Warrior Series Quotes

All cats old enough to catch thier own prey,gather here under the High Rock for a clan meeting!

Very early on in writing the series, I remember a female journalist saying to me that Mrs Weasley, 'Well, you know, she’s just a mother.' And I was absolutely incensed by that comment. Now, I consider myself to be a feminist, and I’d always wanted to show that just because a woman has made a choice, a free choice to say, 'Well, I’m going to raise my family and that’s going to be my choice. I may go back to a career, I may have a career part time, but that’s my choice.' Doesn’t mean that that’s all she can do. And as we proved there in that little battle, Molly Weasley comes out and proves herself the equal of any warrior on that battlefield.

Knowledge becomes really such only when it is assimilated in the mind of the learner and shows in his character.

What did she say?” asked Matthias. Nina coughed and took his arm, leading him away. “She said you’re a very nice fellow, and a credit to the Fjerdan race. Ooh, look, blini! I haven’t had proper blini in forever.” “That word she used: babink,” he said. “You’ve called me that before. What does it mean?” Nina directed her attention to a stack of paper-thin buttered pancakes. “It means sweetie pie.” “Nina—” “Barbarian.” “I was just asking, there’s no need to name-call.” “No, babink means barbarian.” Matthias’ gaze snapped back to the old woman, his glower returning to full force. Nina grabbed his arm. It was like trying to hold on to a boulder. “She wasn’t insulting you! I swear!” “Barbarian isn’t an insult?” he asked, voice rising. “No. Well, yes. But not in this context. She wanted to know if you’d like to play Princess and Barbarian.” “It’s a game?” “Not exactly.” “Then what is it?” Nina couldn’t believe she was actually going to attempt to explain this. As they continued up the street, she said, “In Ravka, there’s a popular series of stories about, um, a brave Fjerdan warrior—” “Really?” Matthias asked. “He’s the hero?” “In a manner of speaking. He kidnaps a Ravkan princess—” “That would never happen.” “In the story it does, and”—she cleared her throat—“they spend a long time getting to know each other. In his cave.” “He lives in a cave?” “It’s a very nice cave. Furs. Jeweled cups. Mead.” “Ah,” he said approvingly. “A treasure hoard like Ansgar the Mighty. They become allies, then?” Nina picked up a pair of embroidered gloves from another stand. “Do you like these? Maybe we could get Kaz to wear something with flowers. Liven up his look.” “How does the story end? Do they fight battles?” Nina tossed the gloves back on the pile in defeat. “They get to know each other intimately.” Matthias’ jaw dropped. “In the cave?” “You see, he’s very brooding, very manly,” Nina hurried on. “But he falls in love with the Ravkan princess and that allows her to civilize him—” “To civilize him?” “Yes, but that’s not until the third book.” “There are three?” “Matthias, do you need to sit down?” “This culture is disgusting. The idea that a Ravkan could civilize a Fjerdan—” “Calm down, Matthias.” “Perhaps I’ll write a story about insatiable Ravkans who like to get drunk and take their clothes off and make unseemly advances toward hapless Fjerdans.” “Now that sounds like a party.” Matthias shook his head, but she could see a smile tugging at his lips. She decided to push the advantage. “We could play,” she murmured, quietly enough so that no one around them could hear. “We most certainly could not.” “At one point he bathes her.” Matthias’ steps faltered. “Why would he—” “She’s tied up, so he has to.” “Be silent.” “Already giving orders. That’s very barbarian of you. Or we could mix it up. I’ll be the barbarian and you can be the princess. But you’ll have to do a lot more sighing and trembling and biting your lip.” “How about I bite your lip?” “Now you’re getting the hang of it, Helvar.

Beneath the instinct to fight there lurks a diviner instinct to love.

