Stance. Stance and posture.

You could tell a lot from an opponents footing, his aura. Confidence, fear; anger, courage; skill, inexperience: aura and stance showed it all. And they both knew it. Circling each other, tigers at the standoff, both searched for the weaknesses and strengths

The spear head flicked out like a viper’s tongue and Metrius just about managed to bring his shield up in time. Vibrations flew down his arm, metal clashing on metal. Grunting to take the blow, he struck back, bringing spear in and overhead thrust to try and beat the aspis of his opponent.

Instead, the shield was swung upwards, clashing with the underside of the spear head to almost send the weapon flying from Metrius’ hand. The pain of the strike launched bolts of lightning within his wrist and the distraction was enough. With a quick strike, the enemy’s weapon struck home.

Had his helmet not been of the finest quality he would have died. Instead, his head was knocked sideways, the screech of metal on metal deafening his ears as the spear head rented a dent in his armour. Stunned, disorientated, he stumbled and fell.

Instinct saved him. One strike, two strike: the blows dug into the ground into him time and time again and each time he rolled away. His shield, too bulky to move with, was released as he desperately avoided the blows.

Swinging the shaft of his spear in an arc, flying for the ankles of his opponent, he attempted to fell him. Instead, the warrior jumped, skipping over the solid wood as if it was some child’s game. But it was enough for Metrius to rise.

Again they circled; one shieldless and sweating, the other fresh and armoured. Metrius could feel his breathing becoming heavy; his body was beginning to complain barely into the combat. Was this another sign of the age he had become? The present drew him to attention as the hoplite charged, bringing his shield to bear and putting his weight behind the huge metal disk. Caught off guard, another blow struck home, this time shatter the spear in his hand. For a second time Metrius felt the trodden, earthy soil strike against his back. Looking from left to right, Metrius searched for some sort of escape as his opponent moved in fro the kill.

There, lying in the grass, the broken tip of his spear. Scuttling backwards, scrabbling through the grass, he quickly reached out for the weapons remnants but he was too slow. The bronze shield of his opponent struck down and slammed into his arm. Something cracked inside and pain flew through him, like lighting conducted into his body. He drew his arm close and watched as his killer raised his spear.

And the gods were with him. Stepping closer, the executioner hissed, looking down to see the sharp splinters of wood that he had trodden on. Metrius’ foot kicked out, connecting home with the soldier’s. Surprise caught the attacker and he fell, the side of his head hitting Metrius’ aspis that lay by his side. Rolling, Metrius grabbed the man’s head and swung it downwards a second time, pummeling the open front of the helmet into the shield.

Again. Blood smeared across the metal.

Again. A crunch of broken nose.

Again. Teeth, bruising and smashed in flesh.

Finally exhausted, finally resigning to his strength being drawn out of him, he finished smashing the head downwards and rolled over to collapse on his back. To his side, a face battered beyond recognition stared downwards at the ground.

He had survived.

For my other stories/parts go to:

http://www.xomba.com/short_story_list_metrius_and_others