John
*Matron Argith caught on quickly, as he had expected her to do - and there was a marked difference in her tone from the beginning of the question to the end. Enquiry became amusement in the blink of an eye, and the flick of a hand for a slave to bring some refreshment as he had asked. A bow of the head towards her punctuated his thanks. It would not do to let the matrons go underappreciated for complying with a suggestion - even better when it came not from the queen's lips, but from his. Matron Argith was remarkably pliable in that matter. Perhaps a ruse.*

"It is my thought that worthiness is better proven than extolled." *He replied coolly. An indulgence, she said - and perhaps that was true. It was his **Way**, and the ways of men were often preyed upon by those who had come to know their routine. Perhaps an upstart officer raring for a promotion wished to inject herself into the duel, only to reveal she was no duelist at all. Perhaps a Sister of Silence perched in a shadow, overlooking his courtyard as he trained a young man in the art of swordsmanship. Yes, routine was an indulgence indeed - but such indulgences had their purpose.

Hero of Inyelion, Matron Argith called her - but across the small courtyard, she looked far too young for that. As she was handed her sword, his eyes remained fixed on her position, taking in the way she stood, the way she stepped. It was subtle, but there was something of an old injury in it. He had to harry her quickly, make sure she was off her balance, forced to move and stay moving in order to evade. No shield, he thought to himself. An interesting choice, to be sure, when an arming sword was a weapon wielded in only one hand.

The guard he had sent away returned in a half-second with a cuirass that was meant to cover his chest and stomach, preventing fatal injuries beyond those that might sever his neck when combined with the helm provided. He held his arms to either side, allowing his men access.*

_ _
*Over the gray-skinned torso rippling with muscles and scars in equal measure went the breastplate, a snarling wolf-s head engraved upon the front. A reminder that he served the queen, that he fought in her name. The barbute helm, by contrast, was simple - round, with a nose guard and cheek plates that offered good protection and kept his vision clear. Once the metal had made its way around his chest, the soldiers stepped back for a moment, and Zaknafein rolled his gnarled shoulders, checking his mobility.*

"Yours is the first move, Matron Irza." *He replied, placid as a lake while he drew a longsword from his side, placing it in both hands and lifting them into a high guard. Two of the fingers wrapped around the hilt moved slightly slower - the lower half of the left hand, where there had been a puckered scar that ran his palm through on one side and the other. His steps were catlike, poised...*
David
When Virzieth was a captain she had made a point of training her subordinates without the use of her shield or helmet. A point in how poor their attacks were that they could be blocked without their support. Now, it was to prove that she did not fear the man before her. That this duel was equal to her as training young soldiers fresh out of their mothers' embrace. That she was not a child who needed to be pitied. 

Also perhaps a branch of trust. Trust that he wouldn't take the chance and silt her throat the moment the chance arose. 

Naturally, this was all a front. Her heart slammed against her chest as she forced even breaths through her lungs. Tucking her unarmed hand behind her back she pressed her knuckles firmly against her back she readied the sword in her other hand. 

Even now the marshal had to show who he stood here for, the matriarch. He would always take such a chance. It's what gave his words and his action power. 

Perhaps he would take that branch of trust and break it across his knee. End her here. It was a chance she was taking. 

One final deep breath and her features settled into a hard look of concentration. It was clear his size would not hold back his agility, his steps were light ready to pounce at the first given chance. 

Virzieth rushed forward sword pointed in front of her as she thrust straight to the space between his helmet and breastplate only to feign at the last second to slam the blade down on the side of his head.
John
*Before the commencement of the duel, he had been careful not to underestimate her, making sure to call for a helmet and cuirass, ensuring that should the worst happen, it would not likely result in his death. Pride he swallowed every day. Death he could only stomach but once. Yet there she was, refusing to wear her own helmet, neglecting her own shield. Perhaps it was a concession, but he wondered why in the world she would begin to underestimate him. 

There was something in that - a way to get her to lower her guard, if he began to strike slower than the usual, getting her used to a lazy timing before pulling the rug out underneath. She inhaled, the noise signaling the fight's start as clearly as any bell. Time seemed to slow, the world fading to the distance between them. 

She opened strangely, with a thrust made by the arming sword rather than a cut - the longsword he held was much more of a thrusting weapon than her own, and the way she held her weapon in front of her made him think of a young boy, charging with arms held outward, unbalanced. When the feint revealed itself, as he was sure it would, it was easy enough to evade. Smoothly, he stepped away from the strike - with her arm extended for the thrust already, it was simple enough to step within her guard at the same time.

At such a distance, it was likewise simple to throw his right shoulder into her breastplate, hoping to catch her off-balance and overextended with a weight advantage that was well leveraged to attempt to knock her off her feet...*