F3 Sparring

     I sucked at fencing. I sucked at the sword, period. It wasn't my weapon. So even as I squared off against Andurias, I knew I was going to lose. I just had no way to use the weapon effectively. It wasn't my skillset. The Captain of the Guard neatly disarmed me in the practice yard and held the point of his sword to my chest. The people—the ladies in particular—around the courtyard cheered and clapped his victory.

     "Sam," he chided, " I know you must have greater skills than you let on, yet even my most basic strokes catch you unawares. You must learn to anticipate. I daresay that even some of my novitiates would defeat you. Perhaps it would be better if you were to spar against one of them?"
     "No. Absolutely not. I can take losing to you, but I'm not going to be a laughingstock."
     "As you wish. Let us rest for a time."
     I retrieved my sword and stalked off. It wasn't fighting, it was the choice of weapons. Hell, I could go at him hand-to-hand and take him apart even with his armor. But against a sword I just didn't have the training. I knew how to disarm guns. I could knife fight, and I could improvise weapons very easily. Hell, if I still had my old nightstick—the lightbulb in my brain went off. I needed to see a furniture maker. Maybe in a few days Andurias and I would have a rematch.