But he was not an expert warrior; Neq had watched him fight before. Hig stepped inside. Neq came at him immediately, covering his nervousness with action. He feinted with his blade in the manner he had practiced endlessly, emulating the technique of his father. The sticker jumped away, and Neq grinned to show greater confidence than he felt. It had actually worked! He drove at Hig's middle while the man was catching his balance. He knew that thrust would be blocked, and the next, but it was best to maintain the offensive as vigorously as possible. Otherwise he'd be forced to the defensive, which did not favor the sword. Especially against the quick sticks. But he scored. Adrenaline had made him swift. The sword thrust inches deep into Hig's abdomen. The man cried out horribly and twisted away�the worst thing he could have done. Blood welled out as the sword wrenched loose. Hig fell to the ground, dropping his sticks, clutching the gaping mouth in his belly. Neq stood dazed. He had never expected it to be this easy�or this gruesome. He had intended the thrust as another ploy, braced to get clipped a few times while he searched for a genuine opening. To have it end this way� "Hig yields," the staffer said. That meant Neq could leave the circle without further mayhem. Ordinarily the man who remained in the circle longest was the victor, regardless what happened inside, since some were clever at feigning injury as a tactical ruse, or at striking back despite wounds. He was abruptly sick. He stumbled away from the circle, heedless of the spectacle he made. He retched, getting vomit in his nose. Now, calamitously, he understood why his father had been so cautious about the circle. The sword was no toy, and combat was no game. He looked up to find Nemi. "It was awful!" she said. But she was not condemning him. She never did that when the matter was important. "But I guess you won. You're a man now. So I fetched this from the hostel for you." She held out a gold bracelet, the emblem of adulthood.