Medieval castle stairs were often built to ascend in narrow, clockwise spirals so right-handed castle defenders could use their swords more easily. This design put those on the way up at a disadvantage (unless they were left-handed). The steps were also uneven to give defenders the advantage of anticipating each step’s size while attackers tripped over them. SourceSource 2Source 3
Not really the best illustration since it totally negates the effect by having a wide open space for those ascending. Castle tower staircases tended to look like this:
Extremely tight quarters, with a central supporting pillar that is very, very thoroughly in the way of your right arm.
Wider, less steep designs tend to come later once castles moved away from being fortresses to simply noble family homes with the advent of gunpowder.
Oh! Pre-gunpowder military tactics are my jam! I don’t know why, but this is one of my favorite little details about defensive fortifications, because the majority handedness of attackers isn’t usually something you think about when studying historical wars. But strategically-placed walls were used basically worldwide as a strategy to secure gates and passages against advancing attackers, because most of the world’s population is right-handed (and has been since the Stone Age).
Pre-Columbian towns near the Mississippi and on the East coast did this too. They usually surrounded their towns with palisades, and they would build the entrance to the palisade wall in a zigzag – always with the wall to the right as you entered, to hinder attackers and give an advantage to the defender. Here’s some gates with some examples of what I’m talking about:
Notice that, with the exception of the last four (which are instead designed to congregate the attackers in a space so they can be picked off by archers, either in bastions or on the walls themselves) and the screened gate (which, in addition to being baffled, also forces the attackers to defend their flank) all of these gates are designed with central architectural idea that it’s really hard to kill someone with a wall in your way.
In every culture in the world, someone thought to themselves, “Hey it’s hard to swing a weapon with a wall on your right-hand side,” and then specifically built fortifications so that the attackers would always have the wall on their right. And I think that’s really neat.
Ooh, ooh, also: Bodiam Castle in Sussex used to have a right-angled bridge so any attacking forces would be exposed to archery fire from the north-west tower on their right side (ie: sword in the right hand, shield on the useless left side):
These tactics worked so well for so long because until quite recently lefties got short shrift and had it trained (if they were lucky) or beaten out of them.
Use of sword and shield is a classic demonstration of how right-handedness predominated. There’s historical mention of left-handed swordsmen (gladiators and Vikings), and what a problem they were for their opponents, but that only applies to single combat.
A left-handed hoplite or housecarl simply couldn’t fight as part of a phalanx or shield wall, since the shields were a mutual defence (the right side of the shield covered its owner’s left side, its left side covered the right side of his neighbour to the left, and so on down the line) and wearing one on the wrong arm threw the whole tactic out of whack.
Jousting, whether with or without an Italian-style tilt barrier, was run shield-side to shield-side with the lance at a slant (except for the Scharfrennen, a highly specialised style that’s AFAIK unique.) Consequently left-handed knights were physically unable to joust.
The construction of plate armour, whether specialised tournament kit or less elaborate battle gear, is noticeably “right-handed“ – so even if a wealthy knight had his built “left-handed” it would be a waste of time and money; he would still be a square peg in a world of round holes and none of the other kids would play with him.
Even after shields and full armour were no longer an essential part of military equipment, right-hand use was still enforced until quite recently, and to important people as well as ordinary ones – it happened to George VI, father of the present Queen of England. Most swords with complex hilts, such as swept-hilt rapiers and some styles of basket-hilt broadsword, are assymetrical and constructed for right handers. Here’s my schiavona…
It can be held left-handed, but using it with the proper thumb-ring grip, and getting maximum protection from the basket, is right-handed only. (More here.) Some historical examples of left-hand hilts do exist, but they’re rare, and fencing masters had the same “learn to use your right hand” bias as tourney organisers, teachers and almost everyone else. Right-handers were dextrous, but left-handers were sinister, etc., etc.
However, several
predominantly left-handed
families did turn their handedness into advantage, among them the Kerrs / Carrs, a notorious Reiver family along the England-Scotland Borders, by building their fortress
staircases with a spiral the other way to the OP image.
This would seem to be a bad idea, since the attackers (coming upstairs) no longer have their right arms cramped against the centre pillar – however it worked in the Kerrs’ favour because they were used to this mirror-image of reality while nobody else was, and the defender retreating up the spiral had that pillar guarding his right side, while the attacker had to reach out around it…
For the most part Reiver swords weren’t elaborate swept-hilt rapiers but workmanlike basket-hilts. Some from Continental Europe have the handedness of my schiavona with thumb-rings and assymmetrical baskets, but the native “British Baskethilt” is a variant of the Highland claymore* and like it seems completely symmetrical, without even a thumb-ring, which gives equal protection to whichever hand is using it.
*I’m aware there are those who insist “claymore” refers only to two-handers, however the Gaelic term claidheamh-mòr
– “big sword” –
just refers to size, not to a specific type of sword in the way “schiavona” or “karabela” or even “katana” does.
While the two-hander was the biggest sword in common use it was the claidheamh-mòr; after it dropped out of fashion and the basket-hilt became the biggest sword in common use, that became the claidheamh-mòr.
When Highlanders in the 1745 Rebellion referred to their basket-hilts as claymores, they obviously gave no thought to the confusion they would create for later compilers of catalogues…
Also, muskets had their whole “Flint and steel and gunpowder” thing on the right side so if you tried firing it lefty you’d get a face full of fire. More recently, rifles eject their spent shell casings to the right, so if you’re a lefty you get some hot metal in your eye.