When you look at a tree, se it for its leafs, its branches, its trunk and the roots, then and only then will you see the tree

She succeeds because she is loved and respected. - Kailin Gow, Amazon Lee and The Red Jade General Lady Liang of Song

You and I will never part, my warrior. In this life and the next, we will be just as we have forever been: side by side. There is not a thing that can take me from you, neither the slashing of a sword nor the impalement from a spear, for I will always find you.

You are my heart,” he said unexpectedly. The amount of care in his voice settled over my chest like a warm cloak. “I do not easily confess emotions in the way you do, but know I feel the same. The words I once spoke to you hold true: I will kill any man and turn the whole world to ash for you, my warrior. I fear neither battle nor death, but I fear the day you are not by my side. Never question where my heart lies, because it is forever yours. In this life and the next.

- Oscar Wilde said that we always destroy the thing we love the most. And it is true. The simple possibility of achieving that which we desire causes the soul of the common man to be filled with guilt. He looks around, and sees many others who have not succeeded, and so he thinks he does not deserve it. He forgets everything he overcame, all he suffered, everything he had to renounce in order to come this far. I know many people who, when they are within reach of their Personal Legend, make a series of silly mistakes and do not attain their objective - when it was just one step away.

The time of my departure is here. Place your hand gently on the soil beside my own, and feel the rumble of the earth beneath. The power of a thousand thousands is coming... evil warriors fighting against the Noble One. Here I stand with Him. Take up your sword and come with me, for the Prince is calling. And if you do not go... who will?

You are a warrior because of the trials you are going through, but don’t you dare squander the strength you have earned just because the acquisition of it was painful.

If you would know a man’s good and evil points, you should know the underlings and retainers he loves and employs, and the friends with whom he mixes intimately. If the lord is not correct, none of his friends and retainers will be correct.

Fate was but one more world-born subterfuge, another lie men used to give meaning to their abject helplessness.

She probably should have been afraid of him, but he brought her such a sense of well-being that fearing him was impossible.

His smile was warm, impossible to ignore, and did something to her insides, making her feel happy. Happiness wasn't something she was used to feeling and it shocked her a little.

Already he knew she was the one he wanted, and it had nothing to do with their shadows coming together.

He didn't want to take over her life, he wanted her to surrender it to him. Invading her privacy was far different than her volunteering to tell him what was going on in her life.

You know me, gattina, you're just conditioned to think you can't trust anyone. He did that to you. Don't let him interfere with us. You have the right to live your life, Grace.

Bushido as an independent code of ethics may vanish, but its power will not perish from the earth; its schools of martial prowess or civic honor may be demolished, but its light and its glory will long survive their ruins. Like its symbolic flower, after it is blown to the four winds, it will still bless mankind with the perfume with which it will enrich life.

Did not Socrates, all the while he unflinchingly refused to concede one iota of loyalty to his daemon, obey with equal fidelity and equanimity the command of his earthly master, the State? His conscience he followed, alive; his country he served, dying. Alack the day when a state grows so powerful as to demand of its citizens the dictates of their consciences!

There was always a trail, skin cells, a scent, thermal imaging, parts left behind that the riders called prints. Sometimes those proved helpful when tracking an individual, especially if they were fresh.

It was a war, and in a war there are always casualties. Never winners, but always plenty of casualties." -- Nenya, The Water Warrior

He'd loved that she'd fought back, that she was no pushover. That wasn't what he wanted in a woman, but maybe it was just what he needed.” 

She found him very hard to resist, and if she was truthful with herself, she wasn't trying that much.

He'd loved that she'd fought back, that she was no pushover. That wasn't wanted in a woman, but maybe it was just what he needed.

He radiated calm, his energy peaceful, surrounding her in a cocoon of tranquility. He made her feel safe, wrapped up in their world together, even though she knew neither of them was.

Man is a moving being. If he does not move to what is good, he will surely move to that what is not. If this consciousness does not arise here, another consciousness will arise there. Man's mind goes through multifarious changes and never stops.

