Intro:

Background story explaining how Khameir earned his Darth Maul title.



As always, all characters, settings and props are the properties of George 
Lucas and Lucasfilm, Ltd.  Original material falls under my copyright.


"Darth Maul:  Deathspar"
By Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Original Material Copyright 1999

     Khameir counted meticulously as he completed the final ten of his set of 
200 push-ups.  His rippling biceps bulged and flexed as he repetitiously 
performed each drop with his stomach perfectly parallel to the ground.  Even 
this deep into his exercise, Khameir's propulsions were still vigorous as 
dust puffed out in little clouds to the one-second intervaled rhythm he paced 
for himself.  He felt strong, as if he could throw down another 200, but 
there was no need; the push-ups were mere warming applications for the more 
strenuous activity required of him.

     As he finished, Khameir shoved off with his bare hands to propel himself 
directly to his feet.  He quickly rolled his head around, loosening the 
tendons in his neck, and then clapped his hands together with elongated arms, 
stretching the tight musculature.  He then assumed an attack stance by 
shifting his posture slightly, and executed a series of crescent kicks.  He 
pivoted and delivered more of the same with his other leg.  The breeze from 
each thrust whipped his floppy black pants against his thighs, breaking the 
silence of the subterranean combat arena located in the caverns below the 
Sith temple on Coruscant.

     The dimly lit arena shadowed the sleek, dark form of Khameir.  The scant 
flickering torches cast his briskly moving shadows on the walls as if 
fingerpointing his continuously shifting location.  The only traces of the 
actual man could be discerned ever-so-slightly as he quietly transferred 
himself from one end of the arena to the other.  His bare torso whirred like 
a blur through the dark arena, as did the serpentine red tattoos that 
countered the black jagged marks all over his face.  The pale, rounded horns 
enlarging from his smooth, black cranium could be discerned only if he slowed 
down.  However, he moved with the stealth of a jaguar and the predatory 
silence of a shark.  An outside observer would have to have extremely sharp 
eyes and ears to determine Khameir's features in the tenebrous, murky arena.

     "Very good," came a crackled, approving voice, followed by three sharp 
raps of applause.

     Khameir ceased his workout and genuflected on the dirty soil of the 
arena.

     "Please rise, my apprentice," the voice spoke again, "There is no need 
for formalities here."

     "As you wish, master," Khameir said, standing erect in the same spot in 
which he'd knelt.  As dank and musty as the arena was, he could feel the 
close, foreboding presence of his teacher, Darth Sidious.

     "Today is special, young Khameir," Sidious announced, in a boastful, 
proud tone.  "Today, you will put everything you have learned to the test."

     Khameir bowed, not knowing where Darth Sidious was, but acting as if his 
master was directly in front of him.

     "I am ready, master."

     "We will see," came Sidious' voice, and then he was mute.

     Khameir steeled himself in anxious preparation, unsure of what awaited 
him.  He tried to loosen his mind, to allow The Force to trickle in.  He 
attempted to employ a Sith form of extra-sensory perception, sending out 
probes of The Force to find any lifeforce besides himself in the arena.

     Khameir paced back and forth a few feet in both directions, his building 
appetite growing ravenous.  He knew there was supposed to be another being 
down here with him.  The Sith combat arena was designed in width and 
circumference to accomodate two warriors--three or four, if need be.  All of 
the training, the effort, the honing of his body and brain...it would all 
come down to this moment in the arena.

     But what of his opponent?

     Darth Sidious had promised his pupil a fighting partner to duel against, 
a being of considerable prowess to test Khameir to his full ability.

     As if in response, a form materialized from the pitch black gradation on 
the opposite side of the arena.  Khameir flinched for just a second; why had 
he not been able to detect the other's arrival?  Was he correctly attuned to 
The Force?  How disturbing.

     Khameir's opponent, a Javinian, if he was correct, was clad in 
tight-fitting leather pants.  Bare chested, the Javinian wore an amethyst 
pendant draped around his neck from a long, thick nylon rope.  His equally 
long, dark hair was jerked back into a whip-like ponytail.  His facial 
features were hidden by the few fluttering rays of light from the wavering 
torches.  For Khameir, it certainly appeared to grow darker down here.

