Two Cats

Chapter 9

Recording your thoughts makes for a very interesting experience sometimes. For instance, I keep noticing things about myself and my habits, how my mind tends to work. I write descriptively about food at great length and find myself suddenly famished, or I recount the performing of some dashing piece of burglary and my shoulders tense up as I feel the undercurrents of excitement and energy, as if I were in the process of doing the entire thing again.

There are also the things that are left out. For instance, I didn't write too much about my bedchamber, because really there's no point to describing it. Likewise, I suspect that nobody reading this is truly interested in the exercise routine that I engage in every morning, or how many pull-ups I'm able to do.

It's the unconscious omissions that get me from time to time, cause me to think “Hang on!” when I go back and review a certain detail or another.

For instance, there is very little information I've given about my basement, the place where I spend most of my time. I've barely touched upon it except to say that it is large, made from stone, that it used to be a banquet hall, has a wooden fencing run in the middle, a wall that contains various pieces of combat cutlery and fencing apparel, chairs and benches upon which to sit, large constructed wooden forms that can be...

Actually, I suppose I did a fair job, now that I stop and think about it. Well done, Vincent.

Ah, but what of Tucat Keep itself? The details are embarrassingly sparse. Is there but a single level to the stone structure, or are there many? How many people live within its walls? I've barely even scratched the surface, for some stupid reason believing that the words “Tucat Keep” would be sufficient.

I mention this both in order to apologize for omissions I may have made, and because I’m about to do it again ... for every Haraelian possessing eyes has seen the architectural marvel known as the Circles.

If you have not, I cannot do it justice with these humble words – poets and painters have tried.

Quickly, it is an arena. The arena, if you will.

Built against the back entrance of the palace, it’s shaped like a bowl that has been tipped towards you, as if one end were buried beneath the sandy earth. The main entrance is here, and walking through the gates you cannot help but feel as though you are inching forward to do battle, about to be cheered by thousands, regardless of your reasons for being there.

In addition to the multitude of sculpted benches and other seats available for spectators within the bowl itself, it has nearly a dozen large dueling circles set into the dirt at the heart of the arena floor.

Near the back in the spectator area, there are countless shops and food kiosks that provide access to every kind of delicacy imaginable, from every culture. They even have those fiery red kebab-like morsels from Vereet, the ones that are spiced to such an extent that you cannot tell whether what you’re chewing on is lamb, vegetable, or a still burning coal from the oven.

The only other structures of note are the North and South towers (where ever did they come up with those names?) which are mostly frequented by Lords and rich merchants who do not feel it necessary to mingle with ordinary folk when watching dueling contests, as well as an oddly shaped two-story building known as the Stables.

The Stables was where the real action was – where the duelists practiced, instructors taught, and blacksmiths plied their trade. It was also where someone could simply find a seat and relax, swap stories with other swordsmen and discuss strategy, technique, any aspect of dueling you wished. Everyone at the Stables was a kindred spirit of sorts, someone with an appreciation for anything pertaining to the art of swordsmanship.