Intelligent people, Achamian had found, were typically less happy. The reason for this was simple: they were better able to rationalize their delusions. The ability to stomach Truth had little to do with intelligence—nothing, in fact. The intellect was far better at arguing away truths than at finding them.

A warrior knows death is always a hair's breadth away, but he doesn't dwell on the possibility of his death when he goes into battle. A warrior just fights. He fights to protect his family, his home, his people, himself, and often, the good of man. The wolf never gives a passing thought to the possibility of his death. For the wolf, he will fight to the end if need be, solely to defend his territory. Neither of these things are necessarily a reason to enter into battle when you are already weakened. They just are what they are. They live in a warrior's heart, in a wolf's heart. And both, for me, are in my heart.

Wojtek, Polish for ‘smiling warrior,

The teacher is a needle, the disciple is as thread. You must practice constantly.

It is not the number of days that decides the strength of the bond

Justice is served, " he said softly, and stepped into a long shadow.

She was...salvation. Everything good. She lit up a room just as she lit up his life.

Are you certain she's the one?" Emme whispered. "Do you just know it, Vittorio?" In your soul, where you live, do you just know?

She took away sorrow and anger, replacing it with acceptance and love.

Once he was set on a task, once he made up his mind, he was relentless.

She could be soft and sensitive. He'd provide the armor for her.

His thoughtful Grace. He liked that trait in her. Te stillness in her. She brought a sense of peace to her surroundings.

It had been hard to tell him. Very hard. She'd learned not to trust anyone, but more importantly, she knew not to get close to anyone.

She loved to see that smile, the way it transformed his face from rugged, dangerous, very masculine beauty to something much softer and approachable.

I'd like you to make an effort to share what you're feeling, good or bad, with me. I'll do the same. If we're honest with each other in our communication this will work for us.

So these are the fresh meat, eh?” Zuko smirked. I cringed when he said fresh meat. How demeaning. “Well, I don’t know how well all of you can fight. So I’ll find out the quickest and simplest way.” He raised a scarred arm and pointed it at all of us, “ATTACK THE FRESH MEAT!

Grace had filled those lonely places, replacing them with laughter and conversation. She'd given him the purpose he needed there in his home to maintain his balance in a world of stark duty.

He'd always had his family, his brothers and sister, and they had formed a unit so strong, when he was younger, he hadn't thought he would ever need anyone else. Loneliness taught him otherwise.

They'd seen her laugh before he did, had seen her live before he had. The thought of it provoked envy inside of Wharick, and that emotion at times, could be just as powerful as jealousy." -Madison Thorne Grey, Sustenance

She looked down onto his face. So gorgeous. It wasn't just his beautiful, very masculine features, it was the way he was inside. "I'm in love with you. There isn't anything that you can tell me that is going to change that.

shall sail the iron ship with warriors of bone,            You shall find what you seek and make it your own,            But despair for your life entombed within stone,            And fail without friends, to fly home alone.

Are you absolutely certain that Grace is yours? She's not just a woman who would be suitable because she carries the genetic code we need? Francesca is my world. Your woman needs to be yours." "Grace is my Francesca, " Vittorio assured.

He had thought to hold a part of himself back until she made up her mind. Getting his heart broken wasn't on his list of things he wanted to experience. But the effect of her welcoming smile told him it was too late. He'd already fallen.

He could do that. Make her forget, even if it was just for a few seconds. She couldn't stop the slow nod of assent. Relief swept through her and she put her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She didn't have to think anymore.

Forgive me, Lord, if ever I should wrap myself in pharisiac robes when I see another fall In no way am I greater because of another’s weakness. At the most it only turns the eyes of the crowd away from my own frailty. Few of us would ever think of hurting someone physically but too many times we have used the power of "talk" to kill. Here, Lord, take these stones I hold.

There it was, again, that hurt in his eyes. Maybe hurt. Something. Sadness. That was it. She detested that look. He shouldn't ever feel unhappy. It was more than unhappy. Desolate, as if he was completely alone and she'd taken his last joy from him.

