What do you think of this rewrite of the first two paragraphs?

Tan de Cale almost died while sweeping a dirt floor. The sun beat down on the well-trodden ground, eliciting beads of sweat that drenched the teenager's clothing. Locks of thick black hair and patches of dirt stuck to his bronzed forehead and cheeks.

A bell rang in the distance. Tan swore under his breath. The Cale Academy’s training grounds had to be clear of debris before the cadets could begin drilling. If the grounds were not ready when the Master-at-Arms, Sir Galland, arrived, Tan’s wages would be docked, and he’d probably be assigned a horrible duty during his next rotation. He might even have to drain the cesspool. He grumbled another swear at the thought of the smelly, shit-ridden pit. He’d just spent a week there. He had no intention of returning.