"Now, slaves, begin," exclaimed the judge.
Tinker gave a semi-savage yell, just to encourage his opponent, and then, with a most ferocious grin on his dark face, he sprang forward.
Bosja, scared out of his wits, struck wildly at random.
His scimitar came in contact with nothing but air, whilst Tinker gave him a slight prod with his sabre's point in the region of his baggy breeches.
Bosja felt it, and believing himself seriously wounded, uttered a doleful howl.
The crowd applauded.
Tinker hopped round him as nimbly as a tomtit or a jackdaw, and presently gave him another little taste of his steel.
"tinker hopped round him nimbly, and gave him another taste of the steel."—Tinker. vol. ii.
Bosja, fully impressed with the idea that he was bleeding to death, began to grow desperate.