Forgive yourself for the lives that will be lost, but do not forget them. A good leader always recognizes that sacrifices must be made in order to win, but remembering or forgetting those who sacrificed themselves for your cause is what separates the tyrants from the benevolent.

Each of us is the product of our lifestyle, which is a series of habits or behaviors strung together that we cling to day after day. Our behaviors are the products of our beliefs. Those beliefs are products of our thoughts, which can be strongly influenced by the people, events, and environment around us. So

Their bodies continued to move together as one, making rhythmic love to each other slowly and thoroughly. And with each thrust, each deliberate movement, the air around them grew thicker, the bind connecting them grew stronger, and their blossoming love grew richer, reaching the depths of their very souls." -Madison Thorne Grey, Sustenance

Imagine women on Earth with that kind of power. With their own personal harem. I think we’d all go a little bit drunk with sexual power. What kind of life do these Kordolian females lead? Shit. I’ve just been transported to a planet of horny, silver-skinned alien males who happen to be tutored in the art of pleasure. What’s a girl not to like?

And if I use the opportunity to kill you and leave?” the giant said in a tone half-serious half-arch. “I have never known warriors to be dishonourable. Should you prove me wrong, we will all be dead anyway. There is nothing so ugly as reneging a promise, wouldn’t you agree?” The giant clenched his teeth and looked down. “I would,” he murmured.

You didn't need to do that," Morriumur said to me. "I came into this knowing I would be isolated." "Yeah, well, I rarely let go of someone once I have my teeth in them," I said. "It's the warrior's way." "What a . . . profoundly disturbing metaphor," Morriumur said, settling back down. - Spensa & Morriumur; Starsight; Brandon Sanderson Skyward Series

Read Hearn, the most eloquent and truthful interpreter of the Japanese mind, and you see the working of that mind to be an example of the working of Bushido.

I'm not just a Princess, I'm a warrior.

I am a gypsy, Mahgen. What that means is that sometimes I do shit. On purpose. Shit, that pisses people off. And I like it. A lot." -Madison Thorne Grey, Sustenance

Ignorance is trust. —

few things are more familiar, he supposed, than finding oneself a stranger.

Education and assimilation were devastatingly effective at controlling a conquered people.

Perhaps the so-called civilized world was a great noisy burden beneath all its wonders, and it was a relief to let go of it for a while.

Where the holy take men for fools, the mad take the world. —

Someone to care about him. Someone to be his center. Someone to make him feel alive and passionate about living.

Vittorio Ferraro was the most extraordinary man she'd ever meet and she would forever regret being a coward if she didn't give what had been growling between them a chance.

Another fallen warrior, Capitol Police Officer Brian Sicknick, died in the line of duty. On January 6th, Officer Sicknick engaged rioters and was badly injured around 2:30 p.m., when he was sprayed with chemicals by someone in the crowd. Later that evening, while still on duty guarding the Capitol, he suffered a series of strokes. He died the following morning.

Hey, what are you doing with your hand?”   Eli’s voice came out high pitched in surprise, as she clutched at Rafe’s shoulders. “It’s the best place for leverage if you’re going to make that ladder.” “My ass?  Really?” “What can I say, I’ve done the math, factored in the weight and height ratios and your ass is definitely where I will gain the most leverage in lifting you.

A half moon glowed on smooth granite boulders, turning them silver. The silence was broken only by the ripple of water from the swift black river and the whisper of trees in the forest beyond.

Hae tibi erunt artes - pacisque imponere morem, Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos" "These shall be your arts, to set forth the law of peace, to spare the conquered, and to subdue the proud.

The tale of love and power was a continuum, much like the white carousel just outside of Acronis's hall. It turned around and around. Acronis was tired of the spin." -Madison Thorne Grey, Sustenance

Those with a noticeable but limited ability are sent to Honoghr, Gentes, or Gamorr to become Sith Warriors or Marauders. There they are taught to channel their emotions into mindless rage and battle fury.

