Thearos
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The shepherd knew his problem wasn't the slinging: he could hit, instinctively, just about anything he wanted within 80 paces. But ever since he had taken stood in the line and taken the coin-- a whole silver bit for himself-- everything was strange: the sword they had strapped over his shoulder, the orders barked at him and the befuddled others in a strange dialect by the fearsome, scarfaced man in the red cloak, stand, stop, run forward fifty paces, let loose together, shoot ten big stones fast, fall back, lie down-- and over and over, with blows and kicks and curses falling down like hail.
Now the man in the red cloak had given him a small but surprisingly heavy round shield to grip in his left hand. "Sling !". The shepherd let fly but red cloak would have none of it. "Keep your left hand up !". The next shots were much the same. "Up ! Left hand up !". Finally red cloak stepped out in front, stooping briefly on the way, and stood between the slinger and the target. "Sling !". The shepherd coiled up for his shot and his left arm swung out of the way as it always did but red cloak suddenly dashed up his own right arm and threw and hit the shepherd exactly in the mark of the chest with the earth clod he had picked up. The shepherd staggered backwards, more in shock than in pain, before doubling over.
"You will sling any way you want. But you will do so with your shield up !"
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