Wrntukai dismounted his camel and laid eyes upon the H'án. About as old as his father, his skin as weathered as old leather. The man was in good shape and looked as tough as his voice sounded when he called out to him, insulting his father. He merely smiled and looked at his own entourage, who started laughing. To feel insulted would be a loss for him, that would be seen as disgrace. He would not disappoint his father, no matter how hard his father would have trained, he could have never won this. And that, the Banmek-Sntazed's could not let happen. He would have to win this, as he was named after the Khagan. The man who united all the Jelbics under one banner. He could not disappoint his father, his people and most importantly not his ancestors.
He carefully watched the H'án milk the camel with his arms crossed, betraying no emotion on his face. The man was swift and skilled but lacked style, he reckoned he could win this with style. If anything his father had taught him that impressing others gets you somewhere. Perhaps he could not match the speed of the H'án, but he could win this challenge with the style his tutors had taught him. When the H'án was done he beckoned his own people and they brought forward a middle-aged female, this camel wasn't as old and rugged as his. Her fur was in top shape and any loose hairs, like the chestmane, had been braided in traditional style. Another one of his men fetched a beautiful silver bowl, an old family relic that he had brought purposely for this. The legends said this bowl had been plundered from an Augustan mansion during the age of Merlkai the Conqueror, the Wrnukék that was the Scourge of the Augustans. Though the prince himself knew that it had been carbon dated to about four-hundred years after the lifespan of Merlkai. But such facts did not matter for this great ancient challenge.
He approached the camel, chin high, chest forward. He stopped next to the camel and patted her, stroking her neck and mumbling a few soothing words. Then he flicked a piece of twisted leather string from his belt and graciously swung it around the hind legs of the camel, tying it with a solid but not tight knot. One of his warriors knelt below the camel and held the ornate silver bowl above his head. Clearly this would show the old H'án that his warriors would do even the most humiliating tasks for him, only a true Wrnukék could inspire his followers to do so.
After that he graciously nodded to the Jelbic man with the ornate watch, even though he would not be able to compete with the time. Formalities were important. As the Jelbék nodded back sharply he started. He took a strong pose and started milking the camel, left and right, left and right. He tried to do it as elegantly as possible. As he milked the camel he cleared his throat and added some throatsinging to the mixture. It was style that would win him this challenge, not speed. After a considerably longer time than the H'án had taken he finished milking and took the bowl from his warrior, holding it above his head to offer it to Tanhri. After this he lowered it and looked straight towards the old H'án. He tipped his head and started drinking the milk, using all his willpower to hide his disgust for the warm salty liquid. He had eaten and drank many terrible things during his youth in the desert but camel milk had always been the most hated of them all. Perhaps a flicker of disgust could be seen on his face. When he finished drinking he went to a knee and put the bowl on the dusty earth.
It was clear that this challenge would be undecided.