Spear and sword clashed furiously aboard the cramped skiff, each collision unleashing a piercing metallic shriek that tore through the salt-laden sea wind and drowned out the moaning waves.
There were no probing feints, no room to hold back.
This was a fight to the death between two of Westeros's finest warriors. Every strike was cunning and lethal; every parry skirted disaster.
Under their fierce attacks and opposing strength, the battered little boat pitched and shuddered, its timbers creaking as though it might fall apart at any moment.
Oberyn flicked his spear. Its tip became a cold blue star, moving almost too quickly for the eye to follow as it struck at Barristan's throat like a serpent's darting tongue!
At the last possible instant, the old knight lowered his body and pivoted, ducking beneath it by a hair's breadth. The poisoned point sank deep into the wooden mast behind him with a sharp thunk!
Oberyn snapped his wrist, wrenching the spear viciously inside the wood!
Crack!
A faint splintering sound rang out. Fine cracks spread across the slender mast, scattering wood chips.
Seizing the moment while his opponent's spear was caught and his movements briefly checked, Barristan drew back his sword. He took a deep breath, brow furrowed, and tried once again to clear up this deadly misunderstanding:
"I..."
But how could the Red Viper give him that chance?
Oberyn snorted coldly and yanked his spear free, following through with a vicious sweep. The shaft whistled through the air toward Barristan's waist!
The old knight could only swallow the words on his tongue and bring his sword across to block!
Clang!
Spear and sword collided violently again. The savage force drove Barristan half a step backward, his chest heaving slightly and a distinct aching numbness spreading through his sword arm.