‘Welcome, Lord Druss,’ he said.
‘I am no Lord – nor would ever wish to be. This child was waiting in the shadows for a glimpse of Klay. I promised him a closer look.’
‘Mmm,’ said the old man. ‘I think he could do with a meal first. I’ll take him to the kitchen. My master is waiting for you, sir, in the training grounds at the rear of the house. Just follow the hallway; you cannot miss it.’ Taking the boy by the hand the old man moved away.
Druss strode on. In the grounds behind the house there were some twenty athletes engaged in training, or sparring. The area was well designed, with three sand circles, punching-bags, weights, massage tables, and two fountains supplying running water. At the far end was a deep pool where Druss could see several men swimming. The setting was simple and he warmed to it, feeling the tension drain from him. Two men were sparring in one of the sand circles while a third, the colossal Klay, stood close by watching intently. In the fading sunlight Klay’s short-cropped blond hair shone like gold. His arms were folded and Druss noted the powerful muscles of his shoulders and back, and the way his body tapered to waist and hips. Built for speed and power, thought Druss.
‘Break away!’ ordered Klay. As the fighters moved apart the Gothir Champion stepped into the circle. ‘You are too stiff, Galas,’ he said, ‘and that left hand moves like a sick turtle. I think your training is out of harmony. You are building weight in your shoulders and arms, which is good for power, but you are ignoring the lower body. The most deadly punches are powered by the legs, the force flowing up through the hips and then to the shoulders and arms. When it reaches the fist the impact is like a lightning bolt. Tomorrow you will work with Shonan.’ Swinging to the other man he laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘You have great skill, boy, but you lack instinct. You have courage and style, but not the heart of a fighter. You see with your eyes only. Shonan tells me your spear-work is excellent. I think we will concentrate on that for the time being.’ Both men bowed and moved away.
Klay swung and saw Druss. He gave a broad smile and walked across the training area, his hand extended. A head taller than Druss, he was broader across the shoulders. His face was flat, no sharpness to the bones upon brow or cheek. It was unlikely that a blow would split the skin above or below his eyes, and his chin was square and strong. He had the face of a natural fighter. Druss shook his hand. ‘This is what a training area should be,’ said Druss. ‘It is very fine. Well considered.’
The Gothir fighter nodded. ‘It pleases me, though I wish it were bigger. No room for spear-throwing, or hurling the discus. My trainer Shonan uses a field close by. Come, I will show you our facilities.’ There were four masseurs at work, skilfully kneading and stretching the muscles of tired athletes, and a bathhouse with two heated pools set back from the training area. For some time the two men wandered the grounds, then at last Klay led Druss back into the house.
The walls of Klay’s study were covered with drawings and paintings of the human form, showing muscle structures and attachments. Druss had never seen the like. ‘Several of my friends are physicians,’ said the Gothir fighter. ‘Part of their training involves the dissection of corpses, and the study of the workings of the human body. Fascinating, is it not ? Most of our muscles appear to work in an antagonistic fashion. For the biceps to swell, the triceps must relax and stretch.’
‘How does this help you?’ asked Druss.
‘It enables me to find balance,’ said Klay. ‘Harmony, if you will. Both muscles are vital, one to the other. Therefore it would be foolish to develop one at the expense of the other. You see ?’
Druss nodded. ‘I had a friend back in Mashrapur, a fighter named Borcha. He would have been as impressed as I am.’