In the end, they had a draw. Ifran seemed the type used to winning, to getting what he wanted, but he did not seem unduly upset. After all, it was a mere contest of strength and he had not lost. That was not the same as winning, it was true, but neither of them had lost face. Neither had proven themselves the stronger, though, and so there remained that unsteady detente. "You are strong," he said in such a way that he showed respect without admitting any weakness of his own. "That was well done." He might have offered to tell people how the Zith had beat him, or come up with another test to prove one way or another who was the greater, but he didn't know Laute well at all, nor what he wanted, and so he reached for his drink, relishing the faint shake in his arm that meant he had exercised it hard. |