* * * * *
The duel began with Malagor throwing his club-knife at Michael. But, Michael was just as swift at throwing Martin's (the latter having retrieved it from the rec room, immediately before the challenge)!
Each one collided with the other, head on, and fell to the ground. With that preliminary move over, both combatants charged at each other, yelling at the top of their lungs.
"Osiriiiiiiii!"
"Wotaniiiiiii!"
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG-CLANG! CLANG!
Thrust and parry. Parry and thrust. Each combatant moving so fast and furiously that Sandy could barely whose weapon belonged to whom.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG-CLANG! CLANG!
To Michael and Malagor, however, there was no eye-blurring motion at all. For each of them, time seemed to have slowed down. Malagor swung his sword laterally, from right to left, aiming for Michael's head. But, Michael ducked under it. He then reversed the arc, aiming for Michael's right ankle, thinking to sever the boy's tendon. But, Michael jumped over it!
Malagor, however, was not done. He swung from left to right a second time. And, this time...
WHOOSH!
"UHNNH!"
There was a horizontal streak of red across Michael's chest.
"Ha!" exulted Malagor: "First blood to me, boot-licker."
"But, it's last blood that wins the duel. Dung-for-brains!"
And, with that, they started raining blows down on each other's swords, once again.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG-CLANG! CLANG!
This time, Michael tried his luck at decapitating Malagor. But, the latter ducked under it. Preparing to jump up in the air should Michael try to mimic the same tendon-cutting maneuver as he had. Michael, however, kept his sword at head-height.
WHOOSH!
"Ha!" exclaimed Malagor: "You missed, boot-licker!"
"Guess again, Sherlock."
Malagor looked down at the ground, where Michael was pointing. Surrounding his rawhide boots were wads of his hair!
"Rawwwwwwr!!"
Malagor charged forward, blind with rage. His sword vertically raised with the intention of cleaving Michael, literally, from head to toe. And, this was just what the latter had intended. For, he suddenly dropped to the ground as if he were intending to do push-ups!
But, instead of push-ups, he flipped over so that he was propped up on his left arm. From that position, he had the leverage needed to swing his legs in a lateral scissors kick. Thereby tripping Malagor over them!
The Osiri warrior regained his feet almost immediately, turning about one hundred eighty degrees. But, it was still not fast enough to avoid being impaled on Michael's sword.
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"
Michael then fell on to his back, judo-style, pulling Malagor (sword and all) with him. He followed this up by kicking upward with both feet, dislodging Malagor from the sword.
The Osiri warrior landed flat on his back, just barely alive. Which suited his slayer just fine. Michael picked up his club-knife; walked over to Malagor; and grinned...as he plunged the club-knife into the Osiri's forehead!
"M'ree-tahhhhhhhhh!"
Sandy averted her eyes.
"W-W-Why? Why did he do that?"
Martin looked at her, sympathetic understanding in his eyes.
"He had to. For his brother Go-lee's spirit's sake. He's returned the Mark of the Bastard to where it belongs!* "
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
GOODSON ACADEMY GATEHOUSE,
OCTOBER 25, 2009
(12:25 A.M./EST)
OCTOBER 25, 2009
(12:25 A.M./EST)
Chapter End Notes:
*See chapter 7.