Tag: training

That autumn, when the weather finally broke toward winter, Blaise and I returned to my long-abandoned lessons. I studied with greater intensity now because I had the hunger, and because I so wanted to make up for lost time—committing the stories and songs of our people to memory; sharpening my powers of observation; increasing my store of knowledge about the Earth and her ways, and those of all her creatures; practicing the harp; delving deep into mysteries and secrets of earth and air, fire and water.

But it soon became apparent that in the realm of things men call magic, my knowledge outstripped his. Gern-y-fhain had taught me well; what is more, the Hill People possessed many secrets even the Learned Brotherhood did not know. These I possessed as well.

The winter proceeded, one cold leaden day following another, until at last the sun began to linger longer in the sky and the land to warm beneath its rays. It was then that I reached the end of Blaise’s tutelage. “There is nothing more I can give you, Hawk,” he told me. “On my life, I cannot think of another thing to teach. Yet, there are many you might teach me.”

I stared at him for a moment. “But there is so much—I know so little.”

“True,” he said, his lean face lighting in a grin. “Is that not the beginning of true wisdom?”

“I am in earnest, Blaise. There must be more.”

“And I am in earnest too, Myrddin Bach. There is nothing more that I can teach you. Oh, a few of the minor stories of our race perhaps; but nothing of import.”

“I cannot have learned it all,” I protested.

“True again. There is much more to be learned, but I am not the one to teach you. Whatever else there is, you must learn it on your own.” He shook his head lightly. “Do not look so downcast, Hawk. It is no disgrace for pupil to leave master behind. It happens….”

— Merlin, Chapter 14

Today our armies are parallel societies or total institutions. They take in individual recruits, separate them from their prior friends and relations, and teach them everything they will need while they are isolated from their civilian associates. They re-organize these recruits into a new hierarchy of units for both everyday and tactical purposes (people in the same platoon both live and fight together, at least in the field). Armies like the army of Classical Athens were nothing like this and yet they fought….

Soldiers in Classical Greece were expected to teach themselves or seek out whatever training would be useful. Cities which wanted to be skilled at war encouraged pastimes such as archery or choral dancing to prepare their men for war. The closest thing to this in our societies are the Scouting movement…, physical education and free lunches in schools, all of which were meant to create a population of healthy and skilled recruits. Except in Sparta, there is no clear evidence for mandatory peacetime training of infantry before 338 BCE (although armies could train together once they were assembled with their arms). We have a number of examples in Thucydides and Herodotus of armies and navies which refused training or work which their commander wished them to perform.

Greek cities were small and recruited their troops by subdivisions such as the tribes of Athens or messes of Sparta. Soldiers in one of these groups knew each other before they joined the army. It would have been impossible for most cities to break up these ties, since they had only a few hundred or a few thousand adult male citizens. In the Iliad, enemies like Glaucus and Diomedes sometimes know each other, and since many Greek wars were between great families not great cities, this may not have been unknown in real warfare.

We [today] have elaborate systems of professional military education modelled after universities and public schools with examinations and grades and certifications. Commanders of ancient armies learned in their families or through apprenticeship with more experienced commanders. They sought out idiosyncratic personal training and education from all kinds of sources. Among other things, this let groups which were good at war like the Spartans keep their practical wisdom for themselves and only share it with people who took time to befriend them. Anyone [today] can go to a leadership course for senior NCOs or a staff college by meeting meritocratic criteria, but someone like Iphicrates had to like you or decide you were useful before he took you under his wing. If you were in the position to decide who had access to secret knowledge, you had social power.

…Classical Greek armies grew out of Classical Greek societies, rather than creating a new parallel society with new rules, social ties, and systems of reward. Good generals worked with this rather than trying to turn these armies into something more like the Roman army of Augustus or whining that their solders were self-governing citizens not mute pawns from a board game….

— Ancient Greek Armies Were Part of Ancient Greek Society – Book and Sword

Seth:

We are…pilgrims on our way to worship at the Temple of Ar.

Dar:

I’ve never seen a…pilgrim…who could use a staff the way you did.

Seth:

Ah, but, sir! All pilgrims share a deep love of life—especially their own!

