“One… more… thrust…” said Gillian, her rapier darting at Harold, flitting past his guard but failing to find a mark thanks to his deft footwork and retreat. “There!” The point lanced toward Harold’s right shoulder, forcing him to pull back, swiveling on his left foot so that the blade snicked by harmlessly. The manoeuver left him in a dangerous position, his sword arm at the furthest point from his beautiful, if deadly, opponent.
His hand arched over his head, the blade of his saber sweeping down and piercing her left shoulder. Blood sprayed from the wound and she gasped, pulling back from the engagement and laughing.
“Where did you learn that one?” she asked.
“The scorpion?” Harold smiled. “Some writer chappie I met online.”*
*Actally, a well respected swordsman