A proud maharajah sits on his throne while scrutinizing the most important combat match of his reign. Prior to formal abdication, each Rajah must choose the next fit ruler for his kingdom by receiving a number of people from around town to perform an assortment of carefully chosen challenges.
Nobles claim that a king’s position is solely one of duty and strength, suitable to an experienced soldier. Society has placed their bets over the revered military commander. However, it is most unusual that the Rajah’s attention looms over a peculiar scrawny man. It is clear which man he favours. People laugh that the king may have had one too many drinks the night before.
The large crowds outside the palace buzz with gossip, and they continue to place various bets over their future. This is the only task that they are allowed to watch, and so the air is vibrant with energy and excitement.
“A hundred cruza on that broad shouldered officer right there. He has never betrayed the king’s trust in all his years of service,” says a heavily clothed, pompous-looking man to his folk.
“A man with good swordplay but short of a brain,” snorts another. “I think it best for the King to choose the Rajkumar of Laglah as our next Rajah. It is a great strategic move and will surely bring us many heirs to the throne, with all that the prince is known to fancy.” The women in the group giggle at this statement and faun over the Prince’s attractive features as he selects a battle-axe for the first match.
One old, cloaked man in the group remains quiet. He gazes at the battle scene and the men waiting in line
at the side with eyes of wisdom, observing everything.
“A thousand cruza on the small one.”
There is a sudden silence as everyone whirls around to stare at him. A hundred cruza was generous, but a thousand?
The arrogant nobleman starts laughing, and soon they all follow. “You are mad,” he sniggers. The others nod in agreement.
“No,” The old man replies firmly. “This one grips his sword with the same familiarity as that of a court jester shuffling his cards. I assure you. He will win.” The man turns and leaves them all in quiet re- evaluation, walking through and out of the compact masses.
Suddenly, a drum is hit. Once, twice. The third match begins. This is the last match out of three, and all the other contestants have already been sent back home due to their inadequacy, including the fair prince of Laglah.
“If he bests this,” the king says to his adviser in the midst of a roaring applause and buzzing anticipation, pointing toward one man walking towards the battlefield, “We shall have our new ruler.” The adviser seems reluctant but nods.
The small man of question moves elegantly in his black hood against the burly prince of Fritah. The cloak obscures all his features from sight, adding an air of mystery to his aura, whereas the burly prince keeps his full torso on display, only a thick shield of steel hiding his abdominals.
The audience cheers for the burly man but it is made clear within the first few minutes why the King showed to favour the small one. The prince of Fritah is defeated quickly and the victorious bloke raises his flag of triumph in the air, his lean sword shining with fresh blood. The audience is stunned into stark silence at the end, but eventually, a scattered applause takes place. The old man smiles and collects his pay proudly from behind many rows of people.
Now it is only a question of who the mysterious fighter is.
The Rajah is wondering the same. He stands up shakily and walks toward the fighter, dropping to his knees before him. The noblemen and commoners gasp loudly, aghast at the action of their king who is known to be extremely silent and severe, kneeling before an insignificant man.
“Young fighter, who are you?” The Great Maharaja says at the feet of a champion.
“Maharaja,” The contender raises his hands to flick back his hood, revealing a beautiful face of a female, long hair cascading down her shoulders. Several people stand up abruptly in horror. The old man himself holds an expression of open-mouthed amazement, not having foreseen this particular outcome even after all his years of experience and knowledge.
“I am a woman.”
Dedicated to my mother.