War God for Hire- Gladiator David Burke (bookreader TXT) 📖

and you will not be punished for it. But, equally, I am not going to go easy on you and this may hurt some, even though I am using a blunt weapon.”

Kyle nodded to show his understanding and the smaller man began to circle around him. His sword had a curved blade and was not exceptionally long. It was also relatively wide. He held it loosely in front of him just as his entire body moved fluidly. He had the look of a slack rope ready to be pulled taut in an instant.

At first, Kyle was content to wait to attack. He thought it better to take the measure of his enemy, but just as he began to question that, the man rushed him. Saber slapped his hand with the blade, but Kyle managed to hold onto his own weapon.

“Good. Can’t abide a fighter who drops his weapon at the slightest bit of shock, so at least you have good instincts. Though if my blade were sharp, you could easily have lost fingers there,” Saber said as though he were standing still to instruct.

Time and again, Kyle found himself being slashed. The blows hurt far less than he would have anticipated and, honestly, after a dozen welts, he started to ignore them. He could not, however, land a blow with his hammer. When he swung wide, Saber stepped into it and he earned a slap of the blunted blade against his face or neck.

At moments like that, the chief trainer would say, “Fatal blow,” and then move on.

When Kyle swung an overhand, downward strike, his agile opponent would spin effortlessly out of the way and deliver a blow to the back of the knee or across his bare side. He got tips at those times that went like, “Hard to fight with only one leg,” or, “I hope you didn’t mean to keep your intestines inside your body.”

Kyle was happy that he never got so upset that he tried charging or anything too brutish. What he marveled at more than anything was how near the end of the match, he managed to turn away one of the strikes by bringing the shaft of his warhammer into the path of the blade.

“Excellent, now break,” Saber shouted and stepped back. It took a second for Kyle to realize what the man meant, but then he too lowered his weapon.

“So, the good news is that you seem to be strong and fast enough to keep up with most regular human fighters. You also seem fairly resistant to pain and have good instincts. You were starting to figure out some of the basics there at the end, so I have high hopes for you, once we get to the actual teaching you part of the training.

“The bad news is that while strength is good, speed is better. That means that many lesser foes will be able to kill you just because you are not able to keep up. My agility is only nine. Can you imagine what the lycan would do to you with an agility of eleven, were she to have my level of skill?

“The first stage of your training is going to suck, but it will determine if you can be good or great in the arena. Now, I hit you thirty-seven times, so I want you to give me thirty-seven laps around the arena.”

Inside Kyle groaned; no one wanted to run laps. Working on skills was always more fun and more productive, but he would do what was needed.

“While you are running, you need to think about something. I still can’t get a gauge of how much is going on in that melon on top of your shoulders.

“You have the look of intelligence in your eyes. A fighter with strength, speed, and intelligence will rule the arena. What I don’t see, though, is a killer instinct. You seem to care and learn quickly. But this isn’t a dancing club.

“What we do here is purer and more simple than all the master craftsmen around the city. They all study a craft. Improve themselves. Improve their skills. Master the tools of their trade. Then they pour all of that into creating something. The testament to their skill will reside in that item, whether it be a finely crafted plowshare, a potion that heals the wounded, fine jewelry to win a woman’s heart, or a meal to satisfy all around the table.

“It doesn’t matter what it is, they pour themselves into it and have something to show for it. Battle is no less a matter of mastery. You will likewise be called upon to improve in all those ways. You will do this, or you will fail. The difference is, if you fail, it won’t be a misshapen piece of art or a poorly seasoned meal. No, your failures will be marked upon your body in pain, suffering, and scars.

“If you strive to get beyond the showmanship of our craft, then a lack of commitment will be revealed by your rotting corpse, thrown to feed the crows. Battle is pure and simple. There are no ambiguities about who is the best. We don’t stand here and admire the technique of two different painters to determine who makes the best art. Those distinctions are subjective.

“We are the only craft that has no subjective standard. You can be faster, stronger, smarter than your foe, but the only measure that matters in our art, is who is still standing when it is over. The best warrior is that man, and nothing else matters.

“What I fear, is that you don’t have that killer instinct, the drive to push you to do whatever is necessary to win. I see that you don’t like my words, yet you didn’t come after me with your weapon. I never saw a willingness in your eyes to crush me. The art of war is not for the faint of heart. You must decide, and quickly, if you have what it takes to be