‘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.’
‘But wouldn’t you just rather have the sword? Many men carry swords in the streets of Lamara.’
Tomarys’s eyes lit up. ‘Another lesson. With two swords in play there is twice the danger you will be killed. Reality is not like the stories. Many fights end with both men taking blows.’
Chloe hadn’t thought about it, but it made sense. A sword or knife was designed to slice. Wounds would often be deep. Even a victor might suffer a bleeding artery, or leave the battlefield with a deep cut that could become infected. Even if he suffered only minor wounds, his strength would be sapped, making him less able to achieve victory against a second opponent.
Tomarys picked up his wooden stick, holding it out to demonstrate, his left side toward Chloe. ‘A man comes at me with a sword.’ He made a thrust. ‘There is one sword in play.’ He turned around. ‘I take that sword off him.’ He reached out and pretended to be seizing a man’s wrist, rolling his body until he had taken the sword from the first man. ‘There is still one sword in play. Mine.’
Chloe finally understood. She nodded in appreciation.
‘If I spend my time learning how to take a sword off a man, while my enemy spends his time training to be the perfect swordsman, I will win every time, for I will be the one with the sword. Understood?’
‘I understand. So why the knives?’
‘Throwing knives.’ He bent to retrieve his two knives from their hidden sheaths inside the vest and handed one to her. It was almost entirely blade, with a rounded hilt displaying a hole in the middle. ‘Be careful. It is sharp enough to shave with.’
Chloe touched her finger to the edge, almost cutting herself.
‘I can get them out quickly. They are silent. I can strike from a distance. And still I appear unarmed.’
He looked around and rested his eyes on a thick vertical supporting stump holding the rail.
‘Perhaps we will start here. Come.’
They moved until they were facing the stump, about ten paces away.
‘Hold it like this,’ he instructed, holding his knife between thumb and forefinger. ‘The hilt is thin and rounded so that it glides out of your hand. Try to strike that post.’
Chloe took a deep breath and, holding the knife in her right hand, brought it over her shoulder, then swept her arm down. She released as her arm was extended in front of her. The knife shot through the air but went wide, missing the post.