Post by TruBellezzan on May 25, 2005 14:11:57 GMT -1
I don't know if I can get hold of one of those.... I think this test is more trouble than it's worth..... but.... oh i know, i'll give you a tamora pierce how bout that?
Note to readers: Redheaded Alanna of Trebond has convinced old family servant Coram to let her try to pass as a boy, Alan, and to take her place among the pages in the royal palace. It's her first full day at the palace and Gary, the older boy who has volunteered to show her the ropes, takes her in hand. (Gary's father, Duke Gareth, is the training master for the pages and squires.) Jonathan is Prince Jonathan, the heir to the throne.
A bell that hung in a tower high over the pages' wing awakened Alanna at dawn. Moaning, she bathed her face in cold water. She was still exhausted from her five-day ride. For once she could have slept late.
Gary--a wide-awake, disgustingly cheerful and large Gary--came for her just as she was finished dressing. When Alanna, who hated breakfast, would have taken only an apple, Gary filled up her plate. "Eat," he advised. "You'll need your strength."
The bell gently chimed. The pages hurried to their first hour of lessons, Alanna trotting to keep up with her sponsor.
"First class is reading and writing," he told her.
"But I know how to read and write!" Alanna protested.
"You do? Good. You'd be surprised at how many noblemen's sons can't. Don't worry, young Trebond." A grin lit his face. "I'm sure the masters will find something for you to do."
Alanna soon discovered that most of what nobles called "the thinking arts" were taught by Mithran priests. These orange-robed men were stern taskmasters, always quick to catch a boy letting his attention wander or napping. When the priest who taught reading and writing was satisfied that Alanna could do both--he made her read a page from a book aloud, then copy it out on paper--he assigned her a long and very dull poem. Alanna was to read it and be ready to report on it for the next day. The bell rang the hour when she was only partly done.
"When do I finish this?" she asked Gary, waving the scroll on which the poem was written. He was guiding her to their next set of lessons.
"In your free time. Here we go. Mathematics. Can you do figures, too?"
"Some," she admitted.
"A regular scholar," said Alex, who had caught up with them, laughing.
Alanna shook her head. "No. But my father is very strict about book learning."
"He sounds a lot like my father in that respect," Gary said drily.
"I wouldn't know," Alanna replied. Remembering what the Duke had said about her father the day before, she added, "I don't think they got along."
Again Alanna had to prove her skills, this time to the priest who taught mathematics. Once he was satisfied as to the extent of her knowledge, he put her to learning something called "algebra."
"What is it?" Alanna wanted to know.
The priest frowned at her. "It is a building-block," he told her sternly. "Without it you cannot hope to construct a safe bridge, a successful war tower or catapult, a windmill or an irrigation wheel. Its uses are infinite. You will learn them by studying them, not by staring at me."
Alanna was staring at him. The idea that mathematics would make things such as windmills and catapults work was amazing. She was even more amazed when she realized how hard the work was that she was supposed to complete for the next day.
When Gary came over to give her a hand, she demanded, "When am I supposed to do this? I have to complete four problems for him by tomorrow, and it's almost time for the next class!"
"In your free time," Gary replied. "And the time you have now. Look--if you get stuck, offer to help Alex with his extra-duty chores. He's a mathematical wizard." The bell rang. "Let's go, youngling."
The next class was in deportment, or manners as they were practiced by nobles. Alanna had learned very early to say "Please" and "Thank you," but she quickly realized that these were only the rudiments of deportment. She did not know how to bow. She did not know how to address a lord as opposed to an earl. She did not know which of three sthingys to use at a banquet. She could not dance, and she could not play a musical instrument. The master gave her a very large tome of etiquette to read and ordered her to start lap-harp studies instantly--in her free time.
