Bariyan's blow knocks the sword right out of Sleuth's hands. It clatters on the floor and skitters away as a quill again; Sleuth clambers after it, still off-balance, and snatches it up by the feather.

"Shit!" He drops it again and presses his bleeding palm into the floor. This time he lifts the quill by the pointy part—counter-fuckin'-intuitive—and now he has to wield it one-handed. He throws all his weight behind the sword, pushing it straight up and using its momentum to get back on his feet running. Fuck, it's wobbly as hell; he can't hold it up like this, and—oh, shit, Bariyan's closer than he thought he was. The sword falls forward, straight for the other man's raised arm.