Shamil’s feet skidded a few inches along the pillar’s summit as he landed, arms windmilling briefly to regain his balance. Once steadied, he unslung his bow and nocked an arrow, raising the weapon to loose at the target suspended from a rope a dozen feet above his head. He watched the shaft slam into the centre of the wooden circle, then turned, smoothly nocking another arrow to the string, then loosing at the target to his right, scoring another perfect hit. Crouching, he fixed his gaze on the neighbouring pillar, forcing himself not to dwell on the thicket of thorn bushes below. It was a ten-foot drop, but Shamil feared the thorns more than the fall.
He leapt, this time achieving a less solid landing. One foot slipped as it connected with the pillar’s marble top, flailing in the air for
