Janica began with extreme care. She suspected that her opponent would be no real test for her, seeing how he was limited to what nature could give him, and also how obviously he underestimated her, but that was no reason to become careless. She held her spear almost like a quarterstaff, it's main purpose for now to deflect any blows that might be coming, and her eyes were firmly focused on his every movement, how catlike he strode above the ground, how almost casually his muscles rippled, but most importantly what patterns there were that made him predictable.<br/><br/>As he kept going around the perimeter of the circle, probably to prolong the spectacle a bit for everyone, so did she, crouched, every nerve and muscle at the ready, sliding sideways and always on the exact opposite spot of him. And as she did so she started to get a read on him, and an idea formed. Maybe no real bloodshed needed to be done today.<br/><br/>Almost half a minute passed, and slowly the cheers in the crowd started to fade, to be replaced by murmurs of discontent at the lack of action, at the unfulfilled desire for blood. The warchief sensed that the time for show was over and the spectators wanted him to finish this now, and so he acted. With a sudden lunge he jumped forward, club raised high and crashing down on the spot where Janica had stood just a moment ago. She however, had nimbly stepped aside and was back to watching him, no trace of emotion to be seen in her expressionless face.<br/><br/>That had been unexpected, and the sounds from the tribe indicated as much. A bit more careful now the warchief approached again. A quick feint was followed by two even quicker swings towards her midriff, but again she deflected the first – careful not to break her spear – and lightly stepped out of reach of the second, like a dancer during her performance. When the big lizardman focused on her again, the first traces of anger could be seen in his eyes, she was playing him for a fool in front of his own tribe.<br/><br/>The third time was the charm. Another lunge, another series of powerful swings with the club trying to chase after her retracing steps, only this time she did not retreat. As one particularly powerful horizontal blow came, she simply ducked under it and slid forward. For a moment hampered by his own momentum the warchief could not react in time as she drove the tip of her spear into his hip, right where she wanted to. Lizardfolk anatomy was not that different from human one, and she hit the nerve spot on, immediately paralyzing the whole leg. This unexpected breakdown of his bodily functions caught him completely by surprise, and taken off balance he buckled, his leg no longer able to carry any weight, causing him to topple, his arms flailing for balance for a moment. A moment too long.<br/><br/>Quickly Janica's foot shot forward, and with a strength he had never thought to expect hit him square in the chest. It did not really hurt him, but it gave his swaying motions a direction, sending him backwards and landing his back on the sandy ground of the circle with a heavy thud that drove the air from his lungs as the back of his head hit the floor. He was a warrior, though, and immediately recovered, only to look up along a long and wooden shaft, the shaft of a spear that had its tip scoring his throat and that was held in a firm grip by the warm blood woman standing over him, her eyes firmly centered on his. And the realization struck him that he had lost, that if she wanted to she could run him through with ease and kill him. So he closed his eyes, awaiting death.<br/><br/>But death did not come. Instead he hear her voice, not very loud but nevertheless clearly audible in the dead silence that for the moment had replaced the restless cheers of the crowd, and he knew enough common to understand what she was saying.<br/><br/>“What are you willing to do for your tribe?”<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>