In reply, Achilleus suddenly lunged at John with an overhand downward stab that took John completely by surprise. He got his shield up only just in time and managed to knock the blow aside. Achilleus was left wide open, and John came straight back at him, slicing his spear upward. The triple blades slashed across Achilleus’s chest, ripping his T-shirt and drawing blood. Achilleus swore and spun away, but John didn’t leave him alone for one moment, following in hard with a wild low sweep that took Achilleus in the side of his shin and sent him tumbling to the gravel. John was on to him, thrusting quickly down again and again, like someone trying to spear fish in a barrel. Achilleus rolled and squirmed on the ground so that the blades dug harmlessly into the dirt.

It wasn’t going well for Achilleus. John was good. He was constantly getting the upper hand. Achilleus was looking like a fool. Wriggling on the ground at John’s feet.

At last John came too close and Achilleus smashed the rim of his shield into his lower legs so that he too fell over. Landing heavily on his face. The two of them scrambled up. John’s bandage had come loose, and there was blood dripping from his nose, but he barely seemed to notice it. For a while nobody had the upper hand, and they circled each other, panting and sweating. There was a wicked glint in John’s bruised eyes, however. He was enjoying himself. He had rattled Achilleus, and they both knew it.

The crowd had become deathly quiet. Intent on the battle. Willing their champion to victory.

Achilleus’s T-shirt was drenched with blood, and although John’s mouth was bloody and he was limping slightly, there wasn’t a fresh scratch on him. Achilleus was wary. Not wanting to let John inside his defenses again.

There began a long stretch of cautious fighting, as first one, then the other, would lunge forward and the blow would be blocked. Their grotesque distorted shadows fought around the walls of the palace like some violent puppet show. They were taking stock of each other, checking out their fighting styles, their strengths and weaknesses. If they had wanted it to be over quickly, they were disappointed.

There was no doubting that John’s reach was longer. Both his spear and his arm were longer than Achilleus’s, and he was taller by a good three or four inches. More of his strikes were getting through. True, most of them clattered harmlessly off Achilleus’s shield, but one or two found their mark. Achilleus had a gash in his scalp and another on his shoulder. It was looking more and more like John’s size was going to win the day.

And he knew it. He just had to work away at Achilleus, wear him down, weaken him, then move in for the kill.