How could she not answer him more fully when he was looking at her so directly? When the deep, commanding way he said her name made her feel that if she didn't tell him the truth, he would be disappointed.

I have worked with that ancient, fragmented, and incomplete narrative, with its barbarians, dragons, sunken cities, reeds and memory marks, twin-bladed warrior women, child ruler, one-eyed dreamer and mysterious rubber balls,

The foretelling, Elias,” the Augur says. “The future given to the Augurs in visions. That is the reason we built this school. That is the reason you are here. Do you know the story?” The story of Blackcliff’s origin was the first thing I learned as a Yearling: Five hundred years ago, a warrior brute named Taius united the fractured Martial clans and swept down from the north, crushing the Scholar Empire and taking over most of the continent. He named himself Emperor and established his dynasty. He was called the Masked One, for the unearthly silver mask he wore to scare the hell out of his enemies. But the Augurs, considered holy even then, saw in their visions that Taius’s line would one day fail. When that day came, the Augurs would choose a new Emperor through a series of physical and mental tests: the Trials. For obvious reasons, Taius didn’t appreciate this prediction, but the Augurs must have threatened to strangle him with sheep gut, because he didn’t make a peep when they raised Blackcliff and began training students here. And here we all are, five centuries later, masked just like Taius the First, waiting for the old devil’s line to fail so one of us can become the shiny new Emperor. I’m not holding my breath. Generations of Masks have trained and served and died without a whisper of the Trials. Blackcliff may have started out as a place to prepare the future Emperor, but now it’s just a training ground for the Empire’s deadliest asset. “I know the story,” I say in response to the Augur’s question. But I don’t believe a word of it, since it’s mythical horse dung.

These invincible barbarian warriors committed acts of untold cruelty upon the unsuspecting citizenry, slaughtering all those before them in a frenzy of blood and fire and then drinking their chocolate milk right out of the carton.

Kathel opened his eyes as the wood he was touching went up in flames. He then realized he was still holding Mahgen's hand. He released it immediately, completely thrown by the fact that he had no brain." -Madison Thorne Grey, Sustenance

He looked down at the pillow that had fallen to the floor at his feet. "Are you seriously beginning a fight you cannot possibly win, druid?" he asked, his Gwarda green eyes deepening in color from the challenge." -Madison Thorne Grey, Sustenance

If nothing else had made sense in all of his existence, Kathel was sure about the love stirring inside his heart for his Destoul. He knew he had been created to love her, bind with her, and keep her by his side forever." -Madison Thorne Grey, Sustenance

So damn beautiful. You look like a goddess. Like a warrior. Like you could slay me and you do. Just looking at you ruins me. I love to look at you. I could look at you lying spread like this forever. Open to me, wet and flushed—forever and never grow tired.

A long while ago, a great warrior had to make a decision which ensured his success on the battlefield. He was about to send his armies against a powerful foe, whose men outnumbered his own. He loaded his soldiers into boats, sailed to the enemy’s country, unloaded soldiers and equipment, then gave the order to burn the ships that had carried them. Addressing his men before the first battle, he said, ‘You see the boats going up in smoke. That means that we cannot leave these shores alive unless we win! We now have no choice - we win or we perish!’They won. Every person who wins in any undertaking must be willing to burn his ships and cut all sources of retreat. Only by so doing can one be sure of maintaining that state of mind known as a burning desire to win, essential to success.

Why don’t you tell me your name?” “No.” “Very well. Your rank?” “What would a woman understand of rank?” “What does my sex have to do with my understanding?” “As I have said, women are not warriors.” “Perhaps in your society they aren’t, but in Frewyn we do very well for ourselves.

Thais looked up from the book. For a moment he considered telling Kathel he didn't really see anything, but knew it would do no good to lie. "The book recognized me." Honesty won out. "Of course it did," Kathel said sarcastically. "Does it want a kiss hello?" -Madison Thorne Grey, Sustenance

Swordsmanship is the art used at the border between life and death. It is easy to throw away your life and proceed toward death, but it is difficult not to make life and death two... Entrust life to life, and entrust death to death; but do not make this mind two... With this, you will gain complete freedom.

