And all these passes, as he tried them one
by one, his unknown antagonist parried. And for a moment Rodriguez
feared that Morano would see those passes in which he trusted
foiled by that unknown sword, and then he reflected that Morano
knew nothing of the craft of the rapier, and with more content at
that thought he parried thrusts that were strange to him. But
something told Morano that in this fight the stranger was master
and that along that pale-blue, moonlit, unknown sword lurked a
sure death for Rodriguez. He moved from his place of vantage and
was soon lost in large shadows; while the rapiers played and blade
rippled on blade with a sound as though Death were gently
sharpening his scythe in the dark. And now Rodriguez was giving
ground, now his antagonist pressed him; thrusts that he believed
invincible had failed; now he parried wearily and had at once to
parry again; the unknown pressed on, was upon him, was scattering
his weakening parries; drew back his rapier for a deadlier pass,
learned in a secret school, in a hut on mountains he knew, and
practised surely; and fell in a heap upon Rodriguez' feet, struck
full on the back of the head by Morano's frying-pan.
"Most vile knave," shouted Rodriguez as he saw Morano before him
with his frying-pan in his hand, and with something of the stupid
expression that you see on the face of a dog that has done some
foolish thing which it thinks will delight its master.
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