Rogues By Ian F White
The clash of steel on steel rang out loudly in the cavernous cathedral, echoing off the high-vaulted ceiling and numerous alcoves that ran along both mural-painted walls. Each of the two shimmering blades was clasped in a similarly vice-like grip, yet that was where the similarity of their wielders ended. One was a large man, well over six-feet tall, wide-shouldered, broad-chested, thick of thews. His body was clad in a long coat of mail which fell from neck to knee. The steel helm from which his unruly shoulder-length dark locks protruded, sported a single, wicked-looking spike at its crown. Beneath the rim, his cool blue eyes twinkled with a raw humour that was reflected within the clean, white-toothed grin. He was handsome, perfect of physique, and he knew it. The other was a woman, a clear head shorter than her opponent, yet equally a perfect specimen of her gender. Her full breasts and hips strained at the tight confines of the leather corselet and leggings she wore, as she he...