He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushed him, Mr D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a straitjacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life. ‘Would you like to test me, child?’ he said quietly. ‘No. No, sir.

He had to find a woman who would have the genetics to produce children capable of riding the shadows and carrying on their work. That was his obligation. He could never simply fall in love; he had to fall in love with the right person. The odds of finding that were so slim, most riders never believed it could happen.

The first thing that went through Mahgen's mind was how cold she'd become with the loss of Kathel, how insane it was that things could go from tender and warm, to cold and indifferent, in the matter of seconds. That was what it felt like when you loved completely yet allowed things to get in the way of forever." -Madison Thorne Grey, Sustenance

I have been speaking to you all of your life. In the gurgle of a tide pool, I breathed myself into you. I drew you down from the trees and I lifted you onto your feet. I freed your hands to become your tools so that you would cradle me in my old age, but you have turned on me. My strongest warrior for life, you have been transformed into an insatiable messenger of death. Only a few of my children are still listening when I howl to them, crying in the night, sending the oceans in great surges to cleanse my land -- to cleanse, and to warn you who no longer listen. I WILL BE HEARD.

Don Juan had said that any habit was, in essence, a “doing,” and that a doing needed all its parts in order to function. If some parts were missing, a doing was disassembled. By doing, he meant any coherent and meaningful series of actions. In other words, a habit needed all its component actions in order to be a live activity. La Gorda then described how she had stalked her own weakness of eating excessively. She said that the Nagual had suggested she first tackle the biggest part of that habit, which was connected with her laundry work; she ate whatever her customers fed her as she went from house to house delivering her wash. She expected the Nagual to tell her what to do, but he only laughed and made fun of her, saying that as soon as he would mention something for her to do, she would fight not to do it. He said that that was the way human beings are; they love to be told what to do, but they love even more to fight and not do what they are told, and thus they get entangled in hating the one who told them in the first place. For many years she could not think of anything to do to stalk her weakness. One day, however, she got so sick and tired of being fat that she refused to eat for twenty-three days. That was the initial action that broke her fixation. She then had the idea of stuffing her mouth with a sponge to make her customers believe that she had an infected tooth and could not eat. The subterfuge worked not only with her customers, who stopped giving her food, but with her as well, as she had the feeling of eating as she chewed on the sponge. La Gorda laughed when she told me how she had walked around with a sponge stuffed in her mouth for years until her habit of eating excessively had been broken. “Was that all you needed to stop your habit?” I asked. “No. I also had to learn how to eat like a warrior.” “And how does a warrior eat?” “A warrior eats quietly, and slowly, and very little at a time. I used to talk while I ate, and I ate very fast, and I ate lots and lots of food at one sitting. The Nagual told me that a warrior eats four mouthfuls of food at one time. A while later he eats another four mouthfuls and so on.

In contrast to most cultures’ nurturing, peaceful take on childbirth, Aztecs viewed labour as a war. Pregnant women were warriors, readied to take on a bloody battle by their sergeants-at-arms, midwives, who prepared them for motherhood in a series of sweat bath rituals. This acceptance of, and preparation for, the visceral process of childbirth was a realistic view – these mothers didn’t bring a child into the world smilingly and serene, they fought hard to keep the baby and themselves alive and healthy. Some historians have even argued that motherhood was established as the blueprint for bravery before Meso-American society required fighters. Women who died during childbirth were considered to be casualties of combat and honoured accordingly.