Okay Silm Fandom, this has to be relevant to your interests
I had too much banana milk and I saw this amazing picture of this 80s guy wearing a shirt with this text and holding a cockatoo and all I could think of was maglor… in whatever universe, to me, maglor would be this… the luxury chemise guy
Incredible illustration work mixed with 3D rendering by British artist Billy Bogiatzoglou, aka Billelis. I’d really, really love to see these as real-life sculptures and maybe even own a few.
Nouns in Adûnâyê are separated into four “genders:” Masculine, Feminine, Neuter, and Common. Unlike some languages, in which the grammatical and literal genders of a noun may not match, Adûnâyê’s Masculine and Feminine classes refer only to male beings/functions and female beings/functions. The Neuter class is applied to inanimate objects, and the Common to general words which are not characterized as to sex/gender, such as words for animal species.
For example, karab, horse, is a Common noun. However, karbû, stallion, and karbî, “mare,” are Masculine and Feminine respectively.
Adûnâyê nouns have three numbers: the singular, the plural, and the dual. The dual form is an interesting one. It is only used in cases of natural pairs, not in any situation in which there are two of the same thing. The classic example is huzun, ear. If I am referring to one of my ears and one of your ears, I would use the plural form, huzîn. If, however, I am referring to both of my own ears, which constitute a natural pair, I would use the dual, huznat.
Nouns are also divided into “strong” and “weak” categories, which division influences the formation of the plural. Strong nouns form their plural by modification of the last vowel of the stem word. Weak nouns add inflexions.
And the Adûnâyê noun has three forms which might be called cases: the Normal, the Subjective, and the Objective.
The Normal form of the noun is the basic, uninflected form, not morphologically marked by any affix, and would be used in all cases in which the sentence structure does not require either the Subjective or Objective form. Perhaps confusingly enough, the Normal (not the Objective!) is typically used when the noun is the object or predicate of the sentence. For example:
Sauronun Zigûr. (Sauron is the Wizard/Zigûr.)
In this example, Zigûr is in the Normal form, serving as the predicate. (Note: State-of-being verbs are generally not included in sentences, being implied by the structure.)
The Subjective form is used when the noun is, indeed, the subject of the sentence. In the example used above, Sauronun is in the subjective form. The Subjective is also used when the noun stands in apposition to another noun. For example:
Sauron Zigûrun. (Sauron the Wizard)
The Masculine subjective is formed by adding the suffix –un, and the Feminine by the suffix –in. Strong Neuters are formed by a process known as “a-fortification.” Zadan, house, becomes zadân, huzun becomes huzôn. What is actually happening here is an extra “a” is being added to the last syllable, and the final forms therefore represent “zadaan” and “huzaun” being monophthongized or simplified.
Weak Neuters take –a, the element which was infixed in the Strong form here being suffixed instead. Common nouns take the suffix –a(n) in the singular. The plural subjective is formed by adding –a in Neuter nouns and –im in non-Neuters. This does mean that in the event of a plural Weak Neuter, number is not discernible through the form of the noun but must be inferred by the context.
The Objective form is not an independent form of the noun, as might be guessed from Adûnâyê’s use of the Normal noun as the object of sentences. The Objective form is only used in compound words, and is created by adding “u” to the noun as either an infix or suffix, often replacing the final vowel altogether. As an example, the Objective of azra, sea, is azru, and the Objective of batân, road, is batânu.
The Objective is used as the first element in a compound word when the second element in some way acts upon the first. A common example is the name Azrubêl, sea-lover. In this example, azru is in the Objective because it is the object of the lover’s love. In the compound Minultârik, pillar of heaven, the pillar (târik) is seen as upholding the heaven or sky, therefore acting upon them.
The Objective can be considered effectively numberless (as opposed to singular) and will never appear in dual or plural forms. This “numberless” state can be seen in some compound names: Balkumagân (shipwright) and Nimruzîr (elf-lover or elf-friend). In theory, using the singular Objective forms of balak, ship, and nimir, elf, should make direct translations of these names “builder of that one ship” and “lover/friend of that one elf.” However, it should be clear that “ship” and “elf” are used here as collectives which are therefore, grammatically singular despite their implications of number.
There is no genitive form in Adûnâyê. Compounds are often used, as in Yôzâyan, the Land of Gift. Possession is indicated by the prefix an- or the elided ’n-, as in Bâr ‘nAnadûnê, Lord of Anadûnê.
Photographed off the coast of Okayama, Japan, The Weeping Stones is a photo series by the creative duo Trevor Williams and Jonathan Galione of Tdub Photo that captures the eerie blue light emitted by a native species of bioluminescent shrimp. More commonly referred to as sea fireflies, these rare creatures live in the sand in shallow sea water, floating somewhere between the extremes of high and low tide. At just 3 mm in length the shrimp are extremely small light sources, but when grouped together they take on abstract patterns that light up the water around them.
While many people think fanfiction is about inserting sex into texts (like Tolkien’s) where it doesn’t belong, Brancher sees it differently: “I was desperate to read about sex that included great friendship; I was repurposing Tolkien’s text in order to do that. It wasn’t that friendship needed to be sexualized, it was that erotica needed to be … friendship-ized.” Many fanfiction writers write about sex in conjunction with beloved texts and characters not because they think those texts are incomplete, but because they’re looking for stories where sex is profound and meaningful. This is part of what makes fan fiction different from pornography: unlike pornography, fanfic features characters we already care deeply about, and who tend to already have long-standing and complex relationships with each other. It’s a genre of sexual subjectification: the very opposite of objectification. It’s benefits with friendship.
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 