Point of View

Single Combat

“Hold your ground men it’s about to get bloody,” I yelled.

“Sir, Paris of Troy has called for anyone to take him on in single combat,” said my lieutenant.

Hearing this I roused my horses and powered to the frontline to see the scoundrel’s surprised face. I watched him sink back into his lines as I leaped out of my chariot.

“Is he afraid to fight me for what is truly mine”

“He is not afraid of a man who isn’t worthy to be a king,” shouted Hector from the Trojan lines

“What then, did he see a field mouse”

Hearing this my entire frontline burst out laughing. Then Paris emerged from the Trojans with armor that barely fit him.

“ What are the conditions Sir Paris”

“If I win your army leaves to where they came”

“And if you lose”

“Helen is yours”

“Fair enough”

“Hold on we must make it true to the gods, bring two lambs from the city and build an altar,” said Hector

 Then he pulled out his sword and began to draw the fighting area. My men built the altar and the lambs were sacrificed. Hector put our names in a helmet to decide who had the first cast of the spear. Paris’s name was picked. He cast his spear. It sped towards me, heading straight at my chest. It would have easily killed me if I hadn’t raised my shield. The point of his spear was blunt and harmlessly bounced off.

“Great Zeus! Grant me my rightful vengeance on this man who did me foul wrong, even while he ate my salt and slept beneath my roof!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

Then I cast my spear with all my might at the man who stole my wife. It pierced his shield like butter, broke through his breastplate and came to a halt just before it pierced skin. My spear should have gone straight through him but as I threw he had dived to the side saving a fatal wound and leaving a spear head stuck in his tunic.

I was mad and not just mad but furious. I pulled out my great sword and swung at his head. As my sword met the bronze comb of the lucky kid’s helmet it shattered into four pieces. Paris became dazed by the blow so I pounced on him in rage and drug him by the helmet to our lines to finish him. Then the helmet strap broke by some kind of magic and I flung the helmet into my men but when I turned to finish him he was gone.

“Has he become afraid. Does the little boy not want to fight any longer.” I beckoned to the Trojan lines.

“Does this mean a Greek victory?” Asked my lieutenant aloud.

But we were answered by the sound of armor being fastened.