But what David has learned is not so much his own nature—which he frequently calls a “mystery” in the Psalms—as the nature of God. He does not offer a detailed résumé-style argument as to how the skills of his previous position as a shepherd are applicable to his desired position as a warrior. He says that over the course of his life he has learned something about the character of God and thus something about the nature of the universe in which he lives. Through hard experience, David has come to realize that God can be trusted. David can throw himself into a series of impossibly difficult situations not because he has a tremendous amount of self-confidence but because he realizes the outcome is out of his hands and is, in fact, in better hands than his own. He is an analyst not of his own character but of God’s.

Sitting down on the stairs, Cheyenne watched Behr through the slats in the railing. She liked what she saw. Covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, muscles swollen from what was clearly a grueling workout, Behr’s toned physique was a serious distraction from her worries, making her content to just sit and watch. Each thump of his fist into the bag resonated in her bones. Each kick of his leg thundered in her ears. Every move seemed to be in time with the harsh sounds of the music pumping through the room, until he was a frenzy of movement. It was frighteningly beautiful. Standing, Cheyenne called out to him. “Behr? Are you hungry?” She was feeling a little peckish herself, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Between a combination of brutal punches, knee jabs and the music, Behr didn’t hear a word she said. So she decided to go to him. Winding her way through equipment and stepping over the discarded sweaty T-shirt, Cheyenne approached him. Waiting for the right moment to interrupt, she tapped him on the shoulder during a brief pause. Big mistake. Huge.

Efren’s mouth was busily chattering away, his body animated as though narrating some fascinating storybook adventure. The Braetic’s eyes were glued on the Viidun, sparked with interest. “Betcha a meal Ef gets that necklace for the same purse of worthless coins Kira tried to trade,” Eena heard Kode whisper to his girlfriend. “Betcha he pays up far more than that,” Niki whispered back. “No way. He’s got the idiot eating out of his hands. Ef’s a freakin’ master!” Right on cue came the predictable slap to the head. “Ouch!” Then the cursing. Followed by another smack. “Sadistic witch!” “Filthy bonehead.” A minute of pouting silence ensued. “So you gonna bet me or what?” “Yeah, I’ll take a free meal from you any day.” “You’re on, Niki. Ef’s not givin’ up nothin’. He’ll have that necklace for the purse, if not for free.” “You’re a fool if you believe that. That oversized, lovesick warrior’ll be givin’ up the shirt on his back for Kira’s necklace. You don’t understand Braetics, nor the powerful influence of true love.” Eena could see Kode’s eyes roll to the back of his head. They all watched, wondering who would be right.

He glanced at Dehstroy, covered from head to toe in leather, courtesy Behr’s closet. He was still on the light side, his body still recovering from decades of torture and being held in a constant state of near starvation while being kept virtually immobile, chained to a dirty, rat feces-covered floor, but he was beginning to fill out now. His muscles were definitely more defined, he thought, catching a hint of pectoral outline through the black cotton T. But, Behr thought, he didn’t compare to his own thick, robust frame. “What are you grinning about over there?” Dehstroy asked, and Behr wiped his expression clear. “Were you just checking me out?” “What are you babbling about?” Flipping back his duster, Behr double checked his-hip holster, counting his blades, making sure everything was in its place. Definitely not trying to avoid the question. “Something you need to tell me?” Arching a thick brow, Dehstroy flashed a toothy, mocking smile his way. “Yeah, I was just wondering if you were an A cup or a B.” He shrugged. Looking down at his chest, Dehstroy adopted a thoughtful expression, then lifted his hands and cupped his pecs. “Nah, you’re way off. Definitely a C cup.

