Kapitel 17: Turtle's dance

Artam and Eryk left the Inn well into the night, the walk back to the castle manor was less quiet than before.

Eryk made some jokes and Artam replied to some questions, but he still kept the quiet façade on.

Artam couldn't help but wonder why everyone else called him Pale Face, but not his real name.

It could be they feared him. But he shrugged and threw the thoughts to the back of his mind.

They passed the alley where the young girl was getting raped a short while ago, and all they saw was the corpse of the burly man.

He lay there, drowned in his blood. His eyes were already glossy, and there was a surprised but terrified look on his face.

Watchers, Artam thought, Well serves him right.

But the girl was nowhere to be found.

Eryk said nothing, didn't even pay the scene a speckle of mind as they walked past.

This place gives me the creeps

The whore and her two companions were also gone.

The moon wasn't in the middle of the sky anymore, it sank a little bit to the west.

Eventually, they reached the castle and passed noiselessly.

Artam fell on his bed, exhausted as ever. The straw felt like the clouds in that moment. If he knew how soft the clouds were.

The crow flew to a tiny hole in the wall and perched itself in the makeshift nest. Before retiring for the night.

Keeping the slave face was tiring; he had to maintain the façade of an obedient slave. It wasn't just that, he had to express the emotions of the slave too and suppress Artam's emotions.

Watchers give me strength, he whispered as he drifted into sleep.

****************************************************

The next day Eryk held his end of the bargain. Artam would provide money for the ex-sellsword. And he would teach Artam how to fight.

Smack! Artam got sent rolling on the floor. Eryk stood over him with a blunt gladius in hand.

"Get up." The ex-sellsword said as he closed in, in half a heartbeat.

Artam threw himself to his feet, edging away from the butcher.

"Wrong!" Eryk cried out, "You should never run from the enemy directly. Go in circles, i've taught you this, crow!"

Artam cursed side-stepping his thrust and parrying it to the right; in the same motion, he retaliated with a two-arm side cut.

But the huge man was already in a position to block.

Clang, steel met steel and the force of the blow traveled up Artam's arms.

"Remember, the power is in moving your weight and body; use your wrists a bit more." Eryk commented, "Free them up."

Artam gritted teeth and pressed on, trying to keep the soldier on the defense. But it was futile.

Eryk scowled, "You need to learn how to read your opponent, and know which tactics work on them."

The dance raged on, and Artam got hit more times than he could count, yet he kept pressing.

He inched closer, trying to find the chink of the armor in Eryk's defense.

Ah, I see, then he finally understood.

Artam pretended to be exhausted and fell back– exactly the opposite of what he was told to do.

He evaded another attack and pretended his balance was on the wrong foot.

Eryk flashed a smile and attacked, but Artam narrowly dodged.

The sound of the wind being cut grazes his ear, his body breaks into a cold sweat.

Eryk's sword swung where his head was earlier.

Good.

The next strike comes; he deflects the incoming attack calmly with the stance he had observed.

His sword receives the attack, and the attack is directed away.

Javara's eyes widen, but steadies himself.

'The strike has been avoided. This point is advantageous.'

Even though the distance was very close, Eryk couldn't take the next step to pull away.

So Artam steadied his foot and threw his weight on his forward most leg. Then transfers it in a two-armed thrust aimed at the huge man's chest.

Got him, Artam thinks in triumph.

Clang! But the reality is often disappointing. Eryk is faster than him and blocks the attack with a bit of difficulty.

Then, in the same fluid motion, he knocks Artam's sword aside and slams the blunt gladius into his temple.

Artam reeled from the hit and crashed to the ground, his body was in agony.

He tries to get up despite the pain, but…

"Enough!" Eryk orders, "You've done good."

He smiles, and circles Artam.

Artam breathes heavily and tries to catch his breath.

"You finally understood your enemy during the fight," Eryk compliments, "I was more focused on defense."

"So you tricked me. And made me lead the attack, thinking my defense had tired you out." Eryk continues, "Impressive."

He walked to the corner of the large unused cellars under the barracks.

The glowstone flickering to illuminate the underground barrack cellar.

Artam had made a deal with Eryk, if he brought him money, the ex-sellsword would teach him how to spar.

Eryk picks up a pair of circular shields, wooden and sturdy.

He tossed one to Artam, to which he catches.

"Now listen up." He points to the candle clock.

It was currently on the half-hour mark. "For the first half of the hour, we will be dealing with duels without shields."

He walked closer, stalking like a predator assessing his prey, "And for the second half,"

A wicked grin plastered across his face and a chilling light suffused from his eyes, "I'll teach you how to spar with a shield."

He pauses and stops a bit, pondering on something.

Then he speaks, "I know two combat arts." He places a finger on his chin.

"I know Flowing River, and Turtle's dance."

Then he begins to show Artam's the stances of the Turtle dance.

It involved slow, deliberate movements that emphasized defense and patience.

