The Thorian Sagas. 1. The Trader.

A challenge, was a challenge, and there could be no avoiding it. He had accepted. It had been the right thing to do.

He laid aside his undergarment, leaving only a kind of belt around his waist, with a pouch below it, to support and protect himself. He tightened that belt and gave his sandals to his helper.

She noticed strange bluish markings on his inner arm as he passed them to her. They were some kind of tattoo. She would ask about those, sometime, if he would allow her, now that the ice had been broken between them all.

There were many things they all wanted to ask him now, and more, as time went by, but would not dare do so just yet.

But soon.

Monique stripped down to nothing; laying her light, wooden armor aside; then her tunic from beneath it that had cushioned her breasts in the wooden hollows of that breast plate, and lastly, she laid aside the only other garment she wore upon her body.

She was not shy being naked, always wrestling that way, as he usually did, but then, he had wrestled only with other men. Neither was he shy, except…!

He felt strange stirrings he had not often felt before when he had seen a naked female, but never one that so intrigued him, and with such courage as to think to take him on in combat, and where they would grapple so personally together.

He began to re-think that, too.

He would not totally disrobe.

She had black hair upon her head and similar hair, a small patch of it in another place on her body. Everything about her was disturbing.

He was noticing too much about her body.

He put those other thoughts and feelings aside. They were out of place here. He tried to focus upon the contest.

“You give me an advantage, wearing that belt, you know, ‘trader man’.”

He grinned at her gentle taunt, pulling himself away from admiring her, to concentrate only on the struggle ahead, and deciding how he could end it without her losing face, or him, causing bigger problems for them both.

He could not end it too soon, as he knew that he so easily could.

He came back at her.

“Just as you are giving me an even bigger advantage.”

She had too many advantages over him, but he could not tell her about those.

She was confused.

“How?”

He pointed.

“Your hair. Especially, the way it is braided down your back. You, and all of the warriors here, have that same vulnerability.”

He was telling them something they had never seriously had to consider before.

They were proud of their hair.

“Training with your friends, with your own rules, is one thing. In battle, the enemy knows no such rules, and would take advantage of your long hair in an instant. They would use it to hold you helpless as they kill you; even to strangle you with it.”

He let his words sink in, as he warmed up, watched with interest by his audience who had never seen a nearly naked man like him.

He might not even be as old as thirty, but he had been in many battles, and those scars made him look older.

None of them, was older than twenty-three and had never seen truly violent combat as he clearly had, even in getting here, just hours earlier.

He spoke candidly.

“I want no advantage over you, and you should not give me one, or we shall not fight. It is still my choice, despite your challenge, if I see reason enough not to fight.”

He saw her hesitation, as he spoke to her.

“You have a sharp knife?”

She produced one from her pile of clothes.

He walked over to her, took the knife that was volunteered to him, and cut off her braid close to her head, cutting upwards with a sawing action.

She could tidy her hair up, later.

He turned to her companions and looked around at them.

He was the one in charge for the moment.

“You too. You should all do the same. You must start here, as you intend to go on, if you expect to succeed in combat.”

He was no longer a trader, but a different kind of warrior that should always be obeyed, though they did not analyze that sense about him until later.

This was a moment of truth for them all; a chance to learn about this man, and proper combat.

The others submitted to having their friends cut off their hair, until all were cropped equally short, just as he was, and as Monique now was.

They threw their braids aside into one pile, reluctant to lose them, but realizing the necessity of it.

He would know of these things. The scars on his body told their own stories.

They were learning already, sensing that he had been trained in combat and would know what he was talking about. He also knew Thorians, rubbed shoulders with them, and he was even physically like them!

“Now you have no advantage; trader man. Nor do I need one.” She was looking at his belt, waiting for him to remove it.

She had seen males before, though none like him.

Her saying that, and him believing it, were two very different things. She still had too many advantages over him.

He laughed. It was a low rumbling chuckle that robbed them of breath to hear it. Monique was daring to goad him, on top of the rest of it?

A good sign. At least she was not intimidated by him.

Not yet. But he would need to keep his mind and his emotions under a tight rein. It would not do to let those other difficult and rebellious emotions take over.