slashing.
"Dad, look at me!" I said, dancing back to safety. Somehow, I held my temper. I knew he wasn't thinking clearly. I just had to make him understand.
Staggering back, he raised his sword with a grunt and seemed to be gathering his strength for another rush.
"Why are you doing this?" I demanded. "Think about it, Dad! Reason it out!"
Clutching the hilt of his sword with both hands now, he rushed straight at me. It was a clumsy move that no master swordsman in his right mind would have tried.
Dancing easily to one side, I gave him another punch to the head. He stumbled, then reeled back, slashing at me. He missed by several feet.
"Damn Thellops," Dad muttered.
"What is Thellops?" I demanded. "Talk to me, Dad!"
Staggering, he almost fell. I took the opportunity to draw my own sword. He might be my father, but I wasn't taking any chances. I couldn't stand here and let him attack me again and again. It only took one lucky swing.
"Won't do," he muttered. "Won't do."
"What won't do?" I demanded.
Shaking his head, once more he charged straight at me.
This time we met with a clash of steel on steel. I had planned to disarm him quickly, but as our blades locked, his strength returned. He hurled me back with a powerful surge of his muscles, then launched into a blistering series of double-feints and lunging attacks that I barely managed to turn aside.
"Dad! Stop it!"
"No more tricks!" he cried.
"It isn't a trick! It's me, Oberon!"
"Thellops!"
Not that again. Backing away warily, I kept my gaze on the tip of his sword. It darted from side to side like a wasp looking to strike.
"I don't want to hurt you," I said, "But if you keep this up, I'm going to have to!"
He feinted, then slashed at my head. I parried, giving way, then parried again as he pressed the attack. This time he used a complicated series of feints and thrusts. Even crazy, he was the greatest swordsman I had ever seen.
He got first blood. On a swift feint-and-riposte, he came in under my guard and nicked the back of my right wrist. I never saw it coming. A second later, he gashed my right forearm. Nothing life-threatening, but blood poured down my hand. In a few seconds I wouldn't be able to grip my sword properly.
He threw back his head and howled with laughter. If I fell down, would he think he'd won? I would have to keep that as a backup plan, in case he hit me again.
Before the blood ruined my grip, I switched sword-hands. Clearly I couldn't fight him on even terms. If I didn't do something fast, he'd kill me.
"This is your last chance," I bluffed. "Put up your sword, or I won't hold myself back!"
"Thellops!" he growled. "Never again!"
So much for diplomacy.
He might be a better swordsman than I, but in the real world, I knew the best didn't always win.
The smartest did. And if I couldn't out-think a madman, I didn't deserve to live.
He attacked again. I fell back before him, yielding ground quickly, concentrating on fighting defensively. There had to be a weakness in his attack. I just had to find and exploit it.
His sword blurred and darted, testing my defenses, trying to find a way past my guard. Still I parried frantically, retreating in slow circles. His every attack seemed perfect. He fell into a rhythm now: attack, rest, attack, rest.
The next time he paused to catch his breath, I took a moment to study him carefully. That's when I noticed the huge bruise purpling around his left eye - at exactly the spot I'd punched him twice. I figured the swelling must have cut into his field of vision. If I played to his left side, taking advantage of that injury…
He launched a blistering attack again. This time, though, I circling to my right. He kept blinking and shaking his head. The faster I circled, the more I noticed his pauses and hesitations.
He started to tire again. As he drew up short, his sword dropped out of position.
My turn.
I came in low and from the right, hitting him fast and hard. I hammered at his blind side. He
"Dad, look at me!" I said, dancing back to safety. Somehow, I held my temper. I knew he wasn't thinking clearly. I just had to make him understand.
Staggering back, he raised his sword with a grunt and seemed to be gathering his strength for another rush.
"Why are you doing this?" I demanded. "Think about it, Dad! Reason it out!"
Clutching the hilt of his sword with both hands now, he rushed straight at me. It was a clumsy move that no master swordsman in his right mind would have tried.
Dancing easily to one side, I gave him another punch to the head. He stumbled, then reeled back, slashing at me. He missed by several feet.
"Damn Thellops," Dad muttered.
"What is Thellops?" I demanded. "Talk to me, Dad!"
Staggering, he almost fell. I took the opportunity to draw my own sword. He might be my father, but I wasn't taking any chances. I couldn't stand here and let him attack me again and again. It only took one lucky swing.
"Won't do," he muttered. "Won't do."
"What won't do?" I demanded.
Shaking his head, once more he charged straight at me.
This time we met with a clash of steel on steel. I had planned to disarm him quickly, but as our blades locked, his strength returned. He hurled me back with a powerful surge of his muscles, then launched into a blistering series of double-feints and lunging attacks that I barely managed to turn aside.
"Dad! Stop it!"
"No more tricks!" he cried.
"It isn't a trick! It's me, Oberon!"
"Thellops!"
Not that again. Backing away warily, I kept my gaze on the tip of his sword. It darted from side to side like a wasp looking to strike.
"I don't want to hurt you," I said, "But if you keep this up, I'm going to have to!"
He feinted, then slashed at my head. I parried, giving way, then parried again as he pressed the attack. This time he used a complicated series of feints and thrusts. Even crazy, he was the greatest swordsman I had ever seen.
He got first blood. On a swift feint-and-riposte, he came in under my guard and nicked the back of my right wrist. I never saw it coming. A second later, he gashed my right forearm. Nothing life-threatening, but blood poured down my hand. In a few seconds I wouldn't be able to grip my sword properly.
He threw back his head and howled with laughter. If I fell down, would he think he'd won? I would have to keep that as a backup plan, in case he hit me again.
Before the blood ruined my grip, I switched sword-hands. Clearly I couldn't fight him on even terms. If I didn't do something fast, he'd kill me.
"This is your last chance," I bluffed. "Put up your sword, or I won't hold myself back!"
"Thellops!" he growled. "Never again!"
So much for diplomacy.
He might be a better swordsman than I, but in the real world, I knew the best didn't always win.
The smartest did. And if I couldn't out-think a madman, I didn't deserve to live.
He attacked again. I fell back before him, yielding ground quickly, concentrating on fighting defensively. There had to be a weakness in his attack. I just had to find and exploit it.
His sword blurred and darted, testing my defenses, trying to find a way past my guard. Still I parried frantically, retreating in slow circles. His every attack seemed perfect. He fell into a rhythm now: attack, rest, attack, rest.
The next time he paused to catch his breath, I took a moment to study him carefully. That's when I noticed the huge bruise purpling around his left eye - at exactly the spot I'd punched him twice. I figured the swelling must have cut into his field of vision. If I played to his left side, taking advantage of that injury…
He launched a blistering attack again. This time, though, I circling to my right. He kept blinking and shaking his head. The faster I circled, the more I noticed his pauses and hesitations.
He started to tire again. As he drew up short, his sword dropped out of position.
My turn.
I came in low and from the right, hitting him fast and hard. I hammered at his blind side. He
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