I caught the blade, it is true, and turned aside the stroke intended for my heart.

But the slack of the cloak clung to the neck of my mule, so that I could not carry my arm far enough to send his point clear of my body.

It took me in the shoulder, stinging me, first icy cold then burning hot, as it went tearing its way through.

For just a second was I daunted, more at knowing myself touched than by the actual pain.

Then I flung my whole body forward to reach him at the close quarters to which he had come, and I buried my dagger in his breast, high up at the base of his dirty throat.
The force of the blow carried me forward, even as it bore him backward; and so, with his sword-blade in my shoulder, and my dagger where I had planted it, we hurtled over together and lay a second amidst what seemed a forest of equine legs.