On this day, there would only be two men fighting for the freedom of their nation and a moment of silence ensued in the middle hour of the morning.  The Hanan captain would normally have sent his men to finish anyone causing him a disturbance, especially ones interrupting such an important task as accepting the surrender of a city.  But there was something about Imran mounted on the white horse that compelled him to ponder on his situation.  Imran was suited for battle just like Silus, with a shield and bow on his back, a quiver of arrows, a sword at his side and a spare dagger ready.  If one were to see the two, he would think that they were brothers because they shared the same facial features.  Both were imposing figures but Imran was slightly taller.  While working as a blacksmith, he took the time to fashion a set of armor that fit him just right, and he used the best materials, metals that were forged from a hard and rare ore found only in the Emlen Mountains of Noor.  To Muya, Imran did not look like any ordinary citizen.  Imran had a complete armor set that protected every part of his body, a sturdy helmet, rotating shoulder pads, a breastplate with his family seal engraved on the front, wrist guards that covered up to his elbows, gloves with mail lace, as well as leg and foot guards.  The metal used to make it was hard finished so that it was stronger yet lighter than that used in any of the kingdoms.  It had a shining silver color but, as the sunlight reflected off of it from different angles, it produced slight hues of blue and green.  

Muya had not seen such armor anywhere and he was dumbstruck as Imran gave him a menacing look.  He could not speak the words to break the silence so Imran woke him from his trance with his powerful voice.

“Soldiers of Hanan, you are trespassing on the lands of free men,” Imran accused.  “You are not welcome in this city, nor in any region of Noor.  Gather your men and remove yourselves back to your kingdom.”

It took a minute for Muya to absorb his words and he began to laugh at Imran’s commands, but his laughter quickly subsided and was replaced with anger.  “You will regret that you ever used that tone of voice with me,” Muya screamed in an emotional rage.  “I will make an example out of you for the rest of these peasants,” he promised as he pointed to the houses surrounding them.  The people in those homes had heard Imran’s voice and all the windows had been slightly opened so they could see what was going on.  “Come forward and accept your punishment,” Muya commanded.  But Imran simply rolled his shoulders to loosen himself up, then drew his sword with his right hand.  

“If you will not obey my command to leave,” said Imran with a stern voice, “then does your captain have the courage to stand against me?”  When they heard this challenge, the enemy soldiers all drew their swords, at which Imran shook his head in disappointment.  

“You should be careful about who you challenge,” Muya screamed once again, pointing a finger towards Imran and so angry that saliva flew out with his words.  “Have you not heard what we are capable of?  We are soldiers of Hanan!”

“I have heard nothing but fairy tales,” answered Imran.

“We are invincible!” Muya claimed.  He had a group of soldiers at his side and they obviously outnumbered Imran, yet Muya was reluctant to command an attack, much less initiate the attack himself.  Imran’s presence and his words had affected him and he did not want to admit with his words or actions that he was slightly frightened.  “You should know that just one of us has the strength to defeat all of you!”

“I do not see any strength,” answered Imran, deflating Muya’s ego.  “If you are so powerful then why is it necessary for so many to draw swords against one?  Does your leader allow such cowardice?  Who among you is your captain?  If he is not a coward himself he will face me alone!”  Imran deliberately spoke as if he didn’t recognize which was their leader.  Muya became infuriated at this attack on his courage and he signaled his men to put down their weapons.  His armor clearly distinguished him from his men and it was an insult to his pride that someone did not recognize him.  

“I will come to punish you myself, you worthless peasant,” threatened Muya.  He dismounted, drew his sword and began walking forward.  Imran came down off his horse and did the same.  

“Captain,” said one of the Hanan soldiers, “allow us to attack this peasant and finish him quickly.  Do not risk your life.”

“What?” said Muya in disgust and stopped his walk.  He turned around and faced the soldier who had spoken to him, “Risk my life?  Do you imagine that this peasant has a chance against me?  He has insulted my honor and now I will stain my sword with his blood.  Curtail your tongue or else your blood will join his.”  The soldier’s face turned red with embarrassment and he said no more.

Silus watched anxiously as the two drew closer.  They held their swords at their right sides and stopped far enough from each other to be safe from harm.  Imran removed his shield from his back and inserted his left arm into its handle.  His sword and shield were made from the same metal as his armor, but the sword was cured to a different consistency so that its double edges could be as sharp as possible.  He had affixed pointed spikes onto the shield so that it could be used to bash the enemy and puncture the armor or body.  Muya contemplated his decision to face Imran.  He searched Imran’s face for any sign of hesitation or nervousness, but all he saw was calm and confidence.  He looked at Imran’s hands to see if they might be shaky but they were steady.  But when he looked at his own right hand he saw a slight tremor and quickly tightened the grip on his sword to keep it still.  