— “Beastmaster” (1982)

…Before the Tokugawa period [in Japan], when the feudal [daimyo] depended upon the martial skills of their retainers, inspired leaders understood the fundamental importance of foot soldiers in the winning of battles, and warriors of the lower ranks, such as the nakakosho, the tomokosho, and the kachi (that is, the huge mass of foot soldiers (ashigaru)), were properly trained and even encouraged to develop their abilities to the point where the might even attain a position of supreme command as had Oda Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and others equally famous. The age of heroes defeating armies singlehandedly had always been more myth than reality—history proving with depressing regularity that battles were usually worn by using masses of troops in the most advantageous manner.

Even great warriors, vastly skilled in the arts of archery and spearmanship, were, upon occasion, cut to pieces by veteran spearmen of hirazamurai rank or by their attendants (chugen) led by leaders of kogashira rank. Each group of spearmen composed of warriors of these ranks was a formidable unit of combat that could be neutralized, not by a lonely knight charging blindly and vaingloriously into their midst, but only by similar body of trained archers or spearmen. Once the compact unity of the group had been shattered, the warriors of higher rank and their sword-wielding officers could finally engage in individual, close-range swordplay. And there is evidence to indicate that even then many of these officers and leaders fell beneath the skilled spear-thrust of an obscure veteran of the lower ranks.

— Secrets of the Samurai, pp. 108-9

[…The three women who coexisted as the Incarnation of Fate] had lunch and adjusted a few threads, preoccupied. Then Clotho donned slacks, low-heeled shoes, and a businesslike shirt, and rode a thread back down to the dojo.

Mars appeared as she landed before it. He was garbed in a white gi. Niobe had never been certain how Mars traveled, but it seemed to be related to his sword. Each Incarnation had a symbol of office that was imbued with much of the magic, and the red sword was obviously Mars’ symbol.

“Follow me,” Mars said, handing her his sword.

Clotho looked at it. The thing was unsheathed—a massive instrument, with a handle almost too big for her small hand to hold, and a gleaming double-edged blade that glowed red from some deep layer. The whole thing had a magical aura of menace; it made her nervous. She held it awkwardly by two hands, the blade pointing straight down.

Even Niobe was astonished. What’s he up to? He never sets aside his red sword!

We’ll find out soon enough, Atropos thought.

The girl at the desk recognized Clotho. “Please leave,” she said. “You are not welcome here.”

Mars leaned over the desk. “I am her champion. Signal your hirelings.”

Two men appeared at the inner doorway. Both were in gi‘s and wore black belts. “The lady has asked you to leave, mister,” one said, stepping forward.

I think we’re going to see some man-style foolishness, Atropos thought with a certain relish. When they don’t have sex on their minds, they do like to fight.

“I have an appointment,” Mars said. He stepped into the man, caught his outstretched arm, spun about, and sent him rolling across the floor.

The other man turned—and Mars’ leg shot out and swept the other man’s foot from under him, so that he landed on the floor with a resounding slap.

“Now go in and announce me,” Mars said. “I expect a full turnout, and the courtesy of the dojo.”

Without further word, the two men hurried away.

“But you could have hurt them!” Clotho protested.

Mars walked back to Clotho and proffered his arm. “Not with a simple hand throw and a foot-sweep; they know how to take falls. I merely showed them a hint of my competence.”

She held his sword out to him, but he demurred. “I shall not be using that here, but cannot trust it to the hand of a mortal. Hold it until we are done.”

Clotho managed to hold the dread sword by one hand, and took his arm with the other. She walked with him through the bamboo curtain and down the hall toward the main chamber of the dojo. “Are you planning to fight all of them?”

“Certainly,” Mars replied.

“But—”

“I will run the line. Then it will be your turn.”

“But—”

“Do not be concerned, cutes. It will be all right.”

I hope so, Clotho thought nervously.

He knows what he’s doing, Niobe thought reassuringly. The three of us may not know what he’s doing, but he knows.

They reached the second curtain. “Take off your shoes,” Mars told her. He was already barefoot.

She took them off. They stepped through.

About forty students were lined along the far wall, standing barefooted on the edge of the big mat. They seemed to be arranged roughly in order of rank, with the white-belts at one end and the black-belts at the other. There were, she noted, several women among them.

In the center of the mat stood Samurai. He turned to face them.

