This was the instrument made for the man-at-arms to withstand the noble knight in the days of old. He whirled it on high as the other came toward him. The double-edged sword rose high to parry the stroke, and the sharp weapon clove through the rotten wood helve: Time had disarmed the American again.
A deep-chested laugh came from the human "battleship."
Warren laughed back—in the face of death: the old Jarvis fighting laugh was a tradition in Kentucky.
His next weapon was a chair. With this as a guard he managed to swing the sword with a clever parry. He gave the metal breastplate a vigorous high kick. From the helmet there came a muffled "Oooof!" Here was one "point" for the modern!
His next weapon was a chair
Thus they dodged and feinted, striking, whirling, while the Kentuckian planned his campaign.
Little by little he drew his implacable opponent toward the charcoal cross-mark on the floor. The great sword rose high—he feigned weakness and dropped his chair. Then, as the toreador dodges the mad onslaught of the maddened bull, he leaped aside and the sword struck the ground.
Before it could be raised, he swung from his side position, with the heavy antique chair, against the vizor. The equilibrium of the armored man was none too stable, as he missed his stroke—and his head went back. Again the Kentuckian charged, this time with a barehanded clinch, the chair dropped.
Around the metal waist his arms went and he forced the other back but half a foot.