"A woman's challenge is worthless," Chimcham spat.
"I think you're just afraid," the woman taunted. "Chimcham the great bastard is afraid of a woman. Afraid he will lose."
"There is no honour is fighting a woman."
"Oh? But there is honour in beating a woman?"
"Only a warrior's challenge can be recognised."
"Then you should have stopped before you stole me to find out more. Among my people, I am a warrior. Come, you cowardly beater of women. Come meet a warrior's challenge."
Several men, Pustakawan couldn't tell what tribe, shouted to affirm the woman's statement that she was a warrior. A chant grew around the camp.
"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"
Chimcham snarled at this and the Stonemen jostled Pustakawan for a better view.
"Then know, you stupid woman," Chimcham shouted through gritted teeth, "that I only accept your challenge because you have challenged the honour of a warrior and the rights of every man here. When I have beaten you and you finally surrender, know that I will not spare you. Not when you are bearing our many children nor when you are old. I will take you as my wife in the sight of all and bare your flesh that they will see your nakedness and remember the futility of your challenge for the future generations."
"And should I win, I will be free. None may take or try to force me, none here may chase me. I will take my bread and go where I please. If you do not so, your women will rise up in my stead. Tell me, who cooks your food, cleans your tents and tills your grounds? Who raises and teaches the children and cares for the livestock while you are hunting or at war? Who makes your clothes and shoes? Think about it. If the women choose to rise up against you, none of you would survive until morning. There are almost as many women as men in your tribes, if not more. Your tribes would be finished, because who among your tribes were not forced or stolen or kidnapped?"
A silence save for the slow blowing wind fell upon the camp as them men pondered this and came to realise what the woman with the knife meant. They were just starting to stir again as the truth dawned on the when the woman spoke again in a ringing voice, "But if you let me go fairly and treat my sisters well, you will find your lives at home more bearable and wonderful. Help the women with the work and stop lazing about gossiping and complaining like a bunch of old men with crooked backs. Work with them and you will find among them wisdom, understanding and knowledge. You will find among them warrioresses and strength to strengthen your own."
The men murmured amongst themselves.
"Lies," Chimcham hissed. "All lies. I am in half a mind to keep you as a mute slave now and let any man ravish you as they please."
There was a roar of protest from both men and women at this. The tribes of the Northern Warlands didn't do things like that. It was against tradition. Only barbarians did that.
"The barbarians of the Western Rocks do such things," Chimcham spread his arms again. "Why should not we? Their women obey under pain of death. Our women are given so much freedom and choice to be allowed to go between camps and still they complain so much. They need a firmer hand. The women of the Western Rocks are chained to their caves. What have our women to complain about?"
Pustakawan shook his head at the man's ego as arguments broke out.
"Then fight me," the woman challenged Chimcham again. "Fight me and we shall see whose ideas shall prevail. Fight me and see who is stronger. Fight me, you warrior of dry grass and prove to me you are not just backwind."
"I am going to kill the one who let you loose," Chimcham roared.
Chimcham threw down his sword belt and drew his knife, stalking toward the woman. Throwing himself at her, she stepped sideways out of his reach, causing him to stumble. Over and over, Chimcham charged at her, only to strike air. His face grew red as he tried and failed to reach her, while she whirled around him, striking hand and foot, bruising him in his joints.
He was unable to keep up, even though she could not see well. They locked knives and clashed, but the woman always broke away, aware that her strength against his was no match. He struck her once, twice, but she rolled away and regained her feet. She wore him down with patience and agility, goading him to greater efforts with insults.
"Come, you crumbling chalkstone," she jeered. "You move like a lump of wood. Where is the famed fighter? I see him not here."
Pustakawan snorted to himself when he saw Chimcham finally beginning to tire and the woman's stance change, ready to slip into offense. He slipped away amidst the uproar and cheering of the watching tribesmen. They thought the woman's mock stumbling gait showed her near end. Pustakawan shook his head at the show, seeing how she made Chimcham seem like he was gaining when really, she was just reeling him in for the final blow.
"I can't bear to watch," he said in Dorit's ear. "It's obvious who will be the winner of this match."
"Yes, it's such a pity," Dorit agreed, watching the fight. "I'd hate to see her stubbornness broken. A fine woman like this doesn't deserve such an end. Don't worry, I'll keep your secret safe. I don't want Chimcham hunting you down. You're one of us now."
Pustakawan raised an eyebrow and Dorit grinned at him.
"I saw everything," he said in Pustakawan's ear. "I'd rather keep our friendship the way it is. I'm glad you did it, or we wouldn't be having such fun right now. Only a Stoneman like us would tweak the ram's tail. Come visit again sometime."
His grin widened when Pustakawan slipped a silver coin into his hand to seal the deal. He clapped Pustakawan on the shoulder and Pustakawan went to pack up his camp. He trod the stone steps down toward the dirt road at the foot of the mountains.
On his way, he collected some herbs that he felt would come in handy later on. Then once amongst the forest of the lower lands, he found a comfortable spot out of sight of the road to set up camp again. He watched and waited.