Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(79)

Tomarys led Chloe to a dilapidated structure in the shape of a wheel, on the outskirts of the city’s poorest quarter. As she found herself at one of several entrances tall and wide enough for a giant to pass through, Chloe tried to fathom what it had once been.

She followed the tall warrior into the shadowed interior, walking along dusty passages long disused, staying silent for fear of disturbing old ghosts. Dust particles filled the air in Tomarys’s wake, swirling over each other, reflecting the few rays of light that made their way into the passage. She smelled wet stone as she heard faint dripping echoing through the corridor.

A cavernous opening beckoned ahead and she emerged into bright light. She shielded her eyes as she climbed steps to her left and joined Tomarys, where he waited for her approach.

She realized she was in the interior of the wheel, standing on one of many seats that also doubled as steps. All around her, to the left and right, ahead and behind, as well as on the wheel’s other side, were tiers of the steps, stretching from the high circular perimeter all the way to the bottom.

The floor was a circular space guarded by a partly fallen rail. Tomarys began to walk down to the floor, having no difficulty despite the steps’ uncommonly large size, and she hurried to follow. He reached the rail and pushed some loose timbers aside to enter the sandy floor. Chloe followed him to the middle, joining him in the epicenter.

‘What is this place?’ she asked. Her voice was instantly swallowed by the void.

‘The Arena. Not so long ago, in the time of Solon’s predecessor, men fought here to entertain the people of Lamara. It is now abandoned, but one day it may come to be used again.’

‘Fought? In battles?’

‘A better word is bouts, but yes, you could call them battles.’

‘To the death?’

‘To the death,’ he said grimly.

Chloe examined the sandy floor, almost afraid to find old crimson patches but unable to prevent herself looking. As far as she could see it was just sand.

‘Why here?’ she finally asked.

He raised his arms and gestured to the open space. ‘It is a good place to fight. No one will hear us or see us.’ He smiled, but then the smile faded away. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

Chloe nodded. ‘I’m sure.’

‘Then for now, watch, listen, and learn.’

She clasped her hands behind her back and waited in the center of the floor, Tomarys standing opposite her.

‘The first lesson’—Tomarys held up a single finger—‘and the most important of all, is thus. The seeds of victory are sown before the fight begins.’

‘So it’s best to prepare,’ Chloe said, nodding. ‘Better armor, better weapons, more training, more practice, good leadership—’

‘Girl,’ Tomarys interrupted, scowling. ‘I told you to listen, not to talk. Today I am the master and you the student. Understood?’

She reddened. ‘I understand.’

‘Yes, all of those things are important, but any fool’—he glared at Chloe—‘knows that it pays to be prepared. We can take the lesson further. The seeds of victory are sown before the fight begins . . .’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Think about this. Two men face each other. One has a sword. The other is unarmed. Both are prepared. Who will win?’

‘The man with the sword.’

‘Ah,’ Tomarys said, holding up a hand. ‘But . . . The man with the sword has prepared himself to face an unarmed opponent. He attacks . . .’

He glanced around and then his eyes settled on the rail. Walking over he broke off a piece of wooden rail as thick as three of Chloe’s fingers, hardly showing any effort at all, and returned.

‘He attacks.’ Tomarys lunged with the three-foot-long piece of wood, skewering an imaginary enemy. ‘Confident of victory against his unarmed foe. But . . .’ He dropped the makeshift sword and faced the other direction. ‘His opponent pulls out a concealed knife.’ He reached into the hidden pocket within his vest and pulled out one of the short triangular throwing knives. ‘And slashes the hand holding the sword.’ Tomarys swept his arm down. He then straightened and looked at Chloe. ‘We all know who wins the fight. But what is our second lesson, which is really an extension of the first?’

Chloe’s brow furrowed. ‘Being prepared means having hidden surprises?’

‘Close,’ Tomarys said. ‘To sow the seeds of victory before the fight begins, we must play with expectations.’

He returned his knife to the sheath in his vest.

‘I appear to be unarmed. My vest is open at my chest, which further enhances this image, but both my knives and my vest were carefully chosen to fit together. I want people to think I do not have a weapon.’

He took off his vest, laying it on the sand, revealing a giant, hairy torso, and white whip scars across his back and shoulders.

‘But, in addition to this deception, I am also skilled without a weapon, using my hands and elbows, head and feet.’ He made swift striking motions with the parts of his body he’d named. ‘A potential attacker sees a big man, but big men are often slow. He sees an unarmed man. This gives me an advantage over a man with a sword. I play with his expectations. I cause him to be overconfident. I shape his tactics, before the fight begins.’