Through the dust, beyond the lunging figures, Rudolph was distantly aware of crowded bodies, of yellow faces grinning or agape, in the breach of the compound wall.

Men of the neighboring hamlet had gathered, to watch the foreign monsters play at this new, fantastic game.

Shaven heads bobbed, saffron arms pointed, voices, sharp and guttural, argued scornfully.
The hilts rang, the blades grated faster.

But now it was plain that Heywood could do no more, by luck or inspiration.

Fretted by his clumsy yet strong and close defense, Chantel was forcing on the end.