the edge of his vision he saw
the ridged mass of iron, heavy enough to crack a steel helmet, rushing
toward his head--his head protected only by a cloth cap.

At the last possible moment he threw up his hand and caught Kassar's
wrist. He stepped back out of the path of the dabbus and jerked downward
on Kassar's arm. The weight of the mace helped throw Kassar off balance,
and he landed on his chest with a grunt, the air driven out of him.

Daoud stamped on Kassar's forearm and yanked the dabbus out of his
grasp. He flung himself down on Kassar and pinned him to the sand.

Though all his attention was on Kassar, there was room in his mind for a
triumphant surprise.

_Allahu akbar! God is great! I never thought I had the strength to throw
the Kipchaq._

"Nicetas won the contest. Admit it, or I'll break your skull," he
growled, holding the dabbus over Kassar's head.

Kassar remained silent. Daoud lowered the dabbus and tapped the Tartar's
round skull through his mop of straight black hair. He hit Kassar just
hard enough to let him feel the weight of the dabbus.

"Admit that Nicetas won."

"All right," Kassar grunted, his face in the sand. "He won."

"Swear by the Prophet you will leave him alone from now on."

"I swear," came the muffled voice.

"By the Prophet."

"By the Prophet."

Daoud stood up warily and handed the dabbus back to the boy Kassar had
taken it from.

Kassar rose slowly, wiping sand from his face. His eyes seemed to spark
with hatred.

_This is not finished yet_, Daoud thought.

He looked for Nicetas. The Greek boy was on his feet. He was wiping the
dirt and blood from his face with the hem of his robe. He looked at
Daoud, and there was something bright and solemn in his eyes. No one had
ever looked at Daoud like that before.

Daoud felt a great rush of gratitude to God for giving him the strength
to save Nicetas's life.

_If I had not fought Kassar, Nicetas would be dead._

That clean-lined face so full of warmth and wit would be so much
lifeless clay. Daoud felt a lightness in his heart and a smile bubbling
to his lips. He was proud of his strength. He had used it to save a
precious life. He was a warrior of God.

Smiling, he went to Nicetas and threw his arm around his shoulders.

He should force Kassar to give Nicetas the mail shirt. But he had done
enough fighting for one day. Nicetas did not need the damned shirt. Let
the Tartar keep it.

"Now then, you wretched sons of de