Only a few days had passed before Torres and Stark barged into the hospital wing. Torres held his small whip and had a blue bandana wrapped around his head. Both men had several scars on their bare chests and backs, that Ishbosheth could see as they marched passed all the beds, ripping all the sheets from the recovering patients.
"On your feet all of you!" Torres yelled, cracking his whip in the air. "There are only four days until you all fight Stark again, this time for a royal audience. You're going to be trained to fight so they will get a show. If you go down with one punch you'll be no use to anyone and will be killed. If the fight goes on too long, Stark will tire, and he's much more valuable than you, so the fight will be stopped and you will be flogged. A fight should last between five and ten minutes. Is that clear?"
There were mixed responses, which made for a muddled, "Yes sir..."
Torres cracked his whip again, "IS THAT CLEAR?"
"Yes sir!" the men all said in unison.
The men where shackled and led into a room with a floor of sand. Torres picked up a handful of sand and sprinkled it in front of the men's feet. "This is where you'll be fighting in a few days, which is why we'll be practicing in here daily. Each of you will take two small burlap bags and proceed to either Stark or myself."
Ishbosheth did as was instructed and got two small burlap bags from a barrel near the middle of the room and then went over to Torres, who had a big roll of cloth in his hands. Ishbosheth came up to Torres and he looked down on the small boy. "Hold out your hands," Torres said, as he unrolled some of the cloth. He started wrapping each of Ishbosheth's hands individually, about ten times around each hand. Torres then picked up one of the small bags and put it around Ishbosheth's large, cloth covered, balled fist. He did the same with the other fist.
Once all the men had their padded fists covered in the rough fabric, Torres stood on top of the barrel and started pointing around the room. "You will find a red mark on the wall for each of you. Go to the nearest red mark, stand next to it, and await my instructions."
Ishbosheth, again, was obedient and found a large red circle painted on the brick wall surrounding the courtyard. He turned to face Torres as he continued his instructions. "Practice your punching by hitting the red mark until you wear the paint away and can see the brick wall beneath. Begin now."
Ishbosheth turned back to the wall, slowly. He lifted his fists and took a look at them. Rough enough to pretty easily scrape away the paint, he figured. Stepping into a fighting position, one foot ahead of the other one, he cocked his fist behind his head and drove his fist straight into the wall. Pain shot up his arm, and he could barely lift his hand up again.
He used his left hand to cover his hurting right shoulder as he looked around the room at the men, jabbing at the red mark with angled blows. He tried that. One quick punch at the wall with his left hand hurt a lot less, and when he looked at his left fist again, he saw a little red dust on the cloth. Motivated, he lifted his right fist and kept on punching.
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