The Princess Bride

Chapter Fifteen: Skill Against Skill

But not by ambush.  Not the coward's way. Nothing unsportsmanlike. His parents had always taught him to go by the rules.  North stood in shadow, the great rock tightly in his great hand. he could hear the footsteps of the man in black coming nearer.  Nearer.

North leaped from hiding and threw the rock with incredible power and perfect accuracy. It smashed into a boulder a foot away from the face of the man in black.  "I did that on purpose," North said then, picking up another rock, holding I ready. "I didn't have to miss."

"I believe you," the man in black said. 

They stood facing each other on the narrow mountain path.

"Now what happens?" Asked the man in black.

"We face each other as God intend," North said. "No tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone."

"You mean you'll put down the rock and I'll put down my sword and we'll try to kill each other like civilised, is that is?"

"If you'd rather, I can kill you now," North said gently, and he raised the rock to throw. "I'm giving you a chance."

"So you are and I accept it," said in the man in black, and he began to take off his sward and scabbard.  "Although, frankly, I think the odds are slightly in your favour at hand fighting."

"I tell you what I tell everybody," North explained. "I cannot help being the biggest and strongest; it's not my fault."

"I'm not blaming you," said the man in black.

"Let's get to it them," North said, and he dropped his rock and got into fighting position, watching as the man in black slowly moved towards him. For a moment, North felt almost wistful.  This was clearly a good fellow, even if he had killed Easter.  He didn't complain or try and beg or bribe. He just accepted his fate.  No complaining, nothing like that.  Obviously a criminal of character.  (Was he a criminal, though, North wondered.  Surely the mask would indicate that.  Or was it worse than that; was he disfigured?  His face burnt way by acid perhaps? Or perhaps born hideous?)

"Why do you wear a mask and hood?" North asked.

"They are so very comfortable.  I think everybody will be wearing them in the near futur," was the man in black's reply.

They faced each other on the mountain path. There was a moment's pause. Then they engaged. North let the man in black fiddle round for a bit, tested the man's strength, which was considerable for someone who wasn't a giant. He let the man in black feint and dodge and try a hold here, a hold there. Then, when he was quite sure the man in black would not go to his master embarrassed, North locked his arms tight around.

North lifted.

And squeezed.

And squeezed.

Then he took the remains of the man in black, snapped him one way, snapped him the other, cracked him with one hand in the neck, with the other at the spine base, locked his legs up, rolled his limp arms around them, and tossed the entire bundle of what had once been human into a nearby crevice.

That was the theory, anyway. In fact, what's happened was this:

North lifted.
And squeezed.
And the man in black slipped free.

Hmmm, thought North, that certainly was a surprise. I thought for sure I had him. "You're very very quick," North complimented.

"And a good thing too," said the man in black.

Then they engage again. This time North did not give the man in black a chance to fiddle. He just grabbed him, swung him around his head once, twice, smashed his skull against the nearest Boulder, pounded him, gave him a final squeeze for good measure and tossed the remains of what once had been alive into a nearby crevice.

Those were his intentions, anyway.

In actuality, he never even got through the grabbing part with much success. Because no sooner had North's great hands reached out than the man in black dropped and spun and twisted and was loose and free and still quite alive.

I don't understand a thing that's happening, North thought. Could I be losing my strength? Could there be a mountain disease that takes away your strength? There was a desert disease that took my parents strength. That must be it, I must have caught a plague, but if that is is, why isn't he weak? No, I must still be strong, it has to be something else, now what could it be?

Suddenly he knew. He had not fought against one man in so long he had all but forgotten how. He had been fighting groups and gangs and bunches for so many years, that the idea of having a single opponent was slow in making itself know to him. Because you fought them entirely differently. When there were twelve against you, you made certain moves, tried certain holds, acted in certain ways. When there was but one, you had to completely readjust yourself. Quickly now, North went back through time. How had he fought the champion of Sandiki? He flashed through that fight in his mind, then reminded himself of all the other victories against other champions, the men from Ispir and Simal and Bolu and Zile. He remembered fleeing Constantinople because he had beaten their champion so quickly. So easily. Yes, North thought. Of course. And suddenly he readjusted his style to what it once had been.

By the time the m an in black had him by the throat!

The man in black was holding him, and his arms were locked across North's windpipe, one in front, one behind. North reached back but the man in black was hard to grasp. North could not get his arms around to his back and dislodge the enemy. North ran at a boulder and, at the last moment, span around so that the man in black would receive the main force of the charge. It was a terrible jolt; North knew it was.

But the grip on his windpipe grew even tighter.

North charged the boulder again, again, spun, and again he knew the power of the blow the man in black had taken. But still the grip remained. North clawed at the man in black's arms. He pounded his giant fists against them.

By now he had now air.

North continued to struggle. He could feel a hollowness in his legs now; he could see the world beginning to pale. But he did not give up. He was the mighty North, lover of rhymes, and do not give up, no matter what. Now the hollowness was in his arms and the world was snowing.

North went to his knees.

He pounded still, but feebly. He fought still, but his blows would not have harmed a child. No air. Their was no more air. Their was no more anything, not for North, not in this world. I am beaten, I am going to die, he thought before he fell onto the mountain path.

He was only half wrong.

Their is an instant between unconsciousness and death, and as the giant pitched onto the rocky path, that instant happened, and just before it happened, the man in black let go. He staggered to his feet and leaned against the Boulder until he could walk.

North lay sprawled on his front and the man in black with his last strength. Pushed him over, so that the giant was lying on his back. The man in black placed his head to Norths chest listing to a sound of a heart beat. Dadu, dadu, dadu. The man in black sighed in relief and looked at the giant who he had just defeated.

"I don not envy the headache you will wake with, but till their rest well and dream of large women." The man in black said. He looked around for a rope to secure the giant, gave up the search almost as soon as he'd begun. What's good were ropes against strength like this. He would simply snap them. The man in black made his way back to where he'd dropped his sword. He put it back on.

Two down and (the hardest) one to go...