Book I of III: The Swords of the Sultan (7 page)

Suddenly, from out of the corner of his eye,
he observed a beautiful, middle-aged woman enter the cavern from
the entryway tunnel. Her age was evident solely from the thick and
wavy silver streak that lined her raven-colored hair and certainly
not from her youthful face. She wore a silky blue dress that
loosely contoured around her shapely body, and would have been
touching the dirty floor, had she not been holding a good portion
of it with her left fist.

Only a second later, a six or seven-year-old
girl dressed in dirty rags follow right behind. Once the two
stopped, nearly two minutes after their entrance, the girl began to
look all around in utter amazement.

As Baltor took another long drink of water,
he saw the woman face a different training area and heard her call
out, “Drill Instructor Manichai, are you training any
students?”

Two men, who were fiercely battling it out
with real swords and who were not wearing any shirts, stopped their
intense battle. The man on the left had jet-black hair pulled back
into a tight ponytail, thick angular eyebrows, as well a long and
tightly braided beard. The man on the right was clean-shaven and
bald. Both were very muscular and sweaty.

It was the man with the beard who answered in
a very deep tone of voice “No, my mistress, I am not…neither am I
looking either. But I know Instructor Jeramone here is, my
Mistress.”

The woman next asked, “Instructor Jeramone,
are you willing to train this girl, Vakshia?”

With a sneer, Jeramone replied, “Her? You’ve
got to be kidding me! She’s nothing but skin and bones. Throw her
back on the streets and let the sun rot her out!” His crackly voice
sounded as if he was still going through puberty.

Baltor stifled back a laugh.

The girl, now looking angry, boldly declared,
“How about we let the sun rot you out, which task looks, and
sounds, almost done?”

Her retaliatory reply startled and amused
Baltor. Even Manichai and the mysterious mistress stopped short of
laughing.

Jeramone, on the other hand looked peeved
off, especially with that evil glare on his beet-red face and that
sword in his hand that trembled angrily. He looked like he was
about to yell something back or maybe even chuck the sword right
into the girl’s heart! Vakshia was starting to look scared too.

Only six seconds later, that murderous look
on Jeramone disappeared instantly, and what replaced it was one of
total serenity.

He took a deep breath, released it, and after
taking another breath, he said with an impressed tone of voice,
“Perhaps you do have potential to become a thief because you did
not run off like a little coward. Follow me! See ya later, Mani. My
Mistress.”

“Later, Jer.”

Thirty seconds later, Baltor watched as the
two—Jeramone and the girl—disappeared down the tunnel that led to
Humonus’s office. Already had Manichai and the woman begun to
converse in very hushed tones.

Just then, he heard his drill instructor call
out from their weapons rack, “Baltor—time’s up!”

The boy replied, “Yes, sir.”

As he ran over, he observed that his drill
instructor was waiting over there. This time, he donned leather
armor, a helmet and a mischievous smile.

“Feeling better?” Humonus asked, still
smiling all the while.

The boy replied, “Yes, sir!”

“Good,” The drill instructor laughed.
Suddenly, his face changed from humored to menacing just before he
yelled, “Find my weakness and strike—be quick about it! And I mean
now!”

Because the student observed that his drill
instructor did not have armor protection in his swaying legs, he
tried to kick at the kneecaps.

Not surprising, Humonus easily dodged,
yelling, “Quicker!”

Instead of kicking again, Baltor surprisingly
changed tactics, for he leapt hard and low at his drill
instructor’s legs.

Humonus was initially able to dodge the leap,
but was not able to evade Baltor’s grasping hands around both of
his kneecaps. As his knees buckled underneath him, he found himself
crashing hard into the ground, with his student right on top.

When the boy realized that his tactic had
worked—that he had actually bested his drill instructor—he beamed a
big smile and exhaled happily, “Yes, sir!”

Still lying on the ground, Humonus said with
enthusiasm, “Good job! Now get the hell off me!” His second
statement had sounded very angry.