“Now that we can see eye to eye, I give you one more chance,” Imran offered.  “Take your men and leave Noor for that is your only way out of these lands alive.  Accept my generosity and live.”

“I admit that you talk bravely, peasant,” said Muya, nodding his head, “but it is foolish to taunt your way to certain death.  So before I kill you, tell me who you are and where you acquired your armor and weaponry.”

“If I am a worthless peasant, why do you care to know who I am?” asked Imran, sensing that Muya had become intimidated.

“It is only for the sake of the armor you wear that I ask,” Muya answered arrogantly.  “I have not seen its like anywhere and you will tell me the secret of how you obtained it.  But you yourself add no value to the metal you wear or the weapons you hold and I will take them for myself after your fall.”

“The only way you shall touch this blade is when it cuts you down,” Imran quickly responded.

“Tell me its source,” Muya commanded, brushing aside Imran’s threat and anxious to know how a simple peasant could be wearing such rare pieces.  Or maybe, he thought to himself, this was no ordinary citizen but some sort of assassin hired to target him.

“If you must know,” said Imran, agreeing to satisfy Muya’s curiosity, “they are the work of my own hands.”

“You mean you crafted them yourself?” Muya asked in astonishment.

“Yes,” Imran answered calmly, brandishing his sword and pointing it at Muya, “and I have trained with them extensively.  There is no blade stronger, sharper or lighter than this.”

“I don’t care what you carry,” Muya blurted in anger, jealous of the equipment Imran possessed.  “I am Muya, Captain of Hanan.  This sword you see before you has cut down many foes, all surely greater than you, but it has not quenched its thirst for blood.  You will color my blade red and beg for mercy before it is all over.”

“What champions have you vanquished?” asked Imran, challenging Muya’s praise of himself.  “All you and your men have done is attack women, children and the elderly.  I have not heard of a single duel where you fought fairly and honorably.  You are too much of a coward to battle a warrior by yourself,” Imran accused and looked over at Muya’s men, “and even now I see your soldiers gripping the handles of their swords.  I wonder if you will fight me alone or is it that, when you see death approaching, you will cry out to your honorless minions for help.”

“Enough talk!” Muya shouted furiously as his eyes began to turn red.  

“It does not matter to me,” Imran continued, not affected by Muya’s anger or threats but actually emboldened that he was able to frustrate him.  “You can die before them, after them or all together.”

“You young upstart,” said Muya, almost to himself as much as to Imran.  He was no longer able to control his emotions.  He expected nothing less from Imran than absolute humility for his rank as captain and, when Imran spoke to him as the subordinate, he felt cheated.  He wanted Imran to show him the same servitude he received from all others that surrendered to him.  He wanted Imran to admit that Captain Muya was his superior more than he wanted to see Imran dead.  He realized that Imran’s will was too strong to be humiliated or subdued but he desperately wanted to hurt him emotionally.  “You are an inexperienced boy,” began Muya.  “You have no idea what I have done as I charged through your lands.  My forces have decimated everything in their path.  You have no homes, no farms, and no life to return to.  All who stood in my way were cut down, all of them.”  He stared into Imran’s eyes for any glimpse of anger or loss of confidence.  “I spared no one, not even the women and children,” he continued.  “As they ran from me, I made them target practice for my arrows,” he added with a smile and a slight laugh.  “I am the most ruthless warlord ever to walk this world and you will fear me before your demise, whether you wish it or not.  You will learn that I am devoid of all mercy but you will still beg for it.”  He saw that the townspeople were watching and listening closely from their windows, and he turned his attention to them.  He looked from one window to the next, turning around and facing all sides as he spoke to make sure they all heard, “Listen well, you worthless peasants.  You may have gathered your hope and your peasants’ wealth to hire an assassin, but your plan has failed.  I will make him an example for all who dare to insult me.  I will…”  

“Save your breath,” Imran cut in and Muya turned back to him.  “They did not hire me and I am not an assassin.  I am a free citizen of Noor and I have come on my own.  You have admitted your crimes plainly before all these witnesses and so now I will punish you as you deserve.  The time of words has ended, now it is time to draw your sword.  I will allow you to strike first.”