Jay Noyes, clad head to toe in the steel armor of a medieval knight, is steadily advancing toward me with a longsword, which he intends to hit me with.
I raise my buckler — a small metal shield about the size of a hubcap — and peer through the bars of my helmet, which is heavy, hot and making me increasingly claustrophobic.
Suddenly, my head snaps back and a loud clang rings out around the caged arena. "Good," I shout, to confirm that Noyes has scored a direct hit on me, although I can't help but feel that the force of the blow speaks for itself.
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