A Crown of Stars excerpt #2:

Kalmeki remained motionless. "This is not necessary."

"You want to have it out with me, so this is how we're going to settle it: like men," said Zhanil. "Unless, of course, you're afraid that I might beat you."

Whatever objections Kalmeki meant to voice, the goad worked—exactly as Zhanil knew it would. Kalmeki undressed and stepped onto the sand.

Only then, with Kalmeki stripped bare to the waist, did it occur to Zhanil that his opponent was a good two inches taller than he, and broader in the shoulders with powerful arms that could probably squeeze the life out of a horse. Zhanil nodded his approval, while inwardly recoiling at the prospect of leaving the sand limping and in pain.

Nonetheless, a larger opponent had never stopped him in the past; it certainly was not going to stop him now. Spying the arena attendant hovering behind Adeja, he said, "Bring the oil, and have the bath ready."

"What is the oil for?" asked Kalmeki.

"You rub it on your arms and chest," explained Zhanil. "Otherwise it would be too easy for you to get a grip on me." When the attendant brought the oil, he demonstrated, slicking his arms, torso, and shoulders before handing the vial to Kalmeki.

Wrestling needed oil, he knew, but as Kalmeki prepared, the thought of that bare, glistening torso stirred Zhanil in ways that neither his childhood teachers nor his army sparring partners had done before. Kalmeki was no sinuous dancing boy, but a grown man who was probably going to pummel him into the sand once he lost his initial awkwardness, and dwelling on his physique would not do.

Zhanil turned to Adeja to dispel the tension. "Well, do you want to lay odds?"

"That you'll both be bruised and barely standing by the time you're finished, my prince? How much did you want to wager?"

Kalmeki did not share in the joke. "I am not here to play," he said. "You insisted on this, now let us finish it."

"As my guest, you technically have the first move."

"I have no idea what to do."

Because he would not move, Zhanil seized the initiative, dropping his head and squaring his shoulders as he tackled his opponent around the middle to try to unbalance him. But Kalmeki remained solidly on his feet, and worse, reacted with an instinctive feel for the sport, taking advantage of Zhanil's slippery hold to shove him back.

"Well," said Zhanil, "you seem to know exactly what you're doing."

"Are you accusing me of lying?"

"Do you really need me to accuse you?" As Kalmeki grasped his arm to try to pin it behind his back, Zhanil hooked a leg behind his knee and succeeded in unbalancing him. Kalmeki spilled to the sand, taking Zhanil with him, and for a moment they writhed in an angry tangle of arms and legs.

"In the Turya-lands—" growled Kalmeki.

Zhanil sprawled across him. "We're not in the fucking Turya-lands."

"I would put a knife—in your belly—for calling me a liar." With a grunt, Kalmeki rolled over, pinning Zhanil to the sand for the brief moment it took Zhanil to wriggle free.

"Who's causing a diplomatic incident now?"

A half-clenched fist landed in the sand beside his head. Less than a second later, Adeja was on the sand with his sword at Kalmeki's throat. "You heard the rules. No punching."

Kalmeki backed away before shoving the blade aside. "He wants to settle this like men. This is how men do it."

"Not unless you want to go back to your turkan in pieces."