Mars stretched out his right arm. A red cloth appeared in his hand. Slowly, deliberately, he wound this belt about his middle and tied it in place with the odd knot that martial artists used. There was a murmur of amazement from the line of students. It was as if they had never seen a red belt before.

Is something significant happening? Niobe thought.

Mars stepped up to the mat, and halted, and bent forward at the waist. He’s bowing to the mat! Atropos thought, finding it funny.

But Clotho had heard of this. “It’s the ritual,” she murmured. “Always bow when joining or leaving the tatami, the mat, for it breaks your fall and spares your bones. Always step on it barefooted.”

Now Mars stepped onto the mat. “You assume the belt of a Master Dan,” Samurai said, as if in challenge.

“You are observant,” Mars replied.

Samurai turned and walked to the black end of the line of students. He dropped into a cross-legged seated position.

Mars faced the class, and bowed to the line. The line bowed back.

Then Mars strode forward and took hold of the student at the white end of the line. This was a young woman, so small and light that her bare feet left the mat when he brought her forward. He can’t attack her! Niobe thought with horror.

Yet no one else protested, or even seemed dismayed. They merely watched.

Mars brought her to the center of the mat and held her by the right lapel and left sleeve of her gi. “Try a throw,” he told her.

The girl turned and hauled on his jacket. She got nowhere. Then Mars stepped back, drawing her along with him so that she had to step quickly forward to avoid losing her balance. At the moment her right foot touched the mat, his left foot swept against it. Her foot went up and she fell backward. She landed on the mat, her left arm outstretched, slapping the mat resoundingly, her right arm captive to his grip.

“De-ashi harai,” Mars said. “The Advanced-Foot Sweep. Remember it.” Then he let her go, and she scrambled up, bowed hastily, and returned to the line.

Mars nodded to the next student, a boy in white belt. The boy came out, took hold, and tried a throw of his own. It also got nowhere.

Mars drew him forward, as before, but this time set his left foot against the boy’s kneecap and hauled him into a tumble on the mat. “Hiza-guruma,” Mars said. “The Knee-Wheel. Practice your falls, son, or you’ll get hurt.”

“Yessir!” the boy exclaimed, scrambling up, bowing, and running back to his place in the line.

Mars nodded to the third student, another woman in a white belt. Again he gave her the chance to try to throw him, and she failed; then he threw her spinning to the mat with a hand-and-foot motion that seemed to be in between that of the prior two throws. “Sasae-tsurikomi-ashi,” he said. “The Propping-Drawing-Ankle Throw.”

There was a murmur along the line. “He’s doing the First Course of Instruction!” someone said behind Clotho. She turned to look. A brown-belt had come in behind her, off the mat. It was the instructor of the morning beginners’ class; evidently he had returned too late to join this one, so was watching from the side.

“Is that significant?” Clotho asked.

Now he recognized her. “You’re the—”

“The same,” she agreed. “I brought my champion to meet Samurai.”

“In a red belt!” he murmured, amazed. “That’s ninth or tenth Dan!”

“Is that good?”

“Oh—you don’t know judo?”

“Nothing,” she confessed. “I just came to talk to Samurai, and then things went wrong.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Just so,” he said after a moment. “Very well, I’ll be glad to explain. The master grades of judo are the Dan, as opposed to the student grades, the kyu. The Dan are black belt. But the very highest grades may wear the red belt. Normally such grades are only achieved as honors for service to the art, by masters who no longer compete. A competitor with a red belt should be the finest judoka in the world.”

“Oh, that explains why the class was so surprised.”

“It certainly does. As far as I know, there is no living, competing red belt today. So this man is bound to be an impostor.”

“He is Mars, the Incarnation of War.”

“Oh? Then maybe he—” The brown-belt shrugged. He returned to her prior question. “There’s nothing wrong with the First Course,” he explained. “They’re all good throws. But once people catch on to the order, they’ll know exactly which throw he’s going to do next. That makes it much harder. It doesn’t matter for the white-belts, but he’d have trouble throwing me with a throw I expected, and it would probably be impossible with a black-belt.”

Mars threw the next student over his right hip. “There’s the fourth—Uki-goshi, the Floating Hip Throw,” the brown-belt said. “I’ve never seen it done better. But I wonder where he could have gotten his training?”

