Spartan Read Online Free

teach you to use it. It will seem strange at first, and will take all the determination you’ve got to make it work, but that staff can do much more than just support you as
you walk, as it has until now. You’ll learn to use it to pivot your body out in any direction, gripping onto it with one hand or both, as need be.’
    ‘What’s wrong with the way I walk, Kritolaos? Are you saying that I’m not quick enough for you? I can catch up with any sheep that wander away from the flock, and in the long
marches to pasture, I hold up better than Krios, and he has four legs!’
    ‘I know, my boy, but you see, your body is becoming crooked, like a piece of green wood left out in the sun.’ Talos scowled. ‘If we let that happen, you’ll be more and
more limited in the ways you can move, and when your bones have become stiff and inflexible, you won’t be able to depend on your strength any more.
    ‘Talos,’ continued the old man, ‘your foot was damaged when the midwife pulled you too forcefully from your mother’s womb. Your father, Hylas, was killed by a bear on the
mountain, and I promised him before he closed his eyes that I would make a man of you. I’ve succeeded, certainly: your spirit is strong and your mind is quick, your heart generous, but I also
want you to become very strong, and so agile that nothing will seem impossible to you.’
    The old man fell silent for a moment, eyes half closed as if searching for other words in his ancient heart. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and slowly went on. ‘Talos, answer
me honestly. Have you returned to the plain to see the warriors, even though I’ve forbidden you?’ The boy lowered his eyes, twisting a stalk between his fingers. ‘Yes, I
know,’ continued the old man. ‘You have returned. I’d imagined as much, and I know why.’
    ‘If that’s so,’ interrupted the boy with a scowl, ‘tell me, grandfather, because I don’t.’
    ‘You’re fascinated by their force and by their power. Perhaps your heart is not that of a simple shepherd.’
    ‘Are you making fun of me, Kritolaos? What else can we be but servants and the shepherds of other people’s flocks?’
    ‘That’s not true!’ exclaimed the old man suddenly, and for a moment his eyes blazed with a fierce and noble light. A hand like the claw of an old lion gripped the boy’s
wrist. Talos was amazed and perplexed. The old man slowly pulled away his hand, and lowered his eyes and his head – the gestures of one who has been forced to learn obedience. ‘No,
it’s not true,’ he resumed in a more subdued tone. ‘Our people have not always been servants. There was a time when we dominated the mountains and the valleys as far as the
western sea. We ruled the plains as far as Cape Taenarum, raising herds of fiery horses. Nestor and Antilochus, the lords of Pylos and Ithome, fought alongside Agamemnon under the walls of Troy.
When the Dorians invaded these lands, our people fought with great valour before submitting. The blood of warriors flows through our veins: King Aristomenes and King Aristodemus—’
    ‘They’re dead!’ burst out the boy. ‘Dead! And all those warriors that you’re talking about with them.’ His face was distorted with anger, the veins on his
neck bulged. ‘We are slaves, servants, and always will be. Understand, old man? Servants!’
    Kritolaos stared at him, saddened and surprised. ‘Servants,’ repeated Talos, confused, lowering the tone of his voice.
    Talos took the hand of the old man, who was silent and bewildered by the boy’s rage. ‘How many years ago,’ continued Talos in a softer voice, ‘tell me, how many years ago
did the things you’re talking about happen? The glory of your kings is forgotten. I know what you’re thinking, I know my words are a surprise to you because I’ve always listened
to your stories. They’re beautiful stories. But I’m not a little boy any more, and your dreams make my heart ache.’ A long silence