Free The City of Pillars by Joshua P. Simon Page A

match ended, Omar pointed out the mistakes made by each pair so they would have something to work on privately.
    Melek observed the ritualistic process with great concentration, but as usual, rarely spoke a word. Omar was not only his second, but also the man responsible for training the Host. Among his brothers, only he could defeat Omar in single combat.
    A sore spot he will not forget.
    After several hours, the time finally came for Omar to take the circle. Melek was surprised to see four face off against the bushy-bearded lieutenant.
    He leaned over to Khalil. “Four?”
    Khalil grunted. “Of our best at that. All at least a half-moon or higher.”
    Omar faced Melek and saluted by cupping the three-quarter moon on his sleeve. “Captain?” he asked, waiting for the command.
    “Begin,” said Melek.
    The four rushed in at once, each covering a different angle, some high, some low. Omar dove and rolled away from the slashing practice swords, raising his own to deflect two as he twisted away from the others.
    He rose and defended against a thrust from the man closest to him, countering with a cut to the side that would have sliced through their lamellar armor had his weapon not been blunted.
    One down.
    The remaining three attacked again in unison, one going high, another swepping low, while the third stabbed at the torso. Melek couldn’t help but wonder how much time the men fighting Omar had worked out their strategy, as it was clear they coordinated their efforts.
    Omar kneeled to avoid the high blow and angled his sword in such a way it not only deflected the low attack, but also turned aside the thrust to the middle. He flicked his sword up as he stood, tapping the hand of his last attacker hard enough for the man to lose his weapon. The lieutenant slapped his sword against the side of the man’s helm, signaling what would have been in battle a death blow.
    Two down.
    The last two opponents paused in surprise at Omar’s avoidance of their assault. The pause, though brief, was enough for Omar to gain the advantage. The lieutenant went on the offensive, alternating half a dozen attacks with each man until both were called dead.
    All five men in the circle faced Melek and saluted. They waited for his critique, as according to custom, Omar could not assess his own fight.
    Melek cleared his throat. He stared at Omar’s opponents, meeting each of their disappointed gazes. “You each fought with courage and confidence, but sometimes that can be a hindrance. The four of you knew that Omar would select you for this match and therefore worked out a set strategy on how to handle the session. That was smart. However, you failed to deviate from the strategy when things did not go as expected. None of you stepped up to take command or talk to the others based on how the fight progressed. We are brothers, we must be willing to speak honestly with each other, especially in battle. Had this been real, you all would be dead. Think on this.”
    They bowed their heads and were dimissed.
    “Lieutenant.”
    “Yes, Captain.”
    “As always, your skill is impressive. Even among the most skilled fighters in the world, your expertise shines.”
    “Thank you, Captain,” he answered, trying to hide his smile.
    “However, you’re letting your natural ability affect your concentration.”
    “Captain?”
    “Twice you lost your balance. At the beginning of the tenth form, and at the end of the eighth form. It happened so quickly that you probably didn’t even notice it yourself as your speed helped you recover. However, there will come a day when even the smallest of breaks in technique will be what seperates you from victory and defeat. I don’t wish to see that day any time soon.”
    Omar’s jaw clenched, but he bowed his head. “Of course.”
    “Good.” He looked around at the tired faces of his men. “Those on first watch, get to your posts. The rest tie in for the night.”
    Everyone saluted and left.
    “Omar,” said