He had no longer his barricade, but on the other hand his shoulders were against the door.
The swordsman crossed blades with him, and at the first pass Wogan realised with dismay that his enemy was a swordsman in knowledge as well as in the possession of the weapon.

He had a fencer's suppleness of wrist and balance of body; he pressed Wogan hard and without flurry.

The blade of his sword made glittering rings about Wogan's, and the point struck at his breast like an adder.
Wogan was engaged with his equal if not with his better.

He was fighting for his life with one man, and he would have to fight for it with two, nay, with three.

For over his opponent's shoulder he saw his first polite antagonist cross to the table and pick up from the ground the broken sword.