Age is age, but it was hard to deny the Golden Coin's agility — unburdened by excess armor, the strapping fellow galloped across the battlefield, whirling in a dance of death. Not everyone could withstand such an onslaught, and even armor, as Catharsis learned from her own experience, was not much of an obstacle for him. Alaria was in no hurry to stand against such pressure or to expose herself to the spinning whirlwind of steel. Instead, she kept a short distance between herself and her opponent, deftly dodging out of the way and sending a throwing knife after the spry old man, or turning to her healing flask. In the end, it was this caution that brought her victory.
— You held yourself admirably, my lord. Many a youngling would envy your valor and agility, — the Tarnasian woman smiled and extended her hand to the old brigand, — and you did not forget your promise. I feel the scar you left will prove fairer than many. Thank you for such a splendid duel!
- I ought to get myself one of those wondrous flasks of yours somewhere — what's in it, scotch or vodka? - The brigand accepts the hand and rises to his feet. - Heh, we'll meet again at Bugurt.