"But I have to read the first chapter of this tonight in my free time!" she told Gary and Alex, thumping the book of etiquette. They were sitting on a bench during their morning break--all ten minutes of it. "And four problems in mathematics, and the rest of that stupid poem--"
"Ah," Gary said dreamily. "'Free time.' I've heard about that. Don't fool yourself, Fire-Top. What with extra hours of lessons for punishments, and the work you get every day, free time is an illusion. It's what you get when you die and the gods reward you for a life spent working from dawn until midnight. We all face up to it sooner or later--the only real free time you get here is what my honored sire chooses to give you, when he thinks you have earned it."
"And he doesn't give it to you at night," Alex put in. "He gives it to you when you've been here awhile, on Market Day and sometimes a morning or afternoon all to yourself. But never at night. At night you study. During the day you study. In your sleep--"
The bell rang.
"I could learn to hate that bell," Alanna muttered as she gathered up her things. The older two boys laughed and hurried her along to the next class.
To her surprise, this one was different. The boys sat upright in their chairs, looking as if they were interested in what was about to happen. The walls were hung with maps and charts. A board with several large, blank sheets of paper fixed to it stood before the chairs. A box containing sticks of charcoal for drawing on the paper sat on the table beside it.
The teacher entered to friendly greetings. This man was not a priest. He was short and plump, with long brown hair streaked with gray, and a long shaggy beard. His hose bagged at the knee; his tunic was as rumpled as if he had slept in it. He had a tiny, delicate nose and a smiling mouth. Alanna met the man's large, green-brown eyes and smiled in spite of himself. He was the oddest mixture of disarray and good nature she had ever encountered, and she liked him on sight. His name was Sir Myles of Olau.
"Hello," he greeted her cheerfully. "You must be Alan of Trebond. You're very hardy to have made it this far on the first day. Has anyone said what we try to learn in here?"
Alanna said the first thing that came to her lips. "The only thing I know is that I jump when I'm told to and I have no free time."
The boys chuckled, and Myles grinned. Alanna blushed. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I wasn't trying to be pert."
"It's all right," Myles reassured her. "Your life here is going to be difficult. Our code of chivalry makes harsh demands."
"Sir Myles, are you going to start on the code again," Jonathan asked. "You knew we never agree that it asks too much from us."
"No, I'm not going to 'start on' the code today," Myles replied. "For one thing, you boys won't agree with me until the glamour of being knights and nobles has worn off and you can see the toll our way of life has taken from you. And for another, Duke Gareth has given me to understand that we are somewhat deficient in our coverage of the Bazhir Wars and that he hopes to find up more knowledgeable when next he stops to visit."
"Sir?" someone asked.
Myles looked at Alanna with a twinkle in his eyes. "I often forget--not everyone is a scholar like me, and I tend to use obscure language. Therefore, to translate--Duke Gareth wants more to go over the Bazhir Wars because he thinks I spend too much time arguing the code of chivalry and not enough time on the history of Tortall and the history of warfare--which is what I am supposed to teach you."
Alanna left the class thinking, something she seldom did seriously.
"Why the frown?" Gary asked, catching up to her. "Don't you like Myles? I do."
Startled, Alanna blinked at him. "Oh, no. I liked him a lot. He just seems--"
"Odd," Alex said drily. He and Gary seemed to be close friends. "The word you want is 'odd.'"
"Alex and Myles are always arguing about right and wrong," Gary explained.
"Actually, he seems very wise," Alanna said hesitantly. "Not that I know many wise people, but--"
"He's also the Court drunk," Alex pointed out. "Come on--before lunch is over and we haven't eaten."
After lunch came an hour of philosophy. Alanna almost nodded off to sleep as the teaching priest droned on about duty.
At last Gary took her outside, down to the acres of practice courts and exercise yards behind the palace. Here was the center of training for knighthood. Alanna would spend her afternoons and part of her evenings here, going inside only when it actually rained or snowed--and sometimes not even then. Here she must learn jousting, fighting with weapons such as maces, axes and staffs, archery while standing and while riding, normal riding, and trick riding. She must learn to fall, roll, tumble. She would get dirty, tear muscles, bruise herself, break bones. If she withstood it all, if she was stubborn enough and strong enough, she would someday carry a knight's shield with pride.
