She dropped her spear, even though her instincts screamed for her to latch on to her weapon. A weapon that had come to know her better than she knew herself. She forced her gaze away from her spear and walked over the body of her opponent, Ogun. He had been quite arrogant and condescending before and during the wrestling match. Now, he laid unconscious on the caked mud ground. Oba stood face to face with her family. Her veins pumped with strength and a freedom unlike anything she had ever known. “Women have never been known to fight in the army and compete in wrestling matches. I know it comes as a shock to you, that I had been stealing away to train when I should have been learning to become a proper Yoruba woman. I know this causes you all disappointment but this is who I am. A warrior of blood and pain and honour.” “It is an abomination for you to have fought,” her father seethed. He was fuming from his place on his throne. All around him, his six wives whispered and sighed and shot her wary glances. Oba squeezed her fists and lifted her chin. “I am sorry for disappointing you father, but I wish to fight in your army. I wish to join the battalion going off to defend the Owu fotress from the southern enemies.” “You will do no such thing. Over my dead body,” her father thundered. “Then I shall run away and become an Owu freedom fighter and you will never hear from me again,” she retorted. “In that case, I shall lock you up until you come back to your senses. Guards!” In the blink of an eye, four guards were upon her. Oba’s heart hardened and she was doing backflips because any of her father’s men could lay hands on her. She kicked her spear off the muddy earth and got into formation to catch it. She made quick work of all four soldiers. Her heart sunk with every blow she delivered. More men began trooping in. Breathing heavily, she broke into a run for the palace walls, calling on the goddess Oba, for whom she was named, to grant her easy passage out of the stiffling confinement of her father’s palace. She reached the walls and began climbing up the jagged surface as she had done over a dozen times. “Stop, princess Oba!” Akinyomi bellowed at her. He was the commander of her father’s army. He had his arrow strung on his infamous bow. The bow was pointed at her, aimed to take her out if necessary. Oba stared at him keenly, staring past the ice in his gaze, past the wordless disapproval, until finally, they began to melt. Cold eyes soon became agitated, and then confused. Oba swung her legs over the wall and jumped down to her freedom.