Now Pyot stood at three foot six, exactly as tall as the wooden swords. Magog stood at nine foot ten, he was considered big even among his people, the alpine giants. There was much tension in the air as this match-up neared, especially from old Seern the toadstool-witch, Pyot's grandmother. The general fear was that Pyot would get killed.
Magog was beta male by dint of sheer size. Only the mystique of the animals and the stone-smiths had kept him from challenging for leadership until now. He was already eyeing off Animagus for the final match. Meanwhile, Pyot spent the time talking seriously with Seern in their tribal sing-song language. If anyone had understood them they would have been more concerned for Magog...
"... left, right, twist, forward, strike..."
"... I know my footwork, Grama."
"Do you have all four torturous bull-ants woven into your wristband?"
"And the paralysis thorns on your thumbnails?"
"And your heel spurs, are they filled with venom?"
"Remember, you must use the paralysis toxin..."
"I know, Grama. In one of the seventy-two pressure points, I know."
"Don't you sass me, young-fellow-me-lad! This gorilla will finish you in one bite. I still say we should just forget this game and poison his food."
"No, Grama, this is men's business. Besides he's nothing like as nasty as that python I nabbed two summers ago. Remember that one? Or even a child's-play crocodile."
"Hrmph, well... have you had enough toxic mushrooms?"
"Are you in the battle-zone? Hungry for his heart's blood?"
"There's a good boy. Now, he's going to bulrush and strike down-forward left, so move to position five and left, right, twist, forward, strike..."
And so it was that the second match of the semi finals went like this: Four seconds into round one, Pyot was holding both swords and began evading the furious Magog, whose right hand was now useless. Lendorn began counting for victory by disarming: One, two, three, four, five... Magog's balance wobbled as he tried to chase Pyot across the circle... eight, nine... Magog staggers to the ground and struggles to stand... Ten! Magog shakes his head and stands slowly, massaging his stinging hand and egregiously injured pride.
Pyot defeats Magog easily by disarming!