“Clytius chided. What will you do, Hazel Levesque – pelt me with more rubies? Shower me with sapphires? Hazel gave him an answer. She raised her spatha and charged. Apparently, Clytius hadn’t expected her to be quite so suicidal. He was slow raising his sword. By the time he slashed, Hazel had ducked between his legs and jabbed her Imperial gold blade into his gluteus maximus. Not very ladylike. The nuns at St. Agnes would never have approved. But it worked.”