Raug walks toward the next clan with nothing but a waterskin and his fists. Word has already reached him — a champion so feared his own people bring him offerings just to keep him peaceful. They feed him. They give him weapons. They hope he stays satisfied. Raug knows the champion has heard his name too. Good. It saves time. The skull appears before the settlement does. It sits on a carved spear driven into the dry ground, jaw broken, eye sockets facing the approach. Someone placed it there recently. The bone is still white. Raug stops in front of it and studies the marker. This champion knows he is coming and wants him to know it. Raug steps past the skull without touching it. The champion is ready. So is he. The tribute pile sits at the edge of the first dwelling. Bright red cactus fruits spill across slabs of raw meat. Leather strips tie bundles of dried flesh together. The pile is fresh. Raug crouches beside it and picks up a piece of meat. He bites into it and chews slowly. The clan emerges from their shelters, watching from doorways and gaps in the walls. They say nothing. Raug takes another piece and stands. The champion will come when he comes. Until then, Raug eats what was meant to keep the man calm. A figure walks out from behind the largest shelter. He moves without hurry. His arms are thick and scarred. He stops at the edge of a pit dug into the earth and ringed with wooden stakes. The dirt inside is packed flat and stained dark. The champion points at the pit and then at Raug. No words. Raug drops the meat and walks forward. The clan watches from the edges as both men step down into the fighting space. The tribute pile sits untouched behind them.