Mars threw the next backward. “O-soto-gari,” the brown-belt murmured. “He certainly knows the basics.”

The next student fell. “And O-goshi,” the brown-belt said.

“Didn’t he just do that one?”

“No, that was Uki-goshi, a different throw. It looks similar and the footwork is similar, but the feel is quite different. Uke takes a much harder fall.”

“But I thought Uki was the throw, not the faller.”

The brown-belt smiled. “You really don’t know, do you? The one who does the throwing is always called Tori, the taker, and the one who gets thrown is Uke, the receiver. Anyway, the Uki-goshi is done stiff-kneed, while O-goshi flexes the knees, and—oh, there’s O-uchi-gari, the Major Inner Reaping! Beautiful!”

Clotho—and Niobe—were having trouble distinguishing the throws. They were ready to take the brown-belt’s word that they were being properly done. Clotho took advantage of his presence to ask another question. “What is this—this running the line?”

“Well, a challenger shows his superiority by defeating a number of others in rapid order,” the brown-belt said. “For example, a black-belt should be able to run a line of five brown-belts and throw them all, because his skill is greater. When the line is mixed, they do the lowest grades first, the Kyus, and work up to the Dans. Of course, by the time someone has thrown twenty or thirty people, he’s apt to be getting tired, so it gets harder both ways. No one has ever run our full line victoriously; if your friend makes it, he will have proved his rank. Some of ours are Sandans, and one’s a Yodan, and of course Samurai is Rokudan, the sixth level, and the champion of the eastern states. He’ll be world champion one day, if he decides to go for it.”

“He might not go for it?”

“Well, he’s getting old for competition, and judo is only part of his interest. He’s a master in karate, too, and aikido, and his specialty is the sword; no one can touch him there. He’s been searching for this mythical finger-strike, too— Say! Look at that Tsuri-komi-goshi! I’ve never seen a prettier throw! Did you see how he got full extension? I’ve never been able to do that on an Uke my own weight!”

The throw had looked just like all the others to Clotho and the other Aspects, but evidently there was a difference.

“But now he’s into the yellow-belts, and when he hits the green-belts he’ll have to work a little for it. Oh, nice Okuri-ashi-harai! That’s not as easy as it looks.”

Clotho was willing to take his word for it.

“God, I wish I was in that line!” the brown-belt said after the next throw. “It’s a privilege to be thrown by a master like that! Is he really the Incarnation of War?”

“Yes, he—”

“Oh, there’s the Uchi-mata! Samurai himself couldn’t have done it better!”

They watched while Mars moved into the green-belts. They were trying to throw him and failing as dismally as the white-belts had, and had no better success in resisting the return throws.

“That’s amazing!” the brown-belt commented. “I’ve never seen someone give them a chance like that; usually they put them away as fast as they can. He’s got a lot of confidence.”

“He should,” Clotho said, though she was amazed herself.

Then she saw Mars drop down. Someone had thrown him! But immediately the brown-belt opponent fell too. Both of them were lying on the mat.

“Yoko-otoshi! The Side Drop!” the brown-belt exclaimed. “Beautiful!”

“You mean it’s supposed to look like that?” Clotho asked.

“Of course. It’s a sacrifice throw.”

“Oh.”

They watched several more standing throws. Then Mars went down again. He had his foot in the other’s belly, and lifted him over so that he did a roll and landed on his back. “Tomoe-nage, the Stomach Throw,” the brown-belt said.

The throws continued as Mars progressed three-quarters of the way down the line. There seemed to be no end to them. But obviously the class was highly impressed.

“Soto-makikomi,” the brown-belt remarked as both men went down again. “I hate to take falls on that one! Of course it’s a power-throw; there’s not much stopping it once it starts. If he can do the next one, the Uki-otoshi—”

It seemed to Niobe that the brown-belt who was Uke at the moment simply threw himself on the mat, but the one beside her whistled softly. “Perfect!”

A black-belt came out of the line. Mars waited while the man tried a foot-sweep without success, then said, “Try another.” There was a chuckle along the line.

“What’s so funny?” Clotho asked.

“The situation. He’s up to the thirty-seventh throw in the Basic Forty. That’s Ushiro-goshi, the Rear Loin. It’s a counterthrow following an attempted hip-throw. Clyde didn’t try a hip-throw.”