She was prepared for him to shut her down, when Behr shrugged a shoulder and said, “Yeah, sounds good. I think it’s a good idea for you to get out of the house. But,” he said, stepping back into the kitchen and leveling her with a hard look, “only if I tag along.” “What? Why?” Cheyenne questioned, not understanding the need for chaperones. “Because it’s safer that way,” he reasoned. “I have a couple things to take care of first, so it will probably be a day or two. I expect you to wait for me, though, Cheyenne,” he said, his brilliant blue eyes holding her in place. “It’s safer that way.” She was preparing to argue when she realized that she wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to venture out on her own yet anyway. It might be a shock to her system after locking herself away for so long. For laughs, she decided to give him a hard time anyway. “But…” she started. He cut her off with an upraised hand. “No buts,” he said sternly. “It’s not safe and you know it, and besides, that’s what you have two strapping young men like us for.” He clapped a grinning Dehstroy on the back. Cheyenne threw her head back and laughed. “You, young? Ha!” “What?” Behr said, acting offended. “I’m young.” “Prove it,” Cheyenne challenged. “Show me your birth certificate.” When he pursed his lips, she laughed some more. “What’s wrong? Didn’t they make birth certificates yet when you were born? No?” She looked between the men, taking in their sheepish expressions. “Well, then. I’ll leave you two to work on clearing that schedule.” Waving, Cheyenne left the kitchen and headed upstairs to her room to lie down.

This reaction to the work was obviously a misunderstanding. It ignores the fact that the future Buddha was also of noble origins, that he was the son of a king and heir to the throne and had been raised with the expectation that one day he would inherit the crown. He had been taught martial arts and the art of government, and having reached the right age, he had married and had a son. All of these things would be more typical of the physical and mental formation of a future samurai than of a seminarian ready to take holy orders. A man like Julius Evola was particularly suitable to dispel such a misconception. He did so on two fronts in his Doctrine: on the one hand, he did not cease to recall the origins of the Buddha, Prince Siddhartha, who was destined to the throne of Kapilavastu: on the other hand, he attempted to demonstrate that Buddhist asceticism is not a cowardly resignation before life's vicissitudes, but rather a struggle of a spiritual kind, which is not any less heroic than the struggle of a knight on the battlefield. As Buddha himself said (Mahavagga, 2.15): 'It is better to die fighting than to live as one vanquished.' This resolution is in accord with Evola's ideal of overcoming natural resistances in order to achieve the Awakening through meditation; it should he noted, however, that the warrior terminology is contained in the oldest writings of Buddhism, which are those that best reflect the living teaching of the master. Evola works tirelessly in his hook to erase the Western view of a languid and dull doctrine that in fact was originally regarded as aristocratic and reserved for real 'champions.' After Schopenhauer, the unfounded idea arose in Western culture that Buddhism involved a renunciation of the world and the adoption of a passive attitude: 'Let things go their way; who cares anyway.' Since in this inferior world 'everything is evil,' the wise person is the one who, like Simeon the Stylite, withdraws, if not to the top of a pillar; at least to an isolated place of meditation. Moreover, the most widespread view of Buddhists is that of monks dressed in orange robes, begging for their food; people suppose that the only activity these monks are devoted to is reciting memorized texts, since they shun prayers; thus, their religion appears to an outsider as a form of atheism. Evola successfully demonstrates that this view is profoundly distorted by a series of prejudices. Passivity? Inaction? On the contrary, Buddha never tired of exhorting his disciples to 'work toward victory'; he himself, at the end of his life, said with pride: katam karaniyam, 'done is what needed to he done!' Pessimism? It is true that Buddha, picking up a formula of Brahmanism, the religion in which he had been raised prior to his departure from Kapilavastu, affirmed that everything on earth is 'suffering.' But he also clarified for us that this is the case because we are always yearning to reap concrete benefits from our actions. For example, warriors risk their lives because they long for the pleasure of victory and for the spoils, and yet in the end they are always disappointed: the pillaging is never enough and what has been gained is quickly squandered. Also, the taste of victory soon fades away. But if one becomes aware of this state of affairs (this is one aspect of the Awakening), the pessimism is dispelled since reality is what it is, neither good nor bad in itself; reality is inscribed in Becoming, which cannot be interrupted. Thus, one must live and act with the awareness that the only thing that matters is each and every moment. Thus, duty (dhamma) is claimed to be the only valid reference point: 'Do your duty,' that is. 'let your every action he totally disinterested.