When we arrived at the garden, which was only a stone's-throw walk from the _posada_, Senor de Medina produced two swords with cutting edges, and blades five feet long; for we were to fight in Spanish fashion, and Spanish duelists both cut and thrust, and, when occasion serves, use the left hand as a help in parrying.
Then the spectators, of whom there were fully two score, made a ring, and Griscelli and I (having meanwhile doffed our hats, coats, and shirts), stepped into the arena.
I had not handled a sword for years, and for aught I knew Griscelli might be a consummate swordsman and in daily practice.

On the other hand, he was too stout to be in first-rate condition, and, besides being younger, I had slightly the advantage in length of arm.
When the word was given to begin, he opened the attack with great energy and resolution, and was obviously intent on killing me if he could.

For a minute or two it was all I could do to hold my own; and partly to test his strength and skill, partly to get my hand in, I stood purposely on the defensive.
At the end of the first bout neither of us had received a scratch, but Griscelli showed signs of fatigue while I was quite fresh.

Also he was very angry and excited, and when we resumed he came at me with more than his former impetuosity, as if he meant to bear me down by the sheer weight and rapidity of his strokes.

His favorite attack was a cut aimed at my head.