“Allez! Fence!”
The major deliberately gave the point of his weapon a small twitch, and was rewarded by a quick flash of light reflected from his opponent’s bell guard as it moved.
BZZZ!
“Halt! There is one light! Touch is left! Score is four all. Bout and match point, gentlemen. Fencers ready?”
Got him! Now, just one more. C’mon … think! One more touch!
“Allez! Fence!”
For a moment, it was as if neither fencer had heard the director’s signal. Motionless, they stared at each other, watching for an opening yet unwilling to make a move which might create a vulnerability. Then, with slow deliberation, Jester raised his sword arm six inches, exposing the target his opponent had been scoring on, daring him to try again. That frozen tableau was held for a few heartbeats, then O’Donnel went forward in a gliding rush, accepting the invitation. Jester’s point darted down, racing to intercept the attack, and …
BZZZ-UZZ!
“Halt!”
The major whipped his head around, looking to the electronic box to see who had scored the touch first.
Both lights were lit! Double touch!
Jester jerked his mask off and stuffed it under his arm as he saluted the director and his opponent, then strode forward with his hand outstretched for the traditional handshake that signaled the end of hostilities.
“Excellent bout, Major. Thank you.”
Startled, O’Donnel found himself shaking his rival’s hand reflexively.
“But … the bout …” he managed at last.
“Tournament rules, as agreed,” the Legionnaire said firmly. “Isn’t that right, sir?”