Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 150: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a K? omen SO se Y, es ; 208 tain?” he asked, striking a hand upon his corselet. “As you will, aonsieur,” I replied, and I began to unlace the fastenings of my hel- met. He eyed me with somber approval. Presently he came and helped me to remove my corselet, and I helped him with his. When we stood in our leather shirts and ~ hose, M. d’Orsang turned his sleeve back from an arm which was like the root of an oak. “ There is good light here in front of the windows, captain,” he advised. It was excellent. We fell into position there, and our blades crossed. I was not keen for this fight; but a look in the viscount’s mismated eyes had put me upon my mettle. I was resolved that IT would let him do me no mischief; nor would I harm him if I could avoid it. Before we had made a half dozen passes, I knew that I was called upon to exercise no forbearance on his account, and before ~a-score, that I had met a master swords- man; and if I would save my skin and see my lady again, I must go my best pace. And it was better so. If I must—as sometimes it has happened—meet a man in the debate where steel is the argument and the eager point its eloquence, I love that we shall be fairly matched. Too great ad- vantage in skill eliminates all chance, and, pressed to its conclusion, is little less than murder. Mon Dieu! I had my liking in that ogre of a viscount! His ape-like arms gave him the reach of me; and in five minutes of fighting I learned that his misshapen frame was as strong as my own. He had, too, the temperament of the perfect bladesman—a composite of fire and ice. No chance which offered seemed too des- perate for him to take; and he guided his blade with an exquisite coolness of control which turned his lost strokes into defense in a manner to make me marvel. In one respect only did I feel any su- periority: His crooked leg prevented him from moving about lightly. When his wrist should begin to tire, I told myself, my greater activity would enable me to press him and attain the end I sought, which was to disarm him. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Occasionally, as we fought, I caught glimpses of a wooden clock which hung up- on the wall. Five minutes passed, and ten. The irregular clangor of the steel which had marked our opening, as we felt each his way to the other’s strength had given place to a steady, almost rhythmic, cadence. So closely were the blades engaged that there was scarcely an interruption of that vibrant diapason. Twenty minutes; and the tune was still playing. The viscount’s wrist was unwear- ied. Nor had my smartest rallies forced him to give back a step. I was, and am, a good swordsman. I say it without boast; for the proof has been made. I had been taught the art by Mark, who never met his peer, and three years in camp and field had seasoned me. But I was not iron. As the twenty minutes lengthened to- ward the half hour, I began to feel the Strain of that unremitting contest. My muscles were losing their spring. Perspira- tion ran from me in rivulets. My breath- ing had become a pain. Opposite me, scarcely moving an inch from his stand, the viscount was fighting as coolly, to all appearances, as though he had just stepped from his bath. Every trick at my command, and they were not few, I had tried and repeated in the effort to beat down his sword. Some of them had troubled him—I had seen that— but all of them had failed. { gave up the attempt. There was only one recourse. Summoning my waning strength and failing breath, I concentrated all my skill in a fierce attack. If I must I would kill him—if it were not too late. Fool, to have delayed so long! Along his blade M. d’Orsang felt my change of play, and understood its purpose. He laughed harshly. “Now, you have begun to fight, cap- tain,” he said. ‘‘ The rest was mere fez.c- ing. I have been waiting for this.” “God knows that I do not wish to kill you,” I gasped, sending in at the same time a thrust at his neck which ill accorded with my declaration. He parried it as he had parried all the others. (e(0) DOOKS (E@)