Before Daoud could answer, a shadow fell over them. Daoud looked up. Kassar stood between them and the sun, half a dozen of his friends around him. He glowered down at Nicetas.
"You think you are good?"
Nicetas's smile was friendly. "It is in the blood. Greeks are good at games."
"You throw like a girl," Kassar said to Nicetas. The Kipchaq's followers laughed dutifully.
Daoud felt his face burn with anger. He wanted to say something on Nicetas's behalf, even though it was the rule that each boy must defend himself.
Nicetas, still smiling pleasantly and looking quite unafraid, stood up with lithe grace to face Kassar.
"My rumh pierces the target," he said, making a circle with thumb and forefinger and pushing his other forefinger into it. "You have to be a man to do that."
This time the laughter was spontaneous, but Kassar did not smile.
"I will bet with you that I can throw the rumh better than you can," said Kassar grimly. "I will make you a handsome bet. I will put up the mail shirt that I took from a Frankish knight at Mansura."
Daoud felt the sting of envy. If he had only been a year or two older, he, too, might have souvenirs of that battle.