Only a second later, Baltor stood on his
feet.

After the drill instructor had risen back to
his feet, he nodded his head once before saying, “You have just
demonstrated the third lesson: If one tactic doesn’t work, switch
to another.”

“Thank you, sir!” the boy said with a huge
smile upon his face.

“Don’t get cocky there,” the drill instructor
countered. “You have a ton more to learn.”

After erasing his smile, the boy replied,
“Yes, sir!”

Humonus walked over to the weapons rack and
pulled off a sword made of wood. As he casually tossed it from hand
to hand, he barked, “Now come at me again!”

The boy didn’t lunge into him this time but
waited for the right moment to strike.

This time, unlike the first time, the drill
instructor didn’t wait—he slowly advanced upon his student, while
twirling his sword ever so rapidly around the front of his body
with his right hand.

Even though the boy hurriedly backed away
from his drill instructor, he never turned his back either.

With a loud roar, Humonus swung his sword
down in an angled attack that surely would have struck Baltor in
the head—had the boy not leapt to his right and crashed to the
ground, a split second earlier.

Before the boy could get back onto his feet,
however, he already saw the sword plunging toward him again.

Instinctively, he fell backward, the sword
just missing him by mere inches. Before he could even think of
moving, the tip of the sword was caressing his throat.

“Game over,” Humonus declared with a tight
smile. He then walked over to the weapons rack and placed the sword
in its rightful place.

In the meantime, the boy stood again and
waited for his next order.

After the drill instructor had taken off his
helmet and set it comfortably into the nook of his right elbow, he
began to wipe the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his
forehead with his left hand. Once done, he revealed, “You need a
lot of work with your form, which leads me to your fourth lesson:
Unite your body as a whole, and make it fluidic like water. Do you
understand what I mean?”

“Not exactly, sir,” the boy confessed.

“Let me explain what I mean before I show
you,” the drill instructor said. He first held up his left hand
with his thumb sticking out, and then he taught, “Most people make
the mistake of dividing their body up into each individual piece.
For example, here is my thumb, here is my pinky, here is my arm,
here is my leg, here is my chest, here is my head, etc., etc. Yet
only the best of the best of warriors know that the secret to
fighting is by uniting their bodies and making it one single piece
of machinery ready for anything. Do you understand me so far?”

“Yes, sir, I think I do,” Baltor said with a
single nod of his head.

Humonus set the helmet onto the ground,
before he continued to explain with the physical gestures,
“Therefore, the best stance is to keep one foot forward, while your
other foot remains at a ninety-degree angle from it at all times.
Ensure your knees are slightly bent. And ensure you evenly center
and distribute your body weight between your feet.”

The drill instructor ordered, “Assume the
stance.”

The boy did as told but felt extremely
uncomfortable.

The drill instructor confirmed, “At first,
you will feel awkward, as well will you be very clumsy during any
and all of your movements because you are still divided, but the
more you practice and make your body one piece of machinery, the
easier and more comfortable it gets. Now watch the complex
movements I can make based off this simple, ninety-degree
stance.”

In one swift movement, Humonus leapt forward,
simultaneously extending his hands out in front. Upon making impact
with the ground, he tucked his body into a roll, and once out of
the roll, he was standing back in the same ninety-degree
stance.

As soon as he had extended his hands out to
his right, the drill instructor leapt, again tucking his body into
a roll. A second later, his feet were once again in the correct
position, ninety degrees, although his body now faced a different
direction.

He added, “When you get good, you can even
roll backward. Watch closely.”

Humonus demonstrated his words—he first fell
straight back, slapped his hands hard into the ground, tilted his
head to the side, rolled his body backward, and was immediately
back on his feet in the correct position. He ordered, “Now you try
rolling forward.”

Baltor tried, but his shoulder crashed into
the ground, which sent shooting spasms of pain all across that
area.

“Try again,” the drill instructor stated
evenly.

The boy stood up and retried his failed feat.
This time he was able to accomplish the roll, though it felt
uncomfortable and extremely awkward.

