But Binter didn't count on Tarrin's flexibility. Unlocking his back, he simply bent backwards, causing the Vendari to rush over him as Tarrin's resistance to his pushing simply vanished. Tarrin's head hit the sand just behind his ankles as the Vendari soared over him, but Tarrin reached out and grabbed the Vendari's wrist just as he went over. Tarrin pulled on that wrist to arrest Binter's forward motion, and then he walked over his head even as he pushed off with the hand holding the staff, and he curved through the air gracefully and put his feet against the Vendari's belly. Binter's breath whooshed out of his lungs as the Were-cat punched all of his weight down on the green scaled belly, exactly in time with Binter's impact with the ground, driving his feet into the Vendari's stomach and pinning him between the unforgiving ground and Tarrin's crushing feet.

Tarrin squatted down on top of the Vendari, paws on his shoulders, but Binter was clearly out of it. He was gasping for breath, Tarrin could feel his chest try to rise under his feet, and he was sprawled out on the ground like a passed out drunken sailor. The tip of his muscled tail was twitching uncontrollably.

"Now that was something you don't see every day," Ulgen said with a chuckle. "I swear, it looked like Tarrin bent himself in half."

"Tarrin, you can get off of him," Faalken called. "He can't breathe with you standing on him."

"Oh, sorry," Tarrin said, stepping down off of the Vendari and standing beside him, staff held loosely in his paw, waiting to see if he was going to be alright.

Binter finally got his wind back, and the first thing he did was laugh. It was a grating, hollow sound that sent a chill up Tarrin's spine. "I have never in all my years encountered such a devious trick," he said with a rueful chuckle. "You must have bent yourself completely backwards."

"I can do it," Tarrin shrugged. "It doesn't exactly feel good, but I can touch the backs of my ankles with my head if I have to."

"How did you end up on top of me?"

"I'm part cat, Binter," he said with a wolfish smile. "We always land on our feet."

"I just hope not to be what you land upon next time," Binter said. "You are truly a warrior of honor. You are a worthy opponent."

"I'm honored you feel so," Tarrin said.

"I see much of your own style in the staff. I would like to see you in the forms," he said, getting back to his feet, and then setting down his hammer.

"Are you ready?"

"Vendari recover quickly," he said dismissively. "You only knocked the breath from me. I am quite able to continue."

Binter proved even deadlier in unarmed combat, but Tarrin too also had a natural aptitude for it. His Cat instincts were familiar with hand to paw combat, and they surfaced in him as he and Binter traded quick, jabbing blows as they felt each other out yet again. Tarrin let himself to join with the Cat, entering that serene, trancelike state where there was no thought, no fear, no emotion, only him and his enemy. The Cat gave him even sharper reflexes and instinctive senses of danger and threat, his conscious mind drew on Tarrin's knowledge of the martial arts, and they combined to create a lethal adversary. Binter found himself hard pressed to lay a finger on the sleek Were-cat, who used his speed and his ability to move in ways that exceeded human capability to confound his larger opponent. He was the blade of grass in the wind, the smoke rising from the campfire, twisting, weaving, always just within reach, but never where he could be touched. Tarrin didn't strike back, allowing Binter to lose his temper and start making mistakes, but Binter proved that he was no fool. He was extremely disciplined, and no matter how many times he missed, he simply tried another tactic without losing control.

Binter managed to make the first point, finally catching the Were-cat high in the side with a backhand. Tarrin's paw flashed and grabbed that hand as it tried to withdraw, then he twisted around to put his back to the Vendari and executed an Ungardt hand throw. Binter sailed over Tarrin's body in a high arc and slammed into the ground on his back, but the Vendari showed no signs of feeling it. He simply swept Tarrin's feet out from under him with his other hand, knocking him to the ground. They both rolled to their feet, and Binter smiled and glanced at Faalken. "You were right," he said. "He can pick me up and throw me."

"He's alot stronger than he looks."

"I noticed," he said, wiping a line of blood from his maw. "Those were not just the Ways. I saw a great deal of the Dance in your style. You have done well to combine them into a single form. With your speed and power, I'm surprised that you rely so much on defense."

"I just prefer defense," Tarrin shrugged. "I was trained to fluster an opponent, then take him down when he loses his temper."

"An acceptable style," he said with a nod. "But you should also learn to know when to use more aggressive techniques. Some opponents won't lose their tempers."

Tarrin nodded. Jegojah had been almost icy in his control, and it was he that goaded Tarrin into losing his temper. And Tarrin paid for it, dearly. "I usually don't have to go that far," Tarrin said. "If I get too aggressive, I-" he cut off, looking at the Knights. "Let's just say that I'm Ungardt enough."

Binter nodded. "Berzerker," he said. "We have them in our own race."

Tarrin gave him a curious look, but said nothing. "Let's work on that," Binter said. "Come at me with a more aggressive technique. Don't worry about hurting me."

"Alright. Are you ready?"

"Let's begin."

Binter turned out to be an excellent teacher. After working with Tarrin for about an hour, he began to break down the Were-cat's technique and style, and began working with him to perfect it. Tarrin also realized that, though he got in some lucky shots because Binter was unfamiliar with Tarrin's unique abilities, Binter was by far the better warrior. He taught Tarrin several Vendari moves that relied on raw physical power, power that Tarrin possessed. He helped Tarrin improve his style when fighting with his claws, developing Tarrin into using a flowing, sweeping form that allowed him to rake and slash with impressive speed and precision. Binter had his own claws, and he knew how to use them. And Tarrin gained alot of experience in fighting a much larger opponent. He knew that the larger the opponent, the more of a target his knees became. Binter reinforced that, literally teaching Tarrin how to take down members of his own race. "The larger they are, the more dependent they are on their knees," he preached. "We have had alot of experience against Ogres and Giants, and attacking their knees and hamstrings is the most effective technique."

"Ogres? Why would you need to fight Ogres? They're rather peaceful for Goblinoids."

"They are over here. In Wikuna, they are very, very agressive. The Giants aren't quite so aggressive, but sometimes a rogue Giant or two comes down from their lands to raid." He looked up at the cloudy sky. "It's getting late. Her Highness is nearly finished with her classes, and I have duties to perform." He approached Tarrin and then touched his chest, his muzzle, and then reached out with his huge hand. "You are a warrior of honor," he said formally. "I greet you as a man of respect."

Tarrin wasn't quite sure if it was proper, but he mimicked the Vendari's movements, and then he clasped Tarrin's paw when he offered it. "And you are a warrior of greater honor," he said in reply. "Any who ask of you will hear that I hold the utmost respect for you."

"You have proven yourself to be worthy of honor, Tarrin of the Were-cats," Binter told him. "You will be accepted by our fire if you ever ask for hospitality."

"How did you know I was a Were-cat?" he asked curiously.