     Immediately, the Javinian attacked, his meaty leg hunting out Khameir.  
The dim arena clouded Khameir's judgment--that, and his apparent loss of 
control of The Force, allowed the Javinian to connect onto Khameir's chest.  
Khameir stumbled backwards, and his legs capsized beneath him.  As he smacked 
the cold dirt, a minor pain shocked his elbow as it absorbed the brunt of his 
fall.  He tried to tap into the resources of The Force once again, secretly 
praying that he was successful.

     To his pleasure, he rejoined his mind with The Force and channeled his 
pain through his foream and into his hand, thusly creating a reverse effect 
and giving him the ability to thwart the Javinian's forward lunge.  As the 
Javinian stamped down with his dirty bare foot, Khameir grasped his 
opponent's heel and reverted the strength of the stomp against him.  With an 
exertion of The Force, Khameir propelled the Javinian about ten feet away 
from him.

     As the Javinian thudded to the hard ground, Khameir seized the advantage 
and smoothly tumbled over to his surprised foe.  Just as the Javinian was 
getting to his feet, Khameir sprang up and released a midair whirl kick that 
crunched the Javinian's jaw.  Exerting his leg muscles, Khameir placed his 
left foot flat to the dirt, shifted his stance and placed a turning kick that 
caught the Javinian on his left cheekbone.

     The Javinian reeled back from the consecutive strikes, but he 
recuperated enough to sidestep Khameir's ensuing back kick by deflecting it 
with his dipped left forearm. 

     However, the Javinian's position was compromised, as Khameir amazingly 
twisted his hip in time with his leg vault, catching the Javinian on the 
other cheek.  The Javinian topppled to the ground and Khameir pushed himself 
off of it as quickly as he'd hit it.  Those push-ups earlier had proven 
fruitful.

     The combatants rose to their feet and traded flurries of mutually 
blocked punches, thrusts and forearms, their appendages cracking noisily in 
the dense chamber.  The Javinian attempted a leg sweep, which Khameir easily 
leaped over.  The Javinian rolled out of the path of Khameir's deadly fist, 
which was directed in a downwards punch.

     They performed their dance of violent bloodsport, shadow warriors 
gamboling in the dark while waiting for the other to miscue.  The Javinian 
sent a burst of jabs at Khameir's face, which were all blocked by the 
circular twists of the would-be Sith's arms, with the exception of one that 
landed square on Khameir's mouth.

     The young Sith apprentice tasted a coppery fluid building in his saliva, 
which only enraged him.  Summoning The Force, Khameir focused his anger on 
Javinian's temples, squeezing on them with all the pressure he could muster.

     The Javinian unleashed a guttural roar that echoed through the otherwise 
empty arena and sank to his knees as he clasped both hands to the sides of 
his head to alleviate the pain.  Sensing victory, Khameir flashed a hideous 
set of fanged teeth, as well as the hateful yellows of his pupils that glowed 
in time to his plying of The Force.  He took perverse pleasure as blood 
trickled out of the nostrils of the crumbling Javinian.

     Other opponents would have shattered from such torture, but the Javinian 
was apparently made of sterner stuff.  Khameir displayed an expression of 
confusion as he suddenly felt a mysterious clamping around his throat.  The 
Javinian still had both of his hands pressed to head, which meant only one 
thing...

     The Javinian, like Khameir, was gifted with The Force!

     Khameir's esophagus throbbed as it sank painfully into his trachea.  
Precious oxygen was rapidly slipping from him.  He knew that the Javinian 
would crush his windpipe if he didn't focus The Force with a defensive-minded 
strategy.  Whoever this Javinian was, he had Khameir's respect.

     Khameir released his grip on the Javinian and redirected The Force unto 
himself, pinpointing the stranglehold the Javinian was beginning to lose.  He 
saw the Javinian slump to all fours as his concentration on Khameir had been 
broken.  Air funneled down Khameir's throat, re-energizing his punished 
lungs.  He wheezed and gagged, awaiting the next move by the Javinian.

     The Javinian, whose face was barely highlighted by a nearby flickering 
torch, actually smirked up at Khameir.

     "I'd say we've reached a stalemate," he brashly spoke for the first 
time, but wincing from the obvious pain still lingering in his head.

     Whatever respect Khameir had gained for his adversary was quickly lost 
in those few disparaging words.  Stalemate?  His anger bubbled, and despite 
the rawness scratching his throat as if he'd swallowed glass shards, Khameir 
grittily responded, "I think not."

