The moment Donovan hit the ground, Thane did not wait.
The giant rolled toward the abandoned weapon.
His battered hand closed around the wooden mace.
For a brief instant, Donovan's eyes widened as he saw Thane hurl it.
The weapon spun end over end through the air. It crossed the white boundary line.
Landed outside the arena and slid across the stone.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. The message was obvious: no more weapons or advantages.
Donovan slowly climbed to his feet, sweat drenched his clothes.
His chest rose and fell heavily, his arms felt heavier than iron.
The noble stared at the mace lying beyond the arena boundary.
A terrible realization settled into his stomach. He was afraid.
He was afraid of fighting Thane barehanded again. Yesterday's memory still haunted him.
That single punch. That impossible strength. That feeling of being launched through the air.
The worst part was that he had performed better today, far better.
