Bazaar of Death: Six

The crowd roared as the thrown dagger sunk deep between the eyes of the dead boar’s head propped up on a table at the far end of the bar room. Kehnan raised his arms, beckoning the crowd to greater acclaim. The cheers rose to chanting as he lifted his mug to his lips and swallowed a long pull from his mug of millet beer.

Looking to Sabit, Kehnan said, “It is no shame to be bested by one as skilled as I, Mongoose. None will think less of you for yielding a contest you cannot win.”

Sabit smiled at the taunt and drained her mug. Rising to her feet, Sabit picked up two of the small, bronze throwing daggers that Kehnan had purchased for the contest. His coin had also paid for the beer and rescued the boar’s head from the butcher’s wife’s cook pot.

Holding a dagger in each hand, Sabit faced the target. Kehnan beckoned the crowd to still its shouts, a smile on his face. The tense silence hung in the air like pungent smoke of a censer.

Giving a sharp shout, Sabit hurled both daggers with phenomenal speed. In the same instant, each struck an eye of the beast, biting deep into its dead flesh.

For a moment more, the crowd was silent. Then, a cheer erupted, ringing from the low, wooden rafters. How could mere wood and stone contain such exultation?

Of all the cheering voices, Kehnan’s was the loudest of all. Even as the crowd rushed forward, he never took his eyes from Sabit.



Wayfarings of Sabit: Bazaar of Death is copyright (c) 2017 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: or