connecting thought and action, but his poise and confidence were dwindling with each of his adversary’s thrusts.
The fight gained in intensity. The increasing speed of the attacks brought looks of surprise to the spectators’ faces as they cheered in astonishment. Akog was beginning to show signs of frustration over not finding a way to break Komir’s defensive guard. He tried a combination of chest thrusts followed by a straight thrust at his support foot, but Komir deflected the first move with a quick turn of the wrist and shifted backwards with a sudden spring.
Akog’s eyes shone with pure hatred.
He loathed Komir. To death.
And it was that gleam of profound malice that got Komir thinking.
He had to put all feeling out of his mind—empty it completely. That was the way to go. It would be the only way to defeat him. He vividly recalled Master Warrior Gudin’s teachings. In the art of sword fighting one must empty the mind of emotions and enter into a neutral, balanced state. That state allows one to evaluate each action equally and initiate a reaction in consequence. Feelings cloud judgment and a clouded judgment cannot make rational decisions—which inevitably leads to errors. It was a dogma that the Master Warrior had repeated on innumerable occasions.
Technique without reason brings death; the fighter believes his ability will conquer all, until he encounters a technique equal or superior to his own.
He relaxed and, feeling more confident, began in turn to press his frustrated opponent. He put him to the test with rapid-fire movements, attacking his sides to gauge his reaction time. Akog was aggressive; his skill with the sword, polished. But his footwork was not sufficiently agile and coordinated. His feet did not follow the same rhythm as his arm movements and, now that he was beginning to tire, it was becoming more evident.
The crowd was getting more excited, shouting feverishly at each thrust. Bets continued to mount; there would be quite a few people finishing the day a bit richer than they had started it. Fidgety children, who occupied the first rows so they could see the clash better, were cheering for Akog and insulting Komir.
Komir had sized up his enemy well. Nearly rabid with fury, Akog scornfully spit at Komir’s feet and tried to provoke him with other disdainful gestures. He seemed totally beside himself. But Komir was now fully confident and his mind was in balance. He decided to go on the offense. He waited for an off-balance attack and parried and counterattacked with a swift riposte to his head. His opponent reacted late, leaving his body exposed. Komir lunged agilely and hit him with the sword on his support leg. Akog, trying not to lose his balance, moved the weight of his body to the other leg but Komir swept it with a hard kick. Akog fell backwards and hit the ground hard. Komir darted swiftly forward and pressed his sword on the neck of his defeated opponent.
“Victor of the contest: Komir, son of Ulis of the Bikia tribe!” proclaimed Gudin authoritatively.
The audience began to cheer and applaud wildly, shouting the winner’s name in unison.
Komir remained perched an instant longer over the body of his conquered rival, his hated enemy since his earliest days of childhood, the person who had repeatedly caused him so much pain though he’d never done anything to deserve it. There he was, at his feet, publicly defeated. Komir knew he should feel happy—jubilant, even—but all he felt was pity for the unfortunate creature he’d just beaten. He looked down at him a second longer; the face red with rage, the eyes filled with pure fury. Nothing, no satisfaction; just a feeling of sadness for this despicable being.
It’s over. I beat him in front of the entire tribe. I showed that I am a better Norriel than he is before the whole community. I’ve waited a long time for this chance and I finally got it. No longer will anyone doubt that I am a true Norriel warrior. I’ve won
The fight gained in intensity. The increasing speed of the attacks brought looks of surprise to the spectators’ faces as they cheered in astonishment. Akog was beginning to show signs of frustration over not finding a way to break Komir’s defensive guard. He tried a combination of chest thrusts followed by a straight thrust at his support foot, but Komir deflected the first move with a quick turn of the wrist and shifted backwards with a sudden spring.
Akog’s eyes shone with pure hatred.
He loathed Komir. To death.
And it was that gleam of profound malice that got Komir thinking.
He had to put all feeling out of his mind—empty it completely. That was the way to go. It would be the only way to defeat him. He vividly recalled Master Warrior Gudin’s teachings. In the art of sword fighting one must empty the mind of emotions and enter into a neutral, balanced state. That state allows one to evaluate each action equally and initiate a reaction in consequence. Feelings cloud judgment and a clouded judgment cannot make rational decisions—which inevitably leads to errors. It was a dogma that the Master Warrior had repeated on innumerable occasions.
Technique without reason brings death; the fighter believes his ability will conquer all, until he encounters a technique equal or superior to his own.
He relaxed and, feeling more confident, began in turn to press his frustrated opponent. He put him to the test with rapid-fire movements, attacking his sides to gauge his reaction time. Akog was aggressive; his skill with the sword, polished. But his footwork was not sufficiently agile and coordinated. His feet did not follow the same rhythm as his arm movements and, now that he was beginning to tire, it was becoming more evident.
The crowd was getting more excited, shouting feverishly at each thrust. Bets continued to mount; there would be quite a few people finishing the day a bit richer than they had started it. Fidgety children, who occupied the first rows so they could see the clash better, were cheering for Akog and insulting Komir.
Komir had sized up his enemy well. Nearly rabid with fury, Akog scornfully spit at Komir’s feet and tried to provoke him with other disdainful gestures. He seemed totally beside himself. But Komir was now fully confident and his mind was in balance. He decided to go on the offense. He waited for an off-balance attack and parried and counterattacked with a swift riposte to his head. His opponent reacted late, leaving his body exposed. Komir lunged agilely and hit him with the sword on his support leg. Akog, trying not to lose his balance, moved the weight of his body to the other leg but Komir swept it with a hard kick. Akog fell backwards and hit the ground hard. Komir darted swiftly forward and pressed his sword on the neck of his defeated opponent.
“Victor of the contest: Komir, son of Ulis of the Bikia tribe!” proclaimed Gudin authoritatively.
The audience began to cheer and applaud wildly, shouting the winner’s name in unison.
Komir remained perched an instant longer over the body of his conquered rival, his hated enemy since his earliest days of childhood, the person who had repeatedly caused him so much pain though he’d never done anything to deserve it. There he was, at his feet, publicly defeated. Komir knew he should feel happy—jubilant, even—but all he felt was pity for the unfortunate creature he’d just beaten. He looked down at him a second longer; the face red with rage, the eyes filled with pure fury. Nothing, no satisfaction; just a feeling of sadness for this despicable being.
It’s over. I beat him in front of the entire tribe. I showed that I am a better Norriel than he is before the whole community. I’ve waited a long time for this chance and I finally got it. No longer will anyone doubt that I am a true Norriel warrior. I’ve won
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