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Again she lifted the scimitar; again she tried to attack. I met her blade, high, forcing it down; she slipped to one knee, looking up, trying to keep the blade away; she wept; she had no leverage, her strength was gone; I thrust her back, and she fell on her back before me on the tiles; my left boot, heavy, was on her right wrist; the small hand opened and the scimitar slipped to the tiles; she was then on her back before me; she could not roll, or rise; she lay between my booted feet; she looked up at me; the point of my blade was at her throat. I stepped back. "Stand up," I told her. I broke her scimitar at the hilt and flung it to a corner of the room. She stood in the center of the room. "Put your rope on my neck," she said. - (Tribesmen of Gor)