Yr Saldan stepped back quickly from the engage of blades. He held the grip of his long sword with both hands. The tip pointed upward, canted slightly to the left, toward Awyrgan’s right ear. The sharp edge of the blade faced the man. Awyrgan now held his blade with tip directed just to the right of Saldan’s shoulder. Saldan’s eye’s narrowed as he took the measure of his opponent.
The others stepped back from the conflict, giving them room to circle one another in the wide hallway. Keeping both feet planted firmly as much as possible, they took short, light steps, watching each other closely.
Awyrgan made a first feint, testing the ability of the other man. Saldan dropped the point of his blade quickly, deflecting the man’s sword away to the side with a push at the blade. The Corsair took a short step backward, taking an angular slash at the man’s shoulder as Awyrgan followed. Awyrgan leapt back quickly, avoiding the cut.
And now they moved together in the deadly rhythm of their blades. Again and again the metal rang out as they clashed, and retreated and advanced again. Seeking always, that momentary advantage . . .
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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