     Khameir once again called upon The Force and dislodged the adjacent 
torch from its holder on the wall, and sent it twirling towards the Javinian. 
 The Javinian was quick to avoid getting scorched by the magically cast torch 
as it plopped harmlessly to the dirt.  The flames from the torches rose high 
from the ground, as if fearful of the life-snuffing dirt beneath it.  The 
Javinian then did something Khameir was unprepared for.

     There was a snap-hiss sound that Khameir was all-too-familiar with.  The 
darkness was suddenly penetrated by an elongated, shimmering silver beam.  
The deep hum it made only confirmed what Khameir had suspected--a lightsaber.

     "What now, my friend?" the Javinian asked snidely, and lunged in for the 
kill.

     Khameir ejected himself into a backflip, narrowly dodging the hungry 
swish of the Javinian's lightsaber.  He yielded his self-control to The 
Force, allowing it to guide him away from each murderous swing the Javinian 
lashed at him.

     Khameir detected that he was running out of immediate space behind his 
back.  Only the rabid sibilate of the vibrating lightsaber illuminated the 
dank pit, and Khameir knew he would have to make his move now.

     The Javinian chopped the saber in a diagonal slash that was meant to 
cleave Khameir from chest to spleen.  Khameir escaped by dropping to a 
crouch, and he felt the heat of the blade just miss the horns on his pate.

     "Damn you!" the Javinian cursed.  The momentary hesitance on his part 
was all that Khameir needed.  He launched a fierce side kick into the 
Javinian's knee, feeling the cap bone splinter.

     The Javinian yelped in excruciation, but he still maintained enough 
presence of mind to wildly sweep the blade down, once again coming close to 
his quarry, but missing by mere inches.

     Using The Force, Khameir snatched the smoldering torch from the other 
end of the arena, grasping the splintery wood with an invisible hand and 
catapaulting it across the length of the arena.  The orange swirls of the 
flames created a circle of light that spun and arced insanely through the 
darkness.  The torch smacked the back of the Javinian's neck, singing him.

     The Javinian screamed in agony and dropped the lightsaber into the dirt 
as he swatted hysterically at his charred skin.

     With the benevolent grant of opportunity having presented itself, 
Khameir snatched the still activated lightsaber, and with a triumphant sneer, 
swung the blade in a perpendicular uppercut that decapitated the Javinian.

     As Khameir stood over his slain opponent, he could feel his blood course 
hotly and energetically throughout his worn frame.  His heart jackhammered as 
he panted heavily, still holding the thrumming lightsaber.  He licked the 
sweat clean from his black lips, savoring the taste of victory, and enjoying 
the sight of blood spewing from the severed arterial cordons of the dead 
Javinian.

     His death trance was broken as he spotted a new flame floating in the 
air, gliding towards him slowly as if dangling.

     "Excellent, my apprentice," came the reassuring, pleased voice of Darth 
Sidious.  "Your skills are complete.  I need but know the answer to one 
question, young Khameir."

     Kneeling before his mentor, Khameir responded in between breaths, "I 
shall answer honestly, my master."

     "When you struck the Javinian down, did you feel remorse?"

     "No, master," Khameir replied with no reluctance.

     "Gooood," Sidious purred gleefully, dragging out the syllable.  His grin 
showed through the folds of his flowing black robes.  The torch he carried 
cast flickers of yellowish light that accentuated his evil facade.  "You have 
earned your place amongst the Sith.  You are no longer known as Khameir.  
>From here forth, you shall be known as Darth Maul, Sith Lord."

     Khameir displayed an excited smile.  "Thank you, master."

     "Arise, Lord Maul," Sidious beckoned, gesturing with his bony hand.

     As student and master exited the arena, Darth Maul kept a diligent 
stride next to Darth Sidious.
 
     "Master?" he queried, "was the Javinian a Jedi?"

     Sidious stopped and cackled.  "Lord Maul, the Javinian was nothing but a 
facsimile."

     "What?" Maul quipped incredulously, whirling around to see if the corpse 
was still there.  Even through the darkness, however, Maul realized the 
answer.  "No wonder I couldn't detect him through The Force."

     "You have learned much, my apprentice," Sidious told him.  "This was a 
simulation, but one day, I assure you, you will face the real thing."

     "Yes, master," Maul smirked.  "One day..."