The Second Book of Lankhmar

Demoiselle of Lankhmar. First man struck senseless or at mercy of his foe loses. Prepare!”
    The ship's boys went skipping across the middeck, scattering handfuls of white sand.
    Sitting, Slinoor remarked to the Mouser, “A pox of this footling duel! It delays our action against Hisvet and the rats. Lukeen was a fool to bridle at the barbarian. Still, when he's drubbed him, there'll be time enough.”
    The Mouser lifted an eyebrow. Slinoor said lightly, “Oh didn't you know? Lukeen will win; that's certain,” while the sergeant, nodding soberly, confirmed, “The Commander's a master of staves. “'Tis no game for barbarians.”
    The gong sounded a third time.
    Lukeen sprang nimbly across the chalk and onto the hatch, crying, “Ho, hairy ape! Art ready to double-kiss the oak? First my staff, then the deck?”
    Fafhrd came shambling out, gripping his wand most awkwardly and responding, “Your spit has poisoned my left eye, Lukeen, but I see some civilized target with my right.”
    Lukeen dashed at him joyously then, feinting at elbow and head, then rapidly striking with the other end of his staff at Fafhrd's knee to tumble or lame him.
    Fafhrd, abruptly switching to conventional stance and grip, parried the blow and swung a lightning riposte at Lukeen's jaw.
    Lukeen got his staff up in time so that the blow hit only his cheek glancingly, but he was unsettled by it and thereafter Fafhrd was upon him, driving him back in a hail of barely parried blows while the sailors cheered.
    Slinoor and the sergeant gaped wide-eyed, but the Mouser only knotted his fingers, muttering, “Not so fast, Fafhrd.”
    Then, as Fafhrd prepared to end it all, he stumbled, stepping off the hatch, which changed his swift blow to the head into a slow blow at the ankles. Lukeen leaped up so that Fafhrd's staff passed under his feet, and while he was still in the air rapped Fafhrd on the head.
    The sailors groaned. The marines cheered once, growlingly.
    The unfooted blow was not of the heaviest, nonetheless it three-quarters stunned Fafhrd and now it was his turn to be driven back under a pelting shower of swipes. For several moments there was no sound but the rutch of soft-soled boots on sanded oak and the rapid dry musical bong of staff meeting staff.
    When Fafhrd came suddenly to his full senses he was falling away from a wicked swing. A glimpse of black by his heel told him that his next inevitable backward step would carry him inside his own quarter circle.
    Swift as thought he thrust far behind him with his staff. Its end struck deck, then stopped against the cabin wall, and Fafhrd heaved himself forward with it, away from the chalk line, ducking and lunging to the side to escape Lukeen's blows while his staff could not protect him.
    The sailors screamed with excitement. The judges and officers on the afterdeck kneeled like dice-players, peering over the edge.
    Fafhrd had to lift his left arm to guard his head. He took a blow on the elbow and his left arm dropped limp to his side. Thereafter he had to handle his staff like a broad-sword indeed, swinging it one-handed in whistling parries and strokes.
    Lukeen hung back, playing more cautiously now, knowing Fafhrd's one wrist must tire sooner than his two. He'd aim a few rapid blows at Fafhrd, then prance back.
    Barely parrying the third of these attacks, Fafhrd riposted recklessly, not with a proper swinging blow, but simply gripping the end of his staff and lunging. The combined length of Fafhrd and his staff overtook Lukeen's retreat and the tip of Fafhrd's staff poked him low in the chest, just on the nerve spot.
    Lukeen's jaw dropped, his mouth stayed open wide, and he wavered. Fafhrd smartly rapped his staff out of his fingers and as it clattered down, toppled Lukeen to the deck with a second almost casual prod.
    The sailors cheered themselves hoarse. The marines growled surlily and one cried, “Foul!” Lukeen's second knelt by him, glaring at Fafhrd. Carp 's mate danced a ponderous jig up to Fafhrd and wafted the wand out of his hands. On the afterdeck Squid 's officers were glum, though those of the other grain ships seemed strangely jubilant. The Mouser gripped Slinoor's elbow, urging, “Cry Fafhrd victor,” while the sergeant frowned prodigiously, hand to temple, saying, “Well, there's nothing I know of in the rules ...”
    At that moment the cabin door opened and Hisvet stepped out, wearing a long scarlet, scarlet-hooded silk robe.
    The Mouser, sensing climax, sprang to