"I am ready," cried Tomaso, gripping his sword firmly.

The swords met with a clash which sent forth a shower of sparks, and
both men recoiled with the force of the shock.

Recovering themselves quickly, however, they went to work in real
savage style, and chopped away at each other with vicious earnestness.

Now Tomaso, it was clear, could not hold his own in a battle wherein
mere brute force was to have the best of it, and feeling himself at a
disadvantage in this respect, he dodged about his adversary as nimbly
as Harlequin himself.

Being very quick-sighted, he saw what sort of a blow was coming ere it
was fairly dealt, and so he shaped his defence.

If it was a desperate stroke, he jumped out of its reach.

If a light one, he turned it off upon the edge of his own weapon.

In this way he worked upon Toro to such an extent that the Italian's
temper got the mastery of him.

Tomaso was attacking him so closely that the Italian looked like losing
the battle.

Toro was bleeding from a dozen small flesh wounds.

Tomaso was, up to this moment, almost unscathed.