SWORD MAIDEN OF SEKHMET

Chapter 7: Swordplay

Their days and weeks fell into a familiar pattern.

Mornings began with the dawn run, followed by breakfast, then a brief rest during which they tidied their dormitory, then two full hours of gymnastics. After a light midday meal, the entire afternoon was devoted to training with their weapons.

There were three weapons they were expected to master: the Khopesh sword, the spear and the bow - and all the novices were required to achieve a good standard with each. Layla had great skill with all three, but Ashayt struggled at archery and had to work hard to satisfy Panya.

Of all the girls, it was - surprisingly - Menwi who proved to be the finest archer. A little smaller than the others, she looked as if she might have difficulty drawing the bow, but there was strength in her small frame and her eye was deadly: even when others struck the bullseye on the practice targets, Menwi's arrow was always closest to the centre.

It was sword practice that gave Ashayt the most satisfaction, as she slowly discovered a natural ability with the oddly-shaped weapon, far more challenging to master than a straight-bladed sword.

Training was one-on-one, with each girl matched against her mentor, since it was considered too dangerous for the girls to fight each other until they gained more skill. Even though they used practice swords, these were still made from the hardest ebony and could easily break an arm.

To begin with, Ashayt had despaired of ever mastering the Khopesh, but she faced a formidable opponent: Panya's name meant 'Mouse' but there was nothing mouse-like in her handling of the sword and her sheer agility. Time and again, Ashayt would strike out only to find empty air where Panya had been, followed by a sharp rap on an arm or leg as Panya struck back from an unexpected direction. In vain, Ashayt would swing her shield to deflect the blow, but almost always too late. Like most of the girls, her body was marked with bruises or grazes.

"You make it too easy for your opponent," Panya had said after one session where Ashayt had exhausted herself failing to land a single blow, "your face and eyes betray you, signalling your plan of attack before you move. You must learn to guard your expression as carefully as you guard your body."

Ashayt understood what she meant. In combat, Panya's face was like a mask of bronze: unreadable, emotionless.

Gradually, painfully, Ashayt learned to control her features. She also learned to take a lighter grip on her sword, holding it almost casually, so that it gave an enemy no clue of her intentions, allowing her to attack on her own terms. She learned how to switch her grip on the weapon in the blink of an eye, using its reverse curve to capture an opponent's blade and twist it from their grasp, or to hook it over the rim of a shield and wrench it aside. Increasingly, she had the satisfaction of hearing her bronze shield ring loudly as she successfully intercepted Panya's sword, of watching her mentor leap back to avoid her own counter-stroke, of anticipating her next direction of attack. And even of placing one or two bruises on Panya's unblemished skin in return.

One afternoon, six weeks into their training, Kiya made an announcement.

"It's time we gave your mentors a rest..."

The girls laughed.

"...today, you will fight each other."

The girls exchanged glances.

She never found out whether it was deliberate or simply accidental, but as the mentors paired them off, she found herself facing Sadeh. Looking around, she saw that Layla's opponent was Menwi.

She had no fears for Layla: Ashayt had usually been too busy with her own mentor to watch much of Layla's progress, but in the odd moments when Panya gave her time to catch her breath she had watched her Sword Sister fight. She was good. So good that if it weren't for the blue tunic she wore, it would have been hard to tell who was the pupil and who the mentor.