked my brother this once. He'd described ending many lives all by himself. So how did we lose? He had a good explanation. What caused the latest Qismat famine?"

"A plague of locusts, I think. It was a while ago."

She held two fingers together, emphasizing the size of the creatures. "How could you lose to them? Many of your people fled the empire. Many others starved. Humans can't beat a tiny insect?"

"My father has described clouds of them. The air became so thick they looked like a dust storm. And once they passed, all our crops were eaten and dying."

"That is how my brother described the last battle above ground. Your people were a cloud, covering the foothills of our mountain. Each soldier had good steel to pierce deep into orcish flesh. A storm of arrows and javelins that would tear apart our rough orcish shields. Orcish warriors waited for a clash of battle lines that never came. Some groups tried to advance, but it was a disorderly assault, ripped apart at a distance by the barbs of little men."

"Locusts eh?" He said. "And now you're going to help one of them."

She shrugged. "What is another blade of grass destroyed? And now he wants to fight with a toy instead of a weapon. I guess I don't need to worry."

"You suggested the blunt weapon. A flail, if nothing else, is impressive to look at in action. The spectators watch as the fighter spins the iron ball. When will the fighter strike? And when it strikes home, none can miss the impact."

She retrieved a wooden staff from her campsite. "Come then. Let's try it in a spar."

He and Shora began to practice. But the shortcomings of the weapon became apparent quickly, not because she grabbed it either. Javad clutched his bruised midsection for the tenth time that day. He'd tried to be evasive, but Shora wasn't one to miss a strike with her wooden staff.

"You have no defense with that weapon. It isn't rigid, so you can't block at all. I might be quick, but other fighters will definitely be able to exploit this as well. But it's a one-handed weapon. An axe isn't good for defense either, so it's usually paired with a shield."

"Good advice, but the arena forbids large shields. They made every fight too boring. The spectators hated to watch two fighters crouched behind their shields. But… Small bucklers are not forbidden. They still need a high degree of skill to use. Harder to defend with than even a good two-handed sword. But it could work for me. A buckler is a good club when in close, where my flail can't work.

Shora shook her head. "Lot of risk just to be flashy."

"The goal is fame. Wielding a sword, I could beat the champion of my local arena. But the wily old veteran refuses to fight me. I have no experience or reputation. They put any win down to reckless luck. It could be years until I have the credibility to force the fight. But after a few flashy wins, the fans will demand the showdown. I'm not going to be talked out of this, Shora."

She nodded slightly, seeming to accept this. The she-orc spotted an item near the ground, picked it up and threw it at him. Javad caught it, finding himself holding the tin lid of a cooking pot.

Shora assumed a low stance. "Then defend yourself, if you can."

He failed, at first. But after more pain, he began to make it work.