Try to goad her by making jokes about her height.

Neither you nor Samira makes the first move; you circle each other cautiously and get ready to pounce.

“Is this it?” you ask as the two of you square off.

“Is what it?” Samira demands, narrowing her eyes.

You shrug. “I don’t know, I guess I just thought there’d be...” You make a vague up-and-down gesture in her direction. “More.”

She glares at you, balling up her hands into fists. “Are you calling me short?”

“I was going to say ‘vertically challenged’,” you reply.

“Go ahead and make one more of those quips and we’ll see who’s taller when I’m stepping on your face,” Samira warns.

“Okay, okay,” you say, raising your hands in mock-surrender. “You’re right. Short jokes are beneath us. Well...maybe I should say ‘beneath me’.”

“Oh, that is it,” she growls, and charges right at you.

But you’re ready for her. As she’s about to lock up with you, you wrap your arms around her and lift her off the ground, squeezing her as tightly as you can.

“Whoa, look at that!” calls out the announcer. “John has baited the Maharani right into his trap.”

Samira cries out in pain as your arms constrict around her belly, but she can’t get out. Her agility and flexibility don’t help her much here, and it seems she’s not very good at resisting pain.

She only lasts a few more seconds in the hold before screaming, “I submit, I submit!”

You drop her, and she gasps for air. The buzzer sounds behind you as she trudges back to her corner, rubbing her belly gingerly.

You’ve won a point for a submission.