This might seem a kinda strange exert but it came straight off of the tamora pierce website...
Note to readers: Redheaded Alanna of Trebond has convinced old family servant Coram to let her try to pass as a boy, Alan, and to take her place among the pages in the royal palace. It's her first full day at the palace and Gary, the older boy who has volunteered to show her the ropes, takes her in hand. (Gary's father, Duke Gareth, is the training master for the pages and squires.) Jonathan is Prince Jonathan, the heir to the throne.
A bell that hung in a tower high over the pages' wing awakened Alanna at dawn. Moaning, she bathed her face in cold water. She was still exhausted from her five-day ride. For once she could have slept late.
Gary--a wide-awake, disgustingly cheerful and large Gary--came for her just as she was finished dressing. When Alanna, who hated breakfast, would have taken only an apple, Gary filled up her plate. "Eat," he advised. "You'll need your strength."
The bell gently chimed. The pages hurried to their first hour of lessons, Alanna trotting to keep up with her sponsor.
"First class is reading and writing," he told her.
"But I know how to read and write!" Alanna protested.
"You do? Good. You'd be surprised at how many noblemen's sons can't. Don't worry, young Trebond." A grin lit his face. "I'm sure the masters will find something for you to do."
Alanna soon discovered that most of what nobles called "the thinking arts" were taught by Mithran priests. These orange-robed men were stern taskmasters, always quick to catch a boy letting his attention wander or napping. When the priest who taught reading and writing was satisfied that Alanna could do both--he made her read a page from a book aloud, then copy it out on paper--he assigned her a long and very dull poem. Alanna was to read it and be ready to report on it for the next day. The bell rang the hour when she was only partly done.
"When do I finish this?" she asked Gary, waving the scroll on which the poem was written. He was guiding her to their next set of lessons.
"In your free time. Here we go. Mathematics. Can you do figures, too?"
"Some," she admitted.
"A regular scholar," said Alex, who had caught up with them, laughing.
Alanna shook her head. "No. But my father is very strict about book learning."
"He sounds a lot like my father in that respect," Gary said drily.
"I wouldn't know," Alanna replied. Remembering what the Duke had said about her father the day before, she added, "I don't think they got along."
Again Alanna had to prove her skills, this time to the priest who taught mathematics. Once he was satisfied as to the extent of her knowledge, he put her to learning something called "algebra."
"What is it?" Alanna wanted to know.
The priest frowned at her. "It is a building-block," he told her sternly. "Without it you cannot hope to construct a safe bridge, a successful war tower or catapult, a windmill or an irrigation wheel. Its uses are infinite. You will learn them by studying them, not by staring at me."
Alanna was staring at him. The idea that mathematics would make things such as windmills and catapults work was amazing. She was even more amazed when she realized how hard the work was that she was supposed to complete for the next day.
When Gary came over to give her a hand, she demanded, "When am I supposed to do this? I have to complete four problems for him by tomorrow, and it's almost time for the next class!"
"In your free time," Gary replied. "And the time you have now. Look--if you get stuck, offer to help Alex with his extra-duty chores. He's a mathematical wizard." The bell rang. "Let's go, youngling."
The next class was in deportment, or manners as they were practiced by nobles. Alanna had learned very early to say "Please" and "Thank you," but she quickly realized that these were only the rudiments of deportment. She did not know how to bow. She did not know how to address a lord as opposed to an earl. She did not know which of three sthingys to use at a banquet. She could not dance, and she could not play a musical instrument. The master gave her a very large tome of etiquette to read and ordered her to start lap-harp studies instantly--in her free time.
"But I have to read the first chapter of this tonight in my free time!" she told Gary and Alex, thumping the book of etiquette. They were sitting on a bench during their morning break--all ten minutes of it. "And four problems in mathematics, and the rest of that stupid poem--"
"Ah," Gary said dreamily. "'Free time.' I've heard about that. Don't fool yourself, Fire-Top. What with extra hours of lessons for punishments, and the work you get every day, free time is an illusion. It's what you get when you die and the gods reward you for a life spent working from dawn until midnight. We all face up to it sooner or later--the only real free time you get here is what my honored sire chooses to give you, when he thinks you have earned it."
