Aindri wanted to scream or curse, maybe do both. Instead she mumbled under her breath, "it is not fair, this is not how you fight..."

Karmappa gave a wry grin, he heard her, "My dear child, war is never pretty and there are no exact rules in a battle. You will have to learn that that not all will be fighting fair. So instead of arguing or whining, you would have to fight your way out. And you do not even have much time."

Aindri knew her grandfather was right but then she was in a bind, a tight bind as Vahin held her in a death grip. There had been no warning, no hint of what was to come and midst the practice fight, he had captured her in a unexpected move, one that she did not anticipate. He had grasped her by her free wrist, the movement had startled her for a single instant but it had been enough. Her momentary lapse of concentration had been enough to have him spin her around and trap her, with her arm twisted behind her and his sword held against her throat. It was a practice sword, slathered with a deep indigo paste, so that any cut would leave a mark and a mark meant a loss; some cuts were fatal and it helped to learn to avoid them in battles fought with real weapons.

She grimaced and went slack; this time it was Vahin who was stunned, it was not like Aindri to give up and as her limp body sank into him, he had to adjust his grip on her left wrist to handle her weight, which was what Aindri was waiting for. She pulled her left hand free and grasped his sword hand across his wrist, at the same time she dropped her sword and raised her right arm so that her shoulder blocked his arm. She wanted to pivot to her left, inward and under Vahin's arm but then he was taller and stronger, so she did what she could, she bit down hard on his wrist, her best possible imitation of a vicious dog, holding down with her teeth till she cut the skin and tasted blood.

And when Vahin released her, she stepped back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand; wondering why victory tasted of tangy blood and rank sweat.

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It was at the smithy that Vahin, in the midst of hammering the glowing iron to form the curve of the sickle, had a surprise visitor in Aindri. She was his master's daughter, but rarely came to the smithy, especially when there would be other men around.

And when he saw the covered reed basket in her arms, he guessed the reason for her presence.

The aroma was heavenly, the richness of the fresh plantain leaves mingling with the heady, slightly sour fragrance of the millet cakes. He knew they would also taste like heaven, firm and soft, mildly drenched in a dollop of fresh butter and with the spicy seasoned dip to add fire to the mildness.

He also knew that it was a peace offering, to apologise for biting the skin off his hand; Aindri was not one for words. He took it without word but when he bit into the millet cake, he blurted, "How do you do it?"

Aindri shrugged, it was the same question Vahin had, each time he ate something she cooked, as though he found it difficult to believe that a woman who trained with swords would be able to cook as well.

"I do not know why you make such a big deal out of it, you are a good blacksmith, better than all my brothers, better than anyone in the village, but nobody is surprised that you can fight so well with a sword. So why should it be surprising that I can cook, it is also nothing that cannot be mastered and when you have a mother such as mine, you will master it."

"Agreed, but then cooking is such a womanly task and sword fighting is ..."

Aindri did not need Vahin to complete the sentence, fighting with bare hands or weapons was usually restricted to men, the instances of women being allowed to do so was unheard of in their cluster of villages. She knew that her father's indulgence had made it possible and it was a natural assumption that she would not be able to perform any of the tasks that fell under the women's domain, let alone master them.

And it would have been true if they were not born to Ina.

Ina was a short, rotund and garrulous woman who was always pregnant. Aindri was one of fourteen siblings and her mother was treated with respect and awe for all of her children survived and thrived; it was a thing of constant wonder. Aindri was one of the youngest, with only a brother after her and her eldest sister, seventeen years senior to her had a daughter who was a few months older than herself. Her father, Kau'tilika, the village blacksmith, was a tall, genial man, who had a quick laugh and gentle hands, one that seemed at odds with the powerful shoulders and muscled arms that pounded iron. He was respected and honoured, not only for his smithing skills but also for his jovial nature. It was this respect for her father by the villagers and his affable nature that allowed Aindri to learn and practice sword fighting, a skill not usually imparted to women.

Together, Ina and Kau'tilika made an odd couple but indulgent parents, though none of their children or grandchildren troubled them as much as Aindri did, with her controversial interests.

They had taken in Vahin when he had lost his parents as a ten month old babe. Both her parents had not worried about an extra mouth to feed, as long as he was not underfoot. Vahin, now a tall strapping lad of nineteen, repaid their generosity by learning everything Kau'tilika could teach and becoming a blacksmith who would make his foster father proud. And also by doing his best to curb his growing attraction to Aindri, it would be dishonourable of him to eye his mentor's daughter, not to mention dangerous, for he was also not sure as to how she would receive a declaration of his affections.

