Zan was sure that the spear was at least slightly similar to the staff, even more so when Girim's first action was a thrust to the left side of his torso. While a bit closer than he would have liked, he was able to swing his own weapon in a defensive maneuver, enough so to turn what would have been a sharp stab into a glancing blow that ripped through his shirt and sliced the flesh there. He'd had worse from his own grandmother before, he thought, jaw set stoically against the pain. And even the kids in his neighborhood could do worse than that, if he let them.

Seconds later, with Girim's spear still outstretched but on the retreat, he managed to twist around – ignoring the sharp stinging of his side – while the staff slid down so he was holding it by nearly the end. The added length and the momentum from spinning made it more powerful than his defensive motion earlier as Zan aimed for the boy's feet in an attempt to sweep him away from the floor.