"And he doesn't give it to you at night," Alex put in. "He gives it to you when you've been here awhile, on Market Day and sometimes a morning or afternoon all to yourself. But never at night. At night you study. During the day you study. In your sleep--"
The bell rang.
"I could learn to hate that bell," Alanna muttered as she gathered up her things. The older two boys laughed and hurried her along to the next class.
To her surprise, this one was different. The boys sat upright in their chairs, looking as if they were interested in what was about to happen. The walls were hung with maps and charts. A board with several large, blank sheets of paper fixed to it stood before the chairs. A box containing sticks of charcoal for drawing on the paper sat on the table beside it.
The teacher entered to friendly greetings. This man was not a priest. He was short and plump, with long brown hair streaked with gray, and a long shaggy beard. His hose bagged at the knee; his tunic was as rumpled as if he had slept in it. He had a tiny, delicate nose and a smiling mouth. Alanna met the man's large, green-brown eyes and smiled in spite of himself. He was the oddest mixture of disarray and good nature she had ever encountered, and she liked him on sight. His name was Sir Myles of Olau.
"Hello," he greeted her cheerfully. "You must be Alan of Trebond. You're very hardy to have made it this far on the first day. Has anyone said what we try to learn in here?"
Alanna said the first thing that came to her lips. "The only thing I know is that I jump when I'm told to and I have no free time."
The boys chuckled, and Myles grinned. Alanna blushed. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I wasn't trying to be pert."
"It's all right," Myles reassured her. "Your life here is going to be difficult. Our code of chivalry makes harsh demands."
"Sir Myles, are you going to start on the code again," Jonathan asked. "You knew we never agree that it asks too much from us."
"No, I'm not going to 'start on' the code today," Myles replied. "For one thing, you boys won't agree with me until the glamour of being knights and nobles has worn off and you can see the toll our way of life has taken from you. And for another, Duke Gareth has given me to understand that we are somewhat deficient in our coverage of the Bazhir Wars and that he hopes to find up more knowledgeable when next he stops to visit."
"Sir?" someone asked.
Myles looked at Alanna with a twinkle in his eyes. "I often forget--not everyone is a scholar like me, and I tend to use obscure language. Therefore, to translate--Duke Gareth wants more to go over the Bazhir Wars because he thinks I spend too much time arguing the code of chivalry and not enough time on the history of Tortall and the history of warfare--which is what I am supposed to teach you."
Alanna left the class thinking, something she seldom did seriously.
"Why the frown?" Gary asked, catching up to her. "Don't you like Myles? I do."
Startled, Alanna blinked at him. "Oh, no. I liked him a lot. He just seems--"
"Odd," Alex said drily. He and Gary seemed to be close friends. "The word you want is 'odd.'"
"Alex and Myles are always arguing about right and wrong," Gary explained.
"Actually, he seems very wise," Alanna said hesitantly. "Not that I know many wise people, but--"
"He's also the Court drunk," Alex pointed out. "Come on--before lunch is over and we haven't eaten."
After lunch came an hour of philosophy. Alanna almost nodded off to sleep as the teaching priest droned on about duty.
At last Gary took her outside, down to the acres of practice courts and exercise yards behind the palace. Here was the center of training for knighthood. Alanna would spend her afternoons and part of her evenings here, going inside only when it actually rained or snowed--and sometimes not even then. Here she must learn jousting, fighting with weapons such as maces, axes and staffs, archery while standing and while riding, normal riding, and trick riding. She must learn to fall, roll, tumble. She would get dirty, tear muscles, bruise herself, break bones. If she withstood it all, if she was stubborn enough and strong enough, she would someday carry a knight's shield with pride.
This might seem a kinda strange exert but it came straight off of the tamora pierce website...