Now my reactions came to my rescue.

Swiftly, I plucked one of the lances from tie holster and almost in the same motion got its balance, then flung it at the giant's face.

He roared as it hurtled towards him but with incredible speed for one so huge he struck it aside with his sword.

But by that time I had another lance in my hand and turned my jittery mount away as the warrior advanced, his sword swooping down towards me.

I ducked and felt it pass within an inch of my scalp.

Then he had thundered past, carried on by the weight of his own momentum. I wheeled my beast and flung another lance at him as he tried to turn his mount, which was evidently less well trained than mine.

The lance caught him in the arm.

He yelled in pain and rage and this time his speed was even faster as he bore down on me again.

I had only two lances left.

I flung the third as he came in with his sword held out in front of him, like a cavalryman on Earth might once have held his sword in a charge.

The third lance missed. But at least my second had wounded his mace-arm and I only had the sword to contend with; I could not duck this one.

But what could I do? There were split seconds in which to decide!

Grabbing the remaining lance, I flung myself off the beast and fell to the ground just as the sword met air where I would have been.

Bruised, I picked myself up. I still gripped the last lance.

I would have to use it with certainty if I were to win this duel.

I crouched, waiting as he turned, poised on the balls of my feet, watching the gigantic, snorting brute as he fought his dahara, turning it round again.

Then he paused, laughing that gusty, animal laughter, his blue head flung back and his vast chest heaving beneath its armor.

It was his mistake.

Thanking providence for this opportunity, I hurled the lance with all my force and skillstraight at the momentarily exposed neck.

It went in some inches and for a brief instant the laughter still came from his mortally wounded throat. The noise changed to a shocked gurgle, a high sigh, and then my opponent pitched backward off his dahara and lay dead on the ground.

As soon as it was relieved of its ride, the dahara galloped away into the forest.

I was left, panting and dazed but grateful for the fortuitous opportunity I had been given. I should have been dead. Instead, I was alive--and still whole.

I had expected to die. I had not counted on the incredible stupidity of an adversary who had been so sure of victory he had exposed a vital spot which could only have been reached by the very weapon I happened to possess.