“Ninety degrees,” Humonus said. “Try
again.”

Baltor tried several times over, each time
getting a bit better.

Finally, the time came when the drill
instructor stated with a nod, “Not too bad. Now try rolling to the
right.”

The boy leapt to the right, and even though
he was able to get back up on his feet, his foot positioning was
wrong.

“Ninety degrees,” Humonus clipped. “Try
again.”

Again, the boy tried, and again, his feet
ended up in the wrong position.

The drill instructor shook his head and said,
“Work on it, later. Now, I want you to roll backward.”

Baltor attempted the feat but failed
miserably. His back slammed into the ground before his arms could
stop the fall. This was the fourth time he saw shooting stars that
day, and he couldn’t even get his body to roll back over itself,
much less move!

The drill instructor shook his head. “Slap
your hands hard into the ground—it hurts a lot less than your back.
Also, tilt your head to the side. Try again!”

After the boy had slowly stood back up, he
retried but failed still again.

“Work on that too,” the drill instructor
said, “but later, and in your own free time—I have more things to
teach you right now.”

“Yes, sir,” Baltor replied, now completely
sore yet again.

After Humonus had resumed the stance himself,
he ordered,

“Assume the stance.”

The boy immediately did as told.

While extending his hands and arms out into
the same angle as his feet, the drill instructor taught, “Within
this ninety-degree span is the strongest area for both your offense
and your defense. But really, with the simple pivoting of your
feet, you can already have another ninety degrees covered.”

Once he had demonstrated, he then ordered,
“Now you try.”

The boy was actually able to repeat the act
without trouble—his feet were the only body parts that didn’t
hurt.

“Good, good,” the drill instructor
congratulated with a small smile. His smile faded as he continued
teaching in a very serious tone, “Now each and every attack or
defense, whether a punch, kick, block, or roll that you perform—all
movements must be contained within the perimeters of your stance.
If any part of you should fall outside of those perimeters, your
balance will be off, and your opponent will easily finish you off!
Any questions?”

“Yes, sir, I have one.”

“Yes?”

“How do I protect all the other ninety
degrees?”

“Good question,” Humonus answered. “There are
two other ways to do this. One is through a defensive roll, which
we have just gone over—the other is through an offensive strike.
Let me show you both ways through a variety of techniques.”

He forthwith launched into a one-minute set
that consisted of punches, kicks and rolls that utterly startled
the student. His drill instructor had every area covered: His speed
was breathtaking: His movements were precise: His power was
evident!

Upon completion of his demonstration, he
stopped, resumed a normal stance and faced his student. He hadn’t
broken a sweat, nor was he out of breath. Nor did he speak.

“Oh, my God,” Baltor could only say about
twenty seconds later.

The drill instructor sighed, before replying,
“I am not God. I am a man. In time, should you make it through
phase two, you will be able to accomplish all of this and much,
much more. Any other questions?”

“One, sir. How did you learn all of
this?”

“To answer your question in a
nutshell—centuries ago, there was a traveler from a very faraway
land who came to us and taught us these fighting skills. Only
higher-grade thieves may learn the full history,” Humonus answered.
“For now, concern yourself with some lunch.”

“Yes, sir!” Baltor snapped, just before he
painfully and wearily made his way over to the lunch table, looking
at the ground most of the time.

Upon nearing the lunch table, he observed
that the new girl was over there, heartily munching away by
herself. He reasoned that it was probably due to the fatigue and
the suffering that he couldn’t remember her name for the life of
him.

After stopping in front of the table, he
silently poured himself a glass of water, picked off a piece of
bread, and began to chew. From his peripheral vision, he could see
that the girl was now throwing sidelong glances over at him as
well.

Once she had wiped her mouth with the dirty
sleeve of her shirt, she said a bit shyly, “Hi.”

Without having turned his head to look, and
with his mouth still full of food, he simply replied, “Hello.” He
next picked up his mug and took a drink to wash down the remaining
bread.