But that did not stop him from glancing at her, during the rare times when he knew that she would not notice him. And each time he looked at her, he found her to be growing more beautiful than before; she was quite unlike the other girls or women in the village, taller than her mother and slim, with just a gentle curve of breasts and a hint of a waist. Aindri was the colour of the dark soil that abounded in their villages, but while the soil was dull and clumpy, her skin shone in sepia tones in the warm sunlight. Her hair, long and black, would always be plaited and coiled round the head, and smelled of jasmine and sandal. She was the grace of impossible desires and the fragrance of forbidden dreams.

Breekai woke to the smell of stale wine and rank flesh, it was not usual for him to fall asleep in a whorehouse, but then exceptions were to be made, he guessed. And never again, he vowed, it affected both his mental readiness and his physical skill; his family was right in enforcing the rules they did.

Breekai was a thief, who had been born into a family which hailed from a generation of thieves, and each member specialised in a certain aspect of thievery. No form was considered too small to perfect or too grand to be shied away from; subtle pick pocketing, daring thefts of objects, covert stealing of information, they indulged in them all. Their most famous ancestor had stolen a princess's heart, which was daring and foolish; daring, for the princess had always been kept under a heavy guard so he had to be ingenious enough to be able to get close enough to her to have her fall in love with him. He was considered foolish for he had been so enamoured by her in turn, that in a fit of drunken rapture, he was careless enough to be captured and had turned to a poet as he awaited his execution. Though the poetry was hailed in the literary circles, the thief was upheld as an prime example of failure for his future progeny.

That ancestor's fate had set a couple of unshakable rules for his family; no entanglements with women or rather with the people of the opposite sex, there were women in his family who were quite good at the family business and no unnecessary indulgence in alcoholic beverages, especially when on a job.

All thieves have to possess a certain amount of irreverence; respect of authority would be a direct clash to their penchant for thievery. Breekai possessed both the irreverence and impertinence in equal measure, coupled with a cheekiness that made him quite irresistible to women in general and also a few men. Along with his inherited abilities to steal, it had allowed him to progress quickly from his apprenticeship, where he had started off as a pickpocket to becoming a renowned thief in a short span; at seventeen he was a thief of great refute. Having stolen, pilfered and plundered all things possible he set up a challenge to himself, one that had tempted and defied more than dozen generations before him. Hence his solitary presence in the town of Daiphini.

Daiphini was a sea town, a busy sea port and even busier docks, where there were constant activities, centred round the loading and unloading of ships. The town also had various businesses to support the inflow and outflow of people; taverns and inns, bakeries and vegetable stores, tiny shops that sold exotic wares to large stores that dealt in daily necessities. Daiphini attracted all types of people, sea faring merchants, craftsmen, artisans, poor labours trying their luck, rich traders bartering their wares and the ships crews; the crowds allowed Breekai to blend into the crowds of different ethnicities with ease, a place where his accent or dressing would garner no extra attention.

The sea port was also home to the temple of Adrushta, the Goddess of luck, who was the patron goddess of thieves, one always needed luck to be a thief. The temple was an unremarkable structure, squat and grey, the unyielding grain of the granite apparently too hard to be carved into the delicate lattices that adorned the other temples which Breekai had seen. The interiors were in stark contrast, large and airy, with more than a dozen brass lamps that threw myriad twisted shapes of the idol on the tall walls and the air was thick with the fragrance of spices and incense. The idol of Adrushta, carved out of red sandstone, was reverentially placed at the far end of the long pillared hall the made up the temple and at her feet, on a slightly raised circular dais, around twelve inches in diameter, rested a small knife.

It appeared to be an ordinary knife, the blade was around five inches of carbon steel, the sharp double edges reflected the golden light of the lamps. The handle was ordinary too, made of the same steel that made the blade, at certain angles, it appeared as though the entire piece was made from one single strip of iron, skillfully wrought to form the blade and hilt.

And he wanted that blade.

He did not care about the myths, the ones that proclaimed it to be a magical, able to kill any opponent nor about the tales that the blade was cursed and the wielder was doomed to a sudden and painful death. What attracted him to the blade were the rumours that it could not be stolen and what made it incredulous was that it was on open display, on a small stone pedestal, at the feet of the rock hewn Goddess of Luck, Adrushta. It was also considered to be blasphemy to steal from your patron Goddess, but then Breekai was also a little reckless and the idea of stealing something so forbidden was alluring.