Clyde tried a sacrifice throw, without effect; it was as if Mars were an immovable wall. There was another chuckle.

Then, moving like lightning, Clyde tried a hip-throw—and Mars picked him up and threw him to the mat. Clyde had gambled and lost. He got up, bowed, and smiled; he didn’t mind losing to an artist of that skill. “And he did it left-side,” the brown-belt murmured in awe. “Clyde tried to fool him, left-side, and he was ready.”

“Left-side is different?”

“And how! I really sweat on them!”

The last man in the line approached and took hold, but declined to try a throw. “Randori,” he said.

“What does that mean?” Clotho asked.

“That’s our Yodan,” the brown-belt said. “He’s a top competitor; he doesn’t like to do stationary throws. He prefers to counter, or to seize his opportunity. He knows your man will try the Yoko-gake, the Side Body Drop; he wants to make him do it in a moving situation.”

“Interesting,” Clotho said, unenlightened.

The two men moved about the mat, almost as if dancing together. Suddenly the black-belt screamed piercingly, his foot moving like lightning. But Mars’ foot moved too, just as fast—and they both fell to the mat.

The brown-belt shook his head. “Beautiful! He did it!”

“But how do you know who threw whom? And why the scream?”

The brown-belt smiled. “The scream was a kiai yell, to facilitate the throw. Didn’t work, this time. And sometimes it can be hard to tell, on a throw. I saw a match once where the award was given to the wrong judoka, before the judges corrected it. But this one was a perfect Yoko-gake, no question.”

Indeed, the class seemed to know it. Mars returned to the center of the mat, and exchanged bows with the class. It seemed he had successfully run the line.

“And he’s not even tired!” the brown-belt murmured.

Then Mars walked to the edge of the mat, stepped off, turned about, and bowed to it. “All right, girl,” he said gruffly. “He has to meet you now.”

“He what?”

“As your champion I conquered his class. I did not challenge Samurai himself. It is you who must meet him.” He took her by the elbow, urging her forward. “Honor the tatami.”

Bemused, Clotho bowed and stepped onto the mat….

— With a Tangled Skein, Chapter 12

Author’s emphases in italic. Mine are in bold.

For the children of the samurai, training for their martial way of life began early…. Particularly between the ages of seven and eight they were encouraged to be sociable and cooperative with their playmates, and discouraged from being confrontational or overly self-absorbed. At nine and ten, they concentrated on more academic subjects like reading and writing, although from the age of seven they were likely to be studying regularly at temple school.

The serious work took place between the ages of ten and twelve, when the child’s day could include as many as twelve hours of work in subjects ranging from abstract academics to learning musical instruments or undergoing physical training.

By the time he was thirteen, he was ready to fight: more than one famous daimyō fought in his first engagement at this age….

— Samurai 1550-1600, p. 10

While discussing this excerpt last week with my brother, a comment of his gave me a crystal-clear mental image. He said, “remember our [American high school] freshmen football team.”

[In Japan, the] last half of the sixteenth century [C.E.] was a period of almost constant warfare; weapons training was more often than not done ‘on the job’. It was a sink or swim mentality, where warriors fought their first battles at a youthful age, and if they lived, they had learnt something for the next time. Tokugawa Ieyasu was a general at sixteen years of age.

Most who fought in the campaigns were in their late teens or twenties. Save the generals and the lords, samurai armies were very young in makeup. Few from the ranks attained a venerable age.

— Samurai 1550-1600, p. 15

Xenograg was also a general at age 16. 🙂

Armies are like prize fighters training for a bout: They reach a moment of supreme preparedness—muscles taut, reflexes swift, determination fixed at the highest pitch. But with a lull in activity they start growing flabby. This is what happened to [the Duke of] Parma’s invasion force [in 1587-8 C.E.]. All through that dismal winter, as the snows and freezing rains held the battalions in camp, the war machine began to disintegrate. Provisions were consumed at an alarming rate—Parma had to send the cavalry inland to scavenge—and budgeted funds began to give out. As spring passed, the men went unpaid and unfed, and they began to sicken and to desert. “We are bound to conclude that the delay is for God’s greater glory,” Parma wrote in exasperation to Philip, “but the Enterprise, once so easy and safe, will now be infinitely more difficult, and will incur a much larger expenditure of blood and trouble.”

