And this is the contest:
The _shegrin_ permits himself to be tortured from sunrise to sunset. If
he endures he wins. It is as simple as that. He can stop the torture at
any moment by a word, but to do so is a concession of defeat.
This is not as dangerous as it might, at first, seem. The other party to
the bet is bound by the ironclad codes of Wolf to inflict no permanent
physical damage (no injury that will not heal with three suncourses).
But from sunrise to sunset, any torment or painful ingenuity which the
half-human mentality of Wolf can devise must be endured.
The man who can outthink the torture of the moment, the man who can hold
in his mind the single thought of his goal--that man can claim the
stakes he has set, as well as other concessions made traditional.
The silence grew in the hall. Dallisa had straightened and was watching
me intently, her lips parted and the tip of a little red tongue visible
between her teeth. The only sound was the tiny crunching as the fat
woman nibbled at nuts and cast their shells into the brazier.
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