Running form

In the service of Suleiman Shah he must have run fifteen thousand miles—a janissary spent his life running—and the technique hadn’t left him, breathing deep and steady in the putrefying air, elbows in, rifle held firm across his chest. His stride was long and fast, weight tilted forward at the waist, the fatigue of the journey banished by the prospect of its end. Straight ahead the water of the bay loomed black as ink; to his right impenetrable shadows and the Turkish lines. The musket blasts started when he was seventy feet out, shocking in sound and brightness. He didn’t slow but he threw a few zigzags.
-TR, pg. 516-517