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Not all shinobi...

The heavy slamming sound was audible from across the training yard. It had been going on for about an hour now, going in intervals of 4 or so seconds between each slam. The ground bore many deep holes, some deeper than others, with dirt thrown around each way. Underneath his helmet, Tarkus's face was covered in sweat. An hour of non-stop movement, swinging his greatsword back and forth, stopping now and again to thrust his shield at the invisible target he'd been swinging at. He didn't want to damage any of the real dummies whom someone else might use for less destructive training. Blinking several times to move the sweat away from his eyes, he finally stopped, resting the greatsword on his shoulder. With one final and heavy thump, Tarkus sat himself down on the ground, laying his shield and sword on either side of him. His deep voice spoke only to himself in a quiet manner, "I think that'll do for now. Might as well take a break." and with that, he fell backwards onto the ground, resting his hands behind his head.