“Are you ready?” A member of the elite guard, tasked with getting Derrick ready. He was holding open one side of the tent curtain and sticking his head in.
“Almost!” Derrick gasped. He was visibly nervous, wearing his swords and a unique battle armour which his friend at the royal smithy had made for him personally.
The knight walked in and lifted him to his feet by the shoulders. He pulled at everything, to make sure it was well fitted, tightening and making adjustments here and there.
“You know you can beat him! Just stay calm. Even if you lose, the king will still knight you if you put up a good fight. Concentrate on doing just that.” The knight gave him one last, solid whack on the shoulder guard, then gave him a light shove out of the tent.
The sudden glare of the afternoon sun was harsh, and Derrick was nearly overwhelmed by the sudden increase in cheering from the crowd all around the arena. His arms felt strangely heavy, and he had trouble standing straight. With a great effort, he walked slowly toward the lists. Passing him with various injuries were the previous combatants. They bravely saluted him and limped onward to the first aid tents. Finally, he was at the barrier, and stepped onto the arena. At this, his opponent began coming towards him. They met in the middle, and his opponent placed his right hand over his breast and bowed deep.
“Rasheed.” He offered, not knowing any words of Rennon’s language.
Derrick raised his visor. “Derrick.” He tried to smile and not look nervous.
Rasheed, realising that his opponent was very young and not as experienced, gave a brief smile and nod. He gestured towards Derrick’s swords, then took three paces back, drawing his scimitar from its ornate golden sheath and hardening his face into a mask. Derrick took a deep breath, then lowered his visor. He pulled out one of his two broad bladed sabres with his left hand, its polished surface flashing in the sun. Confidence flowed into him as he felt the slightly forward curved, leather wrapped handle, its oval guard depicting two carved cranes on either side of the blade. His eyes caught the glint of its bronze pommel and the flutter of its red cloth tassel, which, Rasheed noted, was slightly offset toward the back to accommodate a device, or clip of sorts. A quick glance at the other sheath on the right of Derrick’s belt revealed that a similar mechanism was on the other sword’s pommel as well. He could only guess at what that was, but refocused his attention on his opponent. It seemed Derrick was left handed, another advantage to balance out his inexperience.
Rasheed assumed his Scorpion Stance, with his scimitar poised above his head in his unarmoured right arm, and his left arm held out before him, bearing its vambrace, one of the few pieces of armour he wore on his body. His opponent was also somewhat minimally armoured for a knight from his country, with pieces covering only vital spots, as well as a few reinforced segments on his forearms, shins and shoulders for blocking blows; an interesting configuration to say the least. Derrick’s stance, like his weapon, seemed to have a somewhat oriental influence. He was standing with his right leg in front, sabre held out back.
Once they were both done sizing each other up, the match began. Derrick started with his trademark sweep at his opponent’s weapon; more a polite gesture than an offensive one, but his next backhand downward stroke landed hard and fast, with several follow ups equally quick. A combination of dodging and blocking allowed Rasheed to keep his head. His combination of experience and handling skill got him out of a defensive position though, and he was soon on top of Derrick’s rather linear attack form, left-handedness notwithstanding. Derrick was running out of ideas fast, and at the first repeated pattern, he was surprised by the immediate exploitation of the opening. With his left arm in mid swing, above his opponent’s head, and a scimitar coming for his lower abdomen, he grabbed urgently with his right hand and managed to get his second sword to half draw, just in time to take the blow. Simultaneously, he reversed his left handed sword’s grip and made a stabbing slice at his opponent, who leapt back just in time. The ringing sound produced resonated throughout the arena, among a spellbound audience.
Derrick did not allow a pause, running forward with one sabre behind his back, the other pointing at the opponent’s face. He now seemed to become right handed, using his reverse gripped left hand sabre for defence and his right hand for attack. His onset was furious, but manageable, since Rasheed knew the roles Derrick had assigned for each hand … or not… He was visibly shocked to see a reverse gripped slash, and barely stopped it. All the knights of Rennon craned their necks forward at this. Something was coming. They saw him plunge the two pommels together, and make a twisting action with his wrist. Rasheed was reeling too hard to hear an ominous click. The blade he was pushing back suddenly relented, but the other was coming equally quick from his left. It was momentarily facing the wrong way, but the business end was soon landing hard on his blade, which he had to support with his left forearm. The steel shrieked as the weapons parted, but the same blow was coming again, and again, and again. ‘No way! It is impossible to strike this fast!’ He then noticed that Derrick was no longer holding two swords, but a curved staff, bladed on both ends like a windmill. Derrick swung the staff skilfully around his waist, over his head, changing directions on whim and striking from both sides like a snake with a head on both ends.
Rasheed remarkably kept up with this new advance, and even tried a brief counterattack, but before he could come up with a strategy, his blade was several metres away, spinning lazily through the air before finally getting stuck in the ground. Derrick’s blade, warm from the sparring, rested on Rasheed’s left shoulder, facing his neck. After a brief pause, it was lifted, and held behind his back. Derrick lifted his visor in salute. Rasheed reciprocated with a bow. Then the roar of the crowd then burst forth like a flood, accompanied by applause, screams and cheering. Derrick walked towards his opponent’s sword and retrieved it, presenting it to Rasheed with both hands. The two combatants then saluted the royals, then the crowd, then parted and headed back for their tents.