Eryk dropped into a low stance, his knees bent, one arm raised with the shield, the other hovering near his chest. His eyes remained locked.

"Like I taught you earlier, you move in circles." He said, taking side steps and circling Artam.

He hit the tip of the sword on the rim of his shield, "Now come at me."

Artam did, and it was futile. Somehow, the man was always where Artam was.

He couldn't bypass the defense. Eryk either parried or blocked with a sword or shield.

Then, a quick counterattack was enough to sweep Artam off his feet.

"Turtle's Dance is about endurance. You wait. You let your opponent tire themselves out and make mistakes. It's not flashy, but it keeps you alive," Eryk explained, in a serious tone.

Artam mimicked the stance, but his movements were awkward and unsure.

The shield felt heavy in his hand, and the unfamiliar weight pulled at his balance.

He shifted his feet, trying to stabilize himself, but Eryk shook his head.

"Too stiff," Eryk said, moving forward and adjusting Artam's posture.

"Bend your knees more. Relax your shoulders. You're not fighting the shield—you're moving with it.

"Adopt a stance with the head erect, neither hanging down, nor looking up, nor twisted. Your forehead and the space between your eyes should not be wrinkled. Do not roll your eyes nor allow them to blink, but slightly narrow them. With your features composed, keep the line of your nose straight with a feeling of slightly flaring your nostrils. Hold the line of the rear of the neck straight: instill vigour into your hairline, and in the same way from the shoulders down through your entire body. Lower both shoulders and, without the buttocks jutting out, put strength into your legs from the knees to the tips of your toes. Brace your abdomen so that you do not bend at the hips. In all forms, it is necessary to maintain the combat stance in everyday life and to make your everyday stance your combat stance. You search this well.... Wait that was a lot of information." The ex-sellsword chuckled.

Then he went over it again explaining it to Artam this time more slowly.

Artam nodded. He felt a growing frustration.

He was used to taking orders, used to hard labor, but this—this was different.

The movements were foreign to him, the rhythm unfamiliar. But he clenched his jaw.

"Good," Eryk said after a moment.

"Now, the first thing you need to know about Turtle's Dance is that you don't meet your enemy's blade." He paused, "This might seem easy, but you need to know you'll be overpowered by most men because of your smaller stature. Instead know where he'll hit and place your sword there and deflect his attacks while closing in. Got it?"

Artam nodded again, though the idea felt wrong. He had always thought fighting was about striking, about overpowering your enemy faster than they could to you.

But Eryk was teaching him something else—something slower, more deliberate.

Eryk took a step back, raising his shield. "Come at me."

Artam hesitated, unsure of how to begin. Eryk stance was so solid, so unyielding, that it felt impossible to break through.

He lunged forward, raising his shield to strike.

Eryk moved like dung beetle, his shield deflecting the blow with ease. He shifted to the side over the floor with practiced precision.

Before Artam could react, his shield was pressed against his chest, pushing him back.

Then he raised it, and it smacked Artam in the chin.

"Too aggressive," Eryk chided.

Artam took a deep breath and steadied his stance, trying to relax as Eryk had instructed.

"Again," the ex-sellsword commanded.

Artam lunged forward once more, this time with more control. Eryk blocked the strike easily, but Artam could feel the difference.

His movements were planned and more precise. He wasn't as wild as before.

Eryk gave a small nod of approval. "Better. Keep practicing. The Turtle's Dance is about discipline, not speed."

Eryk spent the next minutes hammering the kata forms and poses into him.

There were many intriguing forms; some needed him to place the shield on his back and use it to block blows from arrows or multiple enemies.

Some allowed the shield to be used as a weapon for attacking.

After teaching Artam the basic stances, Eryk stepped forward, "Now let's see how you hold up."

He motioned for Artam to come at him, a fierce grin on his face.

"I'll teach you the Flowing River art next time"

Artam nodded.

But before he could move, Eryk was already upon him, striking fast with his shield, a blur of movement.

Artam raised his shield just in time, but the force of the blow sent him staggering backward.

Eryk was relentless, coming at him again and again, each strike faster than the last. Artam could barely keep up, his arms aching from the effort of blocking.

His heart raced, panic rising in his chest. He was being overwhelmed, just as Eryk had warned.

Artam gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He forced himself to calm down, to breathe.

He let Eryk's blows come, focusing on defense and absorbing the hits without losing his balance.

Sometimes transferring them, and shifting his center of gravity.

Then, as Eryk drew back for another strike, Artam saw his opening– the ex-sellsword had over-committed, and his posture was off.

He lunged forward, his shield crashing into Eryk's exposed side.

Eryk stumbled, surprised, but quickly recovered. He grinned, clearly impressed. "Not bad, crow."

He glanced at the candle clock, now marking the end of the hour.

"Alright that's enough for today. When alone shadow your movements, repetition will make the muscle remember."

Artam breathed heavily, sweat dripping down his face. His arms felt like lead, but there was a sense of satisfaction growing in his chest. He had made progress.

Small, but real.