Now even the knights who had kept their composure looked utterly furious.
But they knew who this Prince of Dorne was... Prince Aegon's own uncle.
Most forced themselves to endure it without lashing out.
But Ser Boggs, a half-wild nobleman from Crackclaw Point, had no such courtly scruples.
With a furious roar, he gripped his greatsword in both hands and charged at Oberyn like an enraged boar!
His heavy footsteps pounded against the ground as his two-handed greatsword whistled through the air, cleaving down at Oberyn!
It was a powerful blow, driven by rage.
Just as the greatsword was about to fall, Oberyn moved.
He did not retreat. Instead, he spun lightly to the left, as weightless as willow fluff, and the greatsword brushed the edge of his leather armor as it slashed through empty air.
Then, using the momentum of his turn, Oberyn swept his spear low like a venomous snake, its shaft striking precisely behind the knee Ser Boggs had left exposed in his charge.
Thud! Ser Boggs's knee went numb. Unable to stop his forward momentum, he sprawled face-first into the dirt and got a mouthful of sand.
He tried to struggle to his feet, but the cold spearpoint was already pressed into the gap in his armor at the back of his neck.
Oberyn looked down at him. "If this weren't merely a match, my spearpoint would have pierced your throat, and the poison coating it would have spread through your blood to every part of your body... That's a far worse way to die than losing your head."
He withdrew his spear, his gaze passing over the ten knights' varied expressions before settling on Aegon atop the platform.
Ser Boggs's face alternated between ashen and livid. Without a word, he climbed to his feet, picked