— The Armada, pp. 70

[Glover] Johns…showed marksmanship for what it ought to be. This full colonel would stroll along the [rifle] range for a while giving encouragement and instruction, then stop by a soldier.

“You got a quarter, son?” he’d ask.

“Yes, sir.”

“Give me your rifle there.” The trooper would hand over his weapon. After taking a good hard look at it, Johns would turn to the kid. “Now you just throw that quarter up in the air. High as you like.”

The trooper would toss up the coin, and before he had a chance to blink, Johns would put a bullet—sometimes two—right through the middle of it. He’d hand back the kid’s rifle as the quarter ricocheted to the ground, and continue down the firing line until he got the urge to display his prowess once again.

The “Johns Quarter,” as it was called, was a sought-after prize. More than that, though, was the pleasure of watching him “produce” one. The troops loved it. Johns was a showman in the truest sense of the word (and he was also the first to admit it)—for him it was a basic principle of leadership.

— About Face, Chapter 12

Marcus Cole:

The Minbari say the only way to understand the battle is to understand the language. War is as much concept as execution.

Dr. Stephen Franklin:

What else did they teach you?

Marcus Cole:

Delight. Respect. Compassion. That for your actions to be pure they must proceed from direction, determination, patience, and strength. I’m afraid I’m still working on patience. They taught me how to live, how to breathe, how to fight and how to die.

And they taught me terror. How to use it. And how to face it.

Dr. Stephen Franklin:

I think I’d like to hear more about that.

Marcus Cole:

No, you wouldn’t.

— “A Late Delivery from Avalon” – Babylon 5, Season 3 (1996)

7 Myths Everyone Believes About Druids suggests that druids should be fractious.

Dojo Storming is but one example showing that martial artists are violently rivalrous about their skills, masters, and/or schools.

So, too, should magicians because it would be an identical situation. Spells are analogous to martial art maneuvers: most are common but advanced ones are secrets known to perhaps only a single master and her disciple. How shall all other magicians in the world learn such secrets? By force, most likely. Jack Vance’s Dying Earth series—a major influence on Dungeons & Dragons’ magic system—depicts all wizards as jealous hoarders (and thieves) of the hundred spells left in that world.

Xenograg’s homeworld of Panadus has not yet advanced to where schools—of any kind—are common. Indeed, the Imperial School founded by Demograg was part of his sorcerous revolution. The three masters that coexisted as the Veler Magi were unique; likewise their College where the sum of their knowledge was taught.

Xenograg is the only person to ever be a student of both those schools. That fact predates this retrospective but this is not a retcon. The old and this new dovetail nicely. The original narrative portrayed Maret, the last Veler Magi, as very wise and peaceful. Amazingly, it is Maret who invites Xenograg into the College. Xenograg did not seek it; would have believed it impossible. To his mind, Xenograg would have had to “storm” the College to get the spells within.

Now there is a “What If…?”

Addendum: I neglected to include the witches coven. Either through temperament or necessity, female magic wielders are often depicted as working together in small groups.

Xian:

This is Stone City. Where many ancient warriors come. While you train here, listen.

Kurt:

Listen to what?

Xian:

Just listen. With your mind, your heart, your whole being.

— “Kickboxer” (1989)

Insatiable in their lust for knowledge, the practitioners of magic yearned to see beyond the tangible world, to learn the secret laws that governed the fates of souls and nations. In every age, scholars sought to piece together fragments of these hidden truths, and to grant themselves a kind of immortality by preserving their hard-won discoveries for adepts as yet unborn.

Their messages took different forms. Fragile baked-clay tablets bore cuneiform impressions made with reed pens when the clay was new and soft. Carved hieroglyphic charms were sealed in the changeless air of Pharaohs’ underground tombs. Shreds of papyrus lay deep under hot sands that over the centuries crept whispering away, revealing the scrolls finally to the eyes of mystified herdsmen. Tall sentinel stones inscribed with spidery runes wept with the gentle rain that soaked the hillsides where they stood. Heavy volumes with black-lettered pages were chained out of sight in monastic libraries. Encapsulated in silent characters, the words waited, charged with arcane powers.

