Daoud cried out in amazement as the lance, no bigger than a splinter at this distance, shot perfectly through the ring.
Joy was a white light momentarily blinding Daoud. His heart was beating as hard and fast as if it had been he who had made the cast.
"Nicetas! Yah, Nicetas!" he cheered.
Loud cries of admiration went up. Nicetas retrieved his rumh and waved it over his head, standing in the stirrups as he rode back to the troop.
He jumped down from his horse, and Kassar, already dismounted, went to meet him. Kassar's heavy walk, his clenched fists, the rage in his face, told Daoud there was going to be trouble.
He felt hot anger surging up inside him, but he reminded himself again that Nicetas must fight his own battles.
The boys surrounded Kassar and Nicetas, the naqeeb with his green turban in their midst. Daoud pushed himself into the innermost circle.
"Bring me the mail shirt," said Nicetas.
"I won," Kassar declared, glowering down at him. "I smashed the ring, a thing you are too weak to do." He looked away from Nicetas and moved his head from side to side, glaring around the circle of boys, challenging any of them to contradict him. No one spoke. No one wanted to quarrel with Kassar, especially on behalf of a boy no one knew.
Daoud felt angry words rushing up inside him, but he kept himself in check. To take up Nicetas's quarrel unasked would insult Nicetas. If things got too far out of hand, the naqeeb would intervene.