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Border-world of the Draconis Combine and Wolf Empire. Year 3152.
Under the dying sun, the two 'mechs advanced on each other. This battle should never have happened- was likely as anything to be declared to have never happened- and so it had been resolved that few if any should die for the elbow-room of two nations, both with enemies aplenty and thus no need to share.
From the one side, Lysat, in his Timber Wolf. No Bloodname was to be found on this remote a world. Lysat he had been and Lysat he was likely to remain in this posting; an adequate Warrior but far from the eyes of the honorable. Only a Star who knew him too well to admire him. From the other, shujin Jeyai Ziar: MechWarrior of four years' fighting, half of it in the bleeding gash where the Dragon's Tongue had been torn out, in his JagerMech.
The comms line cracked to life under Jeyai's finger, and his eyes narrowed- not just from the sun's blaring glow. "You who face a samurai of the Draconis Combine, know this, that you may tell all with accuracy at whose hands you were defeated: I am shujin Jeyai Ziar, born of Outer Volta, soldier of the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars, servant of the Coordinator. Who are you?"
"I am Point Commander Lysat of Clan Smoke Jaguar, piloting the Timber Wolf directly to your fore. I hereby invoke the ritual of zellbrigen and challenge you, shujin Jeyai Ziar of Outer Volta, soldier of the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars, to a duel of warriors. In this solemn matter, let none interfere."
Jeyai tightened his grip on the controls slowly, like squeezing a rifle's trigger in preparation for a shot. Before he could move, the communicator crackled again.
"In defense of my honor, I am now disengaging the controls on my missile pods," the Jaguar said brusquely. In his cockpit, Lysat keyed the controls; in moments it was done, the LRM pods effectively disconnected. His communicator chirped, and he whipped his gaze down at the panel.
"In defense of my honor, I am disengaging one-half of my autocannon array," the Draconian announced. "This amounts to an AC/2 and 5, no longer under my control."
Lysat ground his teeth, slammed a fist down on the channel button. By this time, the Star behind him were listening; background murmurs passed along the open channel.
"In defense of my honor, I am shutting down power to one pulse laser, one large laser and one medium laser," he replied, the words quick and harsh as he tapped the control console.
A sudden movement caught his eye, more metal gleam in the sun's last rays than there had been a moment ago. Jeyai glared at the 'mech as his cockpit hatch swung open, speaking louder over the interference of wind.
"You will not make light of me, Point Commander Lysat of Clan Smoke Jaguar. In defense of my honor I will face you hand to hand, and- by the Dragon's majesty! -but my honor will have no stain."
It was wary faces and brows crumpled, dubious, that surrounded the two as they climbed from their cockpits, pacing ahead until they were mere feet apart; Lysat with a machete, Jeyai with an officer's katana. The dusty road beneath them, now staining violet in the sunset, swept in a dusk wind, seemed an arena of the ancient gladiators.
"You press your luck, shujin Jeyai, born of Outer Volta, soldier of the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars," Lysat said. To some watching it seemed an open truth. The Jaguar had a head and a half on Jeyai, and the reach and muscle accompanying the build, but Jeyai stood firm, adjusting his stance by the most minute inches in preparation.
"I press my honor, Point Commander Lysat of Clan Smoke Jaguar."
The sudden movement on the Jaguar's part brought hands to sidearm holsters on the Draconians' side, but when the small plume of dust settled, the machete was embedded in the dirt, and Lysat adjusted his stance, elbows raised, fists held close, a death's-head grin on his face. Cosmetic fangs, Jeyai noted: he had heard Clanners earned the rights to such amenities by honorable conduct.
"It is by no means a samurai's way to sheathe a blade without blood," Jeyai spoke. With one movement he drew it across his jaw, letting blood spill across the gleaming metal, and as fluidly cleaned it across a sleeve and sheathed it. Shrugging his cooling vest off and letting his sword drop atop it, he stood facing the Jaguar.
Lysat studied him with canny eyes. Not much brawn was needed to pilot a BattleMech, and not much did shujin Jeyai have; indeed, he seemed to be accruing some uninvited weight in his abdomen, but his stance betokened skill in a fight, and a regimen of brutal martial arts- or so Sphere Studies in sibko had told him -was part of obligatory training to Draconian officers.
Sweat was beading on the Jaguar's brow. He could feel Kerensky's piercing eyes on him. Rolling one shoulder in place, he folded his other hand- to the scrutinizing gazes of his Star, to the furrowed brows of the Draconians -behind his back.
"In defense of my honor, shujin Jeyai Ziar, I propose to commence our duel with the use of one hand."
"Basta-"
"Silence!" Jeyai cut off the soldier who spoke behind him. "Point Commander Lysat, my life is the Dragon's, but my honor is my own, and it shall never be tarnished."
From a fighting stand, center of gravity low, he stood tall, last rays of evening in his eyes but refusing to flinch, and put his right hand behind his back. One moment later, with a grave look, Lysat mirrored his movement- now in parade rest.
"Do you propose to not fight me, Point Commander Lysat of Clan Smoke Jaguar?" Jeyai's words were measured and level, the calmness in the eye of a storm.
"This is a genuine question, shujin Jeyai, born of Outer Volta, soldier of the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars, quineg?"
"Qui-" Jeyai searched his mental dictionary, "-it is not rhetorical, Point Commander Lysat of Clan Smoke Jaguar. I ask you this in earnest."
"Then I earnestly answer you, aff." No sign of humor could be scraped from the dusk-shadowed ridges of the Jaguar's face. "In defense of my honor, shujin Jeyai, born of Outer Volta, soldier of the Fifteenth Dieron Regulars, I propose to commence our combat without engaging you in combat."
"In the traditions of your people, in your words so established, Point Commander Lysat of Clan Smoke Jaguar-" Jeyai too folded his hands, "-I say well-bargained, and done."
The assembled watchers only stared at the duelists, and one another, in the fading purple of the coming night, as the two turned on their heels and walked back among their ranks.
"Dragon's mat, bowl and teapot," the Regulars each thought they heard Jeyai gasp, "but I can't keep these close calls going."
"Huntress," the Smoke Jaguars nearly caught Lysat sigh haggardly, "there is never a convenient time to brush with death, quineg?"