To those adventurers who would crack their codes, the chroniclers passed on a caveat: The secrets of the universe were not lightly disclosed, any unworthy soul who probed too deep risked an unspeakable fate. Yet the lure of knowledge often overcame the dictates of caution.

— The Secret Arts, Chapter 1

A Mage or Cleric of any rank above Apprentice will always be able to do magic better than a Warrior or Thief or Assassin of equal experience points and equal Psi Potential, simply because the non-Mages and non-Clerics are amateurs—not because they are some sort of psychic cripples.

— Authentic Thaumaturgy, p. 25

Author’s emphasis.

Among these Cossacks who lived within the territory of the Zaporizhian Sich, there were said to be some with magic abilities, who were called the Cossack-Sorcerers. According to folklore, these were true war mages, of which legends were born. However, unlike the modern fantasy warriors, they did not throw lightning-bolts and issue fire from their staffs. Their weapons and abilities were somewhat different….

According to the people’s imagination, the Cossacks were able to find and hide treasures, to heal wounds with spells, and to evade and catch bullets. They could withstand hot rods, change the weather and open castle doors with their bare hands. They were able to float on the floor in boats, as if on the sea, to cross the rivers on rugs…and instantly transport themselves from one side of the steppe to another. They knew psychotherapy, understood herbalism, and also possessed the art of hypnosis. There were also claims about the super-human physical training the Cossacks endured, and much more….

How the Cossack-Sorcerers actually began is shrouded in secrecy. Many believe that the Cossacks of legend have come from the ancient Slavic Yazykh priests of the Magi. It is said that after Prince Vladimir the Great was converted from Slavic paganism to Christianity in 988 and christianized the Kievan Rus, the priests did not agree that the prince should have accepted a foreign faith from Byzantium and so fled to the steppe where the warlords set up, teaching their followers in the martial arts….

Just as the Zaporizhzhya Sich was a melting pot for different people, it became possible that such a variety could exist among the Cossacks, sharing their knowledge, skills and abilities with them. By mastering this knowledge, the Cossacks could combine the practice of divination, charisma, and mysticism with the illusion and art of battle, as did the Japanese ninja….

— Cossack-Sorcerers: The Secretive and Magical Warrior Society of Ukraine – Ancient Origins

Lamont Cranston:

You know my real name?

The Tulku:

Yes. I also know that for as long as you can remember, you struggled against your own black heart and always lost. You watched your spirit, your very face, change as the beast claws its way out from within you. You are in great pain, aren’t you?

[Cranston leaps at the Tulku who magically avoids the attack.]

The Tulku:

You know what evil lurks in the hearts of men, for you have seen that evil in your own heart. Every man pays a price for redemption; this is yours.

Lamont Cranston:

I’m not looking for redemption.

The Tulku:

You have no choice. You will be redeemed, because I will teach you to use your black shadow to fight evil.

[Cranston continues to violently resist but only succeeds in exhausting himself.]

Lamont Cranston:

Am I in Hell?

The Tulku:

Not yet.

— “The Shadow” (1994)

An unique and fascinating concept: a holy man forcibly redeeming an evil man—a lost soul, really—through both great compassion and (implied) harsh discipline.

Walker Smith:

That’s what the game is all about. To be the best, you have to face the best.

— “TKO” – Babylon 5, Season 1 (1994)

The Ancient One:

Matter is energy which is all around us. Sorcery is simply the art of wielding that energy….

Control the forces around your hands, and limitations become irrelevant.

— “Doctor Strange: The Sorcerer Supreme” (2007)

Not eliminated. Just irrelevant.

Connor MacLeod:

Duncan, what you give up to your adversary in the feet is everything.

— “Highlander: Endgame” (2000)

Elric turned his stern gaze on [his apprentice].

“As a group we seek wisdom. As individuals we can be eccentric, peevish, perverse, opinionated—apt to take offense upon small occasions. Act with restraint. Be courteous. We get along best at great distances from one another.”

“Every convocation has its confrontations, its challenges. You’ve been sheltered in the past. Once you’re initiated as a full mage, you won’t be under my protection any longer. Others may challenge you, to test your powers or prove their own. Do not rise to the fool’s challenge to be a fool yourself….”

— Casting Shadows, Chapter 1