But our little maid, being used to all these things from her youth, cared nothing for it, though the thing was indeed marvellous in itself.
When I went out our two men-at-arms had each of them in hand his straight Wendish Tolleknife, made heavy at the end of the Swedish blade, but light as to the handle, and hafted with cork from Spain.
Ten yards apart, shoulder to shoulder they stood, and, first of all, each of them poising the knife in the hollow of his hand with a peculiar dancing movement, set it writhing across the room at a marked circle on a board.

The two knives sped simultaneously with a vicious whir, and stood quivering, with their blades touching each other, in the centre of the white.

At the next trial, so exactly had they been aimed that the point of the one hit upon the haft of the other and stripped the cork almost to the blade.

But Jorian, to whom the knife belonged, mended it with a piece of string, telling the company philosophically that it was no bad thing to have a string hanging loose to a Tolleknife, for when it went into any one the string would always hang down from the wound in order to pull it out by.
Then they got their knives again and played a more dangerous game.

Jorian stood on guard with his knife, waving the blade slowly before him in the shape of a long-bodied letter S.Boris poised his weapon in the hollow of his hand, and sent it whirring straight at Jorian's heart.