Lord Phillip's ax, singing through the air, crashes into the side of my helm and I am slain. My opponent had swept aside my mistimed spear thrust and come inside my range before I could recover. "Well struck, my lord," I cry, and retire from the field. As I walk off I clap my gauntleted hand on his chainmail-covered shoulder, and grin. "Nice shot," I tell him.
Congratulating my vanquisher is not the only aspect of my pastime that would strike the observer as strange. My fellow fighters and I appreciate the skill of those who defeat us; we lavish our time, money and care on assembling a kit of armor that not only protects us but also looks good; we practice European fighting styles while living in Japan, renowned for her martial arts.
How can we enjoy this?