Presently he grew over bold, and incautiously trusting himself within
reach, Toro lunged so sharply out that it was only by the merest shave
he escaped being spitted on the Italian's long sword like a lark on a
skewer.

As it was the sword pierced the waistband of his nether garments.

Tomaso stumbled, and so nearly lost his balance that it took him all
his time to parry the next stroke, which was put in with equal
smartness and vigour. One blow, that might have brought down an
elephant, sent Tomaso on to his knees.

The same stroke made a notch in the Greek's weapon half an inch deep.

Had he caught the blow upon the flat of his sword, it would have been
shivered to atoms beyond all doubt.

Toro saw his chance.

Nor was he at all slow to avail himself of it.

Quick as thought, another blow fell, and out of his grasp flew the
Greek's blade.

He lay prostrate at the mercy of his adversary.

"Beg your life," cried Toro, planting his heavy foot firmly upon his
adversary's chest.