So he had made the journey to the town of Daiphini as a pilgrimage and had stood in the grand temple hall as he gasped at what he saw. And he still shuddered when he recalled that statue of Adrushta; he was an admirer of the feminine form and he appreciated art but felt that there should be a line beyond which artistic liberties should not be permitted; the statue was logic defying with gigantic breasts, a tiny waist, and a petite form. It could be one of the reasons that he found the statue to be drooping at an odd angle, and not a pleasant sight to behold; with an unimaginable amount of gold jewellery covering the entirety of the figure; earrings, nose rings, chains, bangles, waist chains and anklets. The sight of the idol, which was contrary to all his expectations, for he had grown up listening to the praises of Adrushta, the amount of gold and the easy placement of the dagger, had held him in a confused enthrallment and in a misplaced bid to gather his bearings, he had resorted to a night of drinking and sexual escapades.

Morning found him reeling from an immense hangover and a burning desire to possess that dagger. He did not care for what the tales regarding that dagger were, they could be as false as the poetry he had heard describing Adrushta.

Breekai spent the next week, visiting the temple and learning about the layout and the routine of the worship. The prayers were held twice a day, after dawn and after dusk, and the temple sanctum was locked for the night with a simple lock, which, despite its large size, could be picked by him in a matter of seconds. There was also no security despite the amount of gold that adorned the idol, for it was believed that Adrushta was capable of guarding her wealth. He found the old priest, Firuzah, to be a simple man with a great devotion to the Goddess, which he also thought it to be ironical, for Firuzah lived only on the paltry offerings made by the devotees, who though willing to pray to the Goddess for fortune, seemed reluctant to share any of their gains with the priest. Nor did Adrushta seem to be benevolent towards the one who had dedicated his life to her service.

On a moonless night, Breekai decided to take the knife. As expected, it took him only a few seconds to pick the lock and enter the premises, where he waited for a few minutes till his eyes adjusted to the darkness, punctured by the flickering of the low burning lamps. He quietly walked up to the altar and swiped the blade from its place, releasing his breath only when he realised that there were no hidden springs that might let go of a secret weapon, nor was there a heavenly bolt of lightning that fell on his head as godly retribution.

He was about to leave when he saw the alms platter. A twinge of pity shook him as he remembered the old and frail priest, and he decided to leave the first coin he laid his fingers on as he reached into his pockets. However, when he dug into his pockets and pulled out a nishkam, he faltered; it was a large coin, slightly larger than an inch and one fifth inch thick and made of pure gold. He fingered it for a few seconds, wondering how he could have picked it out; he could identify over fifty different coins by mere touch. He almost dropped it back into his pocket when he decided that maybe it was Adrushta's will. He flung it in the stone bowl and walked out without looking back, he did not want to give in to the temptation of changing his mind.

The coin bounced out of the stone bowl, rolled across the uneven pedestal and came to a stop at the idol's foot.

Unlike the artists' imaginations, Adrushta was tall and slim, with a dusky complexion; not the ebony of a dark moonless night but the deep glint of copper, a sparkling brown that appeared to be amber in the fiery dawn or dark honey in the fading sunlight. Her hair, thick and full of ringlets, fell into a cascade of ebony waves that reached to her waist and gently swung in harmony with her swaying waist when she walked. And she loved to dress up, despite not really needing to wear any, she could not resist the fine silks or the exquisite cottons that the humans spun; she did not need them to be offered to her, she simply wove them out of her vivid imagination, of colours that could not be visualised by mortals and in textures that they could not imagine. And she did not deck up herself in gaudy ornaments either, the only adornment she wore were a pair of broad silver anklets. That was also the only thing her believers got it right about her; she was indeed, the Goddess with tinkling toes.

Adrushta agreed with Breekai that the idol's form was ugly, but did not fault the humans or mortals or whatever they called themselves for the crude or fantastical representations they made of her or the exaggerated verses they wrote about her. Few of them could fathom her true form even if they could see her, the rare few that had been bestowed with that chance had gone blind with her brilliance and those that had heard her mellifluous voice, were forever unable to hear anything else, for every tone heard after that was pure cacophony and noise.

The clanking echoed long after Breekai left the temple, and Adrushta looked up from the coin that rested between her feet and stared at his retreating back. And as she hefted the nishkam in her palm, she wondered how Breekai could do what he had done. The coin was quite valuable but that did not make any difference, its value was not important, it did not matter what he intended, when he had dropped the coin at almost the same time that he had taken the knife, his act could no longer be interpreted as theft.

It was a bargain.

And a bargain entailed a different set of laws, very different from those that governed thefts. One which would be used to the full advantage by the Gods.

It also meant that in whatever dealings Breekai did with the knife, Adrushta could never favour him.

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